11. Lorna
May 12, 2024 at 5:40 AM
When a frightened Paolo came running to me, sitting under a tree reading a book, I had forgotten how to breathe. Tears were streaming from his eyes and his mouth was open without making a sound. My brother told me that he had become very good friends with a boy and that they were having a good time together. I went to the abandoned house to find out what had frightened Paolo so much. As it turned out, it was three friends from the Hitler Youth: Ralf Stelmacher, Bruno Dillei and Adler Schulz. They were lost and all in sweat. The tallest of them, Bruno, had blood on his hands, and I realised everything. He had killed a child. For nothing. Even if it was a Jew. I wanted to scream, to smash everything around me, just to vent my anger and despair. When Dilley handed me the gun to shoot him, I lost consciousness.
But there...alone with Ralph, it was like I was intoxicated. And it felt very, very good.
And now I was sitting on the sofa in my flat, looking at Paolo asleep. He was talking so excitedly about his trip to Berlin that I wanted to go there myself. My brother told me about the Reichstag, about the noisy crowd, and that he and the others had seen Heinrich Himmler speak, how this powerful and influential politician had won over the crowd with his talent as an orator. Adolf Hitler, Paolo regretted to say, they had not had the chance to see.
I decided not to wake my brother–let him rest from yesterday, and began to change my clothes. Today I wanted to go for a walk in the city. I decided to wear a fitted navy blue polka-dot jacket, a white mid-knee skirt, and white heels. I decided to complete my look with pearl earrings. Taking my black handbag, I went out into the hall and quietly closed the door behind me. The warm May sun was shining, pleasantly warming my skin, and swifts were flying overhead like fighter jets. The city was buzzing. I walked leisurely along the wide, crowded streets that led to the square. Germany was different from Italy; everything was more austere, clearer, when in my homeland it was avoided.
As I passed a fashion boutique, a black Mercedes suddenly pulled up, and I was alert. A chauffeur in a grey uniform, judging by the buttonholes - Obertscharführer, got out of the car and opened the passenger door.
A man in a black leather coat and a recognisable cap with an eagle and a skull came out, shining his shiny boots. He approached me, looking to be about thirty years old at most. The man had a handsome face with a straight, neat nose, a high forehead, thick eyebrows, and light blue, penetrating eyes that looked straight into his soul. The whole appearance of this man: his straight posture, confident gait and keen gaze told me that he was not to be trifled with.
He came up to me and spoke. His voice was polite, but steely, and there was something in it that was sharp and intolerant of objection.
— Fräulein, you must come with us.
I was taken aback. Where to? Why? This is ridiculous.
— Excuse me, but first, who am I honoured to speak to?
— Sturmbannführer SS, Dieter Eichenwald.
I swallowed.
— All right. But why should I go with you if I don't want to?
The Sturbmanführer rolled his eyes and said icily.
— There are orders to take you to one place. I dare not disobey it. Get your ass in the car.
He pressed me, forcing me into the car, and I had no choice but to obey silently. The engines roared, and the Mercedes started up. I sat there neither dead nor alive, afraid to say a word or move. Herr Eichenwald casually took a cigarette out of his packet, flicked his lighter, took a drag and exhaled the smoke. I coughed, pushing it away with my hand. He smirked.
— You can't stand cigarette smoke, can you, Fräulein? — The Sturmbannführer asked cheekily.
I nodded. He was not so simple. Dangerous and mysterious were two words that characterised him exactly. The Sturmbannführer opened the window, letting in fresh air, and the car felt a little fresher. It seems that all the men in the Reich smoked that stuff! We drove for about fifteen minutes, and I kept touching the officer's leg or his sturdy shoulder, and I was always blushing, cursing myself for it. Shit!
