What Tomorrow Brings

by Mary Fitzgerald

  As I was dressing the next morning I realised that I hadn’t thought of Amyas for hours. Why did that feel as though I was abandoning him? Were all those torrid emotions empty illusions to be chased away by a change of scene and a few bright banners?

  Dieter arrived in his Mercedes roadster to pick up Charlie at half past nine and after I waved them goodbye I hoisted my bag on my shoulder and set out for Auguststrasse. It was another sunny day and the wind was lighter. I had a map and the Leica camera I’d bought in the four days that Charlie had given me before we left.

  Berlin was as bustling and beautiful as I’d expected, even when I walked across the bridge into the Mitte district. But after a few more blocks the streets became quieter, shops were boarded up and defaced with horrible graffiti. Juden was the most frequent word I saw. I knew what it meant and even if I had been in doubt, Star of David symbols were scrawled alongside the word and I could suddenly see why Jacob, and now Rachel, was so afraid.

  The few people I saw stared at me, making me feel uncomfortable, an interloper. I looked at the graffiti and wondered how I would describe it, then I reached into my bag for my camera. Before I got it out, however, a black car drew up beside me.

  ‘Fräulein?’ A man in a green uniform got out of the car and approached me. I began to feel quite frightened.

  ‘Yes?’

  He spoke in German and I shrugged. ‘English,’ I said, my stomach churning. ‘Tourist.’

  His compatriot got out of the driving seat. They were both young. ‘You are lost?’ he asked, and remembering Dieter’s advice from yesterday evening, I nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You are in bad area,’ the man, who I assumed was a policeman, said. ‘You go back.’ He nodded at the graffiti. ‘This district for Juden. Not a good place.’ He paused and looked at my bag. ‘You have papers?’

  They watched as I reached into my bag and produced my passport and then passed it between them. I was scared that they might ask to search my bag. If they did they would find the letter and the address to which I had to deliver it. I hoped my smile would convince them that I was indeed just a lost tourist, as they examined the document and then compared my photograph to my face. The first policeman laughed and muttered something in German. From the expression on their faces what he’d said was unpleasant. Eventually the driver pointed down the road which led back towards the bridge. ‘You go that way.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, with a dry mouth, trying to sound grateful, then turned around and started walking. I walked until they had got back into their car and crawled past me. I could see them laughing, and knew that they’d enjoyed frightening me, so when they were out of sight I thought, to hell with them, and turning, darted into an alleyway. I waited, trembling a little, for the sound of the returning car, but hearing only distant traffic I walked on towards Auguststrasse. My heart was beating fast and I felt a little sick. Nothing had happened really, but I knew I wouldn’t get away with the lost tourist excuse if the same car came back.

  At the corner of the block I looked around to see if there was anyone who resembled an official, but the street was quiet, so I got out my camera and took photographs of the graffiti. A photograph would be far more dramatic than anything I could write.

  Following the map I turned on to Auguststrasse and paused. It had been quite a long walk and I was thirsty and hoped to find a café. A woman accompanied by two teenage girls stopped beside me She spoke first in German and then when I shook my head and said ‘English’ she smiled and spoke hesitantly, ‘Can I help you, Fräulein? You are lost, yes?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not lost, really. I’m looking for this address.’ I showed her the piece of paper.

  ‘Ah,’ she smiled. ‘Frau Goldstein. You are a friend?’

  ‘No. Her brother, in London, is a friend. He asked me to visit her.’

  She smiled again. ‘I remember Jacob and dear Leah, who I believe has passed away.’

  I nodded. ‘He’s on his own now.’

  ‘So,’ said the woman. ‘Sarah lives in that building –’ she pointed across the road to a large stone apartment block. Next to it I could see another building, which seemed newer than the rest of the street. It was brick rather than stone and in a rather stark, modernist style. The woman nodded at it. ‘That’s the girls’ school, where my daughters and I are going. Sarah is a teacher there and she’ll be in the school now. Will you walk with me?’

  She introduced herself as Miriam and her two girls as Elisabeth and Lotte. The girls curtsied to me and then ran on towards the school entrance.

