Volk (34 page)

Quality welcomed her. “I am not German,” she said. “I am a prisoner Ernst has been protecting. If anything happens, I will be gone. Then—”

“I would not do that!”

“Of course not. I mean that there are many ways in which my future is uncertain. Any member of the hotel staff could turn me in. Then I will be out of the picture. So you have not necessarily lost Ernst.”

Krista shook her head. “I have lost him. If you were gone, he would not return to me. He would morn you.”

Quality could not argue the case. “Let me share some food with you. I do not have much variety, but there is bread and jam.”

“It will do.”

Quality fixed it, and they each had a slice.

“Now we have eaten together,” Krista said. “We can not be enemies.”

“I never wished to be.”

“Ernst was never truly mine. I threw myself at him, I tried to seduce him, because I wanted a secure situation. It was not love, it was opportunity. He understood that. He is more romantic. He wanted love. This is what you gave him.”

“Yes.”

“I am as I am. There is a shadow on my ancestry. First I must secure my position. Then love can come. I would have loved him after we married. But I could not risk love before it.”

“But you said you tried to seduce him.”

“Sex is not love. If there had been sex, he would have married me, and then there could have been love. But with you, the love came first.”

“Yes. There just seemed to be something between us.”

“It is goodness between you. I saw it in him, and I see it in you. You are both beautiful inside as well as outside.”

“I make no claim to that! My soul is sullied.”

“Surely only because you were forced to choose between evils.” Krista shrugged. “But you loved another man before Ernst.”

“Yes. Lane Dowling, an American. A fine man. I dread our next meeting, if it occurs.”

“You have had no contact with Herr Dowling, so he does not know you have left him.”

“He does not know,” Quality agreed sadly. “I have wronged him, too. Yet as with you and Ernst, I now see that we were not quite right for each other.”

“You would not love an inferior man.”

“I don't know how you mean that. I am not concerned with pedigree or status, but with personality. Lane was special. But Ernst—”

“Herr Dowling—what does he care about ancestry?”

“He doesn't care at all about ancestry! No more than I do. In fact he seeks unusual people. That's why he befriended Ernst, who was a foreigner in America. How I wish that friendship had not led to—” Quality spread her hands. What an irony, that Lane had introduced his friend to his fiancée, and so had lost his fiancée.

“Ja. So Herr Dowling is a good man, and he will be disappointed when he meets you again. At that point he will need an other woman.”

“I fear he will,” Quality agreed.

“Would he consider a German?”

Quality stared at her. “You can't mean—?”

“I need security. I need a good man. One who does not care about pedigree. Herr Dowling will need a good woman. I can be a very good woman, for the right man.” She inhaled.

Amazed, Quality assessed the prospect. “Lane does like—he would be interested in a body like yours. I was surprised when he became interested in me, because I am not—” She shrugged.

“Your body is slender. Your face is beautiful. You are a lovely woman, overall. But perhaps it was something else he saw in you.”

“My religion,” Quality agreed. “I am a practicing Quaker. A pacifist. I—some of us use a variant of the language, at times. He was intrigued.”

“He is a pacifist?”

Quality laughed. “Not at all! That was part of—of what was going wrong between us. He became a fighter pilot. He was fighting in the Battle over France, shooting down German bombers, when I last heard from him. Surely in the Battle over Britain, too, later. But then I was arrested, and our correspondence was lost.”

“I am a Nazi. But I would change. However I needed to. For a secure position. For a good man. The kind of man whom you could once have loved, for I respect your judgment. Does this disturb you?”

Quality shook her head. “I have learned to be practical, in the past four years. Every person must do what she has to, to accomplish what she has to.”

“You would introduce me to Herr Dowling?”

“If I meet him again, and if you are there. Yes, that much I would do. But Lane—he is not one to be reeled in like a fish, any more than Ernst is. He would not reject you because of your nationality, but he would not necessarily accept you. And for all I know, he has already given up on me and found another woman. He may believe I am dead. So this is purely speculative.”

