by Diana Finley
Anna recalls some of the information Sam has provided about each member of staff and feels an involuntary surge of compassion. Frau Stammel has lost everything, even her identity. The loathing she had expected to feel, the satisfaction in the misfortune of these Germans, begins to evaporate.
‘Frau Stammel, Maggi, you will have a safe home here.’
Maggi continues to study the floor at her feet. ‘Danke,’ she whispers. Thank you.
Anna turns her attention to the third figure, a girl of no more than seventeen. Instantly her mood changes. The sturdy young woman with her fresh, milky complexion, and fair hair pulled into two thick plaits, looks as Aryan as Brunhilde: a living example of Nazi Youth. Her features are not fine, but those of a healthy country girl. Like Maggi, she wears a white overall, buttoned demurely to the neck, but straining at the bust and hips. Furious, Anna turns to Sam.
‘Who is this? I told you – no young ones, no Hitler Youth!’
The girl stares fearfully at her, her blue eyes wide. She begins to tremble violently. Sam puts Ben on the floor, and places an avuncular hand on her shoulder.
‘This is Hannelore, our maid,’ he says soothingly. He leads Anna a few paces away and talks quietly, his eyes on Hannelore.
‘At fifteen she was required to bear a child for the Führer. The father was a seventeen-year-old soldier on leave from the front. It turned out they rather liked each other. They might even have married, but he was killed on the Eastern Front before the baby was born. Then the Red Army came …’ Sam pauses in his account and looks at Anna meaningfully.
‘Hannelore did what she could … what she had to … to survive. She was thrown out of the family home by her father. An aunt is helping to care for the child. He’s now eighteen months old, am I right? Eighteen Monate?’ Sam raises his voice for these last sentences, and puts up fingers, signalling ‘eighteen’.
Hannelore nods. Sam beams like a proud teacher showing off his prize pupil.
‘See how she’s learning to understand English! Good girl!’
Anna feels faint. ‘All right, Hannelore,’ she says, ‘but I need to speak to you in a minute.’ She turns to Sam. ‘What about the gardener?’
Sam steers her towards the window. A very tall man with white hair and beard stands stiffly by a wheelbarrow in a pathway of the garden, as though on parade, waiting to be inspected. The man sees Anna at the window and briefly raises his hat. Then he turns and pushes the wheelbarrow slowly round the corner of the house.
‘Herr Eisen,’ says Sam with a grin.
‘Yes, I remember. Herr Eisen doesn’t talk.’
‘No, but he and I are getting the garden sorted out. Should be lots of fruit and vegetables by next summer.’
Sam looks so pleased with himself that Anna has to hug him, although she supposes one shouldn’t do that in front of the servants.
‘Frau Rausch,’ she calls, picking Ben up from the floor, ‘would you please look after Benjamin for a little while?’
‘Yes, gladly, Frau Lawrence.’
‘Ben, this is Selma. Sel-ma.’
‘Del-la!’ says Ben, ‘Del-la,’ so creating a new name, which is always to remain with Selma.
‘Ja, Della!’ she says. She reaches for the child, kisses him, and bears him away. The others begin to disperse.
‘Hannelore, please come with me a moment.’
The girl freezes. Anna opens some of the unfamiliar doors and finds a small salon behind one. She beckons Hannelore to follow, and closes the door behind them.
‘Come and sit down, Hannelore. Don’t be frightened.’ Anna speaks in German, hoping the girl will feel more at ease with her own language.
Hannelore sits uncertainly on the edge of a chair, wringing her hands. Anna takes her hands and holds them gently.
‘Hannelore, I’m sorry, but you cannot dress this way if you are to work for us.’
The girl looks at her in confusion, fingering a sleeve. ‘But, Frau Lawrence, I have washed and pressed it. It is completely clean!’
‘Yes, the overall is fine,’ Anna says quietly, ‘but … I can see that you are wearing nothing else. You have no underwear on.’
Hannelore begins to sob. ‘Please Gn-Gnädige Frau. I have none … nothing.’
‘You have nothing to be ashamed of, Hannelore.’
