Read Online Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum - Free Book Online Page A
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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scattering green droplets. That chandelier is magnificent. Did you kill the deer yourself ?
Of course, Gerhard says of the configuration of antlers above the table. He reaches for the decanter. I am an avid hunter, he adds carelessly, though Anna knows he has never so much as held a rifle.
The acrid smell of the officers’ boot polish is suddenly overwhelming. Swallowing bile, Anna collects the empty bowls, sets her own full one atop the rest, and excuses herself to attend to the main course. She arranges the slices of venison on a silver platter with distaste: the flesh glistens, the pink of a healing burn, causing her stomach to perform an even more lively set of calisthenics. Averting her eyes, holding her breath, Anna brings the meat out to the men.
Do you know, she says to Hauptsturmführer von Schoener, I don’t think I’ve ever asked you what brings you to Weimar. What is it you do here, specifically?
The Hauptsturmführer blinks. Tears trickle down his face, which otherwise remains immobile.
Desk work— mostly— he gasps. He coughs into his handkerchief, inspects the contents, then folds it into a small square. I’m really— no more than— a bureaucrat— I wouldn’t dream— of boring you— with a detailed— description—
He again brings the handkerchief to his mouth, gazing at Anna over the linen.
False modesty is a bad habit, Joachim, Gerhard booms. He spears a slice of venison and sends Anna a significant look from eyes as small and greedy as a bear’s. Translated, his glance means: This one is good husband material; his lineage is impeccable and his valor demonstrated, but because of his injuries, he will never leave you to be summoned to the front!
Anna doesn’t return her father’s smile. Having fulfilled her duties as a hostess, she is now free to eat without participating in the conversation. She focuses on cutting her meat and dropping it into the napkin on her lap, listening for useful tidbits that Frau Staudt might pass on to others in the Resistance. But the men don’t oblige her. Rather than discussing the camp—with which, as SS, they are obviously affiliated—they analyze the Führer ’s brilliance during the recent offensive into France. Anna would glean more information from the Völkischer Beobachter, the local paper.
Suddenly Hauptsturmführer von Schoener breaks off mid-gasp.
What is it, Herr Hauptsturmführer, Anna asks. Would you like more wine?
I thought— I heard— something— he says.
The group freezes, Wagner’s fork halfway to his fleshy lips. From near the ceiling, from the direction of the hidden maid’s staircase, there is a muffled thump—the sort of sound produced, for instance, by a person sneezing so violently that he has knocked his head against the wall.
Immediately Anna bends over her plate, coughing. The men turn in her direction, Gerhard annoyed, Wagner startled, von Schoener concerned. And Anna meanwhile finds that her act has become real: there is no morsel of food lodged in her throat, of course, but she can’t catch her breath. In his consternation von Schoener starts to cough too, and the table begins to sound like the percussive section of a human orchestra.
Then Wagner is behind Anna, seizing her arms and raising them above her head.
Breathe, he commands. Deeply. That’s it.
He reaches over her shoulder for a glass.
Drink this.
Anna obeys. A last convulsion forces some of the wine into her nose, but she is finally able to draw a shallow breath. As Wagner releases her and resumes his seat, she nods her thanks and daubs her tearstained face on her sleeve.
That’s how we East Prussian hayseeds stop choking fits, Wagner says.
The men chuckle. Anna laughs weakly along with them. Her energetic charade has expelled Max’s fluids, and she feels them sliding like egg whites between her thighs.
Anyone for seconds? Gerhard asks. He crooks a finger at Anna.
Anna doesn’t move. The officers will have to wait or serve themselves. She
Of course, Gerhard says of the configuration of antlers above the table. He reaches for the decanter. I am an avid hunter, he adds carelessly, though Anna knows he has never so much as held a rifle.
The acrid smell of the officers’ boot polish is suddenly overwhelming. Swallowing bile, Anna collects the empty bowls, sets her own full one atop the rest, and excuses herself to attend to the main course. She arranges the slices of venison on a silver platter with distaste: the flesh glistens, the pink of a healing burn, causing her stomach to perform an even more lively set of calisthenics. Averting her eyes, holding her breath, Anna brings the meat out to the men.
Do you know, she says to Hauptsturmführer von Schoener, I don’t think I’ve ever asked you what brings you to Weimar. What is it you do here, specifically?
The Hauptsturmführer blinks. Tears trickle down his face, which otherwise remains immobile.
Desk work— mostly— he gasps. He coughs into his handkerchief, inspects the contents, then folds it into a small square. I’m really— no more than— a bureaucrat— I wouldn’t dream— of boring you— with a detailed— description—
He again brings the handkerchief to his mouth, gazing at Anna over the linen.
False modesty is a bad habit, Joachim, Gerhard booms. He spears a slice of venison and sends Anna a significant look from eyes as small and greedy as a bear’s. Translated, his glance means: This one is good husband material; his lineage is impeccable and his valor demonstrated, but because of his injuries, he will never leave you to be summoned to the front!
Anna doesn’t return her father’s smile. Having fulfilled her duties as a hostess, she is now free to eat without participating in the conversation. She focuses on cutting her meat and dropping it into the napkin on her lap, listening for useful tidbits that Frau Staudt might pass on to others in the Resistance. But the men don’t oblige her. Rather than discussing the camp—with which, as SS, they are obviously affiliated—they analyze the Führer ’s brilliance during the recent offensive into France. Anna would glean more information from the Völkischer Beobachter, the local paper.
Suddenly Hauptsturmführer von Schoener breaks off mid-gasp.
What is it, Herr Hauptsturmführer, Anna asks. Would you like more wine?
I thought— I heard— something— he says.
The group freezes, Wagner’s fork halfway to his fleshy lips. From near the ceiling, from the direction of the hidden maid’s staircase, there is a muffled thump—the sort of sound produced, for instance, by a person sneezing so violently that he has knocked his head against the wall.
Immediately Anna bends over her plate, coughing. The men turn in her direction, Gerhard annoyed, Wagner startled, von Schoener concerned. And Anna meanwhile finds that her act has become real: there is no morsel of food lodged in her throat, of course, but she can’t catch her breath. In his consternation von Schoener starts to cough too, and the table begins to sound like the percussive section of a human orchestra.
Then Wagner is behind Anna, seizing her arms and raising them above her head.
Breathe, he commands. Deeply. That’s it.
He reaches over her shoulder for a glass.
Drink this.
Anna obeys. A last convulsion forces some of the wine into her nose, but she is finally able to draw a shallow breath. As Wagner releases her and resumes his seat, she nods her thanks and daubs her tearstained face on her sleeve.
That’s how we East Prussian hayseeds stop choking fits, Wagner says.
The men chuckle. Anna laughs weakly along with them. Her energetic charade has expelled Max’s fluids, and she feels them sliding like egg whites between her thighs.
Anyone for seconds? Gerhard asks. He crooks a finger at Anna.
Anna doesn’t move. The officers will have to wait or serve themselves. She
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