by Louise Fein
Karl is dead and Hilda is expecting again. You think that is good for me?
I fold my arms across my chest, keep my distance. Keep the fire inside in check.
‘Come,’ he says, his voice weary. ‘Sit down.’ He pats the cushion next to him.
I stay where I am.
‘I need you to do something, Vati. For me.’ My voice is tight. ‘Many arrests were made last night. Of Jewish people.’
‘What of it?’
‘Some friends of mine were arrested,’ I say with a pounding heart. ‘I want you to help them. Walter Keller. Karl’s friend from… before, and his father and uncle are being transferred to Buchenwald. I want you to get them out.’
Vati stares at me.
‘How on earth do you know…?’ His voice tails off. I can almost see his brain computing behind his eyes. ‘And just why would you want me to do that?’ he asks, his tone acid.
‘Because he used to be Karl’s friend. But mostly because he saved me, that time, from drowning. One good deed deserves another.’ Finally, I smile at him.
Vati sits up straighter. Shuffles round to face me. He opens his mouth, closes it. Shakes his head. He seems to be struggling to put thoughts into words.
‘I tolerated that boy hanging around our house far too long… Hélène was too soft…’ He looks at me. His face changes; a shadow of something. ‘What does that boy mean to you?’ His voice is low with warning. ‘Karl tried to warn me. Now I understand.’ He seems to drift off. Shifts his gaze towards the window. He snaps it back to me. ‘Ingrid. She told me she’d made an allegation to the Gestapo. But then she withdrew it the next day. Said she was too afraid…Was that about you, and that boy?’
You sly snake, Ingrid.
‘There was nothing between us,’ I say firmly, ‘Karl, Ingrid, they got it wrong. But I bumped into him a few times, yes. And I went to tell him about Karl—’
‘Why the hell would you do that?’
‘Because they’d once been best friends. Because I thought he would want to know.’
‘Of all the goddam, stupid, ignorant, dangerous things to do! You foolish girl!’ All softness is gone. Vati jumps up, rigid with fury.
‘I’m sorry…’
‘You damn well will be, girl! Can you imagine if this gets out?’ He begins to pace the room. ‘My daughter, fraternising with a Jew? This is my reputation at stake!’ He jabs his finger into his chest. ‘How could you be so stupid?’ He quickens his pace. ‘Pig-shit Jews! That boy has turned your head. I knew you had too much freedom. This was exactly what I was worried about. Let those vermin out?’ He is clammy and grey. His face scrunches up. ‘No chance. That boy can rot in hell.’
I force myself to breathe slowly; make sure I don’t say the words screaming inside my head: You’re wrong! You are the vermin, not them! How can you talk about human beings like this? I remember Walter’s warning. I must not reveal my true thoughts.
‘He has a visa for England. If you let him free and arrange to take care of the exit tax, he’ll go. That family have nothing left. Their house burnt down—’
Vati is pacing, shaking with anger. ‘Over my dead body!’
Everything is going wrong, slipping out of my control.
He stops near the window. Looks out at the block of flats on the other side of the road.
‘You know that Ingrid’s leaving us soon?’ he tells me, his tone suddenly calm and quiet.
‘What?’
‘Yes. She’s going after Christmas. With my blessing. She wants to do her bit for the Reich.’
‘Why are we talking about Ingrid?’
‘She’s going to a Lebensborn home. Do you know what that is?’
I shake my head. I have no wish to talk about the sow, Ingrid, although I’ll be glad to see the back of her.
‘It’s a state-sponsored programme – the Source of Life – for providing the Führer with Aryan children. The children will be raised with one sole intention: to fight Hitler’s war against the Jews. Ingrid has passed all the medical and family history tests to ensure she is pure of blood and has no inheritable diseases. She has proved herself to be of good character. She will be matched to an equally good specimen of an SS officer. Together they will make a baby and, when he is born, she will hand him over to be raised as a child of the Führer, along with many others like him. She is doing a marvellous thing – selfless, and for the good of our country. When she has finished, she will of course be welcome to come back and work for us again or get married. The choice is hers.’
