He raised his glass towards Paula’s father. ‘Wilhelm, over to you.’
‘Thank you, Hans-Kurt.’ Dr Engelhardt cleared his throat and then took a small box from his pocket.
‘Dear Richard, dear Paula, I know that I promised to buy you the train tickets for your honeymoon trip, but I’ve had to break that promise, because now you won’t need them.’
‘Oh Lordy,’ Richard whispered to Paula. ‘I think I can guess what it is.’
Paula’s father handed him the little box. ‘This is part of our gift. The other part wouldn’t fit through the door!’
Richard’s hands were shaking as he accepted the box and held it out to Paula for her to untie the red ribbon that kept it secure.
Inside it were some car keys.
‘I . . .’ Richard swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Well, if you don’t know what to say now, what on earth are you going to say when you step outside?’ Fritz said, clapping him on the shoulder.
‘Yes, go on – go out and look at it for yourselves,’ urged Leonie, giving Paula, who was as lost for words as Richard, a nudge towards the door.
Outside stood a gleaming, black Adler Standard 6. Richard knew this model was the best saloon car, held the road like no other and was very much in vogue with the upper middle class.
‘That must have cost a fortune,’ he stammered. ‘Thank you all so very much! That’s the most magnificent present you could possibly have given us. I’d never have dared dream of such a gift.’
‘Well, we got rather a good deal and it’s not absolutely brand new,’ said his father, ‘but there’s a fair bit to celebrate this week. You’re a doctor now, with the most charming wife.’
On the verge of tears, Richard hugged his father warmly, only just managing to keep his composure. Paula, on the other hand, couldn’t stop crying and was grateful for the handkerchief Leonie passed her, saying, ‘Everyone cries at a wedding.’
‘You know what you need to do,’ Richard said, turning to Paula. ‘As soon as we’re back from Italy, you must get a driving licence too.’
Paula just nodded, lost for words, as she wiped her eyes with Leonie’s hankie.
‘That’s a fantastic vehicle,’ said Fritz. ‘It could practically take on a racing car. It does a good ninety kilometres an hour.’
‘You can get lots of luggage in it,’ added Leonie. ‘You can take half your household to Italy with you!’
‘And a car will give you far more pleasure and for longer than some shamefully expensive bridal gown, don’t you think?’ observed Frau Koch.
‘It’s a comfortable drive for a woman, you know,’ added Margit. ‘Clara Stinnes has been touring the world in a car just like that for over a year. I’ve been reading everything I can find about her. She’s an incredible woman.’
‘It looks as though our newly-weds are speechless,’ said Paula’s father. ‘Perhaps we should all go back in and let them recover!’ he said with a laugh.
‘Yes, come on – it’s time to cut the cake,’ said Fritz. ‘I’m starving.’
‘You’re right, go ahead,’ said Richard, touched to the core. And then it was just him and Paula standing on the street.
‘Paula, we’ve got our own car.’ It still hadn’t sunk in. ‘A car we can drive to Rome.’ He shouted out loud, ‘To Rome!’ and then swept his new wife off her feet, lifting her as high in the air as he could. ‘We’re driving to Rome in our own car!’
Chapter 12
September 1928 etched itself into Paula’s memory as a month of luxurious freedom. Sitting at Richard’s side in their new car as it hummed towards Italy, the windows rolled down and the air cool against her face, she felt sheer happiness and promised herself she would try to preserve this feeling in her heart for ever, whatever the future might bring.
They stopped overnight in a number of beautiful Italian towns along the way and Richard discovered a new enthusiasm. On their earlier trips to the Baltic coast he had taken a lot of photographs with his box camera, but in Italy he couldn’t put it down. Paula teased him about submitting his photo collection to Baedeker for their travel guides.
‘I hope my photos are a lot better than the ones in Baedeker!’ He said this with such a serious expression on his face that Paula couldn’t be sure whether he was joking or not.
