by Louise Fein
Bertha nods her grey head and drops her eyes from mine.
‘I never knew that either.’
‘No,’ she says quietly. ‘I don’t suppose you would.’
‘But… I mean, how… what I’m trying to say is,’ I turn to check no one else is in the room and then, ‘what were they like?’
‘Years and years, I was with them.’ She hesitates.
We stare at each other, trying to work out how much to reveal.
‘Look,’ I say at last, ‘I’ve heard the rumours. About how my father came by this house. But I know nothing of the people. How can I judge what is right or wrong?’
‘It was a terrible business,’ Bertha whispers. ‘They were good people, but I don’t get involved in politics. I keep my nose out of it all. It’s safest that way. That’s what I try to tell Ingrid, but she’s a tricky one. She doesn’t want to listen to an old crank like me. She’s full of this new Germany and thinks that the youth rule. She’s certain she has “right”, whatever that is, on her side. She likes to gossip and get herself in the good books of… certain people.’ She looks at me. ‘You’re an unusual one, Fräulein Hetty. You keep your allegiances with people who matter to you. Since you were young – always stood up for the underdog. Even if they are… Not who you should be mixing with, if you follow my meaning. I suppose that makes you brave, not like the rest of us. But it’s a dangerous thing.’
‘What on earth do you mean, Bertha? Has Ingrid said something about me?’ My heart beats in double time.
Bertha sniffs and wipes her nose and mouth with her hanky. Her plate is clean.
‘She says she knows you have a young man and she thinks it’s serious. But she won’t say how or what she knows. Says she once saw proof of something sensational and I’ve more than an inkling who the young man is. So far, I think she’s only talked to Karl and me, but it wouldn’t be hard for her to make trouble for you. I’ve warned her, but she’s not interested in authority, not from the likes of me. Just be careful, Fräulein, that’s all.’
She saw us together, that time in Salamander’s, but that’s her word against mine. It has to be more than that. Proof? Of what? My mind jumps about wildly. The notes we pass between us via Lena? Tomas? Places she could have seen us? And what about the broken picture of the Führer? She’s bound to have noticed it missing from my wall. Perhaps she even found the pieces shoved behind the wardrobe. I’ll tell Vati it fell down and broke, ask him for another. My heart swoops. The diary. What if she found that? The thought of her fingers turning the pages, her eyes hungrily reading my innermost secrets, makes me want to scream.
I put my fork down. Give up the pretence of trying to eat. ‘But… how did you know?’
Bertha fingers the tea towel. ‘I saw the two of you together, some weeks back at the tram stop. Recognised him straight away. Don’t forget, this was once his second home and I always had a soft spot for him. I recognised how it was between you, that look, of being lost in each other. Reminded me how I felt once, a very long time ago.’
I look at her properly for the first time. Bertha, who has always been here, like the furniture. I’ve never once given her more than a passing thought. And yet here she sits, soft and round and simple and kind. She knows so much and yet has never spoken a single word of it. In her eyes, I see worry and weariness. As though the weight of what she knows is too much. A sudden wave of fondness washes over me.
‘Thank you, Bertha. He saved my life once, a long time ago. Did you know?’
Bertha shakes her head.
‘Anyway, there is nothing more to worry about as he’s leaving Germany. For all I know, he could have left already…’
Bertha nods slowly. This time, she puts her hand on top of mine.
‘Just be careful, Fräulein Herta. Given who your father is, and keeping that sort of company…’ She hesitates. ‘Things could be very bad, especially for him.’
‘As I said, it’s nothing to worry about. He isn’t part of my life anymore.’ But with these words comes a deep, physical pain. ‘I’m going to take Kuschi for a walk,’ I say, pushing back my chair.
I attach his leash and give Bertha a quick wave as I head out the back door. Still sitting at the table, she lifts her hand in reply.
It’s good to be out in the blustery wind, buffeting my body, chilling my face and hands. Perhaps it will help to clear the jumbled chaos of thoughts and ease the agony of grief which stubbornly sits, a permanent unwelcome visitor, deep within my soul.
23 October 1938
After the funeral, Mutti flees to stay with her sister, Adèle, in Weimar.
