by Louise Fein
I almost spit out my mouthful of sweet pastry and jam.
‘Erna!’ I splutter. ‘Shhh…’
She turns and looks at me, wickedness flickering in her eyes. ‘Perhaps you already have someone in mind.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’re only twelve.’
‘I’m nearly thirteen. Anyway, what about Karl?’ She looks at me sideways.
‘What about him?’
‘He’s awfully handsome.’
‘Karl?’ I laugh. ‘He hardly ever washes and almost never changes his pants and vest.’ Something quivers in my belly. A snake flickering its tongue. I carefully lick the jam off my fingers. ‘Re-enacting famous battles. Aeroplanes. Football,’ I count them off. ‘That’s what Karl likes.’
I study Erna’s profile while she chews and watches the monkeys. The delicate sweep of her nose, her high cheek bones and smooth, milky skin. She really is impossibly pretty…
But Karl’s not interested in girls.
She lets out a long sigh and scrunches her paper bag into a small ball.
‘I told my father about you,’ she says, turning the ball round and round in her hands. ‘He said not to be friends.’
‘Why not?’ I stare at her in surprise.
‘It’s not you he doesn’t like,’ she says hurriedly, ‘it’s your father.’
‘But he doesn’t even know my father!’
‘I probably shouldn’t say,’ she says, squeezing the ball to make it flat. ‘It’s only because he’s wrong. I should be friends with you, and whatever he says won’t change a thing. You’ll always be my best friend, won’t you, Hetty?’
And, like the most perfect picture, for a moment everything stands still. The sun is gloriously golden and warm. The birdsong is brighter and sweeter than ever before, the monkeys at their most playful and full of joy.
I try to look unruffled, as if people declare me to be their Best Friend every day. ‘Of course,’ I breathe, and I can’t help smiling. ‘Always and forever.’
We sit for a moment in contented silence.
‘What is it that your father doesn’t like about mine?’
‘Honestly, don’t worry about it.’
‘He shouldn’t say things about people he doesn’t even know.’ How odd to think of Vati being discussed in other people’s living rooms.
Erna takes a breath. ‘Something to do with the way he took over the newspaper,’ she says in a rush. ‘But he’s probably got it all wrong.’
Frau Goldschmidt’s wrinkled crone-face swims into focus. Your father… forced them out… all lies and falsehoods …
Jealousy. That’s what Vati said it was.
‘It’s all lies and gossip. People are jealous of my father’s success, that’s all.’
I meet Erna’s eyes and she looks away.
‘Yes. That must be it.’ She digs a hole in the gravel with the toe of her shoe. ‘My father’s a silly old fool for listening.’
‘He should be more careful.’
The monkeys have eaten most of the fruit and begin a game of chase, swinging from pole to pole. The grooming couple saunter off and disappear into the covered enclosure.
‘I’m going to join the Jungmädel,’ Erna says. ‘Will you come too?’
‘Vati won’t let me. He thinks the HJ should just be for boys.’
‘But everyone else is. Surely you can persuade him?’
‘You don’t know Vati. When he’s made up his mind, it’s impossible to change it.’
Perhaps Erna will find a new Best Friend in the Jungmädel. I scan the flat, green expanse of Rosental stretching out towards the woods in the distance. The sun is suddenly too hot and the glare hurts my eyes. I can feel a headache developing in my temples.
Erna gently touches my arm. Her eyes are stretched wide open.
‘Please don’t tell your father what mine said, will you?’ she whispers.
‘Of course I won’t.’
‘I can trust you, Hetty, can’t I?’
‘Erna,’ I look straight into her cat-like eyes, ‘I’m your best friend. You can trust me to the ends of the earth. I promise you that.’
10 September 1934
‘Did you hear they got rid of Dr Kreitz?’ Erna whispers.
‘When?’
‘Friday. And other teachers too.’
She nods at the solemn-suited wall of authority at the front of the main hall where we are gathered for assembly. There are definitely some new faces amongst them.
‘Quiet!’ Herr Hofmann’s voice booms. ‘Silence for our new science teacher. Herr Metzger, the floor is yours.’
