Cesare
CESARE
ALSO BY
Jerome Charyn
(most recent titles)
The Perilous Adventures of the Cowboy King: A Novel of Teddy Roosevelt and His Times
In the Shadow of King Saul: Essays on Silence and Song
Jerzy: A Novel
A Loaded Gun: Emily Dickinson for the 21st Century
Bitter Bronx: Thirteen Stories
I Am Abraham: A Novel of Lincoln and the Civil War
Joe DiMaggio: The Long Vigil
The Secret Life of Emily Dickinson
Johnny One-Eye: A Tale of the American Revolution
CESARE
A Novel of War-Torn Berlin
Jerome Charyn
Bellevue Literary Press
NEW YORK
First published in the United States in 2020 by
Bellevue Literary Press, New York
For information, contact:
Bellevue Literary Press
90 Broad Street
Suite 2100
New York, NY 10004
www.blpress.org
© 2020 by Jerome Charyn
This is a work of fiction. Characters, organizations, events, and places (even those that are actual) are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Charyn, Jerome, author.
Title: Cesare : a novel of war-torn Berlin / by Jerome Charyn.
Description: First edition. | New York : Bellevue Literary Press, 2020.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018060779 (print) | LCCN 2019006788 (ebook) | ISBN 9781942658511 (ebook) | ISBN 9781942658504 (hardcover : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Berlin (Germany)—History—1918–1945—Fiction. | War stories.
Classification: LCC PS3553.H33 (ebook) | LCC PS3553.H33 C39 2020 (print) | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018060779
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a print, online, or broadcast review.
Bellevue Literary Press would like to thank all its generous donors—individuals and foundations—for their support.
This publication is made possible by the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of Governor Andrew M. Cuomo and the New York State Legislature.
This project is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.
Book design and composition by Mulberry Tree Press, Inc.
Bellevue Literary Press is committed to ecological stewardship in our book production practices, working to reduce our impact on the natural environment.
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
hardcover ISBN: 978-1-942658-50-4
ebook ISBN: 978-1-942658-51-1
It does not seem to me, Austerlitz added, that we understand the laws governing the return of the past, but I feel more and more as if time did not exist at all, only various spaces interlocking according to the rules of a higher form of stereometry, between which the living and the dead can move back and forth as they like, and the longer I think about it the more it seems to me that we who are still alive are unreal in the eyes of the dead, that only occasionally, in certain lights and atmospheric conditions, do we appear in their field of vision.
—W. G. Sebald, Austerlitz
Contents
Dramatis Personae
Glossary of German Terms
Cesare
Berlin Mitte
The North Atlantic
Berlin USA
Paradise
Dramatis Personae
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
Erik Holdermann, a member of German military intelligence; he’s also known as Cesare the somnambulist, or the magician
Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, chief of German military intelligence; he’s also known as Uncle Willi, or the Old Man, and sometimes as Dr. Caligari
Lisa Valentiner, the daughter of Baron von Hecht; she’s also known as Lisalein and will later be known as the baroness, or the Frau Kommandant
SECONDARY CHARACTERS
Baron Wilfrid von Hecht, a German Jewish baron and industrialist
Emil von Hecht, the baron’s nephew, also known as the little baron
Fanni Grünspan, a Jewish Greifer, or grabber, who works for the Gestapo
Colonel Joachim, a member of the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler, the Führer’s bodyguard corps, who will later be commandant of Theresienstadt ghetto and concentration camp
Commander Helmut Stolz, a member of German military intelligence who is the head of his own espionage group, Aktion
Franz Müller, a member of Stolz’s Aktion group; he’s also known as the acrobat
Fränze Müller, Franz’s twin sister, also a member of Aktion
Benhard Beck, the cabaret king of Berlin, who ends up at Theresienstadt; he’s also known as Mackie Messer, or Mack the Knife
Veronika, a little girl
Heinrich Percyval Albrecht, Erik’s uncle, an aristocratic Bavarian farmer
Eva Canaris, Admiral Canaris’ daughter
Werner Wolfe, a member of American naval intelligence
Tilli, a gun girl who is in charge of her own antiaircraft battery
Josef Valentiner, Lisa’s husband, a Nazi minister
Kapitän Peter Kleist, a submarine commander
Fräulein Sissi, a prostitute out of Erik’s past
The Grand Mufti of Jerusalem
Frau Hedda Adlon, mistress of the Adlon Hotel
Pola Negri, a silent film star who once lived at the Adlon
Herr Winterdorf, known as Fritz, a Nazi barber at the Adlon
Little Sister, Colonel Joachim’s adjutant at Theresienstadt
Ännchen, a retarded girl at Theresienstadt
Glossary of German Terms
Abwehr, German military intelligence
Aktion, an activity, or undertaking; Aktion is also the name of Erik’s group within the Abwehr
Das Kabinett des Dr. Caligari (1920), a German expressionist film about a mad magician, Caligari, and his somnambulist slave, Cesare (Conrad Veidt), who sleeps in a coffinlike Kabinett and murders people in a tiny mountain village while he’s in a dream state
Das Schwarze Korps, Black Corps, the weekly journal of the SS
