Martin was terrified.
Had Reißer been put up to this or not? He'd seemed so sincere about his hate for the Nazi party, and his observation of Martin had been on point. He seemed to honestly believe that Martin despised the ways of the Third Reich.
But the man documented Hirt's experiments by photographing suffering people, and his face didn't fall or twist into a look of pity even once. So how could he truly mean what he'd said to Martin moments before?
I will never admit to him that I'm not on their side, Martin thought as he paced the room, as long as I lay low and do what they ask of me, everything should be fine.
But even though his words should have calmed his mind and his racing heart, they didn't.
Reißer was SS—who was SS who didn't support Hitler? Nobody! It wasn't obligatory, and even if you went to war, you could go as Wehrmacht; there was absolutely no need to become a member of the Waffen-SS unless you wanted to be.
Ostensibly, Franz had liked Hitler. He'd read his children racist books, Martin shuddered at the thought; Franz had voiced his admiration for Hitler, his pride for the German Reich and, had even wished to drag his children into all of it by putting them in the Hitlerjugend, or in Gretel's case, in the Bund Deutscher Mädel (German girls union). No father would put his children into the hands of a society that he didn't trust. But then again, even Franz had had his moments of weakness; he'd used his home as a place for Jews to pass through. How could he have been fully committed to Hitler's ideas for Germany?
So there's a chance that Jan means it, and that he really hates Hirt and Hitler, and that he recognizes his distaste for national socialism in my eyes.
But mere speculation is horrifying when your life is on the line. Martin wished he could know for sure what Reißer was all about. His gut told him Reißer was probably being truthful, but his mind and pounding heart assured him that Reißer had been set up to do this.
In that case, there was only one thing Martin could do, which would secure his name and their trust in him without fail.
He could call Hirt, talk to him about what Reißer had said about despising the government, and ask the veteran what to do about it. Hirt might reveal that it was all a test, or he'd take note of what Martin had said-
But what will happen to him if Jan is against them and Hirt realizes that? Being in a position like Reißer meant full dedication to the party was necessary. There was no room for wishy-washy men, spies, or liars. Could Reißer be a spy? Maybe he was an Englishman scouting out concentration camps.
Martin's head throbbed, and his heart still beat at a frantic pace. He ran to the landline and dialed Hirts's home number. But he stopped before the last didgit. Suppose Reißer was against the government and Martin told Hirt and Hirt, instead of waving it off or simply making a note, reported it, or told Martin to report it, and then the Gestapo raided Reißers home. What if they found something?
Martin collapsed onto the chair next to the landline and buried his face in his hands.
I'm a fucking seventeen-year-old, I'm not supposed to be dealing with this. Martin didn't yet know that choices like these would never get easier. Perhaps they even get more complicated when you get older because there is so much more to consider, so much more responsibility to hold.
This isn't even my life. He thought in dismay.
So what would Franz do?
***
Reißer quietly cussed under his breath as he strode through Strassburg's empty streets, heading back to the hotel he was staying in. Franz had seemed angry. Reißer was still sure that Franz was against the party, but he also realized more and more that Franz wouldn't stand up against them or even flee. It became crystal clear to Reißer that Franz might have disagreed with the Nazi party, but he didn't disagree with his home, his salary, or the way he was respected. He didn't hate his life, even if he hated the circumstances.
Still, would Franz report him? Reißer didn't think so. But where had wishful thinking got him? So far, he'd upset his comrade twice, and this time felt exceptionally grave. Reißer had done it in the worst possible way, intruding on Franz's personal space.
He passed under a street lamp and suddenly stopped. It was a moment of clarity for him. He stood frozen on the spot for several seconds as the light fell over his shoulders and around his boots.
Franz is going to report me.