‘I agree with her.’ He laughed. ‘I’m the same with my secret coffee. I have one full-strength cup a week and savour it. I remember Talia suggesting I make it weaker because it would last, but I’m like Liesl – I’d rather have one good cup than lots of weak ones.’
The casual way he mentioned Talia Zimmerman still made her tense. That he forgave that impossibly pretty girl who had posed as a Jew but in fact was a Nazi spy was a testament to the kind of man he was. Elizabeth tried to be as forgiving as he was, but she found it hard. Talia would have let him hang. She had set the whole thing up that if she were exposed, all fingers would point to Daniel, and if it hadn’t been for a chance discovery on Elizabeth’s part, the man she loved with all of her heart may well have paid the ultimate price for something he never did.
Daniel saw the shadow cross her face. ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured. ‘It’s over.’
She nodded. Talia had confessed before taking a cyanide pill, so between the confession and Elizabeth’s discovery, Daniel had been exonerated and released. But Elizabeth still found it hard to think about.
‘So let me get that tea.’ He went into the kitchen, leaving Elizabeth to her thoughts.
Ariella had given the children to her in the event of her death, but she could well still be alive. Elizabeth adored them both and thought that if Erich especially knew he was always going to have a home with her and Daniel, his night terrors might cease. But what if they thought her suggestion to adopt them was insensitive? She wanted to ease their pain, not make it worse.
She knew logically that the chances of Ariella coming to claim the children was remote at best, but she didn’t allow herself to even think about that.
She’d examined her conscience on the matter of adopting them. Was there any little part of her relieved, glad even, that there was only a slim possibility that she would lose them? Did any part of her, even the tiniest bit, feel relieved that it was increasingly unlikely that there would ever be a knock on the door, and that Ariella would claim her children and take them away? These thoughts were so dark, she didn’t even share them with Daniel. But she was awake most nights at three or four in the morning, these ideas buzzing around her head. She was sure now, after much soul-searching, that her motives were pure. She loved them like a mother, and she wanted nothing so much as the safe return of their beloved mutti because their happiness was all she cared about. If she had the choice to wave a magic wand and find Ariella Bannon alive and well, she would do it to fix those precious hearts.
Chapter 27
Ariella woke to the sound of the church door opening. It was still dark outside. She sat up on the hard, narrow bench and listened intently. It couldn’t be Father Dominic; he always came in the sacristy. And the church was locked…or at least it used to be. Who was there?
Frau Groenig? No, she kept her cleaning things in the sacristy, under the sink, so she would go in there first. Perhaps the priest had kept the church unlocked as a place for people to go who had nowhere; it was like something he’d do.
Ariella still had the bag of bread under her dress, but as she slept, it had slipped down. She pulled it back up again and stuffed it under the belt. She considered taking it off before sleeping but decided if she needed to get away in a hurry, it was best to have the only food she had easily accessible. She moved silently in the direction of the door that led to the altar and into the church. It was slightly ajar, and she saw to her amazement a Russian soldier sitting in the front pew, his head in his hands. He was alone, and his shoulders shook, and from where she stood, she could see he was crying.
She was torn. Should she just leave, ignore him? Father Dominic wouldn’t do that. He would go and see if he could help the man. She had survived because of the kindness of strangers, and though Willi had warned her about the risk to women from the Russians, her instincts told her she was in no danger.
She walked quietly onto the altar, bowing her head as she passed the tabernacle with the exposed sacred heart lamp, and moved towards him. As she pulled the little door in the altar railing that separated the altar from the congregation, he looked up, a hunted look in his hollow eyes. He was young, no more than eighteen or nineteen, she guessed. His head was shaved, and a light stubble covered his cheeks. He was slight of build, and she thought he looked like a boy dressing up as a soldier. Her gut had been right – she was in no danger from him.
‘Good morning,’ she said quietly in Russian, and he looked blankly at her.