My insides curdle.
‘Why are you telling me this?’
Vati takes a few steps towards me.
‘Perhaps, Herta, we should consider enrolling you in the same programme. Sadly, you don’t have the ideal hair colour or stature, but perhaps they would make an exception for a daughter of mine.’
I swallow the bile which has risen into my mouth.
‘I’m too young! You can’t make me do this!’
He smiles at me. A thin smile, which doesn’t reach his eyes.
‘Are you trying to frighten me, Vati?’
He doesn’t reply and I turn away. His words roll over in my mind, infuriating me.
His reputation.
‘Why do you have Hilda and Sophie? Is Mutti not good enough. Am I not good enough?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Herta. None of this is about you or Mutti. I love your mother very, very much, and she can never, ever know about Hilda. Her nerves couldn’t take it, especially after Karl… But sometimes a man needs more. You are a young woman. You couldn’t possibly understand. But we men, we have… needs. Needs women just don’t have.’
You have no idea about my needs, you brute! Nor any other woman’s, seeing as you aren’t one.
‘And Germany needs children,’ he continues. ‘Lots of them. It’s a man’s duty to produce as many as possible with good bloodlines. It’s too late for Mutti, but Hilda is young. Hopefully she will have many more children. Lots of sons. I know it’s a shock for you, but one day, perhaps, you will understand.’
I hold Vati’s gaze. ‘You’re right, Vati. Mutti would be devastated, destroyed, if she ever found out. But your secret is safe with me.’
He manages a weak smile.
‘I promise you, I will not tell a soul about your mistress and your other daughter if you arrange for Walter and his father and uncle to be released.’
‘I’ve already said that is out of the question.’
‘Besides, if others were to find out, how would that look, against your Moral Crusade in the Leipziger? It would look especially bad, wouldn’t it, if it were to come to light that your own daughter had sullied her blood with a Jew? Those false rumours could be stoked…’
Vati’s eyes drill into mine, small and ice blue, pale and wet. I won’t be bowed by them.
‘You’re blackmailing me,’ he says at last, his face reddening. ‘My own daughter. That Jew-boy is something to you!’
How I long to tell him the truth, ache to see the shock and horror on his face.
‘No.’ I speak carefully, using every ounce of strength to keep my voice steady. I cannot give away the turmoil inside. ‘He is engaged to be married to a girl in England. But it doesn’t matter what I say, does it? If you plan to punish me and send me to this… this Lebensborn place, then what choice do you leave me? I have to protect myself. They won’t want someone with sullied blood. And if that means telling Mutti and the world about you, as well as lying about myself, then I will.’
‘You know what they would do to you, Herta? If they think you have had relations with this boy? They will shave your head and parade you through town. They will lock you up, throw away the key. Is that what you want?’
‘Of course not.’ I grit my teeth and ball my fists. ‘But it wouldn’t do you much good either, would it, Vati? Especially when Mutti is so hopeful you will get a promotion. I’m asking just a small thing. Release them and arrange for the family to leave Germany. Then all this will be fo
rgotten.’
Vati walks across the room, his eyes locking on mine. Beyond the pale grey of his irises, behind the pinprick black pupils, is that uncertainty? Fear? It’s definitely something. A weakness. Capitulation. I take a step closer.
‘I will do nothing for the father and the uncle,’ he says at last. ‘Without a visa, there can be no reason to release them. If I find a way to get the boy out…’ His face creases in disgust. ‘If I find a way, then you will keep your bloody mouth shut and never say a word about this, or Hilda or Sophie, to anyone, ever. Do you understand me?’ he says viciously.
I unclench my fists.
‘You have my word, Vati.’
‘And if I do get him out, you stay away from that Jew-boy. Should you disobey me this time, Herta, I will not protect you. I will not support you and I will have nothing to do with you ever again. Besides,’ he fixes me with a look of pure malice, ‘we will get them in the end, you know. We will get them all, in the end.’
I walk slowly and shakily down the stairs. As I leave the building, Hilda and Sophie are returning, holding hands as Sophie skips along beside her mother.
