Erich tells him then, about entering the house, about making Antonio and the others stand against the wall, about several women and several men and a baby screaming. Erich told one of the men to get the baby, while the mother begged that her child be kept alive.
Then the SS had found some maps but nothing else. They decided to shoot all but Nina and her baby. They took them in the car. If anyone had all the information, it would be the wife of one of the partisans. And if anyone was likely to give up information, it would be the mother, for the life of her baby.
But she had surprised them. She knew what was coming: a fate far worse than the bullets she had seen used on her husband and friends. And she knew that any information must die with her. But her mistake was to believe that they would not kill an innocent baby, only her. She grabbed a gun from one of the soldiers and shot herself upward through the chin before the car even got to the prison entrance. She knew it was pointless to shoot the officer driving; she was outnumbered, and her baby would most likely be killed in front of her. Nina was quick thinking and clever. Erich had admired her for that.
Erich had been in the car behind her when it happened. The first vehicle stopped, and Erich went to inspect inside. The baby was crying next to its dead mother in the arms of one of the officers. Erich hated dead ends. Everything must have an ending, good or bad, his father used to say, a completion. And with those words ringing in his ears, he had ordered the immediate death of the baby, then had its body tossed over a fence. They died, all of them, but the task that evening was not completely unsuccessful. They had hoped to find a list of other cells, but they had at least killed one of them.
Erich looks up at Stefano, who has not said a word.
“I have no mother to go home to,” says Stefano after a long pause. “I lied about that, too. She was with my sister and nephew the night you took them. My mother was still alive when your men set fire to the house.”
Erich is dreading what is coming, but it is inevitable, he sees. They have both lost their sisters and mothers, but such words are weightless now. And it is not yet over. He still has more cards to play, more information to withhold if necessary, and perhaps more that will get under his skin.
“So, you can kill me now. Shoot me in the head. You have what you want.”
And if his bluff is called, what does it matter? He is thinking about Genevieve, about Marceline. They are left to fate now. And the information that is buried, a list of safe houses, of places where other Nazis are hiding in Germany, will never be found, nor an address that Genevieve and Marceline will be at now. And his father’s designs will never fall into the hands of an enemy. They are buried, perhaps to be dug up at some point in the future when Germany is different, when the German soldiers, his father, others will be celebrated. In a way he has won. They will not get all that they want. They will not find the others who will celebrate his name. He wants it over with now.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you and Monique,” Erich says in a condescending tone. He feels some of the fight return, his power to demean. “You were in love with an idea. Monique would not have loved you. She was only in love with herself.”
Stefano laughs hoarsely, as if the sound has been trapped deeply for too long. Erich is taken aback. He has never seen him smile so widely—a smile with teeth that overlap one another, many of them, vicious.
“You know,” Stefano says, coming close, so close that Erich can feel his breath. “I dug up something interesting from the hill, something very dear to you.”
It takes Erich only a second to realize what he is saying. He is thinking about the missing body of Monique, but that is not what Stefano is talking about.
“I had watched you walk to the ridge. I had seen you open the ground, check something. I was curious, so when you weren’t there, I went to see what it was. I’m pleased to say that the contents are now in Soviet hands.”
Erich swallows. He feels the first pang of hopelessness that he has witnessed on the prisoners. He understands something about them, has a sense of what they felt. He fights to repel the feeling, to regain control. And looking at Stefano, Erich has lost, he thinks.
He is thinking of his father, of Claudine. It was why his father hanged himself. He had gone to visit Claudine at Sachsenhausen, to try to help her, to plead her case, only to learn on that final visit she was already dead.
“Was it you who found Monique’s body also?” Erich says.
“What body?”
Erich is confused. Rosalind had not witnessed him bury Monique on the hill, and Georg had lost his mind completely that night, disappearing in the woods near the river. Who could have seen, and who would have bothered taking her since? After he walked down from the hill, Rosalind was there in the house with Genevieve. She said she couldn’t look after Genevieve, couldn’t live with her. Couldn’t look at her because she was so like Monique. The child was crying, distraught. Erich did not want to take her, but there was nothing else to do. He would take her, raise her, and teach her to be like him. He hadn’t wanted her at first, but he had quickly grown an attachment. She was of his blood, after all.
“Why didn’t you kill me before today? There were plenty of chances. You had weapons.”
“I had to find out where you had hidden Vivi before I released you to the Russians.”
“And what will happen to her?” says Erich. He is not so in control now, and he knows his voice reveals this. He doesn’t like that Stefano uses the same abbreviated name Monique used for the child. It is too familiar.
“Does it really matter?”
He is cold, thinks Erich. Much colder than he could have imagined.
“So now you can shoot me!” shouts Erich.
Stefano smiles.
“Your arrogance amuses me. You will have to live with your past a little longer. The Soviets, I believe, have a few things to discuss with you.”
Erich feels nauseated at the thought of the Russians and what they might do to him.
“I shot and killed hundreds of Nazis. You, on the other hand, shot no soldiers, only ordered the execution of many. You took the coward’s way, Hitler’s way. You made others do it, then looked the other way and wiped your hands of any knowledge. The Soviets don’t look kindly on cowards.”
Erich remembers the blood. He hated the blood. Stefano is right. He never fired a weapon at anyone.
“Do what you want,” says Erich. “But make sure that Genevieve is looked after, is sent to a good German home.”
“No one can replace her mother, the person who loved Vivi most. A woman of courage who did not deserve a coward like you.”
Erich’s head is buzzing with memories. Confused, the war nearly over, still so much to do. He remembers the name Stefano, not uncommon, in a file somewhere, another interrogation. Stefano, Teresa Della Bosca’s brother, and a name that was unimportant at the time. He feels a weight pressing against his chest, the air around him thinning. He is remembering the last letter written by Monique, where she talks of him, a man she was falling in love with. Cold tentacles of terror spread across the back of his neck. He should have seen this. Cosimo. Stefano. The same!
“You are Cosimo!”
“And you are finished.”
Stefano picks up the gun and slams it into Erich’s temple.
CHAPTER 31
ROSALIND
“I thought you had left me,” says Rosalind.
Monique ponders the statement.
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you had died.”
Monique looks away.
“Part of me did.”
Rosalind follows Monique’s gaze across the darkening river toward a violet horizon.
“You didn’t tell me that Erich came back,” says Monique. “Why didn’t you warn me he was close?”