Page 75 of The Last Safe Place
He stood and walked into the corridor, where he lit another cigarette. He didn’t usually smoke this much, but the closer their departure date had come, the more nervous he had become, and reaching for a cigarette at least relaxed him a little.
Of course, he could talk to the train driver and request help by radio, which he didn’t want to do for several reasons, not least that nobody would approve a large-scale medical rescue for a Jew.
Pondering, he walked along the corridor, hoping to find a doctor among the passengers. But the few men left on the train were all wearing dark business suits and carrying briefcases more typical of a banker. Once, he ventured into a compartment to ask, “Excuse me, are any of you a doctor?”
“No,” came the answer.
“Ask the conductor, I’m sure he can help you.”
That was the last thing Knut wanted to do. “Thank you very much, I will.”
Back in the corridor, he came across a compartment of six soldiers in Wehrmacht uniform. They seemed to be in the bestof spirits, roaring loudly at each other’s jokes. Knut was about to move on, when an idea struck him.
He slid the door open and stuck his head into the compartment. “Sieg Heil, comrades! Where are you headed?”
“Heidelberg, on home leave,” one replied, raising an almost empty schnapps bottle. “What about you, Lieutenant?”
“On my way to Freiburg.” Judging by their state of drunkenness, Knut concluded none of these soldiers was capable of asking critical questions – even if they wanted to. “May I join you? I could really use a sip. It’s been a tough week, and I haven’t slept for days. I really don’t know how I’m going to get through this.”
One of the men handed him the bottle and Knut took a big gulp. The harsh grain burned its way down his throat. If only he could convince his new friends to give him the rest. That would help numb Herr Seifert’s pain.
After a few minutes, he broached the subject. “I have to get back. My comrade is doubled over in pain. Gallstones, or something like that.”
“Never fear, Ole’s here,” slurred one of the soldiers. “Giv ‘im this an’ ’e’ll be good’s’new.” With those words, he pulled a packet of Pervitin from his jacket pocket.
“Sweet, sweet rocket fuel. Works every time,” said his comrade.
Knut had never taken Pervitin himself, though he knew it was a powerful stimulant. Frontline soldiers packed it into their kitbags to fend off hunger, fatigue, and pain, as well as fight the enemy day and night without tiring. It was worth a try.
“Don’t you need that yourself?” he asked, for appearances’ sake.
“Nah, I’ got plenty more o’ the stuff.” Ole shrugged, patting his kitbag with a lewd grin. “Don’ need it on ’ome leave anyways, gonna be spending mosta my time in bed.”
“Thanks again. And enjoy the leave back home with your wife.” Knut made a show of exuberant goodbyes, left the soldiers and returned to his own compartment, where Herr Seifert was writhing in pain.
By now, everyone except Ilse had noticed his desperate condition and was staring, mesmerized, at the poor man, like rabbits staring at a snake.
Knut cleared his throat and gestured to Frau Kronberg to join him in the corridor. Hidden from the curious eyes and ears of their fellow travelers, he showed her the packet of Pervitin. “This was the only thing I could get.”
She took a deep breath before taking the packet. “My doctoral supervisor would expel me from the medical profession for this. But as Leo so charmingly put it, desperate times require desperate measures.”
She looked so desolate, Knut simply had to say something to cheer her up again. “I could go again?”
Amazingly, her face twisted into a lopsided grin. “This will help. And I’ve lost my license anyway, what more can they take from me?”
Nervously chewing his lower lip, Knut watched as she dosed Herr Seifert with the Pervitin. Within minutes, the man visibly relaxed, and was even able to sit upright again. Now all he had to do was hold on until Basel.
But their next problem was already approaching: an SD train patrol. “Tickets and papers, please.”
Knut handed him the bundle of papers for everyone in the compartment. The moment the SD officer spotted the J on the passports, his attitude changed.
“These people must get off at the last stop before the border. They won’t be permitted to continue their journey.”
“I have orders to escort this group to the border.” Knut straightened his shoulders and spoke in an authoritarian tone, “All the necessary documents for their departure are here.”
“Jews aren’t allowed to leave the country,” the SD officer insisted.
“That’s correct, but this group has an exemption. Here.” Knut handed him the certificate from the Gestapo, as well as a letter signed by Admiral Canaris, stating the Jews present were in the service of the Abwehr and had to be given free passage.