“Mina’s baby girl has a bad cough,” Griselda, a toothless old woman, said. “She needs chest liniments and good steam.”
“Fat chance of getting that.”
“I bet they have hoof balm for their calves. That might work.”
“What’s the baby’s name?” There was a silence, like a void in the night. No one had thought to inquire as to the baby’s name. Had they never heard the mother call the little girl by name? Lilo could tell that they were all shocked. It was as if they had had to pare down their lives to only the sparsest detail. Anything else was a distraction.
“Well, you know,” someone started to say, “the mother, Mina. She’s very thoughtful. She always tries to sleep far from all of us so the child’s crying won’t disturb us.”
“Yes,” someone else said softly. It was as if they were suddenly aware that their own humanity was slowly slipping away.
Ulrike now spoke up, almost desperately, to change the subject: “What do you think of Fräulein Riefenstahl making eyes at Pedro — I mean Franz?”
Janna farted. Her timing was perfect. The tension was broken. They all roared at this.
“My sentiments exactly,” said Irma, another water-jug lady.
“What’s to stop her from having two?” Ulrike said. “My sources tell me that this woman has been with many men. The famous director Arnold Fanck — he was her lover.”
“The one she fired,” Lilo piped up. All eyes turned toward her. She was occupying the last seat in the row of the latrines.
“How do you know that?” Janna said, leaning forward to look at her at the end of the row. This kind of gossip was supposedly the province of the older women not young girls.
“My sources.” Lilo winked, then got up from the board.
Perhaps it was ten minutes after Bluma and Lilo had returned from the latrines when they heard angry voices through the crack in the barn wall. “I’ll be right back,” Lilo whispered. She climbed to the hayloft to look out the window by Unku’s sleeping pallet. It gave the best view down to where the voices were coming from.
“They’re cold. This isn’t about mollycoddling. The blankets aren’t enough. They need heavier clothing.”
Two long shadows sliced across the spray of moonlight on the ground below. It was Johan who spoke. “Look, just tell Fräulein Riefenstahl that she will not have any extras for her precious film unless she keeps them warm. They’ll all come down with pneumonia. We hardly feed them as it is.”
“I don’t like your tone,” Gunther replied.
“I don’t like how you’re screwing the farmer’s oldest daughter.”
A silence opened up between them as wide as the night. Unku and Lilo looked at each other, their eyes round with shock. “Oh, sheka!” Unku whispered the word for “shit.”
Barely a quarter of an hour later, the two guards arrived, pushing wheelbarrows loaded with more blankets, as well as shawls and sweaters. Shortly after that, the large door of the barn slid open. The farmer’s two daughters appeared. Each carried a pail with steam coming from it. Lilo saw the little girl scan the barn and knew immediately that she was looking for Bluma.
“Bring your bowls, please,” Johan said as he stepped out of the shadows. “We want to give you something warm, and more is coming.” The big sister leaned over to her little sister and whispered. She set her pail down and then ran toward the farmhouse. In a few minutes, the little girl returned with two more buckets.
It was a feast! Two pails of warm milk, two buckets of dumplings with boiled chicken. And still more was coming! Lilo ran to wake her mother. It was important for her to come, not just to eat but also to see the little girl and for the little girl to see her.
As soon as Liesel saw Bluma Friwald’s face, she broke into a smile and ran toward her. She dipped her hand into the pocket of her dirndl. “For you, Frau,” she said softly, and handed Bluma something. It was a Pfannkuchen, a bun stuffed with jam. And still warm! Bluma slipped it into her pocket.
“Liesel!” Her older sister scolded her then jerked her.
Lilo reached forward and grabbed her mother’s hand.
“Mama, you have to be careful. You saw the sister didn’t like when you did that.”
She began to study her mother carefully. She did seem a bit stronger. She might have even put on some weight. Was she strong enough to get out of here? They had chicken and dumplings tonight, but it could all end tomorrow. Was there any chance they could get out? Make it to safety. But what was safe? Where was safety? The tiny cough of the nameless baby scratched the night. Lilo almost resented it. It was a distraction. She had to think, think hard. She was scared, scared of that older sister. She had to think about the possibilities of escape. But then the baby coughed again. Poor thing! She promised herself that tomorrow she would ask Mina her baby’s name.
