by Louise Fein
Tomas rubs his hands over his face. He repositions his glasses.
‘I don’t want thanks,’ he says, his voice smooth, level. ‘It is out of love that I do this. But I want you to understand one thing – I’m sure you know it anyway.’ My throat tightens. ‘The baby has to go. I will not have that mischling child! It might be hard at first, but you’ll be grateful in the end.’ He drops his eyes to my stomach and a look of revulsion clouds his face.
I’m hit by a wave of nausea.
‘What do you mean, you won’t keep the baby? What are you expecting me to do?’
‘You don’t seriously expect me to raise a bastard Jewish mongrel? Every time I saw it, it would remind me. It’s inconceivable, Hetty.’
‘But you said! You told Vati and Mutti the baby was yours. That you would marry me because of it. Why would you do that? I don’t understand.’ A dark shadow descends.
‘I said that to protect you, not the brat. Besides, why would you want to keep it? I mean, surely you would want to put all that… trouble behind you. So you can give yourself fully and completely to me. We will have babies of our own. Lots of them.’
He grabs my hand and squeezes it, but I can’t breathe as my throat twists and shuts.
The ground somersaults and darkness closes in.
‘Hetty?’
The lake swirls back into focus.
‘Are you okay?’ Tomas’s thin face and smeared glasses are in front of me, his eyes full of concern. ‘Ssh,’ he says. ‘Don’t try to speak. Take deep breaths.’
I do as he says.
Breathing becomes easier and my heartbeat slows.
‘And what exactly would you have me do with it?’ I say at last, restraining the hysteria, keeping my voice even. ‘I mean, how am I to dispose of it when it’s born? This is a baby we are talking about. Would you have me tie it in a sack and drown it in the river like a litter of kittens?’
You are no saviour. You’re a sick bastard, like the rest of them.
‘No, of course not,’ he laughs. ‘But seriously, I don’t know or care, it has to go. I mean, there are orphanages, aren’t there? For unwanted brats.’
‘But what would we tell people? They will know I’m expecting. How will we explain the disappearance of a baby?’
‘I don’t care.’ His voice is harsh suddenly. ‘Tell them it died. Babies do. With any luck it will, then that will solve the problem, won’t it?’
‘How can you say that?’ I splutter. ‘How can you say that about an innocent baby? Besides, it wasn’t like that. Walter is a good person. We loved each other, and what we did – I wanted to do it.’ My throat has closed. I can no longer speak. I stare at him in horror, will him to say something more, to turn to me and say it was just some awful, cruel joke. Surely even Tomas cannot be this cold-blooded?
But he says nothing, refusing to look at me, his mouth turned down, his glasses sliding down his nose. I can no longer stand the sight of him.
Everything has a price.
This baby is the price of loving Walter.
Losing it is the price Tomas demands.
What choice do I have? I’m doomed if I pay it, and doomed if I don’t.
But the thought of being married to Tomas, sharing his life and his bed, fills me with utter dread.
I stare out over the lake and remember how Walter pulled me from its depths.
How I wish he had let me go…
19 April 1939
‘Why are you avoiding me?’ The hurt in Erna’s voice echoes down the telephone wire. ‘I don’t understand, Hett. Please tell me what I’ve done. If I said something to upset you—’
‘You haven’t upset me.’
‘That makes it worse, pretending it’s nothing!’
‘It’s the truth. You haven’t done anything, Erna.’
‘Then why have you avoided me for the last three weeks, Hetty? You’ve not been at school. I’ve called at the house, I’ve phoned. It’s as if you’ve got the plague or something.’
‘It’s the spring holidays, Erna!’
‘I know, but we always see each other in the holidays.’
I feed the telephone cord through my fingers.
‘Come over,’ I say after a pause. ‘This afternoon, while Mutti is paying her monthly visit to the soldiers’ home. Come at four.’
I replace the receiver. She is going to find out soon enough anyway. Mutti has written to the school to tell them I shan’t be returning after the holidays.
Better that she hears it from me.