A slim young man in a brown suit and bow tie strides to the front of the stage. His young face is round and shiny and a smattering of white pimples cover the rough, red skin of his chin. He can’t be much older than Karl.
He pulls a cord which unfurls a large white banner on the front wall. A poem is displayed in large black letters:
Keep your blood pure,
It is not yours alone,
It comes from far away,
It flows into the distance.
Laden with thousands of ancestors,
And it holds the entire future!
It is your eternal life.
‘Eugenics. The beautiful science of race and genes,’ Herr Metzger begins in a soft, syrupy voice. ‘Human progression is on the brink of a new era. The possibilities of a super race, free from crime, free from hereditary diseases and free from insanity, is within our grasp. This is the essence of scientific advancement.’
The floorboards creak as he walks back and forth in front of us. His fair hair is greased back and his light blue eyes twinkle.
‘The result? A population of the best: the fittest, bravest, most beautiful, cleverest, and robust. The epitome of Darwin’s theory. A people who will be superior in every way and who must spread their influence throughout the world. This is the vision behind the science. And who would not dream of such a world?’ He stops and scans our faces. I lock my knees together, sit up straight.
‘He’s rather a dish, don’t you think?’ Erna whispers in my ear.
‘Shh.’
‘All right, teacher’s pet,’ she giggles.
I dig her in the ribs.
Herr Metzger talks of population projections and the societal cost of supporting growing numbers of physically disabled people, not to mention the insane, the epileptics and the feeble-minded. He shows us the different races and their place on a Darwinian scale of advancement – Nordic at the top, Jews at the bottom. The French, thankfully, are not too far below the Germans. Lucky Mutti is from near Paris. The population in the South of France has been infected by North Africans and can no longer be considered racially pure.
The hall is hot and Herr Metzger removes his jacket. Erna is all attention now. She giggles at his informality.
‘It is vital,’ Herr Metzger goes on, ‘that Aryans breed only with other Aryans. Interbreeding with inferior races will ultimately cause the fall of Western Civilisation, just as it once did to those ancient civilisations of Greece and Rome. For those with hereditary diseases, sterilisation is essential. It is not the fault of those unfortunate individuals, but they cannot be permitted to pass their… afflictions on to future generations. For the good of all mankind, this is an inviable truth.’
I think of how Hitler sometimes speaks to me, so very clearly, inside my head. Not for the first time, I wonder with a pang if I have some kind of madness. People say, if you hear voices… I can feel my armpits are damp with sweat, my back clammy.
Is sterilisation painful? I stare at Hitler’s portrait dominating the big wall behind the teachers sitting at the front.
Am I mad?
No, Herta. I have chosen you.
But I’m a girl!
I need girls, Herta. Boys will fight to win the war, but girls… you will be future mothers. Mothers are to be honoured. Worshipped. Because without mothers, without girls, we cannot succeed.
Sweat beads on my forehead.
I glance at Erna but she is watching Herr Metzger, transfixed as he click-clacks, back and forth, in front of our bench. The silence in the hall is unnerving. Not a rustle, nor a twitch.
Herr Metzger consults a piece of paper he pulls from his pocket. ‘Freda Federmann, Walter Keller. Join me at the front, here.’
Walter Keller.
Time slows as Freda shuffles off the bench behind me. I twist around and see Walter stepping over the knees of his classmates several rows back. Karl sits at the end of the row and catches my eye. I can’t read the expression on his face.
I watch Walter walk slowly through the middle of the grand hall, smart and upright in his dark suit and tie. Sunshine flows through the long windows and a million tiny dust particles are illuminated by beams of light. Walter passes through them and in his wake the dust shoots skywards and swirls crazily, before re-forming and slowly descending once more through the diagonal shards of light.
Herr Metzger towers over Freda with something I can’t make out in his hand.
‘A Jewess,’ he breathes, and a shudder ripples through the hall. His words, unexpected and chilling, creep down my back.
‘Observe her frizzy black hair,’ he murmurs. His voice is soft. The words seem to slither from his mouth and slide, serpent-like, around the hall. He leans over Freda as if she’s a zoo specimen. It is almost as if the teacher and the girl are alone and he has forgotten the rest of us are here.
