Berlin: A Novel

'You're a forger?'

'Oh, a dedicated forger. Also former professor of art history at Berlin University, now dismissed, and a former member of the Prussian Academy of Arts. In addition I'm a trained engraver, both copperplate and woodcuts. Even eminent international art experts have fallen for my Diirers and Piranesis. Until recently I pursued my hobby for fun and never made any money out of it. Now it's paying off. They let me stay alive a little longer, and they spare my Mascha.'

'You're very frank with me, professor.'

'Mascha trusts you, that's enough for me. And furthermore, they need me. So long as Himmler's pince-nez look kindly on me, I have nothing to fear…'

And when you've finished your work?'

'Oh, there's plenty more to be forged yet. We're working on dollars and Swiss francs, for buying armaments. Passports of all countries are in preparation for the secret services, ID papers, military marching orders, certificates of appointment… I have originals of all those documents here in my wall safe. They're already combing the prisons for capable people to work with me. Oh, there you are, Herr Siebert.'

The young Untersturmfuhrer wore a laboratory coat over his uniform. 'Hello, Frau Neubert. What an honour for our witches' kitchen! Professor, we've raised the nickel content of the security thread by 0.03 milligrams. I hope that was right.' She was surprised to hear the SS man speaking to a prisoner with such respect.

'Thank you, Herr Siebert. Excuse me, madame, I want to get back to that flourish. Will you visit me again?'

And me too?' Siebert was clearly always eager for a little flirtation.

Marlene ignored him. 'Yes, indeed, Professor. Good day, Herr Siebert.'

'I'll find you a cushion to make you more comfortable, Professor,' she heard Siebert say as she left. A thought went through her head: in other circumstances, would the SS man kill Raab out of hand?

A one-pot dish, the kind of thing the Fi hrer wants to see on every German lunch table once a week. With water from our well. And as dessert, fruit bottled from our own harvest. We are proud of our simple, nourishing food.'

'Oh, don't talk such garbage!'

Fredie was nervous. Reichsfuhrer Himmler had announced a visit. He wanted to inspect the forgery project personally. It went under the cover name of Needle and Thread; the Bank of England was in Threadneedle Street.

A beef, pork or mutton one-pot dish?' inquired Marlene.

Fredie's old bent for sarcasm surfaced. 'Chicken. After all, the man used to be a chicken farmer.'

'I'll tell Jana.'

'Good German women make their own one-pot dishes. Help in the kitchen in this second year of the war is a luxury the nation can't allow itself. Oh, and remember that good German women don't smoke. No lipstick either.'

Anything else? Maybe a wheatsheaf on the table and place cards in Germanic runes?'

'Send Jana back to her tribe in the gypsy hut.'

'So Frau Werner can torment her? No, I won't have it.'

'I've told everyone to go easy on the day of the visit. Seems our guest is rather squeamish when things move from theory to practice.'

'What, a day without beatings and murders? The camp won't feel like home to you, Fredie.'

'Oh, shut up,' he said angrily.

They had dressed Professor Georg Raab in a brand-new, striped prisoner's outfit, with a matching round cap. He stood outside the laboratorycum-bungalow with Fredie and Untersturmfiihrer Siebert. Like a teddy bear in a zebra skin, thought Marlene, watching the scene through a crack in the corrugated-iron door. She had not been allowed to attend the official viewing.

Two heavy, open Mercedes rolled into view. Out poured men in caps bearing the death's head badge, dove-grey uniforms and shiny black riding boots. Marlene recognized the pince-nez under the peaked cap leading them. Fredie stood to attention as he made his report. His uniform jacket was a little tight around the waist these days. An Iron Cross from the Great War, which he had dug up in some junk shop, was resplendent on his left breast pocket. 'Mundus vult decipi', had been his casual comment. Marlene had got Professor Raab to translate it for her. 'The world likes to be deceived.'

Showing off, the lot of them, she thought dismissively, looking at all those boots. Never ridden a horse in their lives. She saw through these men and despised them, just as she saw through and despised herself. The yew hedge split her life in two. On one side their comfortable everyday life in the house and garden. On the other, the camp, torture and death.

The pince-nez and its retinue disappeared into the bungalow. For the umpteenth time Marlene checked that everything in the kitchen and dining room was in order. In half an hour's time she expected to see her unwelcome guests at lunch.

'Heil Hitler, Reichsfiihrer. Your visit is a pleasure to me and a great honour to my house.' The words slipped smoothly past her lips. His hand was limp in hers. The eyes behind the pince-nez avoided her glance, seeking to dwell somewhere else. Why, he's scared of women. she realized in surprise.

He thanked her quietly, and turned to Fredie. 'I'm impressed, Ober- sturmbannfi hrer Neubert.' He sat down, and everyone else followed his example. They waited for the man of power to speak again. He remained silent and reached for the jug of water. Fredie tried to anticipate his wishes and pour him a glass. The result was a collision. The jug slopped over, water spilled on the most distinguished of all SS uniforms. Its wearer got some splashes on his nose and his pince-nez. He looked a little foolish.

Marlene spluttered. The company around the table froze. Fredie turned pale. The end of his career hovered before him. Then the man on the receiving end of the water mopped his nose and his pince-nez with his napkin — and laughed, at first soundlessly, then with a kind of bleat. There was general relief. Fredie breathed again. The cup, or rather the jug, had passed him by.

The bleat of laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Marlene served the one-pot dish. The quiet voice continued. 'I am impressed by what I've seen. Operation Needle and Thread will be a great success. And its guiding hand deserves commendation. The prisoner has hardly any Semitic characteristics. Very likely most of his ancestors were Aryan. which would explain his outstanding abilities. I would like the man to continue his work with your full support, and to lack for nothing.'

'Perhaps he could be given leave from imprisonment, and the laboratory might continue its work outside the camp as an SS research institute, under his direction,' Noack suggested.

'Oh no, the requirement for secrecy and security rules out any such thing, Dr Noack. That's why the prisoner must be eliminated at the end of the operation. Your chicken one-pot dish is delicious, Frau Neubert.'

And I hope the chicken bones stick in your throat and bloody choke you, you bastard, she thought. 'How very kind of you, Reichsfi hrer,' she replied.

That evening, Fredie was lounging comfortably in breeches and check slippers on the couch. He was pleased. 'That went splendidly. Come here, darling.' He pushed up her dress and took her panties down. She hadn't the strength to resist, but she paid attention to what was going on inside her, unable to believe it. The hated orgasm didn't come. She felt nothing. A sense of triumph took hold. The spell that had lasted so many years was broken.

In the morning she woke with a start. Something was wrong. There was no familiar aroma of coffee and clatter of china in the kitchen. Of course. Jana wasn't there. Marlene quickly showered and dressed. She must get the girl back into the house before any cruel ideas occurred to the appalling Frau Werner. She hurried past the office and infirmary buildings, and passed through the gate in the barbed-wire fence and into the camp itself. 'Find me Jana,' she told an old woman outside the gypsy hut.