  ‘I’m Persephone,’ I said. ‘From London. Jacob lives in the same building as me.’

  My new friend held the door open for me and as we walked up the stairs she told me that she had been taking her daughters to the doctor for a medical certificate. ‘We have permission to leave and visas for Canada. My husband is a doctor but they have told him he can no longer work at the hospital. It is sad but exciting to think of a new life.’

  ‘Can’t he get work elsewhere?’ I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. Miriam gave me a pitying stare. ‘Do you not understand, Persephone? We are Jews. We are not allowed to offer medical help to Christians or teach them in the schools or act as lawyers for them. Our businesses are being closed down and people feel free to spit at us in the street. Why would we want to stay here?’

  The knowledge that Berlin was a divided city was being reinforced with every person I spoke to and I resolved there and then to stop being so wilfully ignorant. It would have been easy to simply enjoy the grandness of the hotel and the ability to wander around the beautiful shops and cafés and, in truth, I hated being here, in this distressed part of the town. But if I was to be a reporter and find out the reality of life here or anywhere else I went, I would have to work at it and go to places that others refused to acknowledge.

  ‘If you wait here,’ said Miriam, showing me to a chair in a corridor, ‘I’ll see if I can find Mrs Goldstein.’

  I sat on the hard chair and sniffed the familiar scent of floor polish and listened to the faint buzz of voices coming from behind the closed doors which lined the corridor. It took me back to my own time at school, in London, which I’d loved. I’d been a good pupil, eager to learn and to go on to university, although I was only one of two girls in my year who had done so; it had seemed a natural progression. It was only after university that I began to have doubts. Mother and Xanthe made fun of me constantly for wanting to pursue first academic study and then a job. ‘There’s absolutely no need, darling,’ Mother had said. ‘Go out and enjoy yourself now, while you can, before you get married and bogged down in domestic concerns.’ This last had seemed heartfelt and I’d given her a quick glance. What kind of life had she been missing? I wondered.

  Then I thought about Amyas and those nights in my bed at the house by the sea. I could feel his hands on me, his mouth on mine, and my breath caught in my chest. Oh God, did that really happen? That week was beginning to take on a unreal quality and I could easily have believed that it was a dream, if it hadn’t been for what had happened after. Without my bidding, my eyes began to fill with tears and I reached into my bag for a handkerchief.

  ‘Fräulein!’ I was startled by the near-silent approach of an older woman.

  ‘Yes.’ I scrambled to my feet and in my rush dropped my bag. The contents spewed out on to the polished wooden floor. ‘Sorry,’ I said and crouching began to gather up my hankies, the new notepad, my wallet, my camera and the host of other junk that I usually carried around. Most importantly, the envelope that Jacob had given me.

  ‘You wished to see me?’ the woman continued.

  I straightened up and looked down at her. Sarah Goldstein was younger than her brother, quite a lot, I thought, but she had the same round face and kind, brown eyes as he did and she was now giving me a rather sweet smile.

  ‘I surprised you, yes? You were having a . . .’ She thought for a little and then said triumphantly, ‘A daydream. Ye
s?’

  I smiled. ‘Something like that. Mrs Goldstein, your brother Jacob asked me to visit you and to bring you this.’ I handed her the envelope, then watched as she turned it over in her hands and when she looked back at me her smile was gone.

  ‘Do you know what this envelope contains?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘I do.’ I lowered my voice. ‘Mrs Goldstein, your brother Jacob is very anxious that you and your daughter come to London to live with him. He is worried about the situation here and knows that you will be safer there.’ I looked around. The corridor was empty. ‘He has sent you money,’ I said.

  She was quiet for a moment and then asked, ‘How is it that you know Jacob? You are not of our faith, I think.’

  ‘We live in the same building,’ I answered. ‘My flat is opposite his. And no, we are not of the same faith, but as I was coming to Berlin, I agreed to bring you this envelope and his message. He is a friend.’