‘The Russians took everything we had. I had just rags. My aunt brought me here. The Herr Brigadier was so good to take me in. Frau Stammel was also very kind – she gave me this.’ She grasps the hem of the white overall. ‘I had to feed my baby … and there was so little food.’
‘What is your baby’s name?’
Hannelore gives a tearful smile. ‘I call him Mekki. After his father, Mikael.’
‘He is a lucky boy to have such a good mother. Will you bring him to see me, and to play with Benjamin?’
The girl nods eagerly.
‘Now tell me, Hannelore, can you sew?’
‘Oh yes, Frau Lawrence. My grandmother taught me. But I have no needle or thread …’
‘Don’t worry,’ Anna interrupts. ‘We will find some cloth, and needles and thread. You can use my sewing machine. A very good friend gave it to me, when I also needed clothes to wear.’
* * *
Next morning, after Sam and his driver Max have left for work, there is a loud knocking at the front door. Hannelore comes to find Anna. She tells her that a lady is asking to see her, a German lady. Anna settles Ben on her hip and carries him into the hallway. A tall, imposing figure is strolling around. She appears to be studying her surroundings with great interest and confidence.
‘Ah, good morning, Frau Lawrence,’ she says as Anna approaches, extending her hand. Immediately the skin on Anna’s neck begins to crawl. Who is this woman, who knows her name and behaves so presumptuously?
‘Yes? What do you want?’ She ignores the woman’s outstretched hand.
‘I am Frau Hartmeyer. This is my house, I am the owner.’
‘Frau Hartmeyer, you may have been the owner of this house, but the British Army has requisitioned it. So for the present, it is my house and not yours.’
The woman smiles without humour and bends her head to one side, as if conceding a point. She tickles Ben briefly under his chin.
‘Yes, yes, of course you are right. And may I tell you how pleased I am that a respectable English family will have the care of my house.’ She emphasises the word as if to indicate that she knows Anna is not English. Anna shifts Ben to her other hip.
‘We have only just moved in and I am very busy. I ask you again, what do you want?’
‘Of course. You will want to arrange the house to suit yourself and your family. It is simply this, Frau Lawrence. In the rush to vacate the house, I left one or two small boxes in the attic. Would you allow me to take them away? They are of no use to you – just some old books and pictures.’
Anna says she will speak to her husband and asks the woman to come back on Saturday at eleven o’clock. There is something oddly unsettling about the incident.
* * *
‘I didn’t like her, Sam,’ Anna tells him that evening.
‘Oh, she’s probably all right,’ he says amiably. ‘Can’t be easy giving up your home to strangers.’
‘No, especially to Jews!’
‘Oh, come on, don’t so suspicious. We’ll have a look at her boxes, and if all’s well we can give them back to her. That’ll probably be the last we see of her.’
The following evening Sam brings two dusty wooden crates down from the attic. Although it feels intrusive, they examine all the contents. Sure enough, they contain innocuous items such as family recipes, photograph albums and envelopes of loose photos, a few ornaments and household objects. Anna flicks through the albums. She pauses over one showing a younger Frau Hartmeyer holding a baby, a little boy, and wonders momentarily what might have become of him. Is he a grown man? Is he still alive, or might he have been killed in the war?
A few days later, at the appointed time, Sam
and Anna hand the boxes over to Frau Hartmeyer and she seems very satisfied. She asks if she might take some plants from the garden: a few rose bushes and small fruit trees. Sam tells her firmly that this is not part of the agreement. She will be offered a third of any fruit that ripens. She expresses gratitude for this offer. Anna feels more than a little regretful that she condemned the woman so readily. Perhaps she is not so bad; she is a mother after all, like herself.
A week later, Anna wakes early one morning. Sam is still deeply asleep. A reluctant dawn is just starting to show through the curtains. Something draws her to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, she sees a woman digging furiously at the roots of a young redcurrant bush. Behind her is a large wheelbarrow, already half full of plants and shrubs. Anna rushes back to the bed and shakes Sam. It generally takes him a while to waken.
‘Sam, Sam! Frau Hartmeyer is in the garden. She’s stealing some plants!’
