Cook and I passed the Goebbels apartment. The door was closed, but I opened it and peered inside. The children, all six of them, slept like angels in their beds. The girls, dressed in white, wore ribbons in their hair. I nudged one and her arm felt cold and stiff. I called out for Helmut and he did not answer. I went to the oldest girl, Helga. Her face was bruised and shards of glass lay across her lips as if she had been forced to eat a cyanide capsule. The other children looked as if they’d somehow ingested the poison. The deathly almond scent drifted in the air.
Cook gasped upon seeing the children and backed out of the room. I shook my head and regretted I could not save them. Another pillar of the Reich had fallen and, as was common throughout the Nazi reign, innocents had paid the price as well.
With Goebbels dead, we were instructed to gather in groups and evacuate the bunker. I was placed with Cook, the secretaries and others in the first group to leave. Wilhelm Mohnke, an SS Brigadeführer, was to lead us. We had nothing but the clothes we wore. I put on my coat because it was night and the air was chilly. I put the cyanide capsule in my pocket.
Mohnke issued his orders. The four groups were to head north to join a group of German soldiers. The plans called for all of us to gather at the Kaiserhof underground station, proceed to Friedrichstrasse and then travel to another station farther north.
We left the bunker around eleven. Passing through the tunnels and then to the basement of the Reich Chancellery, we finally found our way out by crawling through shattered windows.
Cook and I held on to each other as we ran across the rubble-strewn Wilhelmplatz. The shelling and street fighting still raged and flames flared into the sky. I nearly twisted my ankle on the large chunks of debris that lay in our path. We descended into darkness once again when we reached the train station.
‘Stay close to me,’ Cook said.
I found myself shivering in the tunnel, imagining all kinds of horrors, from rats to armed Red troops. I clung to Cook’s coat as we plodded along the center of the tracks. Those carrying torches cast a shaky light ahead. Members of our group pitched in and out of shadow. A few lagged behind. The rays from their torches bounced over us and then disappeared in the murky distance. Above, shells exploded, showering dirt and rocks from the tunnel’s arch upon our heads.
‘Magda.’ Cook said my name breathlessly, as if it might be the last time we spoke. ‘If we are separated, be sure to go west. Baur told me he had flown over the Americans near Magdeburg. You must cross the Havel River at Spandau.’ Her words corroborated what the pilot had told me earlier.
It had been years since I visited Spandau. I knew the general direction to take, but doubted I could make it alone.
Mohnke and the others shouted they had reached an exit. One of the soldiers tried to get to the street, but was driven back by the shelling. We went on. Cook and I ran side by side, holding on to each other’s hands. We stumbled through the tunnel, dodging the debris that appeared out of nowhere before us. We were puffing along when I felt Cook’s hand slip from mine. She cried out in pain and disappeared in the darkness.
I called for her. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I tripped on a timber,’ Cook said. ‘I’m finished.’ A soldier came near us and cast his torch down. Cook’s leg was bleeding and puffy. ‘I think it’s broken,’ she said. ‘You must go on with the others.’
‘I’ll stay until help comes.’
She pushed me away. ‘Don’t be a fool. No one will come. You have a chance to escape. The enemy will arrest me and that will be that.’
‘We need to move on,’ the soldier said, and waved his torch in the direction of the others far ahead. The group was splitting apart.
‘Go on without me,’ I said. The soldier nodded and ran after the others, leaving us in the dark. A few stragglers, or perhaps others from the groups leaving the bunker, passed by. Their steps sounded on the wooden tracks; I felt the cool sweep of air from their bodies rush past mine. Then, all was black and silent. Far down the tracks, where the soldier had tried to climb out, the artillery flashed like lightning. Cook’s pain-filled face appeared for a split second.
‘Leave me, Magda.’ She thumped her fists against my coat. ‘Go, or I’ll have a soldier drag me into the street and shoot me like an injured horse.’
‘You don’t mean it.’
‘I do! Leave! You can’t save me, but you can save yourself. I want you to go. I will never forgive you if you don’t.’ She paused, clutched my lapels and then said in a voice twisted by agony, ‘I will never forgive myself if something happens to you.’