As I pass them, a sudden anger towards Hilda hits. ‘How can you bear it?’ I say to her. The words tumble out before I can think about them. ‘How can you put up with sharing a man who belongs to another?’
She regards me with sad eyes. ‘I do not expect you to understand, or to forgive,’ she says quietly. ‘But… we love each other very much.’
And with that, she clutches the little girl’s hand more firmly and walks up the steps to her apartment block with her head held high.
17 November 1938
I know I should destroy this journal. But I just cannot bring myself to do it. Perhaps one day it will be the death of me, but for now, somehow, it makes me feel closer to Karl and to you, dearest Walter. I’ve barely seen Vati in days. When I do, he makes his anger with me very much felt and refuses even to be in the same room, as though he is disgusted by the very sight of me. And it is agony not knowing if he is going to help. I try so hard not to ask. If I do, it will only antagonise him. Mutti asked once if we had argued. I told her it was just a disagreement over Hausfrau school and she said no more. She is so preoccupied with her own grief that she is oblivious to the tense atmosphere between us. On Sunday morning, Erna, Tomas and I went to watch the news at the cinema. At least Vati doesn’t prevent me from doing that, yet. Tomas is kind and attentive, making sure I am all right after what I witnessed that night. But I’m disgusted and sickened. I don’t see how a nation that calls itself civilised can behave so brutally and thuggishly. I don’t see how our great German state, whose rulers talk of honesty and truth and peace and morality, can lie so blatantly to its people. But it feels as though I’m almost alone in seeing the truth.
*
After days of waiting, Vati finally calls me to his study. I stand in front of his desk like a pupil called in front of the headmaster to learn her fate. Vati doesn’t meet my eyes and the evening meal curdles in my stomach.
‘It’s been arranged,’ he says flatly.
‘Is… do you mean Walter is being released?’ I ask, leaning on the desk for support.
Vati is smoking a cigar. He breathes out a long stream of sweet, cloying smoke.
‘I’ve had to pull strings.’ His voice is bitter. ‘But it turns out there are too many of them clogging up the camps anyway. Those that have exit visas must leave now. So that means your filthy Jew can go – but the father and uncle cannot.’
We stare at each other across the desk. There is no love. He controls it well, but I sense the rage rippling beneath his skin.
‘He must leave before the end of the month,’ he continues. ‘That’s where my friend, Judge Fuchs, has been useful. We’ve furnished him with the requisite papers, the passport, and affidavit confirming tax has been paid.’ He taps some ash into the ashtray and takes a drink from his whisky glass. ‘Fortunately for you, Fuchs owed me a favour. I kept his name out of the papers not so long ago – an unfortunate incident with a young boy. It would gravely have damaged his career. But we all make mistakes, right?’
He takes another few puffs on his cigar, without taking his eyes from mine.
‘Vati, thank you, I won’t—’
‘Sit.’
My hands are shaking as I grasp the arm of the chair and sink into it.
‘Did you know, Herta, that the only Germans being punished for what they did during the riots are SA men who raped Jewish women?’
I shake my head. He leans forward in his chair, his face reddening.
‘Because,’ he continues, ‘their crime is worse than murder. Do you know why?’
I stare at him. Shake my head again.
‘No? Well, I will tell you. It’s because they broke the inviolable law against sexual intercourse between Aryans and Jews. They jeopardised the single, most sacred thing we have. Our racial purity. And there is nothing more precious, more important than the cleanliness, the purity of our blood. It’s what we are here for, what we strive for each and every day. It’s our most precious asset and they have dared to threaten its sanctity! Those men have all been expelled from the National Socialist party. And that is only the beginning of their punishment, the treacherous, idiotic, fools!’ He grinds the stub of the cigar into the ashtray.
‘What will happen to the murderers?’
‘They have all been released. Of course, they were only following orders.’
I wait for him to say more, but he is quiet. He takes a slug from his glass.
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Oh, I think you know why. We understand each other, yes?’ He smiles then. A smile of victory. He thinks he has the measure of me. It’s a warning, and he thinks he is safe to assume I won’t ignore it.
