{"id":7419,"date":"2017-05-18T11:08:34","date_gmt":"2017-05-18T11:08:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/?p=7419"},"modified":"2017-05-29T11:42:29","modified_gmt":"2017-05-29T11:42:29","slug":"the-women-of-the-castle-by-jessica-shattuck","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/?p=7419","title":{"rendered":"The Women of the Castle by Jessica Shattuck"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>Published by Zaffre 18 May 2017<\/strong><\/p>\n

368pp, hardback, \u00a312.99<\/strong><\/p>\n

Click here to buy this book<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Noted American writer Jessica Shattuck’s latest work, a heart-wrenching but hopeful novel of secrets and survival, traces three women’s stories across the years of the Third Reich.<\/p>\n

This memorable book, already a New York Times<\/em> bestseller, centres on the once great castle owned by Marianne von Lingenfels’ ancestors, where glittering pre-war parties were held and subversive responses to the F\u00fchrer discussed. Now in ruins, the castle is the place where Marianne, widow of one of the resisters murdered in the failed July 20, 1944 plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler, plans to uphold the promise she made to her husband\u2019s brave conspirators: to find and protect their wives, her fellow resistance widows.<\/p>\n

Marianne assembles a makeshift family from the ruins of her husband’s resistance movement, rescuing her dearest friend’s widow, Benita, from sex slavery to the Russian army, and Ania from a work camp for political prisoners. She is certain their shared past will bind them together. But as Benita begins a clandestine relationship and Ania struggles to conceal her role in the Nazi regime, Marianne learns that her clear-cut, highly principled world view is infinitely more complicated, and filled with secrets and dark passions that threaten to tear the group apart.<\/p>\n

‘Shattuck\u2019s latest has an intricately woven narrative with frequent plot twists that will shock and please.\u00a0 The quotidian focus of the story, falling on the period just after the war, provides a unique glimpse into what the average German was and was not aware of during World War II\u2019s darkest months.\u00a0 Shattuck\u2019s own German heritage and knack of historical details add to the realism of the tale.\u00a0 A beautiful story of survival, love, and forgiveness.\u201d Publishers Weekly<\/em><\/p>\n

Now, in the following extract, bookoxygen<\/em> readers have a special opportunity to sample The Women of the Castle<\/em> for themselves.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

PROLOGUE<\/p>\n

BURG LINGENFELS, NOVEMBER 9, 1938<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The day of the countess\u2019s famous harvest party began with a driving rain that hammered down on all the ancient von Lingenfels castle\u2019s sore spots \u2013 springing leaks, dampening floors, and turning its yellow fa\u00e7ade a slick, beetle- like black. In the courtyard, the paper lanterns and carefully strung garlands of wheat drooped and collapsed.<\/p>\n

Marianne von Lingenfels, niece- in-law of the countess, laboured joylessly to prepare for their guests. It was too late to call off the party. Now that the countess was wheelchair- bound, Marianne had become the de facto hostess; a hostess who should have listened to her husband and cancelled the party last week. In Paris, Ernst vom Rath lay in a hospital bed, the victim of an attempted assassination, and in Munich the Nazis were whipping the country into a frenzy for revenge. Never mind that prior to the event no one had even heard of vom Rath \u2013 an obscure, mid-level German diplomat \u2013 and that his assassin was a boy of seventeen, or that the shooting was itself an act of revenge: the assassin\u2019s family was among the thousands of Jews huddled at the Polish border, expelled from Germany, barred entry by Poland. The Nazis were not deterred by complex facts.<\/p>\n

All the more cause to gather reasonable people here at the castle, away from the madness! <\/em>Marianne had argued just yesterday. Today, in the rain, her argument seemed trite.<\/p>\n

And now it was too late. So Marianne supervised the placement of candles, flowers, and table linens and managed the soggy uphill transport of champagne, ice and butter, potted fish and smoked meats, potable water and canisters of gas for the cookstove. Burg Lingenfels was uninhabited for most of the year, with no running water and a generator just strong enough to power the countess\u2019s Victrola and a few strings of expensive electric lights. Hosting the party was like setting up a civilisation on the moon. But this was part of what kept people coming back despite yearly disasters \u2013 minor fires and collapsed outhouses, fancy touring cars stuck in the mud, mice in the overnight guest beds. The party had become famous for its anarchic, un-German atmosphere. It was known as an outpost of liberal, bohemian culture in the heart of the proper aristocracy.<\/p>\n

By mid-afternoon, to Marianne\u2019s relief, the wind began to blow, chasing away the day\u2019s gloom with gusts of clear and promising air. Even the stone walls and the moat\u2019s sinewy water looked fresh and clean scrubbed. The chrysanthemums in the courtyard glistened under racing patches of sun.<\/p>\n

Marianne\u2019s spirits rose. In front of the bakehouse, an architect acquaintance of the countess\u2019s had transformed an old carriage horses\u2019 drinking trough into a fountain. The effect was at once magical and comic. The castle was an elephant dressed to look like a fairy.<\/p>\n

