A Fight in Silence

by Melanie Metzenthin

‘Wonderful,’ said Paula. ‘Where are we sitting?’

  ‘We’re in a box.’ He smiled at her in a way that made her heart beat faster. He’d got tickets for a box! She couldn’t help but recall her father’s words about what he’d felt years before when buying opera tickets for a box for himself and her mother.

  And this box, still redolent of new wood and fabric, competed with any at the opera, that was for sure. But despite this magnificence, all that mattered to Paula was that she was here with the man whose presence she now craved.

  The performance was sold out. More than twelve hundred people, Paula said to herself over and over, enjoying the thought of so many people gathered together to celebrate the joy of being alive. She rested her hand on the armrest, and no sooner had the lights dimmed than she felt Richard’s hand slip protectively over hers. The tingle of excitement she’d been experiencing all week grew as his warmth seeped into her. It seemed an innocent enough gesture and yet said so much more than words, all the more so when his fingers began gently to stroke hers. She had never realised the magic of something as simple as two hands touching. They had often held hands, but this was different – a moment of intimacy that never went beyond what was proper but still kept her spellbound. These were his hands, then, with their story of gentleness and strength – not the fine hands of a surgeon but of a man who could knuckle down to manual work when needed, but who also had a soft side. Paula realised this was more than a crush. This was love.

  When he delivered her home safe and sound later that evening, he brought his face close to hers, and just before their lips met he hesitated, so as to let her be the one to take the final step. And then there was no doubt. Her lips found his, a delicious combination of the restrained and the demanding, and just like his hands, they told her of a man who was both strong and sensitive. Paula knew then that she never wanted to be apart from him, that she wanted to revel in his warmth and closeness for always.

  As they let go of one another, he whispered to her, ‘You do know I love you, my wonderful Paula?’

  ‘And I love you too,’ she whispered back, as she started to kiss him all over again.

  That evening her father lost the battle for Paula’s heart once and for all. He would always be her father but now he would have to learn to enjoy his future son-in-law and perhaps grandchildren. After all, her mother had always told her that love is the only thing that’s bigger when it’s shared.

  And on that same October evening, Paula knew that her future lay ahead, glowing and beautiful, and that, regardless of what fate might have in store, nothing in the world could change it.

  Chapter 7

  Just as autumn yields to the onset of winter, so Dr Engelhardt had no choice but to submit to the inevitability of sharing the love of his dearest daughter with Richard Hellmer. Paternal jealousy and paternal love battled it out until love prevailed and Dr Engelhardt started to see Richard through Paula’s eyes. He was baffled by the ease with which he eventually slipped into this, but it was because he saw so much of himself in the young man and also noticed many characteristics that he admired. Everything that had once filled him with doubt now came across as evidence of Richard’s determination. Paula was sure that Frau Koch had played quite a role in this, as their housekeeper had an inimitable talent for highlighting Richard’s strengths in her various anecdotes.

  In addition to all this was Richard’s unconditional support for Paula’s medical studies. Whenever they were together, they shared not only a growing romance but also a mutual passion for their subject, and Paula gained a lot from Richard being five semesters ahead of her. She found she had nothing to fear in viva examinations, even when faced repeatedly with the ingrained disrespect of most senior academics, all of whom were men. A case in point was the final anatomy examination with Professor Hempel, a man who made no secret of his view that women should be allowed entry to the medical profession only as nurses or midwives. With a self-satisfied leer, he questioned Paula on the function of erectile tissue in male genitalia. Paula gave anatomically accurate answers without appearing remotely flustered.

  ‘You have very good knowledge in this matter,’ Professor Hempel had to concede. ‘I assume you have already carried out extensive research, as is now to be expected of a women’s movement that no longer stands by morality and decency.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re suggesting. Could you perhaps clarify further?’ She looked him straight in the eye, as she’d practised with Richard after telling him about the professor’s ambiguous remarks during previous examinations.

