by Therese Down
Hedda busied herself with the decoration of her smart town house on the outskirts of the Tiergarten district. She learned to drive and was often seen on sunny days at the wheel of her husband’s gleaming Audi DKW. Always gloved and wearing a fashionable matching hat, Hedda was admired and envied by the youthful Berlin set. She was beautiful, glamorous and married to the impossibly handsome and well connected Walter Gunther. What could be more perfect?
Indeed, life for the first months after their marriage was heady and socially exhausting for the newly-weds. Utterly convinced of their beauty, the couple made love to each other for hours each night. Hedda was not interested in Walter’s SS duties and Walter was content to fund his wife’s caprices. He smiled distractedly at her extravagances and saluted charmingly when he came home late to discover his drawing room full of giddy, flirtatious socialites. He would pour himself a large whisky, loosen his uniform collar and raise his glass to each one before kissing his wife gently on the mouth and withdrawing. The audible “oohs” and other suggestively admiring noises as he left the room never failed to please him. But by the time he sat upon his bed to remove his boots, his mind was once again grappling with the logistics of organizing working groups of ageing Jewish men to clear Berlin’s roads of snow or rubbish or horse manure, depending on the season and the district.
Hedda visited her mother on afternoons when neither had anything more pressing in her diary. Dressed in expensive suits and furs, Hedda would sit with her legs crossed, sipping tea from a china cup without removing her carefully pinned hat. Just like a proper visitor. The pregnancy, discovered just six months after Hedda’s marriage to Walter, was neither inconvenient nor welcome. It was hardly a surprise, given that neither she nor Walter had made serious efforts to avoid it; so secure was their arrangement that there was no reason to do so.
“Are you happy, Walter?” Hedda turned her head to observe her husband as they lay in bed one Sunday morning listening to the bells rolling across the Sabbath stillness from the north-western tower of the Berliner Dom. He lay on his back, contemplating the ceiling. When she spoke, he turned to her and smiled briefly, extended an arm so that she could move onto it and be pulled towards him. She buried her face in his shoulder as his thoughts resumed.
Herr and Frau Schroeder received the news of their daughter’s pregnancy with nods and smiles, but both hoped that becoming grandparents would not interfere with bridge. Only Cook beamed broadly at the news and covered her face with her apron to conceal her tears. It was clear she wanted to clasp Hedda in her arms, but her open gesture was met with an uncertain response and she folded her arms instead and curtsied, repeating her warm congratulations.
For Hedda, the pregnancy brought a new and unsettling lack of certainty which grew as the child began to strain the stitching of her chic clothing. It demanded her attention. The indignity of the vomiting she was forced to endure each morning horrified her. At times, she experienced nothing less than terror when she raised herself from the toilet bowl and contemplated her moist, wild eyes and dishevelled hair in the bathroom mirror. She suffered further indignity upon the examination table at the salubrious offices of Berlin’s top gynaecologist, and at every turn, it seemed, was confronted by the rawness, the vulnerability, of her humanity. It did nothing to preserve the precarious harmony of their marriage when Walter came home unexpectedly early to find his wife gorging on apple strudel. Hedda would wipe her mouth guiltily with the back of her hand and start from her plate like a furtive animal.
Hedda was eight months pregnant when Klaus and Agna Gunther turned up unannounced one hot afternoon in August 1935. Hedda was horrified when the housekeeper suddenly showed them into the drawing room. She had kicked off her slippers and removed her stockings, for the heat was stifling. She was dozing in an armchair beside an open window where occasionally, at least, a light breeze disturbed the sullen heaviness of the room.
Agna Gunther was immediately apologetic and genuinely embarrassed at their intrusion.
“Dear Hedda, please – don’t get up. We are sorry to land on you like this, but we so wanted to see you and Walter. Well…” Here Agna faltered, lifted her handbag and gripped its handles in front of her as though to defend herself. “Well, he is always too busy to respond to our letters and…” She turned towards her husband as if pleading for help.
