Free Prisoner of Night and Fog by Anne Blankman Page A

corridor toward the dance hall. With each step, the music swelled louder and louder, and Gretchen had to bring her lips to Eva’s ear to be heard.
    “Just out of curiosity . . . How did Reinhard act when you said that I’d come here?”
    “Oh, you know Reinhard.” Eva giggled. “He said we ought to meet you and have some fun ourselves. He wasn’t angry,” she reassured Gretchen. “He never is.”
    That was almost true. Which was strange, Gretchen knew after observing the three Braun sisters together. Siblings were supposed to grate on one another’s nerves. The continual rubbing together of their lives, the daily irritations of sharing homes and parents, should have ensured that she and Reinhard sometimes squabbled. But they never fought.
    She followed Eva into the dance hall, the music washing over them like the sea. And as she watched Eva, grinning as she swept by in Reinhard’s arms, she could almost pretend she was happy.

    The boardinghouse’s front door was locked at half past nine every night. Residents were given a key and told not to switch on the lights if they got home late, to save on the electric bill. But not Gretchen or Reinhard, and Gretchen suspected that this was their mother’s way of ensuring they stayed in their rooms all night.
    The tactic certainly hadn’t stopped Reinhard. For years, Gretchen had heard him scaling the neighbor’s back wall and jumping into the courtyard, sometimes with a muffled curse if he landed on a broken bit of flagstone. Although Mama fastened the back door, the mechanism was old and unreliable, and some patient twisting was enough to jiggle the lock out of place. Or so Reinhard had boasted. Gretchen had never tried it.
    She stood now in the neighbor’s back garden, studying the stone wall. Not terribly high. She tossed her pocketbook and high-heeled shoes over, listening as they landed with soft thumps. She leapt as hard as she could. Her fingers grasped the ledge and she pulled herself up.
    Below, the courtyard was a narrow black rectangle in the darkness. The flagstones looked farther away than she had anticipated. But she couldn’t lower herself down; the walnut trees clustered against the wall, impeding any attempt to get down that way. She would have to jump.
    She flung herself into open air. Something shifted in the darkness below her. A man’s head, turning to look at her, the whites of his eyes shining—
    She swallowed a scream. When she landed, air rushed out of her lungs. Gasping, she scrabbled upright as the shape separated from the shadows and came toward her. Its fuzzy lines sharpened, becoming the hulking figure she knew so well. Reinhard.
    He was laughing. “You should have seen your face!”
    Her hands clenched, ready to shove at him. But she didn’t. There was no beating Reinhard at his games; she had learned that rule long ago. So she picked up her shoes and pocketbook and walked to the back steps, Reinhard loping along beside her.
    “Where’ve you been?” he asked. “It took you longer to get home than I expected.”
    His words sent a shiver along her spine. “You’re spying on me,” she gasped.
    Reinhard laughed in his easy, careless way. “This city can be a rough place at night. What sort of brother would I be, if I wasn’t watching out for my little sister?”
    It was true Munich could be dangerous, as street fights often erupted between political parties. But Reinhard had never expressed concern for her safety before. He suspected something. That was why he had smiled and refused, when Gretchen and Eva asked if he wanted to take a streetcar back with them. Somehow, he had gotten here first. So he could wait for her. To time how long it took her to return, to determine if she had gone elsewhere first. To see if she returned alone.
    Shaking, Gretchen fiddled with the doorknob. If Reinhard guessed she had met with a Jew tonight . . . She could not imagine what he would do to her.
    The door creaked open. Reinhard ushered her