By the time they got to Rome, Richard had snapped so many of the sights that he’d almost finished the film and their first job was to find somewhere to buy some more. Their landlady couldn’t help as she spoke only Italian, and Richard’s efforts with bits of Latin didn’t get him very far. The language of Julius Caesar lacked the necessary vocabulary.
‘Oh well, we’ll find somewhere,’ said Richard. ‘There’s bound to be someone selling film near the Colosseum.’
They were staying on the outskirts of the city, so they drove in to enjoy the sights. Richard parked within sight of the Colosseum and asked Paula to sit on the car bonnet.
‘I’d love a picture of you like that with the Colosseum in the background. For posterity – proof we were really here!’
Paula slid up on to the bonnet.
‘Can you go a bit more to the left, darling?’
She did.
‘No, not that far, more in the middle.’
She sighed but did as he asked.
‘And now look a bit more cheerful.’
She attempted a big smile.
‘Not like that. You look as though you’re going to bite someone. A little more pleasant.’
‘Richard . . .’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Just take the picture or it’ll be you getting bitten.’
He got on with it.
Once Richard had used up the rest of his film at the Colosseum, they once again went off in search of a place to buy more. His knowledge of Latin didn’t help this time either, and modern Romans were at a loss as to what it was he wanted. Richard would point at his camera and get puzzled looks in return. Paula had to stifle her laughter at the sight – Richard and the locals, all equally stumped. At last an elderly man made his way through the little crowd that had by now gathered around the honeymooners.
‘You’re from Germany, are you?’ He spoke excellent German.
‘Yes, from Hamburg.’ Richard sounded delighted. ‘I’m looking for somewhere to buy a film for my camera.’
‘Oh, Hamburg – the Alster. What a lovely city!’ The elderly Italian was rapturous. ‘I haven’t been to Germany since the war. My daughter married a German fellow; they live in Hannover.’
He led them to a small shop a few streets away and called out something in Italian. The only word Paula caught was ‘Luigi’ as the old chap pointed at Richard and at his camera. Luigi nodded and showed Richard his stock of film. When Richard heard the price, he bought the whole lot on the spot and was given a heart-warming farewell by Luigi and his seven children.
‘Film like this costs three times as much in Hamburg,’ said Richard happily, once they were outside.
‘And you’ve put bread on the table for the whole family,’ came Paula’s dry retort as he stashed his hoard in the boot of the car. ‘At least you refrained from giving them unsolicited advice on birth control.’
‘The Italians love a large family. It’s quite normal for them to have seven children. It wouldn’t occur to me to try and talk people like that out of it.’
‘You just save that for your sister, then.’
‘That’s right. Talking of big families and rejecting birth control . . . we haven’t been to the Vatican yet. I absolutely must take some photos there.’
‘Now there’s a strange line of thought,’ Paula observed with a shake of her head, then she linked arms with her camera-mad husband as he led her in pursuit of yet more marvellous pictures. The September sun shone down so warmly on their way to the Vatican that Paula treated herself to a broad-brimmed straw hat to protect her fair skin from any sunburn.
They didn’t get even a glimpse of the Pope, o
f course, but Richard managed to persuade one of the uniformed Swiss Guards to allow him to photograph him alongside Paula. Then Richard explained to the helpful man how the camera worked and got him to take a picture of him and Paula in front of St Peter’s. The guard was very willing and even ended up taking a picture of Richard and Paula standing among all his colleagues, also in the distinctive uniform.
By the end of their trip, Richard had taken a huge number of photographs as a permanent memory of their honeymoon and to give the folks back home at least an impression of the beauty of Rome in the September sunshine.
Chapter 13
On 31 January 1929 Richard stood alongside Fritz in the operating theatre for the first time since their student days. As a rule, only one of the two operated with Professor Wehmeyer, but on this particular day he had brought them both in because this was an unusual case. There had been more shooting between communists and National Socialists and the victim had been hit several times in the abdomen. In wartime this was a common injury, but in peacetime it was very rare and the professor wanted them to have the experience of seeing something of this kind.
