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| About the Book |
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| read an excerpt |
Another Soul Saved
John Anthony Miller
Chapter
2
Father
Christoff Engel had just walked out the north door of St. Stephen’s Cathedral
when he heard the gunshot. Screams came from the crowded plaza; children
started to cry. People dove to the ground, trying to protect themselves while
others hid by buildings. Faces appeared in upper-story windows as curtains
parted, pulled aside.
A
man lay on the ground, surrounded by soldiers. When a second shot never came,
the screaming dimmed to a murmur, and people slowly rose from the ground. A
crowd started to gather as Christoff moved toward the victim. He was stopped by
a short man in a Gestapo uniform, a red band with a swastika wrapped around his
right arm.
“Father
Christoff,” Captain Gustav Kramer said as he pointed to a side street past the
plaza. “Who is that woman with the black hair?”
Christoff
saw her hurry down the street with two little girls. She turned as she left the
plaza, looking back over her shoulder. It was Monika Graf, one of his favorite
parishioners.
“Have
you seen her before?” Kramer asked.
“I
didn’t get a good look at her,” he said, suspecting she was in trouble. One of
twelve priests at St. Stephen’s, he was almost forty with brown hair and kind
eyes, his life devoted to serving God.
“She’s
either very courageous or an impulsive idiot,” Kramer uttered as the woman
merged with pedestrians.
Christoff
eyed the captain warily. “Why would you focus on her when a man has just been
shot?”
Kramer didn’t reply. “She won’t get far,” he
said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“She’s
already gone, Captain,” Christoff said. “Why does it matter?”
“Because
I said it does,” Kramer replied. He called to a soldier across the street.
“Sergeant, come here.”
“Captain,
she’s only walking down the street,” Christoff said. “Why harass her?”
“She
has two Jewish children with her,” Kramer said.
Christoff
pointed to the Jews waiting at the emigration office. “It’s not a crime to
associate with Jews,” he said. “They’re all over the city.”
Kramer
turned to face him. “The two children were caught stealing, and she helped them
escape.”
Christoff
frowned, not sure if he believed him. “Stealing what?”
“Bread,”
Kramer said. “They were cleaning the street as punishment.”
They
were interrupted when the sergeant arrived, a stocky man with a rifle slung
over his shoulder. “What did you want, Captain?”
Kramer
pointed to the side street. Monika Graf was a block away, barely visible. “A
woman with black hair ran down that street with two Jewish girls.”
“Captain,
she took them for their own safety,” Christoff said, struggling to maintain his
composure. “A man was shot only meters away.”
Kramer
ignored him and addressed the sergeant. “Find the woman and bring her to me.
Take one of your men with you.”
“Captain,”
Christoff said, making one last attempt. “Why—”
“You
tend to mass, Father,” Kramer said, as he moved toward the dead man. “I’ll take
care of the Jews and whoever tries to help them.”
Christoff
didn’t reply. He didn’t want to risk the captain’s ire. He followed him to the
corpse. He was young, barely a man, his eyes closed forever. Blood stained the
back of his jacket, its footprint growing as it oozed from his body and dripped
to the street.
“What
happened?” Kramer asked the soldiers gathered around the body.
“He
was warning those waiting in line, sir,” a soldier said, pointing to the Jews
at the emigration office. “He said that they were being tricked and that they
would all be forced into work camps.”
“When
we tried to arrest him, he ran off,” a second soldier added.
Father
Christoff made the sign of the cross. He clasped his hands together and
whispered a prayer for the fallen man’s soul. When he finished, he turned away,
unable to look.
Kramer
eyed him with amusement. “You seem disturbed, Father.”
Christoff
refused to be intimidated. “Will this be the norm now, Captain?” he asked.
“Murdered men lying on our cobblestone streets?”
“The
norm is what I say it is,” Kramer said. “He had to be shot, Father.”
“For
what, may I ask?” Christoff probed.
“Subversive
activity, treason, trying to start a riot,” Kramer said and then shrugged. “I
could name a dozen crimes.”
“Are
words voiced in haste always punishable by death?” Christoff asked.
Kramer
smirked. “Father, he’s a Jew. Why do you care?”
“Because
he’s a child of God.”
Kramer
shrugged. “Some claim we do God’s work by ridding Vienna of vermin.”
Christoff
scoffed, disgusted by the hatred that consumed so many. “Who would make such
claims?” he asked. “None that I know.”
“Spare
me, Father,” Kramer said, rolling his eyes. “He’s not even human.” He pointed
to a woman walking her dog. “He’s no different from an animal. Neither has a
soul.”
“But
he does have a soul, Captain,” Christoff said. “And he didn’t deserve to be
shot.”
“He
was shot so others know right from wrong.”
“The
Lord teaches us right from wrong,” Christoff said. “Not you.”
“A
new day has dawned, Father. And the sooner you accept it, the easier your life
will become.”
Christoff
hesitated. He shouldn’t argue with a man who stood by the devil’s side, but he
couldn’t help himself. “I’ll never understand, Captain,” he said. “Not men like
you or what you stand for.”
Kramer
leaned closer. “You don’t have to understand, Father. You only need to obey.”
Christoff
frowned. “Just because my eyes are closed, doesn’t mean I cannot see.”
Kramer
chuckled. “A profound statement, Father,” he said. “An excellent example of why
Vienna loves your sermons. They’re eloquently delivered and steeped in
philosophical discourse.”
“They’re
lessons in life,” Christoff said, feeling like he had to defend himself. “I
offer what we all think but don’t have the courage to say.”
“It’s
best to say little,” Kramer advised. “It’s safer—priest or not.”
Christoff
recognized the veiled threat. “God will judge us all, Captain,” he said.
“Including you.”
“Enough,”
Kramer said. He turned toward the corpse and the soldiers around it. A timid
crowd huddled just beyond them. The three Jewish women still scrubbed the
street, afraid to stop, and the line of Jews waiting for visas slowly nudged
forward. He looked down the street where the woman with the black hair had gone
with the two Jewish children.
Father
Christoff watched him as he looked for Monika Graf. But she was gone, melting
into the streets of Vienna. “Forget her, Captain,” he said. “If she did commit
a crime, as you claim, it’s of little consequence.
“I’m
more intrigued by her brazen behavior,” Kramer muttered as he stared down the
side street. “She seized two Jewish children from a dozen soldiers and two
policemen.”
“She
did what had to be done,” Christoff said.
“If
she’s that courageous, what else is she capable of doing?” Kramer asked.
“You’re
fighting the wrong war, Captain,” Christoff said as he turned to leave. “I must
go. I have the Lord’s work to do.”
“Wait,
I have a task for you, Father.”
Christoff
tilted his head. “What might that be?”
“I
want you to find the woman who rescued the two Jewish girls.”
Christoff
rolled his eyes. “Captain, I don’t know who she is,” he said. “Why not leave
her alone?”
“Because
I’ve decided to use her as an example, so no one ever does what she did.”
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