Reincarnated in World War II as my Great-Grandfather

His question caught her off guard. In her haste to cover up her shock she forgot about her pretend pregnancy and took her hand off her belly. She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. "Why would you think so?"

"Some of the things he says...I was reading some famous works and...a few of his lines were copied exactly from them."

He wasn't wrong. Although Charlotte went along with being a good Aryan and wrote plays the Nazi Government could only promote she did, once in a while, add a character who any Jewish people would recognize to be, in some hidden way or another, representative. And they were always the heros of the story.

"Well, I assure you I did not mean for that to be..." he looked unconvinced. "Listen, Rainer. I once went to University, and I read a lot of books. Back then, when studying the Arts, we read about several Jewish authors and playwrights and even performed their plays. Something must have snuck in without me knowing."

"Word for word?" He pressed. He'd advanced on her. He was close enough that his hand was only an inch away from her tummy—the one she polstered up to look pregnant. 

"Why do you know that it's word for word? Why did you recognize that it was Jewish, Rainer?"

"I like to read, " he answered simply. "And when a little bird landed on my windowsill and sang a sad little melody about someone in our theater being Jewish, I decided to do my homework." 

"Oh Rainer! You can't honestly think I'm Jewish! I'd have been banned from the arts so long ago!"

"So why weren't you?"

"That's a very serious claim you're making, Rainer." She said. All the cheeriness dropped from her face. 

"Well, I think I'm right, " he said equally gravely. "It's a trend: in several of your works, characters are...Jewish. How could I not be suspicious?"

"You're too young to understand. Just act the part, Rainer."

"Not if Karl is Jewish."

"Karl is Christian."

"I don't think he is, Charlotte." 

"That's Mrs. Reißer to you." 

"I'll decide what I call you." 

The door flung open, and Jan Reißer stepped inside. His face was bright red from the cold. "I'm sorry I'm late, darling." He saw Rainer, who had jerked away from Charlotte the second the door opened, as if he'd been electrified.You look familiar, but forgive me, I've forgotten the name?"

"Rainer. Rainer Berning, " the young man said. He waited for a flare of recognition to illuminate his counterpart's face, but it never came. "I work at the theater your wife worked at; I'm an actor."

"Ah, yes." Jan Reißer said flatly. He'd picked up on his wife's discomfort. I'm sure you had important things to discuss with Charlotte, but I just came home from Strassburg, and I'd love to be alone with my wife and our unborn. Has it kicked you lately?" He asked, his gaze softening. Charlotte nodded mutely.

"I'll leave; it wasn't important. I'll visit another time," Rainer said. He shot Charlotte an evil glare but smiled and shook her husband's hand as if it were his uncle's. "Have a good evening sir, and you too Charlotte."

"Mrs. Reißer, " she said with a forced smile so evidently fake that Rainer and Jan despised it. 

The door closed behind the Aryan man. Reißer pressed his ear against it. He couldn't hear footsteps—Rainer was outside, waiting. "Does it kick you when you talk about me?" he asked his wife, "or when you listen to music?" Some babies love the gramophone." 

"Yes, but not always," she responded, "I've had quite a bit of pain in the last week."

"Probably because I was gone."

"Of course, love." 

Rainer had heard enough. They were too intelligent to jump to serious talk about matters nobody else should know enough about. He marched down the stairs. Jan Reißer, who still had his ear pressed to the door, heard the footsteps. He smiled and nodded at Charlotte signaling that the pesky boy had left, then drew his head backwards. "Did he come unannounced?"

"Yes. And I got a note a few days ago...maybe it was from him."

"Do you think he knows?"

"Someone told him something. But...he doesn't have any proof."

They were both quiet for a few seconds. "I'll write Hans-Ueli again," Reißer decided. One of his father's friends had a farm in Obwalden (central Switzerland). In the mid-thirties, they'd thought about moving there, but Hans-Ueli had told them to wait since the situation in Germany wasn't grave enough. "Maybe this time, he can get us into Switzerland." 

"I don't want to talk about that. How was Strassburg?"

"I met a man. Franz Weiher."

"And?"

"He's working with August Hirt—the professor I told you about."

"And?"

"Well, I get the feeling that Franz isn't a fanatic like the rest of these lunatics. I think he's a smart man—a careful one, too. Maybe he'll eventually be a friend."

"Maybe." But Charlotte wasn't about to trust anyone. Her life was on the line. And so was her husbands.