“Not me personally, but I know of others. It is why Rosalind hides away down here. She cannot leave him alone, yet she cannot take him away either. And she doesn’t want my help.”
Stefano’s dark eyes lock on Erich. There is something in them that looks unhinged, yet at the same time there is emptiness, and longing. He is a contradiction in the way he looks both dangerous and harmless. But it is the grilling, the scrutiny that Erich realizes is happening. Stefano is using the same techniques as he did. The questioning, the waiting, the assessment of lies seem practiced for an Italian soldier who did not want any part in war. It is hard to know whether it is curiosity or probing with some kind of purpose.
And Erich is just as curious. He has not found company so intriguing. There are things he wants to ask him, that Stefano may have seen and witnessed, perhaps different from himself, yet just as brutal. Erich feels himself weakening. Some of the desire to control things, to be in control, is leaving him.
They sit at the table, and Stefano reveals some things with the whiskey. He reveals his feelings toward his enemy, his fear of early mornings because he didn’t know what the day would bring.
Finally, he is what Erich expected, someone talkative, and someone with feelings, but strangely enough these characteristics that make one vulnerable are not disappointing to Erich. Not anymore.
“Rosalind appears to have control of him,” says Stefano, bringing the conversation back to Georg. “He seems to do whatever she wants.”
“Don’t rely on that. She gives him something to sleep on the days she goes to the markets. But you must know that he is an addict.”
1940–1941
Erich had been withdrawn from university and stood in front of his father, who inspected the party uniform with which his son had just been fitted. It was not an engineering degree that was needed but able, young, and loyal men, his father had been instructed to tell him. Erich was disappointed that he could not follow his father into the private drawing rooms of the führer, and into secret talks about weaponry.
His father had helped design a tank that moved and turned easily. It cannoned high-explosive shells at a range far better than its predecessors, and the engine had been upgraded. But it had a major weakness: it could not yet penetrate the heavy armor of British tanks, and after a battle in France, his father was back, consulting with design engineers.
Erich had hoped that he would eventually be part of this engineering quest, but his first commission was to be part of Hitler’s protection squad in Berlin. Erich was given a task that did not put him in great danger. When Erich had asked if he would be sent out in the field, his father had been slow to respond.
“It takes more than rifle skills and a sense of duty to be a good soldier, but, regardless, the führer does not wish it so.”
It would be years before Erich would understand the undervaluing his father had just placed on him, so enamored was he by the fact the führer had assigned the task and proud to swear his oath of allegiance. But it was an unusual posting, considering he’d had no training in this area that had nothing at all to do with engineering. He asked his father if he would be under any further supervision.
“I do not think anyone needs training in such areas.” He sounded condescending, though Erich had been taught never to question his parents. He was a good and loyal son. He would look after his mother if he had to. “It was my original wish that you work alongside me in the ministry since you have the same mechanical interests and an aptitude for such. I recommended a role for you there, but the idea was rejected. They do not have the time for me to mentor you. And they do not need any more engineers. They have enough contracted for now. I don’t make the orders, unfortunately.”
Erich was relieved at least that his father had tried. No doubt there would be other positions coming up in the future, and more across Europe once the war was won.
“You will be briefed by someone when you report tomorrow. You are needed to interview and arrest anyone who preaches against the government, including clerics. And you must help organize the transportation of Jews from the city and find those in hiding. You must hunt down all those troublemakers.”
Was that sarcasm in his father’s voice? His father always spoke gently, but there was something strained, almost stinging, about the tone.
“You will be deciding where to send people who no longer belong here. After an arrest, you will interrogate thoroughly to learn of networks, especially if they are deemed to be political enemies or involved in distributing material that promotes dissent. You will need to gauge who is fit for labor and who isn’t. Then later if you prove yourself well in this position, you may see a promotion that involves a foreign posting.”
Standing in front of his father, Erich wondered at his father’s frown and the sweat that fell down the sides of his face. Horst had a quiet manner and a brilliant mind. Erich wanted so much to be like him. Wanted him to be proud. So why didn’t he look proud on this day?
Erich began his first instruction and learned on the job. He also learned that he had a talent for weeding out liars, for spotting the holes in the stories that were spun. And as time went on, his role deepened. Interrogations sometimes led to executions. In one particular instance, he arrested and interrogated a group of university students for subversion. They were later hanged.
And as the role had deepened, his father had noticed the change, had commented on it. Had seen others change in the office where he worked. Had seen superiority and the sense of German entitlement spread like a virus, especially among the young. Horst did not like that his son was in the same group as men that had been recruited from prisons.
Horst suggested to Erich that he should have some free time also. Spend time with friends from university or a girl. But Erich was not interested. Georg was the only one who was interesting, who made stimulating conversation. But with him now in the field, Erich did not feel the need to make other friends. He did not want the distraction of immersing himself in other people’s lives. And now that he was finding a liking for the job, he felt a sense of duty to those around him, to lead them, to show them what loyalty looked like. And he was enjoying the praise of his senior officers who suggested, after he’d spent several weeks in the position, that he was destined for something greater. Yet his father’s praise, the praise he wanted most, remained the most elusive, and, as time wore on, his father stopped asking about his work altogether.
He took the advice and called on a girl he’d met at university. He took her out to dinner, but the effort was too great. The work involved too much conversation, and the lack of political talk was dull. And the girl looked faded and uninteresting against his real purpose: the tasks he was assigned. He knew there was pressure there, from his mother also, to marry, to procreate, to have a German girl with him once he’d been sent to a foreign place. A woman who would carry the burden of domesticity without complaint, who would make sure his uniforms were clean, his meals cooked. He did not, however, need someone to take care of him. Though he had already accepted it was unlikely he would find someone like his mother, someone strong, loyal, and intellectual.