Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright Page 2

  “Great filming, Sepp,” Marti said. “The Nazis love their flags, don’t they? Did we get any good stills of them?”

  “We did,” Riefenstahl answered. “Rudi and I were both on the field right after the ceremony. I got a couple of wonderful shots, of a Hitlerjugend holding a flag over his head with sunlight filtering through it.”

  At that moment, the door to the conference room opened again, interrupting them a second time. Annoyance briefly crossed Riefenstahl’s face, then faded. “Oh, it’s you, Frederica. What is it?”

  “It’s the Reichsminister, Frau Riefenstahl. He just sent over a note.” The young woman held out an envelope, and from where she was sitting, Katja could see the insignia of the propaganda ministry.

  “Don’t tell me. Dr. Goebbels is sending his congratulations, is he?” Riefenstahl perused the letter, shaking her head. “The same old nonsense. A reminder that it’s his prerogative to monitor the film for its ‘value to the Volk.’ He also requires that I come to his hotel this afternoon to discuss when he can review the films.”

  She took a breath. “For godsake! It’s the party congress. Does he think I’ll smuggle in a mountain-climbing scene?” She slapped the letter closed and shoved it into her pocket. “What crap,” she muttered. “The Führer said I had carte blanche for this project, and Goebbels just hates that I’m the only person in the German art world he can’t control.” She sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to go and soothe his ruffled feathers.”

  “This afternoon?” Allgeier asked. “Weren’t we going to have a last meal together before everyone leaves?”

  “Oh, that’s right, I’d forgotten.” Riefenstahl nodded. “Well, Herr Reichsminister will just have to wait.” She turned back to her secretary, who had sat down next to her. “Please stay after the film showing, Frederica. I’ll write him a note that I’ll be happy to come to the ministry at his convenience, when I’m back in Berlin. That’ll irritate him, but not enough for him to do anything about it.”

  Riefenstahl stood up in front of the group again. “All right, everyone. That’s all we’ve got for now. I’ve got a lot of editing ahead of me, to reduce those 130,000 meters to about 3,000, so count yourselves lucky to be able to stop working now. I know some of you are leaving immediately, but for those who can stay a few more hours, we’ve asked the kitchen staff to put together a final meal at two o’clock. I hope to see you there.”

  The departing team members gathered around to say good-bye to their boss, and Katja migrated toward the corridor. Just by the door, Frederica was conversing with Erich Prietschke, tall, blond, and in uniform, like an image on a political poster.

  He bent over Frederica with one hand on the wall above her head and the other hooked on his military belt. Katja chuckled to herself. Even when he flirted, he swaggered.

  Frederica, for her part, was harder to fathom. Even physically, she was a curious mixture. Under her amber, almost-blond hair, she had an oval face with a wide mouth and full, well-formed lips. Her large eyes seemed to squint back at her admirer, either with amusement or skepticism, Katja couldn’t be sure which.

  Statuesque, even beautiful, she had a distinctly un-German look. The features were finely chiseled, and Katja couldn’t possibly imagine her in a dirndl dress or with a coif of twisted braids. What was it, then, that attracted Erich?

  “He’s really pouring it on, isn’t he? Do you think she’s falling for it?”

  “Rudi!” Katja glanced sideways to see one of her best friends on the team. “Hi there. I haven’t seen you for days. What have you been doing all this time?”

  He pecked her on the cheek. “Working my pretty fingers to the bone. Every time Frau Riefenstahl went out for a shot, I had to go with her so we’d have both film and stills of it. I could have had my camera glued to my head and no one would have noticed the difference. Where did she assign you?”

  Katja stood back to study him, trim yet muscular, like a dancer. She had liked him from the first moment she met him. His lighthearted banter and genuine warmth always cheered her. He posed, though not the way men posed—to assert authority. Rather it was as if to say, Look, I’m posing. Isn’t this fun? He was handsome in a more delicate way than Erich. His features were finer, and his brown eyelashes were as long as a girl’s.

  “I was Herr Kraus’s assistant. I mostly carried his equipment, but they let me film now and then, when they wanted extra coverage.”

