Wildflowers of Terezin (29 page)

"I see. Then I'll try to stay out of your way."

Which, given the confines of this tiny cell, might not be easy. But Steffen thought he still might clear the air.

"But look, ask me something theological, or something about the Bible. I'll prove to you I am who I say I am."

"I don't ask theological questions." Lars squinted at him warily. "And it doesn't matter who you are, anyway."

All friendliness aside, Lars Hansen turned away in his cot and acted asleep. What else was there to do in this place? A cold draft whipped though the cell, making Steffen shiver as he closed his own eyes and tried to piece together the events that had brought him here. His mind would only stumble here and there. So he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and rocked back and forth, ignoring his headache until a jangle of keys in the lock outside their door brought him awake once more.

Two guards stood at the entry, silhouetted in the light from a single lightbulb hanging from the hallway ceiling. While the second guard covered his partner with a drawn Luger pistol, the first one drew out a pair of handcuffs, pointed directly at Steffen and motioned for him to put his hands out.

"You!" he grunted the way Steffen might have expected a prison guard to grunt. "Come with us. Now."

Guard one snapped a pair of cold metal handcuffs on Steffen's left wrist, then in one movement briskly twirled him around and attached the right wrist behind Steffen's back. Steffen had to wonder how this fellow had become so adept at inflicting that kind of pain.

"Nice knowing you, Pastor," said Lars, sounding almost as cold as the guards that marched Steffen down the hallway."I'd be doing some praying now, if I were you. Which I'm not, fortunately."

Steffen had no answer, not the way he always had when he'd visited people at Bispebjerg Hospital. He just stumbled ahead of the guards down a long hallway lined with cell doors.At nearly every door a waste bucket waited to be emptied.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, fighting to keep his balance. The guards would not answer as they prodded him on. Perhaps, he thought, they intended to take him out and shoot him, like the other roommate. He found himself reciting, over and over, the words to a psalm they often read aloud together in church.

"Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy Holy Spirit from me."

Yet despite the reassuring words, it seemed to Steffen that God had never felt quite so far away. Someone groaned from the other side of a locked door, and without thinking Steffen slowed to listen. A guard jabbed him in the back with the end of his pistol.

"Keep walking and don't slow down," said the guard. Two steps later and halfway down the hall, Steffen couldn't help but cry out in pain at a particularly vicious jab.

But before falling to his face he noticed what the guards did not see: a lone hand, extending through the tiny access door, silently blessing him with its reach. Even so, Steffen couldn't help tripping and planting his face on the cold stone floor. He grunted in pain.

"Up!" yelled the guard. "Get up!"

Steffen would have been glad to comply, but with two hands clamped behind his back, his sense of balance had abandoned him. So other cruel hands yanked him by the collar to his feet.

"Please, where are you taking me?" he asked, taking care not to fall again. The guards didn't answer, but at the end of the hallway they shoved him through a doorway to a staircase and then down a flight of stairs to another level and finally to a plain but large corner office.

From behind a large gray steel desk a gray-suited German officer pivoted in his chair and looked them over with a stony glare that nearly matched the one of Hitler from the portrait on the far wall. Just inside the door the lead guard stopped short and clicked his heels.

"We've brought the prisoner you requested, Herr Sturmbannführer."

"Very well." The officer nodded at the two guards and waved them off as if they had just flown into his picnic."Leave us for now."

The two guards clicked their heels once more and aboutfaced out of the office, closing the door behind them and leaving Steffen to stand alone before the
Sturmbannführer.
As with every other German he'd met, the man obviously took his position quite seriously. His officer's jacket was decorated with a number of impressive-looking blood-red ribbons and such, as ostentatious as the glint in his steely gray eyes and the military cut of his trim blond hair.

"Pastor Petersen." He folded his hands in front of him on the desk, where everything appeared arranged and just so."How good of you to come on such short notice. Of course, it's an unpleasant surprise to see you here. But please, won't you sit down?"

The officer pointed to a nearby wood chair but Steffen shook his head and turned slightly to reveal his cuffed wrists.

"Ah, did they really do that to you?" The officer sounded surprised. "My apologies. I'm sure they were just following standard procedure. In any case, perhaps it's good that you're here, so we can work out a few issues. Face-to-face."

Steffen had no idea what issues he had to work out with a Nazi officer, but he stood silently and waited as the man continued.

"Forgive me, Pastor. My name is Wolfschmidt, and I've been told you were detained last night. Is that correct?"

Steffen decided he could nod his agreement to an obvious question whose answer everyone would already know, as Wolfschmidt continued.

"I'm also told you interfered with the lawful apprehension of a fugitive? Now, I'm confused about that, how a person such as you could find yourself in such an awkward position.Perhaps you could enlighten me, if you would."

Despite the practiced civility of the man's question, Steffen knew this wolf would bare his teeth at any moment. So he braced himself and kept silent.

"Well?" The man with the piercing eyes stared at him for a moment and tented his fingertips as his jaws worked and strained. But then he seemed to pull back from the brink with a dismissive smile.

"I can understand your reluctance. You hardly know me, after all. But as a matter of fact, you and I are in the same line of business, are we not? We are both in the business of cleansing this bland little country of Jews. We just need to coordinate our efforts a bit more closely."

Still Steffen kept silent. His gaze shifted to the view out the window, where red-tiled roofs and church towers spread out across his city. If he knew which way to look, he might be able to make out the spire of his church, perhaps five kilometers to the north. Still Wolfschmidt wasn't giving up his attempt to cajole his victim into talking.

"We influence people, do we not? Help them make the right decisions. Up until just a few weeks ago, I understand you did an outstanding job of that. What happened?"

Steffen felt the confusion growing.

"Ah, you're wondering how I know." Wolfschmidt smiled and leaned back in his chair. "But actually, that's not the question at hand. The real question is, how can we restore your good reputation and help you do what's right in the sight of God and the Führer? Or, pardon me, God and the King? That's what I'd like to help you with."

Steffen couldn't help it, any longer. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Really? Think about it for a moment. Up until a few weeks ago, you consistently advised your parish to cooperate fully with the authorities. This is as it should be. You used your position of influence to help others come to the same conclusion. Am I right so far?"

Steffen pressed his lips together, and the other man smiled as he went on.

"I see that I am. But more recently, through some unfortunate series of events, you've stumbled into the wrong side of a criminal operation. Perhaps you weren't fully aware of the danger; I'll give you credit for being naïve. It could very well be that you've been used. So now I'd like to help you recover your former influence and good sense, Pastor. Is that not clear enough? The only thing is, I will need your cooperation to get this unfortunate mess sorted out."

"I see." It seemed to Steffen that keeping silent wouldn't help him any longer.

"Do you?" Now Wolfschmidt's voice rose and his cheeks reddened as he leaned forward. "Do you really? No, I don't think you yet understand the gravity of your situation. Because normally I would simply have a person in your situation shot and be done with it. I still might. Perhaps you're aware; we do a lot of that at this facility. Are you understanding this a little better, now?"

Steffen tried to swallow but could not.

"I think so," he squeaked.

"You think so? You think so?" Now his face boiled in rage."What is it about being shot that you don't understand?"

He reached into the top drawer of his desk, pulled out an evil-looking Luger pistol, and pointed it at Steffen's head.

"Would you like for me to demonstrate to you what it means? I think in many respects it might be simpler if—"

"No, I understand."