“Da?” he seemed very surprised by my sudden revelation and pointed to my uniform jacket, as if asking, what about this?
“Yes.” I drew an invisible Star of David on the left side of my chest. “A Jew.”
Misha motioned his head to Heinrich on the floor.
“No, he’s not.” I smiled and patted my husband’s hand. Color was slowly returning to Heinrich’s face, even though his breathing was still a little hectic. I kept checking his forehead every five minutes after the soldiers brought him in and put him on the floor in the corner, even though there were two perfectly normal beds in the bedroom, where Misha had been told to guard us. I got it, we were their prisoners who got to live just because of Heinrich’s high rank, and being the ‘loathed Nazis’ we didn’t deserve the bed. I took my uniform jacket off and covered my husband with it to keep him warm.
In the evening, after it got dark out and the fighting in the streets ceased, the Russians returned to their temporary homes. As they filled the room with a loud ramble and positioned themselves on every surface to have their canned dinner, I stayed in my corner next to my husband, trying not to move at all not to attract any unnecessary attention. However, it seemed like they had different plans for the evening, because after quickly finishing with their food, they all got up and left in very high spirits, joking and laughing. They asked Misha something, I guess offering him to go with them, but he shook his head negatively.
After they left, my Russian guard made sure that no one was in the next room, quickly made a sandwich with bologna that his comrades left on the table and handed it to me. I ate it fast and gave Misha a grateful smile.
“Thank you.”
“Pozhaluista,” he replied and sat on the floor not too far away. He took a chess set out of his backpack and started organizing black and white figures on the board. After a meal and all the exhaustion of the longest day of my life I started feeling sleepy, and leaned on the wall, still holding Heinrich’s hand in mine. He was getting a slight fever and I kept touching his cheeks and forehead, restraining myself from nodding off.
Misha noticed my anxious state and left the chess board, on which he was playing difficult combinations with himself for the past hour. He walked up to Heinrich, touched his forehead and went to the other room. After a minute he came back with a wet cloth and put it on my husband’s forehead, pointing at his watch and showing the five minute separations on it.
“I shall flip it every five minutes, right?” I lifted my palm with five spread fingers and then flipped the cloth to make sure I understood Misha right. He nodded enthusiastically several times, slightly patted me on my shoulder and went back to his chess, leaving his watch next to me.
I hadn’t noticed how I fell asleep, but catching myself having a dream, quickly opened my eyes to keep tending to my wounded husband. I was surprised to find Misha right next to Heinrich, fixing the wet cloth on his forehead. He smiled at me and motioned me back to the floor, indicating that I should go back to sleep.
“I had my five minute nap,” I replied, even though I knew that the Russian wouldn’t understand the words, only the intonation. “I’ll stay up in case he wakes up.”
I still couldn’t figure out why he was helping me and why he was so kind to me all the time. But the mystery resolved later that evening, when Misha took a photo out of his pocket and, after studying it for a long time, decided to show it to me.
The picture was a family portrait as I understood, since all the members looked very much alike, except for the oldest – Misha’s parents, as I guessed.
“Mama, Papa,” he confirmed my thoughts, pointing to the couple in the middle and then to the young man next to him, probably his brother. “Sasha. Alexander, moy brat. Anna, moya sestra.”
With those words he affectionately tapped his finger on a very pretty girl with wavy dark hair, who looked like his twin. His sister Anna, as I understood.
“She’s very beautiful, Misha. You have a beautiful family.”
He smiled proudly as if he understood what I said and pointed to his sister on the picture and to me again. “Anna. Annalise. Tebya zovyt pochti kak moyu sestry.”
We had almost identical names. And all of them looked very Jewish, even though he never confessed to it directly. I reminded him of his sister, who was hundreds of miles away, probably waiting for him to come back home. I smiled again and thought of how right my husband was once again, when he was saying that even the feared Russians were people just like us, with families waiting for them, and for the first time I understood why he refused to shoot at them.
It was easy to brand the whole nation with a certain label, like the Nazi regime branded Jews and Slavs to be sub-humans, how the Russians branded all of us – Germans – to be Nazis and fascists, not even differentiating the two notions. But there were good and bad people everywhere, and it’s always a personal choice which we decide to be. Misha decided to help an enemy. I asked God to give him a long and happy life with only good things on his way.
_______________
“If you’re saying that you’ve been working for the American counterintelligence, why were you shooting at us, their allies?”
This new Russian, who the commissar brought closer to the night, kept asking me the same meaningless questions without even listening to my replies. His German was almost impeccable, and he kept aggressively dismissing all my explanations not because he didn’t understand me, but because he didn’t want to listen.
“We weren’t shooting at you, we were shooting at the walls, stairs, air in the street, but not your soldiers. My husband is an excellent shooter, if he wanted to, many of your men would have been dead.”
“Who threw a grenade at us then?” The Russian raised his voice again.
“I did, because you shot my husband,” I answered in the same manner.