The very next day when Lilo got on the bus, she went up to Mina.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you your baby’s name.”
A fragile smile began to illuminate her face. “Brynna,” she said softly.
“And is her cough better?”
“Oh, yes! Yes! Much better.”
“Can I have a peek at her?” Lilo asked, since the infant was bundled up.
“Oh, she’s sleeping now. So peacefully, I hate to disturb her.”
“Oh, sure. I understand. But I am so happy that Brynna is feeling better.”
“Thank you,” Mina said. Her eyes suddenly seemed shiny with tears. Lilo couldn’t help but feel better. Little effort had brought so much pleasure to Mina.
As soon as they got to the set, it was announced that the following day they would be leaving for Babelsberg. The numbers of those scheduled for transport to Babelsberg were posted in the cage.
When they disembarked, there was a great rush toward the cage.
“You’re in! You’re in, both of you! And me, too!” Django said, turning to Lilo and her mother. Bluma flung her arms around Lilo.
“Miteinander!” her mother sobbed in her ear.
Rosa, Unku, and Blanca were also in. In fact most of the prisoners except a few very old ones who rarely came to the set were on the list.
“Are you in?” Lilo said, making her way over to where Mina stood.
“Yes, yes! And so is Brynna. She’ll get to see the big city.”
“All this roaring hasn’t woken her up?”
“No, she’s still sleeping, thank God. Now that the cough is gone, she breathes easier.”
They had left in a caravan. Fourteen vehicles in all. One for the Gypsies, several large trucks for the camera equipment, sets, and costumes, and an open-sided ventilated truck for the horses. Tante Leni rode in a special black sedan with the assistant director, Harald Reinl, and Franz Eichberger.
Lilo sat next to her mother, watching the landscape unfold. It reawakened her dreams of escape. She didn’t want to tell her mother until she was sure her mother was strong enough and she had a plan. They were told that the trip to Babelsberg would take one night and two days. The extras were to sleep in the bus, while the crew and Leni would be put up at a hotel in the town where they planned to stop. No one, of course, had told them which town that would be. There would be stops so they could relieve themselves, but armed guards would accompany them for these necessities. In fact, the number of armed guards had been tripled for the journey.
They had been under way perhaps for three hours when Lilo got the faintest whiff of a disturbing odor. It seemed to be coming from behind her. Had someone had an accident? She dared not turn around. Within a few minutes, though, she sensed that other people were noticing. An Aufseher from the front of the bus began to walk down the aisle. He was met by another coming from the rear. They conferred for a few seconds. Then they continued to walk in opposite directions, their nostrils twitching.
Then “Mein Gott im Himmel!” one of them roared. “Es ist ein Kind — ein totes Baby.”
“A dead baby!” Lilo gasped.
“Nein, nein.” It was a wom
an’s voice.
The bus slowed down abruptly and pulled to the side of the road. A furor had broken out in the back of the bus. The Aufseher came racing forward. He was carrying something. Bluma, who was on the aisle, screamed.
“Mama, what is it?”
“The baby. Mina’s baby.”
A gun went off in the bus.
“Achtung! Everyone be quiet. Sit down or be shot.”
“Oh, my God,” Lilo whispered. She was looking out the window. The guard who had raced from the back of the bus was by the side of the road. He wound up his arm in a pitching motion and released. The bundle sailed into the sky, the flawlessly blue sky on this cold winter day. There was another shriek as Mina raced off the bus. Run, run as fast as you can . . . You’ll never . . . The crack of several guns, machine guns, rived the air. Everyone was pressed to the windows of the bus. They saw the spasmodic jerks of Mina’s body, which for three seconds looked as if it were dancing as the bullets tore into her. Blood splattered everywhere, and then it was over. The body crumpled on the ground. A stunned silence fell upon the bus.
