Versteck

"Here's the wine," Franz said, gesturing to the rows and rows of aging wine. The shelves were in the same room as the window: to the Gestapo's dismay his explanation checked out. There were no remnants of anybody's short or long-term stay. No blankets or make-shift beds, no dirty cutlery, no accidentally left-behind stuffed animals or socks. Absolutely nothing pointed to the suspicion of hiding Jews or perhaps political refugees. "Shall we go to the next room?" Franz asked. The Gestapo men nodded and followed him into the second room of the cellar. There were few things, mostly old furniture and ripped old blankets. A few silver cups and metal jugs. 

"Why did you not throw these away?" The Gestapo officer asked. He toyed with the old, tattered fabric. The room made his nose twitch. It could be a sign for housing Jews passing through on their way to Switzerland. 

"Some of them can be repaired," Franz said nonchalantly, "and a few of those are my sister's baby blankets. She doesn't want to get rid of them."

"And why doesn't she have them in her own house?"

"She's not quite as lucky as I am, officer. She lives with her husband and three kids in a quite small apartment in Berlin. A while back she asked me to take some of her stuff and stow it somewhere safe. Some of this furniture is also hers, like this old desk our father made for her."

"And the jugs? They seem perfectly fine, why aren't they in your kitchen cabinets?"

"They're old, full of lead. I'm not a fan of lead, sir." 

"And there are no other things in this storage...just things that would suit a short stay? A short visit from family perhaps?"

"I would never make guests stay in my basement, officer," Franz said, the smile finally leaving his face only to return a few seconds later. "If you'd like to take a look into the third room I will open it for you."

"Alright. Please."

Franz pushed open the final door. The room was crowded with old lamps, some hunting rifles and equipment, and a lot of carpets and rugs - some of them oriental. There was an old suit of armor, a heirloom passed down from the Middle Ages. Nothing aroused suspicion or concern.

"Alright, Mr. Weiher." The Gestapo man said. He signaled at his men to file out. "It seems that everything is in order here." 

Franz closed the cellar door and led them back up to the front. "Feel free to come by again, gentlemen. I have nothing to hide." He said confidently. "As a matter of fact, my oldest child Theodore wants to be one of you when he grows up. He's fascinated by the idea of restoring order. Sometimes he bosses my little one around too much." Franz's voice was warm and held pride in it. "Maybe next time you come around I could introduce him to you."

"We'd better leave your family out of this, Mr. Weiher."

"Alright." He answered. He smiled, but the men didn't return their own. He knew they would be back - probably soon. The room with the blankets and furniture was a possible indication of illegal activity. "Good night, gentlemen."

***

Martin led them into the cellar without having the slightest idea of what could be down there. The first room held wine, rows, and rows of it. He was momentarily enchanted and almost reached out to pluck one of the bottles to bring it back up. But he reminded himself that this was no time to serve himself. He made a mental note to come back after the Gestapo left.

"There's not much to see here." He said, gesturing around vaguely. "Just some...wine." He smiled. The Gestapo men didn't.

He led them to the next door. Behind it lay old furniture and blankets. They were lined up in such a way that made the room almost cozy. Some cutlery lay on a shelf. A few empty bottles of wine lined the back wall. It looked well-visited, but not inhabited. "How do you explain this, Mr. Weiher? This room is obviously...visited."

"The wine bottles are mine...sometimes when I'm tired of listening to my wife I come down here. I drink wine, sometimes I write letters on the desk. Most of them are angry or spiteful, I burn them afterward. It's just to let off steam, and then I return upstairs and read my children good night stories."

"Drunk?"

"No, I never drink an entire bottle in a night."

"And does Fräulein Marlene ever come down here and drink with you?"

"She has no reason to," Martin replied. But his jaw tightened. He had no idea if Franz had often been down here, and he didn't know if Marlene had ever accompanied him. He wasn't sure what was going on in the Weiher's household, but he was pretty sure it wasn't what he'd just explained. "You see, officer, I do not currently hold a position anywhere. Even before the war started I...after my term as mayor I didn't work for a while. I stayed at home." Martin racked his brain, trying to remember how long or when exactly, he'd forgotten so he kept it vague and open, "And I'm sure you understand that being cooped up with your children and wife can be wonderful at times, I missed them terribly when I was at the front. But some nights, nights when I don't go out, some nights I...I come down here." The Gestapo officers took his uncertainty for shame. 

"And the last room, Mr. Weiher?" His voice was softer now. The suspicious edge was replaced by pity. 

"Of course. Follow me."

"You've got a lovely home, Mr. Weiher." The officer said. The other four men were already trotting down the stairs to their car where the sixth waited for them. 

"Thank you."

"But, from one man to another, I encourage you to...find an occupation. I couldn't be home so often."

"I recently got an offer from the Ahnenerbe. I used to study medicine." 

"Wonderful!" He shook Martin's hand almost enthusiastically. "Best of luck with that, Mr. Weiher!"

"Thank you. Have a good rest of your evening, officer." 

The officer turned and went. Martin closed the door and locked it. He sighed and rested his forehead against the cool wood. He was going to have to ask Marlene - maybe she knew what was going on in their cellar. He had an inkling, but he wasn't sure. 

All of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped. It was Marlene. "Jesus, you scared me!" He snapped. 

"I apologize, darling. But we need to talk." Her lips were pursed and her expression serious. Martin nodded and forced a smile. It was crystal clear what she wanted to speak to him about.

The people who were using their cellar as a hideout.