The Unlikely Allies Page 9

  Derek took a sip of his coffee and then held Rachel’s hand. It was firm and strong, and he noticed the small half moons at the base of her fingernails. They were strong hands, not large but firm, and he loved them, as he loved all of her.

  “Marry me, Rachel.”

  A cloud touched Rachel’s eyes, and she shook her head. “We’ve been all over that. It’s impossible, Derek.”

  “But I love you—and you love me, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Very much. I know I will never love another man as much as I love you.”

  He was touched by her honesty and sincerity. There was a transparency about her that he loved, and still there was part of her he could never quite get at. He knew this was the Jewish side of her nature. Her heritage went back into history through long and bloody and terrible times. The times they themselves now lived in were ominous and uncertain, and he knew she dreaded what might come in the future to her and her family and her people.

  “You’ll be going home soon,” Derek said finally. “Let me come and meet your parents.”

  “It would be useless, Derek.”

  “No it wouldn’t. If I lose you, I could never find you again, Rachel.” He took a bite of his Danish and chewed thoughtfully. “There’s an old Persian myth about the creation of the world. It says that God made only one person—it was half male and half female. But when it sinned, God tore it apart as one would tear a sheet of paper apart. You know how that is. When you tear it apart, you can put it back together, for the pieces fit exactly. So . . . the creatures that were separated fit only each other.”

  “What does it mean, Derek?”

  “According to the myth, these two creatures spent their lives trying to find the one piece that matches. There are some that almost match, but only one will be the perfect match—the one it was separated from.”

  “That’s a beautiful myth. I’ve never heard it before.”

  “I feel like that about you, Rachel. You and I match. I’ll never find another woman I’ll love as I love you.”

  “Perhaps not exactly, but you’ll find someone.”

  “Don’t say that. Please, let me come and visit you.”

  Rachel hesitated. She had steeled herself to this moment of parting, and now that it had come, she knew she could not do it. “All right.” She smiled. “But my parents will be surprised when I bring home a goy.”

  “What’s a goy?”

  “Anyone who’s not Jewish.”

  Derek ate the last of his Danish and looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go. My train will be leaving.”

  The two rose. Derek paid the bill and bade the owner good-bye.

  “I’ll see you soon, non?” Monsieur Valdoux asked.

  “No. I’m leaving Paris.”

  “Oh, that is so sad! We will miss you, but you’ll come back. Paris will draw you. You can’t ever leave Paris. It goes with you.”

  Derek shook the man’s hand and left. As they got into a taxi, he said, “Gare Saint-Lazare, s’il vous plaît.” The two sat silently in the backseat. He put his arm around Rachel and held her close while she took his left hand in hers and held it as tightly as she could.

  When they reached the station, the two got out, and Derek asked the cab driver to wait. The sky was overcast and gray, and a fine sleet was falling.

  “It’s a miserable day to leave,” he said. “I wish the sun were shining.”

  Rachel simply looked up at him, and he took her in his arms. He held her gaze, then kissed her. When he lifted his lips from hers, he said huskily, “Things can change. Wait for me.”

  “God be with you, my sweet,” she whispered, her throat thick with hopelessness.

  Derek released her and helped her back into the cab. He told the driver the address of her apartment, and after one last kiss through the window, he took up his suitcase and disappeared into the crowd entering the busy train station. When he reached the door, he turned to wave good-bye once again, but the cab was gone. An unhappiness and misery such as he had never known came over him. He set down his suitcase and looked out over the busy traffic, hoping to catch one last glance of the taxi that had taken his love away. With a sudden wrench, he walked through the entrance, knowing this was the lowest point of his life.

  ****

  General Wilhelm Grüber could have posed for a picture of the ideal German officer. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded the strength and vitality of a man much younger than fifty. His uniform molded itself around his strong figure as if it had been painted on. His hair was iron gray with a curl, cut and trimmed with precision, and his trim mustache matched exactly. All of his features exuded strength, from his wide mouth to his deep-set, penetrating slate blue eyes, to the straight nose and high cheekbones. He sipped brandy from a snifter and looked at his son, who sat across from him in a maroon leather chair. There was a demanding quizzical look in Grüber’s eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with authority, exactly as if he were speaking to a subordinate officer instead of his son. “What’s wrong with you, Derek?”

  Derek sat stiffly in his chair, his legs crossed and his hands on the chair arms. He had become so accustomed to feeling defensive around his father that it had become second nature to him. “Wrong? Nothing I know of, Father.”

  “You’re not yourself. You’ve been moping around ever since you came back from Paris.” Grüber took a sip of his brandy. “That was a terrible waste of time, Derek. I told you it would be.”

  “I don’t see it that way. I learned a lot.”

  “What did you learn?”

  He had no ready answer. He might have said, I learned to look at the sky and the trees in a way that I never did here in Germany. I learned that sometimes a man can be brought to tears over a French poem. A poem written a hundred years ago, and the hand that wrote it is now dead, yet it’s still able to move me. He could have given many answers like this, but he didn’t dare. “I learned something about engineering.”

