Beyond the Storm

by Diana Finley

  ‘Look, Else, look!’ said Selma, placing the baby in Else’s arms. ‘What a perfect son you have!’

  Else leaned against the pillows and smiled. ‘I think I could manage a little coffee now, Selma.’

  The whole family was delighted. The birth of a child seemed to restore some life and joy after the trauma of Magda’s illness and death. Aloysius took great pleasure in his small grandson, his thick fingers gently stroking the infant’s tender cheek.

  Selma adored her nephew. She loved to watch his chubby, pink limbs waving and kicking, as he lay on a rug. Heinrich learned to associate his aunt with fun and attention. He smiled broadly whenever she approached. He chuckled when she tickled him and sang to him. Else was happy to allow Selma to take on much of his care; she had little patience with children. When Peter returned after working, Else would take Heini onto her lap, but he would strain round to see Selma, and reach his little arms out to her.

  Heinrich was a beautiful child, with fair hair that became almost white in the summer sun. He grew brown and healthy running about on the farm. Selma took him to see the animals and told him the names of trees and plants growing in the woods. She told him stories and read little books to him. She helped him to hold a pencil and begin to make scribbles on scraps of paper. She never grew tired of his infant fascination with stones or insects or snails.

  In 1932, when Heinrich was five years old, Else became pregnant again. An enormous belly protruded from her narrow hips. She went past her time – a week, and then two weeks. Selma called the midwife. The midwife was concerned; the baby had grown very big. It was in the breech position. She pressed and manipulated and squeezed Else. Her waters cascaded over the bed and onto the floor. Else screamed. At last labour started. For twelve hours Else shrieked and struggled, and the midwife pushed and pulled. Selma wiped Else’s brow and hugged her sister-in-law. Else was exhausted; her strength had left her. Finally the midwife inserted her hand, grasped the baby’s feet and pulled him out by force. He was blue and limp. The midwife handed the tiny body to Selma. She wrapped him in a towel and gently tried to rub life into him. He gave a small shudder and died.

  Else’s womb had ruptured. She was haemorrhaging heavily, the bed a mess of blood. Her face was white and terrified. Her last words to Selma were, ‘Look after my Heini.’

  * * *

  Anna listens to Della’s account in fascination. She hugs her. They continue their explorations of the city together. Their suburb is quiet and the streets often empty. The pavements, still littered with rubble, stones and bricks from bomb damage, are impassable in places. When they do encounter other people, they have to stand aside to let them pass. Some greet them politely, others stare or look away.

  Once, a young child, perhaps four or five years old, thin and underdressed for the cold wind, steps out of a building, hand outstretched towards them.

  ‘Bitte etwas zu essen.’ ‘Something to eat please.’

  The little boy’s face is pale and pleading. Who is caring for him? Why is he begging, all alone? They have nothing with them.

  ‘Wir haben heute nichts. Komm wieder morgen.’ ‘We have nothing today. Come here again tomorrow.’

  The next day, and often after that, they bring chunks of bread, but they never see the child again. If only they could find him and take him home for a big bowl of nourishing soup. Anna longs to put her arms around the little boy. She weeps when she tells Sam about him.

  After several expeditions without incident, Anna’s confidence grows and she becomes bold enough to extend their walks further still. To Ben’s delight, they find a bridge over which trains pass from time to time. He whoops with excitement whenever one rumbles and huffs into view, and shouts, ‘Puffer tain! Puffer tain!’

  One day, as they walk past a row of heavily bombed apartment buildings, a man emerges suddenly from a doorway. He is unshaven but clean, wearing a hat and a long military coat. He raises his hat. The man is middle-aged and well-spoken, and addresses them politely in English. He asks them to come and look; he has things that will be of interest to them, and especially the dear child. Della pulls at Anna’s sleeve.

  ‘Let us go home, Frau Lawrence.’

  Anna hesitates. She is intrigued by the man. ‘What is it you have?’

  ‘Everything a lady could wish for, Madam. Food, nice clothes, shoes, books and toys for the little man. Come and see. You don’t have to go right inside – just stand in the doorway and you will see.’

