Alongside all these light-hearted things, there is one that’s really serious, Richard. A health worker from the NSV turned up here at the allotments and inquired where she would find Georg. She asked the other children whether he was simply hard of hearing or completely deaf and knew he went to the deaf and dumb school. Luckily, the first child she spoke to happened to be Horst and she didn’t know how much he hates it when someone he doesn’t know asks him questions. So he told her that Georg understands him perfectly well when they talk together. And when she asked Horst if he understood Georg equally well, he said, ‘Well, I can understand you, can’t I? What a funny question.’
This was when I happened to walk by and so I asked the woman what she wanted. She explained that she’d been informed that Georg was deaf mute by heredity and that this is why she needed to look into his case. I asked who had told her this but she replied she wasn’t allowed to tell me. I explained to her as pleasantly as I could that Georg had been made hard of hearing due to complications at birth but that his twin sister was in perfect health, something which argues against any hereditary cause. Then I made a big point of telling her that I’m a trained doctor and not in need of her help and that there are plenty of other people in far greater need of medical support. She went away then but I can’t put it out of my mind and when I spoke to some of the other parents from Georg’s school, I found out that a lot of the older children have been called for sterilisation.
But the worst thing is what has happened to Martin Wessel. He was only fifteen, lost his case at the Hereditary Health Court and was subjected to forced sterilisation but died during the operation. Apparently, he had a previously undetected heart condition and couldn’t tolerate the anaesthetic. His parents are trying to get some financial compensation, even if only to pay for a decent burial, but it’s not looking good for them.
When I hear stories like this, I want to scream and shout and weep all at the same time, but I do what you do. I bite my tongue because shouting and crying will change nothing. All I can do is protect our twins and try and give them a decent childhood, in spite of the raids every night. And there really are good moments. One of our neighbours here has a small canoe and he regularly lets the children use it. Georg and Horst play at being forest Indians like in The Deerslayer and spend ages paddling along the little channels here. Emilia prefers to stay in her favourite role, living and fighting like a man, which in no way lessens her enjoyment of these excursions.
When the sirens go off at night, we feel really safe here because we’re so far from the edge of the city and any industry, so we’re not a target. Ever since Georg saw that air raid with you in the street, he looks out of the cabin windows at night to see the bombers coming, and Emilia does the same. They find it exciting to watch the anti-aircraft rockets lighting up and shooting down the enemy.
Thank goodness they’re still too little to be involved as flak helpers, but I sense they’d both volunteer for it if they were old enough. When I said something about it being dangerous work, Emilia said she’d rather do something than sit here waiting for bombs to fall on her head. She sounded so like her father. Richard, she’s so similar to you that I sometimes think she’s the boy. Georg has more the reserved nature of a little girl. Yes, I know what you’re thinking – that he couldn’t possibly have inherited his reticent personality from his mother! Yes, I would also rather take action and do something, not just wait for something else to happen. But the only thing I can do, apart from looking after my children, is help the young first-time mothers whose men are all fighting at the Front. It was Dorothea’s idea. It’s doing her good to feel like a professional nurse again because she misses talking to Fritz so much, just like I do you.
I hope you soon have home leave. We are all longing to see you and love you so much,
Paula
Paula’s letter left Richard uneasy. Family news always filled him with joy and affection, but now he was concerned about this visit from the health worker. Immediately, he suspected Krüger of having a hand in this. Nobody else would be minded to query Georg’s medical certification. Paula had clearly fended off the immediate danger, but Richard feared that Krüger’s desire for vengeance could drive him to hound his family long-term, all because Richard had dared to accuse him in front of the supervisory commission. He had assumed that Krüger would be satisfied with ruining his career and sending him to the Front. It hadn’t occurred to him that he would stop at nothing, including reporting on his young son. But then a man who could happily send the sick to their deaths was lacking in any moral scruples.
As Richard turned all this over in his mind, he found himself questioning the way his military colleagues hoped for the ‘final victory’. He loved his home and his fatherland but victory would put a regime that he deeply despised and which had become a threat to him and his family permanently into power. On the other hand, he didn’t want to live through another dispiriting period like after the last war. Whichever way he looked at it, he could see he would emerge from this war a loser, regardless of how it ended.
Chapter 39
‘You know how much I appreciate your visits, my dear Frau Hellmer, but you need to be careful. Walls have ears here, and eyes as well.’ Dr Stamm gave a weary sigh. ‘Our Aryan neighbours are constantly watching to see who comes here and waste no time in informing on visitors.’
‘That may be so,’ said Paula, ‘but I’m not letting that frighten me away. The Nuremberg Laws don’t forbid Aryans from paying a call on a Jew. And it’s certainly nothing more than a friendly visit. And I certainly didn’t know those laws prohibited anyone from bringing a home-made cake along.’ With that she placed her basket on the table and lifted out an apple cake.
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have,’ protested Dr Stamm, but Paula could see how genuinely touched he was.
