In the Claws of the Eagle (21 page)

The disipline and the training had suited him; he was hailed as the model recruit, a man of steel when it came to route marches and assault courses. He was top of his class at the bookwork as well, but he glossed over that; for all their Aryan looks, his fellow recruits had not been the brightest.

He had been able forget his father’s blue face and heart attacks, and his mother’s strange disturbing pictures – degenerate art – as he knew now, with that Jew, Solomons, around her all the time. Grandpa Veit had had been right about that. In the SS it had been a relief not to have to think, but to follow orders, and to ride on the crest of the Nazi wave. Last night’s meeting with Klaus and his old SS colleagues had brought it all back. Talking to that girl’s picture just showed how far he had slipped; it was time to give her up. He paid his bill, forgot his change, crossed the Rue de Rivoli via the Metro underpass, and climbed the steps to the Jeu de Paume two at a time. He then spent the day tidying up until all he had on his desk was a blotter and a tray of pencils. The Führer stared down on him with intense blue eyes.

Élaine Colville came in. ‘Erich, mon cher, you have
something
on your mind? You forgot your change.’ She put the coins on the table, then sat on the edge of his desk, and fiddled with his pencils. Normally he would have enjoyed her
company
; she would ask questions about his work and didn’t object if he put an arm about her waist while he explained. She asked endless questions about the odd collection of experts that worked in the gallery during the day. ‘They are all pigs!’
she would say irreverently, and then give him a pat on the cheek before slipping away.

‘I’ve a letter to write, Elaine.’

‘Is she beautiful?’

‘What? Oh no, it’s a business letter.’

‘Then I will go. But just in case you are lying to me, I will turn my little Dutch friend around so that she can keep an eye on you.’ To Erich’s astonishment she got up and turned
Louise’s
portrait face out.

‘How did you find out about her?’ he asked, but Elaine just laughed and said, ‘Erich, I know everything!’

He turned the key in the door, pulled out a sheet of paper, filled his fountain pen with special ink, flexed his fingers and looked at the ceiling. He would normally communicate with General von Brugen in code, but invisible ink was allowed in an emergency; he felt that offering his resignation did
constitute
an emergency. He was still looking at the ceiling when he realised that he was not alone. He lowered his eyes slowly and found himself looking into the level gaze of the girl in the green dress. So it hadn’t been a dream.

‘
Guten Abend,
’ he said as politely as he could.

Louise noticed the change in Erich’s manner. His acceptance of her, and a gaze as level as her own, was disconcerting and she found herself apologising.

‘Excuse me, I hope I’m not intruding.’

‘On the contrary, I think I was expecting you. Let me,
however
, say straight away that, whatever you have to say to me, you are wasting your time.’

‘But I haven’t said a word?’

‘But you were going to. So, let me tell you first that I have taken my decision. I am going to join the Waffen SS. The
situation
in the world is changing. Our forces are struggling on the Eastern Front against the Russians, and there have been
setbacks
in North Africa. In time we must expect the British to try to invade. I have a duty to fight for my country.’

‘And I suppose this was Klaus’s idea?’

‘Not just Klaus; the members of the Waffen SS – the men who are actually doing the fighting – who I met last night.’ Louise felt a surge of anger. Damn all wars! she thought. First Gaston, and now Erich. She looked at him with disappointment.

‘But you can contribu–’

‘No! I don’t want any more interference from you. I am sitting here to write my resignation from the Art Administration Organisation and at the same time volunteer for the Waffen SS. My country needs me, not all this bloody art. And there is nothing you can do to stop me. You have influenced me far too much already!’

‘Influenced by me? How can you say that?’

‘You have been influencing me ever since I first saw you on Abrahams’s wall, I realise that now. Klaus opened my eyes to you. Oh, it’s stupid I know; just some
look
that an artist a few hundred years ago captured in paint that had me besotted. If it hadn’t been for you, maybe it wouldn’t have occurred to me to go back to see what the mob were doing to Abrahams. And for rescuing him I got thrown out of the SS.’