Her governess had taught her Russian at her father’s behest. He wanted her to take a course in the Golden Age of Russian Literature. She’d studied Chekhov, Pushkin and Tolstoy as well as the mandatory Dostoevsky. She recalled ploughing through those heavy tomes as a girl, wishing she could read a romance or a mystery just for fun, but her parents wouldn’t hear of it.
He blinked at hearing someone other than his fellow soldiers and officers address him in his native language.
‘Dobroye utro,’ he responded.
‘Can I help?’ Ariella asked. ‘You seemed upset?’
His face seemed to crumble and tears shone in his eyes, and though his mouth moved, no sound came out.
‘It’s all right.’ She smiled kindly at him. He wasn’t much older than Liesl. ‘Would you like a drink? There is some tea in the sacristy. Well, it’s not tea exactly, it’s some kind of dried leaves, but it is warming.’ She smiled at him. ‘We could talk if it would help?’
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘My name is Mart –’ she began, but then paused. ‘My name is Ariella Bannon. I am a Jew.’
She had no idea what made her say those words, but something powerful within her felt like she wanted to reclaim her identity.
He looked doubtfully at her with eyes that had seen too much for one of such tender years.
‘Say the Shema,’ he said.
She was taken aback. His eyes bored into hers. It was the prayer she’d taught to Willi and Frau Braun.
‘Say the Shema,’ he repeated, this time more forcefully.
Ariella began the prayer in Hebrew, the prayer she’d learned as a little girl and recited so many times in her life she’d lost count. Her children knew it, all Jews did. Was this boy Jewish too?
‘She-ma yisrael, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai echad.’
He nodded, urging her to continue. He closed his eyes as she continued in an undertone, as was the custom.
‘Baruch shem kavod malchuto l’olam va-ed.’
‘Shalom,’ he said quietly.
‘Shalom, shalom,’ she replied. He was a Jew.
‘How did you survive?’ he asked, his voice quiet and gentle.
‘I hid with my husband and his mother, and friends helped.’ She cast her hand around the church. ‘The priest here, Father Dominic, he was one of my friends. He should be here any moment actually, to say morning Mass…’
‘Describe him,’ the boy said. Something in his voice changed, making her nervous.
‘Tall, very tall, wavy brown hair, in his fifties… Why?’ she asked.
The boy couldn’t meet her eyes. She saw him swallow, his prominent Adam’s apple moving in his throat. His eyes were fixed on the image of the crucified Christ hanging behind the altar.
‘He won’t be coming,’ he said slowly.
‘What? Why not? What’s happened?’ What did this boy know?
She sat beside him in the dark church and listened as he told a story of a priest who was trying to defend an old woman as a Russian officer instructed his men to rape her. Only this boy and his friend refused, two Jewish boys from Siberia. His friend was shot by the drunk officer for insubordination.
Roman Grinzaid explained how they were instructed to shoot the priest and how the soldiers accidentally shot the old woman as well while aiming at him. In the chaos and shouting that ensued, he’d slipped away.
Ariella felt numb. Poor Father Dominic, dead in the last days. The war over and still he fell defending someone.
Blood thundere
d in her ears. How could this have happened? Father Dominic, kind, good man that he was, shot defending a woman who would have betrayed him if she could. She swallowed and forced herself to breathe normally, her grief threatening to overwhelm her.
‘What did they do with his body, do you know?’ she managed to ask.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I was gone.’
‘So you just went back to your regiment?’ she asked.
‘It wasn’t my regiment. Abraham and I were on a patrol when we were instructed to take part in the attack. I escaped and went back to my barracks.’
‘And just carried on?’ she asked, incredulous.
‘Carried on what?’ His brow furrowed in confusion.
‘Fighting?’ She wondered why he was so bewildered.
‘Fighting who? The Nazis?’
She wondered if he was a little shell-shocked as he didn’t seem to understand what she was saying. But then he went on, speaking slowly as if she were the one confused.
‘But they’re all gone, in custody or hiding like rats down a drain now that the war is over and –’
‘The war is over?’ Ariella repeated his words. She could hardly believe him.
