Winter of the World

Macke rang the bell: in the old days they would have kicked the door down, just for effect.

A maid opened the door, and he walked into a broad, well-lit hallway with polished floorboards and heavy rugs. The other three followed him in. ‘Where is your master?’ Macke said pleasantly to the maid.

He had not threatened her, but all the same she was frightened. ‘In his study, sir,’ she said, and she pointed to a door.

Macke said to Wagner: ‘Get the women and children together in the next room.’

Ochs opened the study door and looked into the hall, frowning. ‘What on earth is going on?’ he said indignantly.

Macke walked directly towards him, forcing him to step back and allow Macke to enter the room. It was a small, well-appointed den, with a leather-topped desk and shelves of biblical commentaries. ‘Close the door,’ said Macke.

Reluctantly, Ochs did as he was told; then he said: ‘You’d better have a very good explanation for this intrusion.’

‘Sit down and shut up,’ said Macke.

Ochs was dumbfounded. Probably he had not been told to shut up since he was a boy. Clergymen were not normally insulted, even by policemen. But the Nazis ignored such enfeebling conventions.

‘This is an outrage!’ Ochs managed at last. Then he sat down.

Outside the room, a woman’s voice was raised in protest: the wife, presumably. Ochs paled when he heard it, and rose from his chair.

Macke pushed him back down. ‘Stay where you are.’

Ochs was a heavy man, and taller than Macke, but he did not resist.

Macke loved to see these pompous types deflated by fear.

‘Who are you?’ said Ochs.

Macke never told them. They could guess, of course, but it was more frightening if they did not know for sure. Afterwards, in the unlikely event that anyone asked questions, the whole team would swear that they had begun by identifying themselves as police officers and showing their badges.

He went out. His men were hustling several children into the parlour. Macke told Reinhold Wagner to go into the study and keep Ochs there. Then he followed the children into the other room.

There were flowered curtains, family photographs on the mantelpiece, and a set of comfortable chairs upholstered in a checked fabric. It was a nice home and a nice family. Why could they not be loyal to the Reich and mind their own business?

The maid was by the window, hand over her mouth as if to stop herself crying out. Four children clustered around Ochs’s wife, a plain, heavy-breasted woman in her thirties. She held a fifth child in her arms, a girl of about two years with blonde ringlets.

Macke patted the girl’s head. ‘And what is this one’s name?’ he said.

Frau Ochs was terrified. She whispered: ‘Lieselotte. What do you want with us?’

‘Come to Uncle Thomas, little Lieselotte,’ said Macke, holding out his arms.

‘No!’ Frau Ochs cried. She clutched the child closer and turned away.

Lieselotte began to cry loudly.

Macke nodded to Klaus Richter.

Richter grabbed Frau Ochs from behind, pulling her arms back, forcing her to let go of the child. Macke took Lieselotte before she fell. The child wriggled like a fish, but he just held her tighter, as he would have held a cat. She wailed louder.

A boy of about twelve flung himself at Macke, small fists pounding ineffectually. It was about time he learned to respect authority, Macke decided. He put Lieselotte on his left hip then, with his right hand, picked the boy up by his shirt front and threw him across the room, making sure he landed in an upholstered chair. The boy yelled in fear and Frau Ochs screamed. The chair went over backwards and the boy tumbled to the floor. He was not really hurt but he began to cry.

Macke took Lieselotte out into the hall. She screamed at the top of her voice for her mother. Macke put her down. She ran to the parlour door and banged on it, screeching in terror. She had not yet learned to turn doorknobs, Macke noted.

Leaving the child in the hallway, Macke re-entered the study. Wagner was by the door, guarding it; Ochs was standing in the middle of the room, white with fear. ‘What are you doing to my children?’ he said. ‘Why is Lieselotte screaming?’

‘You will write a letter,’ Macke said.

‘Yes, yes, anything,’ Ochs said, going to the leather-topped desk.

‘Not now, later.’

‘All right.’

Macke was enjoying this. Ochs’s collapse was complete, unlike Werner’s. ‘A letter to the Justice Minister,’ he went on.

‘So that’s what this is about.’

‘You will say you now realize there is no truth in the allegations you made in your first letter. You were misled by secret Communists. You will apologize to the minister for the trouble you have caused by your incautious actions, and assure him that you will never again speak of the matter to anyone.’

‘Yes, yes, I will. What are they doing to my wife?’

‘Nothing. She is screaming because of what will happen to her if you fail to write the letter.’

‘I want to see her.’

‘It will be worse for her if you annoy me with stupid demands.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry, I beg your pardon.’