\u2018Albrecht,\u2019 Marianne called as she entered the long, low library, where her husband was seated at the imposing desk that had once been the count\u2019s. \u2018You must come and see \u2013 it\u2019s like a carnival!\u2019<\/p>\n

Albrecht looked up at her, still composing a sentence in his head. He was a tall, craggy-faced man with a high forehead and unruly eyebrows that often gave him the appearance of frowning when he was not.<\/p>\n

\u2018Only for a moment, before everyone gets here.\u2019 She held out her hand. \u2018Come. The fresh air will clear your head.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018No, no, not yet,\u2019 he said, waving her off and returning his attention to the letter he was writing.<\/p>\n

Oh, come on, <\/em>Marianne would have normally chided, but tonight, on account of the party, she bit her tongue. Albrecht was a perfectionist and workaholic. She would never change this. He was drafting a letter to an old law school acquaintance in the British Foreign Office and had sought her opinion on alternate sentence constructions many times. The annexation of the Sudetenland will only be the beginning. I urge you to beware of our leader-ship\u2019s aggression <\/em>versus If we are not vigilant, our leader\u2019s aggressive intentions will only be the beginning . . . <\/em><\/p>\n

Both ways make your point <\/em>was Marianne\u2019s response. Just pick one. <\/em>But Albrecht was a deliberator. He did not even notice the irritation in her tone. His own emotions were never complicated or petty. He was the sort of man who contemplated grand abstractions like the Inalienable Rights of Man or the Problems of Democracy while shaving. It rendered him oblivious to everyday things.<\/p>\n

Marianne restrained herself to a demonstrative sigh, turned, and left him to his work.<\/p>\n

Back in the banquet hall, the countess scolded one of her young disciples from her wheelchair: \u2018Not Schumann,\u2019 she said, \u2018God forbid! We might as well play Wagner . . . no, something Italian. Something decadent enough to shock any Brownshirt idiot who comes tonight.\u2019<\/p>\n

Even in her old age, the countess was a rebel, followed at all turns by young artists and socialites. French by birth, German by marriage, she had always been a controversial figure. As a young woman, she had hosted evening salons famous for their impromptu dancing and intellectual arguments on risqu\u00e9 subjects like modern art and French philosophy. Why she had married the proper, fusty old count, a man twenty years her senior and famous for falling asleep at the dinner table, was the subject of much not-very- kind speculation.<\/p>\n

For Marianne, who was the product of an oppressively proper Prussian upbringing, the countess had always been an object of admiration. The woman was unafraid to step beyond the role of mother and Hausfrau <\/em>into the fray of male power and intellectual life. She spoke her own mind and did things her own way. Even from their first meeting years ago, when Marianne was a young university student courting her professor (Albrecht), she had wanted to become a woman like the countess.<\/p>\n

\u2018It looks wonderful out there,\u2019 Marianne said, gesturing to-wards the courtyard. \u2018Monsieur Pareille is a magician.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018He is an artist, isn\u2019t he?\u2019 the countess proclaimed.<\/p>\n

It was nearly six o\u2019clock. Guests would begin arriving at any moment.<\/p>\n

Marianne hurried upstairs to the chilly hall of bedrooms where her girls were holed up in an ancient curtained bed, a relic from the castle\u2019s feudal past. Her one-year-old son, Fritz, was at home in Weisslau with his nurse, thank God.<\/p>\n

\u2018Mama!\u2019 Elisabeth, age six, and Katarina, age four, shrieked with delight. Elfie, their sweet, mild- mannered au pair, glanced up at Marianne with a beleaguered expression.<\/p>\n

\u2018Isn\u2019t it true that Hitler is going to take back Poland next?\u2019 Elisabeth asked, bouncing on the mattress.<\/p>\n

\u2018Elisabeth!\u2019 Marianne exclaimed. \u2018Where did you get this idea?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I heard Herr Zeppel saying it to Papa,\u2019 she said, still bouncing.<\/p>\n

\u2018No,\u2019 Marianne said. \u2018And why would you think that was anything to be excited about? It would mean war!\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018But it\u2019s supposed to be ours.\u2019 Elisabeth pouted, stopping mid-bounce. \u2018And, anyway, Herr Zeppel said the Poles can\u2019t manage themselves.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018What nonsense,\u2019 Marianne said, irritated that Albrecht had allowed the child to hear such talk. Zeppel was the overseer of their estate in Silesia and an ardent Nazi. Albrecht tolerated the man\u2019s nonsense because they had grown up together: Weisslau was a small town.<\/p>\n

\u2018But it was <\/em>ours, wasn\u2019t it?\u2019 Elisabeth insisted. \u2018Before the war?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Elisabeth,\u2019 Marianne said, sighing, \u2018you concern yourself with what is yours, <\/em>please \u2013 and that includes the book you are supposed to be reading with Elfie right now.\u2019<\/p>\n

The child exasperated Marianne with her endless obsession with possession. She seemed to have absorbed the national sense of aggrievement, as if she, personally, were the victim of some great unfairness. She had so many advantages but always wanted more \u2013 a newer dress, a prettier skirt. If she received a bunny, she wanted a dog. If allowed a bonbon, she wanted two. In her mind, the world seemed to lie entirely at her disposal. Marianne, whose upbringing had been characterised by firm parsimony and restraint, was constantly appalled by this demanding, presuming creature she had raised.<\/p>\n