He looked at her strangely. ‘Yes, the unconditional surrender happened over a week ago. How could you not know that?’ Roman was suddenly suspicious. He looked worried that she might not be as she seemed.
‘I’ve been in hiding,’ she said dismissively, focusing instead on the news. ‘It’s really over?’ Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
‘Yes, over. The Germans signed an unconditional surrender, Hitler is dead, and the Allies now control Germany completely. The Soviet Army has liberated you.’
The pride in his voice seemed so out of place in the context of the story he’d just told her. Her face must have registered her thoughts because he went on.
‘Some of my countrymen are behaving very badly, very badly indeed, and there must surely be consequences, but please do not think this is how all Russians are…’
Ariella was still trying to process the news that the war was over, the Nazis had surrendered, she was free to go and find her children. The anxiety this boy felt that she not think badly of his countrymen drew her back to the here and now.
‘If this war has taught me anything, Roman, it’s that there is no one defining characteristic of any nationality.’ Her Russian was rusty, but she found the words to say what she felt. ‘We are all a mixture of everything – good and bad, brave and cowardly, kind and hateful. No one nation or people has a monopoly on anything. So yes, I know not all Russians are like the ones that killed my friend. Germans have hurt me, exiled my children, but it was also Germans who hid me, who gave me food. So I don’t judge people by their nationality, only by their actions.’
He seemed relieved by her words.
‘Now, I must leave you. I must go and then begin the long journey to find my children. They are in Ireland, far from here…’ she explained.
‘They are safe, so that is good.’ He smiled for the first time.
‘Yes, they are safe, and so will I be hopefully. But I need to get out of Berlin with my family. I need to get to Ireland, but I have no idea how to do that.’ She was speaking to herself as much as him.
‘You’re free,’ he said gruffly. ‘You have been liberated by the Russian army, and you are now free. But it is difficult to travel. The roads are full of military vehicles and not suitable for civilians, especially women alone.’ His face showed his concern. Then he lit up with an idea. ‘Can you come with me?’
‘Why?’ Ariella was suspicious. He seemed nice, but she wasn’t going to risk anything at this late stage. ‘Where do you want me to go?’
‘My commanding officer is a good man, a kind man. He is not a Jew like us, but he will help you. He will give you a permit with a Soviet stamp on it, which will allow you out of the city. I’ll vouch for you, and he will give you the papers to get through the checkpoints. You have nothing to fear now.’
She noted the pride in his young voice; his country was liberating her and anyone like her who’d survived Hitler’s hateful regime. The behaviour of some of his brothers in arms was deplorable, but he didn’t want to dwell on that, and she couldn’t blame him. He wanted to help her, and her gut instinct was to let him.
‘One moment.’ She made a split-second decision. She ran into the sacristy once more and went to Father Dominic’s bureau. It was never locked and contained only his prayer book and a small lighter. He was a chaplain in the First War, he’d told her, and though he didn’t smoke himself, he kept the lighter and a few loose cigarettes in his pocket. Sometimes it was the only comfort he could give those wounded, dying men. She knew he had no siblings and his parents were dead, so she took both the lighter and the book. She would keep these things, so precious to Father Dominic, for the rest of her life. If she got to Ireland, she would have a Mass said for him; that was what was done in his religion to remember and pray for the souls of those who died. She would ensure her children knew about this kind, gentle man who risked everything to save others.
She emerged back into the church once more. Roman still stood where she’d left him. Was it safe to go with him? She knew he would not attempt to assault her, but could he control his countrymen? Was it foolish to risk wandering into the lion’s den? But then a Russian pass would be invaluable. She’d need one for herself, Willi and Frau Braun; it might be the only way she would get out.
She thought quickly. ‘Can you get papers for my husband and mother-in-law as well? We need to go together.’
He hesitated, glancing at his watch. With an impatient sigh, he said, ‘Very well, go and get them.’ He seemed glad to be doing some good.