Louise was desperate. She could feel herself losing him; soon he would be beyond any appeal from her. If he wrote that letter he would surely hand her over to the Art
Administration
, and she would have lost her one chance to strike a blow against Klaus and his like. She still had nightmares about the foul things she had seen in Klaus’s mind. She liked this new,
more positive Erich; she responded to his level gaze, but that just made it more urgent. He must not be allowed to march off to war and leave her helpless.

‘Erich,’ she said, ‘I’m not going to try to make you change your mind; I can’t. I promise I won’t interrupt, but I want you to tell me what Nazism really and truly is. Then you can shut me out of your mind and go and fight your war if you must.’ She waited with bated breath. All he had to do was shut his mind to her, stack her picture with all the others against the wall, and she would be powerless. Two seconds … three …

Erich sighed, got up, and went over to the door. He took a ‘
Bitte nicht
stören’ – don’t disturb – sign and hung it over the handle. He smiled ruefully; the night watchman would guess that he was ‘entertaining’ a girl.

‘The principles of National Socialism are … ’ he began. Carefully and precisely he laid out them out, omitting nothing, from the theory of racial superiority to the Jewish conspiracy. The girl listened, intent and silent. Apart from the occasional request for clarification she said nothing. It was past midnight when he said, ‘Do I believe in all this? Well, the answer is it doesn’t really matter what I believe. We are at war. Either I act without thinking or I think without acting. The time has come to act, and for me the SS is the obvious means. Now, if you’d be so good as to leave, I will continue with my letter.’

Jacob Edelstein, Elder of the Terezín Governing Council, leaned back in his chair. This was a joint meeting of the Elders and the Free Time Activities Administration. Jacob looked tired. We don't know the half of the load he has to carry, Izaac thought.

‘Gentlemen, ladies, before we proceed to our free time activities, at our last meeting disturbing rumours were
circulating
that the transports to the east were of a more sinister purpose than just for resettlement and labour. Recently we have been asked for lists of over a thousand of our people for transport that include whole families. Yesterday I requested a meeting with the camp commandant, Hauptsturmführer Anton Burger.' There was a stir of interest about the room. People leaned forward; ‘I told him frankly that rumours were circulating in the camp that the “labour transports” were
nothing
but a cover for annihilation.' There was a general gasp; one did not talk to Germans like this. ‘I am glad to say,' Jacob went on, ‘that he appeared shocked at the suggestion, and that he has since come back to me to assure me that these are just that, merely rumours.' Relief rippled though the room. I wonder? Izaac thought to himself.

‘Now, we have a long list of reports to get through: the
Ghetto Swingers
are in need of a drummer, I believe. The
cabaret
,
The Lost Food Card
, has been doing well. The
Czech Folk
Singers
say that they are getting too many people for their loft performances and want a better venue. Also the camp
commandant
says he wants to attend the lecture on Einstein's Theory of Relativity, so it will have to be in German. I think you have an elementary version which might be translated for the Commandant, Herr Brandovski?' Everyone chuckled and Izaac dropped into a pleasant daydream of playing musical games with Louise back in Vienna.

‘Izaac! Izaac Abrahams. .. calling Izaac!' He shot up in his chair to laughter all round. ‘Izaac, we have just volunteered you as leader of an orchestra!'

‘Not another! I am already leader of two…'

‘Wait till you hear. Herr Krása will explain. It's a children's opera, but the music is difficult and modern. Herr Krása … ?' The composer then explained to Izaac: ‘The opera is a simple story of two children pitted against a wicked organ grinder called Brundibár. The opera is called Brundibár after him. It is sung by children and I hear you are good with children, but your role will be to lead a small adult orchestra. I am writing it now but I need to know what instruments you can find for me so I can write the proper parts.'

Izaac had hidden himself away in order to study the music score, the black notes still almost wet from the composer's pen. He heard a soft footfall and looked up from the manuscript.

‘Pafko!' he said. ‘It's after curfew, and I bet you haven't a pass.'

