Chasing Aquila

by James Hume

  Once the train started to move again, she relaxed. ‘Phew. I’m glad that’s over.’

  He squeezed her arm again. ‘Me too.’

  They got into a taxi at Dresden station and she asked for her grandma’s address. The driver glanced at her. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m sure.’

  He shrugged and drove off.

  As they drove down past the old town towards the river, Jane stared with horror at the scene. The old town, once the finest and most beautiful city she’d ever seen, was now a pile of rubble, with skeletal walls of buildings, and black holes where once there had been windows. She put her hand to her mouth and started to weep. ‘Oh, my God. Oh, my God,’ she sobbed. ‘What happened here? What, in God’s name, happened here?’ She couldn’t take her eyes off the horror through her tears.

  The driver indicated with his free hand, pointed up and then slowly pointed down with a whistling noise. ‘British bastards.’ He turned along the Terrassenufer beside the river, and in a few hundred metres, pulled into a side street and stopped. ‘We’re here,’ he said, quietly.

  Andreas had put his arm round Jane, and she’d buried her head in the front of his coat. She lifted her head and looked around her, and started to sob again. Tears rolled down her face. She got out of the car and stared at the pile of rubble where the magnificent detached house had once stood, where she had played so happily as a child. She lifted her head to the sky. She could hardly breathe for her sobs, and let out a wail of anguish. Andreas held her against him, and let her cry it all out. The taxi driver smoked a cigarette.

  Eventually, she pushed away and looked around. Every house in the street had gone, now just piles of rubble, with an occasional part wall still standing. The whole place resembled a desolate wasteland, yet traffic still flowed along the Terrassenufer, the river Elbe still flowed to the sea. She didn’t know what to say, or do. She just stood and looked, but saw nothing.

  A tall, grey-haired man came down the street towards them walking a dog. He stopped, concerned at Jane’s tear stained face. He turned to Andreas. ‘Can I help at all?’

  Andreas sighed. ‘She’s looking for her grandma and grandpa. They used to live here.’

  ‘Oh, I see. What’s their name?’

  ‘Weissmann.’

  Jane glanced at the man. Maybe he had information. She stepped closer to him. ‘Do you know them? Do you know what happened to them?’

  The man nodded. ‘I do, my dear. Mr Weissmann died that night, but I believe his wife survived. She was taken to the General Hospital, but I don’t know what happened after that.’

  Jane looked around. ‘When did this happen?’

  The man stood and stared at her, almost as though he’d gone into a trance. ‘The thirteenth of February this year, just after ten o’clock at night. A wave of British bombers came over, hundreds of them, and dropped countless bombs on the old town. High-explosive bombs to blow the buildings apart, followed by incendiaries to set the whole place on fire. I was on duty, and it all just became a huge firestorm.’ His voice became emotional.

  ‘Seven thousand people attended a concert in the Altmarkt, and every single one burned to death.’ The tears began to flow down his face. ‘We lost over twenty thousand people that night, probably more. We’ll never know how many. It was horrific. People died in front of me. I couldn’t save them.’ He began to sob. ‘I couldn’t save them. The flames sucked all the oxygen from the air. People couldn’t breathe and collapsed, and then burned to death.’ He sobbed steadily. ‘A woman with a baby in her arms ran past me and tripped, and the baby flew in an arc into the flames.’ He broke down sobbing. ‘That still haunts me.

  ‘And do you know what the bastards did then?’ He couldn’t talk for sobbing. ‘Do you know what the fucking British bastards did then?’ The sobs racked his body. ‘They sent another wave of bombers over three hours later and did the same again, with the whole place full of rescuers and emergency services doing their best to help people. I don’t know how I made it out of there. And then . . . and then . . . and then . . . ‘ he wailed and cried aloud, ‘. . . and then . . . I came home . . .’ he pointed across the street, ‘. . . and it had gone . . . with my wife . . . and my family.’ He sobbed his heart out.

  Jane went over and hugged the man. Andreas stood totally shocked. They stood still for several minutes until the man calmed down.