  ‘Just go all shy and quiet like a little fawn,’ Richard had advised her, ‘and look him innocently in the eye, exactly how you’ve done with me, then I’d lay good money on him being properly embarrassed.’

  ‘Oh Lordy, I can’t do that,’ she’d replied. ‘I’m not Leonie, after all. I’d rather flash him a fierce look, like a cat.’

  ‘Yes you can. Come on, show me your inner fawn.’

  And so something they’d once laughed over was now put to serious use. This fawn was determined. Professor Hempel had to content himself with a muttered ‘Typical woman’ at the end of the session.

  When she recounted this to Leonie, her friend sighed with envy. ‘You really have the most incredible luck! The extraordinary Richard is more than a dream, he’s the perfect combination of good friend and good man. Now, tell me, has he got a brother you could introduce me to?’ She tilted her head and gave a saucy wink. Paula knew she was only teasing but felt a pang of emotion. For the first time since their art gallery trip, she recalled that Richard had once had an older brother he’d loved very much and whose death he never talked about. She recalled the invisible shell that had enveloped him as soon as the conversation had turned to his brother.

  ‘His brother’s dead. He was at Verdun,’ was all she said.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ There was real empathy in Leonie’s voice, and they never discussed the matter again. The moment Verdun was mentioned, Richard’s dead brother seemed to fade from conversation and memory. Paula remembered what Richard had told her about how he hadn’t died at Verdun, but later on. What he really meant by this she still didn’t know.

  In December, Richard’s father invited Paula and her father to the Hellmer family’s Christmas dinner. After they’d all enjoyed a thoroughly festive meal, the family settled around the Christmas tree in the main living room and happily exchanged news and stories, while Richard and Paula seized the opportunity for a little time alone together. It was the first time Richard had shown Paula his attic flat, as they had usually met either at Paula’s home or at the university. Anything more would have been a step too far for Paula’s father and Richard was careful not to do anything that would make Dr Engelhardt think badly of him.

  Paula was admiring the wood panelling on the walls when she spotted the framed family photograph near the stove.

  ‘Is that your brother?’ she said, pointing to the young man in uniform.

  Richard nodded and it struck her how quickly his expression changed. His face was so sad that she felt tentative about broaching the subject.

  ‘Yes, that’s Georg. The Georg we all knew and loved.’

  ‘Do you prefer not to talk about him?’ Her voice was timid.

  He took a deep sigh. ‘The memory is too painful.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me if it hurts too much.’

  ‘I know.’ He sat on his bed and gestured for her to sit next to him. He held her hands tenderly between his. ‘It’s time I told you about Georg. Seeing as our getting to know one another owes something to his tragic end.’

  Questions flooded into Paula’s mind but she stayed quiet and waited.

  ‘You already know he was at Verdun. It must have been sheer hell. Blood and death everywhere, shelling all day, gas attacks, muddy trenches – I can hardly bear to think of it. Many men came home crippled: my brother-in-law, Holger, for one. But it was worse with Georg. Physically he was unscathed,
but he had shell shock.’ Richard paused. ‘You know what that means, don’t you?’

  Paula nodded. Her father had treated some of these cases, the easier ones that could still be helped. But there were others: men who had no control over their bodies, who constantly had outbreaks of ‘the shakes’, who couldn’t hold a weapon, who were inwardly destroyed, the war still raging inside them with no one providing any support – men whose suffering and desperation were not recognised and resulted only in their being branded cowards and shirkers. The more severe their shell shock, the more brutal the treatment methods that were supposed to return them to fighting strength.

  ‘Georg was one of those who could barely react when spoken to. First he was sent to an army field hospital, but they couldn’t do anything for him there. Then he came home. We felt desperate when we saw the trembling, lifeless shell he had become. He didn’t speak at all, not even to me. He refused all food and lost so much weight that he was nothing more than skin and bone. We tried for three months but nothing worked, absolutely nothing. And then’—here he swallowed hard—‘we made the worst possible mistake, because we knew no better. What’s that saying – the road to hell is paved with good intentions? That’s what happened in our case.’

