Forbidden Love

by Mary Hagen

  The man stood with an expression of horror on his face. “I’m Lieutenant John Randall with the British Special Air Service and this is my driver.” His words were choked with repulsion. He would never forget the date, April 15, 1945 or the sight before him.

  “Thank God,” the man said in a weary voice. He swayed on his feet. “There are 13,000 cases of typhus in the barracks, and I have nothing to help them. They are infected with lice and starving as well.” His voice was so weak, the lieutenant leaned forward to catch his words.

  “Your name?”

  “I’m Doctor . . .” The man grabbed the fence before crumpling to the ground.

  Survivors gathered at the gate, pitiful appearing creatures so thin they were like skeletons. The lieutenant’s driver struggled with the gate while the lieutenant radioed for help.

  “We need immediate help. I’ve never seen anything like this. People are on the ground dead and dying.” He gagged on his words. “Emaciated men and women are moving about like ghosts.” My god, I’m going to be sick. This is the most horrible day of my life. “Please hurry.”

  The two men broke open the metal gate to reach the doctor on the ground. He was so thin, it was nothing to get him to his feet and half drag him to the jeep. The lieutenant asked his name a second time, but the man was too weak to answer.

  Within days, the surviving prisoners were deloused and moved to a nearby German Panzer army camp under the direction of Brigadier Glyn Hughes, Deputy Director of Medical Services of the 2nd Army.

  The starving, sick, surviving prisoners were washed and deloused. Because the prisoners were too starved to eat, different feeding techniques were set up. Finally, a mixture of rice and sugar with paprika worked. Massive efforts were made to save the prisoners, but 13,944 people died. Thirty thousand lived due to the efforts of the British and Canadians

  When he was lucid, the doctor mumbled his name as Doctor Saul Dresser. His questions were answered about the sick inmates he tried to help. Despite efforts of student doctors brought from England, his condition continued to deteriorate, and on June 15, he died, muttering, “Esther.”

  The camp was do infested with lice, Hughes had it burned to the ground with flame throwers.

  ~ ~ ~

  Hannah read her father’s name and date of death, June 15, 1945, on one of the lists posted of Jews who had died in internment camps in German held territories. She resisted the urge to scream and pull her hair as tears filled her eyes, but she knew he was dead before she saw the names on the sheets of paper. Still the reminder made it so permanent. She dabbed the tears with her handkerchief as she realized she would never see him again, hear his voice, and feel his concerns for her. A deep sob erupted from the depths of her soul. The world was a cruel place to subject people to such terror.

  She did not want to carry the heartless death of her papa to her mamma. With her head lowered, she walked to the bus and queued up to ride to her favorite tea shop. Bringing the news of how Papa died to her mamma would be difficult. As they walked out of Berlin, Mamma had worried about Papa and regretted she hadn’t shared whatever fate faced him. Night after night, Hannah had to wake her from dreams of her papa. How was she going to give her mamma the news? She ached with feelings of guilt for abandoning Papa, but what could she have done to help him? She needed to collect her grief and sit alone.

  With a hot cup of tea in front of her, she remembered ski trips, hiking in the mountains, and sailing on Grosser Wannsee Lake with her family and Papa’s constant lessons. Today, she retained a great fear of returning to Germany even with many top Nazis about to go on trial for war crimes, but with the death of Papa, she had to go back. She had to see Bergen-Belsen and where Papa died, she had to find Penn, and she needed news of Jacob. Hate and blind ambition had caused the lives of so many people and the loss of so much human talent. She would never understand.

  Her tea grew cold as thoughts tumbled through her mind. The waitress interrupted her. “May I warm your tea,” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she gave her a new cup.

  Hannah uttered, “Thank you.”

  “I hope you’re all right.” The waitress averted meeting Hannah’s eyes.

  She gave a weak smile. “Yes.” Her insides were not all right. They were cold as ice and sealed with regret. She promised herself she would never return to Germany, hear the accusations of being a Jew, live in such fear, and never again know such hate.

  Since arriving in England, she did not utter a word in German, spoke English without an accent, abided by the English laws, and considered herself English. Although most of the people had treated her with understanding, there were some who considered her an inferior person because she was German and a Jew. When someone taunted her at work, it hurt. Fortunately, many came to her defense. She had overcome most objections, and loved England.

  How would Penn react to her if she found him? Had he found someone else and married? Would he become an Englishman and leave Germany behind if he was single? She could not live in Germany. England was her country.

  Hannah took a sip of tea and a bite of the scone she had grown to enjoy, but the tea was bitter and the scone had no flavor. Getting to her feet, she paid her bill, put on her coat, and prepared for her meeting with Mamma.

  The ride to the outskirts of London where Mamma, Ethel, and little Samuel lived ended too soon for Hannah. She walked to their small cottage with her head lowered not wanting to greet people. Fortunately, the street was empty except for a few bicycle riders who passed her.

  At the gate leading to their front door, Hannah hesitated, but Mamma spotted her and opened the wooden door before she reached it.

  “What brings you here on a work day?” Mamma called. “Not that I’m sorry to see you. Samuel’s doing his school work and Ethel and I are preparing supper. You will stay and eat with us?”

