One Winter Day
Shelley J Alongi

 


Lillie Mueller sat listening to the voice of the BBC. Huddled in the silence of the small house, she listened to the low tones of the announcer narrate the German surrender to the Red Army at Stalingrad. She shivered. She remembered Karl.

Suddenly, a horrible clattering sounded at her door, splitting the silence of the cold February afternoon in 1943. She lifted her head, turned off the radio. A long, silent moment passed. The clatter came again.

A sardonic smile played across her dark features.
They're so patient! So patient!

She rose and marched to the door, flinging it open. A gust of wind blew into the house as her eyes met those of an angry SS officer. Tall and impressive in his black overcoat, jack boots, the double lightening bolt insignia, he was angry!

"Frau Mueller? Where is your husband?"

"Why Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer, he is here, but he is sleeping."

"He has been away from his post for two days, Frau Mueller."

She was cold. The wind would take what heat there was out of the house if this arrogant officer continued to stand at her door.

"Yes, Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer, I know this. Hans has been in bed for two days. It is the grippe season, you know, Mein Herr.

"Bring him down here!"

The SS officer stamped in the bitter cold, swept snow from his hat.

"I hate to wake him. He is ill!"

The German touched his gun, hoping to scare her. But her husband was an officer with the SS. She stood unmoving in the open door. The man brushed her contemptuously aside. He slammed the door, and turned to her, eyes indignant.

"That lying traitor! I want to see him! Now!"

Lillie met her countryman's angry, blue gaze.

"Perhaps Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer, you would like to take off your coat and scarf?"

He shrugged out of the coat, peeled away the scarf and dropped them irreverently in a corner.

"I will take you to him. You may return to Herr Himmler and tell him that Hans is sick! Come along!"

She marched up the stairs, the officer close behind. Passing the hall mirror, Lillie saw the German's profile. Tall, blonde, fit, just like Hans. She noted the man's toothbrush-shaped mustache.
Just like the Fuhrer, Lillie thought, scornfully.

"Liebchen?"

They stood at the bedroom door. There was no answer.
She did not look at the officer as she pushed it open. She stood aside, giving him full view of the room. His gaze fell on a large bed, a face, a body in a tangle of sheets and blankets. Hans Mueller lay, eyes closed, blond hair falling across forehead and pillow, mouth slightly open, hands slack atop the sheets. Lillie stepped to the bed, lovingly adjusting the blankets over him. He moved restlessly, muttered, calmed. The officer only stood there, unconcerned.

Anger swept through Lillie Mueller like an advancing column of the Red Army. She stepped to a bedside table and removed a bottle of pills. She marched to the officer and thrust it toward him.

"Here is his medicine."
He took it from her, eyed it carefully. She waited, her husband's breathing the only sound in the room. The officer handed Lilliee the bottle. She replaced it and pushed a stray lock of Hans' blonde hair from his forehead.
She picked up the thermometer and brought it to his lips. She turned burning, scathing eyes to the officer.

"Shall I take his temperature?"
Her voice was cool, flat.
She saw the officer's uncertain look.

"That won't be necessary."

She laid the thermometer on the table.

"Wake him," he commanded, less sure of himself.
Lillie reached down and took one of her husband's hands. Gently pressing it between her hands, she called his name softly. The German breathed deeply, turned, his amazingly blue eyes slowly opening.

"Lillie?"

He sat up, his hand still securely in her's.

"What is it?"

"Liebchen, the Obersturmbannfuhrer is here. I'm sorry to wake you."

Groggy from sleep, the man sat up, putting his free hand to his eyes, as if a great pain were starting there. He glanced confusedly around him, sought out the officer's eyes with his own fevered gaze. The two Germans exchanged a hard, long look. Hans shook his head to clear it.
"What is the problem?"

The officer glanced to Hans' wife, then back at his comrade.

"Herr Himmler sent me here to check your story! I see that you are ill, Herr Mueller. Nevertheless," and here his voice hardened only a little, "You will be in your office on Monday, or you will join our men in the trenches of Russia! A fitting punishment for suspected traitors! We're watching you! Dying in the service of your country will be just as fitting as hanging, don't you think?"

The sick man peered cautiously from the corner of an eye at the man who had coldly announced his impending fate. He let a long moment pass, while the implications seemed to penetrate the haze of fever.

"Yes, Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer. I will be there."

He lay back, closing his eyes as if this small conversation exhausted him. Lillie watched him retreat into sleep.

"Sleep, my darling, sleep."

