Read Online Vienna Prelude by Bodie Thoene, Brock Thoene - Free Book Online
Authors: Bodie Thoene, Brock Thoene
Ads: Link
have been gone from Berlin a long time if you do not remember that this is a Jewish store. Only Jews and very foolish people shop there now,” he concluded, as if he was putting forth a perfectly logical argument.
Elisa did not reply. All of Germany was filled with such logic these days. She checked the meter and counted out the exact fare. No tip, not even a “Thank you for the information.” Elisa was sure that when the cabbie counted out the change and discovered she had not tipped him, he would curse beneath his breath and remark that she too must be a Jew. On that point he would be right, despite the fact that Elisa had inherited her mother’s “Aryan” good looks.
“I will walk,” she said curtly, opening the door to a blast of cold wet air. She slammed the door behind her and scurried between stalled vehicles to the crowded sidewalk. Opening her umbrella, she joined the jostling shoppers and breathed deeply. Voices and Christmas music mingled with the cacophony of automobile horns in the city symphony so familiar to Elisa. For a moment it was almost as if nothing had changed while she had been in Vienna. Berlin was still her home, the city of her childhood dreams and happiest hours. Beneath her umbrella, the crooked cross of Hitler’s flag seemed simply another thundercloud that would pass, taking its storm with it. She would pretend that it was Christmas in Berlin as it always had been and as it always would be.
She made her way through the throng and was relieved when she pushed open the great glass doors of Lindheim’s Department Store. Shaking the raindrops from her umbrella, she stood to the side and gazed over the crowded aisles with satisfaction. It was Christmas—at least in Lindheim’s. Men and women strolled along the counters. Clerks smiled and offered help. Small booths were set up to provide the famous gift-wrapping service that made even the smallest gift seem extraordinary. The sweet aroma of perfume drifted through the store, and a string quartet played the music of Mozart from a red carpeted platform beside a giant glittering Christmas tree. Marble pillars were wrapped with broad swaths of red cloth, giving them the appearance of giant candy canes.
Elisa felt a surge of pride for her father. Ironic , she thought, that Christmas should seem most real here, in a Jewish store. She smiled at the thought. Her family was devoutly Lutheran, even though her father clung proudly to his Jewish heritage. Her mother was Aryan, with a lineage pure enough to please Hitler himself. Why then, she wondered, is the issue of being Jewish so all-consuming these days?
In spite of everything, Theo Lindheim had managed to carry off the image of the most carefree of all holidays for the “master race.” There were no Nazi flags flapping from the roof of his building. The only swastikas to be seen were worn on the armbands of the soldiers who crowded the aisles of Lindheim’s with everyone else.
Three years ago the sight of such soldiers would have been unthinkable. After the Great War, her father had told her that Germany had been stripped of great tracts of land and denied the right to ever rebuild its army. Elisa shook her head at the uselessness of such decrees. Only twelve years later Adolf Hitler and the National Socialist Party had burst on the scene. They had taken over the government of the Weimar Republic with only a 33 percent vote. Rearming had begun immediately, as had construction of the concentration camps for those who opposed the Nazis. The Versailles Treaty was merely a slip of paper, since France and Britain had refused to enforce it.
Decrees against the Jews of Germany had gone hand in hand with the rearming. Theo Lindheim had been spared much of the persecution others were now enduring, simply because he had been a great hero for the Fatherland during the “war to end all wars.” His trophy case contained two Iron Crosses, and he walked with a limp from a wound received as a fighter
Elisa did not reply. All of Germany was filled with such logic these days. She checked the meter and counted out the exact fare. No tip, not even a “Thank you for the information.” Elisa was sure that when the cabbie counted out the change and discovered she had not tipped him, he would curse beneath his breath and remark that she too must be a Jew. On that point he would be right, despite the fact that Elisa had inherited her mother’s “Aryan” good looks.
“I will walk,” she said curtly, opening the door to a blast of cold wet air. She slammed the door behind her and scurried between stalled vehicles to the crowded sidewalk. Opening her umbrella, she joined the jostling shoppers and breathed deeply. Voices and Christmas music mingled with the cacophony of automobile horns in the city symphony so familiar to Elisa. For a moment it was almost as if nothing had changed while she had been in Vienna. Berlin was still her home, the city of her childhood dreams and happiest hours. Beneath her umbrella, the crooked cross of Hitler’s flag seemed simply another thundercloud that would pass, taking its storm with it. She would pretend that it was Christmas in Berlin as it always had been and as it always would be.
She made her way through the throng and was relieved when she pushed open the great glass doors of Lindheim’s Department Store. Shaking the raindrops from her umbrella, she stood to the side and gazed over the crowded aisles with satisfaction. It was Christmas—at least in Lindheim’s. Men and women strolled along the counters. Clerks smiled and offered help. Small booths were set up to provide the famous gift-wrapping service that made even the smallest gift seem extraordinary. The sweet aroma of perfume drifted through the store, and a string quartet played the music of Mozart from a red carpeted platform beside a giant glittering Christmas tree. Marble pillars were wrapped with broad swaths of red cloth, giving them the appearance of giant candy canes.
Elisa felt a surge of pride for her father. Ironic , she thought, that Christmas should seem most real here, in a Jewish store. She smiled at the thought. Her family was devoutly Lutheran, even though her father clung proudly to his Jewish heritage. Her mother was Aryan, with a lineage pure enough to please Hitler himself. Why then, she wondered, is the issue of being Jewish so all-consuming these days?
In spite of everything, Theo Lindheim had managed to carry off the image of the most carefree of all holidays for the “master race.” There were no Nazi flags flapping from the roof of his building. The only swastikas to be seen were worn on the armbands of the soldiers who crowded the aisles of Lindheim’s with everyone else.
Three years ago the sight of such soldiers would have been unthinkable. After the Great War, her father had told her that Germany had been stripped of great tracts of land and denied the right to ever rebuild its army. Elisa shook her head at the uselessness of such decrees. Only twelve years later Adolf Hitler and the National Socialist Party had burst on the scene. They had taken over the government of the Weimar Republic with only a 33 percent vote. Rearming had begun immediately, as had construction of the concentration camps for those who opposed the Nazis. The Versailles Treaty was merely a slip of paper, since France and Britain had refused to enforce it.
Decrees against the Jews of Germany had gone hand in hand with the rearming. Theo Lindheim had been spared much of the persecution others were now enduring, simply because he had been a great hero for the Fatherland during the “war to end all wars.” His trophy case contained two Iron Crosses, and he walked with a limp from a wound received as a fighter
Similar Books
