Page 55 of The Last Safe Place
Lieutenant Hesse was taken aback. “Please, sit back down and let me explain the proposal calmly.”
Scowling, Eberhard sat down again.
“As the latest law states, you will lose access to all your assets once you cross the border.”
“Unjustly,” growled Eberhard. Like most emigrants, he hoped to recover his confiscated property after the Nazis had been defeated. If, on the other hand, he voluntarily transferred his assets to the Abwehr, they’d be difficult to reclaim. He understood that much, even without a law qualification.
“The Abwehr will advance the one hundred thousand US dollars from a secret fund in Switzerland, but in order to avoid suspicion, we must replace the amounts withdrawn. Mycolleague Kunze, who is a foreign exchange expert, is in charge of the financial transactions.”
Kunze spoke again. “Let’s take your practice, for example. The rooms are your property. According to my information, you have significant receivables. As soon as you have transferred ownership to the Abwehr, we will appoint a trustee to wind up the practice. The apartment will be rented, the furniture sold, receivables collected. All proceeds will be used exclusively to replace the guarantee sum.”
Eberhard took a deep breath. He hated the idea. Hated it intensely. Though he had to admit that it sounded reasonable. As long as Hitler was in power, he couldn’t return to Germany – and even afterward, he might not want to. Nobody knew how long the war would last, and at over fifty years old, Eberhard was no longer a young man. A fresh start in Switzerland, or anywhere else, was bad enough, but to go through that a second time after a return to Germany, where so many ugly memories would be waiting for him…
He had loved being German, until he’d been expelled from the national community. Since then, he’d lost all sense of belonging, any belief in the good in his fellow citizens. For the rest of his life, he would carry the pain inside him whenever he met someone from his past who’d taken the side of the Nazis. Sometimes it was better to make a fresh start. A clean cut from all the ties to his old life.
“I agree.” He surprised himself as he said it.
Even Hesse and Kunze stared, nonplussed. “Just like that?”
“On the condition that the assets handed over benefit our group exclusively.”
“They will,” Hesse assured him. “It may take a while – we won’t be able to liquidate all items immediately, but any proceeds will be offset by our foreign exchange departmentagainst the advanced deposit. Any amounts in excess of it will be paid to you as soon as is convenient.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve found ways to circumvent the strict exchange controls,” said Kunze with a proud expression. “However, it can only be done gradually and in small amounts.”
Eberhard scrutinized the two men. They were risking a lot to get him and his fellow sufferers out of the country. If the worst should happen, they would be put in a concentration camp. “I trust you.”
“Thank you.” Hesse’s smile radiated honesty. “Will you talk to the others?”
“Certainly. I’ll draw up a contract and get back to you next week. If there’s nothing further to discuss, I shall take my leave.” Eberhard looked at Hesse with a raised eyebrow.
“That was all. I’ll inform the Swiss authorities; in the meantime you can settle the contractual matters directly with Sergeant Kunze.”
“Goodbye.” Eberhard gave a hint of a bow. Minutes later, he was standing on the street in front of the Bendlerblock, wondering what would be the fastest way to inform the other group members. Apart from him, none of them was allowed to use public transport and they no longer had a telephone.
He decided to use his daughter Johanna and his wife Selma as couriers to invite the others to a meeting the following afternoon at his office.
The next morning, he set off with his wife and daughter.
“What’s this news you’re being so mysterious about?” Johanna asked, not for the first time.
He grinned. “You’re going to have to be patient, like everyone else.”
Pouting, she trotted beside him. Once again, he observed how different the experience was of walking through the streets with two people wearing stars, compared to walking alone, unidentified.
Passersby continued walking straight ahead, expecting the “Jewish pack” to step aside. Others glared at them, or showered them with insults. It seemed as if the people’s soul had been waiting for this opportunity to allow everything dark and repulsive to bubble to the surface. Every single one of Germany’s once cultivated, well-read citizens seemed to have transformed into a brute, venting his resentment on the weakest members of society.
Eberhard wouldn’t miss his compatriots. If he was honest with himself, he deeply regretted not having taken this step much earlier, when emigration had still been permitted.
He reached for Selma’s hand and squeezed it briefly. His wife understood him without the need for words. Her brief nod assured him that she was on his side.No matter what comes our way, we can face it together.
Arriving at the office, he handed Selma his briefcase and rummaged for the key in his jacket pocket. Shortly after his arm was first amputated, Selma had mothered him terribly, until she had accepted that despite his disability, he wanted to manage everyday life on his own. He’d even learned to write with his left hand. A smile crept across his lips, because even decades later, his handwriting was still lamentable.
Just as he was turning the key in the lock, he heard footsteps behind him and turned around. Behind him stood Michaela Kronberg, with two girls, presumably her daughters. Both were scowling at him, without saying a word.
Compassion for them rose in his heart. These girls were so young, it would be both easier and harder for them than for the adults. At their age, every change was a catastrophe,leaving school and their friends was tantamount to the end of the world. On the other hand, they’d adapt faster to their new surroundings, and learn a new language or make friends in the blink of an eye.
“Good morning, Herr Lange, Frau Lange,” Frau Kronberg greeted him, then said to Johanna, “You must be Johanna. I’m Michaela Kronberg.”