Mendelssohn is on the Roof Read Free

go.’
    He began to pull at the rope, and the statue was already beginning to wobble. Schlesinger was peeking out through the gate.
    ‘Jesus Christ! Stop! I’m telling you, stop!’
    Becvar and Stankovsky let the rope drop from their hands. That Kraut was carrying on again. Why didn’t he look and see for himself which one had the biggest nose? Why didn’t he come out from behind that gate?
    Schlesinger was sweating with terror. He didn’t recognise any of those statues except for this very one. My God, it was Wagner, the greatest German composer: not just an ordinary musician, but one of the greats who had helped build the Third Reich. His portraits and plaster casts hung in every household, and they also lectured about him in those courses.
    The workers dropped the rope in confusion. The noose swayed around the neck of Richard Wagner.
    Schlesinger thought hard. Then he asked, ‘Did that statue really have the biggest nose?’
    ‘You bet, Boss,’ said Becvar. ‘The other noses were just regular.’
    ‘Pack up your tools,’ ordered Schlesinger. ‘We’re going to the Town Hall.’
    Becvar and Stankovsky removed the noose from Wagner’s neck and slowly walked to the gate.
    Schlesinger didn’t look at them. He climbed down the stairs. So the statue had come to deliver judgement on him after all. Not like in the opera, but still, there it was, revenge carried out by a statue. And in broad daylight, what’s more.
    The time he had committed the mortal sin it had beennight. They had arrived by car at ten o’clock and stopped in front of the Old Town Square Town Hall. There were two Gestapo officers in the car. He had brought the pliers, the screwdriver, the file, the metal cutters, the metal saw. The car drove into the courtyard and they entered the Town Hall by the back door. Krug was waiting for them there. The two Gestapo men were laughing – obviously drunk. But they were relatively quiet about it. They were able to control themselves even when drunk, while he staggered among them with his tools as if he were drunk, too, though he hadn’t touched a drop or eaten a bite from the moment Krug had called him in. Krug had told him about the job awaiting him and made him sign the declaration.
    They went down into the chapel. The Gestapo men hurried him along, constantly hissing,
‘Los, los, schnell,
schnell
.’ The words seemed automatic. First they took the ribbons off the wreaths. They didn’t need him for that, they could manage that themselves. They had boxes all ready. They scowled as they worked and in the dimly illuminated crypt they looked like devils. Yes, devils without names, merely emitting words as if from a phonograph loudspeaker as they stood at his right and left.
    And then his work began. He unscrewed the lid of the coffin, stripping the decorations off it and then cutting the coffin up with shears, tearing the metal into several strips. He worked mechanically. Finally he pulled out a wooden crate which held the bones of the Unknown Soldier, and some earth. He carried all that from the crypt to the car. The Gestapo men didn’t help him. Krug was waiting for him in the courtyard. He looked at his watch, which had an illuminated dial, the kind they give officers at the front.
    He said, ‘It’s two o’clock. Good, quick work. I’ll recommend you for an Iron Cross, second degree. I’ll send a report to the mayor, Mr Pfitzner.’
    Schlesinger didn’t answer, but trudged along with his load. Let them think he was tired. Let them think whatever they wanted. The Gestapo men climbed in the car and sat there without a word. They sat him between them in the back seat and set the load on the front seat next to the driver. Then they drove through the dead, dark city. They crossed the bridge to the other side of the river. Only the river was alive. Only the river was visible in the darkness – you could see its shimmer in the midst of the dark emptiness.
    He couldn’t figure out where they were going.