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Authors: Mechtild Borrmann
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shock, felt shame mounting in her head and her face turning red. He said good-bye on the steps to two men in SS uniforms, crossed the square, and signaled with a jerk of his head that she should follow him.
She waited a moment before entering the alleyway he had disappeared into. Suddenly, a hand pulled her into an archway that led to a courtyard behind a pair of houses.
“I’m sorry, Therese. You have to believe me. I didn’t know anything about the arrest. I would never have taken you into the Krug with me if I’d known.” His voice was pleading, and Therese was surprised. The idea that Wilhelm might have known about her father’s arrest that evening had not even entered her head.
“That’s not what I think, Wilhelm. Tell me, how is he? Where is he? What is he accused of?”
Wilhelm went on talking, but he had not heard her questions. “Therese, we can’t meet so publicly anymore. You have to understand. Your father has caused us the worst kind of problems, and that evening . . .” He did not look at her. His gaze wandered searchingly over the gray facade of the courtyard wall, pausing on the small darkened windows as if trying to make out silhouettes.
“You shouldn’t have just run away. Can you see that? You made yourself look suspicious. Yourself and me. They questioned me really thoroughly.”
“I’m sorry, Wilhelm. I certainly didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”
He waited a moment, pensive. Then he said, “Your father’s a collaborator, do you understand? They suspect him, together with others, of having smuggled communists and Jews across the border into Holland.”
Therese swallowed hard. She felt the fear in her belly first—a hard chill, like steel, that spread out and slowed her thoughts. Her father’s all-night absences, explained away as house calls by her mother, which she was not supposed to mention to anyone. “Please, Wilhelm, have you seen him? How is he?” Tears were running down her face, and she felt the trembling of her voice in her throat.
He grabbed her by the arm. “I haven’t seen him, but I’ve heard he’s not talking. They’re interrogating him. He has influential advocates—I’m sure they’ll release him soon.” He took her face between his hands and looked at her intently. “Therese, you have to distance yourself from your father. Join the League. Participate. Hollmann thinks if you don’t show that you . . . which side you’re on . . . Do it for my sake, please.” Then he kissed her on the mouth. When he noticed that she did not return his kiss, he took a step back and looked at her penetratingly. “I love you, Therese. Do it for us.”
Her body felt stiff and unmoving; her thoughts were sluggish, and she could not think them through to a conclusion.
Wilhelm loves me , she thought, searching for some kind of sensation in her wooden body, a feeling that went beyond friendship. A moment of happiness, perhaps, a moment of sincere attraction that demanded a greater closeness. But instead, she wondered why he was making this declaration now, in the secrecy of a courtyard, hurriedly and in a whisper.
And she thought about Alwine, who was in love with Wilhelm and was her best friend.
She lowered her head. “Wilhelm, I need to think.” She stepped hastily out from the archway and into the alley. “Mother will be worried,” she whispered, and walked away at a quickened pace.
Anxiety and loneliness tormented the following days. She did not go to the town hall again.
Later, she had often thought about the distance that appeared between two people when love was the subject and that love was one-sided.
In the evenings that followed, she stood by the living-room window and watched Wilhelm on his way home from the town hall. His path led past her house, and he always looked up. She waited in vain for the impulse to run out, throw herself in his arms, and say, You’re right. I’m confused, and I make things unnecessarily complicated.
Then she
She waited a moment before entering the alleyway he had disappeared into. Suddenly, a hand pulled her into an archway that led to a courtyard behind a pair of houses.
“I’m sorry, Therese. You have to believe me. I didn’t know anything about the arrest. I would never have taken you into the Krug with me if I’d known.” His voice was pleading, and Therese was surprised. The idea that Wilhelm might have known about her father’s arrest that evening had not even entered her head.
“That’s not what I think, Wilhelm. Tell me, how is he? Where is he? What is he accused of?”
Wilhelm went on talking, but he had not heard her questions. “Therese, we can’t meet so publicly anymore. You have to understand. Your father has caused us the worst kind of problems, and that evening . . .” He did not look at her. His gaze wandered searchingly over the gray facade of the courtyard wall, pausing on the small darkened windows as if trying to make out silhouettes.
“You shouldn’t have just run away. Can you see that? You made yourself look suspicious. Yourself and me. They questioned me really thoroughly.”
“I’m sorry, Wilhelm. I certainly didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”
He waited a moment, pensive. Then he said, “Your father’s a collaborator, do you understand? They suspect him, together with others, of having smuggled communists and Jews across the border into Holland.”
Therese swallowed hard. She felt the fear in her belly first—a hard chill, like steel, that spread out and slowed her thoughts. Her father’s all-night absences, explained away as house calls by her mother, which she was not supposed to mention to anyone. “Please, Wilhelm, have you seen him? How is he?” Tears were running down her face, and she felt the trembling of her voice in her throat.
He grabbed her by the arm. “I haven’t seen him, but I’ve heard he’s not talking. They’re interrogating him. He has influential advocates—I’m sure they’ll release him soon.” He took her face between his hands and looked at her intently. “Therese, you have to distance yourself from your father. Join the League. Participate. Hollmann thinks if you don’t show that you . . . which side you’re on . . . Do it for my sake, please.” Then he kissed her on the mouth. When he noticed that she did not return his kiss, he took a step back and looked at her penetratingly. “I love you, Therese. Do it for us.”
Her body felt stiff and unmoving; her thoughts were sluggish, and she could not think them through to a conclusion.
Wilhelm loves me , she thought, searching for some kind of sensation in her wooden body, a feeling that went beyond friendship. A moment of happiness, perhaps, a moment of sincere attraction that demanded a greater closeness. But instead, she wondered why he was making this declaration now, in the secrecy of a courtyard, hurriedly and in a whisper.
And she thought about Alwine, who was in love with Wilhelm and was her best friend.
She lowered her head. “Wilhelm, I need to think.” She stepped hastily out from the archway and into the alley. “Mother will be worried,” she whispered, and walked away at a quickened pace.
Anxiety and loneliness tormented the following days. She did not go to the town hall again.
Later, she had often thought about the distance that appeared between two people when love was the subject and that love was one-sided.
In the evenings that followed, she stood by the living-room window and watched Wilhelm on his way home from the town hall. His path led past her house, and he always looked up. She waited in vain for the impulse to run out, throw herself in his arms, and say, You’re right. I’m confused, and I make things unnecessarily complicated.
Then she
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