  ‘Come, Gnädige Frau. Let us go back home. It is nearly Ben’s lunchtime.’

  ‘You stay here with Ben, Della. I’ll just peep through the doorway. Just for one moment.’

  Della looks about her anxiously. The man leads Anna to the building, keeping a discreet distance between them.

  ‘Thank you, Madam, for doing me the honour. Do be careful here. Watch your footing.’

  Anna supports herself against the doorframe and looks inside. As her eyes become accustomed to the gloom of the unlit room, she gasps in astonishment. The floor and walls are crammed with food of every type: tins and jars lining the shelves, chocolate bars in piles, sausages stacked at one side, joints of bacon hanging from the ceiling, blocks of cheese and butter, paper bags of flour and beans.

  ‘All this food …’ she whispers, haunted by the face of the half-starved child in the street.

  The man excuses himself and squeezes past her. He tips a large box towards her, to reveal the contents.

  ‘Lovely clothes, Madam. Silk stockings for you. And see here, ladies’ shoes – and shoes for the little boy. I have beautiful cloth for dresses or suits, thread for sewing. Look at these colours, and here this soft blanket, just right for the baby, am I right?’ He glances at Anna’s stomach, tilting his head respectfully. ‘Even some bottles of wine. Good wine from France. Perhaps your husband likes a glass or two, Madam?’

  A rage, a fury, rises volcanically in Anna, constricting her breathing and colouring her face with suffusing heat.

  ‘You are selling all this stuff – on the black market?! Where did you get it from?’

  ‘No, no, no black market. Just a little business – supply and demand, nothing more. I have been fortunate enough to come by some of these items over time, and I like to make them available to those who need them.’

  ‘Your compatriots need them! Many children are hungry. You are not making them available to them, are you? You’re just lining your own pockets!’

  ‘Oh no, Madam, I am making these things available. Certainly I am.’

  ‘At a price, you mean!’

  ‘Well, of course, everything has its price.’ The man shrugs apologetically. ‘Has anything caught your eye? I am happy to deliver to your home if you wish.’

  ‘No, nothing. Absolutely not!’ Anna glares at the man, then turns and stumbles away from the building, towards Della, who is watching for her in great agitation.

  * * *

  ‘Bastard!’ shouts Sam, when Anna and Della tell him of their adventure. ‘Self-serving bastard. Taking advantage of his own people’s misfortune. I’ll speak to the MPs. We’ll have to see if we can put a stop to his exploits.’

  ‘Most of his stuff was American, Sam.’

  ‘I bet it was!’

  ‘I was so afraid for Frau Lawrence, Herr Brigadier, so afraid,’ Della says. ‘A man who could do such wicked things, could do … anything.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Thank you for protecting her, Della.’

  As they have done so many times before, Anna and Sam wonder at and give thanks for their extreme good fortune in having found Della and included her in their household and family.

  * * *

  After Else’s death, Selma fulfilled her pledge willingly. The following year, she walked with Heini the five kilometres for his first day at school. He clutched a paper cone filled with sweets, made by his aunt. No such treasure accompanied Selma nor her brother and sister on their first days at school. Selma took Heini the route she herself had walked alone at the same age. She
hurried home and rushed through the cooking and washing, the cleaning out of the cowshed and tending the vegetable bed. Then she walked over an hour back to school in the afternoon for the journey home together. Only after a year did she feel confident enough to allow Heini to walk by himself.

  Like Selma, Heini had a natural curiosity and enjoyed learning. She bought him a book with pictures of wild birds, and together they observed and noted down sparrow hawks, willow warblers, green woodpeckers, nuthatch, and others. Selma pointed out poisonous mushrooms to be avoided. Heini loved the red curve of the fly agaric, with its white spots. How could something so beautiful be poisonous, he asked Selma. She explained that the bright colours were nature’s warning. She showed Heini how to distinguish the edible field mushrooms, boletus and chanterelles, which they gathered and added to stews and omelettes at home.