  “Ah, yes, I saw you up on the pole once, squashed in behind him. That can’t have been so nice.” He chuckled.

  She smiled along with him. “It was a tight squeeze, but I didn’t think much about it. I was too intent on getting the picture. I want so much to live up to Frau Riefenstahl’s vision.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m not thrilled about the political message, but I love what she’s doing for cinema. Cameras on the ground, cameras on tracks, cameras in dirigibles. Absolutely brilliant. You can’t help but be in awe of her.”

  “I am, but I’ve never really talked to her. Herr Kraus engaged me. We’re both from Berlin and he knew I was studying film, so he took me on.”

  “I’m from Berlin too. Neukölln. I live just down the street from the Alte Post, if you know that district. I got my job because I know Frederica, her secretary.”

  Katja’s attention had wandered as she glanced again toward Erich, who still hovered over Frederica. “They’d make a nice couple, don’t you think?”

  “Erich? He is a beauty, isn’t he? But Frederica’s much too smart for him. She doesn’t go for blond beasts like that.”

  “How do you know what she ‘goes for’?”

  Rudi allowed himself a slight smirk. “We were once engaged.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  He waved his hand, as if brushing a fly away. “Long story. Let’s just say we were well matched, but not for marriage. I love her to pieces, but we realized in time that we were much better off as best friends. What about you? Is there a Mister Sommer?”

  Katja chuckled. “Yes, my father. But I’m engaged to a man in the Wehrmacht. We haven’t set a date yet, and I’m not in a hurry, but I suppose it will happen eventually.”

  “You make it sound like gray hair. You’re not in a hurry to get married?”

  “No. I want to do so many other things first. But Dietrich, my fiancé, is patient. Brave, kind, hard working. He was on the field yesterday, with his unit, in the middle of all those other thousands. I’m sure he was wildly proud to stand there for Hitler.”

  “‘Brave, kind, hard-working, proud to stand for Hitler.’ I guess that’s what every German woman wants in a man.” Katja detected the faintest note of irony in his voice, which she didn’t know how to respond to.

  “Ah, Katja! Finally, I found you,” someone said, and Katja turned around. Of medium height, with light-brown hair tending toward red, and the faint remainder of childhood freckles, Dietrich Kurtz looked slightly out of character in his Wehrmacht uniform, like a boy dressed up as a soldier.

  “Dietrich! I thought you had marched off to the train station yesterday with twenty thousand others.”

  “I did. But before we even arrived for the rally, I applied for leave. They gave me twenty-four hours, isn’t that great? I thought I’d surprise you.”

  “Oh, yes, it’s great,” Katja said, forcing cheer into her voice. His sudden appearance reminded her of her life outside the film project and diluted the excitement of the last hour of the great adventure.

  Most of the others from the camera team were leaving, and he slid his arm around her waist. “Let’s go for a walk then,” he suggested, guiding her toward the door.

  They passed Frederica and Erich at the doorway and, for a moment, Katja locked eyes with her. Frederica’s eyes were gray-green, her glance intense before she shifted her attention back to Erich. Yes, Katja confirmed inwardly. A perfect Nazi couple.

  Then Dietrich pulled her from the warm film-crew building into the cool, sobering air of the Schlageter Platz and her previo
us life.

  Chapter Three

  Dietrich looked at his watch. “My father will be at work and my mother does her shopping in the middle of the day. We’ll have the house to ourselves,” he said pointedly.

  Katja was not enthusiastic. “I shouldn’t be away too long, Dietrich. Herr Kraus might need me for something.”

  “Oh, come on,” he said with obvious disappointment. “Frau Riefenstahl said herself that the work was all done. We’ve been engaged ever since last summer and you’ve never seen our house here in Nuremberg. I got leave especially to spend a few hours alone with you. It’s not the wrong time of the month, is it? I thought I knew your ‘safe’ times.”