‘She needs to be cared for,’ Vati tells me firmly. ‘She’s in no fit state to look after anyone else. Time away from prying eyes and gossipers will help her heal.’
‘But I could take care of her, Vati, I could go with her to Weimar.’
‘No, you must stay in Leipzig. Oma Annamaria is coming this afternoon from Berlin to keep an eye on you and the household. Tomorrow you return to school. Life must get back to normal.’
‘But it isn’t normal anymore.’ My heart sinks at the thought of Vati’s strict mother – a true Prussian, with her sucked-in cheeks and ramrod straight back, dressed always from head to toe in black – in place of Mutti’s soft, perfumed presence.
‘A new normal. We must be strong, Herta. Strong for your mother and strong for the Fatherland.’ Vati stares into space, as if seeing visions of all he must achieve. ‘I have to work. It’s the best way to cope.’ He heads towards the study. ‘I may have to be away a good deal, so don’t give your Oma any trouble.’
How very convenient! Send Mutti away and go to your mistress for comfort.
I’m wondering what to do with myself when there is a knock at the front door. Another visitor.
Tomas is on the doorstep holding a bunch of yellow roses. I usher him inside and put the flowers in a vase; they are cheerful. Full of hope, like spring.
We sit opposite one another in the morning room. He looks awkward and uneasy in the armchair. His hair is neatly slicked back, glasses cleaned, his best jacket on.
‘Thank you for coming to see me. It’s kind of you.’
‘I wanted to come as soon as I heard. But it’s hard. Long shifts, you know. Besides, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.’
He uses the same soft, low voice as everyone else. It’s unbearable, suffocating. Like air turned to water, it’s hard to breathe.
‘Such a fuckin’ awful thing to happen. What a shitty waste,’ he speaks harshly, through gritted teeth. The change of tone, the swear words make me smile.
‘Would you like coffee?’
‘Please.’
I ring the bell and ask Ingrid to bring us a fresh pot. She looks from Tomas to me and back again. Is that a hint of surprise in her eyes? Perhaps I should get Tomas to visit more often.
‘You look worn out. And thin,’ he says, studying me.
‘It’s hard to sleep. And eat.’
‘Of course. How’s your mother.’
‘Inconsolable. She’s gone to stay with her sister in Weimar for a while. I’ve got the pleasure of my Oma, Vati’s mother, coming to look after me. She’s awfully strict.’
‘I’m so sorry, Hetty. Truly. If, you know, there’s anything I can do. Just ask, yeah?’
So everyone says. But really, what can they do?
‘It’s very nice to see you, Tomas,’ I say, meaning it.
*
After Oma has arrived and settled down for her afternoon nap, I change into my BDM uniform. My palms are clammy and I fumble at my buttons with clumsy fingers. I know I shouldn’t go, but the desperate need is too strong. Karl’s voice sounds loud and clear in my brain. Stay away from him, Little Mouse. Stay away.
‘It’s fine, Karl,’ I say out loud to the empty room. ‘He’s as good as gone anyway. This will be the last time I see him. I promise.’
I head towards Walter’s uncle’s warehouse. The Brühl is packed with people heading back to work afte
r lunch. Grand stone buildings run the length of the street in this, the heart of the Jewish business quarter. Or at least, it had been. Many of the department stores, fur businesses and law offices have changed hands now. The street is becoming Aryanised. Walter’s uncle’s firm, Keller & Co, Furriers, est. 1878, stands at number 24, and is one of the few still run by its Jewish owners.
I stand on the opposite pavement and watch people walking back and forth in front of the double doors to the building. I recognise no one. I cross the street and try turning the iron handle. It’s locked. Peering through the glass, I see a tiled passageway running straight towards the back of the building. I can just make out the shape of the iron cage of a lift at the end. There are no lights on. All looks deserted.
I walk to the end of the building and find the entrance to a covered alley running back from the street. A little way along the alley, set back into the wall of the Keller & Co building, is a door. Surely this must be the warehouse? I take a deep breath and try the handle. The door opens smoothly, the room beyond is dimly lit.