The officer turned on his heel. Lillie followed him out of the room. Back downstairs, the man retrieved the hastily dropped coat and scarf and put them on.
He put his hand to the door and opened it. Through the corner of an eye, he saw the black reef hanging on the door. He stopped, turned, sought the woman with his eyes.

"You lost a son?"
She nodded soberly.

"He died outside Moscow."
Her tone was flat. The officer looked away.

"Frau Mueller. Take good care of Hans. Tell him Germany needs him. Heil Hitler."

The officer raised his hand in a smart salute, arm at the proper angle, fingers tightly clasped, hand stiff. It was impressive and ugly in its rigor. She watched him hurry out the door, rushed on by the bitter cold. She shut her door and returned to the bottom of the stairs.

She clasped her hands in relief. She quietly climbed the stairs. She hurried down the hall and flung open the door.

Hans sat up, clear eyed, wide awake. She came to him, gathered him in a tight, relieved embrace.

"Liebchen, it worked again. It was your best performance!"

"Was it?"
He smiled."

"Oh, yes. You had me convinced! The injection that Doctor Hoffman gave you to cause fever will wear off, soon."

She sat beside him.

"He said Germany needs you."

He was silent, his amazingly blue eyes filling with tears. He buried his head on Lillie's shoulder.

"Much more than people realize. Since that conference in Wannse and the plans to kill all the Jews!" Pause. "No, maybe before that. Long before that; since the Nurnberg Laws, and Kristallnacht. He is right, Lillie. Germany needs me."

He wiped his eyes, she stood back.

"Do you have the papers?"

"right here."

She opened a drawer and brought out a package. He looked at it.

"It's a miracle that he didn't search that drawer!"

"Liebchen, maybe he was embarrassed by your stunning performance of illness!"

His gentle eyes sparkled, then grew quite thoughtful.

"You heard him. We must think of something else. We must be ever so careful." The German put out his hand. "Those papers!"

Ten minutes later, completely recovered, Hans Mueller stood ready to leave the small house. A chill was beginning to settle over it, not entirely related to the short ration of coal in the furnace.

"You know where you're going. How many there are? Where to take them?"

"Yes."

They spoke quietly together.

"To S. Strasse. I'm meeting Herr G. there. He'll take them to the underground. You'll have more papers for tomorrow?"

"I don't know," replied his wife. "Herr G isn't sure he can secure more papers. He is the one who told me the Obersturmbannfuhrer was coming to find you today. Hans, there isn't much time," continued his wife of 28 years, "go!"

He looked down at her. In one motion he brought her to him.

"Lillie."

His mouth covered hers. She sighed gently, returning the kiss.
 In his arms, tasting the coldness of fear and excitement she felt safe. Here, in this small cocoon, she was unafraid of the war, free of grief for her family, their lost son, their country. She pressed against him, his mouth responding to her, probing deeper, harder, till they finally parted.
The tick-tick of the clock in the silent house sounded urgent, as if telling them to hurry.

"Be careful, darling. Remember those days in Weimar, and..."

"Hush, there's no time for remembering. It's time to rescue Jews, not to remember Weimar. Weimar was partly responsible for all this."

He waved a hand, encompassing the war, the house, the country.

"I love you, Lillie."

"Germany will love you."

"If there is a Germany left after this damned war!"

"The obersturmbannfuhrer asked about Karl. He saw the reef."

She watched her husband's eyes. Pain. Grief. Disgust. They all seemed to be there at once.

"God, this war! We let this Austrian corporal lead us by the hand to fulfil his own selfish ambitions! No," he said reflectively, "maybe not. Perhaps these ambitions are Germany's as well. But I'm not sure we ever bargained for war, and hunger, and blood on our hands!"

His mood was brooding, dark.

"Liebchen," she admonished, seeing the sudden angry glint in the eyes she had loved since 1915, "it's 4 o'clock. Go!"

He held her close for another moment, then gently released her.

He strapped his gun about his waste. He put on his coat, wrapped snugly against the bitter cold. Casting one last glance over his shoulder, the eyes of husband and wife caught and held for a long, long moment. He put his hand to the door and stepped out into the frigid afternoon. Lillie did not sigh till she heard his crunching footsteps die away. What if he did not return? What if someone waited for him? She shivered. She would not rest easily till he came through the door again, having rescued a few Jews from Hitler's gas chambers. She closed the door on the evening, the war, her husband. She went into the kitchen and began to prepare their meager supper.

 

 

Copyright © 2002 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"