  The corner of Richard’s mouth was working as he struggled to maintain his composure. She said nothing, just gently squeezed his warm hands.

  ‘We took him to a regional psychiatric institution which supposedly specialised in the treatment of shell shock. They subjected him to treatment that was nothing short of torture. Then on top of that they tried something with a combination of insulin and electric shock therapy. That’s how he died. I saw his body when he came for burial. It wasn’t my brother. It was an emaciated, starved and tortured corpse. We should never have left him at the mercy of the unscrupulous doctors at that place. We should have been more willing to give it time, but we didn’t know any better. We thought it was the best thing to do.’

  A single tear ran silently down Richard’s face.

  ‘I’m so deeply sorry,’ Paula whispered, ‘but as you said, none of you could have known. Most bad shell shock cases spend the rest of their lives being cared for.’

  ‘A lot of psychiatrists believe they can do whatever they like with these patients and that if they die, at least they stop costing anything to society. It’s like that booklet by Hoche, Allowing the Destruction of Life Unworthy of Life.’ Richard’s tone was full of bitterness.

  ‘And so this is why you want to be a psychiatrist. Because you want to make a better job of it.’

  He nodded. ‘I want to help those without a voice. And if I can’t help them, then I want to be sure they live in dignity at least, and are not robbed of their individuality and humanity. There must be an end to describing them as parasites and an expensive burden on society. That’s why I would always oppose people like Hoche, and anyone else who estimates human worth in numbers and productivity. I owe that to Georg, as well as to all the sick who are now being treated like lepers were in the Middle Ages. And I don’t want to hear anything more about mercy killing, about it being kind and charitable to kill someone who can’t make their own decisions.’

  ‘And that’s what you’ll do, Richard. We’ll do it together. You and I.’

  She kissed him tenderly, but his mind was still tangled up in those stark memories and at first his response was muted, until his natural passion took over.

  ‘D’you know what I’d like you to give me for Christmas?’ he asked her once they’d let go of each other.

  ‘Didn’t the Stefan Zweig anthology appeal?’ She was teasing him now as she knew perfectly well how much he admired Zweig’s work.

  He didn’t pick up on that, saying instead, ‘My parents keep an allotment in Moorfleet with a cherry tree. When it blossoms next spring, and if you’re not tired of me by then, I want us to get engaged under that tree.’

  Paula’s heart leapt. ‘You seem to be proposing? Suggesting we get engaged in the spring?’

  ‘That’s right. Or am I supposed to get down on one knee, like in a bad Rudolf Valentino film? That’s not my style!’

  ‘Definitely not. You’d rather stay firmly on your feet.’

  ‘Exactly, or else I can’t carry you over the threshold!’ He gave her a glorious smile and the sadness that had consumed him earlier vanished. The past might have left him wounded, but wounds can heal and Richard was positive enough in outlook to learn from bitter experience and make the best of the future. Paula remembered another thing her mother used to say: We can’t change the past, but we can shape the future.

  ‘I guarantee I’ll never tire of you. I love you and I’ll always love you, even if the world collapses around us. But why should we wait until May?’

  ‘For two reasons. First of all, we don’t want to rush things with your father, and second, what could be more perfect than an engagement party among the cherry blossom, with the first breath of spring brushing your cheek?’ His gentle caress down the length of her back made her shiver with pleasure.

  ‘That does sound pretty enticing,’ Paula whispered.

  A knock at the door broke the spell. It was Margit.

  ‘I was just wondering where you’d both got to.’

  ‘Are you playing chaperone, big sister? There’s really no need!’ Richard said with a wink.

  ‘I realise that. There’s cake, but if you don’t want any . . . Lottchen will be delighted if I tell her she can have Uncle Richard’s slice as well.’

  ‘Absolutely not! That’s exactly what Lottchen’s after. Keep her away from my cake – we’ll be down directly.’

  Margit laughed and went back downstairs.

  ‘My mother’s Christmas cake is absolutely not to be missed!’ Richard said to Paula. ‘The only thing finer will be our engagement cake in May!’

