by Louise Fein
“Whatever you’ve heard, Karl, it simply isn’t true. There’s no lover. Ask anyone, Erna, Mutti, Vati. You know I would never be allowed . . .”
I place the sandwich parcels at the top of the knapsack.
“You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you go, do you?” he drawls. “You still haven’t explained why you are making sandwiches at five o’clock in the morning.”
“I told you. These are for the BDM. A . . . Christmas community thing. For those in need. I was awake. Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would do it now.”
“All very virtuous, I’m sure, Hetty, but a couple of sandwiches, wrapped in newspaper? Not very festive, is it? C’mon, I’m no fool.” He stretches out his arms and folds his hands behind his head. “I tell you what, I shan’t mention your early Sunday morning meetings with Lover Boy to Vati, if you make me a promise.”
Something explodes in my chest. He knows. Damn Tomas!
I bend down to fiddle with the string at the top of my knapsack, tying and retying it, hiding my tears from Karl. “And what’s that?”
“Give him up, and never see him again. If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to do what I have to. I certainly won’t protect you anymore.” His voice hardens. I don’t answer and he says, “I’ll know if you break that promise. I have my spies.”
I wipe my eyes, take a deep breath, and stand.
“I’m not going anywhere this morning, Karl, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have no lover boy, and I do not intend ever to get one. I shan’t ever get married. One day I shall become a doctor, you’ll see, and I’ll travel, far, far away from here. Right now, I’m going back to my room, and I suggest you do the same. Until you look and smell presentable.”
As I walk past him, he grabs my arm and pulls me to face him.
“Why risk it?” he says, his words lucid again, his tone pleading. “Don’t play with fire, Little Mouse. A dance with the devil . . . it can only ever end in disaster.”
I pull my arm away and leave the kitchen.
Closing my door, I throw myself onto the bed, pummeling the pillow with my fists. Hot tears soak the covers. I picture Walter waiting in vain for me at the station, our plans in tatters. Walter’s situation is perilous, and whatever happens to him, it will be my fault. An idea comes to me, and I rummage in my drawer for some writing paper and a pen. I will find a way to get this delivered when Ingrid and Bertha are up.
Lena,
I know we hardly know each other, but despite this, I hope you can accept me as your friend. I rather need your help and I have nobody else to turn to. Our mutual friend is in great danger. I cannot go to see this friend myself, for fear it will make things worse. I would be extremely grateful if you could warn him that things are very bad. This is why I couldn’t be at our rendezvous this morning. Please tell him that I truly cannot risk seeing him again, certainly not at this moment. Tell him, this is for the best, and that he means so very much to me.
Yours so very gratefully,
Herta
Twenty-Six
January 29, 1938
Tomas, hunched in a threadbare coat, blows on his hands to keep them from turning blue. Snow still lies on the ground. Winter is never going to end, or so it seems.
“Don’t you have any gloves?” His fingers look an alarmingly blotchy red blue.
He avoids my eyes. “Stupidly left them on the tram. Wasn’t thinking straight, you know, coming to meet you.”
“Look, Tomas . . . come on, let’s get you some gloves.” I sigh. “I can pay. I think I should. You didn’t have to come, but I’m glad you did.” I lead the way across the road to the Breuninger stores. I have to find a way inside his head. Drill behind his skull into his mind. Tomas is a child of Hitler. He cannot ignore what he saw.
Since Lena wrote back that my message had been safely delivered, I’ve had no contact with Walter. I’ve not dared. At any moment I was ready with my rehearsed speech for Vati’s interrogation, but it never came. It seems Karl was as good as his word. No more Sunday morning rendezvous, and he keeps his mouth shut. Since he returned to the Luftwaffe he has written once. A friendly, chatty letter, but between the lines, I sense a distance that wasn’t there before.
“Men’s outfitters, second floor,” I read off the store guide.
We travel up in the lift without speaking. At the glove counter, Tomas takes his time sifting through the options, trying on the samples the shop assistant presents him with.