\u2018Elfie \u2013 \u2019 She turned to the au pair. \u2018Will you see to it that the candles are out by eight? The girls may come down to the landing, but no farther.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018But \u2013 \u2019 Elisabeth began, and Marianne shot her a look.<\/p>\n

\u2018Good night,\u2019 she said, giving an extra squeeze to sweet, quiet, dark- haired Katarina and kissing Elisabeth\u2019s maddening little brow.<\/p>\n

On her way downstairs, Marianne paused on the landing to observe the hall below, its stone archways illuminated by candelabras. The flickering light lent the room an exciting, almost spooky glow. Early guests had begun to arrive: the men in waistcoats and tails, a few in uniforms with gaudy new Nazi insignias stitched on the lapels; the women in fine new dresses. Under Hitler, the economy was growing strong: people had money, once again, for silk and velvet and the new Parisian styles. From a throne- like seat in the middle of the hall, the countess greeted her guests, her wheel-chair carefully hidden away for the evening. She was a mountain of blue and green silk, the likes of which no other German woman of her age (or any other) would wear. Her laugh rang out strongly for someone in poor health \u2013 had there ever been a woman who loved a party more? And there, bowing before her, was the guest who elicited this peal of laughter: Connie Fledermann. Marianne felt a rush of excitement. Who else received such a welcome? Connie was a great favourite of the countess\u2019s, a star in his own right, a man whose boldness of character, wit, and intelligence rendered him beloved by all \u2013 a charmer of ladies, a receiver of men\u2019s trust and confidences. No one, from crazy Hermann G\u00f6ring to sombre George Messersmith, was immune to Connie\u2019s charisma.<\/p>\n

\u2018Connie!\u2019 Marianne called as she approached.<\/p>\n

He turned and a grin spread across his face.<\/p>\n

\u2018Aha! The woman I have been waiting for!\u2019 He lifted her hand to his lips. \u2018You are looking lovely.\u2019 He cast his eyes up to the landing. \u2018Will I get to see my princesses or have you put them away?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Put away,\u2019 Marianne said with a laugh. \u2018I hope.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Alas.\u2019 He placed his hands over his heart and feigned collapse. \u2018Well, at least I get to consort with the queen mother. Come\u2019 \u2013 he extended his arm \u2013 \u2018meet my Benita!\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne\u2019s smile stiffened. In the drama of the past week, she had forgotten. Martin Constantine Fledermann was to be married. It seemed impossible. Even with the date set (two weeks from today!), it still had the ring of a lark gone too far.But he was earnest, even nervous, as he took Marianne by the elbow.<\/p>\n

\u2018You must befriend her,\u2019 he said. \u2018She knows no one. I told her you would be her ally. And\u2019 \u2013 he turned to her \u2013 \u2018you know she will need one here.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Why is that?\u2019 Marianne asked. \u2018You are among friends.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018True,\u2019 Connie said. \u2018But she is not.\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne frowned at his circular logic, but there was no time to question it because suddenly there she was, Connie\u2019s Benita, a strikingly pretty woman with the kind of flat, Nordic face that emanated placidity. Her blonde hair was plaited and wrapped around her head in the style so adored by the Nazis, a Wagnerian Brunhilde in an honest- to-God dirndl dress. She stood between two young men who worked with Albrecht in the Foreign Office, both of whom looked delighted. Marianne felt an unusual pang of jealousy. It was not that she envied the younger woman\u2019s beauty or palpable air of sexuality (she herself had long ago carved out an alternate road to male regard), but at this moment, in the company of these three men \u2013 two silly, overeager boys and one dear friend, childhood sweetheart, luminary of the opposition \u2013 the other woman\u2019s beauty left her nowhere to go. At thirty- one, Marianne was an adult in a child\u2019s play, a schoolmarm among excitable students.<\/p>\n

\u2018Excuse me, boys,\u2019 Connie said, making a show of elbowing one of them aside, \u2018I need to reclaim her.\u2019 He put a hand on Benita\u2019s arm and pulled her towards Marianne. \u2018My love,\u2019 he addressed Benita (how odd it was to hear him say this), \u2018meet my \u2013 what shall I call you?\u2019 He turned to Marianne. \u2018My oldest friend, my sternest adviser, the person who keeps me most honest?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh pish, Connie,\u2019 Marianne said, trying to tamp down her irritation.<\/p>\n

\u2018Marianne,\u2019 she introduced herself, and extended a hand to the young woman, who, she judged, could not be much over twenty.<\/p>\n

\u2018Thank you,\u2019 the girl said, blinking like a startled deer. \u2018How nice to meet you.\u2019<\/p>\n