  “Well, that will be useful. Where did you stand in your class?”

  “Very high, Father. In the engineering class, I was second.”

  “You should have been first.”

  Derek was accustomed to this. “I suppose so,” he said. He knew there was no pleasing his father unless he was best in everything. It had always been that way—in sports, in his academic pursuits. Wilhelm Grüber wanted his son to be at the top of his class—exactly as he himself had been all of his life.

  Since the death of his wife, Wilhelm had been a lonely man, and he had poured his energies into two things—his profession and his son. Embedded deep in his German soul was a desire to see his own life perpetuated in his son, and since he had no daughters and only one son, he had thrown himself into molding Derek into the model Aryan soldier.

  Now, as he studied Derek, he was satisfied physically. Derek was strong, with quick reaction times. He was an expert with the saber and foil, and he was peerless with any sort of firearm. He was a handsome man too, but that meant little to Wilhelm. He took good looks for granted, his own and Derek’s, for they came from a line of handsome men. Still, there was obviously something wrong with his son.

  “You’ve come back from Paris like a whipped dog. I suppose you fell in love.”

  Derek could not conceal his shock. “I should have told you about it,” he said. “I did meet a young woman while I was there. I became very fond of her. In fact, I’m going to visit her as soon as possible.”

  A tiny alarm went off in Wilhelm Grüber. He had carefully watched his son’s choices in women. Some had come from good families and would have made suitable matches; one was even from the family of a prominent military leader. That match would have pleased Wilhelm, but Derek had shown no lasting enthusiasm for any of the women his father favored.

  “What is her name? Where did you meet her?” Wilhelm demanded.

  “She’s a student at the Sorbonne.” Then Derek hesitated, knowing that his next statement would bring an unpleasant re
sponse. “Her name is Rachel Mindel.”

  “Mindel? That sounds like a Jewish name!”

  Derek steeled himself to meet his father’s eyes. “She is Jewish, Father,” he said quietly.

  “A Jewess?” Angry words rose to Wilhelm’s lips, but he saw something in his son that caused him to bite them off. Derek had been a good son, but Wilhelm was aware of the stubborn streak in him. He had always been glad of this, for he himself was a stubborn, proud man, and he knew that pride and an iron will were important traits for a German officer. He had been handling men all of his life, and he saw that this was no time to say what was on his mind. He took another sip of his brandy to calm himself down. “Tell me about this woman.”

  Derek told his father about how the two had met and about the course of study Rachel was taking. He even confessed that he had asked her to marry him. Derek was surprised at his father’s restraint, but he saw the displeasure in his eyes and knew that the matter was not finished.

  “Son, we will speak of this later.” Wilhelm leaned forward. “And now about your future.”

  “I would like very much to be a scholar, Father—a professor and a writer.”

  “We talked about that before. I do not think it’s best for you, Derek. You have a great heritage. Your grandfather and your great-grandfather were soldiers as I am. It is in your blood.” He tilted his head, then shrugged and forced himself to smile. “I see no harm in your dabbling in such things. Write as you will, but your fate is with Germany. And Germany must have her place in the sun.”

  Derek had prepared arguments, but he saw that they would be useless. He sat silently as his father began to outline some of the great plans he had for his son, and a growing sense of despair enveloped him as he listened.

  ****

  Derek’s bedroom in his father’s house was cold, but Derek paid little attention to it. February was almost over, and Derek had written to Rachel every week. She had not always responded, but he never gave up hope. Now he put the concluding words on his letter firmly:

  I’ve been expecting my father to say something about our relationship. I’ve told him that I care for you and that I’ve asked you to marry me. It surprised me that he said little, for he is a demanding man accustomed to having his own way. I keep waiting for him to bring it up, but he doesn’t. I can’t imagine going against him, for I never have. I think sometimes I gave too much thought in my youth to being a dutiful son and trying to please him and not enough to doing the things that I want to do. His only wish for me is to join the army and become an officer, but in this I have so far disappointed him greatly.

  I have good news. I am hopeful of getting an assistantship at the university here in Berlin in the Department of Literature. I can’t tell you how I’ve hoped for this and prayed for it. It would be a dream come true. I have not yet been called up for the army, and I can only hope that it will not come soon, if ever.

  My other dream, my darling Rachel, is to be your husband. I will not cease to say this, for it is on my heart constantly. Write me back at once, for I treasure your letters. Let me—

  An abrupt knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “Come in,” he called. When his father entered with a stern look on his face, he said, “Why, Father, what is it?”

  “This just came for you. I thought you might want to see it now.”

  Derek took the envelope, which had been opened. “You opened it?”

  “Yes, I did. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Derek opened the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. One glance at it revealed his worst fears. It was his official order from the army to report for duty.

  “You did this, Father?”

  “I had nothing to do with it, but it had to come. All young men your age are needed to serve the Fatherland. You know that, Derek.”

  He did know this very well, but the thought of going into the army was like a shock of cold water.

  “I have been ordered to go to Spain.”

  “Yes, I saw that. Actually, you will be on my staff.”