I was about to repeat my conviction to stay by her side when Karl’s words came into my head. The strength and resonance of them shocked me. ‘Remember to stay alive, Magda. Whatever you do, stay alive,’ Karl had spoken to me in a train tunnel under war-ravaged Berlin. My body trembled and I struggled to hold back tears.
‘I don’t want to go,’ I told Cook.
She was silent for a moment; then her cold hands grasped mine. ‘You must. You have your life ahead of you. Mine is half-gone – and the rest doesn’t matter.’
I held her close to me, kissed her on the cheek and struggled to my feet. I turned and the tears I had been holding stung my eyes. Behind me, the exploding shells lit up the exit again. I ran away from Cook toward the direction of the light, leaving her alone, on the tracks. I decided to get above ground rather than travel with the others.
A large pile of rubble at the exit made it almost impossible for me to get by. Several minutes passed as I crawled over the concrete and twisted metal. I cocked my ears trying to hear any sound of approaching shells. Finally I darted into the street and was met by another hellish vision of fire, crumbling buildings and destroyed vehicles. Gunfire echoed down the streets, but the pop-pop-pop sounded far away. I took a chance and turned left – what I thought would be to the west. I dashed across the street, dodging rubble and garbage, and ended up scrunched in a deserted doorway. My heart beat heavily in my throat. I stepped backward to rest and bumped into something.
I screamed, but I might as well have been screaming into the wind.
‘Where are you headed?’ a man asked. His voice was filled with concern and compassion. There was no hint of weakness behind it.
I turned. ‘My God, you scared me to death.’ I could see his strong face in the fiery light of war. He was clothed in black and unshaven, with a dark growth of beard.
‘There’s no need to be afraid. I’m on the run – like you.’ He smiled.
‘I’m sorry, but you startled me.’ I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath.
‘A shell is coming,’ he said. He pushed me into the corner and held his body over mine. It exploded in the middle of the block. Rocks and debris hurtled past us.
I had heard nothing. ‘How did you know?’
‘I can sense these things,’ he said. He backed away from me, brushing the dirt from his shoulders. ‘You can feel the vibration in the air. Are you looking for the Allies?’
I nodded.
‘Everyone is. I’m going that way myself.’
‘I don’t know who you are,’ I said. ‘Why should I trust you?’
‘My name is Karl. We can do this together. Who are you?’
I stared at him as the light flickered on his face. An overpowering sense of calm rushed over me. ‘Magda Ritter.’
‘Magda. A pretty name.’ He pointed to the street. ‘If we want to escape we should go before it gets light. We’ll have a better chance.’
‘Are you a soldier?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I’m a German who never believed in the Führer or the waging of war. I was away for a time. I’m no fortune-teller, but I always knew it would end up like this.’
I wanted to believe him. There was something in his eyes that spoke of safety and warmth. Of course, his name brought up memories of my husband, but Karl was a common name for German men. My intuition told me I had nothing to fear. ‘Let’s go then. I was told I need to
cross the Havel. How far is it to Spandau?’
‘About eighteen kilometers. We can cross the bridge before dawn.’
I wondered how he knew about the bridge Cook had told me about. Perhaps it was common knowledge gleaned from a web of underground communications.
He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into the street.
The next few hours passed in a haze as we wound through the deforested woods of the Tiergarten, across shattered streets, cut through courtyards, even going back to the train tunnels briefly to get to our goal of Spandau. Scenes of desolation continued in the hours ahead: burned-out buildings, entire blocks leveled from the bombing. Now and then we saw people scramble for cover as more shells fell. Misery and destruction accompanied us everywhere on our journey. Karl said he considered the dead to be the lucky ones.
About five in the morning we reached the Charlotten Bridge over the Havel River with a few other refugees who appeared out of nowhere. I wondered whether we might not be shot crossing it. I stopped, uncertain what to do.
‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait here.’
‘Aren’t you coming?’
He touched my face with his hand and said, ‘It would be a pleasure, but I have work to do. There are others who need my help – just as you did. More are coming.’