‘What's that, Mr Izaac?' asked the boy sidling forward, his head at an angle, to see what Izaac was working on.

‘Brundibár, a new children's opera. I have to learn it for the auditions.'

‘What's it like, Mr Izaac?' Pafko asked, coming around behind Izaac and looking over his shoulder.

‘So you want me to go back to the beginning?' sighed Izaac, as he turned back to the first page.

‘I'll test you on it, sir.'

‘Cheeky! Here the choir is introducing Aninka and Pepíček. They have no father and their mother is sick. Only milk and rest will cure her, but how will they get milk without money?'

‘The music looks modern, doesn't it?'

‘If you interrupt, you go, young man.' Izaac said severely. Pafko just reached forward and turned the page. Izaac went on, ‘Here the two children are singing of their plight, as the street gradually fills with citizens: the ice cream man, the baker and the milkman all shout their wares. When Aninka and Pepíček ask the milkman for milk for their mother, they are told in no uncertain terms that to buy milk they must have money, and to make money they must work! The children watch as people buy and sell but notice that one old man is making money without having to sell anything. This is Brundibár, the organ grinder. All he has to do is grind out a tune by turning the handle of his organ and people fill his cap with coins.

‘Aninka and Pepíček decide that they will try this, and they sing a pretty song of ducks and geese and a flying machine, but no one pays them any attention. Then they imitate the organ grinder and begin a crude dance. Brundibár is furious, and encourages the people to chase the children from the square.'

‘I like Brundibár!' murmured Pafko.

‘You would!' said Izaac. ‘At any rate, during a night spent on a bench, the two children are visited by a sparrow, a cat and a dog, who reckon that with the help of the three hundred children they know, they can defeat Brundibár. The three animals sing the children to sleep. That's the end of Act 1.'

‘Go on, sir.'

‘In the morning, the choir sing about the people getting up to do their morning chores, and the animals, true to their word, recruit the children to help Aninka and Pepíček against
Brundibár
. When Brundibár begins to play, the cat mews and the dog howls; Brundibár tries to drive them away, but the dog gets hold of his pants and Brundibár is silenced. Now Pepíček conducts the children's choir in a beautiful lullaby and the people fill Pepíček's cap with money. The children think their troubles are over until suddenly Brundibár darts in and steals the cap and their money. A huge chase begins; the children recover the money and hunt Brundibár away. The opera closes with the choir singing a triumphal march.'

‘Turn back sir, please, to before the lullaby, when Brundibár sings last.' Izaac turned back, and Pafko began humming, then singing. ‘Ty pra – ši – vý, sta – rý čok – le …' it was a typical edgy Czech voice. He made only one mistake.

‘No Pafko! it's B flat on the dotted crochet. I didn't realise you could sight read?'

‘Turn the page … ' Izaac could feel him vibrating with excitement. ‘Look, Mr Izaac, this is where I steal their money!'

‘What do you mean
you
?' Izaac asked.

‘Me! Mr Izaac, I came tonight because I wanted a part … any part, but now I want to play just this one, this Brundibár,' he hummed. ‘See, I already remember his tune. I know my voice is rough, but I can be the worstest villain ever!' Izaac glanced at the eager face beside him and imagined him in the part. Here was a rogue that could be lovable as well, but Izaac had two worries. Every child singer in Terezín would be auditioning and Pafko would have to audition with the rest. Secondly, could he ever handle an opera of kids with Pafko in the cast?

‘Pafko,' he said. ‘You will have to take your luck with the rest. This is the only manuscript, and it is like gold. It must
never leave this room, but now that you know where it is here, I can't really stop you glancing at it from time to time.' Pafko reached out. ‘But with clean hands!'

‘Oh thank you, Mr Izaac!' and he was gone.

The noise in Block L417 was deafening.

