Erich had already spoken to his father about it. His father had confided in him that the führer had a magnificent plan to re-create the country, to make it stronger, to make Germany more powerful. But that was all he had told him. There was much that his father was doing that wasn’t spoken about.
On the way to the Reichstag, they heard shouting and saw a fire blazing ahead. As they drew closer, they saw that the windows of a bookshop had been smashed, and the books inside had been set ablaze. Erich held his sister’s hand and told her to stay close. Several police had arrived on the scene already, standing beside their cars to watch.
“What is happening?” asked his sister. Erich knew the reason for the destruction. He could see more shopwindows broken nearby. It was another of the violent protests against the Jews and their businesses, which happened regularly.
“It is a riot against the government,” he told her instead.
“But the bookshop is burning down! It is not against the government. It is against the bookshop owners!”
“Let’s go.”
“No! I like that bookshop. Papa bought me a book there once. And the police aren’t doing anything to put the fire out. We have to go and get Papa! We have to help them!”
“No, Claud! It is too dangerous. We must go home.”
He dragged his sister away and home, and she ran excitedly into the house to relate the events to her mother.
“Go get ready for bed,” said Nene. “I will talk to your father as soon as he gets home.”
Erich stayed in the kitchen with his mother.
“It is getting worse,” she said. “It is just a matter of time before they have to do something permanently.”
“What is going to happen, Mama?”
“I think the government will have to take even stricter measures. We have to be tougher with their kind. We have to find them a place where they can live safely. And keep our people safe from them as well.”
Erich was not sure what to think. He trusted his mother, but he also needed his father’s words to verify what she said. Only then could he form an opinion. His father was right about most matters of state. After all, he had the ear of the parties that made decisions. He had sat in Hitler’s office, presented his work, offered advice.
His father came home. He had also passed the bookshop and seen the destruction. But he knew about it before he even left the Reichstag.
“What will happen, Papa?”
“It is not up to me, Erich. It is up to certain members of the government to stop this from happening. They will stop the violence, but they will also find a way to keep these people separate. Any troublemakers will be sent away.”
“The Jews you mean?” said his sister, appearing in the doorway.
“Yes, of course.”
“From what I could see, they weren’t the ones that started it,” said Claudine.
“They started it long before now,” said their mother, the baby finally rocked to sleep in her arms. “It is just that you aren’t old enough to see it.”
His sister stood a moment, arms crossed, pouting, then turned away. She was too young to understand at that point. Erich had determined early that his sister would never be a follower, and would be hard to conform, but he could not have foreseen that this minor opposition would be the beginning of her decline. Later, when he looked back, he felt that his parents had failed to see clearly the principles his sister was missing. If they had only seen this back then, had kept a closer eye on her, then perhaps their family would have stayed together, perhaps even his father would still be alive.
Present-day 1945
When Erich returns from the ridge, Stefano has risen, though there is swelling below his eyes from a bad sleep. His hair is combed, but there is still a wrecked look about him that camp survivors do best, a closed expression, a sagging of the shoulders. His skin is damp and glistens with tiny beads of sweat.
“I hope you don’t mind. I decided to make some of the coffee you found.”
“Of course,” Erich says. “Is the boy still sleeping?”
“Yes.”
Erich notices that Stefano is favoring his injured leg when he moves to sit down. “How did you hurt your leg?” he asks.
“It was at the end of the war. Your friends marched us from the camp when they feared the enemy was nearing, then shot me when I tried to break away from the group.”
Erich wonders at first if it is Stefano’s attempt to instill shame, but his expression appears open and honest. There seems no shadow of blame, not toward him anyway.
Through the window, he can see Rosalind walking toward the barn. After his words the night before, he doesn’t think she will come here. Georg must stay away, too. He wants to warn Stefano again of Rosalind and Georg, but it will sound too contrived, and he doesn’t want any questions about relationships that will test his ability to shade the truth.
He brings out the linen bag that holds the food and retrieves the pie.
“Tell me, Stefano, what did you do before the war?”
“I studied languages, German, French, and English. I planned to travel. And you?”
“Engineering. We were different, yes? Before the war. And more alike then, too, perhaps.”
Stefano says nothing. He gives nothing away. Erich imagines he may have been hard to break in an interrogation room, and loyal to his associates.
Erich cuts three small pieces of pie.
“Please eat,” Erich says. “One piece for each of us. I will take mine with me. I’m running late.”
“Are you working all day?”
“Yes, till quite late,” he says, standing to leave. “Good day!”
Erich walks from the door to the track that leads south toward the town. He is relieved to be out of Stefano’s sight and to have time now to think. There is something about the foreigner that confuses him, something he cannot yet put words to.
CHAPTER 14
ROSALIND
From her window, Rosalind watches Erich walk toward town, toward a nonexistent job. He has plans, another life, which is why she is curious about his interest in Stefano, why he comes back. Erich hates it here. There is something he hasn’t told her. A year ago Erich would have had Stefano imprisoned, or worse. The previous night Erich had reminded her of things, of her obligations, of a past that she wants to erase. He also told her to keep away from Stefano. But she will do what she wants. She will not be eternally bound. He owes her, too.
As she walks toward the gate, only one of the geese waddles to meet her. She checks the other, tries to examine her leg, but the injured goose is offended by Rosalind’s needling hand and takes a peck.
“No!” says Rosalind. “I am trying to help you!”
The goose stands, hisses, and fluffs out her feathers, walks a short way and perches on the ground, as if the effort of walking were too much. Rosalind can see that the leg is bent, likely snapped, and unlikely to heal. She scatters the grain in front of her, and the bird forgets her ailment and pecks hungrily.
“You still have your appetite at least.”
She then picks up two pails to carry river water for the man-made pond. Monique used to love the job of fetching water for the geese. Any excuse to be gone from the house. Sometimes it would be a long time before she returned, especially if she decided to lie on the platform to catch the morning sun. She shivers. She does not like to imagine Monique lying anywhere.
When she turns to leave the pen, Stefano is there at the fence, watching her. She feels awkward under scrutiny. She is not good with most people, especially those she cannot help. The sick do not focus on her, rather on themselves, their pain. They are easier to deal with. The things they demand are the things she can give.
“Hello again,” he says.
“Do you have some advice about an injured goose, too?”
He looks down, and she sees that his lips are now pressed in a line, perhaps amused.
“No. I have had nothing to do with injured geese. Dogs, people, and languages. Not geese.”
He is lighter today. He is also careful with the words and works hard to sound them correctly.
“Where is the boy?”
“He is still asleep.”
“He is exhausted, yes?”
“Yes. It is probably the first real sleep he has had in a long time.”
“You saw his mother. Was she young?”