Gestapo's visits

He closed and locked the box and began to shuffle around the attic, searching for a cabinet that might hold the books Franz had allegedly been working on. He found old copies of Goethe and Schiller, books too precious to put in the study where the kids might get their greasy fingers on them.

He trailed his fingers over the spines of the books but not a single one looked or felt like a manuscript.

After searching the entire attic and finding everything from signed copies of famous works to beautiful old maps or—for the 40s—new maps showing the annexed Elsass, Martin gave up and sat back down in front of his desk. 

He stared at the box. There were no manuscripts. So, he may as well have a look into the box. He unlocked it and reached inside, aimlessly picking a stack of letters and pulling them out. The letter on the very top of the pile looked like one of the oldest of them all. It was addressed simply with "Franz Weiher" in a beautifully written cursive. Martin turned it around, the back held a return address and the name A. Blumenfeld. Martin recognized the return address as one of the neighboring houses. But he couldn't recall any Blumenfeld. He was about to read the letter when he heard the shrill sound of the bell ringing from the hallway. He quickly threw the letters back into the box, slid the lid on top, and locked it. 

He heard Marlene call from the bottom of the stairs. "It's them!"

There was no doubt about who "they" were. Martin straightened the collar of his shirt and marched down the ladder and stairs. Marlene looked slightly frightened, which he didn't see fit. Weren't they some perfect German family of the early 40s? That children's book should prove enough, and Franz had read it often. He gave Marlene a reassuring smile and told her to go to the children's room. There was no need for them to be scared if they awoke and heard unfamiliar voices. She nodded and left, but her pale face made Franz hesitate before he opened the door. 

The men at the door wore serious faces and more serious uniforms. But they smiled and shook hands with Martin - the man they thought was Franz Weiher. "Good evening, SS-Hauptsurmführer Weiher!" The man who'd squeezed his hand first said. "We're here because one of your neighbors filed an anonymous complaint."

***

"Gentlemen, aren't we over anonymous at this point?" Franz asked with a smile. His remark made the Gestapo man laugh. 

"Alright, you are right, it was the Maihöfers."

"The Maihöfers? No surprise there. I suppose their complaint had to do with the car? I've been driving home often quite late at night."

"Would we be at your door because of a simple noise complaint," the man asked, his smile fading, "Why would you be driving home so lately, Mr. Weiher?" Although the smile had disappeared from the three Gestapo men's faces, the one on Franz's remained. It wasn't a forced smile either, it was an honest one. He was a man talking to the secret police and wanted to assist them with whatever the problem was. 

"I've been meeting up with old comrades. Some of them just returned from the front. Reunions get quite hearty between two soldiers." 

"Very well, Mr. Weiher. We would like to take a look into your basement."

"My basement?" He raised his eyebrows. Franz Weiher had stood in the doorway for the entirety of their conversation, but he had made sure not to seem threatened by their presence or the idea of them entering his home, so he'd avoided standing in the center and had instead, kept to the side. Franz was an intelligent man, he knew that the more the Gestapo felt he was cooperating the smoother the visit would go. 

"Yes. The complaints issued by your neighbors were about your basement, Mr. Weiher. We were told that sometimes there were lights on late at night and that through the windows several people were seen - more adults than you have living here in your residence." He paused, almost dramatically before continuing, "You wouldn't happen to know if there was somebody else in your house apart from your wife and yourself?"

"No. Occasionally we have friends over, and there's a wine cellar in the basement. I'd like to think that the people my neighbors noticed were friends or family we'd had visiting."

"Would you mind if we took a look?"

"Of course not! Come inside!" And he stepped even further to the side and held out his hand in a gesture of welcome. The Gestapo filed in and he closed the door. Then, still cheerful as ever, he led the way to the basement.

***

"A complaint?" Martin's voice trembled slightly. He'd read about scenarios such as these. And he was quite sure that five Gestapo men standing on one's doorway late at night did not mean good things would follow. 

"We've come to search your basement, Mr. Weiher. Allegedly, quite a few people were coming in and out of your house over the last two weeks. People that the neighbors had never seen before."

"Is that so? They must have seen friends or family visiting." Martin did not know what to say: but friends and family seemed like safe ground. 

"Of course. It's possible, Mr. Weiher. But we'd like to take a look around anyway. May I?" He had already taken a step forward, over the threshold and into the Weiher's home. Martin stepped back and smiled at the gentlemen as they filed in. 

"Follow me!" He said, trying his best to keep his tone even. Martin had never been in the basement, and he had no recollection of Marlene ever speaking of friends who came and visited recently. But denying the Gestapo entry meant immediate arrest - and they'd push through anyway. 

The small group of men reached the basement and Franz held the door for them. He smiled as each of them passed by and stepped into the cellar. On the inside, his heart raced.