Fifteen Words

by Monika Jephcott Thomas

  ‘I knew it would come in useful one day,’ he muttered to himself, reaching under the bed where amongst many other things was stashed the single boot the soldier had left in his hand as Max hoisted him out of that cattle train in Poland. It was the same foot as the one Horst desperately needed a replacement for and a little too big Max guessed, knowing his brother’s measurements almost as well as his own, which would be easily packed to fit, much better than being too small. And most importantly it was in good condition and would keep his friend from getting trench foot.

  Max turned towards the door long before Horst’s feet hammered across the bridge and finally stopped as he closed the door behind him.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Max whispered since most of the patients were napping.

  ‘Christoph just came back from town,’ Horst followed Max’s lead and lowered his panting voice. ‘Said the Red Cross were there. Said they had told Ivan they would take letters from the men, deliver them back home.’

  ‘Our letters?’

  ‘Yeah, at last! Finally I’ll have a way of getting in touch with Eva. And you can write back to Erika. Finally. Isn’t that great news?’

  Horst still hadn’t received a single note from his wife and, although Erika had written many, only one other had got through to Max since her news about Netta.

  ‘That is,’ Max said looking over his shoulder dismissively at the solid sea, for now he had a much more direct way of getting home; a way he had almost given up dreaming about. ‘That is really great news.’

  *

  ‘Have you heard the catch, though?’

  Trust Edgar to piss on their picnic. So many of the men were looking forward to sending letters home that Max couldn’t help but wonder if Edgar, having no family or someone special to write to, was enjoying explaining Ivan’s proviso as much as Volkov enjoyed explaining it to him.

  ‘The letters home are not allowed to be more than fifteen words.’

  ‘Fifteen words?’ Horst stopped admiring his new boot and sat up on his bunk. ‘You mean fifteen lines.’

  ‘No I don’t mean fifteen lines, buddy.’ Edgar remained supine on his bed, hands behind his head, enjoying the new Heizkissen under his back. ‘I mean what I said.’

  ‘Fifteen words?’ Max said through his legs which dangled over the edge of his bunk above Edgar.

  ‘Is there an echo in here?’ Edgar sighed.

  ‘What the hell can you say in fifteen bloody words?’ Max wasn’t sure if he or Horst said this out loud but both of them were thinking it.

  Edgar’s response came swiftly as if he’d planned it earlier. ‘Wish you were here. Well not exactly, but I think you know what I mean.’

  ‘Shithead,’ Horst grumbled whilst counting on his fingers to see if Edgar had used too many words in his oh-so-witty response, so that he could win a little victory back from his smart-arsed sparring partner.

  Of course Edgar hadn’t, but Horst didn’t dwell on that – he had far more pressing things to consider, like how to fill in the three-year-wide gap in his relationship with his wife using no more than fifteen words.

  The surgery was taking shape. Shelves that used to contain novels and a tea set had been cleared by Martha and now five glass jars stood on the top shelf in a row, each containing a human embryo in formaldehyde, each at a different stage of development. Netta stood, head back, mouth open, staring up at these rather ghoulish decorations. The little unfinished humans distorted by the glass around them and yellowed by the chemicals preserving them were there to demonstrate to pregnant women seeking an abortion in this Catholic stronghold just how murderous their intentions were, as far as Karl and Martha were concerned anyway. But for Erika, whose scientific vein still ran deeper than her religious one, they were there to inform her patients so together they could decide upon the most practical course of action.

  Below the jars, and equally fascinating to young Netta, was a jar full of leeches used to suck the blood from the varicose veins of patients, their red sphincter-like mouths stuck to the glass had Netta unsure whether she wanted to kiss them or run away. And whilst her daughter was occupied with the jars, Erika was admiring the examination table Rodrick the carpenter had just hauled in, before which she had been admiring Rodrick’s strength at hauling such an extremely heavy thing around. Although Karl had insisted on helping him with it Rodrick seemed to find the idea of a middle-aged grandfather with a dodgy wrist helping him as emasculating, and each time Karl tried to get a grip on the thing the carpenter had shoved it another few metres along the hall. And this was no ordinary examination table. Rodrick had taken it upon himself to fit cupboards on either side and drawers at the end below the metal stirrups. A panel even slid out from under the headrest to provide a surface for instruments during operations.