“Walter is avoiding us, Hedda,” stated Klaus quietly.
“Well,” began Agna again, her voice breaking a little as though close to tears, “he is busy, we know… I so wanted to see you, Hedda,” Agna smiled broadly, moved towards her daughter-in-law and extended her arms. “How are you?”
By now Hedda had risen from her chair and located her slippers. She moved towards Agna and they hugged lightly.
“I am OK,” stated Hedda simply as the women moved apart once more. “Fat!”
Agna laughed. Klaus remained behind them, near the door. He smiled and looked down at his feet, put his hands in his pockets.
“Sit down, Hedda, please,” said Agna warmly, stooping to put her handbag on the floor and assuming a seat on a pouffe on which Hedda had earlier rested her feet. There ensued a flurry of exchanges between the women, during which Agna took Hedda’s hands in her own and held them, smiling always into her daughter-in-law’s beautiful eyes. She wanted to know how Hedda was keeping and if she was eating and sleeping properly. Had she had regular checkups? Was everything all right? How naughty it was of Walter to give them so little information about this their first grandchild! What was he thinking?
Hedda could not comfort her. She had no idea what Walter was thinking or that he had been ignoring written invitations to his parents’ house. He never spoke of them and any attempts she had made to bring them up in conversation were dismissed. Hedda did not yet possess the temerity to challenge her increasingly secretive and serious husband on his behaviour towards his parents – or for that matter on his increasingly frequent and drunken evening forays. But the anger she felt and the resentment at the way in which her life had changed were gathering force as the child within her grew towards unavoidable birth.
Klaus paced the drawing room, concentrating on his feet as though he were not sure if his shoes exactly matched. When Agna stopped talking, Klaus stopped pacing and looked directly at Hedda.
“How is Walter, Hedda? I hear… things about my son, but I know nothing. I don’t know who his friends are – how he spends his time. I am not asking you to be disloyal – that would never do. You are his wife. But you can surely share with us a little of what Walter is up to these days? He is so busy. He never writes.”
Hedda regarded her father-in-law. After some seconds he began to doubt the girl’s hearing – or her wits. At last, she sighed and slumped back in the armchair as though she had given up trying to think of an answer.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what Walter is up to,” she replied flatly. “He leaves the house at eight each morning and he returns about seven each evening. Sometimes, it is earlier. He dines here or else he bathes and goes straight out again. Sometimes we have people to eat with us here – people Walter works with and their wives. They are all right, but I don’t know them well. I don’t ask where he goes when he goes out alone and I am generally asleep, or very nearly, when he comes back. Often, he has been drinking and sings in the bathroom. Sometimes he is very serious and quiet and he can’t sleep, so he gets up and goes downstairs. He never tells me what he’s been doing and he never discusses his work with me. In fact, he barely seems to notice I exist.”
Hedda was shocked at how progressively angry her tone had become as she spoke to Klaus. Now she regretted her openness and, in the silence that met her declaration, was ashamed. They would think her shallow and indiscreet. A hot blush heightened further her already high complexion. The heat in the room was overwhelming and she closed her eyes against a slight but rising nausea.
“My dear – I am so sorry.” Agna’s voice was truly sympathetic and soothing. “I am sorry we have arrived like thi
s and upset you. Would you like some ice water, Hedda? Wait – I shall find your maid – ask her to bring some cold drinks.” Agna rose and as she crossed the drawing room to the door signalled to her husband to approach Hedda. Klaus nervously smoothed his moustache and took a seat in a chair adjacent to his daughter-in-law.