Walter arrives level with Herr Metzger. He approaches slowly and deliberately, then stands right next to Freda. My brain is locked in confusion.
‘This is awful,’ Erna murmurs.
‘But what’s Walter doing there?’
Erna shakes her head and says nothing.
Herr Metzger barely seems to notice Walter’s arrival. He lifts the instrument in his hand and I see now it’s a pair of metal callipers. He dangles them in front of Freda’s face.
‘Her eyes are too close together,’ he announces. ‘A clear sign of a clever but untrustworthy nature.’
Nobody makes a sound. There’s a sour taste in my mouth.
‘See this oversized, lumpy nose? You will notice it’s shaped like an upside-down nine. A classic characteristic of the Jew.’
Herr Metzger slowly moves the callipers around Freda’s face. Her lips are too thin. Her ears stick out too far. Her hair is too wiry. Tears begin to flow silently down her cheeks. She is trembling. One tear, then two, fall to the floor.
Walter sidles closer to Freda. Next to her Jewish features, Walter is blond, blue-eyed and perfect. It suddenly dawns on me why he is there. Herr Metzger wants to contrast the Aryan with the Jew.
I watch Walter take hold of Freda’s hand and give it a squeeze. He doesn’t let go. They stand there, the two of them, hand in hand, until Herr Metzger, with his callipers, sweeps them apart.
‘Now look at her frail, undersized body. The Jew is unsuited to, and incompetent at, sport. She is lazy by nature.’ He spits out his words and saliva sprays in front of him. Freda flinches as it hits her face.
He takes a step back and points at her feet. ‘Inside that girl’s shoes you will find big, flat, ugly feet. These make her clumsy and unable to run well.’
Freda’s face is stricken and I can’t bear to watch any more. I look down at my hands folded in my lap.
‘Why doesn’t he stop now?’ I hear Erna say quietly, as if to herself. ‘He’s said enough…’
A flash of movement and I look again. Herr Metzger whips around and grabs Walter’s shoulder, jerking his head up. With a face twisted in disgust, he pokes at him like a side of beef hanging in a butcher’s shop. ‘This Jew,’ he growls, ‘has thousands of years of trickery and treachery bred into him. His only care is that of self-advancement. He will stamp others into the ground to get his own way. He is rotten from the inside out. He will cheat and—’
The room lurches. A thousand needles prick the back of my neck. It cannot be true.
‘No!’ I shout, half choking on the word as it escapes me. Several heads turn and stare, then just as quickly swivel back to the stage.
I want to yell at them. You’re wrong! But I can’t. There’s an urge to run. Far, far away. But the wooden bench remains hard beneath me and I’m frozen and useless as I watch.
With his attention focused on Walter, it takes Herr Metzger a few moments to notice what’s happened. The smell of urine is strong and unmistakable. It trickles down the inside of Freda’s legs, soaking her stockings and pooling around her shoes. A tremor of sniggers and stifled laughter breaks out behind me.
‘Dear God!’ Erna exclaims out loud.
Realising the bottom of his trousers and shoes have been splattered with Freda’s piss, Herr Metzger drops Walter’s shoulder like a hot coal.
‘Get out!’ he says, his voice low and tremulous. ‘Neither of you need bother coming back.’
Walter winds his arm around Freda’s heaving shoulders. She waddles towards the exit, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her. The door swings and they are gone…
A moment of stillness, then Herr Hofmann leaps to his feet.
‘My dear Herr Metzger…’ He says something we can’t hear, and Herr Metzger swiftly leaves after Freda and Walter. ‘You two,’ the Headmaster points to two girls at the other end of the front row, ‘fetch a mop and bucket and clear this mess up. The rest of you, back to class. The entertainment is over.’
Filing out of the hall, I’m numb. My mind is refusing to accept what I just witnessed. How can it even be possible that Walter is a Jew? Wonderful Walter, the boy who saved my life, a dirty, stinking Jew? It cannot be possible. They’ve made a mistake. He looks nothing like one. But then I remember Vati’s words: Not that boy again, and his look of displeasure whenever he used to find Walter in our house.