  He took a handkerchief and wiped his eyes and blew his nose. ‘I come down here every day and talk to my wife. But there’s not much to say now.’ He turned to Jane. ‘I’m so sorry. That’s not why you came here, I know. But the pain’s still so raw. Not just for me, but for everyone here. If we could meet Churchill or any of his generals, we’d happily gouge their bloody eyes out. And look at that farce in Nuremberg. A war crimes trial? It should be Churchill in the dock for what he did here. This really was a war crime. They made no attempt to bomb any strategic targets – the railway station, the bridges. They went only for civilians – twice on the same night. That’s definitely a war crime by any standards.’

  Jane stood stunned at the reference to Nuremberg. My God, what was she doing there? Was he right? Wrong? She didn’t know, and would need time to process all this. She gave herself a shake and tried to think clearly.

  She touched the man’s arm. ‘Look, we’re really sorry for you. Our hearts go out to you. It’s just horrific what you’ve suffered, but we thank you for sharing it with us. And we hope, in time, you can recover. In the meantime, you say they took Mrs Weissmann to the General Hospital? I think we need to go there and find out what happened to her.’

  The man smiled wanly and shook hands with them. ‘You’re right. There are horror stories everywhere. And you’ve got to go and find out more about yours.’

  They got into the taxi and asked to go to the General Hospital. There, they discovered Mrs Weissmann had been treated for a broken arm in the early hours of fourteenth February, and kept for two days because of severe trauma. She then moved to the Grand Saxony Nursing Home on the outskirts of the city.

  They got a taxi from the hospital and arrived at a large manor house, with modern extensions out the back. Jane explained to the receptionist she was Mrs Weissmann’s granddaughter, and confirmed the old lady’s full name, address and date of birth. They were shown up a fine polished wooden staircase to the office of the Direktor, Doctor Schade, a tall woman with a warm, pleasant manner.

  ‘Physically, your grandmother’s fine for her age,’ explained the doctor, ‘but she has suffered a severe trauma, to the point she doesn’t communicate. She takes instructions from the staff, and follows them willingly, but mentally, there’s a total blank. I hope when she meets you, it may prompt a reaction that will get her mental faculties to work again. But, you should prepare yourself it may not happen. Shall we go and see her?’

  They left her office, and entered a bright, airy day room, with lots of people in lots of chairs. The doctor guided them across the room to a separate area behind a glass partition. An elderly woman sat on her own and looked out of the window.

  Jane realised she’d last seen her grandma Weissmann over ten years ago, when she was still a teenager, and she had changed a lot since then. But she was also shocked at how much her grandma had aged, her hair now totally white and her face heavily lined. Jane knelt in front of her, smiled, and took her hands. ‘Grandma. It’s Jana. Remember me?’

  The old lady looked at her, but with no recognition in her eyes.

  ‘I’m Georg’s daughter. Remember your son, Georg?’

  The old lady’s expression didn’t change.

  Jane glanced over to Andreas and the doctor, then squeezed her grandma’s hands again. ‘Remember Georg and Willhelm and Walther, your fine sons?’

  Still nothing.

  She struggled for ideas. ‘Remember Veronika? Walther’s daughter? Remember Veronika and me? We got into trouble at your house when we tried to bake cream cakes? You gave us a row because we didn’t pay att
ention?’

  Tears welled up in her eyes. Her grandma was so precious, but was now just a shell. The brain had stalled. Jane leaned forward, hugged the old lady, and let the tears flow. Her grandma didn’t respond.

  A few minutes later, she felt a touch on her shoulder, and looked round. The doctor whispered, ‘I think we should go, my dear. Don’t torture yourself. You’ve done your best.’

  Jane slowly pulled away from her grandma, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She walked over to Andreas and put her arms round his neck and hugged him. She felt his arms go round her and hold her tight. Gradually, her tears stopped.

  They made their way back through the day room to the doctor’s office.

  The doctor sat on the edge of her desk. ‘We do our best for her, and as far as we can tell, she seems content. She shows no signs of distress, and seems calm all day and every day. I think you may have to accept, given the lack of response to your visit, she may remain like that for a long time. We try to stimulate her each day, and hope one day she’ll react, but it’s now almost a year, and I really don’t hold out much promise for you. However, if you leave me your address, we’ll keep in touch, and let you know if there’s any change.’