“I think I’ll take these,” he says at last, pointing to a pair of sheepskin-lined leather mittens. They are the most expensive option, but I don’t flinch at the price, and I tell the assistant to put them on Vati’s account. I’ll tell Vati they were for my birthday, perfectly believable as I celebrated my sixteenth only last week.
“Now,” Tomas says, walking out onto the street and brandishing his gloves with a flourish, “you must let me buy you a coffee.”
“Absolutely. That would be lovely.”
In a cozy corner of a coffeehouse off Nikolaistrasse, we sit opposite each other at a little wooden table, Tomas’s tall frame hunched over the table. He thrums out a rhythm with his fingers until a waitress appears.
The coffee, when it arrives, is hot and bitter. I add two lumps of sugar and stir, smiling at Tomas, wondering how to start. Which words to use.
“I forgive you,” he blurts out suddenly, his eyes finally meeting mine.
“Pardon?”
“I mean, as long as what you said is the truth, and you won’t see that arschloch again, then I can forgive you.”
He sits back in his chair as though a great weight is lifted, but there is tension in his jaw and his fingers twitch constantly.
“I haven’t seen him again, honestly.” I lean forward to emphasize the point. “And I won’t. I meant it. I’m truly sorry. I would never want to hurt you, you of all people, Tomas.” I place my hand on top of his, just for a moment. It flaps like a dying fish.
His face crumples. “It’s tormented me, Hetty. Like living in some sort of hell. I thought I was going mad. But I get it now. I was wrong before. It wasn’t your fault. He twisted you. I see that now.” His face is shiny with perspiration. “He tricked you—forced you—into falling for him. It’s what they do, the scum.”
“Tomas—” I fight the anger rising inside me at his words. His hateful references to Walter. I want to tell him all of it was my own free will. Walter didn’t trick me. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. That all this about the evil, scheming Jews is made-up nonsense. But something stops me. I have to work out the consequences of everything I say. I can’t risk him knowing how I really feel.
“No. Wait.” The toe of his shoe drums the floor. “I need to know you aren’t still in his hold—you know—that you’re free of his influence. Then I’ll try to forget what I saw. And I shan’t make any trouble for you.”
“Any more than you did already by telling Karl,” I say before I can stop myself. Slow down. Breathe. “I mean, you had every right . . . But it’s made things difficult for me. With Karl.”
“What do you mean, telling Karl?” His shoe stops drumming. “I didn’t tell him.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, Hetty, I’ve not told a soul. I swear it.”
“Oh . . .” My mind is racing. I try to remember the details of that awful conversation in the kitchen. Karl never mentioned Walter’s name. Neither did I. Perhaps he doesn’t know. If Tomas didn’t tell, well then, perhaps Karl is just guessing, and my mysterious “lover boy” could be anyone.
“I mean,” he says, “I should report him. I want to. I’d love to see the filthy scum punished, but”—his face puckers—“I can’t see how to do it without making trouble for you.”
“Can’t we just forget all this, Tomas? It was just a stupid kiss. In a moment when I lost my mind. I don’t know what I was thinking . . . But I promise, I’d never do it again.”
“That’s good, Hetty, yes, that’s good.” He tap, tap,
taps his shoe on the floor and nods his head. “It’s been tearing me up, this whole thing. I couldn’t bear to think . . . See, I thought of reporting him anonymously. Writing to the paper even, telling them what I saw him do. But, of course, he’d just deny it.” He leans forward. “He’d lie. Do anything to save himself, including naming you. I couldn’t take that risk.”
We stare at each other across the table for a few moments. The pupils in Tomas’s tawny eyes are huge and round, magnified as ever, through his glasses. I swallow hard. How do I reply to that? “Thank you,” I whisper finally. I take a sip of coffee and hope he doesn’t see how my hands tremble. A new worry stirs in my belly.
“So,” Tomas says. “Let’s talk of other things.” His expression changes. “Hetty, I wanted to tell you”—he becomes animated, excited—“I’ve signed up to join the Heer, once my apprenticeship is finished. The army will need trained mechanics like me. Loads of them. I’ll have a job for life. What do you think, Hetty, eh?”
