I was wrapped in a blanket on my porch and fighting against the dying light when I heard footsteps. Engrossed in my novel, I didn’t look up.
‘Goethe? I’m impressed.’
‘Captain Stenz,’ I said in greeting. ‘Do you need to see me? Would you like me to come into the house?’
‘No, no,’ he said, taking off his cap, ‘I don’t want to disturb you. But I would like a brief talk. May I?’ He gestured at the second chair. His tone suggested I wasn’t due for any rebuke, and his manner seemed relaxed as he sat.
‘Of course.’ I was glad of the company and yes, I was actually pleased to see him. Was it merely because he wasn’t Sergeant Meier? The Captain wore the same uniform, and yet my reaction to the man inside was entirely different.
He sat, turning his gaze and squinting as the sun slipped behind snow-capped mountains to the right of our view. I watched his eyes glaze over for a few seconds, then heard a sigh slip from between his lips, before the noise pulled him to attention.
‘So, how are you getting on? Are you being treated well, and do you have everything you need?’
‘Yes, I am well looked after,’ I assured him. ‘I have everything I need to do my job.’ I watched him catch my meaning.
‘Fräulein Braun tells me she is very happy with the arrangement, and says she is feeling well, so we can be grateful for that.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She’s in good health. In fact, I feel rather underemployed. It’s not what I’m used to.’ We both seemed aware of exchanging niceties that said very little.
‘I wouldn’t be too concerned about that,’ he said, smiling. ‘Your value will be in the later stages, I have no doubt. It’s an important job.’
His eyes turned again to the horizon. The sun was dropping rapidly behind the peaks, white against the orange blaze. I fingered the pages of my book, looking at his blond hair cut neatly into the nape of his black collar, but which might have turned to curls if left to grow. From the neck up he looked like a boy from the country, and not a man who carried power in the threads of iron-grey below.
I wondered why he didn’t just up and leave, since he clearly had nothing else to say. It was me who sliced the silence, preventing his sudden departure.
‘Captain Stenz, can I ask you something?’
His fair head swivelled and he looked faintly alarmed. ‘You can ask, although I can’t promise to answer.’ Suddenly, he was SS again.
‘Well, I understand that secrecy is a safety issue with Fräulein Braun, given what I believe the bloodline to be—’ he flashed a look but didn’t contradict ‘—yet no one aside from a small number of people has acknowledged this baby. No one seems to be welcoming this news. The Third Reich believes in families, in large families. And I have worked at a Lebensborn before – before all of this. I know unmarried mothers are tolerated when it comes to helping … the cause.’ The words caught in my throat. ‘So I don’t understand this show of fake ignorance. This baby will be born, and then it will be difficult to hide. Shouldn’t they be happy as a couple? Wouldn’t it boost morale for the war if the country knew?’
He took a deep breath, and clasped his gloved fingers together. ‘It’s complicated, Fräulein Hoff, and I don’t pretend to be an expert in public relations – we have a department for that.’ He gave a resigned smile. ‘You give me too much credit – I am simply an engineer and a messenger, nothing more.’
‘So what are you an expert in?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I mean, what did you do, before the war?’ Finally, I was engaged in a discourse that didn’t feel submissive or dangerous.
‘I was a student of architecture. I had to give up my studies.’
‘Had to?’
‘It was expected,’ he said.
‘And will you go back to them? After, I mean?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On whether I live through the war,’ he said, dropping his smile. ‘And whether there is a world left to rebuild.’ He stood up, almost wary he might have let his guard slip. ‘I must go. If I could have your reports, Fräulein Hoff?’
‘Certainly,’ and I brought them from inside the door.
‘Goodbye, until next time,’ he said, and clicked his heels, stopping short of the salute. He replaced it with a nod of his head, although his eyes held mine. I watched his long shadow disappear towards the house, and felt suddenly very lonely.
