Free Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum

over and over in her hands. The instrument is embossed with a family crest—not the Brandts’, though Gerhard claims it is. Anna runs her forefinger over the curving blade, which is sharp enough to draw blood. The weather has broken; thunder rolls overhead, and as Anna has not bothered with the lamps the fading light that trickles into the room is wet and green.
    Eventually Gerhard throws open the door to his study.
    There you are, he says. Haven’t you heard me calling you? Isn’t it about time for dinner?
    He fumbles for his pocket watch and makes a great show of checking the hour. Anna watches him. His pores ooze whiskey; his thinning hair has escaped its pomade and hangs in strands over his forehead. Under the influences of his new friends, Gerhard, once a teetotaler, has taken to emptying a bottle nightly. To the casual observer, he would appear a harmless buffoon.
    Yet of course Anna knows Gerhard is anything but, and despite her current resolution to remain calm, her hand clenches on the letter opener. The blade slips, slicing the tender meat beneath her fingernail.
    She sets the knife down and inspects the welling bead of blood.
    I didn’t make dinner, she says. And you know why.
    Then she flinches, steeling herself for the tirade she knows will follow. But Gerhard—predictable only in his unpredictability—surprises her by saying nothing as he sinks into one the armchairs usually reserved for his clients.
    How did you know? Anna asks.
    Gerhard smothers a belch.
    How?
    The whiskers in the shaving basin, Gerhard says, were blond.
    You took him to the Gestapo. To be exterminated, as Wagner suggested. Like any other vermin—isn’t that right?
    Gerhard’s mouth drops open as if he is shocked and aggrieved by this accusation.
    I did it for you, Anchen, he says.
    At his use of her childhood name, Anna feels another surge of nausea. Her blouse and the roots of her hair are instantly soaked with perspiration. She stands and paces with one hand cupped over her nose, hoping that the comforting smell of her own skin will assuage the sickness. Behind her, Gerhard reclaims his throne.
    How much did they pay you, your friends? Anna asks, rounding on him. Or did it merely increase your cache in their eyes? Did it cement your social position, bringing him into Gestapo headquarters? Did they award you a Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords?
    She starts to weep, and her tears, coming at such an inappropriate time, make her even angrier.
    You’ve killed him, she says, killed him as surely as if you put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger yourself—Gerhard crashes a fist down on the desk blotter.
    Enough! he bellows. Stop sniveling, you repulsive slut. You stupid, stupid girl! You’re not only a whore, you’re a stupid whore. Of all the men you could have spread your legs for, you chose a Jew?
    Anna tries to defend herself but produces only a squeak. Ah, here is the tempest, no less powerful for being belated.
    And to hide him here, here of all places, Gerhard shouts. While all along I was thinking only of you! Your safety. Your future. I should let you rot. Better yet, I should turn you in as well. In fact, I think I will. We’ll go to the Gestapo right now—
    He lunges from behind his desk and clamps a hand on Anna’s shoulder.
    Come along, he says; we’ll go this instant. Is that what you want? Is that what you want, Anna?
    The muscles in Anna’s neck seize as her father’s fingers dig into them.
    No, Vati, she gasps. Please—
    Gerhard puts his face an inch from hers. It is what you deserve, whore, he says. His spittle, smelling of liquor and herring, peppers Anna’s cheeks. He pushes her away.
    Did you ever once stop to think? he demands. Did you ever once consider the consequences for me? When you were discovered—and it was only a matter of time, believe me—you would have been taken into protective custody along with that filthy Jew, and what would happen to your old father then? Living alone