‘Hello,’ I call cautiously, hovering on the doorstep. ‘Hello?’
The door swings wide open and there he is, standing in front of me.
‘Hetty!’ His face is drawn and pale.
‘I came to say sorry. I was ghastly to you and—’
‘You’ve nothing to apologise for. It was my fault.’ He looks over my shoulder into the gloom of the alleyway.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Quickly.’ He raises an arm and I duck underneath. He shuts the door behind me, looking uncomfortable. ‘I’m down here on my own, doing a stocktake,’ he says. ‘But it isn’t safe, coming here.’
My eyes are slow to adjust to the darkness of the vast warehouse. On one side, I make out bales of something piled to the ceiling; on the other are lines of dark, inert shapes hanging down. There is a strange, cloying odour and the atmosphere is so still it’s as if the air inside the warehouse is frozen.
‘I had to see you.’
‘Oh, Hetty, it’s been so hard to stay away from you! Every little thing that happens, you’re the first person I want to tell. Every idea, every feeling, every doubt… I want to share it with you.’
‘I know…’
‘I came looking for you.’
‘You did?’
‘The other day, outside school, but I didn’t see you. Then I walked past your house. But there seemed to be a lot of people coming and going.’
‘I wasn’t there. At school, I mean. Walter, the most dreadful thing has happened. I’ve been desperate to see you for days, hoping against hope you were still here.’
‘Come with me. Tell me…’ He places a hand between my shoulder blades and guides me towards a brightly lit office towards the back of the warehouse.
‘Rabbit skins,’ Walter explains as we walk, pointing at the bales, ‘for making hats.’
He points at the shapes dangling from hooks in the ceiling. Through the gloom, I can see they have heads and tails. Even the little feet are still attached.
‘These are raw skins. Silver fox and mink. Once they’ve been treated, they’ll be sold to be made into coats and jackets.’
The smell in the warehouse is overwhelming. It makes my head spin and stings my throat.
‘Whatever is that stink?’ I ask, covering my mouth and nose with my hands.
He chuckles, looking more relaxed. ‘Naphthalene,’ he explains, ‘to kill the moths. They would destroy the skins otherwise.’
‘How can you stand it?’
‘You get used to the smell. I don’t even notice anymore.’ He turns to the rows of dead creatures. ‘Aren’t these beautiful?’ He runs his hand along the silvery, white fur of the fox skins. ‘I wish I could dress you, head to toe, in a coat made of these.’
I stare at the dead creature hanging directly in front of me, trying to imagine it draped over my body. Its four little paws hang down forlornly and the inside of the skin is stained red where the flesh has been peeled away; the eyes are a dull, milky-white.
I shudder.
Walter grabs my hands, pulling me close. ‘Tell me, what happened?’ His face is serious. ‘Hetty, you look exhausted. Whatever is it?’
‘Karl…’ The tears begin to flow, and Walter’s face swims and dissolves before me.
We hold hands across the table in the little glass office, surrounded by this warehouse of the dead. My head aches from breathing in the chemical stink and from the effort of retelling the story of what happened to Karl. Even though he is holding my hand, Walter feels a long way away. A table between us, when I want to be in his arms.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says at last. ‘What a terrible shock for you all.’
He seems distant. There is something stony about the set of his mouth, the look in his eye. It isn’t the reaction I’d expected. Perhaps he’s come to terms with the thought of marrying Anna. Perhaps he’s even looking forward to it. Or maybe he’s secretly happy Karl is dead. I pull my hands from his.
‘This is my brother. I don’t know how to exist without him.’ How can I make him understand? ‘While you and I were together that morning, talking about your plans for England with your new wife,’ I spit the word at him, ‘Karl was being rushed to hospital fighting for his life and losing it. You don’t give a jot whether he’s alive or dead, do you?’ There is heat in my neck. It rushes to the top of my head like a boiling wave, erupting from my mouth. ‘You stupid, unfeeling bastard! I was an idiot to come here, to think you would even understand.’
‘I do care, Hetty. I care that you are so upset.’
He tries to take my hand but I fold my arms across my chest.
‘You don’t care he’s dead though, do you?’ I shout.