‘Children! Children! Order please.' The choirmaster was holding his head in despair. The excitement of the first rehearsal, and the fact that boys and girls were allowed to mix together for once, had created a near riot. Izaac walked across the stage behind the choirmaster but in full view of the
children
. Suddenly, he hesitated, then carefully stepped over something. A couple of the children stopped shouting and began squinting this way and that trying to see what it was that Mr Abrahams had stepped over. Izaac was walking back across the stage now, this time carrying a chair. At exactly the same place, he took another careful step over the invisible object and walked on. The clamour of voices subsided; everyone was watching, fascinated.

‘Is it a wire?' someone whispered.

‘There must be, but I can't see it!' observed another. Suddenly Pafko stepped forward.

‘I'll show him!' he boasted. ‘Mr Abrahams sir! It must be a trick of the light, there's nothing there, no wire, nothing.' Izaac looked puzzled and scratched his head. ‘Look, sir, I'll walk straight through it!' said Pafko marching towards him. There was a sudden gasp. At exactly the spot where Mr Abrahams had been making his step, Pafko tripped, somersaulted, and landed with a thump at Izaac's feet. Izaac picked him up, pretended to cuff his ears, and they both walked off the stage together. Some of the smaller children even went over to assure themselves that the wire really wasn't there.

‘Did you rehearse that with Pafko?' Rafík, the choirmaster asked later.

‘No. He did it off his own bat.' Izaac chuckled. ‘You've got to use that talent. He's your Brundibár!'

From then on, Rafík had them at least partly under control and Izaac relaxed. The music was difficult, not just for the ten principal child singers, but for the two choirs as well: the ‘School Choir' that sang on stage, and the ‘Through the Windows Choir', whose singing would be heard coming from the cottage windows on the set. At rehearsals the accompaniment was provided by a wheezy old harmonium, but Izaac soon learned to imitate the young Czech voices on his violin and would play along with the weaker sections or show them exactly what Rafík really wanted them to sing. Izaac's little orchestra grew too: a flute, a trumpet, a guitar, an accordion, a piano, drums, four violins and a bass, with Hans the composer busily writing parts for the new instruments.

They are like a flock of birds, Izaac thought to himself. One minute they would be still, next they would be off in a whirl of wings, circling, landing, and chattering. Sometimes it seemed as if they had an unseen companion forming a focus to their game, someone who made their eyes dance with excitement? Izaac often thought of Louise during rehearsals; she would have enjoyed the children, but he kept to his resolve to only think of her through his music, and so spare her the squalor and misery of the camp.

It was Pafko who nearly brought the whole house of cards tumbling down. They had been discussing costumes when Izaac suggested that Brundibár, the tyrant, should have a moustache, Pafko was small, and a bushy moustache would make him look older. Nobody noticed when he slipped away, until suddenly he appeared, strutting purposefully across the stage with an unmistakable Hitler moustache! In seconds he
became the Führer himself, the walk, the head pressed forward the right arm jutting forward. There was a shout from the door.

‘The Camp Commandant's coming!' A shocked silence filled the rehearsal room.

‘Pafko! Hide! Hide!' But there was nowhere to hide. The room was bare except for the harmonium. Izaac gazed at him stupidly, the moustache had been put on with burned cork, there was no getting it off. They could hear jackboots approaching. Suddenly Aninka, the heroine in the opera, rushed at him, dragging two other girls with her. She was wearing a long dress.

‘Down, Pafko!' As he dropped to the floor she lifted the skirt of her dress, threw it over him, and sat down on him. The other girls rushed forward, one threw herself down in front of Aninka, while two more knelt in decorative poses on each side; the other girls crowded around. Now what? Izaac realised the next move was up to him. He shouldered his violin and slipped straight into the introduction to the lullaby that comes at the very end of the opera where the mother rocks the cradle and wonders how things will be when time has passed and her little birds have spread their wings. Just as the door was thrown open and the Commandant strode in, the girls began to sing. For a second Izaac thought he was about to call everyone to attention, but there was something about the scene, and the young voices, that melted even him. He raised a finger for them go on. When they came to the end Izaac skilfully led them into a repeat.

‘
Schön
!' was all he said, beautiful. The door closed; the sound of boots on the cobbles faded, and suddenly Aninka leapt to her feet with a shriek.