Prince Kurt insisted we each have a small glass of cognac after we had eaten. As a digestive, he said, pouring the brandy. Once we had our glasses he sat down on the sofa. Looked pointedly at the princess. And at me. He said, The Russians will be in Berlin in three weeks. The middle of April. You must prepare. Dieter will bring you more food next week. I want you both to remain inside this cellar. Once they’ve infiltrated the city. Do not go out. Promise me. Irina. And you too, Gabriele.
We did. She went on, I know everyone expects a sexual assault. This is now a city of women. Except for small boys and old men. All the other men are dead or in the forces. The Russians will rape and loot. But mostly rape. I understand that very well.
Just so long as you do, Prince Kurt answered. Dieter will bring you a gun when he comes with the food. And ammunition. To protect yourselves. If that is necessary. We will do that, she said. Then added, I’m a good shot.
I have some other bad news, Kurt announced. I have just discovered something truly appalling. He paused, gave Irina a long stare. Berlin has no defences. I know it’s unbelievable. But it’s the God’s truth. There are not even any plans to defend Berlin. No fortifications. They were all in Hitler’s imagination. Berlin is not the fortress he claimed it to be. No provision has been made to protect the civilian population. Or evacuate them. Women, children and the old are in the gravest danger.
That can’t be true, she began and stopped. She saw the grim look on his face. He said, Attempts will be made by the local government to provide some sort of defence. But there are hardly any troops here. And the police force is diminishing as they’re called up for the army.
We’ll have to defend ourselves, or flee, the princess said. There’s nowhere for you to go, Prinzessin, Dieter said. The Russians will soon be in the Mark Brandenburg. If they’re not already there. They are rapidly moving inland from the River Oder. Irina asked, Is there any chance of the Allied forces getting to Berlin first? She looked from Kurt to Dieter. Her eyes were worried now. Both men shook their heads. The British, the Americans and the French will arrive, Dieter said. But they’ll probably enter the city a few days after the Russians.
Refugees fleeing here from the country towns are telling horrifying stories, Prince Kurt told us. About the Russian soldiers. They’re voraciously raping as they move forward. We will be careful, Irina promised. But I noticed she was extremely pale. With a sharp laugh, she said, If they find a White Russian like me, a Romanov, they’ll murder me after raping me. You can be sure of that.
FORTY-SIX
Knocking on the door brought Justine’s head up. She called, ‘Come in,’ and smiled when she saw Ayce. ‘I know you’ve come to ask me about lunch, but I don’t want anything right now,’ she said. ‘I’ll come downstairs and make a sandwich for myself later. Thanks for being so thoughtful.’
Ayce smiled, inclined her head and closed the door of the bedroom.
Justine dropped her eyes and looked at the black leather-bound book on her lap. She turned the page and began to read.
BERLIN 10 APRIL 1945
I kept a tight control on my emotions. And so did the princess. It was the only way we knew how to be. Prince Kurt had told us not to leave the cellar. But this was difficult. We had to go out sometimes. Early every morning we stood in the crater. For air. We would climb the steps. Look around. Then we went down into the crater again. Back inside the cellar. We did the same at night. Some days we even went to the bakery. And the dairy. We did this together. We never lingered. We ran most of the time.
It was chaos in the streets. Berliners rushing around. Seeking food. Or news. Dodging refugees from the outer towns dragging their belongings. Circling mountains of rubble. Avoiding craters. Fear hung in the air. We were as frightened as everyone. We knew we were facing Armageddon. The Russians were on the banks of the Oder. Hitting out at the small towns standing in their way. Their huge armies growing larger daily. The Allied armies were closing in. The British, the American and the French. Berlin was their target. We were at the door of death.
It was a cool Tuesday morning. Irina and I ventured out. She locked the door. We climbed the jagged steps. Hurried as fast as we could. We ignored the blighted landscape. Focused on our business. To find food. Dodge the bombs. If a raid came. Get back to our little abode. Safely. To hide.
Only stale bread at the bakery. We bought it. The dairy had milk and cheese. We gave our stamps. Paid. Left. Ran back home. The Americans had not bombed today. So far. We wondered why.
