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12
NUREMBERG
May 1924
Minki was experiencing unfamiliar emotions – misery at being rejected by Peter, along with regret at the missed opportunities he represented. Her feelings ate away at her. She slept badly, and struggled to concentrate at work. When she got back to her empty flat at night, her life felt devoid of meaning. Nuremberg had none of the distractions of Munich. She missed Café Stephanie and her friends. She tried to imagine what advice the ‘Queen of Schwabing’ would have given her about Peter.
‘Move on, darling,’ she would have said, ‘he’s just a poor little writer with no prospects. Don’t throw yourself away on him.’
And yet the time she had spent with Peter had changed her. His sense of moral purpose was inspirational, and made her feel ashamed of her cavalier attitude to politics and morality. She daydreamed about what life would have been like if they had married. They would have lived in New York and over time he would have helped her get a job. Or perhaps they would have moved to the country and had children. She had never before considered having a family – always assuming she was unsuited to the task. Her own mother had died so young she had no blueprint for how to be a mother and had thought it better never to try. But with Peter at her side, perhaps she could have managed it. The missed opportunities – which in reality had never been offered, or even suggested – nagged at her, like a wound in her side.
One morning, she received two letters. The first one she opened was from Leila.
I spoke with Peter after the trial and he was rather upset.He didn’t mean to hurt youandI know he feels bad for leading you on.But deep down, he’s a good man – don’t think too harshly of him. I fear, in some ways, he regretted getting involved…
Minki angrily threw the letter into the bin without finishing it. How dare Peter regret their relationship? He had made love to her almost every night for a month. She remembered the things he had said when they were at their most intimate – most of them loving and apparently sincere. He never said he loved her, it was true, but he had shown her love. Now, to find he wished it had never happened broke her heart.
Fighting back the tears, she picked up the second letter. It had a Rheydt postmark – Joseph Goebbels’ hometown. Intrigued, she ripped it open.
My darling Minki,
It has been a while since we saw one another and I do think back on our times together most fondly. I wonder if I could persuade you to visit me? I do so miss you. I have been busy since we last met and have founded a local National Socialist group here in Rheydt.
I am filled with enthusiasm for the project. As the NSDAP has been banned since November last year, we are technically an illegal organisation. At our first meeting we discussed anti-Semitism – a subject that unites the Germans and the Russians. I have been doing a lot of reading…Henry Ford’s anti-Semitic tractThe International Jewis fascinating. But I am troubled, for so many people I admire are Jewish – Trotsky and Marx being two of the most famous examples. Lenin, of course, is not, but either way, for so many of one’s idols to be part of the group one is supposed to hate is most difficult.
Minki smiled. How like Joseph to write a letter that was intended to be romantic, and end up pontificating about politics. Nevertheless, there was an energy about him that was intoxicating. Perhaps she had been too harsh on him. For the first time in weeks, she felt some stirring of interest. Peter might not want her, but Goebbels was still keen. ‘Damn Peter,’ she muttered under her breath. She would visit Goebbels, she decided, and with luck he might also make a good feature subject for the paper.
She went in to work that day with a little of her old spark, and offered the story to her editor.
‘Why this man particularly?’ Streicher demanded.
‘He is interesting,’ she told him. ‘Goebbels is an intellectual, and like you a huge fan of Hitler. He’s making his name through public speaking and has already set up his own branch of the Party in the north-west. I tell you – he’s going places.’
‘I’m not interested in intellectuals,’ Streicher argued. ‘Find me an industrialist who wants to support this country with his money – that’s what my readers want.’
‘I think you’re wrong,’ Minki ventured.
Streicher raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Well, you’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that. All right…convince me.’
‘Intellectuals might not be interesting in themselves to your readers, but the Party need people with brilliant minds to convey even the simplest message. Goebbels understands that. He has a genius for communication.’
Streicher inhaled deeply on his cigar and leaned back in his chair, studying his beautiful reporter. ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘But you’d better make it worth our while.’
Minki wrote back to Goebbels that she would like to visit him and possibly do a feature about him for the paper. He replied by return, and arranged to meet Minki off the train.
Minki arrived at Rheydt station to be met by a man wearing a crumpled grey suit and brown trilby, waiting outside in an old pony and trap. It took her a few moments to realise that this was Goebbels. He looked utterly incongruous wielding a set of reins and a whip. He jumped down as soon as she saw her and embraced her.
‘Good God, Joseph,’ she exclaimed, laughing, ‘what on earth is that?’
‘A pony and trap…I borrowed it,’ he replied, looking slightly downcast. ‘I don’t have a car, you see, and I wanted to show you the sights.’
Minki surveyed the motley passengers milling around the simple railway station. ‘I can’t imagine there are any sights here that might be of interest to me…’
‘You’d be surprised,’ said Joseph, taking her bag. He helped her up onto the seat and climbed aboard beside her.
‘I’ve booked myself into a hotel in the town,’ she told him. ‘Could we go there first?’
‘No, later,’ he said. ‘There’s somewhere I want to take you first – while it’s still light.’
