Mathilde doesn't bother to look up. A princess like you? she scoffs. Please! You have no idea what you're talking about.
Then tell me.
Mathilde tosses the rag into the sink and waddles into the storefront. Anna hears the ding! as the register is opened, the sound of the baker removing the cash drawer. She folds her arms and waits.
Upon her return Mathilde lowers herself onto a stool and scrapes it over to the table. She separates Reichsmarks, change, and ration coupons. Counting under her breath, she enters numbers into a ledger, tongue lodged in the corner of her mouth.
You're still here? she asks, looking up in feigned surprise. Not back to bed yet? You should go. A woman in your condition needs rest.
Anna reaches over and slams the ledger shut, nearly catching the baker's stubby fingers.
Listen to me, you, she says. Don't you forget that I hid Max in my own house, right under my father's nose. I couriered information back and forth for you. I've got as much nerve as you or anyone else.
Mathilde examines Anna for a moment.
Sit, she commands.
Anna obeys.
The baker gets up and walks to the cuckoo clock on the wall. Opening one of its tiny decorative doors, she retrieves something that she sets on the worktable.
You know what this is? she asks. You should have used a couple of these.
Anna picks up the condom, gingerly.
Go on, says Mathilde, unroll it.
Inside the prophylactic Anna finds a slip of paper no longer than a finger, covered with writing the size of ants. She brings it to her eyes, squinting to decipher the minuscule code. One line in particular catches her attention: The Good Doktor sends best regards.
Max, Anna murmurs. She glances at Mathilde. You got this from him?
The baker nods, sitting back down. Not directly, she says. But we have our ways of communicating.
How?
If your lover didn't trust you enough to tell you, why should I?
Anna says nothing, but the look she bends on the baker makes the older woman suddenly fall to inspecting her hands.
All right, I'll tell you how it works, since you obviously won't give me a moment's peace otherwise, Mathilde mutters. Well… We have a deal, the SS and me. They provide me with supplies, I deliver whatever goods they order. Since 1937 I've been doing this, since that hellhole was just a muddy pit in the ground. Koch, the Kommandant, came to me himself. He said he'd heard about the quality of my pastries.
Mathilde preens a bit, then flushes at Anna's arched brows.
Well, they are the best, she says defensively. And if I didn't supply them, somebody else would. Why should another baker get the business? Besides, I could see the other advantages to the arrangement, ways to use it for the Resistance. Oh, yes, the network existed even then. You wouldn't know it, but there are plenty of people in this city who hate what the Nazis are doing. And what I could see during my deliveries to the camp would be priceless information to them. So I accepted Koch's contract. And I'll tell you, did I ever see some things.
She leans closer to Anna, lowering her voice to a reedy whisper.
Every week the SS have Comradeship Evenings at the Bismarck Tower, she says. You know where it is, on the hill there? Such goings-on, you wouldn't believe. Prostitutes, male and female, little boys. Orgies. Those fine officers will fuck anything that moves, don't let anybody tell you different. They wash each other in champagne afterwards. Some comradeship, don't you think?
Anna manufactures a worldly expression.
Mathilde gives Anna a caustic little smile. You won't understand, a pretty young thing like you, but when you get older, men don't really see you. To the SS, I'm just a fat old widow. That's what they call me-die Dicke, Fatty. But the advantage is that I'm invisible. When I'm bringing pastries to the Tower, when I deliver bread to the officers' fine Eickestrasse houses or to their mess, I might as well be a chair for how much attention they pay me. As if being fat makes you deaf and blind too. So I see everything, hear everything. And after my regular deliveries, I make a special one to the prisoners. I leave bread for them. The poor bastards, they-
Where? Anna interrupts.
What?
Where do you leave the bread?
In the forest, by the quarry the SS have them working in. There's a hollow tree where I can put the rolls and any Resistance information I can give them. And they pass camp information to me-this way.
She indicates the condom.
It's not much, what I'm doing, she says, but it gives them some hope.
Anna slips the paper back inside the rubber. Its surface is greasy and foul, and Anna can imagine all too well where a prisoner would have had to conceal it.
I want to go, she tells Mathilde. Next time you go, I go.
Mathilde takes the condom from Anna and hides it back in the clock. Then she removes an embroidered pouch from her apron. From this she produces papers and a pinch of tobacco and proceeds, with maddening slowness, to roll a cigarette.
Did you hear me? Anna shouts. I want to help, I want to leave the bread, I'm going with you!
Mathilde scrapes a match on the side of the oven and lights her cigarette. Exhaling, she watches Anna through a drifting blue membrane. Anna glares.
You've got more balls than anybody'd think just to look at you, says the baker, but no. Do you have any idea how long it took us to set up this system? One false move and we're all in the camp. You're acting from the heart, not the head. Too risky.
I'm perfectly clearheaded. I've never been more sure of anything in my life.
And the baby, Mathilde continues, tapping ashes into a tin that once, Anna observes, held corned beef. Think of the baby.
Anna waves a hand at both this argument and the smoke, which has condensed in layers.
You shouldn't smoke, she says with venom.
Suddenly I have the Reichsminister of Propaganda Goebbels in my kitchen? A good German woman never smokes, right, princess?
Anna wants to say, No, because it's making me sick. Instead, she beckons for the cigarette.
Give me that, she says.
Shrugging, Mathilde hands it to her.
Anna inhales. As she fights not to choke, she tries to come up with a statement that will persuade Mathilde she is hardy enough to be included in this venture. She thinks of Unterscharführer Wagner, who comes from the same social class as the baker, whose crude language Mathilde speaks and appreciates. What would he say to sway her?
If I could, Anna tells Mathilde, eyes watering, I'd blow this smoke right up the Führer's ass.
Mathilde quakes with silent laughter.
All right, she says, with a wet, ashy cough. You don't have to try so hard to convince me. But no Special Deliveries for a while. You stay here, work for me, we'll see how you do. Then-
When? Anna says. When can I go with you?
Maybe after the baby, says Mathilde. She turns and spits into the sink.
But that won't be for months! Until nearly Christmas-That's soon enough, Mathilde says, and remains implacable.
13
GINGER.
Yes, ginger, Anna. Fresh if you can get it, but I've found candied ginger to be effective too.
Why are you giving the poor child such useless advice? Ginger is for morning sickness, and Fräulein Brandt is obviously well past that stage.
But it also eases heartburn, Hilde-
Besides, where do you expect her to find ginger nowadays? It's hard enough to get the essentials, what with the rations they allow us!
Shhhhh, Hilde, watch yourself. You've always been too outspoken for your own good-
Pssht.
Garlic, then. Or onions. Those you can still get, and they'll clean your blood, increase your stamina-
Which you'll need for the birth, Fräulein Brandt, especially with the first child-hoo hoo!