‘Let’s hope that operations like this remain the exception, but it is important that every surgeon knows what to do in case it becomes part of our daily work in the future.’
It was on the tip of Richard’s tongue to say that he would be working in psychiatry after April and had no intention of ever setting foot in an operating theatre again, but he remained silent, as he valued and respected Professor Wehmeyer’s insightful approach to their work.
The bullets had left devastating wounds. One had entered the liver, one had ripped the spleen and three others had torn into the digestive system. In the end they had to perform a lobectomy on the liver and cut out part of the small intestine, remove the spleen and patch up the stomach in a variation of the Billroth Operation in order to retain any functionality at all.
Fritz did the major part of the work.
‘You’re on the right path to becoming a magnificent surgeon, Herr Ellerweg,’ said Professor Wehmeyer. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if your name isn’t linked one day with a new surgical technique.’
‘Thank you, Professor.’
In spite of the surgical mask Fritz wore, Richard could tell that his friend was flushed with pride.
In the changing room after the operation Fritz was still buoyed by the professor’s praise. There was a knock at the door.
‘Is Dr Ellerweg in there?’ It was a woman’s voice.
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘Frau Hellmer has telephoned from Finkenau. Your wife went into labour early today; she’s been delivered but something’s not right with the baby.’
Fritz hurriedly finished buttoning his shirt and flung the door open to find a nurse standing outside. ‘What else did Frau Hellmer say? How is my wife? And what’s wrong with the baby?’
‘Your wife is well, but you should go to her immediately, just as soon as you are ready. Frau Hellmer gave no further details.’
‘Thank you.’
The nurse nodded and left.
‘I’ll drive you straight there,’ said Richard, trying to sound calm in spite of feeling quite the opposite. It was hard watching Fritz make three attempts to tie his shoelaces.
It had started to snow while they’d been in the operating theatre and Richard had to clear the car windscreen before they could set off. Fritz stood by helplessly, clenching his fingers inside his coat pockets, biting his lip and not saying a word. He stayed like that for the whole journey. Quarter of an hour later Richard was parking the car right outside the maternity hospital at Finkenau. Paula was waiting for them in the entrance.
‘What’s happening?’ Fritz called out. ‘How’s Doro, and what’s wrong with the baby?’
Paula waited until Fritz and Richard were with her.
‘Doro is fine physically; it wasn’t a difficult birth. But . . . but seeing the baby was a shock.’
‘Why? For goodness’ sake, tell me what’s wrong,’ begged Fritz.
Paula took a deep breath. Richard’s belly tied itself in knots as he watched her try to keep her composure.
‘It’s a little boy and he has a severe deformity.’ She spoke quietly, quickly wiping a tear away before it could spill from the corner of her eye. ‘He’s anencephalic.’
Looking horrified, Fritz stared at her. ‘What does that mean? He’s been born with no head?’
‘No, not that, but he’s been born without the cerebrum: much of the skull has not developed and the midbrain is exposed. It’s a miracle he was born alive. He’ll die in the next few hours – days, at most.’
Fritz gasped, clenching and unclenching his trembling hands. ‘Where is the baby now?’
‘With Doro. She was hysterical directly after the birth and both the midwife and the doctor advised her against seeing the child again because it’s too upsetting. But when I talked to her, she’d calmed down and said that he was her child in spite of everything, and even if he were to live only a few hours she wanted to care for him herself.’ Now Paula reached for her handkerchief, unable to hold back her tears. ‘She wants you to be there, with her and the child.’
‘Of course I’ll be there. He’s my son too.’
‘We’ve swaddled him and put a little bonnet on him to make him look a little more like a normal baby,’ whispered Paula.
‘So where’s Doro?’
‘I’ll show you.’