10
Visitors
The following days saw a dramatic change in the calm of the Berghof. At breakfast the next morning there was a palpable tension, and the kitchen was unusually noisy and busy, the kitchen porter unloading a large delivery from the town. Frau Grunders drank her morning tea in gulps, rushing out and barking at the under-maids as she went. I heard them grumbling about ‘More work than we’re paid for, just for his majesty’s pleasure,’ but scurrying nonetheless.
I guessed what might be happening, and a sickening ache rippled among my innards. During the past weeks, I had thought little of the master of the house as a real entity – the war felt so far away, and he was out of sight, out of mind. And that suited me. I hadn’t wanted to consider coming into real contact, what I would say or do, or how I would behave. Outward dissent would be stupid, fatal even, yet anything less would also make me feel like a traitor – to my family, and our friends before the war, all those women suffering in the camp, all those babies whose birth and death days fell on the same date.
The excitement in the household was reflected in Fräulein Braun. She was agitated, enthusiastic and unusually flighty – she had clearly been reviewing her wardrobe before I arrived, and was teasing her hair out to a more natural style, moving like a child unable to contain her excitement. She was keen for me to listen to the heartbeat, but impatient to postpone the other checks.
‘I feel fine – can we do that tomorrow?’ she said.
I tried smiling, as if I understood her eagerness to be with her loved one, but my sentiment was entirely selfish; the less time I spent in the house the better for me. As I was leaving Frau Grunders stopped me, suggesting I take meals in my room over the next week ‘as we’ll all be very busy’. To me, it signalled the connivance over Eva’s baby was complete. Excepting Eva, the entire Berghof was in denial about the pregnancy. How did Herr Hitler feel, I pondered, about fatherhood to one human as well as an entire nation? I could only assume he didn’t share the same excitement as the baby’s mother. And what would that mean for the child’s future, and Eva’s?
He arrived later that afternoon, the throaty rumble of engines drawing me onto my porch. An army truck led the cavalcade of cars sweeping up the drive, spitting gravel as they swooped in. The truck held regular troops, who fanned out around the perimeter fence, guns cocked and ready. The first cars spilled out several army officers in green, followed by SS officers in their contrasting slate jackets, perfect ebony boots reflecting the afternoon glare. It was the fifth or sixth car that ground to a halt, and sat idling while the officers formed a semi-circle around. The cluster stopped me from seeing him emerge, but I could tell by the wave of deference that he was out of the car and standing. I didn’t spy the blond, capped head of Captain Stenz among them, and part of me was glad I couldn’t see him bowing and scraping. My stomach churned, mouth empty of saliva, and I wanted to peel my eyes away, but somehow I couldn’t. It was hard to take in, that a few hundred yards away was a man who held so much of the world in his palm, and whose fingers could fold over and crush it, on a whim. Not just me or my family, but anyone he wanted, anywhere. Not for the first time I pitied Eva Braun, for all her blind love and faith.
She was, by this point, at the top of the small flight of stairs leading up to the porch. Hair loose and face almost scrubbed free of make-up, she wore a traditional blue dress gathered at the bust, which had the effect of hiding her bump. Unusually, Negus and Stasi weren’t at her feet, as she had already told me they didn’t get on with Blondi, the Führer’s own belov
ed Alsatian; Blondi’s size and status took precedence at the Berghof. The look of expectation on her face, of a child wanting to please, was almost pitiful.
He walked slowly up the stairs and planted a friendly kiss on her cheek; hardly the embrace of long-lost lovers eager to be alone. They turned and went inside together, and the uniformed entourage followed – I spied the hollowed features of Herr Goebbels in the group – while the troops encircled the house. The fortress was complete.
For the first time since my arrival at the Berghof, I had a desperate urge to run as fast as my legs would carry me away from this infected oasis. That feeling of uneasiness, which had smouldered in the pit of my belly since arrival, was now stoked to an inferno and I wanted so much to escape, even if it meant a life of uncertain danger. But I didn’t. Fear of reprisal kept me sitting, rooted to my chair, doing as I was told. And, not for the first time, I hated myself for it.
