The ride into town clinging to Werner’s back was lengthy enough for me to become thoroughly nervous about what I intended to do.
What if my parents and Ingrid were right and Chief Stadler wouldn’t listen to me? What if we all were arrested because of my brashness?
But I squelched these worries with the conviction that I had put Ferdinand in trouble, and it behooved me to get him out of it. Speaking with Chief Stadler seemed the only way to do that.
Nevertheless, I felt myself shaking as I dismounted Werner’s motorcycle in front of the police station.
My brother looked at me.
“Are you okay?” he solicited, concerned.
I nodded, and felt my lower lip tremble.
“Oh, Werner, am I doing the right thing?” I suddenly sobbed out.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” he answered.
I considered his suggestion, then quickly shook my head.
“No,” I responded vehemently. “I have to try!”
Werner grinned, giving me a quick hug.
“Don’t worry, Hildi, it’ll be alright. If we get in trouble, it’ll only be as much as I get into every time I refuse to give that stupid salute. I’ll be back for you.”
I nodded again, and watched as he roared away in a surge of spurting water.
The exterior of the sprawling, brownstone police station appeared absolutely menacing, a tawny lion anticipating his spring, and the Nazi flag arching upwards from its roof in the cold wind seemed like a harbinger of failure. I hesitated for a few minutes before ascending the steps, and took a breath from the innermost chambers of my being as I reached for the right door handle, a wolf’s head with the lips drawn back in a growl.
The whole atmosphere of the interior of the building was one of glowering animosity. You didn’t come here to request aid in getting your imported Burmese kitten out of a tree. If those deep-stained doors closed behind you, it was because you were that most abominable thing: an enemy of the state, and were to be dealt with accordingly.
The high ceiling and echoing floor made me feel diminutive and vulnerable in this vast temple to Nazi Justice. On every side were closed office doors with frosted windows to prevent one from seeing in, and the skylights in the icing-swirled canopy above me, which would have on a sunny day, fountained golden veils, but now only allowed glimpses of the petulant sky at their heads. No soul appeared to be in the place, and I was not about to go around knocking on doors.
My dilemma was solved by the tread of boots approaching from an unknown quarter, and I felt mixed feelings of relief and apprehension as they clicked near.
The mien of the officer prowling purposefully down a darkened hall in front of me did nothing to lessen my nervousness. I was realising more and more that coming here had been a bad idea, and I cogitated as to what was the quickest way to sidle out without being seen.
But the officer had already noticed me.
He came within three feet of me and stopped, and the memory of the smiling soldiers in the parade seemed like an unreal and very distant dream compared with this grim effigy of Teutonic policedom.
He looked me over as if I were a centipede.
“What are you doing here?” he finally enquired, in a tone to suggest that I was spoiling the look of the place.
At the moment, I knew about as much as he did on the subject. My mind had become non-existent.
I swallowed a few times, endeavoured to say something – regardless of what it was – and ended in failure. The officer’s grey eyes had a glint in them which was the opposite of helpful.
“Why are you here?” he questioned again, the idea that I might not have understood him the first time around probably having suddenly occurred to him. He was obviously getting impatient, and he didn’t possess the features of a person who could handle impatience very well.
I had just resigned myself to being grabbed by the collar and dragged off to some insane asylum when the largest door in the place withdrew. Of course, I should have fathomed that it was Chief Stadler’s door all along, but my state of mind had not been one for reasoning.
“What’s going on, Hebenstreit?” the Chief enquired of my unwilling companion in the hall. His appearance was that of a man who spent far too much time availing himself of sausages and beer, and the aura of cigar smoke drooped about him like a warning. It was a harsher smell than that of Papi’s tobacco.
He saw me, and hulked over to join us.
“This child has somehow wandered in,” Officer Hebenstreit explained. “I think she may have escaped from a mental asylum.” He gave me another look of complete repugnance, attempting to outdo his initial feat, and I wished I could evaporate.
“What are you doing here, child?” Chief Stadler asked me kindly.