  Derek could hardly believe his ears. Surely it would be awkward to serve under his own father. He quickly reviewed mentally what he knew of the present political situation. He had followed the Civil War in Spain only in a cursory fashion. He knew that General Franco was trying to overthrow the present government. Franco was a fascist and had enlisted the aid of Mussolini, and Hitler decided that Germany must add her might in that struggle. On December 1, 1936, a battalion of five thousand German troops had landed at Cadiz.

  His father interrupted his thoughts. “We’ll leave the day after tomorrow. I suggest you get ready.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll be ready.” He saw the look of satisfaction on his father’s face. He thinks I’ll forget Rachel, but he’s wrong about that.

  “Good! We are going mainly as observers, however, that will probably change. In all likelihood you will see some action there.” He put his hand on the doorknob. “A change will be good for you, Derek. You and I will spend some time together. We haven’t done that for a long time.”

  We haven’t ever done that, Derek thought, but he said, “Yes, sir, that will be pleasant.” He watched as his father left the room, then picked up his pen again.

  I have just received some terrible news. . . .

  CHAPTER NINE

  Combat

  “Sit up, Dopey!”

  The small fuzzy dog with mournful eyes promptly sat down and stared up at Derek Grüber. Its red tongue lulled out like a necktie, and its long skinny tail beat a tattoo on the floor.

  Derek laughed and said, “Shake hands.” He put his hand out, but Dopey simply licked it. “I said shake hands, you stupid dog.”

  The dog immediately lay down and rolled over and then came to its feet barking in a staccato fashion, pleased at what it had done.

  “That’s the dumbest dog I’ve ever seen, Derek.”

  Lieutenant Frederick Möhr was lying on his bunk looking at a magazine. He was a short, dapper individual whose uniforms were always spotless and pressed with razor-sharp creases. He disliked army life, for he had been born into a wealthy family and had enjoyed every pleasure that money could buy until he had been conscripted into the army. He turned his attention from a picture of a scantily dressed blonde to watch Derek attempt to teach the dog new tricks. “It always does some trick but never what you tell him to.”

  “It’s not a German dog. That’s for sure.”

  “That’s right. If it were a dachshund, it would instantly obey every command.” Möhr tossed the magazine on the floor and sat up, leaning on his elbows, his hand cupping his chin. He noticed Derek smiling rather wistfully and asked, “What are you thinking about, Derek? You don’t smile all that often.”

  “Just about a good time I had once.”

  “With a girl, I bet.”

  He nodded.

  “Tell me about her. Did she look like this?” Möhr grabbed the magazine and held up the picture of the alluring blonde.

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Too bad. This is what a woman should look like.”

  Derek laughed. Despite their differences, he liked Frederick. The two of them had come to Spain together and had both served on his father’s staff for the past several months. Möhr was an amiable fellow, somewhat too in love with himself to please Derek, but the two got along well.

  “You never saw a woman you didn’t like.”

  “They’re all beautiful,” Frederick said. He stood up and walked to the window, then stretched and yawned. “I wonder if we’ll go to the front today.”

  “I hope not.”

  Frederick turned and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. He found Derek Grüber a fascinating subject. He could not understand him at all. When they had been put together as roommates, he had blessed his stars. What luck to be a roommate of the son of the commanding officer, General Wilhelm Grüber. It had come as a shock to discover that Derek had no military ambition whatsoever. Derek simply fulfill
ed his duties. He never presumed upon his relationship to the commanding officer, and Möhr had not been able to profit by it. He liked Derek a great deal but had been unable to persuade him to go out and socialize with the willing young Spanish ladies. Many of them were loyalists and would spit when the soldiers of General Franco or his German and Italian allies passed, but some were more reasonable.

  “Why don’t we go into town and see if we can find some female companionship?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll just stay here and play with Dopey.”

  “You’re gonna play with that stupid dog instead of meeting one of these beautiful señoritas? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you like women?”

  “Not the kind we’d be likely to run into. Speak, Dopey.”

  Dopey promptly sat down and offered its paw. Derek laughed and shook it. “That’s a good dog. You’ll get it all straightened out one of these days.”

  Möhr ambled over and looked down at the dog. “That dog is a real loser, Derek. I don’t see what you like about him.”

  “I rather like losers.”

  “You like what?”

  “I like losers.”

  “You are absolutely out of your mind! Nobody likes losers.”

  Derek leaned back in his chair, and Dopey hopped up in his lap. He began to stroke the dog’s head. “Sometimes people that seem to be losers are really winners.”

  Möhr shook his head with exasperation. “That’s exactly the sort of wild thing you’d say! I never knew a poet before, and I don’t want to know any others. Why don’t you just say things that make sense?”

  “You don’t think some apparent losers are really winners?”

  “No, I don’t. You can tell a winner by looking at him.”

  “I can prove that you’re wrong.”

  “Prove it, then.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve ever read the Bible.”

  “Certainly I have! Do you think I’m an atheist?”

  “You remember John the Baptist?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Do you remember Herod, the king who had him put to death?”