*
Vera lets Erna into the house. I hear her pound up the staircase, then her quick tread along the corridor. I force myself to face the door as she comes in, the shame of my bump clearly exposed beneath my clothes. I hold my breath and wait for her disgust.
‘Hetty?’
She walks towards me, looking at my face. Instinctively, my hands drop to my belly and only then does she lower her eyes.
‘Christ Almighty!’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?’
‘It might as well be the plague!’
‘Oh, Hetty! How? Who’s the father?’
‘Do you really have to ask?’
‘Walter?’
I nod and begin to cry. Big, fat tears. They never seem to end.
She’s beside me, her arms around me and I sob into her shoulder.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I couldn’t. I was so ashamed. I hoped it would just – go away.’
‘But – but how far are you?’
‘Nearly five and a half months.’
‘For the devil’s sake, Hett, how did you keep it hidden?’
‘Desperation.’
She sinks onto the bed and stares at me. ‘You should have told me,’ she murmurs. ‘I could’ve helped.’
‘How? What could you have done? I’m doomed. That’s all there is to it.’
‘What d’you mean, doomed?’
My nose is running and I search for a clean handkerchief in my top drawer. Finding it, I blow my nose and sit next to Erna on the bed.
‘When Vati found out, I thought he was going to kill me, I really did, he hit me so hard…’
‘Oh no, that’s awful!’
I show her the scab and the remaining lump on the side of my head. ‘If Tomas hadn’t walked in at that moment, I really think he would have done.’
‘Tomas? I thought he was staying away.’
‘He wrote and said he’d had enough of that, and he wanted to take me out for lunch. Anyway, he turned up in the middle of this almighty row and announced the baby was his.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Exactly. He’s… not right in the head. He thinks I’m some kind of fallen angel who needs saving. He told Vati he’ll marry me. At first, I was relieved. I mean, I don’t want to marry Tomas, but I thought that if it meant Walter’s baby would be safe, and if we could live together as a family, well, I could make that work.’ I gulp. Take a breath. ‘But he told me I have to give the baby up. Put it in an orphanage… He said he couldn’t bear to raise a mischling child. He’s forcing me to give it away!’ I begin to cry again. ‘How can I bear to do that? I hate him, I loathe the sight of him – and now I have to marry him!’
‘No, you don’t. You don’t have to marry anyone, Hetty, not if you don’t want to,’ Erna says, putting her arm around me again.
‘But I do. If I marry Tomas, I’ll save myself, but sacrifice my baby. If I try to go it alone, what then? Vati will disown me. I’ll have no money, no way of supporting us. Besides, without proof the father is of pure German blood…’ I don’t bother to finish the sentence.
Erna squeezes me tight. She lets go and walks to the window, staring out at the falling spring rain. I lie back against the pillow, resting my head on the headboard. My belly, firm and round as a small melon, protrudes beneath my dress.
She turns to me. ‘You have to tell Walter. If you’d told him earlier, before—�
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‘Before he got married? How would that have helped? It would have ruined his life as well as mine. I’m not doing that to him, Erna. He’s no good to me here, and if he can’t stay in England because of this, I would be no good to him either. I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to destroy his chance of a good life.’
‘Christ, Hetty, that’s all very noble, but he has a right to know. It’s his child too.’
‘I can’t tell him. It would ruin everything.’
‘Shouldn’t you let him decide? Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as you think. Perhaps you would be able to go to England too.’
‘And what then? The three of us could live together in perfect harmony? Walter and his two wives? He is living with her family and is totally reliant on their support to remain in England. You’re being ridiculous.’
‘But he’s there. Maybe the English will let his child join him, and as the mother of his child, you would be able to go too, maybe not right away but—’
‘Stop it, Erna! It’s never going to work. I can’t go to England, even if he wanted me to. What would I do there? All I can do, is try to find a way to save this baby from whatever fate Tomas has in store. I’ve only got a few months to find a solution. Please help me to think.’
‘What about Walter’s mother? His aunt? Couldn’t they take it in?’
