“This is the perfect place for two scholars like us,” she told Arvid when they finished unpacking. “The light, the air, and the pleasantness of the rooms will encourage excellent work, I’m sure of it.”
Her first task was to find a new teaching position for the fall term. She updated her résumé, collected letters of recommendation, and made dozens of inquiries, steeling herself to meet with indifference or even hostility. She would persist as long as it took. All she had to do was find one school where being an antifascist American woman was an asset, not a liability.
Chapter Seven
July 1932
Sara
Dieter had been traveling on business to Budapest and Belgrade for more than a fortnight, but when Sara’s mother suggested they celebrate his homecoming with a family supper at the Weitz residence, Sara was so surprised that she hesitated before accepting. Her parents sometimes chatted briefly with Dieter when he picked her up for dates, and one afternoon after he escorted her home he had been asked in forKaffee und Kuchen, but an invitation to dinner was something different altogether. Sara could only hope that this marked a shift in her parents’ feelings for Dieter, a thawing of the polite reserve that she feared concealed dismay and disappointment.
From the beginning Sara had suspected that her parents did not wholeheartedly approve of her relationship with Dieter, even if they did not object to him personally. She and Dieter had met through Wilhelm and Dieter’s employer, whom Wilhelm had hired to supply rare Italian marble to refurbish a crumbling fireplace in the east wing of Schloss Federle. Sara happened to be visiting her sister when Dieter had come to the estate to work out some details about payment and delivery, and she had been immediately struck by his good looks, confidence, and courteous manner. Amalie had invited him to join the family for lunch before making the long trip back to Berlin, and he and Sara had become so engrossed in conversation that Amalie laughingly declared that she felt quite forgotten. In parting, he asked if he and Sara could meet again in Berlin to continue their conversation, and she feigned a moment’s prudent reflection before agreeing. Amalie and Wilhelm teased her for swooning over Dieter’s dreamy blue eyes and dazzling smile, but what she admired most about him was his calm confidence, his stories of travel abroad to remote provinces and renowned capitals she had only read about in books, and his astonishing perseverance, which had enabled him to build a successful career from almost nothing. He had worked for everything he had, and Sara had never heard him utter a word of bitterness or envy for other men who enjoyed the benefits of family connections and fortunes.
Sara’s parents had not objected to their first date, but they had raised their eyebrows and exchanged significant looks when she had told them about their second. She and Dieter had been dating for two months when Sara overheard her mother lamenting to a friend about her daughters’ unfortunate penchant for gentiles. Wilhelm was wonderful, she had hastened to add, and she did not for a moment regret that Amalie had married him and had given her two beautiful granddaughters, but to see Sara follow a similar path was heartbreaking. To have one child marry a gentile was unfortunate. Two would be a tragedy.
Sara’s cheeks had burned as she silently withdrew. She had not been thinking about marriage, not with Dieter or anyone else, certainly not anytime soon. She had resolved long before to earn her doctorate, travel abroad, and establish a career before she married and started a family. But as she and Dieter continued to see each other, she began almost unwillingly to mull it over. She wanted to keep things as they were, but Dieter was a few years older and might want to settle down soon. Sometimes they discussed their religious beliefs and traditions, but never the daunting challenges faced by Jews and Christians who intermarried. And although Amalie and Wilhelm had proven that it could be done with understanding and grace, Sara knew from her sister’s shared confidences that their happiness had not been easily won.
For now, she just wanted to enjoy her time with Dieter without worrying about their future. In the years to come, though, if their feelings deepened and they remained as happy together as they were now—that would be a different matter. When it became impossible to imagine living without him, she would marry him, if he asked.
For weeks, the predominant topic of discussion in cafés and in the press had been the upcoming elections. President Hindenburg, eighty-four years old and in poor health, had been persuaded to run for reelection because his party, the Social Democrats, considered him the only man who could defeat Adolf Hitler and persuade rival factions to cooperate for the greater good. On the streets of Berlin, fascists and Communists seemed perpetually embattled, an attack of one group upon the other leading to a retaliatory strike in an escalating spiral of violence. Frau Harnack had once told their study group that the back-and-forth shootings reminded her of Mafia gangs fighting over territory in Chicago.
