The Ragged Edge of Night(98)

The officer nods a curt greeting to the priest. “You’re here; excellent. I’ve come to claim your church bells.”

Not come for them—Anton and Emil. Not yet.

Anton slides a wary look in the priest’s direction. Their eyes do not quite meet, but Anton can feel a fresh current of hope running through his friend—running between them, shared.

Anton says to the officer, “But… mein Herr, you already took our bells.”

“Nonsense. I haven’t come through this town yet.”

“Not you exactly, mein Herr.” He gives the man a grin, wide and friendly. Anton Starzmann is every man’s friend; his ready smile proves it. “It was another captain of the Schutzstaffel. When did it happen, Father—a week ago? Ten days?”

Emil taps his chin. “I believe it was—”

The officer silences Emil with a terse gesture. “No one came here. No other officer would intrude. This shit hole of a village is in my territory; it’s my responsibility. No one would be foolish enough to canvass my towns without seeking my permission, and I do not shirk my duties.”

Anton lifts his hands in a gesture of bafflement. “But it’s true.”

Father Emil nods. He points, indicating the bell tower—empty, a perfect square of blue sky showing at its peak. “You can see for yourself, mein Herr—our bells are already gone.”

The crowd murmurs and shivers. The villagers break away in little groups, making for the heart of Unterboihingen as quickly as they dare to move. The arrival of an SS officer would not have gone unnoticed, seven days past or ten. The villagers know Anton has lied. They know their priest has lied. And none of them wish to be questioned.

The officer’s voice rises an octave. “Do you think us fools? Do you think we can’t keep our affairs in order?”

“Certainly not,” says Emil calmly.

“Those bells were mine, meant for my quota. Why didn’t you stop the man who took them?”

Emil shrugs. “We had no idea our town wasn’t in that man’s jurisdiction.”

“And,” Anton adds, smiling again, “you don’t think we would say no to an officer of the SS, do you, mein Herr?”

The captain is rigid with anger, his jaw clenched so tightly Anton can count the striations in the muscle of his cheek. Then he leans close to Anton, so close he can smell the man’s breath. “Wipe that grin off your face, you small-town scum. This isn’t a laughing matter.” He turns to the few people who still dare to linger near the churchyard. “Who among you can corroborate this man’s story? Speak with care; I have ways of sniffing out lies.”

No one speaks. No one dares to move. Anton breathes deeply. He thinks, I gave it my best effort. From here, I’ll go to the camps, like my students before me. But I can be proud of the work I’ve done. A thorn in the wolf’s paw, however small that thorn may be.

From among the small crowd, a familiar voice speaks. “I can vouch for their story, mein Herr. I was here when the officer came. I saw it all; it was nine days ago, not ten.”

Elisabeth. She has come back. Anton can’t take his eyes from her face as she walks toward the officer—that familiar way she has of moving, her back strong and unbent. He clenches his jaw to blank his face, so the captain won’t see love in his eyes. He tightens his fists at his side to keep himself from moving, keep himself from standing between Elisabeth and danger.

“Who are you?” the captain barks.

“My name is Elisabeth Herter. I’m a widow; I’ve lived in this town eight years.”

The last watchers finally scatter. They won’t remain as witnesses while Anton and Elisabeth lie to this dangerous man—but neither are they willing to betray two members of their tightly knit community. And these two are better loved than most.

The captain stares at Elisabeth for a long time, searching her face for a flinch, a draining of color, any sign of weakness or fear. She stands her ground. She gazes back unfazed, the very picture of a good German woman, open and honest, loyal to her country, with nothing to hide.

Finally, the captain turns away. “If the bells aren’t there, then they aren’t there. But I will get to the bottom of this. I’ll know the truth of what has happened here, and then we’ll see who’s to blame.”

The truck’s door slams, and the engine coughs to life. The next moment, the truck is rumbling away, its canvas cover flapping, back down the main street toward open fields, toward Stuttgart beyond.

Anton and Elisabeth hold themselves apart, though for him, the urge to run to her is crushing, overpowering. He watches as she closes her eyes, still and silent, composing herself, bracing for whatever will come next. As soon as Emil whispers, “The officer is gone; I can’t see the truck any longer,” she flings herself toward Anton and throws herself into his arms. She weeps with relief against his chest.

“Merciful Mother.” Anton’s voice trembles. “Why did you come back?”

“I couldn’t leave you to face your fate alone.”

“But the children—”

“Your sister has them in her care. She agreed, if anything should happen to you and me both, that she would look after them.”

Gently he pushes her away, holding her by her shoulders. “You must go back, Elisabeth. You can’t stay here with me. We had a close shave just now—but we won’t escape a second time. Whether they learn the truth about the bells or not, they will be back, someday, for Father Emil. And for me.”