After eating in my room, I sat out late on my porch, reading at first and then just watching as the light died. The house itself became more illuminated, and sounds of male laughter drifted out into the mountain air. Down there, across the world, thousands – millions – of people were sobbing, screaming and dying, and all I could hear was amusement. I went to bed and rammed the pillow against my ears, desperate to shut out all the wrong in this mad arena called life.
11
The First Lady
Eva sent word the next morning to see her at eleven a.m. on the terrace – relief washed over me that I may not need to enter the house at all; the Führer was hosting an important war conference, and the Berghof would be full of the green and grey for some time.
The day was glorious, a rich sun climbing in the sky as I skirted the house. Its brightness blotted out a good deal of the increasing green below, only the cobalt of several lakes breaking through. Fortunately, the terrace appeared almost empty, aside from Eva sitting under a large sun umbrella, sipping tea. Facing her, with neat blonde crown visible to me, was another woman. I assumed it was her sister, Gretl, who had come to the Berghof with her fiancé. They appeared deep in conversation as I approached.
‘Morning, Fräulein Braun,’ I ventured.
‘Ah, Fräulein Hoff, good morning,’ she said. ‘Thank you for delaying our meeting. You’ve met Frau—’ and as I rounded the chair I saw it was the head of Magda Goebbels, her blonde style faultless in its design, her face with limited make-up but the familiar ruby lips. She made a small attempt at a smile but stopped short of making it friendly.
‘Yes. Yes, Frau Goebbels and I have met.’ I was taken aback and it showed.
‘Please, sit down, Fräulein Hoff,’ said Frau Goebbels, taking immediate control and looking comfortable with it. ‘We – I – have a favour to ask.’
I smiled, still mildly amused that they could think of anything as a favour, as if a request meant I had a right to refuse.
‘First of all, I want to thank for your care of Fräulein Braun so far – she has been most complimentary about your skills.’ She took a long drag on her cigarette. Eva merely looked uncomfortable, as if she was a child being spoken for, while I felt like a favoured slave – it was a knack that Frau Goebbels had perfected. Her eyes met with yours for a split second, but she drew them away just as swiftly, giving the impression you were worthy of her attention, but not of maintaining it.
She went on. ‘But since she is in such good health, and does not need your services daily, I wonder if we might borrow you for a few days?’
What was I expected to say – ‘Let me think about it’? I said what they wanted to hear. ‘If Fräulein Braun is agreeable, then I will go where I can be most helpful.’
This time Magda Goebbels smiled fully, stubbing out her cigarette. She turned her attention on me, as if delivering orders.
‘A cousin of mine is preparing to have her baby. She has reached her due date and beyond, but she is being … well … in all honesty, I think she is being rather difficult, and refusing to leave the house to go into hospital. However, I am not her mother, and therefore the only influence I can bring upon her is to offer what help I can.’
I found it odd that she had thought of me, but I was equally irritated at being the hired help. From somewhere inside, a small chink of courage rose out of the annoyance.
‘Frau Goebbels, with all due respect, I am happy to help any woman, but I am not the type of midwife to force anyone into treatment they don’t want or need.’
Her wide eyes were on mine in seconds, fixed and fiery. Then, the familiar break away.
‘No, no obviously,’ she acquiesced. ‘We simply wanted an experienced midwife to attend her at home. I’m hoping a week at the most. Is that reasonable, Eva?’ She swivelled towards her host. It was obvious this had not been sanctioned by the Reich, and was a favour on Eva’s part.
‘Of course, perfectly fine,’ she nodded like an obedient puppy.
The house was an hour away, and I was to leave early the next morning. Standing there, I calculated my current worth to Frau Goebbels had created a little bargaining power.
‘I will need someone with me to assist at the birth,’ I said. ‘Someone I can rely on.’
‘I daresay there will be a willing housemaid, or reliable servant,’ Frau Goebbels said dismissively, turning her gaze away.
‘I would like Christa to come with me,’ I said with conviction. ‘She’s very resourceful, and I feel she won’t panic.’
