Until the shooting started, Alys had thought the night belonged to her.
The argument with Paul had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She understood that she was madly in love with him, she could see that clearly now. Which was precisely why she was more scared than ever.
She had decided, therefore, to focus on the task at hand. She entered the main room of the beer hall, which was more than three-quarters full. More than a thousand people were crowding around the tables, and soon there’d be at least another five hundred. German flags hung from the wall, barely visible through the tobacco smoke. The room was humid and stifling, which was why the attendees kept harassing the waitresses, who jostled through the crowds carrying trays with half a dozen beer glasses above their heads, never spilling a drop.
Now, that’s tough work, thought Alys, grateful again for all that today’s opportunity put within her reach.
Elbowing her way through, she managed to find a place at the foot of the speakers’ podium. Three or four other photographers had already taken up their position. One looked at Alys in surprise and nudged his companions.
“Be careful, gorgeous. Don’t forget to take your finger away from the lens.”
“And you remember to take yours out of your ass. Your nails are filthy.”
The photographer inspected his fingertips and turned red. The others cheered.
“Serves you right, Fritz!”
Smiling to herself, Alys found a position where she would have a good view. She tested the light and did a few quick calculations. With a bit of luck she could get a good shot. She began to get excited. Putting that idiot in his place had done her good. Besides, from that day on, things were going to change for the better. She’d talk to Paul; they’d face their problems together. And with a new, stable job, she would truly feel fulfilled.
She was still immersed in her daydream when Gustav Ritter von Kahr, state commissioner of Bavaria, climbed onto the stage. She took a number of photos, including one she thought might be rather interesting, in which Kahr was gesticulating widely.
All of a sudden a commotion broke out at the back of the room. Alys craned her neck to see what was going on, but between the bright lights that surrounded the podium and the wall of people behind her, she couldn’t see a thing. The roar of the crowd, together with the thunder of falling tables and chairs and the smashing of dozens of glasses, was deafening.
Someone emerged from the crowd close to Alys, a sweaty little man wearing a creased raincoat. He pushed aside a man sitting at the table closest to the podium, then climbed onto his chair and from there onto the table.
Alys turned her camera toward him, in a single instant capturing the wild stare, the slight trembling of his left hand, the cheap clothes, the pimp’s haircut plastered across his forehead, the cruel little moustache, the raised arm, and the gun aimed at the ceiling.
She wasn’t afraid, and she didn’t hesitate. All that went through her head were the words August Muntz had told her years before:
There are moments in the life of a photographer when a photograph passes in front of you, just a single photograph, that could change your life and the lives of those around you. That’s the decisive moment, Alys. You’ll see it before it happens. And when it happens, shoot. Don’t think, shoot.
She pressed the button just as the man pulled the trigger.
“The national revolution has begun!” the little man shouted in a powerful, grating voice. “This place is surrounded by six hundred armed men! No one leaves. And if there isn’t immediate silence, I’ll order my men to stick a machine gun up in the gallery.”
The crowd fell silent, but Alys didn’t notice, nor was she alarmed by the storm troopers who had appeared from all sides.
“I declare the Bavarian government deposed! The police and the army have joined our flag, the swastika: May they hang from every barracks and police station!”
Another feverish cry erupted in the room. There was applause punctuated with boos and shouts of “Mexico! Mexico!” and “South America!” Alys was oblivious. The shot was still ringing in her ears, the image of the little man firing was still engraved on her retina, and her mind was stuck on three words.
The decisive moment.
I’ve done it, she thought.
Squeezing the camera to her chest, Alys dove into the crowd. Right now her only priority was to make it out of there and get to a darkroom. She couldn’t exactly remember the name of the man who’d fired the gun, though his face was very familiar; he was one of the many fanatical anti-Semites who shouted their opinions in the town’s taverns.
Ziegler. No… Hitler. That’s it-Hitler. The mad Austrian.
Alys didn’t believe this coup stood any chance at all. Who would follow a madman who had declared that he would wipe the Jews from the face of the earth? In the synagogues people were joking about idiots like Hitler. And the image she’d captured with sweat dripping down his forehead and the wild expression in his eyes would put that man in his place.
