The Medium (31 page)

Read The Medium Online

Authors: Noëlle Sickels

BOOK: The Medium
12.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“These men will escort you to Ellis now.”
The captain went around his desk and sat down. He took the top few papers off one of the stacks and picked up a pen. The corporals stepped closer to Helen, one on either side of her. At the threshold, Helen stopped and turned.
“My parents …” she said.
“We'll notify them,” the captain replied without looking up. “Someone's already on their way there.”
JUNE 1944
The next day, Helen sat nervously on a hard chair in a small room while Captain Fitzpatrick and another man, Major Levy, looked through some papers on a bare table set under an open window. She was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and she felt unkempt, despite having washed up in a basin as best as she could that morning. Her stale appearance, especially in contrast to the two crisp military men, increased her nervousness. She wished she'd been issued the standard khaki shirt she'd seen all the internees wearing. At least it would be fresh. She hoped the fact that she hadn't been given one was a sign they didn't expect her to be staying.
She shifted her position, trying to relieve a stiffness in her back. For most of last night's long hours, she'd lain tensely awake on a narrow iron bed and listened to the other women in the dormitory—their snores, their turnings, their coughs. Once some dreamer cried out a few unintelligible words. The dormitory was off a balcony above the huge registry room where the internees spent their days reading, playing cards and chess, knitting, carving eidelweiss from deer horn or doing other crafts, and writing letters. Whenever during the night someone walked across the empty, cavernous room, his steps echoed up to its arched, tiled ceiling and from there into the dorm. Near dawn, Helen had dropped off for two hours, but she was far from rested. The insides of her eyelids felt grainy.
She was beginning, too, to regret her empty stomach. A
Border Patrol Agent had escorted her to the dining hall for breakfast, but she'd taken only a cup of black coffee. He'd directed her where to sit, well out of conversation range of anyone who might decide to be friendly, and he'd stood close by while she drank her coffee.
Helen was the only person in the large hall accompanied by a guard. Several people gave her sidelong glances as they passed, and one little boy stopped and stared frankly at her, moving on only after a woman, presumably his mother, had hissed
sich beeilen
at him. In spite of everything, Helen smiled at that. How many times in her childhood had Nanny hurried her along with the very same command? Helen ignored the remainder of the curious looks by examining a WPA mural about the role of immigrants in industrial America. From her seat, she could see coal miners, a pigtailed Chinese man working on the railroad, and a young family consisting of a man shouldering a large bag and a woman wearing a kerchief and carrying a baby in a sling.
At last, the two officers turned towards Helen. Captain Fitzpatrick folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the edge of the table, observing Helen with the kind of expectant interest people give to dozing zoo animals. Major Levy, hands clasped behind his back, smiled at Helen. He had a beautiful smile, but seeing it didn't make Helen feel any safer.
“Miss Schneider,” the major said, “you brought some information to Captain Fitzpatrick yesterday that holds some interest for us.”
Helen wondered who “us” was. The Army, she supposed. But Ellis Island was run by the Immigration and Naturalization Service. Why hadn't they taken her to an Army facility? Why had they taken her anywhere at all?
“What we need to know now,” the smiling major continued, “is who gave you that information. Also, when and where he gave it to you, and how.”
“How?”
“Was it a face-to-face meeting? A phone call? Perhaps an encrypted letter …”
Helen looked past Major Levy to Captain Fitzpatrick. Hadn't he told him?
“It was a vision,” Helen said, returning her gaze to her inquisitor.
His smile slipped a little. It occurred to Helen that it was more like a tic or a scar than a real smile. There was something involuntary about it. At the same time, it was vaguely predacious, like bait.
“Come, come, Miss Schneider, you don't expect us to believe that, do you?”
“It's the truth.”
The smile, or whatever it really was, vanished. The major, with the air of having to do something he wished he didn't, went to the table and opened a drawer. He drew out a sheaf of oversized papers. As soon as he'd turned around again, Helen saw what they were. Her father's maps. She couldn't imagine how they'd gotten to this room, but their presence frightened her.
“I see you're familiar with these,” Major Levy said. “Why don't you tell us about them?”
“They're maps,” Helen said, embarrassed at sounding stupid, but unable to come up with anything better. “About the war.”
The major nodded encouragingly.
“Lots of people keep maps,” Helen added, rallying a bit.
Major Levy selected one map and handed the others to Captain Fitzpatrick, who set them on the table.
“Very few people,” Levy said, “keep maps like this.” He held it up. “In fact, I'd venture to say that no one whose allegiance is in the right place would have any occasion to create such a map.”
It was a map of the United States. It was incomplete, but Walter had entered a good number of symbols and names, especially along the Eastern seaboard, and he'd worked out a careful key, pasted into one corner. Red squares for military training camps, blue squares for embarkation points, green squares for defense plants, green circles for airfields, blue circles for detention camps, red circles for relocation centers. Helen saw a blue circle in the Hudson off lower Manhattan and realized it must be Ellis Island.
“That map was my idea,” she blurted.
“Was it now?” A bit of smile slunk back. “And who told you to make it?”
“No one.”
“Who were you going to give it to once it was done?”
“No one.”
“One of your father's German friends?”
“No.”
“One of your grandmother's connections, then.”
“No, no. The maps aren't for anyone. It's just a hobby. You're making it sound like—”