‘I thought of that too, but how could I dump a baby on them? They have nothing. They’ve been forced to live in that Jewish House on Humboldstrasse. I couldn’t send my baby to live in such a terrible place. The men remain in Buchenwald, assuming they’re even still alive. I would be consigning it, to what fate? Besides, why would they ever want to help me?’
‘And what about you?’
‘I will just have to marry Tomas. I don’t see I have a choice. Perhaps, if he has me, he will change his mind about the baby.’
The look on her face confirms what I already know.
That this baby, with the blood of a Jew coursing through its veins, is condemned before it has even been born.
10 May 1939
Time crawls when there is too much of it. Without school; with no BDM commitments. With few visitors; the minutes, the hours, the days, stretch longer and longer into one interminable wait. I hide away in my room and watch the world from my window, my shame unseen and unknown. Only four people in all the world know in advance that my baby will not survive its birth. Vati is no fool. He soon worked out who the real father is. But it suits him to keep it quiet and out of the news, so he, Mutti and Tomas plot its demise together.
*
‘I’m taking care of the arrangements,’ Mutti informs me briskly, one afternoon, ‘for the baby. Vati wants nothing to do with it, for understandable reasons. Besides, he cannot risk any connection.’
‘What arrangements?’
‘The orphanage. It’s my area of expertise, given my work with the children’s home.’
‘Will it go to your home?’ I could visit every day. Nobody need know. Hope soars in my chest.
‘Of course not!’ Mutti says, giving me a firm look. ‘My home is for racially pure children. Your child will be a… It will not qualify.’
‘Then – then where?’ The words stick as my throat closes.
‘There’s a Jewish orphanage in Berlin. I have been in touch, anonymously. They will take the child in return for a large donation.’ Her jaw contracts. ‘They will do anything for money,’ she says through pursed lips, ‘but in this case, that is useful for us. You will go into a mother’s home before the birth, in Berlin. I’ve organised this too. We cannot risk you being seen by too many people around here, and I don’t want any local mid-wives to attend the birth.’
‘But Mutti, please. You can’t make me do this. This is my baby.’
‘Jewish baby.’
‘There’s no difference! It’s a baby. Please—’
There is a knock at the sitting room door and Mutti, with a warning look, puts up her hand to silence me. I say no more as Vera pokes her head into the room.
‘Tomas is here to see Fräulein Herta,’ she announces.
I exhale pent-up tension. ‘Tell him I’ll be right down, Vera,’ I manage to say. ‘Thank you.’
Mutti is talking to Vera, but I don’t hear any of it. I think of my baby and the Jewish orphanage and try not to cry. I sit for a little longer, gathering the energy to hold myself together, before making my way downstairs.
Tomas’s face lights up when he sees me.
‘What would you like to do today, darling? A walk? You spend too much time inside, you need some sunshine on your skin. You’ll end up frail, like one of those pallid, floppy girls. I need you fit and strong, like you used to be.’
‘Okay,’ I say, and put on my outdoor shoes. I keep my voice calm and measured, but inside I’m seething. Never before have I felt such animosity for another person.
He lowers his voice. ‘I guess it’s that thing, that parasite in your belly, sapping all your strength.’
‘Stop it!’ Something snaps. ‘My health is fine, Tomas. But my mother has just told me what is going to happen when my baby is born. How it’s been sold, effectively, to a Jewish orphanage in Berlin—’
‘Ssh, you don’t want the maid to hear.’ He puts a finger to my lips. I slap it away and march out onto the street in front of him.
‘I’ve always admired your fiery spirit,’ he laughs as he catches up with me.
Firmly, he hooks his arm through mine and marches me down Fritzschestrasse.
‘I’ve some good news for you.’
‘Oh yes?’ My pulse quickens. I look up at him. Perhaps he’s had a change of heart?
‘The wedding date! The racial permissions have been granted. We can marry immediately. Your father would like it sooner rather than later, and a quiet affair, for obvious reasons. There can’t be any sniff of a scandal. So how about the Saturday after next?’
