The Girl in the Striped Dress: A completely heartbreaking and gripping World War 2 page-turner, based on a true story

by Ellie Midwood

  “I still don’t know why they released me. I should have been dead, guilty or not,” Helena finished, frowning slightly, as though still confused by such an outcome.

  Dahler’s hand flew to hers and clasped it – a somewhat nervous, spasmodic gesture of a man groping for his wallet in which he carried the check with all of his life’s savings. Still there. Not lost. Dahler’s face relaxed visibly. He allowed himself to lean back into his chair and offered Dr. Hoffman yet another weak, apologetic smile. He wasn’t doing too well that day. All of his self-control was out of the window now that he wasn’t defending himself anymore, merely recounting his story, along with the woman who shared it with him. Dr. Hoffman caught himself thinking about how tragically youthful his face looked now and yet, how heavy with guilt the eyelids… He would get off the charges simply due to his date of birth and low rank – a typical brainwashed follower, according to the Denazification court’s categorizing of the former Nazis; he must have known it. Yet, Dahler was looking at him with such searching eyes, as though in desperate need to convey something, to make him, Hoffman, understand something that could only be felt deep inside one’s heart and utterly impossible to translate into words.

  “I still insist on your speaking with Helena Dahler in private,” Andrej Novák announced, cutting into his thoughts, during the recess. “He had just acknowledged it to the court himself, the fact that he was quite a gifted storyteller.” The last word came out mocking, cruel, cold. “He made her act in front of his superiors and he’s making her act before the court now. And you’re all buying it and paying triple at that.”

  “I don’t think—” Dr. Hoffman started, just to be interrupted by Novák once again.

  “I’m a co-plaintiff in this case. I demand you separate her from Dahler and speak with her privately. And I wish to be present during the conversation.”

  Dr. Hoffman exchanged glances with Dr. Hutson.

  “Separating her from her husband and making her undergo what technically may be considered interrogation, after everything she had just said, could cause potential trauma,” Dr. Hutson began uncertainly, shooting a glance in Lieutenant Carter’s direction. The latter only shrugged helplessly. If the co-plaintiff wished for the witness to be interrogated separately, there was nothing he could do. The law is the law. Dr. Hutson looked at the Slovak again, with apparent reproach. “I respect your rights as the survivor and co-plaintiff in this case. All I ask you is to think of the victim—”

  “I am thinking of the victim,” Novák replied harshly. His eyes glimmered black in the deceiving light of the room. “As a matter of fact, I feel as though I am the only person who is acting in the victim’s interests in this court. Separating her from her husband and letting her tell her story as it is, without his oppressing presence, is only going to help her, not harm her. She’ll finally be able to talk freely.”

  The psychiatrists exchanged looks but there was nothing one could do in this situation.

  “As you wish, Mr. Novák. We’ll ask the Chairman to grant permission for a separate interview and we’ll inform you as to where it’s going to be conducted.”

  “Would you like some coffee? Tea? Water, perhaps?” Dr. Hoffman put on his best I’m here to help you smile and positioned his chair in such a way that Helena wouldn’t feel crowded in his presence.

  Dr. Hutson moved even further away, into a shadowed corner where he turned into an immobile statue as soon as he took his seat. Despite all these precautionary measures, both couldn’t help but notice the immediate change in Helena’s countenance as soon as the door closed after her, leaving her husband outside. Dr. Hoffman was grateful to the young fellow for making it as easy for them, as possible, under the circumstances. “I’ll be right outside that door, Leni.” His voice was low and comforting, his hands, on top of her shoulders calm and reassuring. “If you need me, Dr. Hoffman will fetch me at once.” She only nodded to that, the mistrust of an animal being led to slaughter, evident in her eyes.

  “No, thank you. I’d like to get this over with.” Helena pulled the hem of her skirt so sharply over her lap that Dr. Hoffman had a fleeting fear that the cloth might tear.

  “We’ll only ask you a few questions—”

  “I don’t understand the need for all this secrecy.” She avoided looking at him, shooting subtle glares at the closed door instead. This would not go well. Dr. Hoffman rubbed his forehead, cringing – an unwilling interrogator. At least Novák was still absent. “It’s not like I have something to say to you that I wouldn’t say to the court.”