  Katja was not particularly in the mood for the sex he was alluding to, even if this was a time when she couldn’t get pregnant, but it wouldn’t take long to satisfy him. His parents were genuinely good people, and she was sure the house was lovely too. So why did she feel like she was being dragged away from something? Then she reminded herself, the film project was a one-time adventure; Dietrich would be her life.

  “All right. We can spend an hour at your house, if you’d like, but I want to be at the supper the film team is having.”

  Dietrich hugged her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. “You’re a very strong-willed woman, you know. That will be good when it comes time to raise the children.”

  “Children,” she repeated. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  She walked alongside him, wondering what had brought her and Dietrich together. Perhaps because he was the first man who courted her instead of the prettier schoolgirls with their round, soft faces and pink cheeks. Her slightly angular features always made her look older than her years, and her single-mindedness about her studies made her unsociable. Dietrich’s attentions were enormously flattering, and before she knew it, she was engaged.

  “We can catch the Strassenbahn right here at the Adolf Hitler Platz, and see? One’s already coming.” He grasped her hand and drew her along in a gentle jog.

  *

  Dietrich’s family house on the Schwalbenstrasse could have been in a children’s story book. The exposed-beam construction was medieval and, even without the swastika flag, represented traditional Germany. Geranium-filled flower boxes decorated all the windows, red at the street level, pink on the floor just above, and white on the top floor. The front door was oak, with a wreath of walnut shells and dried thistle at the center.

  “Oh, drat. The light’s on in the kitchen. My mother’s still there. Well, maybe she’ll take the hint and leave,” Dietrich said as he shoved the heavy oak door open and they entered the foyer. On a series of hooks just inside the doorway, hats and a woman’s green Loden jacket hung next to a carved walking stick.

  “Mutti, look who’s here!” he announced, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

  A woman in her sixties looked up from where she was sitting and writing. “Ach, Dietrich!” she exclaimed, and hurried toward him. “And Katja! How wonderful. Dietrich, I thought you had to stay with your unit after the congress.”

  “I do. I’ve only got a few hours’ leave but look, I was able to convince Katja to come.”

  “That’s splendid. I was just making a list of things I need to buy at the market in the square. I’ll pick up some beef and make Tafelspitz for dinner. Your father will be so pleased.” She cupped her slightly plump hand under Katya’s chin. “We’ll have a nice family meal with our future daughter-in-law.”

  “Uh, I’m afraid not, Mutti. Katja has to be back at work later this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, Frau Kurtz. The team has another meeting and of course I have to be there. For the party congress, you know.” It was only half a lie.

  “But maybe we can have some coffee before you go shopping.” Dietrich’s emphasis on the word “shopping” made it clear that he expected her to leave them alone.

  “Ja, natürlich,” she responded with maternal understanding, and set about grinding the coffee beans. While Dietrich assisted his mother in preparing the ritual snack, Katja surveyed the room.

  The walls and ceiling were pine supported by pine beams, and the floor was oak. But not merely the preponderance of wood gave the room its heavy Bavarian atmosphere. The table in the corner had wooden benches attached to the walls on two sides, and the tall green-tiled Kachelofen, which over-warmed the kitchen, held tiles painted with edelweiss and acorns. On the wall over the table were both a statue of the Virgin with the infant Jesus and a crucifix with the vividly painted dead one. The other wall sported three trophy heads of mountain goats. The cloying, overheated coziness hinted of mortality and guilt.

  “Can I help?” Katja asked, but Frau Kurtz waved her away. “Oh, of course not, dear. Just sit yourself down. The coffee will be ready in a moment.”

  Katja studied a gray stoneware pitcher and cups on the counter nearby and next to them two picture frames. One held a family portrait. Against the backdrop of a dusty curtain, Konrad Kurtz stood in a suit with stiff paternal pride next to his wife, who was seated on an ornamental chair, her long skirt draped artistically to cover her feet. Between them, in lederhosen and white shirt, a very young Dietrich posed with his hand on the arm of the chair. A paternal hand rested on his shoulder, as if to hold him in place.

  The other photo, obviously more recent, was of Dietrich in his Wehrmacht uniform, posing with the same stiffness as his father. The solemnity of his expression belied the sweet, playful boy she knew was hidden inside.

