When the Doves Disappeared (23 page)

“Who is Doctor Veski?” the Haupsturmführer asked.

Another plate of croquettes whisked past. The growling of Edgar’s stomach had ceased, the fire below had increased. Edgar raised his eyebrows slightly, to make his eyes brighter, and held them there. He could see from the reflection in a knife that his skin was gleaming as if he’d spread pomade on it with a spatula, and every schnapps was adding another layer.

“Doctor Veski is a philologist at Dorpat University. It’s said that he’s creating a precise map of the eastern territories. And that he’s creating it because the Estonians are going to be transplanted to Russia. There is talk that all the Russian villages on his map already have Estonian names.”

Edgar heard his own voice and knew that his words made sense, but they were fragments of a conversation he’d prepared in advance, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to answer questions that diverged from his preset course. His eyes wandered, unable to avoid the Ritterkreuz the Haupsturmführer was wearing, forcing him to tear them from it continually.

“Is that so? It’s rather surprising, in fact quite incomprehensible. What is feeding such rumors, and who is spreading them? I can assure you that such plans would not be in the interests of the Reich.”

“Of course not, Herr Haupsturmführer!”

“You are better acquainted with events in the country than others are, Herr Fürst. Much better acquainted. You have the whole picture.”

Haupsturmführer Hertz’s face flashed another smile. Edgar was disconcerted. He raised a hand to his burning cheek, brushed by that smile.

“And what about anti-German activity?”

“For all practical purposes, there is none.”

“I’ve read your reports. Exceptional. Thanks have come from Berlin. I’m certain that you are just the person for a particular task. I hope you
can continue your work in Gruppe B Abteilung B4, but in a slightly new direction. You’ve never met Gruppenleiter Ain-Ervin Mere personally? I’m sure you’ll get the chance at some point. He reports directly to me. Your task will be to keep me apprised of internal morale at the Abteilung and any internal threats. We’ve learned that a spy from the underground organizations has succeeded in infiltrating some very confidential operations, and I want to know what the situation is in Gruppe B.”

As Edgar left the restaurant and went into the street, the schnapps he’d poured into his empty stomach started to come back up. He hurried around a corner, found a courtyard tunnel, and waited for his stomach to calm. His cologne hadn’t caused any problems this time—he had remembered to keep the bottle well away from his clothes—but he should have known to eat something before the meeting. He knew he was trying too hard. Every meeting was spoiled by some mishap. But it wasn’t only the schnapps; it was the man who had been sitting across from him. The moment their legs brushed in passing under the table, Edgar decided that he was going to make himself indispensable to SS-Hauptsturmführer Hertz. Hertz would depend on him, and Edgar would see him again, soon.

Vaivara, Estland General Commissariat, Ostland National Commissariat

A
S THE OPEL DROVE OUT
of Tallinn, Juudit tried to hum “Das macht die Berliner Luft,” but Hellmuth just looked out the window with one arm absentmindedly around her shoulders and the other extended stiffly over the open ashtray, his hand holding a cigarette rather than the top of her stocking. Juudit’s voice faded out. Once again they weren’t going to sing happy tunes like they always used to do, not a single rousing march. Hellmuth didn’t take out the little Estonian–German phrase book to practice useful expressions, the one with the stanzas from Marie Under that Juudit had written on the cover; he didn’t whisper in her ear, in Estonian, “your mouth in my mouth.” The lines rushing by between the telephone poles changed to barbed wire. Hellmuth rolled down the window, threw his cigarette butt into the wind, and turned his face toward the breeze as if there wasn’t enough air in the Opel. She could feel his tension as he sat beside her, looking her in the eye at regular intervals—too regular, as if he did it consciously, to keep her from noticing his furrowed brow.

The men from the petroleum company Baltische Öl had been coming and going secretly on Roosikrantsi Street for some time, and tense words had crept under the bedroom door and into Juudit’s ears: Germany’s most
important job in the wartime economy of the former Baltic countries was to extract petrochemicals—the supreme leader of the Reich wasn’t going to haggle over it. That was why the Opel Olympia was rushing to Vaivara and its potential oil production, with the nervous Juudit on board. Maybe it all started with Stalingrad. The continual retreat on the eastern front. Nervousness had begun to creep in among Hellmuth’s friends, and Juudit didn’t dare to think about what it might mean. She closed it away again and again and tried to be lively company while Hellmuth sighed about how the officer corps had become a hodgepodge of new replacements.