We arrived at one of the most luxurious restaurants in Munich-"ᐯᗴᖇᘜᑎÜᘜᗴᑎ", and I was a little scared, what did these people want from me? Herr Eichenwald came out and kindly opened the door, offering his hand, then we walked inside the establishment. I tried not to look around so as not to attract attention, but my eyes darted around, looking at the interior. Gilding, mouldings, curlicues, expensive parquet, richly dressed ladies and refined men-all this harmonised with each other. Only the cream of society dined in this restaurant, and it was off-limits to the likes of me. Dieter Eichenwald led me to a table at the other end of the room where two people were sitting. One of them was a forty-year-old man in a smart black suit with his hair slicked back; his neighbour was a similarly dressed man with sharp features, younger.
— Fraulein, welcome. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Otto Goldberg, editor-in-chief of the Berlin magazine Die Dame¹. This is my colleague Friedrich Schieffer, and I see you have already met Dieter Eichenwald.
At these words the Sturmbannführer nodded politely. He took off his cap, revealing his tousled blond hair. He wore an eye-catching black uniform, where the swastika armband stood out as a bright spot. There was no trace of his insolence left. The man obligingly pulled back a chair, inviting me to sit down, and poured champagne. I raised an eyebrow, still not sure what was being asked of me.
— I wanted to invite you to become our official spokesperson. We are very popular among the fairer sex, but unfortunately, our main model...went on maternity leave. — At those words, the editor's face contorted into a grimace, — so could you take her place?
I blinked. So that's it–I'm being offered a modelling job. My first thought was to say yes immediately, because if it's a popular fashion magazine, it's a lot of money. But then I started thinking. What if there's a catch? What if their lead model left for a reason? And anyway, if I got the job, they'd probably have an agency in Berlin, and I have a brother here. And Ralph. That's it.
But in order not to be rude, I decided to answer succinctly and loyally:
— All right, Herr Goldberg, I'll think about it. Give me, — I hesitated, — two days.
He nodded politely. His colleague started talking.
— You know, you don't look Aryan. Where are you from?..
— Ah! Seidel! There you are!
Dieter Eichenwald instantly jumped up from his chair, and I turned round to see him and froze with horror.
He was standing there in his grey uniform, with the same predatory yet calm expression as the night before. A multitude of awards hung from his chest. His brown eyes stared unblinkingly at the editor. The buttonholes on his collar said that this man was a Standartenführer. The eagle patch on his right sleeve indicated that he belonged to the SS, not the Wehrmacht. The man lowered his eyes, gently took my hand and touched his lips to the back of my palm, muttering: "I am fascinated."
— This is Colonel Rudolf Seidel. He has kindly agreed to take us to the city and show us the sights.
He sat down opposite me next to Goldberg and met me with the same cold gaze as then. He recognised me. I was the cornered mouse, and he was the cat playing the victim. He was my rapist.
— Soon, — he began to say in that low voice that hid danger, — the pudding should be here. Have you tasted the pudding here? It's one of the best dishes.
— It's my first time here. — I said hoarsely.
The Standartenführer nodded and spoke to the editor, and I was ready to faint.
— Well, thank you for your visit, Fräulein, but we must leave. Friedrich and I have urgent business to attend to, — Goldberg said with a theatrical roll of his eyes. — Here, contact me on this card.
He handed me a card with a telephone number and took a black hat from the chair.
— Seidel, how soon will you be?
— Just a moment. I want to have a private conversation with the lovely Fräulein, — the colonel smiled charmingly, — Perhaps the Sturmbannführer could escort you.
Dieter Eichenwald frowned.
— You'll probably do a much better job than me, Standartenführer.
He looked at me with a meaningful look, apparently seeing that I was uncomfortable with Rudolf Seidel. Otto Goldberg clicked his tongue.
— All right, we'll wait outside. A minute, no more.
All three of them went out, leaving me alone with the colonel. I think I forgot how to breathe from fear.
— How are you doing, Lorna Carbone? Not starving? You're not sick?
— No, I'm fine.
— I thought so. — He took out a cigarette and lit it. — Were you in pain then?
It turned me upside down.
— How dare you ask me that! I'll go to the police right now and tell them what you did to me!
