“It is hard when the person in charge has no allegiance to his people.”
“Mussolini. A madman, yes? Better without him, yes?” And Erich smiles again, disarming him.
“Un pazzo we called him, yes! But not the only madman.”
Erich says nothing. His feelings toward his former führer are mixed. One cannot suddenly dismiss a loyalty that has been bred, then fed and nurtured until it has become part of one’s blood.
“What does it matter, North, South? No matter,” says Erich. “There are no sides anymore.”
There is a release of tension between them. Minor, but something. Erich can’t explain why, but he feels relief, though he knows, or senses, that at no time did he feel threatened by Stefano. He always had the gift of knowing who might harm him. He was trained to sense it, to assess an enemy, but the gift is not only from training. It is his belief that he was born with an instinct.
“Will it be safe for you there? It is still dangerous from what I’ve heard. There are still people left to hang, people who did not support the Allies.”
“I know that some resistance members are still calling for blood, but the fascists are gaining support again,” says Stefano, “and I know a cardinal who will get me safely down south, if I run into any trouble. He has secretly passed Germans through also, some to Africa and across to South America. I will seek his help if I need it.”
“Where did you hear about this cardinal?”
“When I was in the hospital, I spoke to some Germans who were there at the end. Some who were caught spoke of those who weren’t. They said the Italian partisans, and others who fought the North, will not touch the churches. It is what he believes. It is what I believe, too.”
Stefano has answered without blinking, without the look of someone who has forced a response. This information excites Erich, and while his face remains placid, a heady mixture of thoughts and feelings swirls and rises from deep within him. The stranger’s arrival is an omen perhaps, though he has never believed in such. Plans are what he needs, and people to advance these. The Italian could be the plan he has been looking for and a gift that has landed here by means he can’t explain.
“I would like to help you,” continues Erich, “especially as a thank-you for supporting the North.”
“I’ve done nothing you can thank me for,” says Stefano, some bitterness in his tone.
“I can drive you to Dresden, to the train, and the boy to the camp. It will save you some time and help your leg.” Erich has noticed the limp.
“But the Russians . . . Aren’t you afraid they will steal your car?”
“I know the roads they don’t travel and the times they do. I can get you there and back without them ever knowing.”
Stefano pauses, examines his hands. “Why would you do that for me?”
“Why would I not do that?” Erich shrugs, unperturbed by the question. “It is better to move on. It will accomplish more. Look at it as a fellow soldier helping another.”
Stefano is studying him, warily, attempting to search for truth in his words, and the reasons behind them.
“I offer a house, a car, and friendship, with no catch. You have nothing to fear from me. I can also give you food. The boy is very thin. I can get you good food.”
Stefano scratches the back of his head with the hand that has the bandage. He looks at the boy, and Erich can tell that the boy is now a problem for him, now a consideration. He does not have the freedom of a single man while he carries the weight of a dead woman’s child.
1933
The midday heat weighed heavily on Erich’s back, but he liked the feeling of sun through his thick shirt. He lined the rabbit up and pulled the rifle’s trigger, but the bullet missed, and the creature disappeared into the thick grasses. He cursed. He could only curse if his mother wasn’t within earshot. He was thirteen and heard other boys say such words. He was hoping to take a rabbit home for dinner. Killing the rabbit would also make his father proud. Erich liked the responsibility of taking care of things around the home, in his father’s absence.
Horst Steiner, his father, was working more and more away from home. Sometimes when Erich woke in the mornings, his father would be gone, and he would not see him for days, sometimes weeks. His father was meeting important people in Berlin, his mother had told him. He was working in support of the National Socialists in their military department, as a consultant on the designs being proposed for war machines.
Erich’s father, an engineer, had established an equipment-repair business for farms and factories, while designing modifications to existing farming machinery and motor vehicles in his spare time. Horst had seen his parents lose their farming business during the economic decline of the first war and their financial struggles following, and he believed that he would prosper under Hitler, who promised to bring the country back from the gloom.
That day, Erich was disappointed that he didn’t come back with any rabbits. His mother was large in the belly. He had another sibling on the way. The new baby would make his third sibling, all younger. He was in charge of the others, said his mother. He did a good job, she said. Though he could not control one of them. His sister, the second, the only daughter, was more troubled. She would wander around the property aimlessly in the rain and return with clothes covered in grass and mud, and injure herself often, and one time she cut her hair off with sewing scissors. Despite all this, Erich liked her best because she was different from him, and because she wasn’t afraid of living. She was brave and wanted to be a soldier, though even if she could join, he did not think she would be good at it. She was not a good listener, not like him. She did not like taking orders at all.
His mother wasn’t as disappointed about the rabbit because she’d just received a telegram that sat open on the table.
“Is that from Vati?” Erich asked.
“Yes, he has sent some good news. Adolf Hitler has won. His party will now run Germany unchallenged.”
“Why is that good, Mutti?”
“Because he will help the people who are struggling to put food on their tables. He will put a stop to foreigners living here and taking our jobs. And he will protect us from those who seek to feud with Germany.”
The information his mother provided was interesting, but it was not important to Erich at the time. His mission had been to shoot rabbits.
“When is Vati coming home?”
“Soon. Can you bring in some wood?”
When he woke the next morning, his father was just arriving, horn blazing as he came up the long drive. He had a new car then. Shining, black. He was earning money from the party.
Horst walked in and hugged his wife and patted Erich on the head. Erich loved the way he touched his head. Horst then picked up Erich’s brother and sister. He always brought things back from Berlin. He gave Claudine a little painted bear figurine.
That day, Erich stayed in the fields until he killed two rabbits and brought them home. After that he rarely missed with his rifle.
Present-day 1945
Erich has asked Stefano for his map, which he reluctantly withdraws from his bag and spreads out on the table. The German points to the location of the train station marked on the map and advises the time it will take to drive there.
“I can take you,” he says. “Save you the walk. The tracks were destroyed, but they have repaired the worst of it to send people out of Germany. It leaves every few days. The next time is Friday.”