  The envelope seemed to be almost red-hot, the way she was turning it over and over in her hands and for a moment I thought she was going to hand it back to me, but suddenly she said, ‘You will come to my home, now, yes? I will give you coffee and you shall meet Kitty. She is not too well today so has not been at school. I don’t have a class until after lunch so we can go now.’

  Sarah’s flat was full of old, dark wooden furniture. The round table in the middle of the main room was covered in a red cloth with a pretty porcelain vase, empty of flowers, in the centre. Bookcases lined the walls and an old-fashioned gramophone stood in the corner. I liked the pictures hanging on the one wall without a bookcase. They were more modern than I would have expected. One in particular caught my eye. Sarah followed my gaze.

  ‘Do you like that?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘Very much.’ It was a painting of a woman sitting on a narrow bed, looking as though she was waiting for someone. The background was the most compelling blue and the bedcover red. It wasn’t the type of art my parents collected, pictures that could have been photographs, so accurate and defined. No, this picture gave an impression of what the woman was feeling, thinking. Her loneliness, perhaps.

  ‘It’s a Charlotte Salomon.’ Sarah smiled. ‘She is a friend. Now, sit down. I will make coffee.’

  I longed to take out my notebook and record all that I saw. This charming apartment could be the background to an interview, but, at the same time, I knew I could never name Sarah. It would be too risky.

  ‘Hello.’ A pretty dark-haired girl came into the room. She was about thirteen, taller than her mother and with her hair cut in a fashionable bob.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, standing up. ‘I’m Persephone Blake and you, I think, are Kitty. I’m very pleased to meet you.’ We shook hands very formally, but the girl grinned at me.

  ‘I like your name,’ she said. ‘It is not usual.’

  ‘My friends call me Seffy,’ I said. ‘And that’s what you must call me.’

  ‘I have a long name too,’ she said, with a little giggle. ‘I am Katharina but, always, Kitty.’

  We sat around the table, drinking coffee and eating delicious apple and cinnamon cake. The envelope, unopened, lay on the cloth in front of Sarah but she didn’t look at it. Instead she asked about my trip and what I was doing in Berlin. When I told her she nodded her head slowly.

  ‘You do a good thing,’ she said. ‘The world must know what happens here.’

  ‘The world does know,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think they quite believe it. My boss, Charlie, who’s here with me is a real reporter, he’ll make sure they believe. He’s brave and very honest and has reported on wars and crimes all over the world.’

  ‘Open the letter, Mamma,’ said Kitty, reaching over and pushing it towards her mother. ‘Please.’

  Reluctantly, Sarah tore open the bulky envelope and gasped as a handful of notes fell out. They were hundreds of pounds. I thought I must have been carrying close to a thousand. A letter was enclosed and Sarah read it quickly. ‘Jacob says that we must go to him in England. Leave our home and all our dear things and live with him. He is most insistent.’

  ‘He is right,’ I said.

  ‘How can I?’ she said angrily. ‘I have my teaching, my girls. They need me.’ She looked around the room. ‘And I have this lovely home with its memories of my dear Felix. No, it is impossible.’

  ‘I would like to see England,’ said Kitty tentatively. ‘I would like to travel.’

  ‘All children want to travel and you will one day,’ Sarah sighed. ‘You will want to leave me. It is natural.’ She stared at the pile of money, and then gathering it up shoved it back into the envelope. ‘Here,’ she said, pushing it towards me. ‘Take it back to Jacob. Tell him, thank you. But we will be all right. Things will change. They always do.’

  I was shocked. ‘I can’t take it back,’ I said. ‘Poor Jacob would be so upset. He’s very lonely, you know. It’s just him and Willi in the apartment.’

  ‘Willi?’ said Sarah with a frown. ‘Who’s Willi?’

  ‘It’s his little dog. He dotes on him.’

  Sarah tutted. ‘The old fool,’ she whispered, but her angry expression softened.

  ‘Look,’ I said, getting up, ‘I have to go now, but I’m staying at the Hotel Adlon. If you change your mind, or want me to take a message to Jacob, you can get hold of me there.’ I had a sudden thought. ‘May I take a photograph of you both? Jacob will be so pleased to see it.’ They posed, smiling, by the window and I snapped their picture.