He mumbled something that sounded like a curse under his breath and translated the last few sentences we exchanged to the commissar, who was sitting at the same table and staring at me hard. They didn’t have patience to wait till Heinrich would regain his consciousness and decided to interrogate me instead.
I had repeated the names of my American superiors several times already, but kept getting the same annoyed reply, “The Americans aren’t in Berlin, the city is circled by our Soviet troops.”
“What’s the point of all this then? You don’t believe me anyway.”
“I decide here ‘what’s the point’ and ‘what’s not the point,’” the interpreter translated what the commissar had just yelled at me. “You should be grateful that you’re still alive and should stop acting so arrogant before we change our mind!”
I tried my best to keep my emotions under control when the commissar stated his conclusion on my and Heinrich’s account.
“I know the games, you, fascists, are playing,” the interpreter even imitated the commissar’s intonation while speaking to me; or maybe he just hated me the same and that’s why he sounded so spiteful.
“We aren’t fascists, fascists are in Italy,” I corrected him and regretted it right away, as he slammed his fist on the table.
“Do not interrupt me!!! If you’re so smart, why you didn’t go teach in some university instead of working for your criminal, atrocious government and help them send millions of people to death?!”
“As I’ve already told you several times before,” I cursed my own attitude, which seemed to surface every time I needed it the least, and tried to sound as respectful and reasonable I could, given the situation and my interrogators’ attitude. “I started working for the government solely to help my American supervisors, the OSS, with counterintelligence. Just like my husband. And they will gladly confirm it to you as soon as you contact them.”
“But they’re not here, and it’s a perfect opportunity for you to make up some story in the hope of receiving our sympathy, just before the allied forces enter Berlin, with the intent of being able to run before they can confirm or deny anything. We know all y
our Nazi tricks, and believe me, they’re not going to fly with us.”
“Run where?!” I started losing my patience and could hardly restrain myself from yelling. “Your troops are all over Berlin, and look at me! I’m nine months pregnant, my husband is still unconscious, how can we possibly run and where would we run to?!”
“Many of you have already run. Where are all your leaders, huh?! Where’s Himmler, the main SS leader? Where’s Goebbels, the Minister of Propaganda? Where’s Bormann? Where’s Reichsmarschall Goering? Where are all of them?!”
“I suppose they’re all in Hitler’s bunker.” I shrugged.
“You wait till we get them all out,” the interpreter added with a vicious smile, clearly with the hope of intimidating me. “You thought that what Italians did to Mussolini was bad? You’ll see what we do to your beloved Führer!”
“He’s not mine, I couldn’t care less about what you do to him,” I shrugged again, much to the both Russians’ surprise. “I hate him as much as you do, if not more.”
“Are you playing your games again?” The interpreter’s brow furrowed.
“No. Look at what he did to my country. Why would I love him?”
After two more hours they finally ran out of questions, or simply got tired, and let me go back to my corner at last. Thanks to Misha’s damp cloth, which he kept carefully wetting away from his superiors’ eyes, Heinrich’s fever reduced a little and his breathing wasn’t so labored anymore. I whispered a ‘thank you’ at my Russian helper, who answered me with a little wink, and lowered myself on the floor next to my husband. My exhaustion was so immense that I couldn’t even bring myself to open my eyes when the rest of the Russians, occupying the apartment, came back from their drunken rampage, dropped their weapons on the floor and fell on both beds and the floor; not even their loud snoring stopped me from slipping into a heavy black dream.
_______________
Berlin, May 1, 1945
I was frantically observing the crazed Russians jumping on each other, pouring vodka into shot glasses and yelling like mad. They seemed to be overwhelmed with happiness, but their behavior was, frankly speaking, frightening to me. Even Misha was shaking hands with his comrades and patting them on their shoulders.
“Hitler kaput!” Excited, he explained to me later the reason for their celebratory mood.
“Hitler’s dead?” I repeated.
“Da! Kaput!” And he went back to celebrate with his comrades, leaving me alone with my sleeping husband.
Heinrich had finally opened his eyes earlier that morning, much to my relief, and in a raspy voice asked me if I was alright, if the baby was alright and if anybody hurt me. I reassured him that both the baby and I were absolutely fine and quickly explained our situation to him.
“You did everything right telling them about the OSS.” He managed a faint smile and slightly squeezed my hand. “Now we just wait till the allies are here. They’ll help us.”
He wanted to talk to the commissar too, but I begged him not to exhort himself and rest, so his wound would heal faster. He still was so weak that he just closed his eyes again and didn’t even argue with me.
The next day the Russians had another reason to celebrate: after a fierce fight our troops put up on every level of the government building – the symbol of the Reich – the Soviet soldiers finally hoisted the red flag over the Reichstag, announcing the official fall of Berlin. It only took less than a week for the former Reich to fall apart as well, after one by one the occupied countries got liberated by the allied troops and the captors started to run out of places to put their German prisoners of war.