For a moment, Karl floats between Vati and I. Take care, Little Mouse. I can’t protect you any longer.
My cheeks burn hot.
‘Yes, Vati,’ I say. ‘We understand each other.’
*
‘It’s done,’ I tell Erna later, now that I am, once again, allowed to attend BDM meetings. There’s no fear that I’ll be sneaking off to visit any more Jews. Erna, at least in Mutti and Vati’s eyes, has an untarnished reputation. She’s still considered an acceptable influence. If only they knew the truth.
‘Oh, thank the lord for that,’ Erna says, giving my hand a squeeze. ‘I can’t believe you pulled this off.’
We’re waiting in Fräulein Ackermann’s sitting room for everyone to arrive. Tonight’s meeting is to plan a pre-Christmas concert. There is to be music from our Schar’s band and from the local HJ Schar’s too. There is always an extra flutter of excitement when we combine with the boys’ groups. Any opportunity to meet the opposite sex is greeted with enthusiasm. A low hum of chatter, with the outbreak of occasional giggles, fills the room. Erna and I stand by the window, away from the others.
‘I’m walking on a tightrope from now on, though,’ I tell Erna. ‘Vati will never trust me again.’
She nods. ‘When is Walter coming out?’
‘In a couple of days but I’m forbidden to see him.’
‘Of course.’
‘I will though.’
‘Naturally.’ Erna smiles. ‘Happy to provide cover.’
A lump forms in my throat. ‘Thank you.’
Fräulein Ackermann enters the room with a tray of sandwiches and jugs of juice. ‘I think we’ll make a start, most of us are here.’ She casts her eyes over the group. ‘Come and sit over here, you two,’ she waves at us. ‘There’s room down here on the rug.’
We obediently take our places with the other girls.
‘Let’s begin with a song,’ she says, once we are all seated. She flicks through the pages of Wir Mädel Singen! ‘We’ll start with “Volk ans Gewehr”.’ There is a shuffling of pages and clearing of throats.
Do you see the eastern morning glow?
It’s a sign of freedom, towards the sun.
&nb
sp; We keep together, whether living or dead, whatever may come.
Why do you still doubt?
Stop the wrangling; in us still flows German blood in our veins:
Our people to arms!
Our people to arms!
I cannot bear to form the words. I stop singing, my mouth tight shut until Erna nudges me, hard, in the side. She frowns and shakes her head imperceptibly. Reluctantly, I join in for the final verse:
Young and old – man for man embraces the swastika banner.
Whether citizen, whether burgher, whether farmer, whether working man,
they swing the sword and the hammer for Hitler, for freedom, for work and bread.
Germany awake, end the suffering!
Our people to arms!
*
Later, as we walk home together, I tell her the vow I made to myself in that room, mouthing those words to the songs.
‘Once Walter’s left, I want to help your father with the resistance. Please, tell me what I can do.’
She hooks her arm through mine.
‘It’s too dangerous for you, given what’s happened.’
‘I don’t care about myself. Not really, not anymore.’
‘I don’t have much to tell anyway. It’s not like there is an organisation, as such, to join. To have anything more than a few loose connections is pretty much impossible now. The Gestapo have ears everywhere. The second there is a whiff of anything so much as an anti-government whisper, they’ll make arrests. People are too afraid.’
‘So, what is it your father does?’
‘He just has a few contacts. There’s an underground web. No one person knows everyone in it, for safety. Thus, if anyone is arrested, they can’t give the whole network away. From what I understand, they pass information. Try to help people leave Germany. Give them shelter, let them know where it’s safe to go. Especially children.’
‘I want to help, Erna, in any way I can.’
And we walk the rest of the way home, in quiet contemplation.
22 November 1938
I’m becoming fond of this draughty little sitting room at the back of the café, with its threadbare rug and worn-out, faded green sofa. A place of safety. A haven where I can meet Walter before he leaves Germany tomorrow. Strange how I should feel sheltered and safe here, amongst strangers, but exposed and vulnerable in my own home.