  Hannah embraced her mamma and followed her into the parlor, through the dining nook, and into the warm kitchen filled with the smells of a pot of vegetable soup. Samuel pushed away from the table where he sat studying, ran over to her and hugged her. She kissed the top of his head.

  “How is school?” she asked.

  “I’m the best in my class,” he said with pride in his voice. “And I’m on our rugby team. I don’t know how to play, but no one does yet. Will you come see me play?”

  “I won’t miss a game.”

  Come sit down and I’ll show you my spelling words.”

  Hannah removed her coat, hung it on a hook next to the stove, and sat, grateful she rescued the child and took him with her when she fled Berlin. He was the apple of Mamma’s and Ethel’s hearts, and he kept Mamma functioning. A happy child, he never asked her about his mother so she assumed he had forgotten her because he was so young when they fled Berlin. England was his home and his language.

  “I brought some day-old bread from work to have with our soup,” Ethel said. “I’m so glad you’re here to join us.” She talked with a slight German accent, but like Hannah, she intended to become as English as the English by listening to English on the radio, reading the papers, and never saying a word in German.

  Eating did not appeal to Hannah, and she had trouble spooning the soup into her mouth as she waited for them to finish their meal.

  “You don’t care for my soup?” Ethel asked with a slight down turn of her lips. “You’ve barely touched it.”

  “It’s delicious, but I ate not long ago,” Hannah answered. She forced herself to finish eating.

  Ethel cleared the table and served small cream cakes. Reaching for Mamma’s hand before she ate her dessert, Hannah said, “I’ve very bad news.” She stumbled over her words and choked unable to continue about Papa’s death.

  Mamma, Ethel, and Samuel put down their eating utensils. The only sound in the room was the clock. For several minutes, no one spoke. “What is t
he bad news?” Mamma questioned. “You did not continue about your bad news.”

  Hannah chewed her cake and said nothing for several seconds. “Oh, it really isn’t so bad. I may be transferred.” She fought away her tears as the lie fell out of her mouth.

  Mamma squeezed Hannah’s hand and then folded her own in her lap. Ethel’s mouth dropped open and for a minute she was silent. She stood and came to Mamma and put an arm around her shoulder. Little Samuel glanced from one of them to another with a question on his lips.

  “You’re not being truthful. Please tell us what it is.”

  “Papa died in Bergen-Belsen Concentration Camp.” The words tumbled out.

  “I felt it in my heart the moment he died,” Mamma said softly. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye, but I prayed God would look after him, and I shed my tears.” She sucked in her breath. “He was a good man and a good husband. There’ll never be another one like him.”

  “Oh, Mam, I’m sorry,” Samuel said. “I love you and I’ll take care of you.” He came to her and climbed into her lap. “You have me.”

  “Yes, little one, we’re fortunate you joined us.”

  Tears trickled down Hannah’s cheeks. She brushed them away with the back of her hand. How many family members would never know what happened to their loved ones? How many families had died apart in the camps? How would family members reunite, find one another in the aftermath of the war if alive? How would she find Penn and where was Jacob? Was he alive?

  “I’m going to Germany,” Hannah said. “I want to know why Papa died and where he is buried, and I want to trace Jacob and Penn.” She glanced from her mother to Ethel for their reactions.

  “Please don’t. Forget Penn. He’s not worthy of you. What if some of the Nazis are still in power? We don’t know what they’ll do. It isn’t safe.” Mamma’s voice trembled with alarm. “I couldn’t bear to lose you. We may never find Jacob.”

  “I do have reservations, but the war’s been over for a year. The leaders of the Nazis are under arrest awaiting trial for war crimes and many of them will never have power again. Cowards like Hitler, Goring, Himmler, and Goebbels, along with his family, have committed suicide.” Hannah said, but her voice caught and came out high.

  “We can’t be certain,” Ethel said. “Those dreadful men and women may get away with what they’ve done to us and to others they did not consider suitable specimens.”

  Samuel asked in a small voice, “Is my mamma dead too?”

  His words struck a dagger in her heart. She thought Samuel had closed the door to any memories he had of his mother, but he hadn’t. If she found his mother, they would have to give him up. How would her mother’s emotions survive losing him after what she had just been told about her papa?

  Her answer to the child stuck in her throat. She forced herself to answer. “She may be, but I’ll check,” Hannah said, believing it best to answer truthfully. She held out her hands to him, but he snuggled deep into Mamma’s arms, his mam.

  “You promised,” he said, looking at her accusingly. “You said you’d take me to Mufti.”

  “I did, and I’ll do what I can to keep my promise.”

  Neither Mamma nor Ethel made a comment, but their expressions showed fear of losing the boy who meant so much to them. Mamma placed a kiss on the top of Samuel’s dark curly hair.

  Chapter 20

  Hannah asked for and received a one week leave from her work at the hospital and flew to Germany. When the plane landed in Berlin, she remained in her seat too uneasy to return to Berlin and Germany.

  The flight attendant approached her to ask her to exit. “We’ll be flying to Paris in a short time,” she said.