Dorothea was pale but more composed than Richard had expected, given what Paula had told them. She held the baby in her arms and at first glance everything seemed all right, but when he looked the baby in the face, the deformity was very clear. Yes, the white knitted bonnet concealed the small, misshapen, flat skull, but the child’s eyes bulged like those of a frog, while the shape of the head was strangely reminiscent of that of a toad. It was no wonder that Dorothea had been so shocked straight after giving birth. Richard realised that he was breathing faster than usual, but he couldn’t slow it down. The sight was so awful that he found it hard to believe what he was seeing. This couldn’t be true. It simply couldn’t be true. He recalled how Fritz had planned everything for the nursery and had asked his advice for the best wood to use for a cradle. Walnut, Richard had told him.
‘Walnut, yes, I like that. As soon as the baby’s born, your father and his lads can get to work. Then in the same wood I’d like a chest of drawers to use as a changing table.’ Had it not been for his mother-in-law’s warning that it was bad luck to get the nursery ready before the birth, Fritz would have done all this months before . . .
Remembering this conversation brought a lump to Richard’s throat, and he struggled to keep his emotions in check, blinking hard to get rid of the telltale pricking of his eyes. By contrast, and much to Richard’s admiration, Fritz remained extraordinarily calm and composed, comforting first his wife with a gentle embrace, then taking the child in his arms and making the soft cooing sounds that people make with any newborn. He stroked the tiny, perfectly formed hands that gripped his fingers the moment he touched the little palms.
‘He’s lovely and strong,’ said Fritz gently. ‘There’s so much life in him. Can it really be true that he’s going to die so soon?’
‘That’s in God’s hands,’ replied Doro, her voice soft. She placed her own hand over those of her husband and son. ‘The chaplain will be here any moment to baptise him.’
Richard realised Paula was shedding silent tears next to him and put his arms around her.
‘And what’ll you call him?’ he asked, desperately trying to bring some normality to the distressing scene.
‘We’d decided to call our first son Harald,’ said Dorothea, sounding astonishingly collected. ‘But I’d like to call him Gottlieb, because every child is loved by God, even a child not expected to live.’
‘That’s a very good name,’ Fritz agreed, wiping his own eyes. ‘Our little Gottlieb.’
There was a knock at the door. It wasn’t th
e chaplain, as expected, but a doctor.
‘Good morning. My name is Brandes, Dr Brandes. You’re the spouse and father?’
Fritz gave a silent nod.
‘You’re a colleague of ours, is that right?’ Dr Brandes said, holding out his hand in formal greeting.
‘Yes,’ said Fritz, returning the handshake.
‘Good. That means I can be candid with you.’
‘I know my son’s going to die.’ Fritz sounded hollow.
‘It’s inevitable with a deformity like this. This is a Gamper’s midbrain being. Have you read the work of Eduard Gamper?’
Fritz shook his head.
‘Dr Gamper produced a comprehensive paper on the matter in 1926 and, as far as I know, that was the first academic publication to describe this abnormality. I’ve never seen a presentation like this myself before, only drawings. As a doctor yourself, you’ll know how important research is to us. For that reason, I wanted to ask whether you would hand over the body to us for anatomical research. It is, after all, a very rare abnormality.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Fritz looked back at Brandes in disbelief.
‘Naturally, no one will be aware of the background: that’s of no relevance. You’ll definitely still have plenty of healthy children – abnormalities like this are whims of nature and not hereditary, I can assure you of that. I’ve brought a form for you to sign, showing that you’re handing the specimen over to us.’
Fritz leapt to his feet. ‘This specimen, as you’re so charmingly calling him, is my son, and he’s still alive at the moment. And I have no intention of putting him in formalin and letting him end up as a showpiece in some anatomical collection!’
‘I understand, of course, that you are upset, but if this anencephalic dies here in the hospital, we have in any case a claim over the corpse for autopsy.’
‘Is that how it is, then? Right. Paula, please would you help Dorothea to pack? There’s nothing to keep us here. Our son will come home with us and die there, where he belongs, and that’s in his parents’ arms. And he won’t end up in some lab jar – he’ll be given decent burial at Ohlsdorf Cemetery.’
A Fight in Silence Page 9
