The Handkerchief Map

by Kiri English-Hawke

  Your loving son

  Franz.

  Belorussian Front

  October 17, 1944

  Mother,

  This war scares me. I know you don’t like it. You pretend you’re pro-Nazi like Father but now that they’ve taken your husband and your son, perhaps your feelings have changed? You don’t much care for it, but after all, what mother would.

  This war has presented to me life, and the people and cultures that walk among us. I have seen a lot of Jews in this war. They aren’t what Hitler said they were; they’re not dangerous. They aren’t violent, just scared and incredibly confused.

  I’m questioning who’s doing the right thing, which side is the right side; what I’m fighting for. Why am I fighting, Mother?

  Perhaps we are not heroes like they said – perhaps there is no such thing as a hero. Who can know.

  Your son

  Franz.

  Belorussian Front

  October 29, 1944

  Mother,

  The Front is fractured now. Even so we were ordered in for one last effort and to maintain a presence. To no avail. It was a waste of time, and of life. Then, the order was given to retreat. There are so few left of the 9th, and I doubt much is left of the 2nd. I have had no word on father so I am to assume he came through? The Captain says he thinks I have served my duty well for now and he will transfer me to another one of those camps, I think where they keep the Jews. Such horrid places. I would much prefer to stay on with the army here. But no arguments can be put forward to the Captain.

  So I shall go to one of the camps, though not back to that same one I was at before, which I see as being a good thing.

  Franz.

  Sajmiste (Yugoslavia)

  November 14, 1944

  Mother,

  Yesterday I saw a little girl and I just wanted to hold her, protect her, but the fence divides us. She did not look Jewish and I could not tell her age, but she haunts me. The barbed wire pierces more than my hands. This camp is no longer active, as camps generally are. Still there are reminders, things that contain echoes of all that was done here.

  I am part of the clean-up operation as the Partisans are closing in on Belgrade and we have to get out of here and leave no evidence. It is unspeakable what has happened here, unspeakable and inhuman. These Partisans aim to free the wretched. This much I have learned.

  My God, Mother, what am I doing?

  Franz.

  Sajmiste (Yugoslavia)

  November 19, 1944

  Mother,

  They told me not to wander from camp but I needed fresh air. The air here is anything but fresh. It is tinged with the smell of death and torture. How many did I bury today? So I wandered away from the boundaries of the camp into the forest. I confess I tried my hardest to get lost but instead I found trouble. As I turned to make my way back I faced a gun – cocked.

  The man holding the gun was out of uniform and had a rough appearance. I could tell by his expression that he was no friend to me. He told me to step into the light, said he wanted to see the light leave my eyes when he pulled the trigger. This was my saving grace, for he hesitated. Could he see what a kid I really was? He is a human being and in that brief moment maybe he saw me as that.

  I have met men like him before, older, numb and brutal who fight to kill. Fair enough. He was surprised when I did as he told me. Before he pulled the trigger, he asked why I did not try to fight him, why didn’t I call out? My relaxed air seemed to make him uneasy. In fact, I was all out of ideas, so, calmly, I told him, “I’m wrong, my army is wrong, we are led by a man who is mad and only has followers because he is a bully and a tyrant. I have seen the death. You’re fighting to save lives of innocent people who have been put into camps. It’s simple, you’re right, I’m wrong. I surrender to your gun.”

  I had intrigued him, I think. He ordered me to sit. We sat together under a tree as the sun went down and he questioned my values, my thoughts and me, all the while the gun cocked in his hand. He came to the decision to either kill me, or I would join him. You know where my loyalties lie, Mother, you know whom I’m fighting for.

  This man with the gun also knows, now, where my loyalties lie.

  Affectionately

  Franz.

  Belgrade (Yugoslavia)

  November 29, 1944

  Mother,

  I spy with my little eye, the Allies, and there’s me, standing between them and us. Allies against Germany. Two strangers: the memory of a fresh-faced Nazi youth, and the Resistance man in the mirror staring back at me. Who I was, and who I am.

