Read Online Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum - Free Book Online
Authors: Jenna Blum
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Historical, Historical - General, Fiction - Historical, Bildungsromans, Sagas, World War, 1939-1945, War & Military, Germany, War stories, Holocaust, Young Women, Jewish (1939-1945), Underground Movements, Germany - History - 1933-1945, German American women, 1939-1945 - Underground movements, 1939-1945 - Germany
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flick of his tongue on her skin. She longs to rap him on his oiled hair.
And you have already met Hauptsturmführer von Schoener, Gerhard continues, turning to the other officer. On two occasions, I believe?
Three— von Schoener corrects him. His voice is a weak rasp, the result, Anna knows, of exposure to gas in the trenches of the first war. He coughs into a handkerchief and gazes at Anna with watering brown eyes. Anna has always been uneasy around dark-eyed men. She would rather that he, too, lick her proffered hand than stare at her this way. But von Schoener continues to stand stiffly to one side of the quartet, projecting longing at her from a distance.
If you’ll be seated, dinner is ready, says Anna. Unless you’d care for a drink first?
Gerhard laughs.
No, my dear, we’re quite lubricated enough already, he says. Gentlemen, this way.
With an expansive gesture that falls just short of a bow, he ushers the officers into the dining room. Anna escapes to the kitchen. As she does, she hears Wagner say, Well, Gerhard, I’d heard you were hiding a little treasure here, but I never expected anything like this. She has the face of an angel! and Gerhard’s modest reply: Yes, she is rather fetching, if I do say so myself . . . But hiding her, Gustav? Such a dramatic accusation! I’m merely keeping her safe until the right fellow comes along. She’ll make some lucky man a good wife . . .
Anna, fighting another swell of nausea, lets the door swing shut behind her. When she re-emerges, carrying the tureen of soup, the three men have seated themselves in the dining room, Gerhard at the head of the table, the other two to either side. Wagner lounges in his chair, but von Schoener sits upright, a mismatched bookend. He presses his handkerchief to his lips, watching Anna’s every movement as she serves him.
Is this watercress? Wagner asks, dipping his spoon into his bowl.
Cucumber, Anna tells him. An antidote to the warm weather.
It’s nice, Fräulein. A local recipe? They have nothing like this where I’m from.
And where would that be? Anna asks, taking her seat opposite Gerhard.
A small town in East Prussia. You probably haven’t heard of it.
Anna revamps her image of the pre-war Wagner: he would have been a farmhand, then, tormenting the animals and perhaps the younger, weaker boys.
Wagner laughs nastily.
I’ve never understood why everybody considers East Prussia so backwards, he says. I see you now think I’m a hayseed, Fräulein.
Of course not, Anna murmurs.
Let’s hope the Führer never asks you to be a spy, says Wagner. He slides the spoon over his lower lip, tonguing the silver concavity. You’d make a very bad one. I can see your every thought on your face.
Anna prays this isn’t true. She forces herself to take some soup. Though she is normally fond of cucumber, the liquid coats her mouth, slimy as algae.
And have you left your family behind to fulfill your duties here? she asks, looking pointedly at Wagner’s left hand, where a slim silver ring glints on his wedding finger.
Wagner’s grin fades.
Yes, my whole family. This ring is— It belonged to my grandmother.
Really, says Anna.
Wagner applies himself to his soup.
We must all make sacrifices for the Reich, Gerhard says. His voice, sonorous from years of courtroom appearances, is modulated, but Anna knows that he is furious with her, as he has been ever since she told him that Spaetzle ran away. He conceals his anger well, even as his silver mustache hides a harelip; like many of his imperfections, it is invisible to the casual observer. But can’t even these officers, acquaintances of a few months, see Gerhard’s conceit, his sycophancy, the foppishness of his cravat and handmade shoes?
Apparently not, for Wagner tells Gerhard, I like your waistcoat.
Gerhard looks modestly down at the garment, which, embroidered with a hunting scene, would be more appropriate hung on a wall.
And this room—! Wagner waves his spoon,
And you have already met Hauptsturmführer von Schoener, Gerhard continues, turning to the other officer. On two occasions, I believe?
Three— von Schoener corrects him. His voice is a weak rasp, the result, Anna knows, of exposure to gas in the trenches of the first war. He coughs into a handkerchief and gazes at Anna with watering brown eyes. Anna has always been uneasy around dark-eyed men. She would rather that he, too, lick her proffered hand than stare at her this way. But von Schoener continues to stand stiffly to one side of the quartet, projecting longing at her from a distance.
If you’ll be seated, dinner is ready, says Anna. Unless you’d care for a drink first?
Gerhard laughs.
No, my dear, we’re quite lubricated enough already, he says. Gentlemen, this way.
With an expansive gesture that falls just short of a bow, he ushers the officers into the dining room. Anna escapes to the kitchen. As she does, she hears Wagner say, Well, Gerhard, I’d heard you were hiding a little treasure here, but I never expected anything like this. She has the face of an angel! and Gerhard’s modest reply: Yes, she is rather fetching, if I do say so myself . . . But hiding her, Gustav? Such a dramatic accusation! I’m merely keeping her safe until the right fellow comes along. She’ll make some lucky man a good wife . . .
Anna, fighting another swell of nausea, lets the door swing shut behind her. When she re-emerges, carrying the tureen of soup, the three men have seated themselves in the dining room, Gerhard at the head of the table, the other two to either side. Wagner lounges in his chair, but von Schoener sits upright, a mismatched bookend. He presses his handkerchief to his lips, watching Anna’s every movement as she serves him.
Is this watercress? Wagner asks, dipping his spoon into his bowl.
Cucumber, Anna tells him. An antidote to the warm weather.
It’s nice, Fräulein. A local recipe? They have nothing like this where I’m from.
And where would that be? Anna asks, taking her seat opposite Gerhard.
A small town in East Prussia. You probably haven’t heard of it.
Anna revamps her image of the pre-war Wagner: he would have been a farmhand, then, tormenting the animals and perhaps the younger, weaker boys.
Wagner laughs nastily.
I’ve never understood why everybody considers East Prussia so backwards, he says. I see you now think I’m a hayseed, Fräulein.
Of course not, Anna murmurs.
Let’s hope the Führer never asks you to be a spy, says Wagner. He slides the spoon over his lower lip, tonguing the silver concavity. You’d make a very bad one. I can see your every thought on your face.
Anna prays this isn’t true. She forces herself to take some soup. Though she is normally fond of cucumber, the liquid coats her mouth, slimy as algae.
And have you left your family behind to fulfill your duties here? she asks, looking pointedly at Wagner’s left hand, where a slim silver ring glints on his wedding finger.
Wagner’s grin fades.
Yes, my whole family. This ring is— It belonged to my grandmother.
Really, says Anna.
Wagner applies himself to his soup.
We must all make sacrifices for the Reich, Gerhard says. His voice, sonorous from years of courtroom appearances, is modulated, but Anna knows that he is furious with her, as he has been ever since she told him that Spaetzle ran away. He conceals his anger well, even as his silver mustache hides a harelip; like many of his imperfections, it is invisible to the casual observer. But can’t even these officers, acquaintances of a few months, see Gerhard’s conceit, his sycophancy, the foppishness of his cravat and handmade shoes?
Apparently not, for Wagner tells Gerhard, I like your waistcoat.
Gerhard looks modestly down at the garment, which, embroidered with a hunting scene, would be more appropriate hung on a wall.
And this room—! Wagner waves his spoon,
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