‘Shh! Someone will hear.’ Now he stands, leans on the table, body bent towards me. ‘Karl rejected me and treated me like a piece of dirt.’ His lips are thin, drawn back, his face taut, like skin stretched over a drum. ‘He could have been like you and valued me as a human being. So, in all honesty, yes. I’ve been angry and hurt. More than you could ever know. But I didn’t wish him dead. And I’m sorry for your loss. That’s the truth. What more do you want me to say?’
‘You really don’t understand what it’s like for us, do you?’ I want to shake him. Make him see, make him feel as I do. ‘Karl didn’t have a choice. He had to reject you. What people secretly think, it doesn’t matter anymore, don’t you see? We have to be this way. Why do you imagine it’s easier for us than it is for you?’
Walter straightens and turns away. ‘Then you are blind, Hetty Heinrich. People see what they want to. We all have a choice. Each and every one of us. We choose how we treat each other. You chose, didn’t you? Karl simply chose differently.’ His face is hard, eyes angry, words acid.
‘I hate you, Walter Keller,’ I sob, ‘I hate you.’
I should walk out now, leave. Slam the door. Never see him again, but I can’t make my feet move. I just sit, sobbing, my shoulders heaving, my wretched heart aching like it has never ached before.
‘You don’t mean that,’ Walter says at last. ‘I know you don’t.’
There is a pause, a teetering on the edge of something and then, somehow, I’m standing and he’s holding me, I’m crying from the inside out, and he is whispering ‘Shhh,’ softly in my ear, rubbing my back, and I am saying, ‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ over and over, because I mean it more than anything.
‘I’m sorry too. You know I would never do anything to hurt you. I love you, Hetty Heinrich.’
We collapse into the chair, together, and slowly everything calms. We don’t speak; there is no need for words. He kisses my hair, my cheek, my neck. Then he kisses my mouth and a hunger grows inside.
Suddenly, from somewhere upstairs, there is a loud banging of doors. We stare at each other. A few seconds later, more bangs, the muffled sound of footsteps.
‘I think it’s a raid.’ Walter’s whisper is barely audible.
‘Why?’
�
��About the taxes. It’s just an excuse. Hurry, they might come down.’
He grabs my hand and leads me towards the back of the warehouse.
‘Why don’t we leave?’
‘There’ll be Gestapo crawling around outside. Quickly!’
He pulls me into a dark corner. Bales are piled high but behind them, between the mountain of rabbit skins and the wall, is a narrow gap. We can just squeeze in sideways.
We hear the outer door crash open. Shouts. Clipped footsteps. We freeze in horror. Walter nudges me to keep going and we edge, inch by inch, along the gap, between the bales and the wall, right to the end in the pitch blackness. With luck, torchlight won’t penetrate far enough in to see us.
‘What if they find us?’ I hiss to Walter.
‘Shh. Don’t think, just be silent.’
The gap is so narrow. The wall is hard against my back and the weight of the bales press in front and above me, Walter to the side. Boots pound across the floor. The bark of an order. The darkness is impenetrable. My eyes strain against it, trying to make out pinpricks of light, but there are none. Someone shouts, nearer now. I’m suffocating. Terror overwhelms me and Walter fumbles for my hand.
‘It’s okay. Stay calm.’
There’s a rasp of metal on concrete. Footsteps. Close. Very close. My ears strain. I try to stop shaking, stop the sound of my heart crashing in my ears, still my breathing.
The men are in the office, slamming open drawers and doors. One or two, it’s hard to tell. Another door bangs open, this time the inner, not the street door. Clipped footsteps and voices. Walter stiffens.
‘Vati and my Uncle Josef,’ he whispers.
I press myself hard against the wall, trying to increase space between my face and the rabbit bales; its surface is rough against my back. I wish it would absorb us, envelop us into the brickwork.
‘Leave my son out of this.’ I hear Walter’s father’s voice clearly. ‘He has nothing to do with anything. If you must take someone, take me. But he is not responsible. He’s just a lad.’
‘How old?’ barks a voice.
‘Nineteen,’ Walter’s father replies.
‘Old enough to know right from wrong. We’ll arrest all three of you.’