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She felt Walter’s hand tightening on her arm. It was surprisingly comforting, given that she had known him just a short time.
“Chin up, eyes straight ahead,” he said, leaning a little toward her so no one in the crowd pressing around them would hear his words. “You have nothing to fear. Remember, you are one of the winners! You are fair-haired, blue-eyed, you speak German. You are one of the master race!”
She smiled in spite of herself. It sounded so ridiculous.
“That’s better,” he said softly. “Remember it.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “If it makes you laugh, so much the better. You look lovely when you laugh. And far more important than that, you look confident, innocent.”
She felt a wave of gratitude for his help, both practical and emotional. It banished the present fear, and the dark memories of those she had left behind: Ian, the man in the hotel cupboard she had never seen alive, Jacob and Zillah, who were still in danger, Beimler, who had knowingly sacrificed his life so she could get the photographs out of Germany, a truth that could last forever, as long as there was a single copy in existence. All working together to make possible her escape to freedom.
“Thank you,” she said quickly, and walked past a group of Brownshirts with a smile, a woman wearing a scarlet dress, with no cause to fear anyone. She smiled even more widely, conscious of the absurdity of it.
They went to the counter and Walter bought two round-trip tickets for Paris.
Elena drew breath to speak. It was an extravagance. Money was precious.
“Return, you say?” the clerk asked.
“Of course!” Walter said in surprise. “It is fun to travel, but who wishes to live anywhere else these days?” He glanced at Elena for confirmation.
She smiled at him, trying to make it real. Quickly, think of something! The clerk is waiting for your reaction. She deliberately conjured up a memory of Mike looking ridiculous, riding her infant tricycle, and smiled, blinking away tears. “You leave all your adventures, but you always return.”
Walter put an arm around her.
The clerk smiled back. “Enjoy yourselves,” he said cheerfully. “Next, please!”
The Brownshirts at the entrance to the ticket counter did not stop them.
“Well done,” Walter said almost inaudibly.
They walked past a stand selling Reibekuchen, and the delicious aroma snared her with a hundred memories. The chief amo
ng them at the moment was the man who had so nearly caught her only a few days ago. She must make no mistakes. Even one was enough, not only to catch her, but to catch Walter as well. He was risking his life to help her escape, and he did not even know about the pictures of the book-burning. He might guess, knowing her passion for photography, but he had not seen them. And they were gone now, on their way to Lucas.
She forced her mind to the present. She must look as if she knew where she was going. She did not want to meet anyone’s eyes, yet she must not appear to avoid them either. So this was what it was like to be a fugitive, or one of an inferior station, inferior race, inferior anything! No wonder those so labeled were angry and frightened.
It was getting darker. The station was still crowded and getting more so. She realized she had no idea what day of the week it was. Perhaps it did not matter anyway.
They were twenty yards from the right platform. One more set of guards to pass. There were people ahead of them showing papers. She felt her stomach knot painfully. This was it. The first test for her false passport.
It was their turn.
“Name?” the guard asked her. He was a middle-aged man. He had missed a little bit of gray stubble on his neck when shaving. She had to force herself not to stare at it. “Name?” he snapped again.
“Marta…” Her mind was a blank! She had no idea what Walter had told her. She had the passport in her hand. The guard snatched it away from her.
“Marta Lindt,” Walter said, handing over his passport as well.
The guard looked at Walter’s passport, then at hers. “Not Mann?” he said with a smile, glancing at the red dress.
“Not yet,” Walter said with a conspiratorial half smirk at the guard.
“We’re just going for a couple of days to Paris.” Elena smiled directly at the guard.
He gave them back their passports and looked at Walter with understanding. “Have a nice trip,” he said, his look lending the words a world of meaning.
Walter nodded and put his arm around Elena again. “Thank you.”
They walked quickly onto the platform and climbed the steps into one of the first-class carriages. Elena had not bothered to look at the tickets before. Anything was good enough, just to be out of Germany. Even out of Berlin was a good start. Although, in the countryside, in this dress, she would be as conspicuous as a black fly on a white ceiling.