  Jane gave her contact details. ‘Can I ask who pays for my grandmother’s care?’

  ‘We’re owned by a trust fund set up many years ago by a wealthy businessman to look after elderly citizens of Dresden who had fallen on hard times. So, your grandmother certainly qualifies. The fund pays for all room, meals and the direct care costs. Any personal expenses for clothes or toiletries get paid by the guest, or his or her family. In your grandmother’s case, if you just give me a second,’ she went to a filing cabinet and pulled out a file, ‘a lawyer, Mr Fridrik Kaufmann, pays any such expenditure. The court appointed him to look after your grandmother’s estate. Here’s his address.’

  Jane took a note of it

  The doctor went on, ‘As far as I’m aware, Mr Kaufmann does not know of any surviving relatives of Mrs Weissmann, so you should maybe contact him while you’re here.’

  Jane glanced at her watch. ‘I wonder if we could see him this afternoon.’

  ‘Would you like me to call and check? If he’s available, I can drop you in the city. I have to go in for a meeting anyway.’

  ‘That would be great. Thank you.’

  The doctor phoned and Kaufmann agreed to see Jane and Andreas as soon as they could get into the city. He explained he’d found a bank account in the Weissmanns’ name, and, with the court’s permission, used it for her expenses at the Nursing Home. He took a note of Jane’s contact details, as the only surviving offspring of Mrs Weissmann’s son, Georg, and noted the details of the other sons and their families, Willhelm, somewhere in Australia, and Walther, in Athens, though she had no address details for either of them.

  That evening, Jane and Andreas ate in a small restaurant along the street from their hotel. The chef had done his best to produce tasty versions of basic dishes. Jane had now come through the trauma of the day, and they discussed the man’s comments on the Nuremberg Trial and the British bombing of Dresden as a war crime.

  In the end, they agreed both horrors, the bombing and the concentration camps, displayed a flawed strategy by overblown military generals, who then attempted to justify their actions with spurious claims of seeking advantage. They also thought, from what they’d seen and heard, there was a case for investigating the Dresden bombing in a similar manner to Nuremberg. But she didn’t mention her brother had been a bomb-aimer with the RAF. She couldn’t yet share that conflict in her mind.

  They walked back to their hotel arm-in-arm. She felt very close to Andreas now, as though their shared horror at the events of the day had driven them together. They stopped outside her room.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, gently. ‘Will you sleep okay?’

  She looked up into his eyes, then put an arm up behind his neck and kissed him on the lips. God, that felt so good, she thought. More than ever a rock for her. ‘Thanks for being with me today,’ she whispered.

  ‘My privilege.’ He pulled her to him and kissed her.

  ‘I don’t want you to go,’ she whispered, ‘but I’m not ready yet to go further.’

  He smiled and held her face in his hands. ‘I can wait.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She put the key in the door, blew him a kiss and entered her room.

  She sat on the bed and stared at the wall. The events of the day had shattered her emotions. Life was so fragile. Her grandpa blown away by a bomb. Her grandma left a shell. She felt so numb, she couldn’t even cry anymore. She needed comfort and cuddles. What stopped her? A lousy marriage? Gone. Tommy? He’d gone too. Nothing stopped her. She could start a new direction any time she wanted. And next door, a fine, strong, generous, perfect man waited for her. She stood up, left her room, and tapped on his door.

  ***

  Next morning, she linked arms and huddled into him on the train back to Nuremberg. She’d savoured his love making and cuddles, and had a sound, dreamless sleep. She felt fully refreshed after the rigours of yesterday.

  They discussed their plans for Christmas week, and when she heard he’d decided to stay in Nuremberg, rather than go back to Switzerland, she insisted he join them on Christmas Day. He also suggested, if she wanted, he’d come with her to Prague on Thursday, and she readily agreed.

