Free Heidegger's Glasses: A Novel by Thaisa Frank Page B

made him look like a piece of topiary because he was tall. Sophie wore a green embroidered scarf over a blue velvet jacket—she hated the confinement of warm clothes. And Parvis Nafissian, who combed his immaculate beard with water from the well, wore a bomber jacket and carried a mirror. They crunched over the ice and talked.

    What an asshole, said Gitka, meaning Stumpf.

    He had to get someone to write that letter, said La Toya. And I think it’s Mikhail.

    He’d never do anything for Stumpf, said Sophie.

    How else can you explain it? said La Toya. Suddenly a kid’s at the Solomons’ and Stumpf announces it. I bet the two of them made a deal. And it started with Heidegger’s wife.

    How do you know? said Nafissian.

    Elie told me, said La Toya. Her name is Elfriede. Elfriede Heidegger.

    The name sounded funny. They laughed.

    Elie says she’s quite the hausfrau, said La Toya. Blond braids around her head. A Party member in good standing.

    How does Elie know? said Nafissian.

    La Toya shrugged. The other three understood. Sometimes Elie alluded to her past, never mentioning names. Now and then dusk would remind her of dinner with her family. Or the smell of fresh ink and paper of being a student at Freiburg. She never told anyone her real last name. Or that she had a younger sister she missed every day. But they all knew a small part of who Elie was before she came to the Compound and were relieved they’d never read Heidegger closely and would find it hard to answer the letter.

    His wife bothered Goebbels so much, said La Toya, they had a meeting. So now Goebbels has another mission here—a letter to the living.

    They’d come to the well and stopped to look at the woods and drink water from the tin dipper. Sophie waved at Lars Eisenscher who was keeping watch near the forest.

    How awful that the woods are so frightening, she said. When I was a child, the woods were amazing in winter.

    They could get more frightening if Mikhail tries to answer that letter, said Nafissian. Heidegger’s no fool—he’ll see through something fake. Maybe we should have tried to answer it, after all.

    We would have made a mess of it, said Sophie. And Mikhail’s studied Heidegger, so his letter won’t seem fake.

    Gitka and Nafissian stopped to light more cigarettes; La Toya relit his cigar. The wind rose at their backs as they took turns carrying the bucket to the Compound. Nafissian said it created the impression they were traveling.

    Don’t be ridiculous, said La Toya, nobody travels here.

    If the wind blows hard enough, they will, said Nafissian.

    Let’s make a run for it, said Gitka, laughing.

    To where? said La Toya.

    To the end of the world, said Gitka.

    Dearest Bendykta,

    I don’t have much time to write because I have to work. Please come quickly.

    In haste and love,

    Lucas
    Dieter Stumpf never had any intention of getting Mikhail’s niece himself because if he went to a safe house, he might be recognized and shot. Besides, it was more important to be sure as many dead as possible received answers to their letters. So he asked Elie Schacten to get the girl.

    Her name is Maria, he said, handing her the address of the safe house, and a note to her from Mikhail. And Mikhail will write the letter if we get her. You know Mikhail. Always a bargain.

    Of course I’ll get her, Dieter, Elie said.

    I knew you would. You rescue everyone.

    I’m only doing this for you, said Elie.

    Stumpf leaned close and basked in her tea-rose perfume.

    Let’s keep it between us for now, he said, touching Elie’s arm. Lodenstein doesn’t give a damn about this letter, and he hates bargains. He might try to stop you.

    Elie, who had already decided that more than one bargain was at stake, agreed. She went upstairs and told Lodenstein there was an influx of mail at the outpost. Then she held out her wrist so he could tie the red silk ribbon.

    Do you think this place runs by itself? he said.

    No, said Elie. What makes you