“I’m fine standing up. The ground’s muddy.”
“But you’ve got to sit down so the guard knows we’re only talking and doesn’t suspect us of plotting something close to the fence.”
Alice sits down and in the process, her skirt rides up and her underwear—miraculously white in the midst of all the mud—is briefly exposed. Rudi feels an electric current run through his body.
“How’s everything going?” asks Alice.
“Now that I’m looking at you, everything’s fine.”
Alice blushes, but smiles with satisfaction.
“I’ve got the pencils.”
She doesn’t seem surprised, and that leaves Rudi feeling a little disappointed. He was hoping the pencils would have a dramatic effect. The girl must have no idea how difficult it is to do deals inside the camp, and the risk he’s had to take with an SS guard in order to get them.
Rudi doesn’t know about women. Alice really is impressed, as he’d realize if he looked into her eyes. But men always expect to be told everything.
“And how are you going to get the pencils into our camp? A delivery service?”
“You can’t trust anyone at the moment.”
“So?”
“You’ll see.”
Rudi has been watching the soldier in the guard tower out of the corner of his eye. He’s quite a way off, and Rudi can make out only the outline of a small portion of his upper body and head. But since the guard’s gun is slung over his shoulder, Rudi can tell when he’s facing toward them and when his back is turned: The tip of the gun sticking up above his right shoulder points away from the camp when he’s facing them and toward the camp when he has his back to them. Thanks to this makeshift compass, Rudi has worked out that the guard swivels at a lazy pace. When he sees the muzzle rotate toward him, Rudi takes a few bold steps up to the fence. Alice covers her mouth with her hand, terrified.
“Quick, come closer!”
Rudi removes the two bundles of pencils, each firmly tied together with string, from his pocket and, holding them with the tips of his fingers, carefully passes them through the gaps in the electrified wire fence. Alice rushes to pick them up from the ground. She’s never been so close to the fence with its thousands of volts. The two of them step back a few meters just as Rudi sees the muzzle start to swing away and the guard turns to face them.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” Alice asks him, her heart still thumping loudly inside her chest. “I would have prepared myself!”
“It’s better not to prepare for some things. Sometimes you have to act impulsively.”
“I’ll give Mr. Hirsch the pencils. We’re really grateful.”
“We should go now.…”
“Yes.”
“Alice…”
“What?”
“I’d like to see you again.”
Alice’s smile means so much more than words.
“Same time, same place, tomorrow?” he asks her.
She agrees and begins to walk toward the Lagerstrasse of her camp. Rudi waves good-bye, and Alice blows him a kiss from her chapped lips. It flies over the top of the barbed wire fence, and Rudi catches it midair. It never occurred to him before that such a simple gesture could make him so happy.
*
There is someone else this morning whose head is spinning. Dita is attuned to every gesture, every raised eyebrow and clenched jaw. She wants to find out the truth that words don’t reveal. Suspicion is like an itch that is barely felt at the start. But when you become aware of it, you can’t stop scratching.
Life doesn’t stop, however, and Dita doesn’t want anyone to notice that she’s worried. So, first thing in the morning, she’s already on duty in her library, sitting on a bench with her shoulder propped up against the air intake of the chimney. The books are defiantly displayed on a long bench in front of her. Seppl Lichtenstern has provided her with one of the assistants to help her control the movement of the books during the hourly book exchange, and on this particular morning, there’s a young boy with pale skin sitting beside her so quietly that he’s yet to open his mouth.
The first person to come by is a young teacher who’s in charge of a group of boys nearby. He greets her with a silent nod. She’s heard he’s a Communist, that he’s very educated, and even speaks English. She studies his gestures to work out if he can be trusted, but in the end, she doesn’t know what to think. She does notice a sparkle of intelligence under his studied indifference. He casts an eye over the books, and when he comes across the one by H. G. Wells, he nods, as if in approval. Then he pauses over Freud’s book of theories and shakes his head disapprovingly. Dita watches him closely, almost frightened by what he’s going to say.
Finally, after a moment’s thought, he says, “If H. G. Wells were to find out that he’s next to Sigmund Freud, he’d be angry with you.”
Dita stares at him wide-eyed and blushes.
“I don’t understand—”
“Don’t pay any attention to me. It’s just that it shocks me to see a socialist rationalist like Wells together with a fantasy salesman like Freud.”
“Freud writes fantastical tales?”
“Absolutely not. Freud was an Austrian psychiatrist from Moravia and a Jew. He used to examine what people had inside their heads.”
“And what did he see?”
“According to him, too many things. In his books, he explains that the mind is a storeroom where memories languish and send people mad. He came up with a way of curing mental illnesses: The patient would lie down on a couch, and Freud would make him talk until he’d exhausted the last of his memories. In this way, Freud probed the patient’s most hidden thoughts. He called it psychoanalysis.”
“What happened to him?”
“He became famous. That saved his skin in Vienna in 1938. Some Nazis went into his consulting rooms, destroyed everything, and left with two thousand Reichsmarks. When Freud found out, he remarked that he had never charged that much for a consultation. Freud knew a lot of influential people outside Austria, but even so, the Nazis didn’t allow him to leave the country and go to London with his wife and daughter until he’d signed a piece of paper where he stated that the Nazi authorities had treated him really well and life in Vienna under the Third Reich was wonderful. He asked if he could add something to the end of the document because he felt the Germans had sold themselves short. Then he wrote, I strongly recommend the Gestapo to everybody. The Nazis were delighted.”
“They just don’t get the Jewish sense of humor.”
“As far as the Germans are concerned, humor means tickling your toes.”
“And when he reached England?”
“Freud died the following year, in 1939. He was already very old and sick.” The young teacher picks up the book by Freud and leafs through it. “Freud’s books were among the first to be burned on Hitler’s orders in 1933. This book is pure danger. It’s not only a clandestine book—it’s banned as well.”
Dita feels a slight shiver and decides to change the topic.
“And who was H. G. Wells?”
“He was a freethinker and a socialist. But above all, he was a great novelist. Have you heard of The Invisible Man?”