My classmates push past me, chattering in excited voices as they turn left towards our classroom. To the right, the heavy front doors are ajar. Walter and Freda must have walked through them only a few moments ago. A thin strip of light pierces the darkness of the corridor.
‘Hetty?’ Erna’s voice, far away. ‘Hetty!’ Her face is a frown and she says, ‘Don’t. Think of the trouble you’ll be in!’
But she fades as I feel Walter’s strong hands pulling me from the mouths of the monsters in the lake. His kindly blue eyes and warmest of smiles hover in my mind, and suddenly I’m bolting, hurtling along the corridor, punching through the doors and into the bright, blinding daylight.
I tear across the grassy slope of Nordplatz. Around the far corner of the church, I see them.
‘Walter!’ I call. He’s holding Freda’s hand, half turned towards her, saying something. I catch the sound of her strangled sobs. ‘WALTER!’
They both turn, open-mouthed at the sight of me.
I stop in front of them, panting hard.
What am I doing here?
‘I just want you to know…’
Freda’s eyes are puffy and red. Her skirt and stockings have dark wet patches on them. Up close, she stinks.
I look at Walter’s face. Tears well in my eyes. How can he be a Jew? How could I have been so stupid not to have known? I finally understand why Karl doesn’t invite him home anymore.
‘Go back to school, Hetty,’ Walter tells me in a flat voice. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘I don’t care,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t care that you are a Jew. I will always be your friend. Always and forever.’
I turn before he can reply and run fast, back across Nordplatz, towards school.
Hitler is trying to speak with me, but I close my mind to him.
There. I’ve said it. My words are free, floating through the fresh air of Nordplatz.
Even if I wanted to, I can’t take them back now.
Part II
31 May 1937
I prise open my eyes, slowly, one at a time. Rolling onto my back, I stretch each limb out fully. My foot hits a hard, warm lump at the bottom of the bed.
‘Kuschi.’ I smile at the curl
ed, black shape. ‘What are you doing in here? If Mutti catches you…’
The dog raises his head, looks at me and thumps his tail on the bed cover. He yawns and goes back to sleep.
‘Cheeky,’ I laugh, reaching down to stroke his soft shaggy coat. He must have escaped from the kitchen when Ingrid went down in the early morning. ‘You love me, don’t you, Kuschi Muschi?’ His breathing is soft and even. No hint of the trauma he suffered last year.
‘Flocke,’ I call softly. What might he remember of his old life? He opens his eyes and I sigh. ‘Well, this won’t do, will it? Let’s go and have some breakfast.’
I wash and dress. Karl’s door remains firmly shut as I pass by.
In the dining room, Vati, unusually, is at home having breakfast. More and more he is away, his SS duties taking his nights as well as eating into his days. He looks deep in thought, holding Mutti’s hand where it rests on the polished walnut table, his thumb drawing soft circles on her skin. He says something quietly to her and she throws her head back and laughs, her hair rippling down her back. The floor creaks as I hesitate in the doorway.
Vati looks up and drops Mutti’s hand like a guilty secret.
‘Ah, good morning, young lady.’ He pours himself coffee from the tall pot, it’s giraffe-like neck long and elegant.
‘First day of the holidays, eh?’ He gives me a wink. ‘I hope you have some worthy plans.’
‘Yes, Vati. I have lots of Bund Deutscher Mädel commitments – and the summer camp, of course. Plus I shall see my friends, help Mutti, you know.’
He grunts and watches me spread frischkäse, creamy white, on a slice of dark rye bread.
‘You could spend the summer working on a farm, like the Käfer girl up the road,’ he suggests.
‘Franz!’ Mutti exclaims. ‘What are you suggesting? You know half those girls come back impregnated by the Hitlerjugend boys they send to the same farms. What a dreadful idea!’
‘Don’t worry, Mutti. There’s no way I’m spending my summer working on a farm. Virtuous and valuable though it is, I know. Summer camp is quite enough for me. I’d rather stay here with you and help at the soldiers’ home.’