“Like a conspiracy?” Levy carefully rolled up the map.
“Your mother volunteers in a veterans' hospital, doesn't she?” he said. “I imagine a sympathetic, motherly woman could pick up some useful tidbits of information from homesick soldiers without them even realizing what they're saying. Quite the family operation you've got going,
Fräulein
Schneider.
Nicht?
”
“Why are you saying all this?” Helen burst out. “My family has never done anything wrong.”
“Very commendable.”
The major handed the rolled-up United States map to Captain Fitzpatrick without turning around. He kept his eyes fixed on Helen.
“Would you have any objection, Miss Schneider, to signing
an unqualified Pledge of Allegiance to the United States of America?”
Helen wondered if this were some kind of trick. She no longer trusted anything this man might say. He could turn ordinary statements into attacks. But she felt it would be a serious mistake to refuse to sign a pledge of allegiance.
“No, of course not,” she answered. “No objections at all.”
“That's fine,” Levy said. “We'll get the captain here to take care of that later.”
He walked thoughtfully up and down the room a few times and looked once at his watch.
“While we're on the subject of your family, we have a few more questions. Purely routine.”
He lifted his arm, and following his cue, Captain Fitzpatrick picked up a pen and a clipboard from the table.
“Do you have any relatives serving in the Armed Forces of the United States?” he began.
“I have … that is, I had …” Helen stammered, unwilling to bring the tender fact of her and Billy into this harsh room. She touched her thumb to the back of the ring Billy had given her. A delicate band of diamond and emerald chips, it had once been his great-grandmother's. Helen had moved it to her right hand on the day of his funeral. “My fiancé was in the Army Air Force.”
“That would be William Mackey?”
“Yes, but how did you—?”
“You kept his letters.”
“Well, of course I did, but—”
“They were among the materials the FBI confiscated from your residence yesterday.”
A flash of nausea assailed Helen.
“Those letters are
mine
,” she said fiercely. “I want them back.”
The captain was unmoved. “Everything not pertinent to our
inquiry will be returned to you in good time,” he said.
“Do you have them here?” she demanded.
Fitzpatrick scowled at her. “I strongly suggest, Miss Schneider, that you calm down and let us get on with the interview.”
Helen glared at him. He returned her stare with one of his own, icy and implacable and clearly meant to intimidate her. It was working. Fear and awful helplessness were rolling back in. Retreat was her only option. But she was determined to retreat with dignity. She nodded assent to the captain, but she didn't lower her challenging gaze. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Major Levy bend to the table and write something down.
“Do you have any relatives serving in the German Army?” Captain Fitzpatrick resumed in a wooden tone.
“I don't know for sure,” she said, trying to keep meekness out of her voice. “We might. I don't exchange letters with anyone, if that's what you want to know.”
“Have you at any time been a resident or visitor in Germany?”
“No.”
“Do you speak German?”
“No.”
“Did you ever hear anyone in your family speak German?”
“My grandmother.”
“Did you ever hear her, or anyone else in your family, or any friends of your family, praise Hitler?”
“Never,” Helen said, quickly deciding not to mention Uncle Franz's brother Erich. He wasn't a close relation. He'd never even been to the Schneider home. Anyway, she honestly didn't know whether Erich had ever praised Hitler.
“Has your grandmother adhered to the regulations for enemy aliens regarding curfews and restricted zones, and the prohibitions against plane travel and the ownership of photographic equipment?”
Helen nodded.
“Please answer aloud,” Major Levy instructed her.
“Yes, she's obeyed the rules,” Helen said.
“Will you, for the duration of the war,” the captain asked, “avoid any typically German clubs, associations, and organizations?”
“I guess so.”
The captain glanced up from his clipboard, where he'd been reading out the questions and recording her replies.
“You guess so?”
“Well, I'm not sure what that might include.”
“We can supply a list,” Major Levy put in, brushing away the digression.
“Your father, I believe, is a member of the
NordAmerikanischer Sängerbund,
a national federation,” Captain Fitzpatrick said.
“A federation of men's singing societies!” Helen said. She almost could have laughed at the absurdity of them thinking the
Sängerbund
might be in any way threatening.
Sängerbund
members were like any other Americans. They bought Victory bonds, they had sons and grandsons in the military and wives and daughters in the Red Cross.
“And your grandmother pays dues to a local organization, the
Krankenkrasse
,” Fitzpatrick pressed on, unfazed by Helen's disdain.
“The
Krankenkrasse
is a sick and death benefits society,” Helen said, feeling worn out. “I'd guess every old-time German in Bergen County is probably in it.”
Fitzpatrick returned his attention to his clipboard.
“Are you willing,” he said, “to give information to the proper authorities regarding any subversive activity you might note, or which you might be informed about directly or indirectly?”
Helen hesitated. As with the loyalty pledge, this appeared on
the surface an easy thing to agree to, but shadowy distinctions seemed to be hiding below the easy surface, like the slimy, jagged branches of sunken logs that sometimes snagged boats and fishing lines on Hunter River.
“Do you have a list for that?” she asked, genuinely hopeful.
Major Levy's face darkened.
“This isn't a game, Miss Schneider,” he said. “There are already enough questionable activities and ties associated with your family for us to deem the lot of you potentially dangerous to the public peace and safety of the United States, and intern you all for the duration.”
“That's crazy! This all started because I came to Captain Fitzpatrick with some information I thought he ought to have.”

Other books

The Fallable Fiend by L. Sprague deCamp
Dark Valentine by Jennifer Fulton
Nadine, Nadine vignette 1 by Gabriella Webster
The Goshawk by T.H. White
Siren's Fury by Mary Weber