  ‘I thought, you know, since you told me how your folks had partitioned their living room off for you that space would be at a premium, so all these additions should help with that,’ he said opening the cupboard doors proudly.

  Erika admired the mahogany spaces the carpenter revealed as well as the hands that revealed them.

  ‘It really is amazing,’ she gushed, ‘and you’re right, it will be so helpful.’

  Rodrick demonstrated the adjustable backrest accompanying himself with short little hums like the revving of an engine as he sought further approval from his customer. He smoothed his hand along the leather upholstery from top to bottom until he came to the stirrups and with a quick little wiggle of one he thought better of further demonstration.

  ‘Try it out for yourself,’ he said before quickly adding, ‘the head rest, I mean, not the, erm…’ and he turned to inspect the plasterboard partition in order to conceal his blushes.

  Erika was overwhelmed. It was the crowning glory of her new little surgery. Her first foray into life as a professional doctor.

  ‘Who did this partition for you?’ Rodrick enquired with a hint of scepticism.

  ‘I did,’ said Karl coming in from the kitchen and puffing his chest out proprietarily.

  ‘Oh,’ Rodrick said, running out of places to hide himself. ‘It’s erm…’

  Erika saved him, ‘It really is the most splendid table, Rodrick, thank you. I’m not sure a few bottles of ethanol can be payment enough for this.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s what I asked for, wasn’t it. And to me that stuff is priceless anyway.’

  ‘But all the extra features you’ve added. It’s so thoughtful of you.’

  ‘We agreed a price already. The extras were just that. You didn’t ask for them so I’m certainly not going to charge you for it. Consider it a good luck gift.’

  ‘Well, at least let us offer you a coffee and a piece of cake before you go,’ Martha said from the doorway where she’d been quietly standing for sometime.

  ‘Well, thank you very much. That sounds like something I would happily agree to there, Mrs Portner.’

  Erika and Rodrick smiled at each other. Then they smiled at the examination table.

  ‘Karl,’ ordered Martha, ‘a hand please’.

  This snapped Karl out of his rather stern scrutiny of Rodrick ever since he’d got a whiff of the carpenter’s disapproval of his partitioning, not to mention the young man’s approval of his daughter-in-law. He followed his wife into the kitchen where she was yet to decide whether to rebuke Karl for his suspicions (and in doing so rebuke herself) or add to them by voicing her concerns to him as she stood by the sink with the tap running to mask the words.

  Erika and Rodrick were still smiling at the examination table. Then they smiled at each other.

  ‘If there’s any other jobs you need doing, then you don’t hesitate to call me, OK?’

  Erika wanted to touch the forearms exposed by his rolled up shirt sleeves as a show of gratitude, perhaps even secretly stroke the hair there lightly as she did so, but found herself instead saying, ‘I appreciate that. My husband is in a POW camp in Russia at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll be back soon.’

  �
�Oh, carpenter too, is he?’

  Erika wasn’t sure if this was one of Rodrick’s genuine questions or one of his attempts to show how indispensable he was to her.

  ‘Well, no, but, I mean—’

  ‘I bet it’s hard having him away for so long.’ Rodrick lowered his voice and flicked his eyes towards the door before letting them settle on her face again absorbing every nuance in her expression as he spoke. ‘All I’m doing is offering you some help, if you want it, if you need it. There’s no shame in asking for help. I know a strong intelligent woman like you may not want to ask, but I’m telling you not to worry about that.’

  She couldn’t resist any more and put a hand on his forearm which he immediately secured there with his free hand.

