Read Online Wildflowers of Terezin by Robert Elmer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Elmer
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, Romance, Historical, World War; 1939-1945, War & Military, Christian fiction, Christian, Jewish, Jews, Clergy, Underground Movements, Denmark, Jews - Persecutions - Denmark, World War; 1939-1945 - Jews - Rescue - Denmark, Clergy - Denmark, World War; 1939-1945 - Underground Movements - Denmark, Jews - Denmark, Theresienstadt (Concentration Camp)
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All right, then. Steffen didn't need to know any more. He didn't want to know.
"I shouldn't have come, Henning," he finally said. "I was just wanting to talk some sense into you. But after our conversation, and what happened the other day, I can see I've made a mistake."
"You said what you had to say, big brother. I appreciate that, believe it or not. And look, I . . . I shouldn't have said what I did. I was out of line. It's just that when you start talking at me the way Far used to do . . . you know how that is."
Unfortunately, Steffen did know. And he would take that as an apology, though he wasn't sure how much he liked the reference to their father. By that time he noticed a man stopping by the window outside, tugging the brim of his hat a little more tightly over his eyes before glancing toward the Kierkegaard book, the briefest of glances and nothing more.
"I really should be going," Steffen told his brother. "Take care."
"I hope you do too, Steffen."
This time Steffen tried not to look at the man as they slipped past each other in the doorway, one coming and the other going as the little bell on the front door jangled with a cheer that seemed so clearly out of place.
So each brother clearly thought the other was in greater danger, did they? Steffen could see that now. He just couldn't quite see who was right this time.
9
OFFICE OF THE GERMAN SHIPPING AGENT, KØBENHAVN
TUESDAY, 28 SEPTEMBER 1943
Duckwitz is not a well-known name, though it deserves to be.
It is the name of a good and true-hearted man.
—EMILIE ROI
A nna, would you please look again for a telegram before you leave for the day?"
Georg Duckwitz checked his Swiss watch as he paused from his pacing. Only two minutes to five. If any special instructions were going to arrive from Berlin, they would have been here long before now.
"Still nothing, sir." His office manager looked in from the reception area. "Do you want me to—"
"That's all right." He tried to smile as if nothing were wrong. "Why don't you just go home for the day? You've been working hard."
She seemed to think about it for just a moment before nodding politely and retrieving her purse out of her desk by the door.
"Thank you, sir. I'll be on my way, then. And . . . I'm sure your message from Berlin will arrive tomorrow."
"I'm sure it will." Again Duckwitz did his best to appear casual, as if it was just another Tuesday evening, at the end of just another day. But he knew better. As soon as Anna had shut the door behind her he reached for a cigarette to calm his nerves. But his right hand shook as he flicked his lighter, and he managed to pace only to his window and back before snuffing his smoke in the ashtray on the corner of the desk.He jumped at the sound of the telephone and ran out to grab the call at Anna's desk. Perhaps—
"Office of the Shipping Agent," he said, clearing his throat."Duckwitz speaking."
"Georg!" His wife's voice sounded more distant than he would have thought, for just a cross-city connection.
"Oh!" He sighed. Without a telegram and without a phone call to the contrary, now his decision loomed that much closer. He stared up at the portrait of Adolph Hitler on the wall above the reception desk, and he had to force himself to believe that der Führer would not now be listening in, or watching. Hopefully, neither would anyone else—including his wife.
"Georg? You sound disappointed it was me."
"Nein, of course not. I was just expecting . . . ah, well. I was hoping for a call from Berlin."
"I see. You're always expecting a call from Berlin."
Not like this one, he thought as his wife went on.
"So what happened to Anna? Was she not working today?"
"I told her to go home early."
"On a Tuesday? Well, that's all very nice of you, but how about letting the shipping agent come home, for a change? Tell him his wife is cooking his favorite tonight for his birthday."
That kind of talk was almost enough to soothe his
"I shouldn't have come, Henning," he finally said. "I was just wanting to talk some sense into you. But after our conversation, and what happened the other day, I can see I've made a mistake."
"You said what you had to say, big brother. I appreciate that, believe it or not. And look, I . . . I shouldn't have said what I did. I was out of line. It's just that when you start talking at me the way Far used to do . . . you know how that is."
Unfortunately, Steffen did know. And he would take that as an apology, though he wasn't sure how much he liked the reference to their father. By that time he noticed a man stopping by the window outside, tugging the brim of his hat a little more tightly over his eyes before glancing toward the Kierkegaard book, the briefest of glances and nothing more.
"I really should be going," Steffen told his brother. "Take care."
"I hope you do too, Steffen."
This time Steffen tried not to look at the man as they slipped past each other in the doorway, one coming and the other going as the little bell on the front door jangled with a cheer that seemed so clearly out of place.
So each brother clearly thought the other was in greater danger, did they? Steffen could see that now. He just couldn't quite see who was right this time.
9
OFFICE OF THE GERMAN SHIPPING AGENT, KØBENHAVN
TUESDAY, 28 SEPTEMBER 1943
Duckwitz is not a well-known name, though it deserves to be.
It is the name of a good and true-hearted man.
—EMILIE ROI
A nna, would you please look again for a telegram before you leave for the day?"
Georg Duckwitz checked his Swiss watch as he paused from his pacing. Only two minutes to five. If any special instructions were going to arrive from Berlin, they would have been here long before now.
"Still nothing, sir." His office manager looked in from the reception area. "Do you want me to—"
"That's all right." He tried to smile as if nothing were wrong. "Why don't you just go home for the day? You've been working hard."
She seemed to think about it for just a moment before nodding politely and retrieving her purse out of her desk by the door.
"Thank you, sir. I'll be on my way, then. And . . . I'm sure your message from Berlin will arrive tomorrow."
"I'm sure it will." Again Duckwitz did his best to appear casual, as if it was just another Tuesday evening, at the end of just another day. But he knew better. As soon as Anna had shut the door behind her he reached for a cigarette to calm his nerves. But his right hand shook as he flicked his lighter, and he managed to pace only to his window and back before snuffing his smoke in the ashtray on the corner of the desk.He jumped at the sound of the telephone and ran out to grab the call at Anna's desk. Perhaps—
"Office of the Shipping Agent," he said, clearing his throat."Duckwitz speaking."
"Georg!" His wife's voice sounded more distant than he would have thought, for just a cross-city connection.
"Oh!" He sighed. Without a telegram and without a phone call to the contrary, now his decision loomed that much closer. He stared up at the portrait of Adolph Hitler on the wall above the reception desk, and he had to force himself to believe that der Führer would not now be listening in, or watching. Hopefully, neither would anyone else—including his wife.
"Georg? You sound disappointed it was me."
"Nein, of course not. I was just expecting . . . ah, well. I was hoping for a call from Berlin."
"I see. You're always expecting a call from Berlin."
Not like this one, he thought as his wife went on.
"So what happened to Anna? Was she not working today?"
"I told her to go home early."
"On a Tuesday? Well, that's all very nice of you, but how about letting the shipping agent come home, for a change? Tell him his wife is cooking his favorite tonight for his birthday."
That kind of talk was almost enough to soothe his
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