Audrey watches her. “Why’s that?”
“I like knowing what to expect,” Kate says, swallowing hard. “I’d want to… I don’t know. I’d want to be able to plan. Decide what I’m doing with the time I have.”
“Isn’t that what we all do, every day?”
“Yeah, but you know what I mean. It’s different.”
“Mm. I’m not so sure,” Audrey says. “I wouldn’t be too hasty for knowledge you can’t unlearn. Particularly with something so profoundly impactful. Too much information can paralyze a person.”
Kate feels a twinge of judgment. It’s different for someone like Audrey, who has lived for so many years. Maybe it seems more comfortable at her stage of life to not know when the curtain call will be.
“I couldn’t have managed half the things I did in my life if I’d known what was coming,” Audrey says. Her face is grave, but a spectre of something else shadows her features. Amusement? Satisfaction? “In Germany there were plenty of times I thought I was about to die at any moment. Had I known I was going to make it out alive, I wouldn’t have had the sense of imperativeness that I did. There’s a lot to be said for the power of raw nerve, of adrenaline, in pushing a person to the verge of her ability.”
“Like when?”
Audrey doesn’t answer.
“Audrey,” Kate says, meeting the old woman’s eyes squarely, “I know you’ve wanted to keep these conversations casual. But from what you’ve already told me, your story is important. I think it warrants a record of some kind, beyond my own recollections of our chats.” She hesitates a beat, thinking of her parents, of the unknown stories and secrets that must have died with them. “How would you feel about me writing your story down?”
Audrey is quiet for several long moments as Kate waits. She takes a shaky breath. “Yes,” she says finally. “Given what’s to come… I think perhaps you should.”
PART II
But the stars that marked our starting fall away. We must go deeper into greater pain, for it is not permitted that we stay.
—Dante Alighieri, Inferno
Chapter 12
Audrey
BERLIN, GERMANY | DECEMBER 1938
Audrey glanced at the large mantel clock from her seat on the piano stool—it was half past four, and dusk was descending fast as snow swirled outside. It was two days before the New Year, that strange, weak echo of Christmas littered with empty liquor glasses and emptier promises. Audrey had hoped Müller and Vogt might beg off to visit their families—for she assumed they must have them, parents or siblings, at least—so that Ilse might be afforded more freedom for a day or two. But she’d been disappointed. They’d both remained in the house over Christmas, which was passed with little more than a large dinner and Müller’s lukewarm greeting of “Frohe Weihnachten” tossed in her direction.
Müller had told her he would be home late today, and not to worry about his supper, so after she was done with her housework, she squeezed in a piano practice. She still had some time to take a bath and eat with Ilse in the attic before Vogt returned wanting a meal. Audrey’s stress always increased as soon as the men arrived back and she had to set the stage for her nightly performance. After checking in with Ilse, she crossed the hall to the bathroom, sinking her tired muscles into the warm water. Her sigh of relief was followed by the usual pang of guilt that Ilse couldn’t do the same.
She was just rinsing when the sound of the front door closing echoed up the stairs. One of the men was home early. She strained her ears, and by the rhythm of the footfalls could tell it was Vogt, not Müller. There was a rattling downstairs, a clinking of glass on glass. Audrey growled with frustration and quickly rose from the tub, water splashing onto the floor in her haste to reach the ivory towel on the small chair next to the sink.
“Audrey!” she heard Vogt call from down the hall. She glanced around for her dressing gown and nightdress, and cursed. She’d left them in the bedroom. Wrapping the towel around herself, she pulled the plug on the tub as a creak sounded outside the door. The knob rattled. The door was locked, but she gripped the towel tightly around her chest.
“Yes?” she called, trying to keep her voice steady. She hated the idea of him knowing he made her uncomfortable, but she didn’t want him to see her like this.
“Are you indisposed?”
For the first time ever, she wished Müller was home, for his presence and authority seemed to keep Vogt at bay. “Is there something you need, Herr Vogt?”
“I am ready for dinner,” he said. “But the stove is cold.”
“I will be out in a moment.”
His footsteps retreated. Ensuring everything of importance was covered, she went to the bathroom door and listened. Silence.
She turned the handle and stepped out into the hallway, nearly jumping at the sight of Vogt a few feet away in the shadows.
“Good evening,” he said, staring at her as if he could see straight through the towel.
Audrey fought a shiver, her damp shoulders chilled in the cool air.
“Herr Vogt, I am sorry. I didn’t think you’d be home so soon. I’ll be right down to prepare your dinner.”
She walked away from him, feeling his gaze bore into her half-naked back. She slipped into Ilse’s dark bedroom, but as she went to shut the door, his foot shot out, blocking her.
Audrey yelped and lurched back as Vogt shoved his way in.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
But she knew. And so did he.
A sickening dread gripped her insides. Her thoughts went to Ilse above her. She couldn’t cry for help.
“Please, don’t do this,” she said quietly. It took everything in her not to scream. “Please, leave.”
“Be a good girl, now,” he snarled, reeking of alcohol. He stepped toward her.
Audrey clutched at the towel with one hand and lashed out at Vogt with the other. He batted her arm away, then seized her shoulders, pushing her toward the bed. Despair surged up her throat like black bile. Her towel fell as she fought Vogt with both hands now, panting with the effort and her own horror. The cold air hit her body. As Vogt took in her nakedness, she landed a punch to his throat. Anger shone in his eyes. She tried to race around him, but he stopped her with his other hand and threw her onto the bedspread with a grunt, pinning her down with his muscly body. A scream escaped her lips.
