Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

Are you Herr Raab?'

'In an earlier life I was Dr Raab. Professor Georg Raab.'

'I'm Frau Neubert.'

'I know, madame.'

'My congratulations on your thirtieth wedding anniversary, and greetings from your wife.' Marlene handed him the bag with the bottle in it.

'Mascha came here?'

'I saw her down in the village. I'm afraid it wasn't possible for her to get a visitor's permit. She's looking fine, she's in good health. A beautiful woman.'

'Oh yes, she is indeed beautiful.' An expression of reverie appeared on his face. He took the bottle out of the bag. 'Wonderful, a 1934 Chablis. To think such things still exist! I shall allow myself a glass at supper. It would be better in company, but I mustn't ask too much.'

'Don't you have to go back to the huts at night?'

'I have a comfortable little bedroom here, my own bathroom with a lavatory, and the same meals as the guards.'

As an inmate of the camp?'

'They need me. Please sit down, madame.' He pulled out a chair for her. 'Your husband has let you visit me, so he obviously has no objection to your knowing what I'm doing here, even though it's top secret.'

'That sounds intriguing, Professor!' A touch of the old Berlin accent crept back into her voice.

A genuine Berliner, and a particularly pretty one too!' Raab rubbed his hands, delighted. 'We live in Kopenick, in the Wendenschloss district, if you happen to know it.'

'Sorry, no.'

A pretty place. You should visit us there some time.' He bowed his head and added quietly, 'They've let Mascha stay on in a little room in our house.'

He picked up a sheet of white paper, put it in the printer's block by the window, and turned the handle of the wooden spindle until its leather pad pressed the paper down on the plate. He took the paper out and held it up. 'Would you like to see?' Marlene could make out ornate black lettering on a white background.

A banknote for twenty pounds sterling. The paper and the watermark will stand up to any examination, it's almost as well printed as the original There's a tiny flourish on the C of the words "Chief Cashier" still missing. I'm about to add it. Well, what do you think?' There was a touch of pride in Raab's voice.

'Forgeries?'

'Forgeries that even the Bank of England will take for the real thing. Once they're put into circulation in their millions, they're expected to wreck the British currency. A project devised by the SS Office of Economic Affairs, at Himmler's instigation.'

'You're a forger?'

'Oh, a dedicated forger. Also former professor of art history at Berlin University, now dismissed, and a former member of the Prussian Academy of Arts. In addition I'm a trained engraver, both copperplate and woodcuts. Even eminent international art experts have fallen for my Diirers and Piranesis. Until recently I pursued my hobby for fun and never made any money out of it. Now it's paying off. They let me stay alive a little longer, and they spare my Mascha.'

'You're very frank with me, professor.'

'Mascha trusts you, that's enough for me. And furthermore, they need me. So long as Himmler's pince-nez look kindly on me, I have nothing to fear…'

And when you've finished your work?'

'Oh, there's plenty more to be forged yet. We're working on dollars and Swiss francs, for buying armaments. Passports of all countries are in preparation for the secret services, ID papers, military marching orders, certificates of appointment… I have originals of all those documents here in my wall safe. They're already combing the prisons for capable people to work with me. Oh, there you are, Herr Siebert.'

The young Untersturmfuhrer wore a laboratory coat over his uniform. 'Hello, Frau Neubert. What an honour for our witches' kitchen! Professor, we've raised the nickel content of the security thread by 0.03 milligrams. I hope that was right.' She was surprised to hear the SS man speaking to a prisoner with such respect.

'Thank you, Herr Siebert. Excuse me, madame, I want to get back to that flourish. Will you visit me again?'

And me too?' Siebert was clearly always eager for a little flirtation.

Marlene ignored him. 'Yes, indeed, Professor. Good day, Herr Siebert.'

'I'll find you a cushion to make you more comfortable, Professor,' she heard Siebert say as she left. A thought went through her head: in other circumstances, would the SS man kill Raab out of hand?

A one-pot dish, the kind of thing the Fi hrer wants to see on every German lunch table once a week. With water from our well. And as dessert, fruit bottled from our own harvest. We are proud of our simple, nourishing food.'

'Oh, don't talk such garbage!'

Fredie was nervous. Reichsfuhrer Himmler had announced a visit. He wanted to inspect the forgery project personally. It went under the cover name of Needle and Thread; the Bank of England was in Threadneedle Street.

A beef, pork or mutton one-pot dish?' inquired Marlene.

Fredie's old bent for sarcasm surfaced. 'Chicken. After all, the man used to be a chicken farmer.'

'I'll tell Jana.'

'Good German women make their own one-pot dishes. Help in the kitchen in this second year of the war is a luxury the nation can't allow itself. Oh, and remember that good German women don't smoke. No lipstick either.'

Anything else? Maybe a wheatsheaf on the table and place cards in Germanic runes?'

'Send Jana back to her tribe in the gypsy hut.'

'So Frau Werner can torment her? No, I won't have it.'

'I've told everyone to go easy on the day of the visit. Seems our guest is rather squeamish when things move from theory to practice.'

'What, a day without beatings and murders? The camp won't feel like home to you, Fredie.'

'Oh, shut up,' he said angrily.

They had dressed Professor Georg Raab in a brand-new, striped prisoner's outfit, with a matching round cap. He stood outside the laboratorycum-bungalow with Fredie and Untersturmfiihrer Siebert. Like a teddy bear in a zebra skin, thought Marlene, watching the scene through a crack in the corrugated-iron door. She had not been allowed to attend the official viewing.

Two heavy, open Mercedes rolled into view. Out poured men in caps bearing the death's head badge, dove-grey uniforms and shiny black riding boots. Marlene recognized the pince-nez under the peaked cap leading them. Fredie stood to attention as he made his report. His uniform jacket was a little tight around the waist these days. An Iron Cross from the Great War, which he had dug up in some junk shop, was resplendent on his left breast pocket. 'Mundus vult decipi', had been his casual comment. Marlene had got Professor Raab to translate it for her. 'The world likes to be deceived.'

Showing off, the lot of them, she thought dismissively, looking at all those boots. Never ridden a horse in their lives. She saw through these men and despised them, just as she saw through and despised herself. The yew hedge split her life in two. On one side their comfortable everyday life in the house and garden. On the other, the camp, torture and death.

The pince-nez and its retinue disappeared into the bungalow. For the umpteenth time Marlene checked that everything in the kitchen and dining room was in order. In half an hour's time she expected to see her unwelcome guests at lunch.

'Heil Hitler, Reichsfiihrer. Your visit is a pleasure to me and a great honour to my house.' The words slipped smoothly past her lips. His hand was limp in hers. The eyes behind the pince-nez avoided her glance, seeking to dwell somewhere else. Why, he's scared of women. she realized in surprise.

He thanked her quietly, and turned to Fredie. 'I'm impressed, Ober- sturmbannfi hrer Neubert.' He sat down, and everyone else followed his example. They waited for the man of power to speak again. He remained silent and reached for the jug of water. Fredie tried to anticipate his wishes and pour him a glass. The result was a collision. The jug slopped over, water spilled on the most distinguished of all SS uniforms. Its wearer got some splashes on his nose and his pince-nez. He looked a little foolish.