At these words, Sam’s eyes open wide. He stares at Anna for a moment, and then leaps out of bed, grabs his dressing gown and pounds down the stairs. Sam’s German is far from perfect, but he makes his meaning quite plain. A gentle, polite man who rarely loses his temper, it takes an attack on his garden to bring out the tiger in him.
‘Nein! Nein!’ he yells. ‘Raus! Raus! Sofort raus!’ No! No! Out! Out! Get out immediately!
Anna hears Frau Hartmeyer’s whining tones in response.
‘My plants! I am only taking what belongs to me.’
Anna clamps her hand over her mouth. Her chest convulses with suppressed laughter. Gasping, she watches at the window as Sam tips everything out of the wheelbarrow, and pushes it and Frau Hartmeyer towards the gate. As she passes under the window, Frau Hartmeyer looks upwards and spits, twice, in Anna’s direction.
* * *
Sometimes, Anna accompanies Sam on his wanderings through the garden. She tries hard to show interest when he talks of the roses, peonies, lupins and geraniums – he loves the garden so much. Yes, the flowers are pretty and colourful, but her interest is really engaged only when he speaks of potatoes and onions, of cherry trees, strawberries, gooseberries or tomatoes. After all, these are food, and therefore of intrinsic value.
In her imagination, Sam’s passionate interest in the garden seems a quaint and lovable trait, typical of a traditional Englishman. One of his greatest pleasures at the end of a day’s work is to change out of his uniform and into old brown corduroy trousers and a patched sweater, to spend an hour or two pruning and clipping, strolling between the beds of flowers and shrubs or discussing with Herr Eisen his latest idea for some corner of the ground as yet unplanted. It is the two men’s common absorption with plants that enables Sam to communicate with Herr Eisen, who remains silent with almost all others.
‘What has Herr Eisen told you about his family? What actually happened to them?’
Sam looks at Anna in surprise. ‘I’ve never asked him. He hasn’t said anything.’
‘But you seem to spend hours talking.’
Sam rubs his temple thoughtfully. ‘We talk about the quality of the soil, how much sunshine the east side gets as opposed to the west, what size crop of potatoes to expect, and whether to plant spinach or green beans …’
Anna gives him a push. Sam grins, and then looks reflective.
‘You know, I suppose my conversations with Herr Eisen remind me of my relationship with Mother long ago. We were often silent too – just working side by side in the garden for hours – but it felt easy, comfortable.’
‘It’s a shame we’re so far away from Mother.’
‘Yes, we must try to get her to come for a visit,’ Sam says.
‘I’d like her to come too, and she’d love to spend some time with Ben.’
‘Will you write to her? I think she’d be more likely to come if the invitation comes from you. You know she’s never set foot outside England.’
‘I’ll write tonight.’
That evening, as Anna bends over her letter, Sam kisses the back of her neck.
‘You know, Maggi is really a quite remarkable woman. She’s started coming outside when I’m gardening – she seems interested in anything to do with it. I think she must miss having a garden of her own.’
Sam slumps in the armchair, stretching his long legs to the fire, the usual cigarette drooping from his lips. Anna turns to frown at him.
‘Yes – and it’s not just the vegetables and fruit as you might expect.’ Sam looks at her meaningfully.
She smiles back and raises her eyebrows.
‘No, whatever I show her: flowers, shrubs, trees – even the compost! I think she has a real flair for horticulture.’
Anna is intrigued by Sam’s report of Maggi’s fascination for the garden. Somehow it does not ring true. Maggi has proved herself a reliable and competent cook, but she continues to be quiet and withdrawn, rarely showing animation over anything – except perhaps cigarettes, on which she relies heavily. Through the army, Sam and Anna have access to regular supplies of cigarettes, and give each member of the household a weekly allowance. Those who do not smoke are able to use them to barter for food or other items.
The following evening, when Sam goes outside as usual, Anna watches from an upstairs window. As he had described, Maggi walks closely behind Sam, stopping when he stops, gazing into his face with rapt attention and nodding eagerly as he indicates the mixed borders with expansive gestures of his arms. Perhaps he is right and Maggi really has developed a special interest in the garden? Sam flicks his cigarette end onto the path and ambles on. In an instant Maggi reaches down, picks up the stub, prises the still-glowing end off with her nail and stuffs it into her apron pocket. She hurries after Sam, and keeping pace with him, resumes her nodding and smiling. The drone of Sam’s deep voice drifts up through the warm evening air, punctuated occasionally by Maggi’s soft responses.