  Beyond the farm, the wider world was changing. Dark and threatening clouds were gathering. Even in their quiet valley the country people knew of the Führer and the National Socialist Party, but country life went on much as before. The cows continued to need milking, the crops had to be sown and reaped. Seasons followed, one after the other. Aloysius had grown old and feeble. He and Peter took little interest in politics.

  ‘What does it matter who is in charge? People will always need bread and meat and milk. That doesn’t change,’ Aloysius said.

  Yet noticeable changes were taking place. A new younger teacher, Herr Keller, had replaced kind old Herr Rubenstein. Sometimes the children stayed longer at school for hiking, singing and marching. Heini enjoyed these activities greatly. People had always known that some of their neighbours – Yitzak the shoemaker, Leon the fish-seller and old Tante Sara the tailor – were Jews, but it meant little: simply that their ways were different. Now the Jewish families were being looked on with suspicion. Aloysius spent more time at home, and sometimes listened to an old wireless he had bought. The Führer’s strident voice filled the farmhouse. Heini sat motionless, his ear close to the sound, his eyes staring into the distance. Selma shook her head.

  ‘So much hatred, Vati,’ she said. ‘Let’s find some music instead.’

  Aloysius was happy to let her turn the knob. His thick fingers were too clumsy to work the controls.

  When he was ten years old, Heini announced that Herr Keller had allowed him to join the junior section of the Hitler Youth Movement. He was very proud. Even though he was still a little boy, he would give his service to the Führer and to his country. Selma was worried. She talked to her brother. Peter regarded his son’s membership with calm indifference.

  ‘It means nothing, Selma,’ he assured her. ‘All the children have joined. It’s a game for them – no different to Boy Scouts. They just like to feel part of a group.’

  Selma was not convinced. She took Heini to pick blueberries in the hills. As they walked, she tried to talk to him in terms he would understand.

  ‘Heini, you must think carefully about some of the things Herr Hitler is saying. Sometimes even grown-ups say bad things. Sometimes they tell lies, if it helps them achieve what they want.’

  Heini gazed at her with his clear blue eyes. ‘I love Herr Hitler,’ he said. ‘He does not tell lies. He loves all true German children. He needs us to help build a strong country – that is what we will do together. It is wonderful. Look, Tante Selma, here are some good berries!’

  In the autumn, Aloysius climbed a rise behind the house. He walked slowly. These days, walking uphill was a struggle for him. He steadied himself by holding on to a young birch tree, and looked out over his beloved fields. A terrible pain clutched his heart. As the sun retreated behind the hills, Selma went to look for her father. She found him lying stiff on the ground, one hand spread towards the land below, as if to say, ‘Look at this good earth I have created with my labour.’ She was relieved to see a gentle smile on his face.

  Peter was now in complete charge of the farm. He had little time to think of anything else. Aloysius was buried next to Magda in the churchyard. Selma mourned her father greatly, but her immediate attention was taken up by worrying events nearby. The shoemaker’s shop was attacked in the night. The glass window was smashed and shoes, leather and tools strewn around the street. A white star was crudely painted on the door, together with the word ‘Juden’. Yitzak and his wife were beaten and humiliated. Within weeks, the few Jewish families in the area had disappeared. The following year, war was declared. Many young men in the valley volunteered as soldiers. Selma was thankful that Peter, now fifty, was too old to be called up and Heini, at twelve, was too young.

  However, she was disturbed when, two years later, her nephew became a full member of the Hitler Youth Movement, together with many of his school friends. Heini, who until so recently had worshipped his aunt, had become sullen and argumentative with her. He was furious when she continued to express negative views of Hitler and the government.

  ‘Why can’t you see that he is Germany’s salvation?’ he railed. ‘Why must you criticise him?’

  ‘Because I believe he is vindictive and cruel, and that he can only do great harm to Germany. Look at what has happened to the Jews already.’

  ‘Tante Selma, don’t say such things! Don’t you understand that the Jews are the cause of all the problems and poverty in Germany? The Führer has made that quite clear.’

