Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

'We must ask you to come with us,' said the elder of the two men.

'Why? Have I committed a crime?' She received no answer. 'I shall complain to Reich Minister Dr Goebbels.'

'That's up to you. Come with us, please.' Downstairs a black Mercedes was waiting. and took them to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse. They went up flights of stairs, and along corridors with well-polished floors. A tall, double door opened. A young man with short, dark-brown hair rose from behind a large desk. He was wearing a well-cut, dove-grey uniform with a black collar and silver tabs, and elegant boots. 'Thank you so much for coming, Frau van Bergen. I am Standartenfiihrer Hofner.' His accent was Bavarian. He clicked his heels as if he were in a Prussian officers' mess and kissed her hand. 'Please sit down, dear lady.'

Karin breathed again. This didn't sound like an arrest.

Hofner sat down at his desk again. 'I enjoyed your last film. We need something cheerful to help us relax in these difficult times.' He carefully drew a long-stemmed rose in a slender crystal vase closer to him. 'But we also need firm confidence and an iron will to victory. Those are the very words of Reichsfi hrer Himmler, who called me this morning.' He breathed in the scent of the rose. 'It has been reported to him that the actress Nadja Horn gave it as her opinion that the war was lost. Can you confirm that Nadja Horn made such a comment to you?'

'Lore Bruck!' Karin exclaimed.

'Frau Bruck is an upright National Comrade and a good friend of the Reichsfuhrer. There can be no doubting her word. Or yours either, I assume, Frau van Bergen.' There was a dangerous undertone to the Standarten- fi hrer's words.

Karin had bent her head. She said nothing. Hofner wasn't letting go. 'I put it to you that yesterday, in her apartment on Breitenbachplatz, Frau Nadja Horn said to you, word for word, "The war is lost".'

'Nadja Horn didn't mean it like that. It was just idle chatter. She hadn't thought about it, she was talking at random. That's how we actresses sometimes are.'

The StandartenfUhrer handed her a formal document. 'We have prepared your witness statement. Kindly read it and confirm its accuracy by signing.' Karin read the few typed lines. They were indeed accurate. 'The authorities concerned will consider your interpretation of Frau Horn's behaviour, to the effect that it was thoughtless rather than malicious,' added Hofner in a detached voice. Karin signed. Hofner countersigned the document, and put an official seal on it. 'Please wait a few minutes.' The StandartenfUhrer left the room.

Karin thought of her friend and patron. This couldn't be too serious. Lively Sabine Sanders had got off with just a fright. At Theo Alberti's birthday party, she had persuaded a make-up artist to stick a little moustache on her upper lip, and acted a take-off of Hitler that had everyone bent double with laughter. But someone had reported it to the Gestapo. The rising young actress had spent an uncomfortable half-hour with the police, and was reprimanded by the Reich Chamber of Cinema. Karin felt sure that Nadja would get no worse than a similar reprimand.

It was ages before Hofner came back. Once again, he was civility itself. We disturbed you very abruptly, I'm afraid. Please forgive us. May I invite you to breakfast at Borchardt's?'

'That's very kind of you, Herr Hofner, but unfortunately I have to go for some sound recordings in Babelsberg.' Karin forced a smile.

'I understand. Professional duties take precedence. My men will escort you home.' A kiss of her hand, a click of his heels, and she could go.

Back home, she went straight to the telephone to tell Nadja about Lore Bruck's infamous behaviour. The housekeeper answered, in great distress. 'They've taken Frau Horn away. Handcuffed like a criminal.'

Karin realized what had happened. StandartenfUhrer Hofner had kept her waiting so that she couldn't warn Nadja. 'Calm down, Frieda. It won't be as bad as all that.'

But how bad would it be? Karin fetched her car from the garage. Dr Jordan would know what to do.

Diggers were at work in Brandenburgische Strasse. A British air mine,' she was told. A four-engined Lancaster can't carry more than one of those things. They weigh about four tons.' The bomb had flattened three buildings. 'There wasn't so much as a little finger left of the folks down in the cellar,' the policeman on duty told her, diverting her along Konstanzer Strasse.

Jordan's legal chambers were on the first floor of a grand building in Liitzowstrasse, which was still unscathed, other than by the impact of an anti-aircraft shell which had failed to explode at a height of three thousand metres.

'I'm afraid you don't have an appointment. Frau van Bergen. I'll see if I can fit you in.' The secretary spoke quietly into the intercom.

She had to wait quarter of an hour before the padded double doors opened. Jordan showed his visitor out. It was Heinrich George. Karin recognized her famous colleague at once. George shook hands with all the ladies in the outer office, including Karin herself. The great thespian had taken her for one of the typists.

'Frau van Bergen, how are you? Come in. I'm rather pressed for time, but how can I help you?'

Karin came straight to the point. 'Nadja Horn has been taken away by the Gestapo because of something silly she said. I'd never have thought that Lore Bruck would pass it on.'

'Lore Bruck and her friend Ida Wiist are the most notorious informers in the business,' said the lawyer, with scorn in his voice. 'Well, I'll undertake Nadja Horn's defence.'

'Her defence? Will such a silly thing come to court?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'Will she be fined?' Dr Jordan said nothing. An unpleasant presentiment formed in Karin's mind. 'Expulsion from the Reich Chamber of Cinema and a ban on practising her profession? No, they'd never dare. Nadja is very popular with the public. There'd be a storm of protest.' Jordan still said nothing. 'Surely not prison?'

'I shall call you as a witness to exonerate Frau Horn, Frau von Bergen. But you won't be able to avoid giving evidence under oath.' The lawyer looked gravely at her. 'I can't hold out much hope. A remark like that is regarded as high treason.' He struggled for words. And the penalty for high treason is execution by the guillotine.'

'They come early in the morning, two wardresses, one warder. They don't need to wake you, you've been lying awake, night after night. The women help you into the smock, put the wooden clogs on your feet. The warder handcuffs you. Then they cut your hair off to leave your neck free. You walk down long corridors, past pale faces staring silently at you through the peepholes in their cell doors.

'They lead you down a staircase into a basement, open a door, push you in front of a lectern. There's a burning candle and a crucifix on the lectern. Behind it you see the public prosecutor who demanded your life in court and now is going to get it. Beside him, your own lawyer and a lay assessor. Three men not involved in the case stand around the room in black suits. To your left there's a black curtain from ceiling to floor of the basement. You hardly notice it.

'You see the public prosecutor. He reads the verdict out to you again, you don't know why, you know it by now. You hear his final words: "Executioner, do your duty."

'The black curtain is hauled up. Bright light fills the white-tiled space behind it. You see the scaffold. It's smaller than you expected. One of the black-clad men takes hold of your ankles from behind, pulling your feet from under you. Another holds your hands behind your back. The third holds your upper arms and body. They drag you to the scaffold and push you forward over it, like a loaf of bread going into the oven. You look down into the basket which will soon catch your head. You feel the hard wood of the frame closing over your neck. The executioner pulls the cord. The guillotine falls. It falls for an eternity, and then finally brings you release.'