Martin laughed. ‘No, I think I know what you mean. I think we both loved you.’
Monika smiled coyly. ‘And perhaps I loved you both.’
‘Perhaps you still do.’
His words shocked her not only because of his presumption but because of their accuracy. ‘No,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I don’t, it wouldn’t be right, I...’
His mouth against hers felt so deliciously natural, so perfect, but she pulled away. It wasn’t right, like she’d said, it wasn’t right at all. Holding hands under the table, she felt the need to run, to run away from both Martin and his brother. But she knew she couldn’t – not now, not ever. She leant against him, feeling his warmth. He put his arm around her. The gesture made her shiver with cosiness. She wanted to drown in his kiss, to float away from all the chaos in the world, such a beautiful, beautiful man. It’d been him, Martin, always had been, the exciting one, the one with fire in his eyes. Oh, Peter, I’m sorry, I don’t want to lose you. She loved them both, she didn’t want to but she realised now that she did. Martin was right, she always had, always will – Martin and Peter, the beautiful twins, she didn’t want to lose them both, couldn’t face a life without them, without him, without Martin. She kissed him. Don’t leave me, she thought, don’t stop kissing me. ‘Don’t, Martin, don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t you leave me too.’
*
With their arms wrapped round each other, they wandered back towards the apartment. Leaning into him for warmth, she didn’t want the moment to end, didn’t want to face Peter again. She couldn’t bear the thought of Peter dominating her thoughts, wanting desperately instead to enjoy the smell and aura of Martin, but Peter’s face refused to fade from her mind. And the face she saw was not the Peter she wanted to remember, that face belonged exclusively to Martin now, but the gaunt face of a man being eaten from within.
The pavement was awash with loose stones and rubble; Monika stumbled; Martin scooped her up. Without words, they kissed, blind to passers-by, to people talking, to trucks rumbling along, to newspaper vendors shouting their publications.
‘My God,’ said Martin suddenly. ‘That’s Albert.’
‘Who’s Albert?’
‘Don’t you remember? Tomi’s friend – you know...’
She caught sight of him, hands in pocket, a man scurrying towards them. Yes, she remembered – remembered catching him on Hitler’s birthday kissing another boy behind the café while Martin held his bottle of Coca-Cola behind his back. He almost walked into them, muttering an apology.
‘Hello, Albert,’ said Martin.
The man stopped, his eyes wide with fright. ‘Oh, shit, it’s you. Peter. Monika.’ Monika could see that Martin was about to correct him but decided against it. Albert seemed in no mood to chat and made to leave.
‘Hey, hey, Albert, not so fast. Haven’t seen you in years.’
‘So what?’ He tried to step round Martin but Martin blocked him.
‘Not so fast, Albert. Not so fast. So, how goes it? What you doing now?’
‘What? Do you care?’
‘Yeah, I do. Tell me.’
‘I’ve got a job if you must know. An important one.’
‘Have you now? An important one? Doing what exactly?’
He looked round as if he was about to divulge a secret. ‘If you must know, I work in the Army HQ, Transfers Division.’
Martin’s eyes lit up. ‘Transfers Division? Well, that’s useful to know.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes. Yes, indeed.’
‘I’ve got to go. Good to see you both still alive, you never know these days who’s going to cop it from one day to the next. How’s your brother?’
Martin couldn’t help glancing at Monika. ‘Not so good, he was hit.’
‘Serious?’
‘It is now. There’s nothing left in the hospitals, and no one will come out to him.’
‘Happened to a friend of mine – died for the lack of plasma.’
‘He’s got a terrible infection,’ added Monika. ‘It’s destroying him.’
‘You married, Albert?’
Albert eyed him. ‘I really have to go now.’
Martin stepped to one side. ‘Yes, yes, of course. You have an important job to get to. I’ll pop in and see you some time.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
Martin watched him leave, stroking his chin.
‘What was that about?’ asked Monika.
‘Hmm? Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.’
Chapter 19: Not Going Back
‘I’m not going back.’
‘I’m sorry.’