By which she meant a lunatic asylum.
Alys could barely make any headway through the sea of bodies. People had started shouting again, and some of them were fighting. One man smashed a beer glass on another’s head, and the dregs soaked Alys’s jacket. It took her almost twenty minutes to reach the other end of the hall, but there she found a wall of brownshirts armed with rifles and pistols blocking the exit. She tried to talk to them, but the storm troopers refused to let her through.
Hitler and the dignitaries he’d interrupted had disappeared through a side door. A new speaker had taken his place, and the temperature in the room continued to rise.
With a grim expression, Alys found a spot where she’d be as protected as possible and tried to think of a way to escape.
Three hours later her mood was bordering on desperation. Hitler and his acolytes had given a number of speeches, and the band in the gallery had played Deutschlandlied more than a dozen times. Alys had tried to move discreetly back into the main hall, in search of a window through which she could climb, but the storm troopers blocked her path there too. They weren’t even allowing people to go to the bathroom, which in such a crowded place, and with the waitresses still serving beer after beer, would soon be a problem. She’d already seen more than one person relieving himself against the back wall.
But wait a moment: the waitresses…
Struck by a sudden flash of inspiration, Alys approached a service table. She picked up an empty tray, took off her jacket, wrapped it around her camera, and held it under the tray. Then she collected a couple of empty beer glasses and headed for the kitchen.
Perhaps they won’t see. I’m wearing a white blouse and black skirt just like the waitresses. Perhaps they won’t notice I’m not wearing an apron. Just as long as they don’t notice the jacket under the tray.. .
Alys passed through the crowd, holding the tray aloft, and had to bite her tongue when a couple of patrons touched her bottom. She didn’t want to attract attention to herself. As she approached the swinging doors, she got behind another waitress and passed by the SA guards, fortunately without any of them giving her a second glance.
The kitchen was long and very large. The same tense atmosphere reigned in there, though without the tobacco smoke and flags. A couple of waiters were filling glasses with beer while the kitchen boys and cooks talked to one another by the stoves under the stern gaze of a couple of storm troopers who were again blocking the exit. Both were carrying rifles and pistols.
Shit.
Not knowing quite what to do, Alys realized she couldn’t just stand there in the middle of the kitchen. Someone would realize that she wasn’t one of the staff and throw her out. She left the glasses in the enormous metal sink and picked up a dirty rag she found nearby. She ran it under the tap, soaked it, wrung it out, and pretended to be cleaning while she tried to come up with a plan. Looking around cautiously, an idea occurred to her.
She sidled over to one of the trash cans next to the sink. It was full almost to bursting with leftovers. She placed her jacket in it, put the lid on, and picked up the can. Then she began to walk brazenly toward the door.
“You can’t go past, Fraulein,” said one of the storm troopers.
“I’ve got to take out the garbage.”
“Leave it here.”
“But the cans are full. You can’t have full garbage cans inside a kitchen: it’s against the law.”
Don’t worry about that, Fraulein, we’re the law now. Put the can back where it was.”
Alys, deciding to gamble everything on a single hand, put the can down on the floor and folded her arms.
“If you want to move it, move it yourself.”
“I’m telling you to get that thing away from here.”
The young man didn’t take his eyes off Alys. The kitchen staff had noticed the scene and were looking at him angrily. As Alys had her back to them, they couldn’t tell she wasn’t one of them.
“Come on, man, let her past,” the other storm trooper intervened. “It’s bad enough having to be stuck here in the kitchen. We’re going to have to wear these clothes all night and the smell’s going to stick to my shirt.”
The one who’d spoken first shrugged and moved aside.
“You go, then. Accompany her to the bin outside and then get back here as quickly as possible.”
Silently cursing, Alys led the way. A narrow door gave onto an even narrower alley. The only light came from a single bulb at the opposite end, closer to the street. The bin was there, surrounded by scrawny cats.
“So… have you been working here long, Fraulein?” said the storm trooper, in a slightly embarrassed tone.
I don’t believe it: we’re walking down an alley, I’m carrying a garbage can, he’s carrying a machine gun, and this idiot is making a pass at me.