  They made Christmas Day as festive as possible for the boys. Andreas joined in their games, and Jane liked that lighter side of him. Her mother seemed to take to Andreas as well, and the day passed with lots of laughter and fun.

  Two days later they all gathered at Nuremberg Station to catch the Munich – Prague express. The boys asked lots of questions about the train, about the passing scene, and about life in general, and Andreas answered them all with endless patience. Jane liked that. He already seemed more like a father to them than their real father had ever been.

  At the Czech border, Jane and her mother became anxious at the long delay for checks by Russian soldiers, and the shunting of the train as the locomotive changed. They’d fled the country in 1935, and Jane remembered the endless discussions between her parents as her father decided to take a leap into the unknown and head for Britain. He’d thought it certain that Hitler would invade adjacent countries. The Sudetenland in Czechoslovakia had already come under threat. He saw it as fight or flight, and chose the latter.

  They’d left one night without telling anyone other than her mother’s parents. How right her father had been, thought Jane, and how horrific the aftermath, from the news that filtered out from Prague. Now, she felt apprehensive at their return, but was desperate to see her grandma Bilova again. She had loved her so much as a child.

  As they emerged from the huge Prague Rail Station into the winter sunshine, Jane stopped and looked around. It all looked just as she remembered it. Her mother had a tear in her eye. ‘What’s wrong, mum?’

  Her mum smiled. ‘Nothing’s wrong, darling. I just never thought I’d ever see it again.’

  Jane gave her a hug. ‘I know, mum.’ She gathered them together, conscious that, while they all had some fluency in English, Andreas and the boys had no knowledge of Czech. She called to them in English, ‘Come on. We don’t have much luggage. Let’s catch a tram.’

  They made their way across to the tram stop. ‘Right. Which of you boys will be the first to see a twenty-six tram?’

  ‘There’s one,’ shouted Stephen.

  ‘No, coming this way, darling.’

  A few minutes later, they piled onto a tram, and the boys asked endless questions. Stephen examined the route indicator above their seat. ‘Where are we going, mummy?’

  ‘We’re going to Hadovka. Can you see it?’

  Stephen examined the names of the stops. ‘I’ve got it, mummy. Where are we now?’

  Jane stood up and pointed at the route guide. ‘We’re just here.’

  ‘Right, mummy, I’ll tell you when we get there.’

  ‘That’s goo
d, darling.’ She sat down and took Andreas’ arm.

  He squeezed it. ‘You okay?’

  She nodded. ‘Just not sure what we’ll find.’

  The tram crossed the river and headed out towards the northwest suburbs. They got off at their stop and walked up a side street. Jane stopped at the detached house that had been her grandma and grandpa’s house for as long as she could remember. A car sat outside it, and two young children played in the front garden. A woman came out of the front door and called to the children in Russian. What the hell’s happened, thought Jane. Had grandma sold the house to the Russians? She knew her grandpa had died in ’38, but they had a strong family network around. Surely, grandma would have got advice from them?

  They walked on and turned the corner. Jane checked the house number from the slip of paper in her pocket. Number twelve. She counted the house numbers and saw number twelve ahead. An old lady stood in the garden, wrapped up against the cold, and looked towards them. Her grandma Bilova. She dropped her case and ran forward, through the gate, hugged the old lady, and wept tears of joy. Her mother rushed up and hugged them both. The three women stood for several minutes, hugging and kissing each other.

  Jane glanced round. Andreas and the boys stood at the gate, with their eyes wide in wonder. She waved them over and introduced them. ‘This lady is your mummy’s mummy’s mummy, your great grandma. Grandma, this is Stephen and George.’ They shook hands and she gave them a hug. ‘And my friend, Andreas.’ They shook hands.

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ the old lady said in Czech.

  Three old ladies sat in the front room, and grandma Bilova introduced everyone. Then she led the way through to the kitchen at the back of the house.

  Jane asked,’Who are these ladies, grandma? Why are you here? Is this your house now?’ The questions tumbled out.

  The old lady shook her head. ‘No, darling. It’s Mrs Hrbek’s house. But three of us have been moved here to free up our houses for Russian families.’