“I too am sorry. I fear I was a little abrupt, Hedda. Clearly, Walter is very busy and he does not – quite rightly – want to concern you with his problems, or…” Klaus waved his hand abstractedly in his inability to define what it was about Walter’s evening habits that he couldn’t impose on his wife. He feared the worst. Much as he hated to contemplate the possibility that Walter might already be returning to his bachelor habits, it seemed a logical consideration. Had he really raised such a shallow and inconsiderate cad? A new and beautiful wife, heavily pregnant, and Walter could not stay with her in the evenings? More than ever, he feared what his son’s SS connections and orders might be doing to his conscience. He knew well how ambitious Walter was to make something of himself, to achieve a status that rivalled his father’s. He greatly feared that the machine of Hitler’s Nazism would propel Walter much further professionally and politically than Klaus had ever travelled. But he could not see how such violent and sudden momentum could do otherwise than cause great destruction, or at best falter to a miserable halt. If he could, Klaus was determined to make Walter see sense before it was too late.
When Walter arrived home from work that evening he was not pleased to discover his parents seated for dinner. Cook was serving finely sliced meats from a large silver salver and placing generous dishes of steaming vegetables upon the table. Walter nodded acknowledgment to each of his parents while saluting in true SS fashion. Klaus and Agna stood up to greet their son, while Hedda remained seated and regarded her husband with the same level and inscrutable gaze with which she had earlier contemplated his father. Although she had truly no idea what or who Walter had become – or really, what he had ever been – she sensed a sort of alliance in his parents’ misgivings, and though its nature was indefinable, it was a source of strength. She felt no fear of her husband as he turned his joyless smile upon her and one raised eyebrow questioned her complicity in this unexpected turn of events. It was clear he wished her to rise and greet him.
“Good evening, Walter,” Hedda began, her voice clear and steady, though she still made no attempt to stand. “Your parents are here to visit us from Zehlendorf. Isn’t this a lovely surprise? I had Cook make something special for dinner: pork in white wine sauce with sauerkraut – your favourite. For dessert we are having plum tart with cream. After all, this is a special occasion! I was not sure if you would be joining us for dinner, or if you might have plans for dining out, but you see of course that I needed to welcome your parents properly – we have not seen them in such a long time.”
Walter nodded again. “Of course, Hedda – you have behaved perfectly correctly. I shall join you directly after I have changed for dinner. Please – continue without me for now. Have you asked Cook to bring a nice Riesling to accompany the pork?”
Klaus interjected, “I took the liberty, Walter, of asking your cook to bring wine. We have already started – shall I pour you a glass?”
“Of course – please. I shall be with you soon.” And turning stiffly on his heel, Walter left the dining room.
“Oh, dear.” Agna’s voice was quiet and her words not particularly directed. “I don’t think our son is pleased to see us.”
Hedda shrugged and looked down at her plate as Cook carefully layered upon it slices of succulent pork. “I wonder if I might have just a little wine? I haven’t had a drink of anything more stimulating than fruit juice for such a long time.”
Dinner passed awkwardly. Walter made polite conversation with his parents, enquiring after their health and passing occasional remarks on Hedda drinking wine. She regarded him with an apparent imperturbability of which she was master and which served her well when she was feeling anything but calm. Walter studied his wife anew this evening and realized her strength for the first time. It was not a strength he admired particularly, for it was untried and of the infuriatingly passive type he was encountering more often from Jews and Social Democrats who held offices or university degrees and thought they deserved respect, but were too timid – or wise – to demand it.
Finally, Cook cleared away the dessert dishes and brought brandy for the men. Agna and Hedda were discussing baby things and nursery decoration, and Klaus was reduced to sullen silence by the futility of trying to engage his son in conversation. Walter could maintain his composure no longer.
“So, tell me, Father, why is it that you are here – really? If this were only a social visit I think you might have arranged it in advance in the usual way.”
Walter’s sharpness was startling. Hedda and Agna stopped talking, and all three turned to him at once. The redness that spread from his throat to his cheeks and the burning defiance in Walter’s eyes did nothing to reduce their anxiety. Cook withdrew, leaving the brandy bottle on the table. When she had gone, Klaus answered his son. “You do not acknowledge our written invitations or your mother’s letters, Walter. I suppose I could try and contact you by telephone at your new place of work – the Air Ministry Building on Wilhelmstrasse, isn’t it? I understand you have found favour with Prime Minister Goering. Are you enjoying your new job in Logistics?”