  Paula laughed, feeling protected and secure in a way she hadn’t for a very long time.

  Chapter 8

  It was 21 May 1927 and chilly for the time of year, but dry at least. In the late afternoon, rays of sunshine managed to break through the grey skies and gave a hint of summer so that the preparations for the party could be made outdoors. The big cherry tree was in full bloom, exactly as Richard had hoped, and stood protectively over the long table adorned with a spotless white cloth, now covered with a host of delicious treats lovingly baked by his mother, sister and Frau Koch. There were all sorts of fruit tarts and cakes, including a seasonal version of Richard’s favourite Christmas cake, as well as almond cake, strawberry flan, apple cake and a huge cream gateau, all worthy of a wedding feast. Placed between the cakes were plates of home-baked biscuits, the biggest temptation for Margit’s brood of youngsters, who were already purloining goodies from the table to nibble before the party started.

  ‘The devil take you, you bunch of rascals!’ Margit called out as the four lads and little Lottchen launched yet another rearguard attack on the table. ‘You’ll all feel my hairbrush across the seat of your shorts in a minute!’

  ‘Why so angry, sister dear?’ Richard said, smiling across at Margit as he and Paula stood side by side to greet the other guests. He looked very handsome in his dark blue suit, plain white shirt and tie. Paula’s short-sleeved summer dress was pale blue, showed off a little more leg than usual and complemented her dark blonde hair, which was drawn back at the temples and fell loose over her shoulders. It had been well worth the two hours Leonie had spent taming and styling her friend’s unruly locks with curling tongs.

  ‘Little hooligans!’ Margit was at her wits’ end. ‘What do I do with them?’

  ‘Too late to ask that now,’ replied Richard. ‘If you’d consulted me a few years back, I’d have given you some timely tips on birth control.’

  She glared at him. ‘Shall I go after you with the hairbrush too?’

  ‘Well, I’m not exactly dressed in shorts,’ retorted Richard, looking at his suit trousers with a mischievous grin. ‘No point in shooting the messenger. That’s simply what it’s like
when you have five children.’

  ‘You’re such an idiot. You should be grateful that Paula’s willing to waste her life on someone like you.’

  ‘I am, believe me,’ he said, smiling fondly at Paula, who returned the smile with absolute certainty in her eyes. ‘But we certainly won’t be having five children.’

  ‘Here’s Fritz!’ Leonie was calling from the garden gate, where she’d been talking to Paula’s father and his friend Dr Stamm, the most senior consultant at the children’s hospital in Rothenburgsort.

  Paula and Richard turned to welcome the new arrival.

  ‘You’re cutting it fine!’ Richard said in greeting to his closest friend.

  ‘In what way? The feast hasn’t even begun yet! And where’s the band I was promised?’

  ‘The musicians will be here after the coffee and cake. But if my sister doesn’t watch out, the table will have been laid bare long before anyone sits down.’ He glanced at his ten-year-old nephew Karl, who, together with eight-year-old Jürgen, and with no regard to their mother’s threats, was instructing Lottchen on how to distract their mother while the next raid was carried out.

  ‘Hard-working Fritz looks as though he lingered a little too long in the operating theatre, am I right?’ said Leonie, twinkling playfully at Richard’s friend. ‘Getting promoted to surgery takes up your time, eh?’

  ‘Ah, Leonie Hirschthal, infallible prophetess and the sharpest tongue in the faculty, a feature belied by her pleasant exterior,’ Fritz said with a grin. ‘What actually happened is that we had a bad accident to deal with and Professor Wehmeyer permitted me to assist with the operation. A manual worker fell off some scaffolding earlier on today and suffered broken bones as well as damage to a number of internal organs. He—’

  Leonie interrupted him in mid-flow. ‘Thanks, but you can spare us the gory details. We’re looking forward to lots of cake and speeches from two happy fathers whose offspring are getting engaged, even though I can’t for the life of me understand what’s supposed to be so desirable about a marriage on the horizon.’