The Ragged Edge of Night(75)

Cowering beside her husband, Frau Franke keeps her eyes fixed to the floor. She is a small woman, wrapped in a dark woolen shawl, sober-faced and pale. When a woman to her left murmurs something close to her ear, Frau Franke quivers as if the very proximity of another woman burns her.

The poor thing, Anton thinks. What must her life be like, shackled to the town gauleiter? Does she know how her husband carries on with the wives and unmarried girls of the village?

One of the Kopp brothers stands, too. “Come, now, Herr Franke. You aren’t suggesting we turn away women and children in need?”

Anton recognizes many of the voices raised in support—the Abts and Schneiders, the baker and her two red-cheeked daughters.

But someone else shouts, “Bruno is right. It’s a bad idea—dangerous!”

Anton burns to crane his neck, to find out who called out such folly. But he can’t draw attention to himself with the gauleiter so near. He forces himself to remain casually in his place, eyes on the priest at his lectern.

Emil raises his hands until silence has been restored. But Bruno Franke remains standing.

“Herr Franke,” the priest says, “please tell us more. If we know why, exactly, you are concerned, then perhaps—”

M?belbauer cuts Emil off with an impatient jerk of his head. “We don’t need more mouths to feed here in Unterboihingen. If we let in a great herd of strays, they’ll eat us out of our homes.”

“Strays?” Frau Abt cries. “For Heaven’s sake, those are little children you speak of, not dogs!”

The woman seated near the Frankes adds, “Show some humanity, Bruno.” When she elbows Frau Franke, the Frau only huddles deeper into her shawl.

Janz Essert lifts his hand. “Franke has the right of it. We’ve kept ourselves out of trouble here in this town. Refugees will only complicate our lives. Who needs the bother?”

A murmur of disapproval rises like a flood. Someone shouts over the noise, “We can’t turn away people in need!”

Now more are on their feet, voicing their support of M?belbauer—men and women alike, six, seven. Then ten, then a dozen. Anton never dreamed the gauleiter had so many admirers. Frantically, he takes stock, trying to impress their faces and names upon his memory. His life might depend, one day, on staying on the right side of Bruno Franke’s friends.

Franke says, “Listen, listen, all of you. Let us talk sense. I’m not a heartless fiend”—Elisabeth’s legs twitch, and Anton fears she may leap up to confront the man—“but consider our situation. We’ve just enough, among all our little farms and shops, to keep ourselves in good health and good cheer. If we open our homes to these Egerlanders, every one of us will be stretched too thin. There will no longer be enough surplus for trading. We’ll all be back to living on ration stamps and nothing else. Is that really the life you want to lead?”

Elisabeth springs up before Anton can restrain her. She faces Franke across the aisle, shivering with anger and disgust. “All of Germany has tightened its belt,” she says. “We can do the same. We’ve had an easy go of the war, here in Unterboihingen. Now it’s time we share our good luck with those less fortunate than we.”

The roar of assent is gratifying; it raises a prickle of triumph along Anton’s spine.

Franke has nothing for Elisabeth but a twisted sneer. “You would take food from your own children’s mouths to feed strangers?”

There is no hesitation in her reply. “I would rather send my children to bed hungry than teach them to harden their hearts. What good is a comfortable life if we don’t know the meaning of love or mercy?”

“Hear!” someone shouts in admiration. Applause ripples around the nave.

But those who have stood in support of Bruno Franke haven’t backed down yet.

“We don’t even know what kind of people these Egerlanders are,” Janz says.

The man standing beside him—Hofer Voigt—nods eagerly. “That’s right. They’re strangers to us; who can say what they intend?”

“What they intend?” Elisabeth cries. “Herr Voigt, how can you say such things? They are homeless! You make it sound as if they’ve had any choice in this matter—as if they were planning an invasion!”

“And as for what kind of people they are,” says another Kopp, “they’re Germans. What more do you need to know?”

“Plenty of unsavory types have called themselves German.” Franke casts a sly look around the church, the muttering crowd. “Plenty of impure types. Just because they claim to be German, that doesn’t make it so.”

“That’s the truth,” Hofer says. “Listen well, all of you. How can we be sure these Egerlanders wouldn’t bring Jews or Gypsy rats among us?”

Anton seizes Elisabeth’s hand to silence her. He can all but feel his wife’s hotheaded reply, for it’s burning on his own tongue: I’d take in a Jewish family, too, if I could—and call myself blessed for the chance. But it would never do to admit such a thing here and now. Not with Franke’s eyes narrowed and darting around the room, searching for sympathizers and traitors.

“Peace,” Emil says from his lectern. “Peace, my friends, peace. It’s plain to see that we all feel strongly about the Egerlanders. Yet we must decide what’s best to be done. For the refugees are coming to Württemberg, whether we like it or not. Do we offer them shelter, or do we leave them to roam the countryside, fending for themselves?”