More guests arrived, and Marianne could feel them pressing towards her with hands to shake, welcomes to issue, politics to discuss. There was Greta von Viersdahl, already trying to catch her eye; since Hitler had invaded, Greta spoke of nothing but the winter clothes she was collecting for the Sudeten Germans, so recently \u2018returned to the fatherland,\u2019 so long \u2018oppressed by the Slavs\u2019 . . . Marianne wanted no part of Greta\u2019s politics. Impulsively, she took Benita\u2019s arm. \u2018Give us a chance to become friends,\u2019 she said over her shoulder to Connie, already leading Benita through the back door and into the lantern- bedecked courtyard.<\/p>\n

\u2018How beautiful!\u2019 Benita exclaimed.<\/p>\n

\u2018Isn\u2019t it?\u2019 Marianne said. \u2018Like a fairy tale. Countess von Lingenfels has a talent for the amazing.\u2019<\/p>\n

Benita nodded, staring wide eyed. \u2018So tell me about yourself before we are swarmed with admirers,\u2019 Marianne said. \u2018Was your trip all right? Have you found your room?\u2019 She hurried through the necessary questions, half listening to the girl\u2019s replies.<\/p>\n

From all around, she could feel people\u2019s eyes. \u2018Remind me how you met Connie.\u2019 Marianne plucked two champagne flutes from a table and handed one to Benita, who accepted it without thanks.<\/p>\n

\u2018We just met in the town square, really,\u2019 the girl said. \u2018I was there with my troop \u2013 my BDM troop \u2013 \u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Good grief! The BDM? How old are you?\u2019 Marianne exclaimed.<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh no \u2013 not the one for little girls \u2013 for the older girls, Belief and Beauty. I\u2019m nineteen.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Ah.\u2019 Marianne patted her arm. \u2018Positively ancient.\u2019<\/p>\n

The girl glanced at her.<\/p>\n

\u2018Aren\u2019t these lovely?\u2019 Marianne pointed at the white chrysanthemums and dark autumn anemones arranged in pots along the balustrade. High above, pale clouds scudded across the dark sky. And in the distance, the woods were inky in the twilight. \u2018So the town square . . .\u2019<\/p>\n

Benita sipped her champagne and coughed. \u2018It\u2019s not much of a story. We met and talked and then later we went out for dinner.\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne rested her glass atop the courtyard wall. \u2018And now you are to be married.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018When you say it like that\u2019 \u2013 Benita hesitated \u2013 \u2018it sounds odd.\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne smiled and cocked her head to the side, knitting her brows. She had learned this scrutinising expression from the countess and found it proved helpful at drawing out confessions and explanations from children and family members, even grown men.<\/p>\n

But it did not have the desired effect on the girl. Instead, seemed to find her mettle, squaring her shoulders. \u2018There were a few things in between.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Of course,\u2019 Marianne said. Why had she taken this interrogative tack? The girl was to become Connie\u2019s wife. It would do Marianne no good to have started off this way. \u2018I\u2019m sorry \u2013 I don\u2019t mean to pry.<\/p>\n

\u2018Come.\u2019 She glanced around the rapidly filling courtyard for an opening and, with relief, spotted Herman Kempel, one of the rubes who had been so smitten with Benita earlier. \u2018Let\u2019s go and talk to your latest admirer.\u2019<\/p>\n

As the night wore on, a kind of giddy, reckless energy took over. A comical figure in lederhosen and knee socks played an accordion \u2013 was he someone the countess had hired or a local guest? \u2013 and people began folk dancing on the uneven cobblestones. Women even kicked off their shoes, despite the cold. And inside, the American jazz trio the countess had invited finally arrived. They played ragtime in the great hall while a number of the bolder, more cosmopolitan guests demonstrated dances with silly names like the Big Apple and the Lindy Hop. Somehow, despite the improvised stove and lack of running water, the chef presented a steady stream of delicacies: traditional pork meatballs with a delicate parsley sauce, plump white steamed dumplings, and silver-dollar sausage rounds. But also novelties \u2013 asparagus wrapped with paper- thin ham, jelly moulds, pineapple flamb\u00e9, and caviar toast . . . like the music, the food spanned the gamut of German cultural life.<\/p>\n

Marianne drifted in a haze, not of alcohol (the hostess never had more than one glass of punch \u2013 this too she had learned from the countess), but of relief. She had managed to continue the immodest tradition of the harvest party, even as the nation was swept up in this wave of rigid and peevish militancy. And she had managed to transcend her own upbringing (how mortified her father would be to see her throw a party featuring jazz dancing and champagne toasts) and provide these people with something lovely, liberating, and ethereal.<\/p>\n

Buoyed along by this thought, she greeted guests, checked on the drinks behind the bar, the food on the buffet. \u2018The countess junior!\u2019 a jolly, quick- tongued cousin of Connie\u2019s cried, wrap-ping a thick arm around her shoulders. \u2018What a party! But where is your esteemed husband? And all his high- minded friends! I haven\u2019t seen a one of those trolls for the past hour! Are they holed up in some sort of elite gathering without their old chum Jochen?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018No, no.\u2019 Marianne waved him off with a kiss on his cheek. But his question was a good one. Where was <\/em>Albrecht? And for that matter Connie and Hans and Gerhardt Friedlander? She had not seen them for some time. Albrecht had probably pulled them into the library to review his letter. The thought irritated her. Albrecht\u2019s sobriety \u2013 his constant ability to focus on the world beyond what was directly beneath his nose \u2013 felt like a reproach. He was right, of course. Poor Ernst vom Rath lay in some hospital bed and thousands of Jews slept out in the cold borderland. Germany was being run by a loudmouthed rabble- rouser, bent on baiting other nations to war and making life miserable for count-less innocent citizens. And here they were, drinking champagne and dancing to Scott Joplin.<\/p>\n