  Then I shook hands with both of them and as she showed me downstairs into the lobby, Kitty said, ‘Thank you for coming, Seffy. I know you are right about us leaving. My friends Elisabeth and Lotte are going but Mamma is stubborn. She feels that she is needed at the school. I will talk to her.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘I hope she will be persuaded.’ And waving to her, I walked away, past the graffiti-scrawled buildings and the closed businesses, until I crossed the river and was back in the vibrant part of the city. I had so much to think about and after a quick lunch in what had become my favourite café, I went to my room at the Adlon and typed up my impressions of Auguststrasse and of the people I’d met. It took me time to get my thoughts in order, because even then I wasn’t entirely sure of what I’d seen and heard, and when Charlie knocked on my door at about four o’clock I was still sitting at my typewriter, going over what I’d written.

  ‘Come in,’ I said. He looked excited and was obviously bursting to tell me something, but at first he kept it to himself.

  ‘How was your day?’ he asked. ‘Had a wander around the sights and the shops?’

  ‘Er . . . not exactly. I went to Auguststrasse to meet my contact.’ I loved saying that. I loved showing Charlie that he wasn’t the only one who had contacts.

  He frowned. ‘Didn’t I say not to do anything dangerous?’ he grumbled.

  ‘I didn’t. It wasn’t nice, the buildings are defaced with graffiti, but I found Mrs Goldstein and handed over the letter. I talked to her and to another woman and, Charlie, things are bad for the Jews in Berlin.’

  ‘Well, we knew that already. But . . . did you get more stuff, more information?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘I certainly got what would be a human interest story. And photographs.’

  ‘Great! I knew you would be useful. I’ll look at your material tomorrow.’

  ‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘What about the mental hospital?’

  He lifted his shoulders in a rather disappointed shrug. ‘It seemed all right. The wards were clean and there were lots of staff on duty.’ He sighed. ‘But it was all a bit too efficient. I know there’s something wrong there.’ He shook his head and then, looking up and grinning, said, ‘You know that when we discussed this visit to Berlin, you were very sarcastic and told me that you wouldn’t be bringing your ball gown.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said cautiously.

  ‘Well, you’ll need one. Tonight.’

  ‘What?’ I almost shouted out. ‘Why?’
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  ‘We’ve been invited to a do at the Kaiserhof hotel. Dinner and dance, and most of the guests will be members of the SS. Time to see how the ruling class lives. So, Blake, can you dolly yourself up for this evening?’

  This was no time to ask questions. ‘Watch me,’ I said and, grabbing my bag, made for the door. ‘What time will you pick me up?’

  ‘Eight thirty, in the lobby?’

  ‘Fine.’ I went to the lift, then through the lobby and out on to Unter den Linden and soon I was back at the boutique where I’d bought my dinner dress.

  ‘Fräulein?’ said the same shop assistant. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I need a dress, suitable for a dinner and dance at the Kaiserhof hotel.’

  ‘Oh!’ She sounded almost faint. ‘How wonderful. All the best people will be there.’ She ushered me into the salon. ‘I know I can find you something special. You have a wonderfully slim figure.’

  Blushing, I waited while she brought dresses into the changing room and pulled them on and off me, until I knew that I had found the one. ‘Oh, Fräulein, you look lovely,’ she breathed. ‘It is absolutely the correct colour for you.’

  And when I stepped out of the lift at half past eight to meet Charlie in the lobby, I was conscious of a few heads turning.

  ‘Wow!’ said Charlie. ‘You look stunning.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I smiled and took his arm as we went out to the cab. I knew I looked good. The long sea-green silk sheath dress fitted perfectly and the colour brought out the chestnut highlights in my hair. My shop assistant had found a paste diamond slide to hold back my wild curls and sold me a tiny black jewel-studded bag to match.

  ‘Are you cold?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘No,’ I lied. I was, but I would never have admitted it. Just wearing that fabulous dress was enough heat for me and I smiled with pleasure on the short journey to the Kaiserhof.