  Mama, I have something dreadful to tell you.

  I attacked a platoon as a member of the Resistance and I saw Father! Before I could call out, Mother, he was shot by one of the men fighting beside me. I froze, unable to stop the shooting, unable to save him. Powerless.

  As he fell he saw me, and his eyes were filled with nothing but confusion, to see his Aryan son in the clothes of a Partisan. And then they faded, the lights went out, coldly they reflected my defection.

  My Papa, your husband, the Oberst, the great German patriot, died.

  I know this will break your heart, it broke mine to see him fall and not to be able to run out and hold him while he died. My father is dead, but I want to believe that his dying eyes told me I had done right in defecting.

  I’ll be with you soon, Mother. I hope. I love you very much and miss you terribly.

  With love

  Franz.

  Unknown (Yugoslavia)

  December 31, 1944

  Mother,

  Another year is ending and here we are still fighting. Nothing’s changed since last year, aside from my opinions on the war and whom to fight for. There is much talk of ‘liberations’. That is what we Partisans do, we support the liberation of detained people through our actions against Nazi transports.

  Merry Christmas, Mother, I hope I see you soon.

  Franz.

  Unknown (Yugoslavia)

  February 1, 1945

  Mother,

  We’re on the front line now, still fighting, still dying, still crying. The end is beginning; we heard today that Auschwitz has been liberated by the Soviets. I have faith that it will all be over soon, Mother. It will be okay, I just know it! I love you, Mother, I will be home soon.

  Your son

  Franz.

  Unknown (Yugoslavia)

  March 16, 1945

  Mother,

  Things are changing, Mother, we’re getting news about surrenders and take-overs every day. I can’t tell you how the spirits of these men have lifted, and we know we’ll be home soon. My friend Bojan is talking non-stop about getting back to his family. He has children, three or four I think, and he’s only 24. It’s really rather incredible.

  Well, I hope you are doing well, Mother, and that it isn’t just us enjoying the end of the war.

  Franz.

  Belgrade (Yugoslavia)

  May 1, 1945

  Mother,

  We are back in Belgrade. It’s not a bad place to pass through really, and there is a fresh supply of news and interest in the progression of the war.

  We read today that Mussolini has been captured and hanged by Partisans, almost two years after he was arrested and the Italians surrendered to the Allies.

  Even more unbelievable, HITLER has committed suicide. I hardly dare to believe it, Mother, in the space of three days the two darkest and most powerful takers of life are dead.

  It is strange to think that on Saturday they were making plans and by Monday they were gone. Italian Partisans helped the Allies as translators and guides after the surrender. Their country was still full of German soldiers. Now they are with us all the way to peace.

  Mother, they say it’s only a matter of days before the white flag is held up and peace is declared.

  Franz.

  Belgrade (Yugoslavia)

  May 9, 1945

  Mother,

  History has been made today; it
has to be over now. Germany finally surrendered on Tuesday. Today it feels like a weight has been lifted. The boys are talking about going home; I suppose that means me as well. I’ve learnt a lot with these men, not only other languages but another way of life. And there are women Partisans too. It’s such a big world, Mother, so many things to see and do, but first I’ll come back, first I’ll stop, first I’ll come home to you.

  You will hardly recognize me. Before I went I was young but not strong. Now I am strong and I believe honourable in what I decided in this war. I am lucky to have made it through in one piece. I have seen such awful things, Mother, things that you would not believe and that I will never tell you.

  Franz.

  Unknown (Yugoslavia)

  June 3, 1945

  Mother,

  I’m writing to you just for the thrill of writing it, maybe writing it down will make it feel more real. IT’S OVER! I’ll be home soon. I can post this letter! To Aunt Hilde, I think.

  Franz.

