My dearest Kurt,
I just came home, and have to write to you immediately to report what I was able to achieve, or rather not achieve, at the Polish Committee. The sum total is zero. After the great build-up and high hopes I was given the day before yesterday, I am sorry to have sounded so optimistic in my last letter. I must tell you now that I was sadly mistaken. It would be funny, were it not so sad and upsetting. They know very well that people in my position have no papers; we were merely numbers under the Nazis. I suggest that they question me about Polish history, literature, or whatever. If I had been born elsewhere, would I claim that I was born in Poland? They claim that if the Swiss consulate would issue a transit visa, the Polish Committee would give me a citizenship certificate.* On what basis are the Swiss going to give me a visa, if the country of my birth won’t first recognize my citizenship? By the way, that consulate is not open every day, so I will have to see when I can go there, knowing that I’ll probably be turned down anyway.
My boss shows a lot of understanding by letting me take time off to run all those errands. I make up for the hours by working evenings, which means I usually don’t get home before 10 P.M. That presents problems, because after 6 the streetcars run infrequently. I am sorry not to be able to paint a rosier picture, but I guess the wheels of bureaucracy grind slowly. It would be ever so much better not to have such high hopes held out to begin with. Surely the picture will have changed by the time this letter reaches you. You can be sure that I will leave no stone unturned, and that everything will come out all right.
What pains me most is that I came out of this horrible war, expecting normalcy and peace—and now this.
For me it’s simply agony to be in Germany. I hate this country as I have never hated anyplace before. I have ample reason for that, not only for obvious reasons, but based on many new observations. God willing, once we are together I will tell you about it. When I get out of here, I will only be able to think of Germany as an inferno.
I am greatly concerned about the fate of your cousin’s children. I’ve heard so many similar stories. Here you have a father killed in a concentration camp, someone who felt himself so deeply German. And now the mother, a good, caring woman who was German also died. Is there anything I can do? I would be glad to go to Frankfurt or wherever. As you know I work with cases of that nature and will do anything possible. Please talk to their aunt and uncle in America and ask them what they want me to do.
I am able to borrow books now, that’s my greatest pleasure. I’m reading a very good one, Klabund’s History of Literature, and enjoying it very much.
Good night, my love. You must be getting sleepy reading these boring, endless letters. They are my lifeline, though. Many gentle good night kisses.
Yours,
Gerda
Munich, January 15, 1946
Dearest Kurt,
Although I had no intention of reporting to you about my session with the Swiss consulate, I find I have to do so anyway, because it requires your help. So let me start with the early part of today. The force that seems to determine the favorable outcome of my plans, or the lack of it, is, of all things, the streetcar I take. Once I miss it by seconds, all else goes awry as well on that day.
Today the tram materialized, as if on order, and so I rode it in the best of faith. Then, at the consulate, I see that they only admit groups of ten people at a time. Being the eleventh, I hear the man in charge announce, “This time, eleven will be admitted.” So far so good. I inquire how I can go about seeing the consul in person. “Out of the question,” comes the answer. Undeterred, I fill out a form that will announce me. The wording I chose sounded as though I had been sent by some diplomatic corps to negotiate war or peace, but I got action only three minutes later. No less than a reception by the consul’s private secretary.
Unfortunately nothing had come yet from Buffalo, but he heard me out, then handed me an application form for a transit visa through Switzerland, despite the fact that they do not issue them at the moment. Nevertheless he assured me it would be sent to Bern and could be approved within six to eight weeks, provided all necessary documents are in order. Everything had to be filled out in quadruplicate, along with four copies of your letter and four other supplementary forms and explanatory documents. And I literally sweated over a typewriter for the next four hours. Have pity on me—imagine me typing, and in English yet!
In it I furnished my uncle’s account information, and I must ask you to cable him to that effect, and please stress that he should notify the bank once more, so that they will be familiar with my name if and when such an inquiry is made. Next I listed your relatives as “relatives in Switzerland” (there is actually such a question on the sheet). Again, it would be good if they were notified about it. It’s extremely important that you send a message to Bern via the Swiss representative in Buffalo, stating that you will obtain American immigration papers for me. It’s the most important thing you can do. You see, I need to have proof of the duration of my stay in Switzerland.
Another thing: The American consulate is supposed to open here sometime this month, and it’s entirely possible that might work faster than Switzerland, although I find that country quite promising. Please, Kurt, do this as quickly as possible, so that the papers are here to substantiate the matter once it’s my turn. My Swiss acquaintance at work is terribly nice and ready to help. He’ll travel to Switzerland within a few weeks (couldn’t do it last time, due to pressing family matters) and will personally investigate what can be done to expedite matters.
How’s your work going? What progress are you making with your bachelor shack? Is it nearly ready? Will you let me have a look at it? Of course I’m going to insist that there be flowers in it. It wouldn’t do to let you become a typical bachelor! Can’t wait to save you from that fate. But before we get into a dispute about that, a thousand kisses and much love,
Gerda
Buffalo, January 15, 1946
My dearest, dearest Gerda,
Quickly a few words to you during my lunch period. My evenings are pretty short at present. As you know, I attend night school twice a week,* that is, I come home from work, gulp down supper, and immediately leave again. I’m usually back by 10:15 P.M. and naturally that doesn’t leave much of the evening.
