Status Updates From Berlin Embassy

'“Thanks,” he said, declining the card, “I guess I can take the risk.” After the little Hausfrau had departed with her precious quart of whole milk, the customers in the shop, the Nazis, and the non-Nazis — stared at each other coldly, each group daring the other to say something.'

'“They brought him home with both his hands gone. Blown right off, they told me.” The little Hausfrau took out her handkerchief. “I can’t stand it,” she said. “He can’t eat anything, and you sell me skimmed milk.” “For the love of God,” our Commercial Attaché told the shopkeeper. “Take my ration card and give this woman all the whole milk she wants.” The shopkeeper was a man, too.'

“Is something wrong?” I asked. I held a stack of papers in my hand. And in the waiting room a crowd of refugees were waiting to be interviewed. But something was amiss here. “Yes,” she sobbed. “I don’t know where to turn. They tell you to leave immediately but they won’t help you get out.”

“There are thousands of applicants registered before your husband. He has at least eight years to wait.” The expression on the woman’s face showed that she did not believe Joe’s words. “But you will just have to do something,” she insisted. “He will die there. If war comes, they will never let him out of that place.” Joe shook his head slowly. The little woman began to cry as she gathered up the letters.'