In a state of defensive irritation she burst into Albrecht\u2019s study, where, yes, there they were \u2013 all her missing guests: Albrecht and Connie, Hans and Gerhardt, Torsten Frye and the American, Sam Beverwill, and a few others, many of whom, like Connie, worked as staff officers in the Abwehr, <\/em>the military intelligence office.<\/p>\n

\u2018What\u2019s this?\u2019 she said, trying to make her voice light. \u2018A secret, serious party? The countess will not be pleased to know you\u2019re all skulking about in the study instead of dancing.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Marianne \u2013 \u2019 Albrecht said.<\/p>\n

\u2018Albrecht! Let your guests come out and enjoy the evening \u2013 \u2019<\/p>\n

As she spoke, she noticed a new person in their midst: a short, dark- haired man, balding, with a kind of intensity to his homely face. The energy in the room was odd; the men\u2019s faces remained grave and unchanged by her appearance.<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019m sorry,\u2019 she said to the new man. \u2018I don\u2019t believe we\u2019ve been introduced.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Pietre Grabarek.\u2019 He stepped forward and extended his hand. A Pole. Albrecht and Connie both had many contacts in the Polish National Party.<\/p>\n

\u2018Marianne von Lingenfels. The wife of your sober host here,\u2019 she said, gesturing towards Albrecht.<\/p>\n

\u2018Marianne \u2013 \u2019 Albrecht interjected again. \u2018Pietre has traveled from Munich with some alarming news. This evening \u2013 \u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Vom Rath is dead?\u2019 A chill swept over Marianne.<\/p>\n

\u2018Dead.\u2019 Albrecht nodded. \u2018But that is only part of it.\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne felt uncomfortably at the centre of this small group now, all scrutinising her reaction. This was not a position she was used to: the ignorant one.<\/p>\n

\u2018It seems Goebbels has given orders for the SA to incite rioting, destruction of Jewish property. They\u2019re throwing stones through shop windows and looting, making a sport \u2013 \u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Not a sport \u2013 a battle! An organised attack!\u2019 the man interrupted.<\/p>\n

\u2018\u2013 of destroying people\u2019s lives.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018How terrible!\u2019 Marianne said. \u2018Did Lutze condone this? What does it mean?\u2019 Lutze was the head of the police, the SA \u2013 an unpleasant man she had recently met and disliked.<\/p>\n

\u2018It seems so,\u2019 Albrecht answered.<\/p>\n

There was a shifting of glances and bodies. \u2018It\u2019s descent into madness \u2013 Hitler is exactly the maniac we\u2019ve suspected!\u2019 Hans exclaimed, but no one paid attention. He was a sweet, foolish boy. There are thinkers and there are actors, <\/em>Connie had once said. Hans is an actor<\/em>. Albrecht had balked at this dichotomy, though \u2013 so black- and- white, so reductive and unforgiving. Action should follow thought and thought should include careful deliberation. But this was not Connie\u2019s way. He was more of an actor himself, and his views, while informed and considered, were rarely mulled over and always absolute.<\/p>\n

\u2018It means shame for Germany in the eyes of the world,\u2019 Albrecht said.<\/p>\n

There was a general swell of affirmation.<\/p>\n

\u2018And suffering,\u2019 Connie said. \u2018It means suffering for many, many people . . .\u2019<\/p>\n

Silence fell across the group as sounds of laughter and strains of the accordion filtered through the leaded windows.<\/p>\n

\u2018And it means reasonable citizens must take action,\u2019 Connie continued. \u2018We are not all thugs and villains. But we will become these, if we don\u2019t try to make change.\u2019<\/p>\n

It was a bold statement, a challenge almost, and Marianne watched it register on the men\u2019s faces with varying results. Hans nodded dramatically, captivated. Eberhardt von Strallen, clearly disapproving of such rash talk, flicked at the lint on his lapel. Albrecht frowned thoughtfully.<\/p>\n

