“Why do you need it?”
“I’m a graduate student, and I use it to write papers, correspondence, the usual things.”
“And flyers summoning your comrades to treasonous gatherings?”
Greta started. “Of course not.”
“Did you help the Jew Karl Mannheim escape to England?”
“Escape? Why would Professor Mannheim need to escape?”
He slammed a fist on the table. “Did you or did you not assist him?”
“I assisted him in his move to the United Kingdom,” Greta replied, shaken. “He hired me to do so. My confusion is regarding the word ‘escape.’ Herr Mannheim left Frankfurt to join the faculty of the London School of Economics, not for any nefarious purpose.”
“Where did you learn to fly?” the younger officer demanded. “In the United States?”
Greta looked from him to the older man and back. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you deny going to the United States?” asked the older officer, incredulous.
“Of course not. I attended graduate school at the University of Wisconsin. I’m proud of my achievement and I certainly make no secret of it.”
The younger officer planted his hands on the table and loomed over her. “Where is your airplane?”
Greta inhaled deeply and held his gaze. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never flown in an airplane. I’m just here for my typewriter.”
“The typewriter you used to produce this?” The older officer took a page from the file and placed it on the table before her. “Will you deny that you posted these throughout the university’s Department of Sociology?” He indicated her name, handwritten in the lower right corner. “That is your signature, yes?”
Greta stared at the paper, dumbfounded. “Yes, but—”
“Fliegergruppe?” the younger officer barked, jabbing a long finger at the title phrase. “A flying group with a zeppelin?”
“Where is your aircraft?” the elder officer demanded.
Greta burst into laughter. The two officers gaped at her, shocked.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, fighting to suppress her wild mirth. “I mean no disrespect. Yes, I did create these flyers and post them on the department’s bulletin boards. TheFliegergruppeis only a study group. We call it our flying group because we fly from one topic and location to another; from one meeting to the next. You must be new to Frankfurt or you would have heard of Zeppelinallee—it’s a street just west of campus.” She shook her head and pressed her lips together, aware that their bewilderment might quickly give way to anger. “We discuss topics in sociology, collaborate on papers, study for exams. I swear to you, there isn’t a single pilot among us.”
The older officer regarded her sourly. “You would do well to choose another name for your group.”
“Yes, I see that now. I’ll suggest that at our next meeting.”
“There may be no need.” The younger officer straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. “While you were abroad, so many of your professors decided to take leaves of absence that your entire department has been closed down.”
Greta studied him, uncertain. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“What will you do now, Fräulein Lorke?” he asked, feigning sorrow. “Go back to England, to the Jew Mannheim?”
“I suppose—” Greta’s thoughts raced to come up with an answer that would please them. “I will go home to Frankfurt an der Oder, to care for my aging parents.”
The older officer nodded. “And once you’re settled at home, you should marry.Kinder, Kirche, Küche!”
She nodded and bowed her head in false submission. “I’m grateful to you both for your patience. Now that we’ve cleared up this misunderstanding, may I have my typewriter, please?”
“Why should you need it, if you are no longer going to be a student?” asked the younger officer, feigning puzzlement.
“For correspondence, for conducting household business for my parents...” Greta shrugged. “It is mine, after all, and I’ve done nothing wrong, nothing to warrant having my property confiscated.”