  Erika started ever so slightly as the sound of water gushing furiously from the tap in the kitchen reached her. She looked down to see Netta by her side, head back, mouth open staring now at the carpenter with all the fascination and suspicion she had earlier heaped on glass jars of nullified children and wriggling blood suckers.

  Max spent the first half of his next six kilometre walk into town discussing with Christoph the stipulations Ivan had put on their writing letters home, and the next half in many silent and abortive attempts to fit everything he wanted to say to Erika into fifteen words. As he walked, his fingers tapped out the words of his latest composition from deep in his fur lined pockets, often many times over as he thought he may have counted incorrectly and if he just counted one more time, a little more carefully, perhaps seventeen words would become sixteen, and sixteen words would become fifteen.

  They weren’t allowed to say anything about the war, their treatment as POWs nor the conditions in the camp, which Max found liberating – it meant all he had to do was concentrate on letting Erika know how much he loved her and Netta.

  Only allowed fifteen words so: don’t worry, everything is fine here, I will be home

  Idiot! You wasted five words telling her you’re only allowed fifteen words, Max thought grinding his teeth as he walked.

  Don’t worry, everything is fine here, I will be home soon. Sending my love to you and

  Way over! Way over!

  Sending my love to you and Netta. So happy to hear you are both fine.

  That’s fifteen words, bang on. But does it sound like I’m gadding about here having a ball, so happy, whilst she struggles at home with the baby on her own? Damn it! Damn it all! Damn the Soviets and damn their bloody rules!

  If only he could make Erika feel how much his heart ached to be with her and to see little Netta the fruit of their love.

  ‘In there,’ one of the guards was saying to him.

  He had been so engrossed in his frustrating attempts to compose a message he had barely noticed when they had arrived in town and that they were standing outside the apartment block next to Lieutenant Lagunov’s. The guard waved him inside with his rifle and Max found himself knocking on the door of a flat identical to the lieutenant’s and equally crammed with people. But this time they were all adults – just about – and all females. This was where the prostitutes lived who serviced the Russian soldiers and today it was Max’s job to check their health and disinfect where necessary, just as he used to in Breslau at the convent. However, there was no chance of a nun answering the door this time. What with the stench from the shit-lined street, the ice on the inside of the windows and thirteen girls crammed into a room not much bigger than Sister Hilda’s cell back in Breslau, bitching and scratching and gnashing at each other, the place was more like a circle of Dante’s hell than anything remotely divine.

  ‘Which girl have you booked?’ the young but haggard woman answering the door sniffed through her running nose as if she might be able to tell just from his scent who this guy in the fur coat had chosen.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Max stuttered, ‘I’m not here to see a woman. Well, not just one.’

  The woman’s severely plucked eyebrows arched upwards towards her hair net and her already twisted lips coiled around themselves in amusement. Max quickly deduced the cause of her reaction and added:

  ‘No, not like that. I’m here to see all of you.’

  ‘Oh, better and better,’ she cackled.

  ‘Hope he’s got a big fat wallet then,’ another woman draped herself over the first one’s shoulder, speaking to her in German.

  ‘Are you German?’ Max switched from Russian to his native tongue.

  ‘Are you?’ the women chorused with a sudden air of excitement.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So are we!’

  The partially open door was now swung wide open and Max was welcomed into the room by a gaggle of German voices and the not displeasing sight of young women in various states of undress.

  ‘But I’m not a client,’ he had to insist over the clamour. ‘I’m a doctor.’ He patted his Red Cross arm band to draw their attention to it, though they were far more interested in admiring the cut of his coat and feeling the quality of the fur. ‘I’m here to examine you all.’

  Max quickly noticed that not all the girls were German. Some were local girls and so he felt he needed to maintain an extra standard of detached professionalism for them; show he was not enjoying too much the music of his own language played on these precious female pipes. He didn’t need any negative reports about him getting back to the guards – and Volkov in particular.

  As in the Lieutenant’s flat there was just one small bedroom off the main room where he arranged with the girls to set up his surgery for the morning, after they had tidied it and removed all evidence that this was, inevitably since there was nowhere else, the room the girls worked in if they weren’t called out to an officer’s residence.