‘Oh, but I had to! Our neighbours at the allotments have showered us with apples and they’ve got to be put to good use, haven’t they?’ She tried to lift his mood, but with little success. It was as if oppression and despair had infiltrated every corner of his home.
‘Thank you so much,’ said Dr Stamm. ‘Perhaps it is a fitting farewell gift to be able to enjoy the last fruits of summer in a cake.’
‘Farewell gift?’ Paula was puzzled. ‘Have you decided to leave Germany after all?’
‘We non-Aryans no longer decide anything for ourselves. No, I have not decided to do so, but in October we have to report for resettlement.’
‘Resettlement?’ Paula stared at him. ‘And where are you supposed to go for resettlement?’
The elderly doctor shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Somewhere in the new eastern regions. We’ve already been given a list of what we’re allowed to take with us. It’s not much. One suitcase per person and a limited amount of cash.’
Paula gasped. ‘And your flat? What will happen to your flat, your furniture and everything?’
‘Presumably some kind of enforced contribution to the German war effort or the NSDAP.’
Paula was lost for words. Everything in her heart cried out that this couldn’t be so, that it was unjust, that this couldn’t be happening in a civilised country like Germany, and yet at the same time she knew she was deceiving herself to think this way.
‘I have never told you why my husband’s at the Front,’ she said. ‘He was dismissed from his post because he had uncovered something monstrous and tried to fight against it.’
‘What did he uncover?’ Seeing the old gentleman’s weary eyes spark with interest, Paula told him of Richard’s battle, everything from the forced sterilisation plans to the transfer of his patients and their deliberate murder.
‘I had always believed we were a civilised nation,’ Paula concluded, ‘and I’d like to go on seeing us that way, but whatever we ourselves may believe, the present government’s nothing more than a gang of murderers and sadists who attract more like them. Before Hitler came to power, Richard was a respected psychiatrist and a valued expert witness and the man w
ho dismissed him would never have become a leading consultant, given his negative attitude towards the sick. But he wormed his way into the senior post on the heels of a Jewish colleague who had been discharged, become a party member and Richard’s superior. After Richard was dismissed, it was only with the support of his closest friend and a renowned professor of surgery that he got to be a medical officer in Africa. He’d probably otherwise have ended up as an auxiliary in a punishment battalion on the Eastern Front.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Is there no chance of you avoiding this deportation, Dr Stamm?’
He looked at her with his kind but tired eyes, placed his right hand comfortingly on her shoulder and said, ‘Oh yes there is, my dear, there is a way, and we’ll do it when the time is right.’
Although there was sadness in his voice, he sounded so serene that Paula returned home feeling calm and comforted.
Two weeks later she heard that Dr Stamm had died. The exact circumstances of his death were not clear. Gossip from some of their neighbours suggested that he and his wife had killed themselves because of the threatened deportation. Others claimed the old doctor had suffered a stroke and died of a brain haemorrhage after his wife had been struck down by pneumonia. Whoever Paula asked, no one could tell her with any certainty what had happened and her fear grew that he had taken his own life in order to escape the worst. But what was the worst? Being resettled and uprooted? Or the suspicion that Jewish citizens were about to meet the same fate as the sick? The very thought sent a shudder down Paula’s spine, and she wished Richard were there to listen to her fears. She didn’t want to entrust her suspicions to the military postal service.
All this made October 1941 the darkest month of Paula’s life.
Fritz came home on leave at Christmas, bringing Richard’s presents for Paula and the children with him, including the promised shoes.
Fritz clearly felt terrible that Richard was spending Christmas at the Front and not coming back on home leave before January.
‘We couldn’t both be away at the same time.’ He looked embarrassed as he explained it to Paula. ‘I wanted Richard to toss a coin for it but he insisted I travel back to the children for Christmas. He said it was because my intervention had got him in the medical corps in the first place, and that Henriette and Harri are much younger than Georg and Emilia. That’s why he’ll be here on 4 January, when I’m back at the Front.’
‘Fritz, you don’t need to justify anything! Richard’s done the right thing, regardless of how much you’ve helped him. Your children are younger than ours and need their papa home at times like this. At least it was peacetime when the twins were little.’
‘But they were only seven for the first wartime Christmas,’ Fritz reminded her.
‘That was before the bombing started, and we still had a normal family life. I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas! I know we will too, because we’re so excited about Richard coming back in January.’
‘Paula, you’re marvellous. And now I have to do exactly what Richard instructed me to! He told me to give you a big hug from him.’ He put his arms around her.
She hugged him tightly in return, enjoying the sense of security she’d had to do without for so long. ‘And you’re a wonderful friend, Fritz. The best in the world.’
‘Now you’re embarrassing me again.’
‘That’s the price you pay for bringing Christmas gifts!’ she said smiling, then let him go.