  ‘You must not believe him, Heini. The Jews are victims, only victims.’

  Her nephew pushed his lips into a deep scowl and stormed out of the house. It was a scene frequently repeated over the coming year. One morning in 1942, there was violent knocking at the door. Fifteen-year-old Heini opened it. Seeing two Gestapo men, his eyes flicked inwards to the kitchen, where Selma was kneading bread dough. Heini bit his knuckles, pushed past the men and ran out into the yard.

  The Gestapo told Selma they had come to arrest her. They told her they had information that she was a traitor. She was allowed to bring one bundle of spare clothes. Then she was dragged roughly from the house into a car, where two more men were waiting. Heini was skulking by the side of the barn. He covered his eyes with his hands and pressed his forehead to the wall of the barn. Selma looked at him as the car swung out of the farmyard, but he did not turn around. She did not see the tears that streamed down his cheeks. She recalled how years before as a little boy if Heini was scolded – which was rare – he would hide his face in his hands and turn away in distress.

  * * *

  Selma was taken to a transit camp. Together with fifty or sixty other women, she was herded into a large cell. There were no beds and the toilet facilities consisted of two buckets. Over the coming month the women were sorted and categorised. There were no trials. As an opponent of the regime, Selma was classed as a political prisoner. She was transferred to Boizenburg, a satellite camp of Neuengamme. It was a concentration camp for German political prisoners, communists, Gypsies, homosexuals and other enemies of the state.

  Selma arrived in late November 1942 with a group of fellow prisoners. The camp guards screamed at them as they stood and swayed in the cold wind. They had not eaten for two days. They would have to work, they were told. Those who did not work hard could expect no food. The newcomers were stripped, shaved and sprayed. They were each given a stiff cotton uniform. Selma’s uniform had a red triangle on the sleeve, to indicate her deviant political views. She was assigned to a hut. It was about fifty metres long and eight metres wide. There were one hundred sets of three-tier wooden bunks in two rows along the length. The stench of sweat, urine and faeces was overwhelming. Selma thought the cowshed at home smelled much better.

  A prisoner showed the newcomers to their bunks. They were lucky, she told them; some inmates had died that week and there were vacant beds. In some huts there were already two prisoners sharing a bunk. They were shown the toilet and washing facilities: four taps and four latrines per hut. You learned to be quick, Selma was told. You had to be – access to the sanitary block was morning and evening only, before ‘breakfast’ and the ‘even
ing meal’, and you couldn’t miss food for anything.

  Over the coming two years Selma worked fourteen hours a day in the munitions workshop. It was heavy and tedious work, but Selma considered herself fortunate. The food was meagre: a thin gruel and tiny crust of bread in the morning, a watery soup and another crust in the evening. At least she was sturdy and healthy on arrival. Many of the women had been transferred from other camps and were already frail.

  Selma befriended some of the other prisoners. She supported those who were ill or desperate as best she could. One by one, the weaker women died from exhaustion, starvation and untreated illness. A typhus epidemic carried away nearly half the hut. Despite this, more and more prisoners arrived. They were crammed in, two, sometimes three, to a bed. By the time she was released in 1945, Selma had lost more than a third of her body weight. Her kidneys were permanently damaged by the inadequate toilet regime. Her spirit was unbroken.

  As her health improved, Selma decided there was nothing for her in Silesia. She had not heard of her brother Peter or of Heinrich in three years. The Red Cross helped her make her way to Berlin, where she had a good friend, another survivor of the camp. Through the Red Cross she received a letter from Peter, written in his large, uneven hand. He was so happy to hear she was alive and in reasonable health. He had tried to visit her in Boizenburg, but was not permitted, nor was he allowed to write to her. He was fit and well and had remarried. All was well on the farm. It was now part of a collective.

  Heini deeply regretted his denouncement of his aunt, whom he loved very much. Still a patriot, he had joined up at seventeen, but it was during the final campaign that he realised Selma had been right all along – Hitler had betrayed the German people. Heini was killed on the eastern front in 1945, just before the war ended and just before his eighteenth birthday.