Irina made coffee. We did not eat. We were saving the food for supper. We were expecting Dieter. He had called yesterday. Miraculously our phone worked. His call was brief. He was coming with food. And news. Around six o’clock. I sipped the coffee. I was thinking hard. I must talk to Irina. Ask some questions. I glanced at her. Gauging her mood. She had not been well. She had a weak chest. She caught colds easily. Her face was pale. Drawn. But her eyes were bright. She suddenly smiled. What is it? she asked. An auburn eyebrow lifted. Can we talk about C? I asked. She frowned. Then nodded. Yes, she said, What do you want to know?
You told me he was in prison. Is he still there? Is he still alive? To my knowledge, she said. I don’t understand. Why was he arrested last year? I asked. Because he helped people to escape?
She shook her head. Let me explain. Count Claus Von Stauffenberg, a colonel in the Wehrmacht, was a Roman Catholic. Anti-Nazi. Anti-Hitler. He went to Hitler’s headquarters. At Rastenburg. In East Prussia. It was last July. He had a time bomb in his briefcase. He placed it next to Hitler. Stayed for most of the meeting. Then left. Flew back to Berlin. He believed Hitler had died in the bomb explosion. A few hours later, everyone knew the assassination attempt had failed. Hitler was still alive. Claus Von Stauffenberg was arrested. That same night. Executed that same night. Without a trial. By a firing squad. Canaris and dozens of other generals, and Colonel Oster, were arrested. Several days later. Sent to Fürstenberg Prison. Accused of being part of the assassination plot. Many were executed. But C is still alive. So is Colonel Hans Oster. The British know all about Canaris. They will save him. I’m praying he has a charmed life. That he lives until they get here.
Thank you for telling me, I said. I’m relieved. I only got this information recently, she answered. After a moment Irina gave me a penetrating look. Where is your passport? In my bag, I said. Can I see it? I nodded. Went to get my handbag. I handed her the passport. She opened it, looked at it. Very carefully. Began to tear it up. Who needs a passport stamped with a J for Jew on it? she said. Please bring me a pan, and the matches. I am going to burn it. I stared at her. Flabbergasted. She laughed. Nobody has papers these days. We’ve all lost everything. In the bombings. We have nothing. And thus was my passport burned. The ashes flushed down the toilet. By the princess. She looked pleased with herself after she had done this.
We were always hungry by lunchtime. But we did not eat. We had to conserve what bit of food we had. In the afternoons we usually listened to the radio. For the news. For music. Then we slept. When we were asleep we did not feel the hunger pains. For me this afternoon was a bit different. I sat for a long time staring at the photograph of Mummy, Papa, Erika and me. I held the belief in my heart that they were alive. That I would see them soon. The Allies would free them. I was certain of that.
I picked up the snapshot of myself and Anita. Taken by Arabella in the meadow at the Schloss. In 1938. When I thought of Anita I smiled. She was safe. In Istanbul. I would see her again. One day. Unless I got killed in the bombings. Or by the Russians. I thought of Arabella von Wittingen. Luckily she was safe in Switzerland. With her children. But Ursula Westheim and Renata von Tiegal had not fared well. Tragically they had both died in Ravensbrück. In 1943. Maria Langen, a friend of Irina’s, had told us this. Maria was imprisoned in Ravensbrück herself. From 1943 to 1944. Unexpectedly she had been released. The three women had been there together. Friends. She came to see Irina. To give her the sorrowful news. We asked Maria if she had known my mother and
sister. She had shaken her head. No, she had not, she said. But she had heard they were there. They had been moved from Buchenwald. Later I wept. Irina said, It is a very big camp. They are probably still alive. Hold onto that thought, Gabri. I did. And so did Irina.
We always tried to get dressed up. For Dieter and Kurt. It gave us something to do. Made us feel better. We scrubbed our faces. We brushed our hair. Changed into our shabby but treasured remakes of Arabella’s clothes. Waited for Dieter. We did not know why Prince Kurt was not coming. Travelling, Irina said. He would not miss seeing us. He cares about us.
Once the knocking started, Irina and I went to the door. She knocked back. Dieter said against the keyhole: The blue gentians are in bloom. It was the password of their resistance movement.
Irina turned the key. As usual Dieter had brought a paper bag of food. Half a salami. A packet of tea. A container of cooked herring. And a bottle of Rhine wine.