“A dream,” Krista agreed. “But I need a dream, now. I fear Germany is—the war is turning—the Russians are fighting back— there will not be much security in Germany. So if Herr Dowling comes, perhaps he is for me.”

“Perhaps,” Quality agreed, beginning to believe. “His hair is the same color as Ernst's, and his blue eyes do match yours.”

“Ah! That is ideal! The hair, the eyes—perhaps it is fated. If you will tell me about him, it will help.”

“Gladly.” Quality remained bemused by this development, but she was wickedly tempted by the notion. If she could in effect give Krista a man to replace Ernst, and give Lane a woman to replace herself—what a precious solution! It was preposterous, yet a worthy fantasy.

So she told Krista about Lane Dowling, practicing her German, and Krista responded, practicing her English, and suddenly the day was fading and Krista had to go.

But she came again when she had time, and they talked further. Krista was insatiably interested in everything about Lane, and Quality was glad to tell it, in this way expiating some of her associated guilt.

The following month, Krista had another surprising proposal. “It is hard living alone. The expense gets worse, and it is lonely. You are also alone. I could share with you.”

Quality had been refusing to think about what would happen when her diminishing supply of Deutschmarks ran out, and the rent would be due on the room. Ernst had been away a month now, and if he did not return soon, her situation would become dire. Krista had proved to be a pleasant companion during their dialogues.

So it was that Krista moved in with her, and paid the rent, and bought the groceries. They were not sharing; Krista was covering it all. Quality had no choice but to accept.

Krista was away in the days, at her employment. Quality did the shopping and housekeeping. It worked much as it had with Ernst, even to the sharing of warmth in the cold nights. But it wasn't the same.

•  •  •

Early in March Quality got sick. She felt bloated, and she vomited, but it didn't help. As the day progressed, she improved. But the following day it happened again.

“We can't take you to a doctor,” Krista said. “He would report you. They are required to.”

“It's mild,” Quality said. “It must be minor.”

But it continued. Every morning she suffered, and every evening she was all right.

Then Krista stared at her. “
Gott in Himmel
! That is morning sickness!”

Quality was appalled. “It can't be! I am too thin. My periods have not returned. Only very irregularly.”

Krista shook her head. “You are not thin anymore. You are a beautiful figure of a woman, slender but full. Your periods are gone because you are with child.”

“No!” But her protests were in vain. She was pregnant.

•  •  •

Late in March Ernst reappeared. Quality was alone, with Krista away at work. He swept her into his embrace. “I have missed you so!” he exclaimed. “I knew there wasn't enough money. I must pay off your debts.”

“Oh, Ernst, I have so much to tell thee,” she said.

By the time Krista returned, they had made love and she had told him. She wasn't certain whether he was stunned more by Krista's involvement or the news of the baby.

The meeting between Ernst and Krista was somewhat strained, with neither knowing quite how to proceed. Quality had to take the initiative. “We are all friends. We knew each other well. We have no secrets from each other. Ernst was with one of us and now is with the other. We shall eat, and listen to records, and sleep.”

“Sleep,” Ernst repeated, looking warily at the bed.

She hadn't thought of that. The bed held two, but was too small for three, however they might be arranged.

“I will sleep on the floor,” Krista said. There was some debate, but that did turn out to make the best sense.

Ernst had to go next day. He gave them money, enough to pay for the room for two more months and to reimburse Krista. “This thing that you are doing,” he said to Krista. “I have no way to thank you.”

“Just remember that had things been otherwise, I would have been good for you.”

“Better than I knew,” he agreed.

Then he was gone. Krista turned away, in tears. Quality felt the burgeoning guilt again. However brave a face the woman put on it, she had loved Ernst, and the loss of him hurt her in more than a practical sense.