  “Herr Novák requested the interview.” The accusation was, for some reason, easy to throw. “He has the right, as the co-plaintiff.”

  Helena nodded slowly once again. Her right leg was twitching slightly. Dr. Hoffman couldn’t rid himself of an image of a wild animal cornered by the humans. She wished to be out of here, there was no doubt about it.

  As though on cue, Novák walked in. Oblivious to her tense posture, he smiled brightly at Helena. She didn’t even see him, trying to steal a glimpse into the hallway instead before he shut the door after himself.

  “Shall we begin?” Dr. Hoffman flipped his notebook open.

  “I’m ready,” the Slovak announced with far too much enthusiasm for Dr. Hoffman’s liking.

  Dr. Hoffman shot him a glare. “Frau Dahler?”

  For the first time, she looked up at him. The psychiatrist looked down, unable to hold her gaze for some reason.

  “How long have you been married to Herr Dahler?”

  “Since December of 1945. He was released from the POW camp and we got married right after.”

  “Whose initiative was that?”

  “Mine.” Her voice was firm, defiant almost. “I ran away from the Red Cross facility for displaced persons after the end of the war and searched for him until I finally found him in September through the Red Cross. I lived in the American officers’ quarters near the camp; they gave me a job there because I wouldn’t go away. I slept near the barbed-wire enclosure at first. I, on one side and Franz – on the other. We held each other’s hand through the fence. The guards tried to chase me away but after they learned my story, after I showed them my tattoo and papers the Red Cross gave me, they took pity on me. Also, they had to transfer Franz into a separate facility, along with high-ranking criminals.”

  That was one of the points that Novák kept bringing up, implying that the Americans were investigating Dahler as a war criminal and that they only released him due to the insufficient evidence.

  “Why did they transfer him there?” Dr. Hoffman asked.

  Helena gave a small shrug. “His own comrades from the SS turned on him as soon as they learned about me. They beat him up something terrible, almost killed him, in fact. The Americans interfered and transferred him to solitary confinement to keep him away from the others. Franz has a paper from an American colonel in charge of the POW camp, which confirms this. You can ask him to show it to you.”

  Dr. Hoffman nodded. “Frau Dahler…” He cleared his throat. “I feel awkward asking you this, but my duties require it. Has your husband ever been abusive to you?”

  Helena looked at him as though he’d just asked her something incredibly idiotic.

  “Of course not,” she replied sharply. “He’s never laid a finger on me.”

  “Except for that lashing in the camp,” Novák inserted venomously.

  Dr. Hoffman barely stopped himself from cringing openly.

  “I think I have already explained the circumstances of that event to the court,” Helena said quietly.

  “Circumstances or not, he’s a violent man.” Novak crossed his arms over his chest. “He beat you that day. He called you all sorts of unimaginable things.”

  Helena’s expression was unreadable, however, her knuckles turned white as she clasped the cloth of her dress, in her fists, even tighter.

  “You don’t have to protect him before this court, Helena,” the Slovak continued, softening his voice.
He stepped towards her as though wanting to pick up and hold her hand but Dr. Hoffman stopped him in time by catching his sleeve, at the sight of Helena’s pale face tensing even further. “I know that he coerced you into this whole affair. You think that if he got his teeth into you back in Auschwitz, he wouldn’t let go now until he breaks your very spine but it is not so. It doesn’t have to be this way. Just tell these men the truth and your suffering will be over with. You shall be free again. Free from him, forever—”

  “That’s enough, Herr Novák.” It was Hutson who gave him voice, out of his obscurity in the corner. “Undue influence on the witness.”

  “I’m only trying to help her break this cycle of abuse,” Novák argued. “You’re psychiatrists. You must know how difficult it is for the victims to openly confront their abusers. Some can’t even testify against them out of fear, which is still too great in them. I have seen it in court before. One woman fainted when—”

  “With all due respect, Herr Novák.” Dr. Hoffman would have none of any such speeches. “You’re here as a witness to the interview only. Please, let us conduct it, as the Chairman ordered.” He regarded Helena Dahler with concern. Her breaths were fast and shallow, as her hand flew to her mouth to cover it. But it was her eyes that frightened him the most. They were brimming with unshed tears and almost wild with fear. He reached out for her as slowly as possible. “Frau Dahler, are you able to continue?”