I’m getting used to my new job in a hurry. It’s not hard. For now it’s an advantageous position, but I can’t see myself doing it for the rest of my life. I realize how much the army has changed my thinking. That multifaceted life has certain repercussions now. It’ll be a while until I’m used to regular hours again. I imagine that most of the guys must feel like that.
Painting my room seems to take forever. Actually I don’t care in the least how it looks; I would much prefer to have our apartment already. As soon as I have some indication that your prospects for a visa look good, I’ll make a search. Sometimes it’s possible to find something quite by accident. At any rate the situation here is incomparably better than in New York.
I’ve thought about what would be best and would like your opinion on it. Because in all likelihood we initially won’t get the home of our dreams, it might be good to live furnished for a while. It would be best if I didn’t have to make those choices alone before you’re here. It would be unthinkable for me to do it without being able to consult with you. Besides, that’ll give you time to get used to American tastes and styles. Then you’ll find it much easier to decide. At the moment, all that’s available is ersatz war goods, or nothing at all. In any case, most of what’s available for purchase is junk. So, my dearest Miss Dimples, let’s have your valued opinion and, please, no “I leave that to you.” In that case I would only give you 999 kisses instead of a round thousand.
Your Kurt
Munich, January 16, 1946
My dearest Kurt,
I am thinking how topsy-turvy our lives are. I am sleeping while you are awake and vice versa. I think we need to get on the same time schedule as our thoughts and hearts
are.
I do spend most of my days running to the Swiss consulate. Fortunately my working hours are flexible, so I can make up the time. I hear that people are easily able to obtain transit visas for Switzerland. Please send me a notarized letter in English stating your intentions, along with a copy to the American consul in Munich. The consulate, it is rumored, will open here soon, and by all estimates that will take another six to eight weeks.
If all that comes to nothing, we’ll have to try something similar with France. It is so sad that after this horrible war we are now engaged in a paper war. All the same I am hopeful that we will win this one as well.
How are we going to celebrate that victory? I took out a 1946 calendar, trying to guess which will be the golden, happy day of our reunion. I am fervently hoping that our meeting will again take place in May.
I got the strangest “invitation” today, if you can call it that. It asked that I appear in the former concentration camp Dachau to witness the prosecution of some of the guards from Flossenbürg. The paper nearly burned my fingers. My first impulse was to go see those murderers being brought to justice. But what is justice? What sentence could ever right those wrongs? As to revenge, perhaps God can think of some just punishment, because I can’t. Everything pales in the light of what they have done. Can I sit in the same room with them, breathe the same air? No, I won’t go—or am I just looking for excuses because I don’t want to be hurt? Am I afraid that they still have the power to hurt me? I just don’t know. There are so many incidents of which I have perfect recall, but to my amazement, others now seem to elude me. I wonder, Will there ever be a day when I’ll have forgotten most of it? Perhaps we shouldn’t talk about it at a time when you and I are standing on the threshold of our new life together.
It’s time to tell you “good night.” Many tender kisses—
Yours,
Gerda
Munich, January 20, 1946
Dearest Kurt,
Two letters arrived today and brought much joy, but also some concern over the fact that you have had no mail from me for two weeks. I write faithfully every day.
Now to answer your questions. I don’t think that you need to send the original documents; copies should be sufficient. It would only further complicate matters. I have my Polish identification papers now. The situation here looks as follows: I applied for permission to enter Switzerland on a transit visa, merely for the purpose of seeing the American consul there. I was told that if all goes well, I might get the visa in about six weeks. They held out high hopes that this will work in my case. The Polish officer in charge of travel affairs assured me that under the circumstances this is the best way, inasmuch as he thinks general emigration will probably still take a considerable number of months. Were I not an optimist, I could be very depressed by this time. You see, I am not much favored by Swiss authorities as a Polish national. It is so strange that when I appear in person, things seem to go quite well. But then you have to fill out endless questionnaires in quadruplicate, after which the process usually bogs down and the answer is inevitably no! If only the American consul were here and I could see him.
Please tell me more about your daily life, your work, and everything. I somehow feel that I have deprived you of your inner peace, that your concern about me has disturbed your vision of the peaceful civilian life for which you yearned while you were in the army. I hope so very much that this will be restored for you soon. My work does give me a measure of satisfaction. In some cases I attempt to play “doctor for the soul”; or do detective work that gives me a glimpse into people’s lives. You cannot imagine what goes on beneath a seemingly “normal” surface in some instances. A true drama of life, except not played on a stage but rather behind the scenes.
There are so many unhappy people, young people like us, with so many complicated miseries. I don’t know how to thank providence for having spared me much of that. I was brought up in a normal, happy home, with a loving, caring family, and I am struggling to re-create that with you. Oh, yes, I must tell you that your picture got a beautiful decoration. It is graced now by a marvelous blooming cactus. I have never seen one in bloom. It arrived today without any accompanying words save for the name and address. Naturally I have no idea who sent it, but must chide you for being a very bad boy. I always did have a penchant for bad boys!