‘Christa? My Christa? But you hardly know her,’ Frau Goebbels reasoned.
‘But I trust her to help me when I ask,’ I said.
Perhaps she was bored with any potential confrontation, because Magda Goebbels agreed to my request – she would release Christa. Maybe she didn’t view it as a concession, a small triumph on my part, but I did. I went back to my room, relieved that I had been released from this house of war games, and that I would meet up again with the only person within miles I might one day call a friend. Or indeed, an ally.
I arranged to meet Fräulein Braun later that afternoon for an ante-natal check, given I might not see her for a week. Part of me also wanted to gauge her mood at this strange, unsettling time – we hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since the Führer had come to the Berghof. In the house there had been low whispers on the fierce words coming from the Führer’s apartment – his and Eva’s. I pretended to be absorbed but my ears were fixed on the maid’s tittle-tattle of tears and pleadings seeping from Eva’s room.
‘Lord forgive me, but what he called her was cruel,’ the maid said. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes, not even to be mistress of this place.’ The details were lost as they turned and walked away, but the meaning was clear. In their own domestic war, Eva’s baby had made her weaker instead of stronger.
That afternoon, Eva’s door was ajar and she was at her dressing table, grimacing at her own reflection. She looked weary. There were muddy puddles under her eyes, and her normally fair, vibrant skin seemed dry and rough. No wonder she was disapproving of what she saw.
‘If you don’t mind me saying, Fräulein Braun, you look tired. Is the baby keeping you awake?’
‘A little,’ she said. ‘An aunt of mine always said babies come alive at night, and this one seems to be no exception. Is that right?’
‘Yes, they don’t have any conception of day and night for a long while. Perhaps once you lie still the baby remembers it needs to move. Are you managing to nap during the day?’
‘Not right now, not while …’ she hesitated and chose her words ‘… not while the house is so busy.’
Still, we hadn’t managed to move beyond the spectre of Adolf Hitler. It was clear they were intimately involved – she was the only female who consistently had a virtual free rein at the Berghof, aside from Magda Goebbels – and Frau Goebbels’ barely suppressed jealousy was enough to signal the affair between Eva and Adolf. She was pregnant, and yet she couldn’t quite acknowledge out loud that he was the father. From what I had seen, the SS hierarchy barely acknowledg
ed her worth, and yet she seemed glued to the place that was his creation, that contained a piece of his heart. Always supposing he had one.
We went through the motions of a check, and I listened to the fast rump, tump of her baby’s heart. This was when Eva’s face softened and became girl-like again. I was conscious of my face screwing up in concentration as I began, but I could feel it relax as the sounds came into my own ear, and her face too would spread in joy as I nodded that all was well.
‘I won’t be too far away, and if the baby hasn’t arrived within a week, I’ll request the chauffeur brings me back up, at least for a check,’ I told her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, with genuine gratitude. ‘That’s kind of you to think ahead. But I will be fine.’
In truth, I did feel sorry for her – she seemed so alone. Even her sister, Gretl, hadn’t appeared for this mountain war summit. The response that such a feeling stirred within me was hard to process. Eva Braun consorted with Adolf Hitler, willingly. She appeared to love him. How much sympathy was she worthy of – and how much was she making a very dangerous bed to lie on? In between all of this was the baby, a new life with a heart that was – for now – empty of all sin.
Berlin, February 1942
The pot was still warm from Mama’s oven as I hugged it close to my chest, and walked towards the checkpoint. A bored-looking sentry stood halfway down the Friedrichstrasse and shuffled his feet as I approached. He made some attempt to look masterly by plucking at his gun holster and pulling back his shoulders. He was all of twenty-one, twenty-two at a stretch. Someone’s baby boy.
‘Good evening,’ I said, with a wide smile.
‘Evening, Fräulein. You know you are approaching the Jewish section?’ He glanced quickly at the arm of my coat, in case he had missed seeing the yellow star patched onto the sleeve.
A Woman of War Page 7