Read Online Wildflowers of Terezin by Robert Elmer - Free Book Online Page B
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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jangled nerves. Almost.
" Schnitzel und spätzle?" he asked, his mouth watering at the thought of how his wife used to prepare a tasty breaded pork tenderloin. But with all the rationing, how long had it been since she'd been able to prepare his lieblingsessen? He would not ask where she had been able to find such a delicacy.And spätzle! These Danes had nothing like it—doughy noodles cooked in boiling bouillon. He could almost taste it now.
"Of course, schnitzel und spätzle, silly. But I'm not going to bring it to the office, or I'd probably be robbed on the street.You'll have to come home if you want some. Dinner, I mean! You are coming home soon, aren't you?"
" Ja, of course. Very soon." He bit his lip and glanced at his watch once again, calculating how quickly he could complete his errand—if he was to carry it out. "But Liesl, I have to—"
"What? You give me one good reason not to throw this schnitzel out the back window for the local cats to carry off."
"No, please. It's an important meeting I need to attend first.It won't take long at all. I should be home by . . . perhaps seven o'clock at the latest."
"Seven." His wife groaned on the other end of the phone."You're always working late, these days. Can't it wait until tomorrow?"
"I'm sorry, schatzi, just not this time."
He tried to apologize once more, but still his vague excuses didn't seem to appease his wife. He didn't blame her. But as he hung up he couldn't help staring at the portrait of Hitler, and his forehead throbbed with pain.
Am I sure about this? he asked himself, wondering what would happen if he simply went home to his wife to enjoy a good meal, well-deserved. What would happen if he simply remembered his civil service oath? Herr Hitler's eyes seemed to follow him around the office, as did the words:
"I swear I shall be loyal and obedient to Adolf Hitler, the Führer of the German Reich and people, respect the laws, and fulfill my official duties conscientiously, so help me God."
So help me . . . Back at his desk his heart pounded in his chest as he fingered the confidential report from Werner Best and pulled on an overcoat from the coat tree. Of all people, Best must never know. The problem was, Duckwitz had already told his wife too much. What if she was questioned?
Nein. It was too late and he knew what he had to do, no matter the cost. He felt his face flush as he thought of what would happen if he did nothing.
Nein! So he snapped off his desk lamp, breaking the little knob in the process. And he hesitated for only a moment, the broken knob in his hand, before tossing it aside and heading for the door.
And I cannot tell her, he reminded himself. Not ever.
By that time he also decided it best to leave behind his documents, his proof of what was to come. They would have to take his word for it. But he couldn't help rehearsing what he would say as he hurried out of his office and around the corner to catch the streetcar that would take him as close as he could get to 22 Rømersgade. He hopped on and found a seat near the back, out of the way.
If he didn't meet anyone's eyes, and if he didn't open his mouth, he thought perhaps he might be mistaken for a businessman or a banker on his way home after another day at the office. Perhaps. He hunched behind yesterday's copy of the Times, scanning the bland headlines that revealed little truth, not reading a word and doing all that he could to slow the racing of his heart. But he could not. An older woman looked at him curiously from across the aisle as he produced a monogrammed handkerchief and mopped his forehead. Yes, it was a bit warm in the streetcar, was it not? She would not know what "GFD" stood for, even if she could make out the initials.
"Oh, here!" Duckwitz didn't mean to call out, and he needn't have worried as the distracted conductor brought their coach to a jerky stop. Duckwitz wasted no more time but pushed outside and gulped the cool evening air to calm
" Schnitzel und spätzle?" he asked, his mouth watering at the thought of how his wife used to prepare a tasty breaded pork tenderloin. But with all the rationing, how long had it been since she'd been able to prepare his lieblingsessen? He would not ask where she had been able to find such a delicacy.And spätzle! These Danes had nothing like it—doughy noodles cooked in boiling bouillon. He could almost taste it now.
"Of course, schnitzel und spätzle, silly. But I'm not going to bring it to the office, or I'd probably be robbed on the street.You'll have to come home if you want some. Dinner, I mean! You are coming home soon, aren't you?"
" Ja, of course. Very soon." He bit his lip and glanced at his watch once again, calculating how quickly he could complete his errand—if he was to carry it out. "But Liesl, I have to—"
"What? You give me one good reason not to throw this schnitzel out the back window for the local cats to carry off."
"No, please. It's an important meeting I need to attend first.It won't take long at all. I should be home by . . . perhaps seven o'clock at the latest."
"Seven." His wife groaned on the other end of the phone."You're always working late, these days. Can't it wait until tomorrow?"
"I'm sorry, schatzi, just not this time."
He tried to apologize once more, but still his vague excuses didn't seem to appease his wife. He didn't blame her. But as he hung up he couldn't help staring at the portrait of Hitler, and his forehead throbbed with pain.
Am I sure about this? he asked himself, wondering what would happen if he simply went home to his wife to enjoy a good meal, well-deserved. What would happen if he simply remembered his civil service oath? Herr Hitler's eyes seemed to follow him around the office, as did the words:
"I swear I shall be loyal and obedient to Adolf Hitler, the Führer of the German Reich and people, respect the laws, and fulfill my official duties conscientiously, so help me God."
So help me . . . Back at his desk his heart pounded in his chest as he fingered the confidential report from Werner Best and pulled on an overcoat from the coat tree. Of all people, Best must never know. The problem was, Duckwitz had already told his wife too much. What if she was questioned?
Nein. It was too late and he knew what he had to do, no matter the cost. He felt his face flush as he thought of what would happen if he did nothing.
Nein! So he snapped off his desk lamp, breaking the little knob in the process. And he hesitated for only a moment, the broken knob in his hand, before tossing it aside and heading for the door.
And I cannot tell her, he reminded himself. Not ever.
By that time he also decided it best to leave behind his documents, his proof of what was to come. They would have to take his word for it. But he couldn't help rehearsing what he would say as he hurried out of his office and around the corner to catch the streetcar that would take him as close as he could get to 22 Rømersgade. He hopped on and found a seat near the back, out of the way.
If he didn't meet anyone's eyes, and if he didn't open his mouth, he thought perhaps he might be mistaken for a businessman or a banker on his way home after another day at the office. Perhaps. He hunched behind yesterday's copy of the Times, scanning the bland headlines that revealed little truth, not reading a word and doing all that he could to slow the racing of his heart. But he could not. An older woman looked at him curiously from across the aisle as he produced a monogrammed handkerchief and mopped his forehead. Yes, it was a bit warm in the streetcar, was it not? She would not know what "GFD" stood for, even if she could make out the initials.
"Oh, here!" Duckwitz didn't mean to call out, and he needn't have worried as the distracted conductor brought their coach to a jerky stop. Duckwitz wasted no more time but pushed outside and gulped the cool evening air to calm
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