Die Blutige Rose, the Bloody Rose, in reference to Rosa Luxemburg, who helped lead the Spartakus Uprising in late December 1918, during which the Spartacists took over Berlin for several days
Dreckshunde, literally shit-hounds
Fabrikaktion, literally factory raid; Hitler and Goebbels were quite unhappy that there were still Jewish slave laborers in Berlin; the SS and the Gestapo organized a Fabrikaktion in February 1943 that would snatch Jews right out of their workplace and lock them up in various Sammellager throughout the city
Frauenprotest, women’s protest; when the Nazis began putting half Jews in holding pens, their non-Jewish relatives staged a protest outside these Sammellager in March 1943
Fuchsbau, Fox’s Lair, the code name of Admiral Canaris’ headquarters
Greifer, or grabbers, Jews or half Jews who worked for the Gestapo and helped ferret out Jews who had gone underground in Berlin
Judenstern, the yellow star that all Jews in Germany had to wear from September 1941 to the end of the Third Reich
Jupo, Jewish auxiliary poli
cemen who worked for the Gestapo
Krankenhaus, a hospital
Kriegsmarine, the German navy
Kripo, criminal police whose main headquarters was on Alexanderplatz in Berlin
Kristallnacht, Night of the Broken Glass, November 9, 1938, when Nazi goons and disgruntled Party members began attacking Jews throughout Germany; over a hundred synagogues were destroyed
Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler, a special unit within the SS that began as Hitler’s bodyguards
Luftwaffe, the German air force
Milchkuh, or milk cow, an older submarine taken out of action and used to service other submarines
Mischling, a half Jew, someone with more than one Jewish parent or grandparent
Ritterkreuz, Knight’s Cross, the highest award that a member of the German military could ever hope to achieve; it was worn from a ribbon around the neck
Sammellager, as used here, a holding pen for Jews waiting to be transported to a concentration camp
Schmiss, a dueling scar
Schwanz, a man’s prick, used here as an expletive
Schweinerei, filth
Schwester, or sister, used here to describe a nurse or keeper at a hospital or asylum
Schwesternheim, the nurses’ residence at the Jewish Hospital in Berlin
Spartakus Uprising, led by Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg, who, in quixotic fashion, attempted to bring a socialist revolution to Germany in December 1918, with the help of an unruly band of radical workers and sailors; the uprising failed, and Leibknecht and Luxemburg were both murdered by right-wing military thugs in January 1919; Luxemburg’s body was thrown into the Landwehrkanal
Spinnen, Spiders, high-priced whores who worked for the Abwehr
Spitzel, an informer or spy
Tipper, a stool pigeon
Totenkopf, death’s-head, an insignia appropriated by the SS
U-boat, submariner, a Jew hiding from the Gestapo
V-Mann, a foreign informant or spy who serves as a go-between
Wehrmacht, the German military machine under Adolf Hitler
CESARE
February 11, 1943
From the desk of Admiral Wilhelm Canaris
72-76 Tirpitz-Ufer
Berlin
They did not want to hear anything but the latest news about Cesare. That’s how bad the war was going. And the bombings over Berlin had started again after the quietus of a year. They were frightened, these wives of generals and diplomats. I shouldn’t have been here. I ran a secret service, not a brothel for spies.
“Herr Admiral,” they said, “is he phantom or flesh?”
And I had to reply, “Gnädige Frau, I cannot discuss my agents.”
But it was the talk of Berlin. How Captain Erik Holdermann of the Abwehr had strangled a notorious traitor in a room full of Goyas at the Prado.
“And that swine had five bodyguards, did he not, Herr Admiral?”
They would embroider, multiply, manufacture, until I was their Caligari with his slave, Cesare, who strangled enemies of the Reich at will and then returned to his coffin at Tirpitz-Ufer. I have no coffins, I wanted to say. I didn’t belong in Das Kabinett des Dr. Caligari. I am not an ogre. I wanted to rid myself of their company and ride my Arabian mare, with her stunning white flanks. And I, who had always sought to be anonymous, a man of shadows, had become a hero in Berlin because of Cesare.
“Why do you not bring him to our luncheons, Herr Admiral?”
I would have strangled them all in the Beethoven Salon if Goebbels himself had not asked me to attend these affairs at the Adlon—it was necessary for our morale.
“But if you sat with him, gnädige Frau, what use would he have as a secret agent?”
They guzzled wine from the Adlon’s cellars but still had to give up their ration stamps to the waiter, who cut out the stamps with a pair of scissors that hung on a silver chain at his side.
“But he’s not a Jew, is he, Admiral?”
I had to answer, or they would complain to their husbands that Canaris was surly with them. How could I not be surly when I lived among sadists who butchered women and children in the streets?
“Herr Holdermann is not a Jew, but sometimes we employ Jews.”
And then Goebbels’ own man, a clerk with bluish hair, intervened. “The Führer permits Admiral Canaris to employ Jews for a reason—to trick the Jewish bandits in England and America.”
Thank God one of my own aides entered the salon. I had signaled to him from the door with a slight twist of my head. He handed me a blank slip of paper, which I began to peruse. I cupped my chin and then rose from my chair.
