Page 33 of Library of Forbidden Books

Helene was silent, thinking about her response. Finally, she crossed her arms and looked up at Jacob. “I’m sorry. I really do appreciate your counsel, but I’m not going to plead guilty.”

Jacob closed her file and met her eyes. “This isn’t a game, Mrs. von Sholtz! I beg you, don’t play the heroine. The Gestapo is like a meat grinder. Innocent until proven guilty is an idea that no longer exists in Germany. Nowadays, the accused has to prove his innocence. Someone has denounced you, and that’s all the system needs to lock you up.”

“Who would denounce me?” Helene asked in disbelief. She could not imagine anyone around her doing something like that.

“A mister, uh . . .” Jacob opened the file and looked down at the papers, “Mr. Fuchs, a member of the Party.”

At first Helene thought she must have misheard the lawyer. Mr. Fuchs?

The communist-turned-Nazi had ratted her out.

On the one hand, she was hardly surprised—she knew he was swine to the core. The shock was that Fuchs was the standard of trust and justice in Germany now. Mediocre, grasping, resentful men had taken control of the government, and there was no more room for honest, capable people. Standing out was a risk in the Nazi’s one-thousand-year Reich.

Chapter 20

School of the Illiterate

Moringen

January 20, 1935

After the brief meeting with her lawyer, Helene had been whisked away to a women’s prison, where she spent a few days in isolation. One morning she was given clean clothes that did not fit but at least did not reek of sweat, and then she was jostled into a van that took her to the courthouse. The Nazis did not handcuff her, but her entire body felt shackled by invisible chains.

The day of the trial had been one of the worst in Helene’s whole life. She sat waiting on a bench just outside the courtroom. Sitting opposite her were two young women with bruised faces, blackened eyes, and the saddest looks Helene had ever seen.

Taking advantage of a moment when the officer was down the hall, Helene asked the women how they were doing. They were sisters, both studying law, and they were guilty of distributing anti-Nazi pamphlets on campus at their university. They had been captured, locked up, and beaten, and now were sure to be sent to a camp. They were seventeen and eighteen years old, respectively. Talking with them renewed Helene’s resolve. If those adolescents could face the Nazis, she could not back down at a time like this.

About twenty minutes later, she was called into the courtroom. Her lawyer, Jacob, was already there and came to stand beside her. He caught his breath and groaned when he saw the judge.

“It’s Roland Freisler. He’s a fanatic, one of the worst judges we could’ve gotten. Please, don’t do anything to provoke him,” Jacob whispered into Helene’s ear.

The judge struck his gavel, then motioned to the prosecutor. The district attorney was a large, burly man with gray hair and little eyes. He stood, his hands holding his shirt lapels, and laid out the charges.

Judge Freisler gave the district attorney a satisfied nod and then motioned for Helene’s lawyer to take the floor.

“How does the accused plea?” Freisler asked sharply, giving the impression that he wished this case were already over.

Helene recalled every detail of the scene. Jacob turned red. It seemed like his voice would never make it out of his dry throat. Finally, in a barely audible croak, he managed to say, “Innocent.”

That set Freisler off. He glared at Helene and started yelling and showing his teeth, like a rabid dog. After the verbal onslaught, he whacked the stand again with the mallet, declared Helene guilty, and sentenced her to five years in Moringen concentration camp, to be reeducated.

That had happened yesterday. Now Helen found herself on a train, in a car full of prisoners. It had once been third-class but was dirtier and had no seats, and the windows had been mostly boarded shut. Helene could only see out through small slits. The January sun was not very strong, but at least when it shone on her nose and part of her eyes, she felt as if she were alive. The rest of her body was frozen beyond feeling.

“What’s your name?” a woman beside her asked.

At first, Helene did not respond. She had been lost in her own thoughts for so many days that she had lost touch with reality.

Finally, she made sense of what an appropriate response would be. “Helene Nathan.” She decided to take back her maiden name. At least she no longer had to hide her identity since the Nazis considered her a Jew. “But I’ve gone by several names lately,” she added.

Helene could now see that the woman was a gypsy and that she was very pretty. Her dark hair was tied back under a colorful bandana and, in contrast to the drab prison uniforms or dark suits of the rest of their travel companions, her colorful dress had a flower pattern.

“I’m Mercedes. I’m in here for stealing, supposedly. They always think we gypsies are robbers, though I earn an honest living. My family raises horses and makes jewelry with precious gems. I sell fabric in the villages, but a neighbor lady in Düsseldorf brought accusations against me. She’s Aryan, so here I am. What madness! How did you end up here? You seem like a pretty little goody-goody. Are you a Jew?”

Helene smiled at Mercedes. Helene could not remember the last time she had smiled and was relieved that her facial muscles recalled how to bend and stretch in that way.

“For concealing books.”

Mercedes let out a hoot. “Books?! Who cares about books these days? Now, if they had been tomatoes or onions . . .”