\u2018It is our duty,\u2019 Connie said. \u2018If we don\u2019t work actively to defeat Hitler, it will only get worse. This man \u2013 this zealot who calls himself our leader \u2013 will ruin everything we have achieved as a united nation.\u2019 He continued, \u2018If we don\u2019t begin to mobilise like-minded people against him, if we don\u2019t begin to actively enlist our contacts abroad \u2013 the English, the Americans, the French \u2013 he will draw us into a war, and worse. If you listen to the things this man says \u2013 if you really listen, and read \u2013 it\u2019s all there in that hideous book of his, Mein Kampf; <\/em>his \u201cstruggle\u201d is to turn us all into animals! Read it, really <\/em>read it, know thine enemies <\/em>\u2013 his vision is medieval! Worse than medieval, anarchic! That life is nothing more than a fight for resources to be waged between the races \u2013 this \u201cMaster Race\u201d he likes to speak of and the racial profiles he has devised \u2013 these are the tools he will use to divide us and conquer.\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne had heard Connie\u2019s views before \u2013 how many times had they talked late into the night around the fire in Weisslau? Hitler was a madman and a thug, they were all in agreement. Ever since the Putsch <\/em>this had been clear. Connie, as well as Albrecht, had spent a good portion of the last years assisting the victims of the National Socialists \u2013 Jews who wanted to emigrate, imprisoned Communists, artists whose works were banned. Without law, <\/em>Albrecht always said, we are no better than the apes<\/em>. His work was as much to uphold and strengthen the law through practice as it was to win each individual battle.<\/p>\n

But Connie had given up on the law, increasingly castrated as it was under the Nazis. He was a born dissenter and a believer in direct action. It was one of the things Marianne loved most about him \u2013 Connie, her childhood playmate, dearest friend, and the man she most admired, other than Albrecht, of course. He had always been an agitator, a passionate champion of what he felt was right<\/em>. As children, he and Marianne had spent summers with their families at the Ostsee, and Connie had always led them on quests against injustice, plotting to reveal the hotel concierge\u2019s unkindness to dogs or some wrong-headed parental prejudice. And usually he prevailed, through sheer force of character or single- mindedness.<\/p>\n

\u2018. . . We must <\/em>find ways to work against him,\u2019 Connie continued. \u2018Not only to bring the attention of the world to his ugly aspirations, but to take action ourselves. If we sit by and judge from behind the safety of our desks, we will have only ourselves to blame. So I suggest we commit to active resistance from this day forward. To trying to steer our country from Hitler\u2019s destructive path.\u2019<\/p>\n

Connie finished. Sweat had formed around his hairline and he was out of breath.<\/p>\n

There were murmurs and nods among the men gathered.<\/p>\n

\u2018I agree with the principle.\u2019 Albrecht spoke slowly into the swell of support. \u2018But active collusion against our government \u2013 this government \u2013 is a dangerous thing. And we have wives and families to consider. I am not suggesting we should not, only that we think carefully \u2013<\/p>\n

\u2018Your wives and families will support you,\u2019 Marianne interrupted, surprising herself and the rest of the room. It came out like a rebuke. Albrecht was always so measured, slow, and thoughtful<\/em>. A plodding tortoise to Connie\u2019s leaping stag.<\/p>\n

\u2018All of them?\u2019 von Strallen asked wryly.<\/p>\n

\u2018All of them,\u2019 Marianne repeated. Von Strallen was a chauvinist. He told his silly wife, Missy, nothing and took her nowhere. Poor Missy, treated like a dumb fattened cow.<\/p>\n

\u2018And bear the risk?\u2019 Albrecht asked gently.<\/p>\n

\u2018And bear the risk,\u2019 Marianne repeated.<\/p>\n

\u2018All right,\u2019 Connie said, turning his intense gaze upon her. \u2018Then you will see to it that they are all right. You are appointed the commander of wives and children.\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne met his gaze. The commander of wives and children. <\/em>She knew he did not mean to belittle her, but it smarted like a slap.<\/p>\n

The meeting \u2013 if that\u2019s what it was \u2013 broke up, and with a sense of unreality, Marianne headed back to the party to resume her hostess responsibilities. Conversations rose and fell, the jazz trio played, and from the landing of the stairs someone recited Cicero in Latin.<\/p>\n

But outside, beyond the castle walls, terrible things were happening. Marianne could imagine Hitler\u2019s thuggish Brownshirts swarming the streets, swaggering and shouting with their air of unchecked violence. She had seen them marching in a parade last summer in Munich. Two of the men had broken formation and rushed towards her across the pavement. For a moment she had stood frozen, afraid that she would be attacked: but for what? Instead they knocked down the university student beside her and kicked him as he curled into a ball, their shiny black boots hammering at his back. It had happened so fast that she simply stood. Why? What did he do? <\/em>she asked a man standing beside her when the SA were gone. He did not lift his hand in a proper Heil, <\/em>the man whispered as they bent to help the poor student to his feet.<\/p>\n

For days afterward she saw those men\u2019s faces as they rushed at her: ordinary, middle- aged faces flattened and made stupid with violence.<\/p>\n

\u2018What is it? You look as if you\u2019ve seen a ghost,\u2019 Mimi Armacher said, interrupting the memory. Mimi was a sweet woman, a distant cousin of Albrecht\u2019s whom Marianne had always liked.<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019ve just heard \u2013 \u2019 Marianne faltered. What to call it? It was something from a less civilised time, and for which she had no vocabulary. \u2018We\u2019ve received news from Munich that there is rioting \u2013 the SA \u2013 beating people, breaking down Jewish properties \u2013 \u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018News?\u2019 Mimi repeated, as if this were the incomprehensible thing.<\/p>\n