They were in the apartment, in the kitchen with its dingy wallpaper, its linoleum floor, sitting at the table opposite each other, a couple empty dinner plates and mugs pushed to one side. Peter was asleep in the living room. Martin looked up at Monika, holding her gaze. ‘I said I’m not going back, back to my unit.’
She tried to speak, unable to comprehend what he was saying.
‘I don’t care what you think, what anyone thinks. Call me a traitor, a coward, whatever, I don’t care. I’ve done things, Monika, things I’m not proud of, things I know will haunt me for the rest of my life. Yet out there, in the middle of nowhere, the bleakest place you can imagine, snow everywhere, unbelievably cold, shooting a mother and her teenage girl between the eyes seemed... well, if not normal, then certainly acceptable.’
‘No, please, Martin. Why are you telling me these things? I don’t need to know.’
‘Because I thought I was doing it for you, for everyone, for the Fatherland, for the good of the nation. The boys in my unit – one by one I saw them get killed. I knew it was only a matter of time. We measure our lives in years. I was measuring mine by days, then, as we pushed further, by the hour. That’s then I knew. We weren’t Germany’s future; we were its cannon fodder. I saw lieutenants, majors, colonels getting the hell out. Yeah, OK, they pulled a few strings, got themselves transferred, but they knew what they were doing, we all did. If I go back, I’ll never see you again, Monika.’ He stopped, searching his pockets. With trembling fingers, he lit a cigarette, exhaling the smoke, watching it disperse. ‘A year ago, I got hit; a bullet to the calf muscle. Nothing serious. But enough to get me transferred. Fantastic, I thought. I was sent to a camp – guard duty. Easy work while I recuperated. It was a camp for Jews. There were others there too but mainly Jews.’
‘Like the concentration camps?’
‘No. Worse. Much worse.’
‘Worse?’
He shook his head. Monika realised with a jolt that he was crying.
‘They were killing them. Hundreds, thousands, every day.’
‘The Jews?’
‘Gas. They use gas.’
‘Gas? How can they...? I don’t understand.’
‘I saw it with my own eyes, Monika. My own eyes.’
‘Why? Why would they... I don’t believe you.’
He slammed his fist on the table. The plates and mugs bounced. ‘You don’t believe me?’ he shouted. ‘You think I’m making it up?’
‘Please, Martin. Please tell me it’s not true.’
‘I’m not going back, Monika. I can’t.’
‘You can’t not go back; they’d shoot you.’
‘And I’d be shot if I go back. So either way, I’m fucked.’
‘You could escape.’
‘I know. And I know a man who can help.’
Chapter 20: Sirens
Over the next couple of days Monika stayed inside the flat, looking after Peter who drifted in and out of consciousness. He looked worse with each passing day, his skin greyer, flakier, his temperature dangerously high. Applying cold flannels to his brow made little difference. While Peter slept, she busied herself by cleaning the apartment. They still had running water, but she kept the bath full – just in case. Martin spent the days out, where, she had no idea, reappearing only to sleep.
One night, M
onika was awoken by the sirens. Jumping out of bed, she grabbed her coat and went to the spare room to find Martin still asleep. She shook him awake. ‘Martin, listen, listen...’
He sat up on hearing the high-pitched drone of the sirens.
‘They’re coming back,’ said Monika.
Martin rubbed his eyes, it was still only one in the morning but as the noise registered, he leapt from the bed, his eyes wide with panic, and rushed to the window.
‘We’re going to have get Peter down to the cellar,’ said Monika.
Between them, they tried to lift Peter up as the sound of the sirens became steadily louder. ‘God, he’s heavy,’ said Martin breathlessly.
Peter opened his eyes. ‘What are you doing?’
Monika stroked his hair. ‘Peter, oh, my love. There’s going to be an air raid. We’ve got to get you down to the cellar.’
He heard the sirens. ‘No. You two go. Leave me here.’
‘Peter, we can’t do that, love.’
Martin, more brusquely, told him to get up.
‘No, I can’t move.’
