The dinner to celebrate the New
Year was to take place in two weeks. Karl was busy making sure all in his
kommando were perfecting their works. He had the painters painting the finest
portraits of the Führer. He also had the sculptors creating the finest statues
and ice sculptures for the party. The musicians were practicing 16 hours a day
and the dancers practicing their Viennese Waltz and Ländler. The dancers were
falling behind and instead of showing them the proper technique of the waltz
himself, he would have his subordinates—who detested the task of coming in
contact with Jews—show them. He made sure only the finest art was on display
for the evening. Although Jews were to perform German art, Karl was determined
to show that the German arts could overcome degeneracy and still transcend into
greatness.
He had
confidence in his Jewish musicians. Karl would hold private concerts for
officials throughout the autumn months for feedback. He chose the favorites;
Beethoven, Bach, Wagner, and of course Bruckner. Karl was raised on Beethoven
and Wagner, but discovered Bruckner in school. He fell in love with the
composer’s masterfulness of slow codas and passages that swayed into the most
romantic finales. This was how he found himself feeling for Anzeka.
Karl put Anzeka to work in the
serving rooms where she was responsible for designing and rearranging them for
different gatherings. In a month of her arrival, he put her in charge of all
the house servants. He would always greet her in passing, stopping her for
small chats. She only replied with head nods and hand gestures, never once
speaking to him. To her, Karl was just another uniform, another oppressor of
her soul, though he never dared to take advantage of her body. He kept her well
fed and she now had color to her face.
During Rosh Hashanah, he
allowed all his prisoners to practice their traditions. A month preceding the
holiday, he had the musicians practice before dawn every day so that one could
blow the shofar. This way the guards and officials would not notice what Karl
was allowing to go on in the Herrenhaus.
The day before the fast of Gedalia, Karl allowed the cooks and servants extra
servings, especially Anzeka.
“I know this is less than how
you intended to celebrate, but I hope that you are enjoying the observance,” he
told her. She looked into her plate of fish and bread nodding her head, never
once looking up.
“Thank you, sir, for having
mercy on us,” responded a cook sitting next to Anzeka. Karl smiled, keeping his
eyes on Anzeka’s vibrant gold locks and continued on his way.
As the cold season approached,
Karl allowed four of his prisoners to go in a truck and collect warm clothing
from piles in a nearby warehouse, under the guard of another soldier. Only two
returned with a few coats and a bag of mismatched shoes. Outraged, Karl
questioned the guard he put in charge of the detail. “Only two came out, Corporal,” replied the guard.
Karl went to the warehouse to inspect. He was told
that only two had come in to collect the clothing. The other two looked too fat
to be Jewish prisoners and were sent back to Auschwitz. He was enraged and
regretted sending his lead cook and one of his best painters. “Under whose
orders?” Karl wished to ask, but he knew that if he showed compassion for his
prisoners, he himself would be jailed. Or worse.
When
he returned, he distributed what he had to those he thought needed them the
most. The coats were of little comfort as many had bullet holes, some with
fresh blood on them. Most of his prisoners refused to accept. “I cannot take
comfort in another’s belongings, sir,” a sculptor told him. “If I may, sir,
pass this coat along to a younger prisoner who may find warmth in it.” Saddened
by their grieving, Karl allowed the prisoners to do so. His goal was to keep
his prisoners morale as high as possible so that they could translate their
feelings into their art, most of which, anyway, was sorrow.
One
woman’s wool coat in particular was heavy and barely battered. He had it washed
and sewn. The next day when he saw Anzeka, he pulled her into his office.
“Miene Liebe, I wish to give you this coat. Please, I would like for you to
accept it.” She looked down at the floor without a word. Karl walked up behind
her and draped the coat over her shoulders. She allowed him to help her put on
the coat and button her up. They were now a breath apart.
When
he finished buttoning her up, he grabbed her hands and took a step back.
“Perfekt!” He smiled, looking for a response in her face. She looked up and met
his eyes. It was the first time since she was detained that she felt another
human’s sensitive touch. This sent a surge through her body from the tips of
her fingernails to her elbows, up her arms and into her shoulder and neck, her
face, and back down her body. It was the first time she felt such a force since
her father last kissed her on her forehead before they left home. It was the
first contact she had made with him and he noticed. “Miene Liebe, so you do
have life left inside of you.”
She drew her hands from his and returned her
gaze to the floor. He saw tears begin to well in her eyes, magnifying her
piercing blue eyes.
“Have
you ever heard of Bruckner, miene Liebe?”
She shook her head.
“Oh you must! It
is the most beautiful music that speaks to the soul.” Her stare remained
aimless. Karl moved towards the phonograph next to his desk. He fingered
through his records on the wooden, crimson shelf behind the desk until he found
one of Bruckner’s, Symphony No. 9 in D minor. “Miene Liebe, this one you will
love. It is one of his greatest symphonies, one that he had not finished. Yet,
it is whole in its entirety. It is No. 9.”
He hastily put the record on and let the needle
play. As the woodwinds and strings introduced the piece, Karl closed his eyes
with a soothed smile on his face. He began to sway and motioned an invisible
baton like a conductor. When he opened his eyes, Anzeka’s face was silently
buried in her hands, tears escaping the crevices of her fingers. It was the
first time he saw any emotion out of her. “What is it, miene Liebe? Does the
music move you to tears?” She began to tremble uncontrollably, still standing
in the middle of the room. He walked up to her and put his hand on her
shoulders, trying to ease her. He yearned to hug her, to hold her in his arms.
“Please, tell me. Why is it that you cry? Can you feel the emotions of No. 9?”
Anzeka trembled in his hands. She began to heave for air and fell to the
ground.
“No.
9,” he mumbled under his breath. He now realized the issue at hand, why the
soul had now escaped this fragile body. He crouched down behind her rubbing her
shoulder in attempt to ease her, in attempts to ease her mind, to ease the
memories of her time before coming to the Herrenhaus. “Miene Liebe, please
forgive me. I did not mean to upset you.” Anzeka stood up and began to unbutton
her coat with force. Karl could see her blue irises slashing through the
redness of her eyes. She could not take off the coat fast enough. “Please,
don’t. I want you to keep it for the winter.” She threw the coat to the floor and
rushed out of the room. Karl stood up staring at the door. “Forgive, miene
Liebe.”
That night, he dreamt of
holding her in his arms as they dance to Anton Bruckner’s Symphony No. 4 in E
flat. What a tragedy it would be to become her thwarted lover. His father would
give the order of his own son’s execution himself. But he dreamed of showing
her the beauty that Bruckner could exhume, the beauty within herself...To be continued...
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