He was collected, Russell said, and her lips formed a defiant little smile.
Sit down, sit down, she said, eyes shining. I must just tell the girls.
Russell did as he was told, noticing the bags of clothing piled against one wall. To be given away, he supposedthere was no way they would be allowed to take that much with them. He wondered if the Wiesners had any more valuables to take out, or whether the bulk of the family assets had been concealed behind the stickers in Achievements of the Third Reich. It occurred to him that Germanys Jews had several years experience in the art of slipping things across the German border.
And my visa has arrived, Frau Wiesner said, coming back into the room. By special courier from the British Embassy this afternoon. You must have some influential friends.
I think you do, Russell told her. Im sure Doug Conway had a hand in it, he explained, somewhat untruthfully. There seemed no reason for her to know about his deals with Irina Borskaya and Trelawney-Smythe. But there is something you might be able to do for me, he added, and told her what he wanted. She said she would ask around.
He left her with a promise to drive over the moment Albert phoned, and a plea not to worry if the wait lasted more than a day. If they still hadn't heard anything by Thursday he knew shed be reluctant to leave, even though they both knew that in this context no news was almost certain to be bad news.
On the other side of the city, Effi welcomed him with an intense embrace, and insisted on hearing every detail. Later, as they were going to bed, Russell noticed a new film script on the dressing table and asked her about it. It was a comedy, she told him. Twenty-three lines, four come-on smiles, and no jokes. The men got those. But at least it was pointless, a quality which Mother had taught her to admire.
The next morning, Russell left her propped up in bed happily declaiming her lines to an empty room, and drove home to Neuenburgerstrasse. There was no sign of Frau Heidegger, and no messages on the board, from either Albert or the Gestapo. He went up to his room and read the newspaper, his door propped open in case the phone rang. Jews had been forbidden from using either sleeping or restaurant cars on the Reichsbahn, on the grounds, no doubt, that they would appreciate their hunger more if they were kept awake.
He heard Frau Heidegger come in, the clink of the bottles as she set them beside her door. It was Tuesday, Russell realizedskat night. With Effi not working, and his own weekends given over to espionage, he was beginning to lose track of the days. He went down to warn her about his expected call, and paid the price in coffee.
Back upstairs, the hours ticked by with agonizing slowness, and the only calls were for Dagmar, the plump little waitress from Pomerania who had taken McKinleys room. She, not unusually, was out. According to Frau Heidegger she sometimes came in at 3:00 in the morning with beer on her breath.
Russell nipped out to buy some eggs while Frau Heidegger kept guard, and cooked himself an omelette for dinner. Most of the other tenants returned home from work, and the concierges arrived, one by one, bottles in hand, to play skat. The waves of merriment reached higher up the stairs as the evening went on, but the telephone refused to ring, and Russell felt his anxiety grow. Where was Albert? Sitting in some border lockup waiting to be picked by the Gestapo? Or lying dead in some frozen mountain meadow? If so, he hoped the boy had managed to take some of the bastards with him.
The skat party broke up soon after 10:30, and once the other concierges had passed noisily into the street Frau Heidegger took the phone off the hook. Russell went to bed and started reading the John Kling novel which Paul had loaned him. The next thing he knew, it was morning. He walked briskly down to Hallesches Tor for a paper, skipping through it on the way back for news of spies or criminals apprehended on the border. As he replaced the phone a red-eyed Frau Heidegger emerged with an invitation to coffee, and they both listened to the morning news on her peoples radio. The Fuhrer had recovered from the slight illness which had caused the cancellation of several school visits on the previous day, but no young Jews named Albert had been picked up trying to cross into Czechoslovakia.
The morning passed at a snails pace, bringing two more calls for Dagmar and one from Effi, wanting to know what was happening. Russell had no sooner put the phone down after her call than it rang again. Forgot something? he asked, but it was Alberts voice, indistinct but unmistakably triumphant, which came over the line.
Im in Prague, it said, as if the Czech capital was as close to heaven as its owner had ever been.
Thank God, Russell shouted back. What took you so long?
We only came across last night. Youll tell my mother?
Im on my way. And theyll be on the train tomorrow.
Thank you.
Youre welcome. And good luck.
Russell hung up the phone and stood beside it, blissfully conscious of the relief spreading out through his limbs. One down, three to go. He called Effi back with the good news and then set off for the Wiesners.
Frau Wiesner looked as if she hadn't slept since he had left her on Monday, and when Russell told her Albert was in Prague she burst into tears. The two girls rushed to embrace her and started crying too.
After a minute or so she wiped her eyes and embraced Russell. A last coffee in Berlin, she said, and sent the two girls out to buy cakes at a small shop on a nearby street which still sold to Jews. Once they were out of the door, she told Russell she had one last favor to ask. Disappearing into the other room, she reemerged with a large framed photograph of her husband and a small suitcase. Would you keep this for me? she asked, handing him the photograph. It is the best one I have, and Im afraid they will take it away from me at the border. Next time you come to England. . . .
Of course. Where is he, your husband? Did they bury him at Sachsenhausen?
I dont know, she said. I did not tell you this, but on Monday, after the visa came, I gathered my courage, and I went to the Gestapo building on Prinz Albrechtstrasse. I asked if his body could be returned to me, or if they could just tell me where he is buried. A man was called for, and he came down to see me. He said that my son could claim my husbands body, but I could not. He said that was the legal position, but I knew he was lying. They were using my husbands body as bait to catch my son.
Sometimes the Nazis could still take your breath away.
And this, she continued, picking up the suitcase, is what you asked for on Monday. She put it on the table, clicked it open, and clicked again, revealing the false bottom. The man who made this was a famous leather craftsman in Wilmersdorf before the Nazis, and he has made over a hundred of these since coming to Friedrichshain.
And none have been detected?
He doesnt know. Once Jews have left they dont come back. A few have written to say that everything went well, but if it hadn't. . . .
They would be in no position to write.
Exactly.
Russell sighed. Well, thank you anyway, he said, just as the girls came back with a box of assorted cream cakes. They insisted on Russell having the first pick, then sat round the table happily licking the excess cream from their lips. When he suggested driving them to the station the next day, he could see how relieved Frau Wiesner was, and cursed himself for not putting her mind at rest at sooner. How else could they have gotten there? Jews were not allowed to drive, and most cabdrivers wouldn't carry them. Which left public transport, and a fair likelihood of public abuse from their fellow passengers. Not the nicest way to say goodbye.
The train, she said, was at 11:00, and he was back the next morning at 9:30. The girls squeezed into the back with their small bags, Frau Wiesner in the front with a suitcase on her lap, and as they drove down Neue Konigstrasse toward the city center Russell could feel all three of them craning their necks and filling their memories with the sights of their disappearing home.