‘Get up, you stupid bastard.’
But Peter, close to tears, his energy sapped, refused to.
They heard the anti-aircraft engage, like that of a rapid barking dog, and beneath it the drone of the planes. ‘For fuck’s sake, Peter. Look, this is your choice,’ shouted Martin. ‘Come,’ he said, offering Monika his hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘What? We can’t leave Peter here.’
Then came the horrendous noise of the bombs falling, detonating. The walls shook. The lights flickered, then went out. The air pressure intensified, pounding their ears. Martin dived under the table. Monika screamed, covering her ears. Ceiling plaster fell, the floor trembled. Another bomb. Shattered glass flew across the room. The block of apartments opposite collapsed, crashing down as if it’d been built of straw, leaving huge clouds of black smoke amongst the flames. Peter covered his face with his hands, his blanket covered in plaster and shards of glass.
Martin and Monika, grappling on the floor in the pitch dark, bumped into each other. Martin shouted something but what, Monika had no idea, the noise of the planes and the bombs and the explosions ear-splittingly loud. The utter sense of vulnerability reduced her to tears. Crying, she fell into his arms, curled up in his lap, shivering with fear. As more bombs fell, she gripped Martin’s arm, aware of her fingernails biting into his flesh. She felt the sudden stab of anger coarse through her – anger that, through his stubbornness, Peter should have exposed them to this; they were going to die here, in this blackness, their mouths and nostrils bunged up with dust, their ears deafened by the intensity of noise. Martin pressed her head against his chest, stroked her hair.
Then, almost as sudden as it had started, there came a lull. The ceiling light bulb flickered back into life exposing a room almost white with powdery dust.
‘Please, God, let there be no more,’ she whimpered.
‘I think they’ve gone,’ said Martin, his chin resting on her head. ‘You all right, Peter?’ he called out.
Peter, coughing, managed to splutter a ‘yes’.
They remained where they were, too frightened, too dazed to move. The minutes ticked by. The city outside, through the broken windows, remained eerily quiet, just the ominous sound of buildings on fire, of masonry and timber collapsing.
Eventually, came the sound of the all-clear. Disentangling themselves, Martin and Monika clambered to their feet, rustling their hair, wiping away the worse of the dirt and dust.
Monika attended to Peter, taking water from the bath in a pan, using a flannel to clean him, while Martin looked round the apartment, surveying the damage. ‘Could have been a lot worse,’ was his considered opinion.
‘Leave me next time,’ said Peter, his voice coarse and quiet. ‘I’m dying–’
‘Peter–’
‘I know I am. But you have to save yourself. Please, next time...’
Chapter 21: Passes
The following day, Martin returned to the apartment, looking pleased with himself. Monika was in the living room, using a tea towel to sweep the dust and bits of plaster off the table. Peter lay fast asleep.
‘I went to see Albert today,’ he said, rubbing his hands against the cold.
‘What for?’
‘He’s doing us a little favour.’
‘Is he? Like what?’
‘We’re going to Switzerland, we can’t stay here.’
‘Switzerland? Are you mad?’
Her words stopped him in his tracks. ‘Monika,’ his voice quiet. ‘Monika, I told you – I’m not going back. The war is lost; everyone knows that. Everyone except the diehard fanatics. Once the Russians get here, we’ll be as good as dead, that is unless the Brits don’t get us first.’
‘No. That stuff about the Russians, they say it’s just government propaganda, that it won’t be that bad.’
‘After what we’ve done to them? They’ll be out for revenge, Monika. If we stay, they’ll kill me and Peter, that’s for sure, and they’ll rape you.’
‘Rubbish. You’re just saying that to frighten me. What do we do about Peter?’
‘Leave him.’
‘I don’t believe you can mean that.’
He threw his scarf onto a chair. ‘We have no choice.’
This was the side of Martin she didn’t like, the arrogance of the dominant brother – no hesitation, no second thought, simply the dogged belief that what he said was right. But Peter was in no state to offer his opinion – it was down to her.
‘I won’t leave without him.’