‘Ja, ja, natürlich, Herr Brigadier.’
Anna watches them thoughtfully. The following day she finds Maggi laying the dining table for lunch.
‘Good morning, Maggi.’ Maggi raises her eyes with her usual haunted look.
‘Good morning, Frau Lawrence,’ she mumbles.
‘I need to speak to you, Maggi.’
‘Yes of course, Frau Lawrence, perhaps after lunch? I will just go and finish preparing it.’ Maggi looks down uneasily and begins to shuffle towards the door.
‘That can wait a few minutes – please come and sit down.’
Maggi follows meekly as Anna pulls out two chairs from the table.
Maggi lowers herself and examines her bony fingers, twisting her hands, as though searching for some fault.
Anna takes a deep breath. ‘Are you all right, Maggi?’
‘All right, Frau Lawrence?’
‘Do you have … everything you need …?’ Anna breaks off, unsure how to continue.
Maggi stares out of the window beside her.
‘I mean, do you have enough money?’
‘Ah, money. The world thinks so much of money, does it not, Frau Lawrence? Once I had a lot of money, now I have almost none. No matter. Nothing matters any more. What use is money now anyway? There is nothing to buy, nothing I want.’
This is the longest speech Anna has ever heard from Maggi. She takes another juddering breath.
‘Nothing, except cigarettes, perhaps?’
Maggi looks at Anna directly for the first time. Her expression changes. A faint frown clouds her forehead. A pulse throbs in the delicate skin of her temple. Her jaw trembles for a moment.
‘You have been very good to me, Frau Lawrence, you and the Herr Brigadier, very good.’
‘Maggi, we could give you five more cigarettes a day if that would help, and perhaps a little coffee, which you could exchange …?’
Maggi looks down again. She shakes her head and twists her apron in her lap, as though struggling with some great inner pain. Her eyes fill with tears. Anna is horrified. She reaches out and touches Maggi’s hands.
‘I’m sorry we
can’t do more – there are others to consider too, and the allowance won’t stretch further.’
Maggi withdraws her hands and plunges them into her apron pocket, then extends them to Anna. In the palm of her hand she holds out two cigarette stubs and two whole cigarettes.
‘Look what I have come to! Frau Lawrence, what have I come to?’ Her voice becomes an anguished wail. ‘I must leave you. I must go from your house.’
‘Leave? But why, Maggi? Where would you go?’
‘There! Look at that! Look how low I have sunk.’ Maggi’s extended hand is shaking a little. ‘You offer me kindness and generosity, and how do I repay you?’
Anna stares at the two proffered cigarettes in Maggi’s outstretched hand. She glances across at the silver cigarette box on the sideboard, used to offer to occasional guests, and from which Sam extracts his after-dinner smoke. A flutter of anger wakes in her chest, turning into a pounding fury. She looks at the agonised face before her. The pity she felt a few minutes earlier dissipates.
‘You took cigarettes? You stole our cigarettes!’ Anna’s voice rises to a shrill crescendo. ‘You stole from us? I wasn’t sure about you … any of you. But I made up my mind to trust you. We took you into our house, our home, Maggi. We tried to treat you well – and you stole from us?’
Maggi’s breath comes in short gasps. She closes her eyes and clutches either side of her face with her hands. ‘Yes. It is terrible. I will go, Frau Lawrence. I will leave your house,’ she whispers. ‘Immediately, if you wish.’
Anna hesitates. A confused panic takes hold of her. ‘No, no, not yet. I will speak to Brigadier Lawrence.’
Maggi’s face closes. Anna is reminded of the wraith-like figure she encountered in their kitchen when she first arrived in Berlin. A figure that stood before her, yet appeared not quite alive, not quite within this world or of it. At that time her doubts had been overcome by pity.
‘You must not go yet,’ she says slowly.
Maggi raises dull eyes to Anna’s face.
‘Every morning I wake and wonder that I am still alive, that the sun still shines, and the birds still sing. Why, Frau Lawrence? What for?’