  She clasped her mouth tighter. Novák took the gesture for something different though.

  “Tell them everything, Helena. Don’t be afraid. He won’t be able to harm you any longer.”

  “Why are you doing this?!” Her voice came out in a raspy cry. She was staring at Novák with horror.

  “To protect you, of course! Just like I reported him to the Gestapo, first for stealing and later, for forcing himself on you. I wanted him to be arrested, shot – whatever, just so he’d be away from you.”

  Helena released a short, pained cry of someone mortally betrayed. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

  “Just say the word, Helena. Just tell these men—”

  “What did I ever do to you?!” she cried again, trembling with her entire body. “Why are you doing this to me?! Do you want me dead?!”

  Novák’s face darkened at once. He shook his head vehemently. “He won’t be able to do anything to you, won’t be able to take his revenge if you only speak the truth now. Don’t fret, he’s not behind this door. He’s in a separate, locked room guarded by the bailiffs. If you just give this testimony now, you won’t even have to face him ever again—”

  “That’s enough!” Dr. Hutson was suddenly on his feet.

  Dr. Hoffman motioned for him to sit down, his face twisted in a silent plea.

  “Stop shouting, both of you, for the love of God!” he hissed at both men. “Do you not see what you’re doing?!”

  However, it was too late. As soon as the Slovak announced that Dahler, the only buffer between the somewhat strained but possible interview and a full-blown panic attack was away from her reach, Helena suddenly couldn’t hold herself together any longer. She released such a wild, pained cry that something caught in Dr. Hoffman’s chest. He grasped her shoulders before she could double over and bury her face in her lap completely and asked for Dr. Hutson to fetch water and a sedative. He was familiar with fits like hers. Without medication, it would be next to impossible to manage it.

  Now, Novák was squatting next to him, clutching Helena’s hands and saying something in his language. She only began screaming louder in response. Those were horrible, piercing shrieks of someone who was being skinned alive, no less.

  “Leave this room at once!” Dr. Hoffman shouted wrathfully at the man, pushing him off Helena with more force than he intended. “Do you not see that you’re only making it worse?”

  The Slovak looked up at him uncomprehendingly. Dr. Hoffman released an annoyed sigh. Damn that Slovak, he truly believed that he was trying to help.

  “Please, leave, Mr. Novák,” he repeated in English, softening his voice a little at the sight of the man’s hurt expression.

  Dr. Hutson appeared in the door with water and a syringe in his hand. Without much hesitation, he shot the dose of sedative into Helena’s forearm – wartime-like, through the cloth. Dr. Hoffman didn’t reproach him for his haste. It would hardly be wise to begin peeling Helena’s jacket off of her while she was in such a wild state.

  It took the sedative longer than usual to take hold. The dosage his colleague shot in her forearm would suffice to put a horse to sleep but Helena was still very much alert, just not screaming any longer, only rocking back and forth slightly and eerily repeating, with her wet lips, “I want my husband,” like a demented, broken record.

  It was amazing how she kept herself awake, just to sit there and repeat those words until they would grant her wish. The two doctors exchanged glances. Shall we try?

  A scientist’s curiosity gleamed in Dr. Hutson’s eyes. “I’ll go fetch him for you, Frau Dahler.”

  Left alone with the woman, Dr. Hoffman wasn’t sure if she’d heard Hutson’s words, as she was still mumbling the same mantra under her breath. Her eyes had glazed over, yet she positively refused to allow herself to fall asleep in a stranger’s presence. Grimly, Dr. Hoffman watched that living miracle and wondered how severe her trauma must have been if that was the result of it.

