Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

Marlene spluttered. The company around the table froze. Fredie turned pale. The end of his career hovered before him. Then the man on the receiving end of the water mopped his nose and his pince-nez with his napkin — and laughed, at first soundlessly, then with a kind of bleat. There was general relief. Fredie breathed again. The cup, or rather the jug, had passed him by.

The bleat of laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Marlene served the one-pot dish. The quiet voice continued. 'I am impressed by what I've seen. Operation Needle and Thread will be a great success. And its guiding hand deserves commendation. The prisoner has hardly any Semitic characteristics. Very likely most of his ancestors were Aryan. which would explain his outstanding abilities. I would like the man to continue his work with your full support, and to lack for nothing.'

'Perhaps he could be given leave from imprisonment, and the laboratory might continue its work outside the camp as an SS research institute, under his direction,' Noack suggested.

'Oh no, the requirement for secrecy and security rules out any such thing, Dr Noack. That's why the prisoner must be eliminated at the end of the operation. Your chicken one-pot dish is delicious, Frau Neubert.'

And I hope the chicken bones stick in your throat and bloody choke you, you bastard, she thought. 'How very kind of you, Reichsfi hrer,' she replied.

That evening, Fredie was lounging comfortably in breeches and check slippers on the couch. He was pleased. 'That went splendidly. Come here, darling.' He pushed up her dress and took her panties down. She hadn't the strength to resist, but she paid attention to what was going on inside her, unable to believe it. The hated orgasm didn't come. She felt nothing. A sense of triumph took hold. The spell that had lasted so many years was broken.

In the morning she woke with a start. Something was wrong. There was no familiar aroma of coffee and clatter of china in the kitchen. Of course. Jana wasn't there. Marlene quickly showered and dressed. She must get the girl back into the house before any cruel ideas occurred to the appalling Frau Werner. She hurried past the office and infirmary buildings, and passed through the gate in the barbed-wire fence and into the camp itself. 'Find me Jana,' she told an old woman outside the gypsy hut.

The woman gave her a strange look. 'Jana not here.'

'Where is she?'

'Here, no dawdling around.' Oberscharftihrer Schafer pushed the woman back into the hut with his stick. 'Heil Hitler, Frau Neubert. What an unusual honour! I'm just doing my rounds, can I help you in any way?'

'I'm looking for my housemaid.'

'Jana, is that right? I've no idea where she is:

'Is with doctor,' the old woman hissed through the door.

All was quiet in the infirmary. Marlene went into the first room. The surgical instruments glittered in their glass-fronted cupboards, just as they had on her first visit. 'Is anyone there?'

The swing door to the next room moved slightly in a draught. Marlene pushed it open. Invisible, giant hands clutched at her chest and constricted it. The sight was so unimaginable that her brain refused to take it in.

Five human heads stood on a shelf. Jana's was second from the left. Marlene came closer. 'Jana…' she whispered. She touched the cold cheeks, tenderly stroked the short hair, looked into the black gypsy eyes that had been so beautiful only a little while ago. Now they were a clouded, milky blue.

An interesting series of experiments. I am injecting organic pigments.' Dr Engel took the girl's head off the shelf. 'I use healthy young specimens. Frau Werner is a great help to me in selecting them. I shall soon be in a posi tion to change the dark iris so foreign to our race into a Nordic blue. Aren't you feeling well? Wait a minute. I'll get you a glass of water.'

'No, thank you,' she heard herself say.

'Then I'll take my lunch break. They have knuckle of veal in the canteen today.'

Marlene felt nothing, didn't know who or where she was. Everything seemed to be extinguished. She slowly came back to her senses as cold water rushed down on her, and found that she was crouching fully dressed under the shower in her bathroom, screaming like an animal. The lash of the cold water forced her back into the present. She stripped off her wet clothes, dried herself and dressed. Then she searched in the wardrobe until she found what she was looking for. She took a spade from the garden shed.

She met no one on the way to the infirmary. She took the head off the shelf and wrapped it in Grandmother Mine's white lace scarf. She dug a hole in the rose bed outside the door and laid the head in it. 'Pretty roses,' she could hear Jana's voice saying as she levelled off the little grave.

'Sleep well, my dear,' she said huskily.

It was more than most people could have come to terms with, but Marlene was tough, a child of Riibenstrasse. Her grief and horror gave way to cold fury. 'If this gets out,' she told her husband, 'you'll all be for it — you, Engel, Noack, all the others. Not forgetting Reichswhatsit Himmler. And you know something? I'll be laughing while I bloody watch them hang you all.'

Fredie kept calm. 'Take it easy, darling. I can understand you're angry, stranded without a maid.' He fetched himself a beer from the kitchen. 'You should be glad Dr Engel isn't putting in an official complaint for the sabotage of a series of experiments conducted under the auspices of the Racial Hygiene Research Institute. Well, never mind that. A good, strong seventeen-year-old girl came with this morning's transport of Jews. Take a look at her and see if you think she could do the housework.'

'I'm going to Berlin to do some shopping. Has my lord and master any objection?'

'Get me a bottle of Petrol Hahn from the Kaufhaus des Westens, would you?'

She bought his hair lotion, and some underwear for herself. It was a pretext. Her aim was to see Frank Saunders. The monstrous discovery she had made must reach the public.

The New York Herald Tribune office was in Friedrichstrasse. A peroxideblonde secretary was hammering away on an Underwood. her fingernails painted red, a cigarette between her heavily made-up lips. She acted very American. 'How can I help you?'

You can speak German to me. Fraulein. I want to see Mr Saunders.'

Evidently insulted, the blonde ignored her remark and continued in English. 'Mr Saunders is now in our Paris office. Mr Wilkins will be back in half an hour. Would you like to speak to him?' Marlene would not like to speak to Mr Wilkins. He didn't know her and wouldn't believe a word she said. In fact no one's going to believe you, my girl, she told herself.

Carefree people in summer clothes sat in the terrace of the Cafe Vienna on the Kurfiirstendamm. A couple of good-looking young officers were flirting with their girlfriends. A paper boy was shouting out the headlines of the BZ am Mittag. German paratroopers had expelled the Allied forces from the island of Crete.

There you sit, eating ice cream while they're cutting people's heads off in Blumenau, she thought grimly. Something had to be done. She just didn't know what. She was helpless, a prisoner herself, although one who could move about freely.

She spent the night at the Pension Wolke, where the windows were blacked out with cardboard and drawing pins in case of air raids. Frau Wolke remembered her. 'You spent a few days with us here.' No, the landlady didn't know what had become of Fraulein von Aichborn. 'Probably married a posh fellow, a count or something.'

Once she got home, the first thing Marlene did was pick up the field telephone to tell Fredie she was back. She was surprised to hear voices, and then remembered that there was something wrong with the line. She had forgotten to mention it to Fredie.