With the prospect of Richard’s much-anticipated home leave, Paula and her children managed to enjoy Christmas in spite of the painful gap in their lives. Paula’s father spent Christmas Eve with them, bringing gifts for the children. For Georg there was a toy rifle, studded with silver nails like the weapon used by his favourite Apache character, Winnetou, and he was beside himself with delight. For Emilia there was the Karl May trilogy, Satan and Ischariot.
‘These were always my favourites, Emilia,’ explained her grandfather. ‘The first book’s set in America, then in the second one Winnetou comes to Dresden to set off for the Middle East with his white blood brother, Old Shatterhand. Then in the third book, they’re back in America.’
Emilia was agog. ‘Winnetou was here? In Germany?’
‘Yes, and the Middle East too, among the Arabs. I think in the book they even go to places your father is seeing. They have lots of exciting adventures.’
‘Papa sent us a photo of real belly dancers,’ said Emilia. ‘Have you ever seen anything like that?’
‘No, but now you’re making me curious!’
And so, after the traditional Christmas Eve exchange of gifts, the little family spent the evening going through the many photos that Richard had managed to enclose in nearly every letter.
Paula always marvelled at how Richard’s pictures managed to give the impression of a research trip and not a tour of duty. As well as the belly dancers, there were landscapes with palm trees, sunsets, locals in exotic robes and even one of a Bedouin with his camels.
‘Well, well, it wouldn’t surprise me if your papa sent us a photo of Hadschi Halef Omar’s grandchildren. You remember all those adventures in the Middle East that I’ve told you from Karl May’s other books, about the faithful Muslim and his friend, the German explorer Kara Ben Nemsi?’ said Paula’s father with a smile when Georg excitedly showed him the one with the camels. Then he said to his daughter, ‘He could have done far worse, you know. From what my patients tell me about the Eastern Front, it’s appalling and has little or nothing to do with all that propaganda in the weekly newsreels.’
Paula nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. And I’m so grateful to Fritz for getting Richard into his battalion.’
The fourth of January 1942 fell on a Sunday. The thaw had started, the sky was grey, and it looked like rain. For the first time in months, Paula and the children collected their car from her father-in-law’s garage, and set off to meet Richard at the railway station.
Men in uniform were everywhere, some saying goodbye to their families, others being joyfully welcomed home. Paula spotted only three men wearing civvies, and they were a ripe old age. It also struck her that hardly any of the train and platform staff were men. Women were clearly in the majority among the civilian population that thronged the station and staffed the railway. She couldn’t help but think back to the late 1920s and how tough it had been for her to secure any professional post, all because she was a married woman. She’d even heard how other married women, whether childless or with older families, had been encouraged by the National Socialist Women’s League to take up their previous professions once more, or had been drafted into semi-skilled work previously done by men. Paula saw this not as liberation but as a slap in the face. Women were nothing more than the silent reserve. While the men were at war, they were being trusted to keep the country going, but once it was over they would be squeezed back into subservient roles and ousted from any positions of responsibility. She thought of Leonie – this attitude was precisely what Leonie had been so critical of and had actually stopped her from wanting to marry. Since the war had started, their exchange of letters had dwindled. Post from abroad was viewed with suspicion, even if posted in neutral Switzerland. At least Leonie had got out at the right time and escaped the horror. Paula didn’t like to think what might have happened to her friend if she hadn’t emigrated in 1936. Now she had a good job as a paediatrician in a hospital in Berne, while her father was in general practice with a Swiss colleague. They had a good living and could sleep at night, safe in the knowledge that their peace wouldn’t be shattered by air raids.
The barely intelligible public address system announced the arrival of Richard’s train on platform eight.
‘That’s Papa’s train,’ Emilia signed to Georg, who was already hopping from one foot to the other in his excitement.
Puffing and steaming, the train pulled alongside the huge concourse, its brakes screeching so loudly that Emilia covered her ears, while Georg couldn’t take his eyes off the engine. When the train stopped, what se
emed to be hundreds of men in grey uniform poured out of the carriages and flooded on to the platform. Paula wondered how she would ever find Richard in this mass of uniforms, while Emilia clambered up on a bench for a better view.
‘Emilia, don’t put your mucky shoes on the bench – the next person to sit there will get filthy!’
Emilia promptly shifted to the arm, trying to keep her balance as her eyes took in the whole platform while she shouted, ‘Papa! Papa! We’re here!’ A lot of men turned in her direction, thinking they were being called, but quickly saw it wasn’t for them.
The platform gradually emptied and Emilia was still shouting out.
‘Emilia, get down now,’ said Paula.
‘But where’s Papa?’
‘Knowing him, he decided to let everyone get off first so as not to have to push his way through the crowds.’
And there were indeed still some men disembarking, mostly officers from the rear coaches. Paula took a closer look.
‘There he is – at the front of that group!’ she called out. Then she shouted even more loudly than Emilia, ‘Richard – we’re here!’
A Fight in Silence Page 26