At first Juudit had thought it a good sign that the Germans were building apartments for the labor force and repairing the factories demolished in the Bolsheviks’ retreat. Surely they wouldn’t have been willing to put such an emphasis on local production unless they were convinced that the Bolsheviks would never advance that far. So why was Hellmuth worried? The news was full of propaganda. Gerda would have said that politics won’t put a dress on a woman’s back, that she shouldn’t get mixed up in it. Gerda was right. The acrid smell of exhaust made Juudit’s temples tight. Everything was too complicated. She didn’t understand, and she lamented how the intimacy between her and Hellmuth had dwindled to their time in the bedroom, superseded by these military concerns.

WHEN THEY ARRIVED
in Vaivara, Hellmuth left Juudit behind to watch as he hurried to discuss important matters with the men, clicking his heels in greeting. She went to look for a good spot for what might be the summer’s last chance to sunbathe. She put on her sunglasses, took off her shoes and rolled down her stockings, and lifted the hem of her skirt, but not too high, for the sake of propriety, and because she could already sense the autumn in the cool breeze. She felt a shiver for other reasons, too, though not enough to get her Pervitin out of her handbag. She’d started carrying it with her after the bombings in February. Apparently the army wanted to get rid of its supply and Hellmuth had it by the case. He had been right—the Pervitin helped. It dissolved her anxiety like the bombs melted the snow. She remembered the black earth, unnatural for February, the lines of evacuees along the highway, the sleighs packed with people leaving the city, and how on the night before the bombing she had
seen her first drunken German soldier. She snapped her purse open. She didn’t notice the ruins anymore; her eyes passed them by as if they were dust on furniture. She was numb to everything—except her husband. Her bright red toenails shining in the sunlight brought to mind again her husband’s rebuke about them; his auntie Anna supposedly didn’t approve of nail polish. Now they could gobble up the light as free and as red as Leni Riefenstahl’s. Riefenstahl’s painted toenails were famous, and she always took two photographers with her when she traveled, to take pictures of her and her clothes.

“WHAT WOULD YOU
say to that? A few chickens, a cow, a simple life in the country? With you.”

Juudit wasn’t sure she’d understood him right. The Opel bounced over potholes in the road, knocking her elbow against the armrest and making her yelp in surprise and pain. When they’d left to make the trip home at sunset, Hellmuth had been silent as he got into the backseat of the car, and he’d remained silent for a long time. He hadn’t even taken Juudit’s hand, or kissed her. Had he really said something about the possibility of staying here after the war? Here? In the countryside?

“A lot of officers are planning to do the same. Don’t you want to live in the country, sweetheart?”

At first she had thought he was talking about going back to Germany without her. But he would stay. She wouldn’t lose him. Next her thoughts flew to an image of life in a village like Taarathe—smell of rye; the girls carrying their milk cans to the horse carts; herself, living with a German even though she was still married; the stares; the clots of spit flying at her neck every time she turned her back. It wouldn’t matter if Hellmuth bought them an estate instead of a farm; she didn’t want to be a concubine at a manor house. SS officers’ requests to marry went to the state security headquarters for processing and she was sure she wouldn’t pass the screening. Even if they got permission, such a marriage would ruin Hellmuth’s career—she had no business in Berlin. Maybe that was why he was talking about moving to the countryside. But his words meant something else, too: Germany would prevail, the Bolsheviks would not return. Otherwise he wouldn’t be planning a future here.

“I’ve written to a few of my friends and recommended the Estonian countryside to them. You’ve been a wonderful guide to life in the provinces. The soil seems fertile, good for growing—what else could you need? We could have our own paradise out in the country.”

“But after the war I’m sure you’ll have tremendous opportunities to do anything you want, anyplace you want,” Juudit protested.

“I thought you wanted to stay here.”

“You’ve never asked about the future before.”

Hellmuth opened his cigarette case and lit one. “Do you want to go to Germany, then?”

“You’ve never asked about that, either.”

“I didn’t dare to.”

The words soothed her. She had panicked for no reason. He wasn’t far along with his plans. He hadn’t yet looked at land or houses. Maybe she wouldn’t have to explain to him that Estonians looked at mistresses differently, wouldn’t have to put her shame into words. Germans seemed to be so much more tolerant—a companion or a secretary with a swelling belly didn’t cause alarm. Women were just sent on vacation, to some German city where the time could apparently be passed more pleasantly and safely and the food was better. That’s what happened to a woman who had gone to the same seamstress as Juudit, and another who had gone to the same hairdresser. Gerda had eventually packed her bags, too, but at least she’d promised to write. Gerda could tell her what it would be like living in Germany. Maybe she could visit Gerda before making her final decision. In Germany she wouldn’t have to deal with any acquaintances from her old life. Maybe once she was there she wouldn’t care if she spent the rest of her days as a secret lover. Hellmuth could marry a wife acceptable to his family and the Reich. Juudit could bear even that, as long as they were together.

“I’ll go wherever you want to go,” she whispered.

Reval, Estland General Commissariat, Ostland National Commissariat