“What if you need that money to—” Sara could not bring herself to say that he might need it to emigrate. “For something important?”
Natan rested his elbows on the table and looked her straight in the eye. “Don’t worry about me. I pick up odd jobs here and there. I’ll be fine.” His gaze shifted to his parents. “I promise that if the choice is move back home or starve, you’ll find me back in my old room in a heartbeat.”
Sara had to accept that, but it frustrated and angered her that he had to resort to odd jobs while someone more Aryan sat in his old office doing his work half as well.
Winter faded and spring bloomed, green and fresh, the days gently sunny and warm, belying the political tempest raging through Berlin. Sara and Dieter once again walked hand in hand through the Tiergarten, avoiding political topics because Dieter did not like to see her upset over things she could not change and Sara did not think he took current events seriously enough.
In April, the brilliance of the lush, verdant spring diminished as seasonal rain showers held off and temperatures climbed. At the end of the month, as foliage withered in the Tiergarten and grasses faded to brown, Reich officials revealed that President Hindenburg was gravely ill and was not expected to survive the summer. Immediately the question of who would succeed him became an urgent matter. Natan thought that Chancellor Hitler was the strongest contender for the role, but he faced a formidable challenge from his erstwhile friend Captain Ernst Röhm, the head of the Sturmabteilung. The Brownshirts had increased in number so rapidly that Röhm now commanded more storm troopers than were in the entire Reichswehr, which the Treaty of Versailles limited to one hundred thousand troops. If Hitler defied the treaty, as he seemed eager to do, he would gain parity of numbers with Röhm, since the army was controlled by the defense minister, a loyal member of his cabinet.
“According to my sources,” Natan told Sara in mid-May over a lunchtime picnic of sandwiches made from leftovers from the Weitz family’s supper, “Röhm has told a number of foreign diplomats that he wants to incorporate the Sturmabteilunginto the Reichswehr, with himself in charge of the new, unified military. Captain Röhm already has many enemies, and he seems determined to make another of Hitler.”
“You still have sources?” asked Sara. “You didn’t have to turn them over to your replacement?”
“Dressler can find his own sources.”
“How do you think it will end?” asked Sara, trying to sound less anxious than she really felt. If Natan suspected his reports frightened her, he might stop sharing them. “Is there a chance that they might fight and bring each other down?”
“It’s more likely that one man will destroy the other.” He finished his sandwich and brushed crumbs from his fingertips. “As long as Hindenburg is at least nominally in charge, I still have hope for Germany.”
As the drought persisted into summer and concerns rose that the year’s harvest might be lost, gossip about conflicts in the Nazi hierarchy flew through Berlin. One compelling rumor said that President Hindenburg blamed Hitler for the rising tensions in Germany and that his downfall was imminent, prompting debate about who might replace him—perhaps Heinrich Brüning or General Kurt von Schleicher, both former chancellors. Another, more foreboding rumor insisted that Hitler could be neither uprooted nor constrained, and that he was merely waiting for an opportune moment to crush Röhm and remove the threat of his SA once and for all.
Dieter remained resolutely neutral, noting that his business’s clientele came from all walks of life and he could not afford to offend anyone by publicly siding with one faction or another. Sara chided him that when something was demonstrably morally wrong, one had an obligation to disavow it. Her words had little effect. Dieter was so determined to see the virtues of every group that Sara gave up trying to discuss anything with him other than the weather, their family and mutual friends, and his business.
Even their engagement became an uncomfortable subject. Every time Sara brought up unresolved issues, such as what to do about their children’s religious upbringing and how to handle his mother’s increasingly querulous inquiries about Sara’s interest in converting, he would either list a variety of valid opinions without clarifying his own or defer the discussion for another day. She would have suspected that his interest in marriage was waning if not for his increasing ardor when they were alone. At first she enjoyed it, but when he began urging her to go further than she wanted, murmuring breathlessly between kisses that they were going to be married anyway so there was no reason to refrain, and he didn’t need her to be a virgin on their wedding night as long as he was the only man she had been with, she became annoyed and unhappy. What if she got pregnant? What if something happened and they didn’t marry after all? He assured her nothing would go awry, but the world was veering sharply toward the wrong and no one knew for certain what the future would bring. She still loved Dieter, but she found guilty comfort in their decision not to marry until she finished her education, and in the fact that it took years to earn a doctorate.
With Dieter proving a poor conversationalist, Sara relied on Mildred’s study group for engrossing political conversation, Amalie for long heart-to-heart talks about her hopes for the future. But for someone without a job, Natan was curiously unavailable. He still met Sara for weekly lunches, but he stopped coming around for breakfast and declined an invitation to spend a weekend with the family at Amalie and Wilhelm’s estate in Minden-Lübbecke. Then, one Wednesday in late June, Natan failed to show up for their weekly lunch, and the following Saturday, he did not come home for Shabbat.
“He always lets me know if he has to cancel,” Sara’s mother said, a deep groove of worry appearing between her brows.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” said Sara’s father. “Perhaps something came up at the last minute.”
“Perhaps he’s met a nice young woman, and he’s celebrating Shabbat with her family tonight,” said Amalie, smiling brightly for her daughters. Sylvie and Leah smiled back, but Sara knew no one else at the table believed it.
The next morning, when Natan did not answer his phone, Sara decided to go see him. The Untergrundbahn seemed to make the trip across the city more slowly than it ever had, but eventually Sara was racing up the stairs to Natan’s flat, knocking on the door, and calling his name.
He did not answer.
She tried again, and when he did not reply, she checked under the loose piece of carpet below the door hinge for his spare key. It was gone. Heart pounding, she peered through the mail slot and saw a few envelopes scattered in the entry.
She rose, thoughts racing. Many of his friends had emigrated, and she was not sure how to reach those who remained.
Then she realized exactly where to start searching.
Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at the offices of theBerliner Tageblatt. She had visited Natan at work frequently through the years, but she did not recognize the pretty young blonde sitting at the receptionist’s desk. “I beg your pardon,” Sara asked, as calmly as she could. “Is Natan Weitz in today?”
The young woman frowned, thoughtful. “I don’t believe he works here anymore.”
“Perhaps he’s here visiting a friend.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t see him come in.”
Sara searched her memory. “Is his boss here? Simon Auerbach?”
“Herr Auerbach resigned two weeks ago.”
“Would you phone him for me, please?” Sara heard the rising panic in her voice and took a deep breath. “Or give me his number and I’ll call him from home? Whatever is easier for you.”
“I’m sorry, but he moved to Canada. I could give you his address—”