You bastard! There is no change of plan, no reprieve, no redeeming quality in the man I’m being forced to marry.
‘You really want to marry me, like this?’ He will want to take me to bed on our wedding night.
His mouth twists up into a laugh. ‘Of course, I would prefer to marry you not in that state, but we must, for your father’s sake. Besides,’ he gives me an intense look, ‘I cannot wait to have you all to myself.’
‘But – but where will we live? We haven’t sorted anything.’
‘Ah. That.’
We turn down Berggartenstrasse. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is high in the sky, the scent of jasmine in the air. I inhale deeply. That snap I felt earlier, like a match lit, it’s taken hold. A small fire burns inside. It’s time for me to take back control.
‘Your parents have kindly suggested I move in,’ Tomas is saying, ‘until we can find a suitable place of our own. There’s plenty of space in your house. We can look for a flat in August, after… Anyway, in plenty of time before I join the Heer in September.’
‘And in between?’ I ask him. ‘It seems to have all been decided without me having any say. I am to go to some home in Berlin, give birth and then hand the baby over to strangers. Then I’m supposed to come back here and play the happy wife, with you. I can’t do it, Tomas. I won’t.’
My change of tone makes Tomas jolt.
‘You hardly have a choice, Hetty. Do you? You’ve risked your father’s reputation and career. You risk being thrown into a concentration camp yourself. This is all your – well, that vile Jew’s fault, not mine. I’m your saviour here. I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Helping out a dear, old friend. And, once you’ve sufficiently recovered, we will put all this behind us and can start our married lives together. Properly.’
The heat is spreading. I’m burning up inside, boiling with a rage I’ve suppressed for weeks. ‘You’re my saviour? Doing this from the goodness of your heart? Don’t kid yourself, Tomas. This suits you just fine. Get rid of the problem and be left with just the part you want. Me. But what if I don’t go a
long with your plan? What if I say no?’ I stand still in the middle of the street, every cell in my body screaming. ‘I am not like you, Tomas. It wasn’t “that vile Jew’s fault” I’m pregnant. He never forced me to do anything. We loved each other. I did it willingly with him because I wanted to. Because he is a wonderful, kind human being. Jews are no different to anybody else. It’s lies. All of it. There is no evil conspiracy to take over the world, unless you’re Hitler, of course!’
‘Shut up!’
‘No, I won’t shut up. For once, I’m going to speak the truth—’
Tomas grabs hold of both of my wrists, squeezes them hard. Shakes me. But I won’t stop now.
‘Yes! That’s the truth. Hitler’s the evil one who’s wrong, who lies. There is no master race, no inherent superiority. Everyone is the same, Jew or non-Jew, African or Aryan. We’re all human—’
‘Shut the fuck up!’ Tomas shouts, shaking me harder. ‘How dare you!’
‘I’m going to keep this baby!’ I yell. ‘Over my dead body will I let anyone take it away!’
Tomas jerks my wrists so hard, I cry out in pain.
‘Enough,’ he commands, without relinquishing his grasp.
I’m gasping for breath, my cheeks wet with tears.
‘Have you finished with the dramatic little outburst?’
My energy is spent and he loosens his grip, dropping my wrists. We stare at each other, eye to eye. And then, his mouth twitches. A snigger at first, then full-on laughter. He stops laughing and lunges forward, grabbing me around the waist, bringing his face right down close to mine.
‘Hetty,’ he says, in a high voice, ‘we will never mention this conversation again. But you remember just who you are, and what you have done. You have no choices. I’m your only hope. And don’t worry, I shan’t lay a hand on you until that thing is out of your belly. The idea is repellent. I shall wait. I’ve grown used to waiting. And when you are ready, I will cleanse you, mind and body, and you will belong to me, completely.’
He pulls me towards him, and kisses me on the mouth, full and hard.
I choke, try to push him away, but he’s too strong.
My mind clears. Oh, Tomas, you think you have the better of me. But as long as I live and breathe, I will never love you, because my love belongs to another.