  He felt infinitely guilty for the same psychiatrist’s interest that he had seen in passing in Dr. Hutson’s eyes; for his desire to see how she would react to Dahler’s presence under such obvious distress, yet this was precisely the situation, in which it was impossible for anyone to act. It was the rawest of scenes, which was impossible to rehearse even with the best will in the world.

  Dahler stepped inside, accompanied by Dr. Hutson. A fleeting shadow of panic at the sight of his wife passed over his face. Dr. Hoffman almost applauded the young man’s ability to curb his emotion and take it under control at once. Dahler walked over to his wife – not too fast, not too slow – sat on his haunches in front of her and gently covered her closed fists, with his own hands.

  “Leni, Liebchen, how are you feeling?” His voice, despite betraying itself with a slight tremor, was soft and tender.

  Helena’s unseeing gaze focused on her husband’s face. Dr. Hoffman released a breath he didn’t realize that he’d been holding when her lips stopped moving along with the rocking that had also come to a stop. Helena’s tense shoulders slumped visibly. A faint smile warmed up her white, sweat-covered face.

  “Do you want me to hold you, Liebchen?” Dahler inquired in the same mild voice. He didn’t stand up though until she nodded her agreement, her eyes growing heavy with sleep.

  He took a chair next to her and effortlessly arranged her body on his lap, cradling her in his arms as one would a sick child. He even began rocking her slightly in the same manner, murmuring something softly to her in German. She pressed her head into his shoulder and sighed – contentedly this time. Soon, her eyes were closed. At last, she was asleep. Next to Dr. Hoffman, Dr. Hutson snorted softly, shaking his head at such an instant transformation.

  “Incredible,” he murmured.

  Franz Dahler looked up at the two psychiatrists, the same apologetic smile back in his face.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was no louder than a whisper when he addressed them. “I should have warned you that this could happen. My wife is very sick, you see…”

  “You did warn us.” Dr. Hoffman returned the smile. “It’s us who should be apologizing. The situation got out of hand. However, it was our duty to see to it that it wouldn’t happen.”

  He couldn’t help but note to himself that Dahler had not once asked him what had prompted such a reaction, or what precisely it was that Helena had told them. For some reason, he smiled wider.

  It was his colleague, who stepped forward this time – the scientist to the marrow of his bones, who wished to milk the opportunity dry just to eliminate any possib
le doubts, not that Dr. Hoffman personally had any left.

  “Your wife is very sick, Herr Dahler.” Dr. Hutson lowered his gaze sorrowfully, a concerned specialist, not a court spy, by any means. Dr. Hoffman almost shook his head at the trick that he himself had used quite a few times in the past. “I shouldn’t be saying this to you but I hope it will remain between us. It’s almost a sure thing that you could be released today. Perhaps, certain restrictions shall be imposed on you – no public office for some time and no jobs in press or education – that sort of thing but you shall walk free.”

  Dr. Hutson followed up the words with a meaningful pause. The former SS man’s face betrayed nothing, yet Dr. Hoffman saw it that Dahler was listening carefully.

  “It is an admirable thing that you’re taking such good care of your wife. But do you not feel that she would be better off with the people who can actually help her? There are very good facilities in the United States and I could sign the form for her admission into the best, most modern clinic that my most esteemed colleagues practice at. I assure you that she would receive the best care and—”

  “Institutionalize my wife?” Finding his voice after a few moments of shock, Dahler repeated the American’s suggestion with indignation as though he couldn’t believe that someone actually suggested such an atrocity to him. “I would never do that!” He pulled Helena closer to himself – a protective gesture which, for some reason, made Dr. Hoffman nearly choke with the instinctive sincerity of it. “Helena may be sick but she’s not…” He desperately groped for the right word. “All she needs is to live a normal life, to go to parks, to the movies, to cafés, and for someone just to be there with her. That’s all she needs. Not different doctors prodding and poking at her daily with all sorts of instruments and needles and feeding her all sorts of pills. She just needs someone to love her,” he finished, with a tone of accusation, in his suddenly broken voice.

  Tears shone in the corners of his eyes. He wiped his face quickly on his shoulder, clearly not wishing for the men to see him in his moment of weakness. “It’s all my fault, the fact that she’s in such a bad way.”