“You will have to forgive me,” I said with a bow. “It’s an urgent matter.”
They were thrilled.
“Does it have anything to do with Cesare?”
“Indeed,” I said, crumpling the slip of paper. They were gawking now. And I felt miserable. I shouldn’t have talked about strangling them. I wasn’t Berlin’s Bluebeard. I had known some of them before this reign of terror began. I had gone riding with one or two of these wives in the Grunewald. But the war had turned them into petulant children, who had to be pampered and stuffed with foolishness. I went around the table, kissing their hands, the ever-gallant Canaris. But the moment I left the salon a sadness settled in. I grew morose. I couldn’t return to the Tirpitz-Ufer. I longed to flee Berlin, and its cruel season—Jews were not allowed to enter the Adlon with their yellow stars. But such badges were also my own badge of shame. I had suggested to the Führer, years ago, that German Jews wear a yellow star.…
Gott, I should have had Cesare cut my throat or strangle me. I was no less a monster than Goebbels and his men. I whistled for my driver. I tried to imagine Motte, my white mare, but another picture crept into my brain. I dreamt of my daughter locked away in an asylum as luxurious as the Adlon. I could not visit my poor little Eva. I did not have the courage. But she was twice as clever as her papa. Eva wrote to me from her mountain.
“Papa, my nurses insist that cowards make the very best managers of spies. But I tell them to be quiet. You have no time for one mad girl. You are much too busy with your spies.”
I didn’t know where to turn. In another moment I would have wept in the arms of my aide.
“Herr Admiral,” he said, “are you ill?”
“Don’t be insolent, Hänschen—take me to the Liechtenstein Bridge.”
Hans was more confused than ever. “Is it one of your private meetings, Herr Admiral? I neglected to bring my pistol.”
“The bridge, the bridge, before I pluck out your eyes.”
I had shaken the poor fellow. He’d never heard me shout. In order to compose himself, Hans shouted at my driver.
“The admiral has important business at the Liechtenstein Bridge. If you want to save your own skin, you’d better learn to fly.”
So we flew from Pariser Platz, but I didn’t want to cross the Tiergarten.
“Tell him to take the longer route.… I’d like to ride on the Budapester Strasse.”
Both of them must have thought their admiral had gone insane. We went down the Hermann-Göring-Strasse, which was blocked with every sort of construction and traffic—it looked like a war zone, with squads of SS men, and I wondered if Himmler’s Einsatzgruppen were back from the front to haunt us all and make Berlin into their own killing field. But they didn’t menace us when they peeked through the glass. In fact, they were very polite.
“Forgive us, Admiral, but there’s a lunatic afoot—he has threatened to blow up Herr Goebbels. Would you like an escort?”
Before I could say yes or no, we were ushered through all the cordons on Hermann-Göring-Strasse. I was waiting for Wilhelm-Canaris-Allee to appear on the map, or perhaps the gauleiter of Berlin would honor me with a portion of the zoo. The Cage of Dr. Caligari.
My driver wound through the darkened, moonstruck streets and delivered us to the Budapester Strasse. He was flying much too fast.
“Slow down, damn
you. I would like to breathe in the scenery.”
There was no scenery; the bars were closed in the middle of the afternoon. The shutters were painted black; I saw a crippled woman hobble along—I didn’t believe in ghosts. I waved to her.
Hans was a suspicious little toad. He understood the route I was taking; I hadn’t trained him for nothing.
“Herr Admiral,” he whispered, cupping one hand over his mouth. “Isn’t this where they took die Blutige Rose?”
I didn’t answer him. We turned left on the embankment. I got out of the car. Hans was perplexed. He followed me to the bridge. I watched the water roil in that bloody Kanal. Hans was frightened of the smile he saw on my face—not for himself. He was the most loyal aide I had ever had. We often joked that if I went to the gallows, Hans would want the same wire around his neck.
“But this is where the Freikorps pitched Frau Doktor Luxemburg,” he said.
Hans was always a fine one for titles. Frau Doktor Luxemburg. I liked the ring of it. He’d heard the rumor; everybody at the Tirpitz-Ufer had. Their Old Man—when he was younger, of course—had helped the monarchists murder that bloody anarchist bitch, Rosa Luxemburg, and dropped her in the Landwehrkanal, crippled leg and all. My coup de grâce, they said, had broken the Spartakusbund and put an end to the Berlin uprising. Did it matter that I wasn’t even in Berlin? That I had gone to quiet down the mutinous sailors in Kiel? My minions had to shove their Old Man into the middle of history. In times of crisis, Dr. Caligari was always there.
“Herr Admiral,” Hans said. “You look pale. Should I find Cesare?”
I started to cackle. “Do you want to rouse him from his slumber? He might murder us all.”
“God forbid, Herr Admiral.”
Hitler’s reign began with the death of Rosa Luxemburg. Her disappearance had robbed the Weimar socialists of all their teeth. And the Reds never had another Rosa. I had once watched her stand on a table, under a circus tent, and harangue thousands with the voice of a bitter cherub. The women wept while the men shouted “Long live Rosa,” until their voices broke.