  Adriatic Sea (Yugoslavia)

  June 23, 1945

  Mother,

  I’ll be home soon, Mother. These last few months of the war have been awful; passing through Yugoslavia was the worst. An older man whom I met walking through Belgrade told me of an order given in 1941 to kill 50 communists for every wounded German soldier, and for each German killed, 100 communists were to be massacred. From what I have seen, I can believe it. People don’t forget; you can feel the memories everywhere.

  Now I’m on the shore of the Adriatic Sea after passing through the Dinaric Alps. Mother, I found a young girl on the shore who had been mixed up in the war, a Russian girl I think. I took her to the Relief Station and kept an eye on her. They told me she has shell shock and she is not very communicative yet, but kindness and time might help. I have her with me. She seems still lost in her own mind. I cannot leave her alone. I feel I must protect her. I’ll be home in a few weeks. I have to deal with some issues that have arisen. After all the killing, after it’s all over; still shots are fired after the last bullet.

  Franz.

  Vienna (Austria)

  July 18, 1945

  Mother,

  We are in Vienna for a few days before making the next connection with the train to Berlin. There is a lot of hopping on and off trains. It is difficult to move so many displaced people around Europe, and so many are traumatised beyond reach.

  My Russian friend is Helga. Her German is not very good, not that she has said much. Neither is my Russian. She is overwhelmed here and I think she craves the company of women; she doesn’t like to be touched. She seems lost in translation, unable to cry out. She just observes in silence, with the occasional word of acknowledgement and her contorted facial expressions.

  Her searching eyes are sunken as if she has somehow fallen from grace into a place where nobody hears her. She’s a girl from a faraway place and maybe she’s escaped war, but I sense she’s still in hell. She’s lost and I am bringing her home, Mother, to you. We can mend her.

  Franz.

  Vienna (Austria)

  July 27, 1945

  Mother,

  Once again we have been delayed in Vienna; quite a long and complicated explanation all to do with the bombing of the railways. I can’t say exactly when we’ll get to Berlin nor can I say when we’ll be home.

  Helga Sidorov has quite a story. She talked to me some weeks ago, and told me about her experiences. She spoke in a mixture of German, English and Russian, but it was the tears and the actions she performed that allowed me to understand her. I would never have guessed she had such an involvement in this horrendous war. I thought she was just a lost soul caught up in pain, her mind distorted after seeing and hearing of such horrors, but it seems her trauma comes from her own experience. Helga also fought with a Resistance group, she finally told me through this long journey. It would seem that the innocent-looking woman in front of me has known what it means to take a life.

  Mama, my friend Helga lost her best friend, just like you lost yours when Papa died.

  I’m bringing her home with me; I have to make her safe again, Mama.

  Franz.

  Vienna (Austria)

  August 31, 1945

  Mother,

  We leave today. I am just going to come home with the hope that you are still there. Nothing suggests that you won’t be, though I have to wonder if you would have stayed. It will be good to be with family again, Mother, and Helga does so look forward to meeting you.

  Well, Mother, I hope to see you soon. Will you be able to get some Strasbourg for us?

  Franz.

  HELGA

  “Someone I tell you, will remember us, even

  in another time”

  Sappho (fr. 147) from translation by

  S Santos 2005 Greek Lyric Poetry WW Norton and Company

  Part Two: Darling

  Novgorod (Russia)

  October 7, 1943

  My darling Olga,

  I am afraid for you.

  I am looking everywhere for you. I wish I could find some way to make you safe. My dear friend, it is impossible. You have vanished, so I will work on saving memories of you.

  All the money is gone, Olga, spent on food, on clothes, on candles.

  Where are you, Olga? Where did you go? I am afraid you will not find me, darling. Our room in the centre of the city is long gone. After you left the landlady came and took our few belongings.

  How does one belong without belongings and a best friend?

  All I have left of you and who you were is the handkerchief you carried. You left it under the pillow the morning I found you gone. It was my only comfort. I traced my fingers over the stitched-in map of Europe, the black thread that divided up this great dysfunctional landmass. It seems so simple when you see it like that, and perhaps it was, when this handkerchief was your father’s, when it dried your mother’s eyes, in 1914.