‘He’s dying, Monika, we can’t take him.’
‘Then I won’t leave at all.’
He pounced on her with such force she fell back against the wall. The memory flashed through her mind – pushed against the tree near the lake so many years ago. ‘For fuck’s sake, the time for heroics is over.’ A splay of spittle doused her face; she’d never heard him so high pitched. ‘We’ll be slaughtered, we have to leave.’
‘He’s right, Monika.’ The voice so weak seemed to come from somewhere faraway.
They halted as if caught in a freeze frame, Martin’s hands grasping her by the shoulders.
‘Peter,’ she cried. Shrugging Martin off, she went to him and placed her hand on his forehead. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘OK, I guess.’
‘You are, Brother?’
Struggling to pull himself up, Peter answered breathlessly. ‘Better than ever.’
Monika tried not to wince from the stench of his breath. ‘Martin thinks we should leave.’
‘I know, I heard.’
‘But we can’t leave you.’
Peter smiled a ghostly smile. ‘I think I could do it, I feel OK.’ Monika shot a doubtful look at Martin. Peter caught it. ‘Believe me,’ he said. ‘Just get me to a train and I’ll be all right.’
‘That’s right,’ said Martin. ‘And once we’re in Switzerland, we’ll be able to get you some proper attention.’ Monika wondered whether Martin was serious or, as she feared, merely placating him. Outside, a fire engine, its siren full blast, made its way down the street. Martin reached for his coat. ‘I’ll have to go and see Albert again – if it’s not too late.’
She watched him leave, trying to squash the sense of disappointment that he hadn’t said goodbye, not even a look of acknowledgement. Instead, she took Peter’s hand, wishing she knew what she wanted.
*
Hours later, Monika’s heart leapt as the door burst open. Instinctively, she reached for the revolver hidden beneath the upturned crate next to Peter’s bed, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Albert standing at the doorway. She put the revolver back.
‘Is Peter here?’ he asked.
She was about to point to Peter in the bed, but realised he meant Martin. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Here.’ He threw an envelope on the table. ‘I’ve done my bit. Tell him I don’t expect to see him again.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Your passes.’
‘Our passes?’
‘I signed them off. It gives you and him official permission to travel to Munich. I didn’t want him coming again to the office, hence this personal delivery. How kind am I? I guess Switzerland is not too far from there – if that’s what you want. I don’t want to know. As Peter’s officially classed as an invalid, it wasn’t too difficult. I put you down as his carer. What you do once you’re in Munich is not my problem.’
Monika glanced nervously at Peter who’d drifted back asleep and hoped he was sleeping soundly. ‘Did Martin, I mean Peter... did Peter come see you about a third pass?’
‘No. Anyway, that’d be pushing it. I wouldn’t be able to wrangle that much.’ He stepped over to the bed. ‘So,’ he said, peering inquisitively down at Peter. ‘What happened to Martin? Christ, he looks awful.’
‘He was wounded. Eastern Front.’ How easily came the falsehood. ‘Shush, you’ll wake him.’
But it was too late; Peter opened his eyes and saw Albert standing over him. ‘Albert? What... I don’t understand... what passes? What are you doing here?’
‘You mean, they’re going to leave you behind?’
‘What?’
‘Ask your brother. I can’t hang around.’
As he was about to leave, the door swung open again, and there stood Martin, breathless, his hair dishevelled. ‘Did you get them?’ he asked on seeing Albert.
Albert pointed at the table.
He picked up the envelope, inspecting the passes inside. ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘Your secret’s safe with me, my friend.’
‘Fuck you.’ And with that, he was gone.
‘It’s like an inferno out there,’ said Martin, removing his coat. ‘Bodies everywhere. Everyone’s talking about the Ivans. They’re terrified and they have every right to be.’
‘How did you get Albert to obtain those passes?’ asked Monika. ‘What secret?’
‘It’s all about what you know,’ he said, tapping his nose. ‘The Party still frowns on homosexuals, don’t they?’
‘You blackmailed him?’
My Brother the Enemy Page 9
