Free The Prosperous Thief by Andrea Goldsmith Page A

here. In Düsseldorf. Today. A brief moment before reason prevails: Hitler, of course, would be in Munich for the Putsch anniversary, and the officers gathered outside the Breidenbacher Hof would be meeting for the local celebrations.
    Martin takes in the mix of uniforms, all so sharp and ordered and portraying an air of authority not possible with normal clothes. There’s brown SA and black SS and a sprinkling of grey-garbed army men, and a huge contingent of fresh-faced and eager Hitler Youth in brown and League of German girls in blue. Such a collection of good Germans a mere twenty metres across the road, so many smiling youths and smiling officers together with their proud wives and adoring mothers. So many people united by a cause.
    And suddenly the terror returns. Martin pulls in the air but it won’t come. His guts want to spill to the pavement, he’s faint but must conceal it. Must appear normal. Hundreds of Nazis across the road, and his wife and daughter to protect. Who does he think he’s fooling with his ‘we look no different from other Germans’? Superficially there might be nothing to distinguish them, but these days even a child can sniff out a Jew. And as if his thoughts were blazoned on the sky, suddenly everyone on the opposite corner seems to be looking their way. Martin feels no less conspicuous than if he were wearing the black hat and shaggy beard of an orthodox Jew.
    He grabs Renate with one hand and Alice with the other and turns them in the opposite direction, not running but striding away from the Germans in uniforms. With Alice struggling to keep pace, he swings her into his arms. Through the streets they go, away from the gathering of happy Nazis, as fast as they dare without drawing attention, until they reach the entrance to the Hofgarten. They do not pause until they are well inside the park, and at last they stop, out of breath and tight with fear.Alice, too, is white and stiff, but asks no questions.
    It is blessedly quiet in the park, just strolling couples and family groups enjoying the unseasonable sun, and slowly they unwind, slowly they catch their breath. The trees are practically bare of leaves, but there are thick clumps of bushes lining the paths, and holly trees too, glossy green and loaded with berries. As they walk down the main path they feel less exposed; it is as if the park wraps them in a green protective armour. And there are no Germans in uniforms here.
    ‘Probably all flexing their muscles around the Breidenbacher Hof,’ Renate says to Martin. ‘Just waiting to scare a few Jews.’
    Martin smiles, but only weakly.
    Tiny bushy-tailed squirrels scamper across the paths, others nuzzle in the lush quilting of fallen leaves.Alice now asks whether she might go and play. Renate lets go of her hand and gives her a small parcel of bread. The child squats at the side of the path and immediately three squirrels appear. They crouch a couple of metres from her, waiting.
    ‘Clever little creatures,’ Renate whispers to Martin. ‘Close enough for food but far enough to run should they need to.’
    ‘Jews should be so smart,’ Martin says.
    Renate shakes her head. Enough, she is thinking, enough. Can’t you let it go for an hour? And Martin, no less keen than she for some respite, determines to keep such observations to himself. They stand close together while Alice feeds the squirrels, and then the three of them continue through the park, Renate and Martin strolling arm in arm, while Alice gambols across the grass, kicking up the leaves into what she calls snow-leaf storms. Each of them in their own way is making the most of an experience which may not happen again for quite some time, although the possibility of never walking here again would not occur to them.
    On the other side of the park Alice dashes ahead to the kiosk. She missed out on her ice before, perhaps now she can have one. But she sees the sign, ‘Jews undesired’, before her parents have caught up with