Not much, I’m afraid, he said. Irina thanked him profusely. So did I. We were grateful. He opened the wine. The three of us sat down. Irina and I were thrilled to see him. Where is Kurt? she asked. Moving around for Krupp, he answered. Ammunitions are still being made. I haven’t heard from him lately. But he’ll show up. You should be prepared, he said suddenly. The Russians will start the attack on April the fifteenth. Or the sixteenth. No later. Irina nodded. We trusted his information. He owned one of the most important newspapers in Berlin. Information came to him daily from various sources. He had hundreds of contacts. I know it’s hard to stay inside, he went on. But once the Russians hit the city you must not go out. I will come. When I know it’s safe. We must hope the telephones keep working. And the radio, he said.
Do you have any special instructions? Irina asked. Don’t open the door. Unless you’re sure it’s me. Then he added quietly, Understood? We nodded. Irina and I took out the bread and cheese. Opened the container of herring. We had our usual picnic. Plates on our knees. As we ate, Dieter told us Hitler was still in Berlin. In his bunker, he said. Rumour has it he’ll commit suicide. Before he’ll surrender to the Allies. Or the Russians. He won’t be taken alive.
Do you truly believe Berlin is defenceless? Irina asked, staring at Dieter. He nodded. Kurt and I have it from the best source. General Reymann. The city’s new commandant. He knows that Berlin’s defences are an illusion. Hitler’s illusion. He believed Berlin would never be in danger. And now it is. All I can say is God help us. We went on talking for a while. Then Dieter told us he must get home. To prepare his wife for the coming trouble. He promised to phone us if he had any important news. Or instructions for us.
BERLIN 21 APRIL 1945
Irina and I were huddled in our little abode. She did not feel well. I was apprehensive. I didn’t know what I would do if she got really sick. With bronchitis. Suddenly we both stared at each other. We heard the drone of planes. It’s the Americans! she exclaimed. A smile flashed. Her violet eyes sparkled. Hooray!
I laughed. She always welcomed the American bombers. And the RAF. I did too. They were trying to liberate us. Even if they killed some of us in the process. For over three and a half years the planes of the US Eighth Air Force and the RAF had pounded us to smithereens. Today was the same. I had lost count. But I thought it was about the 363rd air raid of the war. It was 9.25 a.m. on Saturday morning. We heard huge thuds. The crashing of buildings that had been still standing. The exploding bombs. But the noise seemed far away. Not near us at all. Three hours later the planes were flying off. Leaving the airspace above Berlin. The drone of their engines was receding.
A moment later there was a noise the like of which I had never heard before. It was a weird screaming sound. Not the whistle of a bomb. Nor the thudding of anti-aircraft guns. Something entirely different. So high-pitched it was ear-splitting.
The radio was on. I heard the announcer’s voice. We are under attack! Berlin is under attack! The Russians are entering the city! The voice stopped abruptly. Music began to play.
I looked at Irina. Alarmed. She rose. Came and sat next to me on the sofa. I put my arm around her. She was trembling. What time is it, Gabri? she asked. I looked across at the clock on the chest. Eleven thirty. She stared at me. She said, Berlin has just become the front line. The Bolsheviks are here in the city and they’re going to kill us.
We knew from the horrendous noise outside that shells were exploding everywhere. On the Lützowufer, above our cellar where we were huddled. Along the Tiergartenstrasse. On the Ku’damm. Even on the Unter den Linden. The city was under siege. The Russians were pulverizing it. We knew we must not go out. Not for days. We were at their mercy. Even when the shelling suddenly stopped we paid no attention. It would soon start again. It did. Out there was rape and death. And if the soldiers didn’t get us, we would be killed by flying shrapnel and bombs.
By the late afternoon we were hungry. I made some salami sandwiches and hot tea. We still had a little sugar left. And a precious lemon. We enjoyed our food and the lemon tea. It was a treat. At one moment there was a thud against the oak door. We were startled. Stared at the door. Apprehensively. Was it a bomb? Artillery fire? A soldier standing outside? We waited. Terrified. Nothing happened. I stood up. Don’t go out! Irina cried. I’m not, I said. I just need to stretch.