  “Here we are, my dear.” Frau Kurtz swung around with a painted porcelain coffee pot and three matching cups. Dietrich followed with a plate of small cakes. Katja braced herself for the inevitable question of when she and Dietrich would marry, but Frau Kurtz was stealthier than that. “How exciting that you’ve been invited to do this wonderful film for the Führer. Did you actually get to photograph him?” Frau Kurtz asked, pouring the steaming coffee into all of the cups.

  “Yes, several times, but I was only an assistant to one of the cameramen.”

  “That’s exciting” she repeated. “I watched the parade when the Führer arrived, but it was hard to see in such a big crowd. You know how the Bavarians adore him.” She served the cakes. “Did you actually speak with him? I think I would have fainted.”

  “No, he was always at a distance. But we made some nice films of Dietrich standing at attention with thousands of others on the field. If it makes the editing cut, you’ll be able to see it in the cinema.”

  Dietrich laughed. “Yes, and you can be sure she’ll be looking for me. I’ll be the one on the right side, nine hundred rows back, eighty-seventh man from the center.”

  “Perhaps by the time the film is in the cinema, you’ll be home on leave again with your new bride. Have you set a date yet?”

  Katja looked away. She should have seen it coming. Dietrich, bless his heart, fielded the question with finesse. “I can’t be a husband when I’m in training, Mutti. And Katja has to finish her film studies. But don’t worry. We love each other and we’ll get married when the time is right for both of us.”

  “I know, my dears. It’s just that your father is nearly seventy, and we both want grandchildren. Is that so selfish?”

  Dietrich took her hand. “No, not at all. But don’t worry about grandchildren. We’re working on that,” he said pointedly. Katja blushed at the obvious hint of what they planned that afternoon, but Frau Kurtz understood immediately.

  “Yes, that’s lovely,” she replied ambiguously, and gathered the empty plates and coffee cups. “And that reminds me, I do have a lot of shopping to do before the market closes at two. Please excuse me, Katja, dear.”

  With a peck to the cheek of her son and her almost daughter-in-law, Gertrude Kurtz gathered her various nets and sacks and was off to the market square.

  “Should we wash the dishes?” Katja asked, stalling. “She would probably appreciate that.”

  “She would be horrified.” Dietrich laughed “The kitchen is her realm and she takes
offense if anyone lays claim to any of her responsibilities. No, I think she will be quite content for us to have our little hour to ourselves.” He took her hand. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

  He kissed her palm. “Come on, I’ll show you my room in all its simplicity. I don’t want to have any secrets from you.” He drew her from the table and up the narrow wooden staircase to the next floor. His room was at the far end.

  It was friendly, orderly, and meticulously clean. Katja had no doubt that Frau Kurtz dusted it every day, even when it was empty. A narrow bed was in the corner, and the wallpaper, she noted, bore a pattern of tiny hunters with old-fashioned shotguns alternating with rabbits under bushes. A bookcase held books on its lower shelves and toys on the top one: lead soldiers and a tin castle with tiny knights positioned against a raised drawbridge. An open shelf on another wall held folded sweaters, well-worn lederhosen, presumably the ones in the photograph, and a balsa-wood airplane. Below it stood a pair of hiking boots and wooden shoes. On the far wall, in a wooden frame, hung a poster for the Hitlerjugend.

  “Come, sit down.” Dietrich drew her to him on the edge of the narrow bed. “You make me so proud to be a soldier,” he said, sliding his lips along her cheek to her neck.

  “You should be proud to be a soldier for everyone, not just me.” She was not really in the mood for intimacy, but he was gentle, and although she never felt the thrill that other people apparently did, she didn’t especially mind. It would occur eventually, she was sure.

  He slid off his military boots and set them together against the wall. Standing in front of her, he unbuttoned his military tunic to his undershirt. A few blond hairs showed in the V of the neckline. He draped the tunic carefully over the only chair in the room, then, undoing his suspenders, he snapped open his Gott mit Uns belt buckle and dropped his military pants.