THE TRUTH OF WHO WE ARE

chapter 7

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Just so you know, there are three more parts to this story, and then it’s done. Have you guessed who betrayed him? Let me know in the comments.

Martin parked the Opel in front of the Dieter’s apartment and sat in silence, letting the tears stream down his face. He sobbed at the realization of what had just happened; he sobbed for the loss of the life he had to give up. He wiped the tears out his eyes, bent on holding them back, but the sting of Annaliese’s slap was more than just imprinted on his brain, it was seared into his conscience. All he could think to do was to tell Dieter they had to leave Berlin. They had to leave Germany.

She knows, was all he could think. She knows, she knows, she knows…

He wiped his tears away again, straightened his tie, and tried to compose himself. He stepped out of the Opel and walked to the apartment, using the key Dieter had given him. He told himself he needed time to think because he didn’t know how he was supposed to react, or if he should react to her at all. He supposed he should let her be the first to speak; or maybe he could just lie and tell her it meant nothing, and that it was over?

She’d never believe that, and he knew it.

Annaliese knew he and Dieter were more than just friends meeting for a beer in the afternoon three times a week, and it lead him to wonder what she planned to do. Her confrontation with him was Death’s doleful reckoning, he told himself. It was obvious that both Goebbels and Furtwängler would think that he’d betrayed the poor woman, but a bigger part of him wondered how they’d react once the truth came out. Both men were happily married and devoted to their families. Goebbels had six children.

He had to convince them more than he had to worry about Annaliese. The only way he could do that was to talk to Beck. He’d have to convince the old maestro to lie for him, and for the first time in his life, Martin didn’t know how Beck would react. What if he was found out later? What would happen to Beck? It was a lot to ask of anyone.

And if he left Germany, then what? What about his mother? Surely she must’ve known, they’d say. Then Annaliese would stand up, defiant, and declare that she’d been the one to speak out. His mother would be heart-broken. Devastated.

He knew at that moment, that the slap she’d given him was more than just a denunciation of everything he’d ever meant to her, but a silent condemnation of both himself, and Dieter. Once the truth came out and his secret was brought to light, his life would never be the same.

    *

He waited.

He waited an hour sitting beside the window when he saw Dieter on the sidewalk. There was a large black Citroen coming around the corner too fast, straight toward him and narrowly missing him. Two men leaped out, and as the one man approached he swung a punch, catching Dieter square in face. The second man punched him in the stomach and Dieter fell to the sidewalk. Both men kicked him before picking him up and dragging him to the auto, throwing him into the back seat. One of the two men climbed in with him and Martin could see the man raining blow after blow on Dieter as the Citroen sped away.

He was at a loss, and had his hands to his face as he fought back a scream. It came out muffled, feral and afraid, as he fell to his knees, sobbing.

  *

Martin walked up the sidewalk leading to his mother’s house the next morning and shouldered his way through the sticky door, trying to understand why he thought he had to come home in the first place. His mother stepped out of the kitchen, a towel in her hands. She ran to him and threw her arms around him.

“Martin! When you didn’t come home last night, I was worried,” she said, stepping back and looking up at him. “What happened? Where were you?”

“I was waiting for a friend at his apartment, and fell asleep,” he said. “He never showed up, which was strange. Anyway, I came by for some clean clothes. I have to leave in a bit, mama.”

“What friend? Why? What do you mean leave? I never heard anything about a trip. Did Herr Beck find you another concert engagement? Where?”

She led him into the breakfast room, a small nook away from the kitchen, and they sat down. The east facing window let in a thin shaft of light that reflected off the floor, but it was enough. She looked at him closely and he could see that he had her attention.

“It’s in Austria. Near the Swiss border,” he said, amazed at how easily the lie came out.

“There’s no fighting there, is there?”

“Mama, the Swiss are the only one’s we’re not fighting. But no, at least, I hadn’t heard about any fighting going on there.” He saw a figure out in the field behind the house. “Is that? Is  Annaliese here?”

“Yes. She’s out in the field. She should be back soon.”

“Why is she out in the field?” he asked.

“We planted some vegetables.”

“You did? Who else knows besides you?”

“Herr Stoop, of course.”

“You told the neighbour? During a time of food rations, shortages, and line-ups, you told the neighbour that you were going to grow vegetables? How noble of you.”

“He deserved to know.”

“Of course he did.”

“He’s part of the Night Guard.”

“There is no Night Guard, mama. This is Hitler’s Germany, not the Kaiser’s.”

“What if he sees someone rooting through there at night and shoots, not knowing it’s me? What if he hits me? Kills me?”

“Mama, the man can barely see. That’s why he’s not in the Army. He’s probably legally blind. Believe me when I say that man should not have a gun. If he does and he shoots you, it’s because someone is rummaging through his garden.”

Martin heard the door open and went up the stairs to his room. He grabbed his travel bag and shaving kit, stuffed two more pair of slacks inside the bag, then threw in another shirt, and forced the bag closed. He opened the second drawer and pushed aside a row of neatly folded shirts, lifting up a small box. He opened the box and took all the money. He checked his inside pocket to reassure himself that he had his passport and travel visa. He put the shaving kit under his arm and picked up the travel bag, making his way down the narrow steps.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs he put the bag down and looked at Annaliese. He looked at the floor rather than confront her, and she turned her back on him. His shoulders sagged, and he looked at his mother. He tossed his head to the side and she nodded, standing up. She smiled awkwardly as he stepped in front of Annaliese.

“Annaliese—”

“No. I’ve decided that you don’t get to talk,” she said. “This is not about you. For once. This is about me, and how you hurt me, without ever laying a hand on me. And you didn’t did you?” she asked, turning around to face him. “Lay a hand on me? I wanted you to. Oh, I needed you to touch me, just to let me know that you cared. I never once thought, when you said that you wanted to wait until we got married, that you meant no touching. A platonic relationship? At the start of a new relationship, rather than at the end? And you didn’t think it was strange? I knew a couple who promised to wait until after the wedding, but only for that. They explored other ways…”

She grew silent for a moment, her head tilted slightly to the side. She was dressed like a farmer he noticed, with large over-sized pants and a shirt. The sleeves were rolled up and her arms looked thin.

“Look, I’m—”

She held a hand up again and he stopped talking.

“I think I might’ve been able to forgive you had it been a woman. Not right away mind you, but eventually. But you were seeing your new friend for beers more than you were seeing me. You would rehearse for five hours in the morning, go for a two hour lunch with him, and then rehearse again, until nine o’clock. You purposely shut me out of your life,” she said. “And for another man. Not as a friend, but…as a lover. A lover? I’m glad he got arrested. He’s going to love Plotzensee, don’t you think?”she added, and he could see tears in her eyes

“How do you know that’s where he went?” Martin asked.

“Because that’s where they told me they were taking him.” She looked nervous just saying it, and Martin wondered what happened.

“Who did?”

“The Staats,” she said, and he could see the tears coming instantly to her eyes even as she said it.

“Did — did you call them?” he asked, afraid of the answer.

She was silent for a moment, and said, in between the tears. “No.”

“You didn’t call them?”

“Are you seriously shocked to hear that?” she said angrily, wiping at her tears. “Do you think that little of me?” She looked at the bag by his feet, and looked at him. “If you’re going to leave, you’d better leave now.”

“Why? Are they coming for me, as well?”

“They were always coming for you.”

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