  “Yes.” Hannah collected her carryon belongings. With fear in her heart, she forced herself to leave the plane and to step on German land. She determined to swallow her anxiety and make train reservations for her first trip to Bergen-Belsen to visit the remains of her father.

  In Bergen, after checking her baggage in a locker, she hired a taxi to drive her to the site. Except for large signs erected by the British, a few monuments, one in stone, and possibly set up by former prisoners, there was nothing left of the camp. No memorial to her father, to the thousands who had died at the hands of the Nazis, marked the spot. She was stunned. For several minutes, she stood silently with a hurt so deep she couldn’t catch her breath. Her father needed to be remembered. He couldn’t be forgotten as though he never existed as a person like the millions who lay in mass graves. Anger at the injustice of the Nazis sent hot waves through her and she wished them dead so they could never regain power.

  Every building had been burned as if the camp had never happened. The area had reverted to heath. It was as though no one wanted to dredge up the horrors the Nazis had carried out against her people, political prisoners, or those who were declared unfit. A woman prisoner had told of the death of Anne and Margot Frank from typhus and lice infestation shortly before liberation and someone had erected a memorial to them. Bergen-Belsen was not a priority. Papa would never be honored. Tears flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She sobbed great heaving sobs; she couldn’t stop. What would she tell Mamma?

  With her hands in her pockets and her collar turned up, she walked the grounds of the previous camp while the tears continued to flood down her cheeks. She pictured the mass burials, the camp burning to the ground and ceasing to exist. She had read the burning occurred because the lice infestation was so bad. Now, nothing marked the horrors of what had happened at Bergen-Belsen or to her beloved papa, but a soft breeze seemed to carry their cries to her.

  Engulfed by the onslaught of grief, her legs folded under her, and she sat on the ground. So many broken dreams once full of promise, so much talent lost to the world, rubbed out by the Nazis and madness.

  She did not leave the site until darkness covered the heath and her crying was under control. In Bergen, she caught the train to Berlin terrified of spending a night so close to the site of the concentration camp even though she knew it could not entrap her in its terror.

  As she waited to board the train, she studied the faces of the citizens. They were lost in thoughts of their own seemingly without shame of the horror that had occurred so near to them. It fueled a growing anger within her. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to scream at them, their seeming unconcern, “killers, murderers.” She forced herself to calm down before she did scream her nerves tingling, her fingers curled into her palms. The train couldn’t arrive soon enough.

  When she arrived in Berlin and drove around for the first time since her return, she was shocked. The city was in ruins. Some effort appeared in progress to clean the streets, but piles of broken bricks and stones mixed with shards of glass littered the sidewalk. The Tiergarten was blank, the trees cut, the ground barren except for a few gardens. The Reichstag stood in ruins as did the former Gestapo Head Quarters and most of the Nazi government buildings. The original baroque bell tower, the only one in Berlin, still stood.

  The small number of people on the streets kept their eyes focused on the sidewalks. No one greeted her, but when someone gave her directions or took her order for lunch in German, she’d shrug her shoulders as though she did not understand. She had buried many memories she had of Germany and did not want to recall them, the pain still sharp in her mind.

  She spent the night in a small pension untouched by the bombing. It had soaring ceilings adorned with stucco and aging lithographs. The breakfast room was bright and furnished with antique tables and chairs, and a beautiful sideboard. She ate a bread roll, eggs, bacon, and drank coffee before paying her bill. When she refused to speak German, the matron gave her a puzzled glance.

  Feelings of panic lay in her stomach as she visited the American Army Head Quarters to inquire about any survivors of the holocaust. She read lists of the names of those who had died and
those who had survived. With a jumble of sadness and relief, she found the name of Samuel’s mother on the list from Auschwitz. She had died the day after she arrived at the camp, gassed and cremated. A mixture of relief and grief flooded through her. Samuel would never know his mother but he would remain with them. When he was older, she would tell him how she died.

  Locating information about Penn was more difficult, but after visits to offices of military personnel, she learned he was missing in action. One officer told her Penn could be a prisoner of the Russians even though they had revealed the names of most of the German soldiers held by them. Penn was not on their list. Jacob, she ascertained, was in Palestine, and she obtained his last known address. They could contact him with a letter.

  Before leaving Berlin, she summoned her courage to visit her home and that of the Schwartz to inquire about Penn and to retrieve her mother’s menorah she’d been forced to leave. She hoped no one had found it hidden in her attic bedroom.

  The residential district had not been bombed, but the homes were shabby and bleak. With reluctant steps, she walked to the front door of her home. Thoughts filled her mind of the good times when she had played with friends, tagged after Jacob and Penn, and ridden her first two-wheel bike without a care. She paused to listen to the voice of her papa echoing through the air as he called her to dinner. Jacob and Penn sounded in her ears as they teased her unmercifully for following them. As quickly, the good memories were replaced with fear of her last years in the house.

  As she raised her hand to ring the doorbell, a black cloud scurried across the sky wiping away her memories, good and bad. She was in Germany, the country of her sorrows, her nightmares persisting into the present. She wanted to run away from the past, never remember it.