They agreed that Ernst had seemed reticent about his activity on the Eastern Front. They knew that the fighting there was savage. They concluded that they were probably better off not knowing the details.

Two months later Ernst came again, with more money to sustain them. Quality was now five months pregnant.

“It is difficult,” Ernst said. “I can not be sure when I will return. Quality must go to a
Liebensborn
home where they will take care of her and the baby. Then it will be all right.”

Quality did not dare ask why he was in such doubt about returning.

“We will wait here two more months,” Krista decided. “If you have not returned by then, I will take her there. You will be able to find me, here or at home. I will tell you where she is, then.”

He nodded, looking pained.

Then he was gone, and they settled in for the duration. He did not reappear in two months, and the money was running out again because of the extra food Quality had to eat.

Krista explained the nature of the Liebensborn Foundation, literally “Well of Life.” “It is to foster a higher birth rate for Aryan children. There are several maternity homes for the mothers of SS children, married or unmarried, to use at little cost. They provide care before and after birth. It is the best possible place to have a— ” She hesitated, evidently not wanting to speak of an illegitimate baby.

“We are married before God,” Quality said, touching the swastika. “In my religion the marriage consists of a simple declaration by each party, in the presence of the Friends Meeting. We exchanged vows.”

“And he gave you his most precious possession. I understand. But the state does not recognize it.”

“True.” Quality sighed. “It would have been better not to have a baby. Yet how can I protest, when it is his?”

“When it is his,” Krista echoed, turning away. Quality was chagrined; she had forgotten how Krista herself would have wanted to have Ernst's baby.

Now it was time. “We must do it,” Krista said. “We must take you to the Lebensborn home. Now, while it is safe for you to travel.”

“But I am a foreigner,” Quality protested weakly. “I am not German.”

“You are a fine Nordic specimen, and so is he. You have papers. That is the kind of baby they want. They will take care of you.”

“But what of you, here alone?”

“I think my job in Berlin is almost over. The war goes badly. I think it is time for me to go home. But I will visit you as often as I can, until he returns.”

Quality hated to leave the room where she had loved Ernst. But Krista was correct: for the sake of their finances and the baby, she had to do it. They would leave the name of the home with the hotel manager, so that Ernst would be able to find her without having to search out Krista.

Yet she had a dire foreboding that he was not going to find her. Because he might be in more trouble than she was.

It had been a fool's paradise, he realized: the hope that he could simply cut off his connection with Heydrich and give his loyalty to Admiral Canaris. The Abwehr, with all its faults, remained a far better working environment for him, ideologically, than the RHSA. Even those aspects that were distasteful, such as the apparent attempt to use their section, Abwehr II, as a vehicle for the assassination of a French general, could be set aside when he was home with Quality. They had also uncovered the “Red Chapel” (Russian Orchestra) network of Russian agents operating in Germany. The Admiral had been absolutely furious that German soldiers could be involved in any such treason, and livid when one of them turned out to be an officer in Abwehr II itself. That had almost involved Quality, when Major Stummel suspected that she represented a contact subverting Ernst. But he was innocent, and further investigation had clarified that. It had nevertheless been a close call; had they thought to check Ernst's possible connection to Heydrich, they might have found another kind of traitor.

But trouble had come from the other side: Kaltenbrunner had done his homework and traced down the far-flung agents Heydrich had sent out. Now Ernst had to report to the man personally, before being shipped to the front.

Kaltenbrunner turned out to be a large man, with a body like that of a lumberjack. His face was angular, his neck thick, his chin square and his eyes small. His fingers were discolored, for he was a chain smoker. He spoke with a thick Austrian accent, and was missing several teeth, which hardly helped his appearance. He also drank excessively, Ernst learned. Yet it was evident that he had a fine analytical mind, and was fully as ruthless as Heydrich, without Heydrich's cultured side. Heydrich could be subtle and even, according to Quality, charming; Kaltenbrunner would never be either.