“I think that’s great. Yes, really great.” I smile at him over my coffee cup.
But if you didn’t tell Karl about my secret Sunday morning meetings, then who did?
Twenty-Seven
February 10, 1938
The snow is gone, but a dense fog settles over Leipzig during the night in its stead. As dawn breaks, I leave the house for school, stepping out into the damp gloom. The usual sounds of morning are muffled. Car headlights are dimmed, and the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves are oddly detached from the ghostly dark shape that slowly emerges from the pallid mist.
It would be easy to let my imagination get the better of me. I start and turn at muted sounds, but ghouls and murderers remain hidden in the nebulous atmosphere. I pull my coat tighter around me and hurry across Kirchplatz and into Gohliser Strasse. A tram rumbles and screeches around the bend behind me, drowning all other sound, so when a figure emerges unexpectedly from a recessed doorway, I scream, wild with fear.
“For Christ’s sake, hush!” hisses the figure, wrapped in a coat and scarf, hat pulled low. “It’s me!”
“Walter? Jesus, what the—”
He grabs my arm and marches me quickly along the street. The tram rolls away. People pass us, heads down against the weather. Before we reach Nordplatz, Walter guides me across the road and down Prendelstrasse.
“Where are we going? I have to be at school in ten minutes!”
Walter continues to propel me in the opposite direction.
“You’re not going to school,” he tells me firmly. “You’re going to spend the day at the zoo with me.”
“This is ludicrous! What if they call my parents? Why did you come to find me? You know we can’t see each other . . . Has something happened?”
I look up at him. All that’s visible is a small section of pale, pink cheek between his black scarf and gray felt hat.
“Shh. All in good time.” He turns toward me, and now, finally, I see the twinkling blue of his eyes and my stomach plunges.
“They’ll think it odd if I’m not in school. I’m not like some who hardly ever attend anymore. It’d be out of character for me. This is dangerous, Walter.”
He takes my arm again and we recross the road. A few yards away is a phone booth.
“Go in there. Call the school. Pretend to be your mother and say: Herta is unwell today. She won’t be coming in.”
“I can’t!”
“Yes, you can.”
His gaze is steady and I find myself pulling open the door. He puts a few coins into my hand.
Dry mouthed, I pick up the receiver, insert the coins, and ask the operator to be put through to the office at the gymnasium.
Through the door Walter, hands in his pockets, nods and smiles encouragement.
There’s a ringing tone, then a click and “Good morning,” in a stern voice, then silence as the woman at the other end waits for my reply. I stare at the dirty floor.
“Good morning,” I say, in an unnaturally low voice. I try to mimic the soft inflection Mutti puts on certain words. I hope the line isn’t too clear. “I would like to inform you, my daughter, Herta Heinrich, is unwell today. I’m afraid she has a fever and won’t be able to come to school.”
“Thank you for informing us, Frau Heinrich,” says the voice. “We hope she will feel better soon.”
“Yes, thank you. Good day.”
The line clicks as the speaker at the other end disconnects. I replace the receiver and can hardly believe the brazen thing I have just done.
“It worked!”
I fling myself into Walter’s arms and laugh. We shall have this whole morning together and nobody will know. Hidden from the road behind some rough shrubbery outside the zoo, we kiss, and kiss, and kiss.
“You make me braver than I could ever be on my own,” I tell him. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I have missed you, too. And you make me reckless, Hetty. Reckless like I’ve never been in my life. Love makes us do crazy things, doesn’t it?”
I laugh, my breath instantly cooling, hanging in the air.
Love.
He looks down at me and as his eyes lock with mine, there is such understanding between us. I would follow him anywhere. To the ends of the earth, if he asked me.
They’re unlocking the gates to the zoo. Walter pays the entrance fee and we walk into the deserted grounds, linking arms as we head straight down the center path.
“I’ve been so worried, without any news from you.” I steal a look at him.