From the window, Lilo observed some of the other guards and now Leni and Harald striding up the roadside. Leni wore a stylish hat and her fancy alligator boots.
“Don’t look at her,” Bluma rasped. But Lilo could not tear her eyes away from Leni. She was arguing with someone — a guard.
“Are you crazy, Lieutenant?” Leni shrieked. “We don’t have time for such nonsense. I suppose you want to fetch a priest for this burial as well. My allegiance is to the Führer. We have to be in Babelsberg by tomorrow. This film is going over budget already. I shall hold you personally responsible. It is the Third Reich that is financing this. Do you want to explain how we took an extra day here?” The lieutenant was trying to say something, but Lilo couldn’t hear it.
“What do you mean it won’t take a day? I don’t care if it takes a minute. Now, be reasonable, sir. Look.” Leni swept her hand dramatically toward the sky. “Nature is taking care of this already.”
Lilo looked to where Leni was pointing. Three buzzards were carving arcs in the porcelain-blue sky. “God takes care of these things. God is efficient, and so am I!”
She strode away. Several guards came up and kicked Mina’s body into the drainage ditch.
But so far . . . so far from her baby, Lilo thought, for the baby had been flung into the field. Miteinander.
Lilo and her mother folded themselves into each other’s arms. Bluma stroked Lilo’s head. How long had the baby been dead? Was she dead when Lilo had asked to see her on the bus? That was yesterday morning, more than twenty-four hours ago. Had she died in the night? Poor Mina. Poor Brynna.
“Quiet on the set! Bring up the wind. Action!” Lilo dug her heels into the flanks of Chico, the horse she had ridden through the archway of the make-believe village of Roccabruna. Everything, though not everyone, had been transported to the Babelsberg studios — horses, the tavern, the scenery flats of the buildings of Roccabruna. If the village of Roccabruna was a fiction, Babelsberg Studios were a fiction upon a fiction. The studio buildings stretched over hundreds of acres. There was not just one counterfeit village but entire cities and mountain ranges that had been created, facades designed and built by the scenery department. Bring up the wind! Bring up the sun! Bring up New York! Paris! Bring up anything, Lilo thought, except the real world.
“Cut!” screamed Leni. Now those small eyes blazed as she walked toward Peter Jacob and Lilo on their horses.
God, Lilo prayed, what have I done wrong? The scene that Lilo had witnessed by the side of the road when Leni had screeched at the guard had convinced Lilo that this woman was completely crazed, perhaps not even human. Somehow the murder had paled next to Leni’s reaction to the guard who had apparently wanted at least the semblance of a decent burial for the woman. But reaction seemed like a slight word. It suggested some sort of human response when there was absolutely nothing human about her behavior. Lilo wondered what might have triggered it, for there seemed to be a continuing deterioration of her behavior with frequent outbursts on the set.
“Peter!” Leni hissed. “You can’t ride a horse when you’re hungover! And it’s not just liquor I smell on you”— her voice dropped —“but whores!” The color had drained from her face. The makeup lay eerily on her skin like fresh paint. “You keep to stage left so your shadow falls on the Gypsy girl, understand!”
“Yes, Leni!” She shot him a poisonous look. “I mean, yes, Fräulein Riefenstahl.”
“You don’t know what you mean!” she muttered, and stomped away.
On the fifth take, they got it right.
Life was better in Babelsberg if only because it was warmer. They were kept not in a barn but in an empty soundstage. It was warm, and there were toilets, not latrines, and even two showers. Lilo felt incredibly lucky that the invention of her mother as her good-luck charm had worked so far. She found it amusing how her mother had so completely gotten into the part. Lilo teased her that if this war was ever over, she and Bluma would be riding side by side in Piber on the Lipizzaners. Extras and crew alike seemed more relaxed at Babelsberg. It was more of a community than the farm. It was a real village in the sense of film production. There were entire buildings devoted to stage carpentry. There were kitchens that provided food for the cast and crews of each film under production on a soundstage.