“You might say I’m new,” replied Alys, pretending to be friendly. “And what about you: Have you been carrying out coups d’etat for long?”
“No, this is my first,” the man replied seriously, failing to catch her irony.
They reached the bin.
“Right, well, you can go back now. I’ll stay and empty the can.”
“Oh, no, Fraulein. You empty the can, then I’ve got to accompany you back.”
“I wouldn’t want you to have to wait for me.”
“I’d wait for you anytime you like. You’re lovely…”
He went to kiss her. Alys tried to step back but she was trapped between the bin and the storm trooper.
“No, please,” said Alys.
“Come on, Fraulein…”
“Please, no.”
The storm trooper hesitated, remorseful.
“I’m sorry if I offended you. I just thought…”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s just that I’m already engaged.”
“I’m sorry. He’s a lucky man.”
“Don’t worry about it,” repeated Alys, shaken.
“Let me help you with the garbage can.”
“No!”
Alys tried to pull away the hand of the brownshirt, who, in his confusion, let go of the can. It tumbled over and rolled along the ground.
Some of the leftovers scattered in a semicircle, revealing Alys’s jacket and its precious cargo.
“What the hell is that?”
The parcel had opened slightly and the lens of the camera was clearly visible. The soldier looked at Alys, who wore a guilty expression. She didn’t need to confess.
“Damn slut! You’re a Communist spy!” said the storm trooper, feeling for his cudgel.
Before he could grab it, Alys picked up the metal lid of the garbage can and tried to hit the storm trooper on the head. Seeing the attack coming, he raised his right arm. The lid struck his wrist with a deafening noise.
“Aaargh!”
He snatched the lid with his left hand, throwing it far away. Alys tried to dodge him and run off, but the alley was too narrow. The Nazi grabbed her by the blouse and pulled hard. Alys’s body turned, and her shirt tore down one side, exposing her bra. The Nazi, who’d raised an arm to strike her, froze for a moment, torn between excitement and fury. That look filled her heart with fear.
“Alys!”
She looked toward the entrance to the alley.
Paul was there, in a dreadful state, but he was there all the same. In spite of the cold, he was wearing only a sweater. His breathing was ragged and he had a cramp from having run across the city. Half an hour earlier he’d planned to enter the Burgerbraukeller by the back door, but he hadn’t even been able to cross the Ludwigsbrucke, as the Nazis had set up a roadblock.
So he had taken the long way around. He looked for policemen, soldiers, anyone who could answer his questions about what was going on in the beer hall, but all he found were citizens applauding those who had taken part in the coup, or booing them-from a wise distance.
Having crossed to the opposite bank via the Maximiliansbrucke, he started asking the people he met on the street. Finally someone mentioned the alley that led to the kitchen and Paul ran toward it, praying that he’d arrive before it was too late.
He was so surprised to see Alys outside, struggling with the storm trooper, that instead of launching a surprise attack he announced his arrival like an idiot. When the other man drew his gun, Paul had no choice but to hurl himself forward. His shoulder bashed the Nazi’s stomach, knocking him over.
The two of them rolled on the ground, struggling for the weapon. The other man was stronger than Paul, who was also utterly drained by the events of the previous hours. The struggle lasted less than five seconds, at the end of which the other man pushed Paul aside, got to his knees, and pointed the gun.
Alys, who had now retrieved the metal garbage can lid, stepped in, pounding the soldier furiously with it. The impacts rang out through the alley like the crash of cymbals. The Nazi’s eyes went blank, but he didn’t fall. Alys struck him again, and at last he toppled forward and fell flat on his face.
Paul got up and ran to embrace her, but she pushed him away and crouched down on the ground.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you all right?”
Alys stood up, furious. In her hands she held the remains of the camera, which was completely destroyed. During Paul’s fight with the Nazi, it had been crushed.
“Look.”
“It’s broken. Don’t worry, we’ll buy a better one.”
“You don’t understand! There were photos in there!”
“Alys, there’s no time for that now. We have to go before his friends come looking for him.”
He tried to take her by the hand, but she pulled away and ran ahead of him.