I could sense so much sadness in her voice. There’s nothing worse, for a mother, than being separated from her own children. And I missed her and Papa so much too. Heinrich and I decided to visit them next year for sure. But Norbert didn’t have such an opportunity.
“Don’t be upset, Mama. We’ll come visit you very soon with Heinrich. I’ll probably look like a cow by then, but we’ll still come.”
She laughed, and I felt a little better cheering her up.
“I can’t wait to see your belly!”
“I don’t have a belly yet, Mama.”
A loud knock on the door interrupted me.
“Wait a minute, Mama, someone’s at the door. Actually, let me call you back, I have to throw away whatever it is in the pot.”
“All right, dear. I love you!”
“Love you too, Mama. Say hi to Papa!”
“I will.”
I hung up and went to get the door, wiping my hands on the apron. It was a mailman.
“Good afternoon. Frau Friedmann?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“I’ve got a letter for you.”
He handed me an envelope, said goodbye, and left. I looked at the address and smiled. Poland. It was from Norbert. I rushed to open it, but the letter inside wasn’t written by my brother. It had an official inscription on the very top: “From the table of Rudolf Höss, the Kommandant of KZ Auschwitz” and under it, in careful handwriting:
* * *
“December 6, 1941
Dear Frau Friedmann,
* * *
It is with my deepest sorrow that I inform you that your brother, SS Obersturmführer Norbert Meissner, has accidentally shot himself while cleaning his weapon. He was pronounced dead by the medical staff of KZ Auschwitz hospital for the SS staff on December 5, 1941.
I know the sorrow this message has brought you, and it is my hope that in time the knowledge of his heroic service to the Reich, even unto death, may be of sustaining comfort to you.
On behalf of the SS administration, I extend to you and your family my deepest sympathy in your great loss.
* * *
Sincerely yours,
SS Obersturmbannführer Rudolf Höss, the Kommandant of KZ Auschwitz.”
* * *
I was holding the letter in cold shaking hands, reading it again, and again, and again, hoping that the words would somehow miraculously change if I kept looking at them more carefully. It’s a mistake. It can’t be. He’s not dead. My brother is not dead. I read it again. He’s not dead. My only brother is not dead. He can’t be dead.
“He can’t be dead,” I said out loud. “It’s a mistake. He’s not dead. He’s not dead! He’s alive!!!”
I dropped to my knees, crushing the letter in my hand and screamed as loud as I could. My brother was dead. He was dead. Dead.
Heinrich and I were alone left at the cemetery. Snow mixed with rain already soaked my clothes to my skin, but I didn’t feel anything. I was standing next to the fresh grave still holding wet flowers in my hands. The black onyx cross on my wrist was dangling in the wind, hitting my gloved hand. I liked having it on me again.
They wanted to bury Norbert in Poland, but I told Heinrich that it would be over my dead body. The doctor wanted to “take care” of the unborn baby that I lost, but I said that they would be buried together, in one grave. He tried to object that it was not technically a baby yet, but I demanded that whatever it was, I wanted it in a box and in the cemetery, right here in Berlin, right next to his uncle.
They did everything as I wanted. They shipped Norbert’s body to us but wouldn’t let us open the casket. He shot himself in the head. They also sealed the box that they gave me in the hospital so I wouldn’t look at it. I didn’t need to see them both to know that they were dead. Dead and buried deep under the ground, the grave’s black scar still fresh like a wound on white snow. Everything was black, the ground, my clothes, the cross on my wrist, Heinrich behind my back, my heart inside. As soon as the first shovel of dirt hit the casket my black heart pumped the black blood inside my veins, spreading poison throughout my whole body, new shovel, new pump, more poison, one after another, more poison, hatred, evil, death. I knew what I had to do. I knew what had to be done so nobody would feel the way I felt now. He must die. The man who killed my brother and my unborn child must die. The man who wanted to kill millions of other innocent people must die. Heydrich must die.
I stepped closer to the fresh grave and knelt before it. I gently stroked the cold ground, put the flowers on top of it, and said quietly but firmly, “I swear to you, Norbert, I swear on my life that I will not rest until I see him dead. I swear to you right here and now that I won’t stop while he breathes the same air with me; I won’t stop while he walks on the same ground. You had to die, but the others will survive. I swear to you, darling, your death hasn’t been in vain. I swear I’ll see him dead or will die trying. I swear, darling. I swear.”
I knew that Heinrich couldn’t hear me. I didn’t want him to hear what I said. I said louder what he had to hear, “Take care of our little angel, Norbert, will you? We will always love and remember you both.”
I kissed my hand and pressed it to the ground. There was nothing left to say.
“You can’t just see Gruppenführer without making an appointment, lady. It doesn’t work that way. You have to call the main office, talk to the secretary, name your purpose—”
“He’ll see me without any appointments,” I interrupted him with a smile.
I’d come a long way to see him and such an insignificant obstacle as armed SS guards wasn’t going to stop me.
“I don’t think—”
“You don’t have to think, Officer. Just go over to that little phone behind your back, dial a number, and tell him it’s Frau Annalise Friedmann. He’ll tell you to let me in.”
The guard frowned at me but still walked to the phone, even if he showed no visible desire to do so. The second one was still eyeing me suspiciously. I winked at him from under my black net veil. It had only been a month since the funeral, and I was still in mourning-black clothes. But for this meeting I made sure I looked my old beautiful self. For the first time I put mascara on my lashes, red lipstick on my lips and curled my hair, letting it lay in waves on one side of my shoulder. The other one was covered with black fur, thrown over my winter coat. I was ready to see him.
The first guard hung up the phone and turned to me with a sour expression on his face.
“Herr Gruppenführer will see you now. Please, come upstairs, third floor, the secretary will tell you where to go.”
“See? It wasn’t that hard, was it?” He looked even grumpier after I gave him another smile. I didn’t care.
On the third floor the secretary personally escorted me to the anteroom, where Gruppenführer’s adjutant was already expecting me.
“Good afternoon, Frau Friedmann. Herr Gruppenführer is waiting for you in his office.”
He courteously opened the door for me and closed it behind my back. Gruppenführer was leaning on his table, his long legs crossed, a cigarette in his hand and a smile on his face.
“What a pleasant surprise, Frau Friedmann. May I inquire of the purpose of your unexpected visit?”
There wasn’t a person in the world who I was happier to see now than Gruppenführer Kaltenbrunner, the leader of the Austrian SS. I slowly walked up close to him, smiled and said, “You and me, we have a common enemy, Herr Gruppenführer. I want him dead.”
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The Girl from Berlin, #1 Page 26