Since they were not as confined as they had been in Krün, the doors with the locks were mostly to keep people out — thieves, of course, for there was so much expensive equipment, but also starry-eyed autograph seekers. The film slaves were always indoors on the soundstage. There was little danger of any of them wandering off, unlike when they were in the countryside. Outside, winter had set in. It was warm inside, and they had hot food. These conditions were as effective as the locks on the doors. Lilo’s thoughts of escape began to dwindle.
Twenty additional Gypsies had been imported from the nearby Marzahn camp as extras. Django was pleased to see an old friend of his, a boy named Erich who was a bit younger and half the size of Django, whom one could not exactly call big.
The years Erich had spent in Marzahn since Django had last seen him had shrunk him from the size of a proper fifteen-year-old to that of a nine- or ten-year-old. Django was determined to fatten him up. It was a lot easier organizing food in Babelsberg, and Django had figured out who might be sympathetic in the kitchens. Bribery, it would seem, was out of the question, as what did any film slave own? What currency did they have to trade? However, Django devised a fictional currency to match the fictional world they lived in. The Gypsies’ roles as extras put them in very close contact with the stars — Bernhard Minetti; Franz, whom there was already buzz about in the nightlife of swanky Berlin cabarets; and Maria Koppehoeffer, who played the wealthy woman the marquis was supposed to marry but did not love.
The men and women who worked in the kitchens and the custodial staff of the buildings rarely got very close to these stars, but they longed for the smallest memento of a star. Any number of discarded handkerchiefs and an occasional autographed picture made their way to the staff. However, the best negotiation that Django ever made was to slip a screenplay written by a kitchen worker into Arnold Fanck’s briefcase. It was one of those rare occasions when the renowned director, who had been fired by Leni, visited the set. Arnold Fanck was one of the most important directors not just in Germany but in all of Europe. His visits to the set had been seldom and only in the company of the chief executive of the studio when certain high-level Nazi Party officials were escorted in for behind-the-scenes glimpses of moviemaking. But on one visit Django had pulled it off with the screenplay. “No guarantee he will love it, but it is in his briefcase. He can’t help but see it.” The kitchen worker and aspiring screenplay writer Dieter was eternally grateful. So this single act more or less opened the kitchen to Django and the rest of the film slaves.
Today Lilo and the other urchins were standing around in a small area near the village fou
ntain. They were filming a market day scene, and an assistant to the assistant to the assistant director was marking the places where they were to stand. Franz was not in this scene at all, but nevertheless, he was hanging around near a vegetable cart that was being set up with onions and potatoes. Some potatoes spilled and rolled toward the urchin girls. Franz raced over to help the prop fellow collect them. As Franz was on his knees collecting the vegetables, he lingered by the hem of Unku’s skirt. Lilo watched as he gave the skirt a light tug. A radiance broke across Unku’s face, obliterating the grime.
Until that moment, Lilo had sometimes been tempted to believe that her suspicions were merely figments of her imagination. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. But now she knew they were not imaginary. This is bad. No, worse than bad — dangerous. She suddenly recalled what she had long repressed — the dozens of other instances when Unku and Franz had somehow managed to be within yards, if not feet, of each other. For the rest of the day, a debate raged within Lilo as to whether or not she should say something to Unku.
“What is she doing?” Lilo whispered to Rosa and Django while they were standing at the edge of the set. Fifty feet from them, Leni was huddled with Franz. She had snaked her arm around his waist in a very intimate way. She was giggling and pressing her cheek to his shoulder.
“Flirting,” Rosa said. “What else would you call that?”
“Tante Leni,” Django sighed. It was the sigh of an old man. “This is not simple flirting.”
“What else is it?” Lilo asked.
“I have it on good authority that Fräulein Riefenstahl had a huge fight with Herr Jacob over his philandering. She wants to make him jealous.” Lilo tried to look discreetly at Django. Could he possibly know what she knew about Unku and Franz? If he did, he would have said something. Django, the ultimate insider, loved his “intelligence.” It would be a blow to him that Lilo knew something he didn’t, but she was fairly sure that his “good authority” had not informed him of this twist in the romantic entanglements of Fräulein Riefenstahl.