“As long as the strike does, general.”
Outside, von Schilling is red in the face. I’ve never seen him truly angry. I wonder what he’ll do. “Do you know how many strikes there have been in the last year?”
I don’t bother to guess because I know he’ll tell me.
“A hundred. Farmers, drivers, butchers—everyone thinks they have rights! Tell me, what rights do men think they have in war?”
I realize that I like him less and less each day. Maybe it’s the war. Or maybe this is who he’s been all along.
“We’re going to the Hotel Adlon,” he says.
In the chandeliered dining room of Adlon, of course, there’s bread, and a great many other things as well. We’re seated at the best table, and while women go from shop to shop outside, looking for meat and bread and milk, all around us are the merry sounds of wealthy people eating. Nothing is in short supply here. The men are wearing only the finest coats. The women’s shoulders are trimmed in fur. I’m underdressed for the occasion, but what does it matter? If there are food shortages in Berlin, on the same morning the kaiser has firmly declared God to be on the side of the Germans, then what’s happening in The Netherlands? Does Non have enough to eat? Is Rudolph providing for her?
“You’re distant,” the general says.
I don’t disagree. I don’t smile prettily or try to change the subject. “The shortages worry me.”
“You’ll never want for anything,” he promises.
I want to believe him, but I can’t. I don’t.
“You know that I’ll be leaving soon,” he says.
“Yes.” I’ve been expecting it.
“Then enjoy this meal. It may be our last together.”
*
The general takes my hands in his and kisses them. “I want you to take care of yourself.” He hands me a folded piece of paper and a check. I see the money first and he explains. “For your expenses while I’m gone.”
For a hard man, he’s been very, very generous to me. I glance at the paper and see Elsbeth Schragmuller’s address.
“Those who train here will never be acknowledged,” he says quietly. “But they will be paid great sums of money for their talents.”
I tuck the piece of paper into my purse. What sort of spy does he believe I’d make? The entire world knows my name and recognizes my face! I ride with him to the train station in Friedrichstrasse, then stand on the platform and wave him farewell. He has assured me that this war will only last a month, but there are wives standing next to me with their children, weeping into their handkerchiefs.
A week passes, then another, and the theaters are shut down. Newspapers begin printing stories about spies. The kind of articles Bowtie specialized in are gone; there are no pretty photos of actresses and bracing shots of sports players. Everything is BEWARE OF YOUR NEIGHBOR and TWO MEN CAUGHT SPYING ON ARMY MANEUVERS IN BERLIN.
I notice a copy of the Times of London, and pick it up. ATROCITIES IN BELGIUM AND OUTRAGES ON WOMEN AND NON-COMBATANTS catches my eye. I read the article:
The Press Bureau issued yesterday afternoon a translation of the second report of the Belgian Commission of Inquiry on the Violation of the Rights of Nations and of the Laws and Customs of War. The report, which was communicated by the Belgian Legation on September 11, is as follows:—
Antwerp, August 31, 1914.
To Monsieur Carton De Wiart,
Minister of Justice.
Sir,
The Commission of Inquiry have the honour to make the following report on acts of which the town of Louvain, the neighbourhood, and the district of Malines have been the scene:—
The German army entered Louvain on Wednesday, August 19, after having burnt down the villages through which it had passed.
As soon as they had entered the town of Louvain the Germans requisitioned food and lodging for their troops. They went to all the banks of the town and took possession of the cash in hand. German soldiers burst open the doors of houses which had been abandoned by their inhabitants, pillaged them, and committed other excesses.
The German authorities took as hostages the Mayor of the City, Senator Van der Kelen, the Vice-Rector of the Catholic University, and the Senior Priest of the city, besides certain magistrates and aldermen. All the weapons possessed by the inhabitants, even fencing swords, had already been given up to the municipal authorities, and placed by them in the Church of Saint Pierre.