  All my love,

  Helga.

  Novgorod (Russia)

  November 15, 1943

  My darling Olga,

  Without you I venture alone like a ship without a captain, losing myself in open water. I’m leaving this city, like we always said we would; it’s not as hard as I thought it would be. I’m wandering some way off the main road under the cover of the trees and the night. It doesn’t hurt to leave, instead it dulls the pain of your absence. Thoughts of you are my only comfort, and always I write you letters in my head where no-one can take them from me.

  I’m praying you’ll come back to me, Olga Alkaev. I’m wishing for you as your surname suggests. Olga Alkaev, Olga … ‘to be wished’.

  Helga.

  Unknown (Russia)

  December 22, 1943

  My darling Olga,

  I walked into a strange boy; I seem to attract strange people, Olga. We were both ducking about through the trees in the half dark and he smacked right into me. No, Olga, it was not romantic, before you get any such ideas! It was rather awkward, as he bumped me so hard I dropped my sack. Somehow we ended up walking in the same direction. His name is Ivan and he has told me about the Partisan cause. He’s around 16, I think, and he seems quite a kind boy. Possibly he is well brought up, although I can’t be sure. Certainly he is educated, but at his age too young to serve in any army. Yet he is a boy with a mission, and Leningrad is a meeting place for his group of Partisans.

  Merry Christmas, Olga.

  Your Helga.

  Leningrad (Russia)

  January 23, 1944

  My darling Olga,

  Today I had a most peculiar encounter with a woman named Renok … I found her in the stairwell of the abandoned building I have been sheltering in, some way out of the city and more or less forgotten. She was sleeping on the jumper that I ripped while I was walking through the forest. It wouldn’t have helped much in winter, as it was wearing way too thin. Warmth is hard to come by. She was in a uniform of sorts so she can’t have been a mere vagrant in the streets. I woke her with a kick
in the shins; it’s the best way with those whom you don’t know and whose intentions are unclear. Ivan taught me that. He has been a comfort this last month and this woman, Renok, as it turns out is one of his people, part of the Partisan brigade, on a mission like Ivan.

  I kissed him goodbye this morning as he left to join his troupe. Without Ivan I might not have made it to this part of my journey. Maybe I can belong again … to something.

  They fight for our Nation. Olga, my friend, they fight for you, and their only aim is ending the suffering of our people. And I am to be one of them, and I will disappear as you did, into the night without a trace, gone like a leaf taken by the wind. I’ll float away too.

  Helga.

  Leningrad (Russia)

  February 15, 1944

  My darling Olga,

  We are training each day for the Partisan cause, to become whoever they need us to be, and volunteering at night as improvised medics, to save those we dread becoming. We meet the trains carrying the wounded. We drive the trucks that become their havens. We tend them and sometimes they die. That is simply how it is. My first night out was yesterday and it will forever have a place in my memory. I will hold the last moments of a woman’s life in my mind always, as her eyes closed and pain consumed her. Only I saw her die, only I cried for her.

  To think that this is all there will be for weeks on end! To know that I will see them die before the day is out. To know that when I awoke this morning, they did too, and as I close my eyes tonight they have already gone, never to wake to the sun again. I use your handkerchief to dry my own eyes.

  Helga.

  Unknown (Russia)

  March 5, 1944

  My darling Olga,

  We are to fight near the front; at least I am to go. Renok is not; she is tired and frail. She has not the strength, she says, and I believe she is quite probably right. She tends well to the wounded, with her gentle smile and calming eyes. She makes the last image for the dying men a moment of unforgettable beauty.

  Olga, I have made a new friend. Her name is Natalia Petranova. She will support us near the front also. But no one can replace you. Do you remember when we were children playing in the trees, throwing the handkerchief map up in the air and pretending to go on adventures to far away places like Denmark?