Good night, many kisses,
Gerda
Munich, January 21, 1946
My dearest Kurt,
I do believe in premonitions. I worked till 8 P.M. tonight and on the streetcar home was overcome by such a strong longing for you that as soon as I got off I started to run, as if you were there to meet me. Well, in a sense, you were. Your three letters arrived. It compensated for the long, arduous day. Your thoughts on New Year’s are so exactly like mine. In the interim you must have gotten my letter. It made me feel that our thoughts and emotions met in some unimaginable celestial sphere, convinced that this year will bring our reunion and happiness.
Captain Presser thinks that she will be here for about another month. Tomorrow I will send you an address to which you can mail future letters. Considering that they usually take three to four weeks to reach me, it could delay receipt of important documents from you. If only the day would come when I could know for sure how many weeks or months it will actually take until I will see you. Then I could start to count the days and hours. You probably think I’m crazy, but if one concentrates all one’s thoughts and actions on one point only, then hours seem to stretch into years. I look forward so much to our life together.
You suggest I might be disappointed that we will not be living in New York—you silly man! I only thought of New York because your family is there, and I admit that I have grown extremely fond of Gerdi. Her letters exude an undeniable warmth, and I have already begun to think of her as a sister. You must decide what is best for us, and you chose Buffalo, so Buffalo it will be! I think of it as a small paradise. You have to begin teaching me English immediately. Your friends will consider me terribly ignorant, and I don’t want you to be embarrassed by me. Now I really must turn in. It’s a beautiful, starry night, very clear. The snow glitters in the moonlight like a storybook scene. I do believe in fairy tales. Sometimes, they become reality.
Yours,
Gerda
Munich, January 22, 1946
My dearest, beloved Kurt,
You have really spoiled me now. Your letters arrive in batches of five! I’ll settle for one a day as well. Before I answer your questions, I’ll share with you some interesting cases I handled today. First there was this Christian couple who converted to Judaism in 1930. They suffered as Jews and spent some time in the camps. Their papers corroborate their statements. Anyway, they want to belong to the Jewish community officially and devote their lives to studying the Talmud.
Then, early this afternoon, I thought a movie star had come calling. Here was a most attractive, dark-complexioned young man, exceedingly well dressed, in what seemed a flawlessly tailored suit. Adding some dash was a colorful silk foulard, casually wound around his neck. Not only was he a vision to behold, but an example of elegant manners, speaking in faultless High German. I had to ask the usual questions: “Jewish?” “No.” “Part Jewish?” “No.” “Are you a non-Jewish marriage partner?” “No.” “Perhaps you came to the wrong agency?” I suggested. “No, I don’t think so. I was persecuted under the Nuremberg Laws because I am a Gypsy!”
I was touched and a bit ashamed. One pictures Gypsies in dilapidated wagons along dusty roads, with lots of unkempt children, barking dogs, and greasy frying pans over campfires. Instead, here was this impeccably dressed young man with an aristocratic bearing! He needed to have some papers notarized, a service our agency provides, to allow him to resume his architectural studies at the university, which he was forced to give up because of his origin. So, you see, I met an original Gypsy baron!*
My superiors informed me that I will be working in the field quite a bit from now on. I wel
come the idea of calling on clients outside the office. I’m eagerly awaiting your papers and hopeful that the consulate will open here soon. The letter you mentioned, containing detailed information regarding a visitor’s visa, has not arrived as yet. Oh, well, as long as it comes. And soon, I pray.
With much love,
Gerda
Munich, January 23, 1946
My very dearest Kurt,
I am at work and it is 8:00 A.M. We start early, but I have a few free minutes and want to use them wisely, as you can see. You are still sleeping, and I hope the thoughts I try to transmit will not wake you up too soon. There is something important I need to ask you, but of course I know that it will take at least six weeks before you can answer. I’ll have to make up my mind about something important.
The American consul is supposed to arrive any day now, and I will try to get the earliest possible appointment. But I doubt I will succeed if I go to the consulate alone. As you know, my English is practically nonexistent. Will I spoil my chances that way? Is it best to say as little as possible? I have your letter and the papers; perhaps that is the best way. It is so frustrating not to be able to say what one feels. But I do have this strong hunch that the next few weeks will be decisive in some way. This seemingly endless waiting is very hard to take.
Gerda
Munich, January 25, 1946
My beloved Kurt,
What do you think your Dimples is doing right now? I pushed away all the papers I am working on and decided to take a break by writing to you. Unfortunately no mail from you this morning, but I hope for some tomorrow to brighten my weekend.
In talking to Captain Presser just now, I found out something of great interest. Apparently there is a possibility of marriage by phone, which might be recognized as being legal. If that were the case, it would take me out of the quota system. Have you heard about it? It would be fun and so very American!
As you know, our captain will be leaving next month, and I shall miss her terribly. After this weekend I’ll be able to give you Stella’s address. She is the person who will be the go-between for our mail and is coming to spend Sunday with me, at which time we will arrange everything. I am also eager to hear more about her life in England.
The Hours After Page 25