“But you told me not to get in touch. I was certain they’d come for me. I didn’t dare go out. My mother was so angry with me when I told her I’d been seeing a German girl. Couldn’t tell her it was you, of course. She even made me hide in the attic for a couple of days. And all I could do was stay there, mad with worry about what might be happening to you. But nobody came, so I dared to come downstairs, then I dared to venture out. I can hardly believe it, but it seems Tomas didn’t report us,” he says, and we huddle together for warmth. “After a few weeks I crept about, like some sort of criminal, trying to see you. I spotted you a few times going in and out of school. It was unbearable watching but not being able to speak or hold you. Two months without you has been a grueling eternity. I couldn’t take it anymore and decided to take the risk.”
“I’m so glad you did,” I whisper. “Tomas never said a word because I think he has a soft spot for me.”
“What a genius you are.” He winks.
“Still. We need to be extra careful.”
“Absolutely.” Walter looks serious. “We were reckless before, but we can be more clever about meeting, vary the time and place. We can use Lena. She is totally trustworthy. She’s even kept our secret from my mother and father. She knows my parents would forbid it, if they found out.”
“Isn’t it an awful risk for her? Why would she?”
“You aren’t the only one who has other admirers, you know.” He winks again.
But the chill of the day intensifies when I remember Karl’s words of warning, and I glance behind me into the shape-shifting fog.
There are aviaries on either side of the path. A bedraggled owl perches in one; small birds flit about in another, and in the largest are some wading birds, standing on the edge of a small pond sunk into the concrete floor. I check again over my shoulder.
“Relax, Hetty. No one is here. Tomas has done nothing, we’re in the clear,” Walter says, hooking his arm through mine. I nod, but I can’t shake the sense that someone is lurking unseen in the amorphous shroud.
We carry on in silence, deeper into the zoo, past the otters and the North American beavers. The only other people around are zookeepers, handing out breakfast to the hungry inmates.
We watch a couple of huge hairy bison standing near the fence eating hay, then continue along the winding path until we stand in front of two vast grizzly bears pacing back and forth in their enclosure, passing each other without acknowledgment. They are silent on their dinner-plate-size pa
ws, sniffing the air now and then with pointed, damp-looking snouts. They are magnificent creatures, and I pity them for being here, when they should be in a forest somewhere, wild and free.
The fog begins to thin; a ray of sunshine penetrates, dousing the swirling cloud in soft amber. Perhaps Walter is right. Here we are alone; I should make the most of this opportunity to enjoy his company.
I smile into his eyes and the tension I felt lifts, floating away with the mist.
“You know,” he says, the bears padding back and forth in front of us, “when you smile, you are the most beautiful creature in all the world.”
I poke him in the ribs. “Don’t tease.”
“I’m not teasing. It’s the truth. I’ve thought it often enough, but I haven’t dared to say. I figure, if I don’t tell you this stuff now—”
“Shh.” I put my finger to his lips. “Don’t say you might never . . . Just, don’t say that.”
“Okay. I won’t. But if I want to tell you how much you mean to me, and how beautiful you are, you can’t stop me.”
I feel my face flush under the intensity of his gaze.
“And you can feel free to tell me anytime,” he continues, “just what a dashing chap I am, how you love my dazzling company, or how good my jokes are . . .” I giggle and we begin to walk on. “In fact, it’s time for a little joke, now, I think,” he says. He pauses a moment, then says, “Göring has attached an arrow to the row of medals on his tunic. It reads, Continued on the back . . .”
“You really do tell the most appalling jokes . . .”
He’s smiling. “It’s just what we do. It’s sort of how we get by, I suppose.”
Walter looks around, then pulls me behind the trunk of a large tree so we are hidden from view of the path. He slips his arms around my waist and we are kissing again, our bodies melting together, his hardness growing against me. It’s both wondrous and terrifying, this power I have.
But, if I were to give myself to him, would the magic, the mystery, the wanting, all be over? After so long apart, I want him to want me. Above everything, and everyone. When the kiss is over, we stand for a long time, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the cold air.