On the day before the dinner, the National Socialists held a massive campaign rally in the Lustgarten, the vast plaza in front of the palace of the kaiser. Thousands of Communist workers and intellectuals marched upon the Lustgarten to stage a protest, but they found the plaza already packed with ardent National Socialists, most clad in full Nazi regalia. Natan covered the event for theBerliner Tageblatt, and afterward he told the family that judging by the slogans on lofted banners, the triumphant songs, the wild flutter of miniature swastika flags like a vast swarm of furious red, black, and white moths, the Nazis had outnumbered the Communists at least four to one.
Sara listened in disbelief as her brother described the scene. How could so many people have crowded into the Lustgarten to cheer on the Nazis? Did they not understand what fascists believed? The Nazis had always been a fringe party. Where had these enormous crowds of supporters come from?
“The rally is over, but there’s more to come.” Natan caught Sara’s eye, and she knew to brace herself for an apology. “I’m sorry, Sara, but I won’t be able to come to dinner tomorrow.”
“But I want you to meet Dieter,” she protested.
“I’ve met him.”
“I want you to get to know him better. Amalie and Wilhelm already declined. What will Dieter think if you do too?”
Natan shrugged. “He’ll think that important events sometimes occur at inconvenient times and I have to get the story before the competition does. He’s a businessman. Give him my apologies and he’ll understand.”
Of course Dieter would understand, but that wasn’t the point. Sara had been counting on her brother to help with the conversation in case it caught an errant current and drifted into treacherous waters. Natan could talk to anyone, lead them deftly from topic to topic, draw information from them with such amiable ease that they did not realize how much they had divulged until it was too late.
Then again, maybe it would be better if Natan didn’t come.
The following evening, Sara put on her best floral summer dress, helped her mother and the cook with last-minute preparations, and paced in the foyer until the doorbell rang. Her parents were right behind her when she opened the door and welcomed Dieter inside, which, to Sara’s chagrin, meant that their long-awaited reunion was regrettably stilted, a swift clasp of hands and a chaste kiss on the cheek, their eyes promising more if they could find a moment alone.
Dieter had come bearing gifts, a bottle of Tokaji wine for her parents, a fine piece of traditional embroidered lace for her, so lovely that she cried out with delight when she unwrapped the tissue paper. What she could not say aloud was that Dieter himself was the far more pleasing sight. He wore his best suit, which showed off his broad shoulders and slim waist; his honey-blond hair was neatly parted and combed to the side, where it would stay until she had the opportunity to tousle it; and when he smiled, the dimple in his left cheek made her feel slightly giddy. He chatted with her parents over roast duck and potatoes, describing his travels—the sights he had seen, the business he had successfully conducted. Sara tried to contribute intelligently to the conversation, but she probably spent the entire meal gazing at him adoringly, like a silly girl dazzled in the company of a film star.
The spell broke over dessert when Dieter mentioned that he had read Natan’s report on the Lustgarten rally in the morning paper. “He described it so vividly I felt as if I had seen it myself,” Dieter remarked. “I’m sorry to have missed it.”
From the corner of her eye, Sara saw her parents exchange a significant glance. “Not that Dieter would have attended, even if he could have,” she quickly said, forcing a smile. “Dieter isn’t a National Socialist or a Communist.”
“Neither is Natan, and he was there,” said Dieter.
“In a professional capacity,” Sara replied, with a warning look.
He seemed not to notice it. “If I hadn’t been at work, I might have wandered over for a look.”
“A sightseer rather than a participant, of course?” prompted Sara’s father.
Dieter smiled. “I prefer the term objective observer. I think it’s important to listen to both sides, don’t you?”
Sara desperately wanted to change the subject, but the longer his question hung in the air unanswered, the more urgently it demanded a response. “Yes, listen to both sides,” she said brightly. “Then, if you discover that one side is irrational and utterly wrong in every way, you know you’re free to ignore them.”