It was the third time in the space of seven minutes that I had heard the question, but with the ‘child’ tacked on, and the tone in which it was now put helped to rouse some of my reasoning faculties from their heavy faint.
“I wanted to speak with you,” I managed to get out, in a fracturing voice that sounded completely foreign to me. I was ashamed of it.
“Well, well, that is a compliment,” Chief Stadler chuckled, and I felt my courage sifting back.
“Come,” he encouraged, motioning towards his office doorway.
He waddled after me and shut us in, waving toward the chair in front of his substantial desk as he did so. And I couldn’t help realising that this was the chair arrested persons were shown to. I wondered if Ferdinand had sat in it.
“Don’t worry about Hebenstreit,” Chief Stadler soothed as he heaved himself behind the desk and reached for a cigar in an instinctive manner. “He may have a formidable appearance, but he is actually quite harmless.”
Right, I thought. As harmless as a boa constrictor.
“What is it you wanted to see me about?” Chief Stadler queried, “And, first off, what is your name?”
I took three breaths of the nicotine-layered air.
“Brünhilde von Merveldt,” I replied. To my immense relief, I was hearing my own voice again.
“Ah, yes,” Chief Stadler nodded. “I know your father.” He appeared to be in a very jovial mood, probably due to having just drunk half a pint of Staatliches Hofbräuhaus beer. The empty glass and bottle were still on his desk.
I swallowed again, so hard that it burned.
“I came to ask you about Ferdinand von Freudenberg,” I said.
A slight change presented itself on Chief Stadler’s bloated face, and I felt any newfound bravery commencing to rapidly subside. But I forced myself on.
“He is my friend,” I explained, putting all of my heart into the words. “He won’t do it again. He just got angry.”
“It was a disgusting way to behave, so soon after the visit of our noble Führer,” Chief Stadler said. All the good humour had gone out of his pendulant eyes, and my arguments sounded suddenly void and puerile against the unmoving countenance of National Socialism. However, I was desperate.
“Please let him go,” I begged, then realised I was leaning over the desk towards Chief Stadler. I quickly backed up.
“Ferdinand von Freudenberg is an enemy of the state,” Chief Stadler said. His voice was cold. “He will be dealt with accordingly.”
His air was thoroughly frightening. I forced away an up-surging sob.
“May I see him?’ I pleaded. Surely this would not be forbidden to me.
“He isn’t here,” Chief Stadler answered, each word icy and terrible. “He has been taken to Walküreheim.”
The name held no meaning for me. Chief Stadler must have assumed it would, for he said no more on the subject of Ferdinand. His finality was terrifying.
However, the expression in my eyes must have softened him, for he smiled then and took my hand.
“A pretty young girl like you shouldn’t be involved with this,” he said, his tone normal again. He let go of my hand after a second and stood up, indicating that the interview was over.
I endeavoured to keep the tears from travelling no farther than my eyes and had difficulty rising from the chair.
Chief Stadler opened the door.
“Give my regards to your father,” he instructed as I went out.
I didn’t respond, and made my way, hardly seeing, to the police station entrance. Officer Hebenstreit had disappeared and, as I searched for a handle, I thanked God. He was not the sort of man I wanted to see me in this state.
he gale felt even more biting as I descended the stone steps. Rain had resumed, and the fast drops lashed my face like a thousand tiny whips.
Werner was already waiting.
“It didn’t work?” he assumed as soon as I had reached him.
I shook my head. I had been stupid to think it would work.
“Oh, Werner!” I sobbed. “They’ve taken him to Walküreheim!”
He looked blank. I had been hoping that he would be able to tell me what the awful name meant, but he obviously had never heard of it.
“That’s bad,” my brother said, trying to be helpful. Then he forced a grin.
“Cheer up, Hildi, you’ll find another way.”
He revved his motorcycle.
“No point in standing around in the wet,” he observed, and helped me on his motorcycle behind him.
The rain continued to assault my face as we splashed away, and I cried against Werner’s coat.
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