\u2018From a friend of Connie\u2019s who\u2019s just arrived,\u2019 Marianne explained.<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh, how awful,\u2019 Mimi said, and her face fell. \u2018In all the cities?\u2019<\/p>\n

Others gathered around. Marianne was aware of Berna and Gottlieb Bruckner at the edge of the group, and Alfred Klausner: Jewish friends whose own positions here in Germany were increasingly difficult. Generations of assimilation no longer seemed to set them apart from the eastern immigrant Jews Hitler was obsessed with deporting. No one was safe.<\/p>\n

Marianne felt exhausted suddenly. \u2018That\u2019s what I understood.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Destroying property?\u2019 someone asked. \u2018At random?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Jewish <\/em>property,\u2019 Mimi asserted with chilling crispness. \u2018Only Jewish properties.\u2019 She turned to Marianne. \u2018Isn\u2019t that what you said?\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne stared at her. \u2018I don\u2019t know.\u2019 She drew herself up. \u2018Does it matter? Our government is unleashing bands of thugs.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018It is the beginning of the end,\u2019 the countess pronounced dramatically when she heard of the destruction that would later be referred to as Kristallnacht<\/em>. \u2018That Austrian will ruin this country. With that, she went up to bed.<\/p>\n

Marianne envied her freedom. She herself would have to shepherd this party to its bitter end.<\/p>\n

As the news spread, guests with government roles or substantial properties in nearby cities took off down the hill, speeding drunkenly around curves, honking and flashing their headlights. They were followed, more soberly, by the few Jewish guests. A few voyeuristic idiots drove to the neighbouring town of Ehrenheim to see how far the rioting had spread.<\/p>\n

By the champagne fountain, Gerhardt Friedlander argued with the Stollmeyers, a set of drunken, ruddy- faced twins who were devoted Nazis. The crowd cleared a nervous circle around them.<\/p>\n

\u2018The conspiracy of world Jewry will not stop at murdering vom Rath,\u2019 one of the Stollmeyers ranted. \u2018We must take action against them \u2013 \u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Don\u2019t be a fool,\u2019 Gerhardt spat. \u2018Vom Rath was killed by a deranged seventeen- year- old, not a conspiracy.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018A deranged seventeen- year-old who was a Jew and a Bolshevik,\u2019 his opponent argued, \u2018who wanted to destroy the pride and unity of the German Volk . . .<\/em>\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne could not listen. This absurd Nazi blather was everywhere, ripe for adoption by the likes of the simple-minded Stollmeyers. How had those two ever made the guest list? Thank God Gerhardt was there to put them in their place.<\/p>\n

In the great room, the jazz trio had disappeared (back to Berlin? Had they been paid?), and some dolt tried to play a Nazi marching record on the Victrola only to be pelted with a round of hot Frikadellen <\/em>from the chef\u2019s latest offering. The gawkers who had driven to Ehrenheim returned and seemed almost disappointed to report that no, nothing was afoot. What did they expect? The town was thoroughly and pigheadedly Bavarian Catholic. It had no Jewish inhabitants or businesses.<\/p>\n

Undaunted by the news or the departures, the cook continued to offer delicacies: a new round of pork roasts, apple tortes, a Frankfurter Kranz<\/em>. And the bartender poured drinks.<\/p>\n

Marianne wished the remaining guests would leave. They were all self- absorbed, and frivolous. But still the party limped along towards a slow death.<\/p>\n

Around midnight, she allowed herself a moment of privacy in an empty trophy room decorated by some von Lingenfels hunter of yore. Its walls were bedecked with pale, delicate skulls of deer and mouldering taxidermies of boar, bears, even a wolf. A cruel room, but it would do. She would rest for five minutes. Any longer and she would never return. As she sat, the expression fell from her face and the slackness that replaced it made her feel old, a mother of small children in a suddenly savage land.<\/p>\n

\u2018Aha!\u2019 A voice came from behind, and two hands fell on her shoulders before she had the chance to turn: Connie. She had thought him long gone \u2013 either back to Berlin to repair the damage or off to bed with his fianc\u00e9e, a changed man with a new set of habits. But here he was. His intransigence reassured her.<\/p>\n

\u2018Caught you,\u2019 he chided. \u2018Oh, Connie,\u2019 she said, turning. \u2018Should I tell them all to go home? It\u2019s so strange to have this party when beyond it, God knows \u2013 \u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Let them stay.\u2019 Connie sank into the chair opposite her own. \u2018They\u2019re too drunk to leave anyway.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I suppose.\u2019 Marianne sighed. \u2018What\u2019s happening out there?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Well,\u2019 Connie said, leaning back. \u2018Greta von Viersdahl is impersonating a goose on the dance floor, old Herr Frickle has found a new strumpet to sit on his lap, and someone I don\u2019t know is vomiting into the moat.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh dear.\u2019 Marianne smiled.<\/p>\n

How many parties had they attended together? Too many to count since their days as children. And Connie was always an entertaining reporter \u2013 an interested observer of the human animal. It was what had forged their friendship: the aptness of his perceptions, and her own appreciation for these as a person less gifted with insight.<\/p>\n