‘They are on the other side of the city, and my husband is sick. I’ll have to walk, but if you tell me where your barracks are, I could come there…’
He thought for a moment. ‘That’s not safe. I’ll have to accompany you. The sun is coming up, and I need to be back at my barracks soon, but if we hurry, and I explain to my commander why I was late…’ He gazed intently at her, noting her doubt. ‘Don’t worry, you will be safe with me. I’ll protect you.’
Together, they slipped out into the street as dawn streaked across the sky. It was quicker to skirt along the railings of the Tiergarten and up to the Brandenburg Gate, so she led him on the main streets. Despite the early hour, there were people about, all looking dishevelled and destitute. An old woman and a little boy entered a house that bore a large sign that read, ‘By the authority of Herr Police President of Berlin, this house has been covered in rat poison. Do not enter.’ But either the old woman couldn’t read it or she didn’t care. A boy picked up a man’s shoe and put it in his bag; even a single shoe would be worth something on the black market, she supposed.
She turned a corner and stopped. Right on the pavement in front of her was a body in a green uniform. Herman Glos. His handsome boyish face was unmarked, but the back of his head was a mess of bone, blood and tissue. People ignored him – dead bodies no longer shocked anyone – everyone scurrying about in the early morning like rats.
‘Please, we must hurry,’ Roman urged, and she mentally shook herself and walked on. She offered up a quick prayer for Herman’s mother, the woman who raised her precious boy to be polite to ladies, just one of millions who would grieve forever.
The few buildings that still stood – those that survived first the Allied bombings and then Stalin’s organs, the slang term for the deadly Katyusha rockets – were exposed. Whole walls were missing and she felt voyeuristic as she tried not to stare at living rooms and kitchens laid bare for all to see, mostly looted of their contents now.
An old man passed them on Tiergartenstraße, pedalling an ancient bicycle with no tyres, and children and adults alike scoured the gutters for cigarette butts. Willi had told her that butts had become a commodity as nobody had been able to buy cigarettes for so long. Black market cigarettes were getting enormous money from those
who might still have some currency.
The Brandenburg Gate was still standing, a miracle considering all around it were rubble and vehicles in various states of destruction. Twisted metal and stone, shattered glass and despondent people were all she saw as she picked her way through the chaos. The Red Army had draped their flag, the red with the hammer and sickle, from the Reichstag.
She should have felt relief – no more dreaded swastikas – but all she felt was a deep bone-weariness. More flags, more men deciding the fate of others. What was wrong with people that they were so intent on control? If she never saw another flag again in her life, it would be too soon. All flags did was separate, show difference, one group rallying to one flag, another group rallying to another, all of it based on nothing more than what patch of earth you happened to be born on. It was all so stupid.
Draped on the gate itself was a home-made looking banner that read in Russian, ‘Long live the Soviet armies that planted their victory standards in Berlin.’
She and Roman shared a look, his a combination of pride and embarrassment, as a girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, saw him and bolted down a side street, clutching her thin dress around her.
Eventually, they arrived at the Brauns’ house. It had taken so much longer than it used to, as clambering over debris was unavoidable now. She pushed the front door and turned to him. ‘Please wait here. My mother-in-law is nervous, and I’ll have to convince her to come out of hiding. Please wait for us. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
He did as she asked, and she went into the sitting room, the bag of communion hosts still around her waist. She would give Frau Braun some of those to eat.
She knew Roman didn’t speak much German, just a word or two, and she spoke rapidly. ‘Frau Braun, listen carefully. The war is over. There is a Russian outside. He’s all right – he won’t hurt us. I’m going to get us out of here. I’ve told him you are my mother-in-law and Willi is my husband. His commanding officer is a good man, so he is going to help us. Is Willi any better?’ She rushed to Willi’s side, and his eyes opened. His fever appeared to have abated, and while he was in a lot of pain, he seemed a little better. She looked into his eyes and he smiled.
The Emerald Horizon (The Star and the Shamrock Book 2) Page 19