A strange sadness filled my heart and I hoped he would change his mind.
‘I can’t,’ he said as if he could read my thoughts. ‘Go now, while it’s still safe.’
‘I can’t persuade you?’
He shook his head and waved me on.
I walked across the bridge, turning to look back now and then. He stood on the east side of the Havel staring at me. When I’d crossed, I turned and waved to him. He waved back, a dark figure a hundred meters away.
Spandau lay abandoned before me, its streets lifeless, drained by war. From somewhere in the distance, shouted words filled my ears. I immediately recognized them as Russian. Terror shot through me and for an instant I thought of running back across the bridge to Karl, but when I turned, he had disappeared.
Daylight grew stronger by the minute, although the city still lay in shadow. I ran past the deserted storefronts, darting through the empty streets, heading west. The Russian voices receded the farther I ran from Spandau. Soon I came to a narrow road lined with abandoned farmhouses. The landscape reminded me of photographs I’d seen of World War I France – blasted houses with blackened windows staring out at me like lost souls. The vile stench of rotting cattle and horses rose into the air. After about an hour on the road, I heard the sputter of an approaching vehicle. I ducked into a grove of trees and flattened myself against the ground. I dared not look up for fear of being caught. When I finally got the courage to lift my head, the vehicle had passed and the world was deathly silent. I walked for another hour, keeping close to the road. I passed a sign propped against a tree that read: Staaken. Nothing living had crossed my path until I noticed a raven sitting on top of a barn. The black bird eyed me suspiciously. As I drew near, it flew off in a wide circle to the west.
I left the road, went to the barn and pulled open the door. There was nothing inside except a rusty tractor and leather bridles. The horse stalls were empty, but hoofprints remained stamped in the dark earth. I rested for a few minutes on the hay of one of the stalls. My legs ached, my stomach growled and my throat was parched with thirst. I forced myself to get up. The only food I found was a cup of chicken feed sitting on a windowsill. I couldn’t eat it; it was so dried up it would crack my teeth.
I lay down on the hay, fell asleep and awoke late in the afternoon. The sun’s slanting rays filtered through the cracks in the siding. Sleep had done little to revive me; if anything I felt worse. Lack of food had made me weak and trembling. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t carry me. My cracked lips cried out for water. I lifted my head and my body swam in blackness. My breath left me and my head dropped back to my straw pillow.
I awoke on a rickety cot in an underground room illuminated by candles. The air was close and humid and brought back unpleasant memories of the bunkers.
A boy of about eight stared at me and then called upstairs, ‘She’s awake, Mamma.’ A thick-legged woman wearing torn hose and black shoes trundled down the stairs. She frowned at the boy and scolded him with her eyes.
‘I told you not to wake her,’ the woman said.
‘I didn’t,’ the boy protested. ‘She woke up by herself. I was watching her to make sure she was all right.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, forcing the words out. ‘Where am I?’
‘Staaken,’ the woman said. ‘My son found you in a barn about a half kilometer from here. He was looking for his cat. My husband carried you home.’
I pushed myself up on my elbows. Apparently, I was in a room underneath a farmhouse. Shelves filled with glass containers of food lined one wall. I pointed at them.
‘We’ve been feeding you,’ the boy said. ‘Don’t you remember?’
I shook my head.
‘You’re not all we’ve been feeding,’ the woman said. ‘We give food to the Reds. They leave us alone, but they always come back for more.’
I must have flinched or shown pain in my face, for the woman responded, ‘They’ve never looked down here. As far as they know, it’s a root cellar. They eat in the kitchen and then leave. Most of them are headed east to Berlin anyway.’ She shook her head. ‘We can’t stop the soldiers from coming down – if you’re running from them.’
‘What day is it?’ I asked.
The woman wiped her hands on her apron. ‘May fourth.’
‘The last I knew it was the morning of May second.’
‘It’ll be suppertime soon, if you feel well enough to eat upstairs.’
‘I don’t want to put you in danger. I’ll leave as soon as I can.’
The boy stepped toward me. ‘Don’t leave. It’s been exciting with you here.’