On May 8, when General Jodl signed the unconditional surrender to all the allies in Berlin, the shooting on the streets as a form of victory fireworks wouldn’t stop till night. Heinrich and I lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling without saying a word. The war was officially over, and we felt like two orphaned children with no one to protect us and with a frightening future ahead. We interlaced our fingers as a silent gesture of support; at least we were still alive and had each other, and when you’re together, everything isn’t so scary.
_______________
May 9, 1945
The Americans entered Berlin. The Americans, who we were waiting for so long, and whose appearance at the doors of the apartment we were kept in all these days we met with wide smiles and high hopes.
“Mrs. Friedmann?” One man out of the four people group stepped forward and helped me get up.
“Yes,” I straightened out my dress, looking at him expectantly.
“I’m Sergeant McMahon, OSS.”
“Nice to meet you.”
I extended my hand to him, but he just looked at it and demonstratively clasped his hands behind his back.
“Mrs. Friedmann, you’re under arrest for the purpose of interrogation.”
“What?” I thought that I misheard him at first.
“What do you mean she’s under arrest?” Heinrich lifted himself on one elbow and winced at pain.
“Mr. Friedmann, I’m just following the protocol. She has the information we need, and we’ll let her go as soon as we have that information.” Sergeant McMahon had already motioned to the soldiers following him to take me into custody and turned back to my protesting husband. “We’ll take you to our headquarters here in Berlin, where the doctors will take care of your injuries.”
“What about my wife?”
“You’ll see her very soon. If she cooperates, of course.”
I followed the OSS people into their open military car and the rest of the way spent in silence, partially still confused with their behavior, partially in shock from observing what was left of my city. Smoldering ruins, carcasses of destroyed buildings, parts of barricades moved towards the sidewalks not to disrupt the movement of the vehicles… That’s what was left of my Berlin.
“What do you want from me?” I tried to ask again.
The answer was the same, “Wait till we get to the headquarters.”
I tiredly rubbed my eyes, thinking that this was never going to end. First my own Gestapo, then the Russians, then the Americans… Were they ever going to leave me alone? My nerves were shot as it is, and I felt an uneasy first wave of an approaching panic attack, and most likely full-blown hysterics would follow it. I didn’t know how long I could take it for. The urge to cry, scream and kick, reproaching my detainers in injustice, was getting more and more overwhelming.
We risked our lives for you every single day! You promised that as soon as the war ends it’ll be over with! You promised that you’ll help us! You promised to take care of us! What the hell are you doing now?! Why you keep treating us like criminals? You promised!!!
I covered my face with my hands and drew in a long breath, clenching my teeth preventing all these words from escaping my mouth. I made yet another almost impossible effort to stay calm.
Finding out that the OSS temporary headquarters was in the former Kripo jail, I almost burst out laughing, especially after they brought me into one of the cells which they made into the interrogation room with a table and three chairs. Why three, I frowned, and then reminded myself that it was the OSS and they were interrogating us, the Germans, here. The third chair was for the interpreter.
“So, Mrs. Friedmann,” Sergeant McMahon said, positioning himself across the table from me. “Let’s not waste any time and start, shall we?”
“Fine,” I replied, looking at him inquisitively. I still had no idea what kind of information he thought I had, which even Heinrich couldn’t give him.
“You were working as a secretary in the former RSHA, isn’t it so?”
“If you’re familiar with my file, I suppose you know everything about my former position from many reports I gave to Ingrid and Rudolf.”
“Yes, I do. So let’s get straight to business then. Where’s your former boss, Ernst Kaltenbrunner?”
I blinked several times, just now realizing why he brought me here. They couldn’t find Ernst
and wanted me to help them. Only, I knew as little about his whereabouts as they did.
“I wouldn’t know,” I answered honestly.
“I think you would.” The American kept staring at me with his piercing blue eyes, which for some reason brought back memories of Heydrich. I shuddered involuntarily. “As long as I remember you weren’t only his personal secretary, you were his mistress, isn’t it so?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I quietly mumbled, looking away.
“It has everything to do with it. I have all the reasons to believe that he would inform you of where to find him after you make it out of Berlin. Where is he?”
“I wasn’t going to leave Berlin to join him, I was going to stay with my husband.”
“According to one of our sources, a counterfeiter who we recently transferred here, to Berlin, after we liberated the camp he was confined into, General Kaltenbrunner obtained two passports from him, with his and your picture in them, claiming that the two of you were husband and wife. That man identified you from the picture in your file. Are you still keeping to the version that you weren’t going to join General Kaltenbrunner? Why would he make those passports then?” Sergeant McMahon sounded a little irritated now.
“He wanted me to go with him, but I refused.” I lowered my eyes at the memory of our last meeting. “He burned both passports in my fireplace.”
“Okay. I’ll pretend that I believe you. Where did he go after he left you then?”
“I don’t know. Austria, I guess.”
“Austria is big. Where in Austria?”
“I told you I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Yes, you are. Where is he?” The American rose from his chair, both fists butting the table surface.
I swallowed hard. “I really don’t know.”
The Girl from Berlin: War Criminal's Widow Page 15