And so it went. Day after day. Night after night. We heard the guns, the bombs, the artillery, the explosions. The crumbling of the remaining buildings. But no one attempted to get into our cellar. No bombs hit us. We slept. Intermittently. Ate carefully to conserve our food. We had no idea how long the siege would last. We did exercises. Read. Slept. Slept some more. Read. Listened to the radio. The news was horrifying. Thousands killed. Thousands more injured. Hospitals stretched to capacity. Berliners crowding the streets. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to shelter. All of the underground shelters filled to overflowing. The dead and the dying abandoned. No ambulances available. Bodies rotting. The streets are too crowded, nothing can move, Irina said.
By the end of April the last battle was almost over. Berlin was burning and the Third Reich was dying a terrible death.
We waited. The phone didn’t ring. But we knew what was going on from the radio. People had started to loot. So had the Russian soldiers. The rapes had started. Terrified women were committing suicide. The police were non-existent. They had been recruited for the depleted army. Or the Home Guard. And they had been defeated. Overrun by the Russians. Out in the street were tanks, artillery, machine guns. Guns of every kind. And the Russians were toting them. If we opened the door we would face chaos, danger and death.
We attempted to keep track of the days. But we were exhausted from worry, lack of fresh air and food. Then one afternoon we were both dozing when we heard a loud banging on the oak door. I struggled up off the sofa. Irina was already heading towards the door. I followed her. She knocked back. We both heard Dieter Müller’s most welcome voice. The blue gentians are in bloom, he said.
The princess opened the door. He smiled at us. He said, Come on. Come out, get some fresh air. We did so. Blinking in the first daylight we’d seen in weeks. It’s over, he announced. The last battle is over. And so is the war. We both fell on him. Together we hugged him joyously. What’s today’s date? I asked. May eighth, he replied. And yesterday, at Reims in France, General Alfred Jodl, the representative of the German High Command, and Grand Admiral Karl Doenitz, the designated head of the German State, signed an act of unconditional surrender to the Allied Expeditionary Force and the Soviet Union. It’s truly over.
Dieter came and kissed each of us on the cheek. He couldn’t stop smiling. I climbed the jagged steps. Irina followed me. Dieter came out of the crater last. I looked up at the sky. It was a very bright blue. The sun was shining. The air was balmy. It felt good on my face. It’s a beautiful day, Irina said. I nodded. And then she added, But it’s so quiet. This was true. There wasn’t a sound. It was so eerie it was startling. I looked around me. I was in shock. I could not believe what I was seeing. A vast unending landscape of flattene
d buildings. Piles of rubble, upended girders, bricks and lumps of twisted steel. Deep craters everywhere. Mud holes brimming with water. Everything was covered in black soot and ash. Central Berlin looked like a blighted dystopian landscape on some far-distant planet. And it was unlike anything I’d ever seen in my life. The vista was totally flat. It was a wasteland.
Berlin has been wiped off the face of the earth, Irina said, sounding horror-struck. That’s right, Dieter agreed. Marshal Zhukov turned twenty-two thousand guns on a Berlin already in ruins. He wanted to obliterate it. And he did.
FORTY-SEVEN
Although she didn’t want to stop reading, Justine knew she needed refreshments. She had a headache. Downstairs in the kitchen she made coffee, took a handful of cookies out of the biscuit barrel on the countertop. She stood there munching on the cookies and drinking the coffee, her thoughts in the past.
Within a few minutes she was back in her bedroom, opening the book, reading the next segment of her grandmother’s story.
BERLIN 15 JULY 1945
We’ve been living in a desperate city, the princess and I. Not a city at all. Demolished. Not functioning. Without proper services. Hospitals bombed or spewing patients into the streets. Disease rampant. Typhoid, diphtheria and tuberculosis causing most deaths. Death is in the air we breathe. Thousands of dead bodies are yet to be buried. Rats run everywhere. People look lost. Dazed. Berliners living amongst piles of rubbish. Camping out anywhere they can. Refugees trailing back. Mostly Berliners who fled during the war. Too many people. Terrible overcrowding. Hotels non-existent. The Adlon, the Eden and the Kaiserhoff destroyed. A few small hotels open. How lucky we are to have our little abode. Our hole in the ground is a palace.
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