Above us, the sound of an engine grew closer. I huddled next to the damp wall.
The woman bent over me and touched my shoulder. ‘Don’t be afraid. I recognize the sound. It’s the Americans.’
‘Americans?’
‘Yes. They drive by in their military vehicles at least once a day. I think they’re meeting with the Russians near Spandau.’
I sat up and put my feet on the ground. ‘When they come back, I must leave.’
The woman nodded. ‘Whatever you like. We don’t need an extra mouth to feed.’
I washed at the cistern and then had supper with the family as the sun set. The husband had been working the fields all day, now that the fighting had stopped near Staaken. He was late planting, but hopeful some crops would grow.
The farmer and his family were people of few words and I was glad. I could tell the boy was the most curious of the three, but he was not allowed to speak at dinner. I didn’t want to tell this family my story for fear of putting them in danger with the Russians. I said only that I was looking for my husband, an SS Captain, who might have been captured by the Americans.
I helped the woman with the dishes after the husband and boy had gone to bed. About ten thirty we heard the sound of the engine again. She looked toward the road and nodded. I grasped her hands and thanked her for saving my life. The vehicle was approaching fast and I didn’t want to miss it, so I pushed open the door and ran into the road. The headlights rushed toward me. I planted my feet firmly and waved my arms. A stout-looking green car skidded to a stop in front of me.
A man in a uniform I’d never seen before stuck his head out of the passenger window.
I walked toward them. The driver opened the door and pointed a pistol at me. I kept my arms raised. The two men looked around excitedly as if they might be ambushed.
‘Shit. What the hell are you doing?’ the driver said in German.
‘I’m giving myself up,’ I said.
He scowled. ‘You and the rest of Germany.’
‘I worked for the Führer,’ I said in German and repeat
ed my words in what little English I knew.
Past the glare of the headlights, I saw their stunned faces. The soldier got out and walked toward me. The driver never dropped his aim.
‘Prove it,’ the soldier said in German.
I took off my wedding ring and showed it to him.
‘Holy shit …’ He spoke to the driver in English and then continued in German. He told me to keep my hands up while he patted me down.
The driver shouted instructions in English.
‘He wants us to get in the jeep,’ the soldier told me. ‘There’re Germans around here who still think the war is going on.’
‘Isn’t it?’ I asked.
He pointed to the jeep. ‘Climb in, sister. If it isn’t over already, it soon will be.’
At 10:44 p.m. on May 4, 1945, I was taken into custody by officers of the American army Ninth Division. After midnight, I sat, shivering and disoriented, in an army camp near Magdeburg on the Elbe River. I was happy to be alive, but deeply saddened for my country.
BERCHTESGADEN
SUMMER 1945
CHAPTER 23
Freedom came through the price of blood. The Allies had leveled the Reich. Germany stood humbled and divided because the world wanted our nation enslaved. No people on earth wanted to see Germany, or the slightest specter of fascism, rise again. Meanwhile, Germans dug through the rubble trying to rebuild their lives. Along the way, many were felled by disease and hunger. Retribution also played its part in the continuing deaths. Many women killed themselves after being raped by enemy soldiers. Families starved on the streets. Hitler, in many ways, was right when he predicted that Germany would suffer terrible consequences for losing the war. He had taken the easy way out while those left behind suffered.
At first I was numb and unsure what to do. How much could I tell the Americans who held me? Who would believe me if I told them I killed Hitler?
My wedding ring was the talk of the camp.
The Major who took it off my finger whistled when he saw the inscription. Soon I was in front of a sour-faced General who had little patience for ‘Nazi scum,’ as he put it. All of this I learned through the German interpreter. I broke down and told him everything – how I came to be a taster through my stay with Aunt Reina and Uncle Willy, how Karl Weber shared information about the Party that changed my life. I told him of the bomb plot, how Karl sacrificed himself to end the horror ensnaring our country. I even gave him details about my rape by Russian soldiers and my final days in Berlin. I left out one detail about my stay in the bunker – the murder I committed. History would be better for not knowing.
Her Hidden Life Page 30