Agna was keen to soften her son and avoid unpleasantness. She knew well that Klaus was increasingly furious at the power and militancy of the SS and Goering’s Gestapo, the cavalier contempt with which this new Führer and his “henchmen”, as Klaus termed them, treated the army generals. That his own son might be complicit in the smear campaigns conducted against the Prussian army generals, and the recent murders of some, made him sleepless and distraught. Agna was terrified of permanent division between these two men whom she so loved.
“Walter, darling, we have missed you so much. We know you are busy, but – it was my fault. I simply couldn’t stay away any longer. I bullied your poor father mercilessly until he agreed to drive me here. I so wanted to see Hedda! You know how we women are when there’s a baby on the way. And, darling, this is no ordinary baby. This is our grandson or daughter! I am so happy for you both, Walter. I just wanted so much to see you both. Don’t be cross, Wally, please.”
Walter heard the love in his mother’s voice, and her use of his pet name doused a little the fire of his resentment at what he regarded as an ambush. He did not doubt that his mother was desperate to see him, but he knew for certain that his father would have something to say about his appointment as Chief Logistics Officer to Goering. Walter had, after all, served Goering well in ways of which his father could never approve.
A year earlier, Walter had come to Goering’s attention following a particularly zealous demonstration of fealty to the Reich during Operation Hummingbird. The stratagem had been to storm the vice chancellery with a number of other SS and Gestapo officers and shoot certain people who were considered a threat to the Reich. One of the main targets was a close advisor to the vice chancellor himself. When the Gestapo officer holding the pistol at point blank range from the target’s head had hesitated, Walter had seized his moment. In an instant he removed his Parabellum from its holster, aimed and pulled the trigger. He had received a letter of commendation from Goering, and there followed an offer of a job in Goering’s Reichsluftfahrtministerium. It was the recognition Walter craved.
“Mother, I quite understand your wanting to see us. I just wish you could have waited until I am less busy at work. This new job is very demanding and I have simply no time for anything but work. I would have replied to your letters as soon as I could – when the baby was born, certainly.”
“When is the baby due, exactly, Hedda?” Agna was determined to lighten the conversation and, if she had her way, they would leave as soon as Klaus had finished his brandy. She had the most terrible feeling of foreboding.
“Oh… well, in about two week
s’ time.” Hedda’s response was distracted. She had perceived the growing antipathy between Walter and his father, watched the gathering storm of Walter’s fury with something like the horrified exhilaration she had experienced when the Jew and the SS officer fought at the Moka Efti club over two years ago. This was only the second time in her life that something had threatened to puncture the veneer of civility on which she had always trodden so carefully.
“And we shall come and visit you at the hospital. Which one will you be in, Hedda?”
“Rudolf Virchow – Augustenberger Platz.”
“Augustenberger Platz… let me write that down.” Agna retrieved her handbag from where it rested on the floor at her feet and riffled through it until she found a small address book and a pen. She broke the words down aloud into constituent syllables as she recorded the hospital address under “H”. “We shall, at any rate, contact the hospital by telephone in a couple of weeks’ time. Oh, Walter…” Agna looked to her son with an excited smile. “You are hoping for a boy, I expect, hmm? You men! You always want boys.”
Walter, his elbows upon the table, hands joined as if in prayer and fingers pressed to his lips, contemplated his mother’s lovely smile for an instant, then slowly folded his hands into each other so that his mouth was free to form words.
“A boy would be pleasing, yes.”
“And what would you call him?” Agna was determined to be cheerful. She looked from Walter, to Hedda, to Walter again. Hedda shrugged and contemplated her empty wine glass, ceded the answer to Walter.