\u2018And Benita?\u2019 she could not resist asking. \u2018Is she sleeping?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018She\u2019s a good girl,\u2019 Connie answered, stretching out his legs, the firelight creating comically long shadows of his shoes. His handsome face looked tired. There were circles beneath his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u2018Does that make it easier or harder for her to go to sleep?\u2019<\/p>\n

Connie shrugged. \u2018She was exhausted.\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne pulled herself more upright in the chair and stared quizzically at her friend. \u2018What does she think? About this rioting and thuggery, about what\u2019s happening in the world?\u2019<\/p>\n

Connie rolled his head over the back of his chair to look up at her. Even exhausted, his face was strikingly handsome: the fine, clear features that had made him beautiful as a boy had never thickened or dulled. Instead they\u2019d become sharper, and straighter \u2013 still capable of startling her with their symmetry.<\/p>\n

\u2018You don\u2019t approve of Benita,\u2019 he said. \u2018I knew you wouldn\u2019t.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018That\u2019s not fair, Connie \u2013 why would you think \u2013 ?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I know you,\u2019 he said.<\/p>\n

\u2018What \u2013 am I not an open- minded, accepting person who is happy to see her friend in love?\u2019<\/p>\n

Connie narrowed his eyes. \u2018Open- minded, yes. Accepting, no. You are exacting.\u2019<\/p>\n

Marianne frowned. \u2018Well, she is <\/em>young.\u2019<\/p>\n

Connie laughed.<\/p>\n

\u2018Will she be a partner to you? In all you do?\u2019<\/p>\n

Connie sat up suddenly, and for a moment Marianne was afraid she had gone too far. But he did not storm off. He turned his chair to face her and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. \u2018Not like you and Albrecht, no,\u2019 he said. \u2018But there are other kinds of unions. And I love her.\u2019<\/p>\n

She was surprised by the intensity of his declaration. Was there, in his assertion, an implicit criticism of her own marriage?<\/p>\n

\u2018You must promise me something,\u2019 Connie said.<\/p>\n

\u2018What is it?\u2019 Marianne frowned.<\/p>\n

He reached forward to take her hand and a shock raced through Marianne at his touch.<\/p>\n

\u2018If things go wrong \u2013 and they may go wrong \u2013 you must help her. She is a simple girl and she won\u2019t deserve whatever mess I might drag her into.\u2019 An uncharacteristically diffident, almost boyish look passed over his face. \u2018And you must help her raise my child.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Your \u2013 ?\u2019 Marianne began, astonished. \u2018She is \u2013 ?\u2019<\/p>\n

Connie nodded. \u2018Will you promise me this?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Connie, of course I will, you know I will, but \u2013 \u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Is that your word?\u2019 Marianne studied his face, as serious as she had ever seen it, and felt a chill of premonition.<\/p>\n

\u2018You have my word,\u2019 she said softly, and felt the full gravity of her promise well up around them.<\/p>\n

And then, in a moment that Marianne would replay in her mind again and again, not just that night but over the years, long after Connie was dead, Albrecht was dead, Germany itself was dead, and half the people at the party were either killed, destroyed by shame, or somewhere between the two, he leaned forward and, with the same intensity he had used to extract her promise, kissed her. It was a kiss that dispensed with any trappings of romance or flirtation, that leapfrogged (and here was a question that would gnaw irritatingly, irrelevantly in her mind forever) maybe even over desire, straight into the sea of love and knowledge. Here were two people who understood each other. Here were two people aligned in something greater than themselves.<\/p>\n

Who pulled away first? In all the replaying, this was never clear to Marianne. And had the moment lasted minutes? Seconds? It was both crystal clear and full of confusion. For days afterward she could feel the place where Connie\u2019s hand had brushed the hair from her cheek. It shivered in memory, hot and cold at once.<\/p>\n

\u2018Connie,\u2019 she said when they were once again apart. He leaned forward and brought her hand to his lips. But before she could think what to say, what to ask, he rose and was gone.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u2018It is our duty,\u2019 Connie said. \u2018If we don\u2019t work actively to defeat Hitler, it will only get worse. This man \u2013 this zealot who calls himself our leader \u2013 will ruin everything we have achieved as a united nation.\u2019 He continued, \u2018If we don\u2019t begin to mobilise like-minded people against him, if we don\u2019t begin to actively enlist our contacts abroad \u2013 the English, the Americans, the French \u2013 he will draw us into a war, and worse. If you listen to the things this man says \u2013 if you really listen, and read \u2013 it\u2019s all there in that hideous book of his, Mein Kampf<\/em>; his \u201cstruggle\u201d is to turn us all into animals! Read it, really read it, know thine enemies \u2013 his vision is medieval! Worse than medieval, anarchic! That life is nothing more than a fight for resources to be waged between the races \u2013 this \u201cMaster Race\u201d he likes to speak of and the racial profiles he has devised \u2013 these are the tools he will use to divide us and conquer\u2019 […] in Authors and Extracts<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[20,23,1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7419","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-authors-and-writing","category-extracts-and-short-stories","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7419","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7419"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7419\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7430,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7419\/revisions\/7430"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7419"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7419"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookoxygen.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7419"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}