I was about to get up when Seidel jumped up and sat me back down, leaning in close to my face. There was nothing left of the smile. When he spoke, the quiet voice was full of threat and venom.
— You're not going anywhere. If you try to say anything, I promise you your life will be a nightmare, and you'll wish you'd never been born. You know how they treat Italians in Germany, so I advise you to keep quiet. Nobody will listen to you, my dear.
The colonel moved away again and smiled dreamily. I wanted to get as far away from here as possible, away from him. He looked at his watch.
— My God! I think Mr Editor and his assistant are waiting for me! Thank you for the lovely conversation, Lorna.
He leaned down to my ear and murmured softly:
— Don't try to run. They'll find you anyway. If you mention that night visit, you can safely say "auf wiedersehen" to your quiet life.
Rudolf nodded, took his cap and left the restaurant, and it was as if I had just surfaced. And cried.
The pudding was still not brought, I decided to leave the place - it was difficult to be here and went outside. To my surprise, a Sturmbannführer was standing near the entrance smoking a cigarette. The editor and the Standartenführer were not there. When he saw me, he threw it on the ground and put it out with his boot.
— Are you okay? You seem a little upset. Very upset.
— Yeah, it's nothing. Thank you.
— I see the conversation with Seidel wasn't very good. You gave him that scared look then.
I exhaled, irritation starting to boil up in my chest. I wanted to snap at the world, smash things, scream.
— What do you want from me?! There's nothing wrong with me! You must be hallucinating! Leave me alone!
He squinted, and I realised I'd said too much. I'm being asked politely about my well-being, and I'm taking it out on a man, and a member of the SS, which could have had repercussions.
— I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, it's just--
— It's okay. It's okay. Sometimes it's good to let your emotions out. I don't take offence.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my fingers. The man was looking at me with a slight concern, and only now I noticed that he had a cute mole on the left side of his lip. We stood in silence for a while, not knowing how to start a conversation, shy. Dieter Eichenwald decided to make the first move.
— Shall we go for a walk?
I nodded, blushing slightly. This man had charisma, some kind of charm that attracted me so much. And the black uniform made it a hundred times more so. We moved leisurely up the street. The Sturmbannführer and the Italian. Our conversations were mundane: how our childhood was, who our parents were, how I had reached such a rank, why I had moved to Germany, and so on. The most usual polite and emphasised conversation.
Suddenly the dumbest and most inappropriate question in the universe came off my lips.
— Are you married?
Dieter looked at me in surprise, raising an eyebrow. I wanted to fall under the ground.
— I was once, — he said thoughtfully, — my wife left me for another man. I knew she was cheating, I knew she was spending her nights with her lover, but I loved her anyway, I turned a blind eye to her cheating, but in vain....
I put my hand sympathetically on his shoulder. Among the cigarette odour I could smell the subtle scent of mint perfume.
— I'm sorry.
— You can't go back to the way things were. You can't dwell on one moment, you have to move on.
He was right. Damn right. We continued on our way, talking about all the topics we were interested in. As it turned out, Dieter was a man confident in himself and his actions, decent and perceptive. Most importantly - understanding.
We reached the square where many people were walking and stopped. Dieter turned to me, and his eyes shone with...tenderness?
— Lorna, it was very nice to meet you, but I have to leave you. I hope to see you again.
He took my hand and kissed it reverently, which gave me goosebumps, obviously the man noticed and smirked, not removing his face from my palm. I looked away embarrassed.
— Yeah, see you later...Dieter.
He nodded one last time, turned round and walked with a confident, wide stride to the other end of the square, cutting through the crowd like the prow of a water-ship.
I saw his black leather coat and cap for a long time.
As I walked home, I thought about today, about the new people I had met, about the frightening Seidel and his words that had terrified me. I thought of Dieter, the cold, elegant and interesting man who wouldn't leave my mind.
Perhaps if the war ended, I would stay in Germany. With Paolo, Ralph and the others. In my short time in Munich, I realised that the city had become more than just a temporary home.
It became my home.