  One by one he checked the girls, secretly revelling in the treble of their voices, their gentle teasing of him and their often caustic gossip. He handed out condoms, just as he had to the Russian soldiers though most of the men just tied them over the barrels of their rifles to keep the snow and water out. It worked a treat and they didn’t need to fiddle about taking it off if they needed to use their guns – they could simply shoot through the rubber without any loss of accuracy.

  ‘Some of the married officers have been following the boys’ lead when it comes to protecting their guns with rubbers,’ Isabel, the girl who had answered the door, giggled as they all sat round the table feeding Max coffee and biscuits after his work was done, ‘but then their wives find the packets of condoms in their pockets and kick them out of the house for having affairs’.

  ‘You can hear them arguing from the other side of town,’ another more blowsy girl chimed in.

  Max had to laugh along with his new friends.

  ‘Some of the wives even end up coming round here, trying to smash down the door, screaming about how they’re going to scratch our eyes out for sleeping with their men, silly cows,’ Isabel cackled showing everyone a mouthful of half-chewed cookie.

  And then one of the Russian girls sitting on the floor behind Max said just loudly enough for him, but perhaps not everyone in the room, to hear, ‘But the thing is some of the wives are right.’

  A furious knocking on the door made Max jump. He wasn’t sure why he should feel so nervous all of a sudden. Perhaps he expected it to be one of those incensed wives. Perhaps he expected it to be a guard raging at him for taking so long – after all, he was here to work, not have a tea party with a load of whores. But it wasn’t a guard or a wife, though he stood anyway, feeling like it was a sensible juncture at which to take his leave.

  ‘Would you mind, lovey?’ Isabel said to Max waving at the door, far too full on coffee and biscuits now to get up again.

  Happy to oblige, Max stepped over the Russian girl and opened the door.

  It was Jenny.

  ‘Max?’

  ‘Jenny?’

  ‘Max!’

  ‘Jenny!’

  ‘You two know each other by any chance?’ Isabel squawked.

  Max didn’t even turn to acknowledge her quest
ion. He was far too entranced by the apparition before him on the threshold. And in the second it took him to accept that Jenny was here in front of him, alive and well, it was all he could do not to throw his arms around her. Jenny, however, possessed none of the same boundaries when it came to decorum and hugged him with such affection it felt like he had his Heizkissen strapped to his back again. Yet it was much more than that. At first it was a shock to Max. He hadn’t been embraced in this way, embraced by a woman since… well, since the last time he’d seen Jenny in Breslau that day in the convent when she’d congratulated him on his Iron Cross. So it took a moment for him to allow his body to receive such a gesture, but at the welcome end of that paralysed period he melted and reciprocated with a fervour and duration that almost had Jenny feeling self-conscious in front of her “sisters”.

  ‘I thought you were dead,’ he exhaled into the shoulder of her coat, fur like his. ‘I was sure you had all been killed when the convent was bombed.’

  ‘So did I for a moment there,’ she said pulling away but patting his arms and chest to show she wasn’t rejecting him. ‘Is there any of that coffee left?’ And she walked into the room.

  Max had stood on the doorstep for a minute hoping his guards were not loitering outside, hoping they hadn’t seen him embracing Jenny or thought he was ready to go back to camp. He wasn’t ready. And he’d hovered about in the doorway as Jenny poured herself a drink until she said:

  ‘There’s a right old draught with that door open, Max. Are you going or have you got time for another coffee?’

  He had time, he said. He had nothing but bloody time. And he passed it for a bit longer with the girls, chatting, gossiping, though all he really wanted to do was get Jenny alone somewhere and talk like they used to talk. As friends, as confidants. Although he couldn’t be sure at first with her nonchalant attitude around the table, it seemed she wanted the same thing too and eventually, after she had shared him with the rest for long enough, she led him by the hand into the little room and sat him on the bed.