by Cara Charles
Fearing their true fate, with their little bundles and layers of clothing on, Ivan helped each one climb into the back of the truck. Whispers brightened their faces.
Ivan drove out of the gate, smiling at the guard.
After clearing sight of the Inn, Ivan floored it, praying they wouldn’t be followed when they didn’t arrive at Ravensbruck, just a few miles away.
When they were miles away on the tree-lined road heading toward Denmark, he pulled off the road, making sure the truck was hidden in the roadside trees. He ran around to the back of the truck and said, “Liberte’!”
They kissed Herta’s hand, and they all kissed Ivan. Then they cheered and cried.
Ivan drove all night to get them far away from the Russians and Germans.
They were en route to Winnie’s Danish Underground connection in Denmark, a dairy farm near Tander. A Danish couple, the Halles welcomed them although overwhelmed by so many mouths to feed.
Ivan waited in a ditch while Herta delivered her loyal mates. The Halles thought Herta was brave going back for more prisoners. If they had seen Ivan they would not have believed her.
With Herta at his side, they hid until midnight.
Ivan drove back to Berlin, parked the truck in the repair garage where he’d found it, hid the German uniform and kept the keys in the glove box, and got back into his Russian uniform, realizing he could not defect after all.
The streets were deserted. First light was gaining on them.
Ivan held Herta’s hand as he hurriedly made his way to the apartment, terrified Winnie wouldn’t be there. But when he knocked with his special knock, he heard her unbolting the door, he sighed completely relieved. He had Herta walk into the door first, because he couldn’t control his grateful tears.
Winnie jumped into Herta’s arms, thinking it was Ivan. The three of them embraced like a long lost family, crying and laughing in each other’s arms. She’d prepared a little breakfast feast of homecoming for the both of them.
They drank the wine, ate the breakfast, and then exhausted all fell asleep.
Winnie awakened him and then made love to him, far into the morning, covering his mouth then hers.
Winnie kissed him as she’d tucked him in to sleep longer and whispered, “I’ll be back in an hour. I have to check on my new little boy soldier. I love you, hero.”
“I love and adore you. Be careful. Don’t be out there too long, promise me!”
Winifred was gone when he startled awake. Ivan didn’t know how long she’d been gone when he and Herta finally woke up to the sound of B-17s flying overhead.
After it was all clear, Ivan went looking for her and returned late. Herta was sick with worry.
He’d remember Winnie saying at breakfast, she needed to check on her new twelve-year boy in his too big German uniform, pressed into being another desperate soldier. She had fed him for a few days now. She’d set aside half of her portion for him for his lunch.
While they ate, Winnie said, “out of fear, the boy hadn’t moved from his post for a few days.” Winnie’s words echoed in Ivan’s head, “If I’d been his mother I would have wanted someone to feed my boy.”
Hours passed.
The air raids were back again. They continued, relentlessly.
Ivan wandered the streets between the air raids.
The smoke and fires, people whimpering and wandering dazed, was like walking through hell. In his best German he asked everyone about a boy soldier and Winnie. No one knew anything, fearing he was SS sent to check on the grandfather and little boy soldiers. Someone said a truck had come and taken the last of the boys and old men from the neighborhood. Boys and old men in uniform was not a new thing. No one cared, no one paid attention.
Many had hidden in the underground train tunnels from the air raids. They knew the Germans flooded the tunnels by the river often to prevent more Russians from advancing on the city, yet they took the risk anyway.
The old women he spoke to were distracted, searching the rubble for valuables, busy setting traps to catch ‘roof rabbits’ to eat. They avoided his eyes and ignored the bodies hanging from the lampposts, who had resisted joining the rag tag German army.
Not far away, he imagined he heard screaming and people crying, and ran toward them. But it was his imagination and someone’s Victrola.
Ivan had to check in with his unit, as well as continue on his mission to protect Herta and try and put this tragic turn of events out of his mind or he’d go mad.
Ivan searched for Winnie for days. He searched the drowned victims’ bodies.
He never found Winnie or news of another frightened, but dedicated boy soldier.
The rumors of imminent surrender increased.
On Fridays, Ivan went to the Friedrichstrasse train station. He waited in the shadows until dark. He prayed his duty-bound Winnie had survived the bombings and had gone home on the train, home to family, and freedom and life. He’d never stop loving her.
Ivan hid Herta in their apartment for weeks until the Americans came to Berlin. Ivan continued to check in with his unit who had pressed him into interrogating German soldiers who were surrendering now. His unit stayed on, waiting to be pressed into further service to their allies, the Americans. They all were certain now, the surrender was days away.
Ivan was grateful to be done interrogating German POW’s.
Ivan never stopped looking for Winnie. He became sad, withdrawn, and quiet.
Herta passed their time by telling him of her life with Dr. Castellucci and of the things they’d discovered together. Especially the ancient Scrolls the old Doctor had taught her to read.
Finally news reached Ivan and his unit that the Germans would surrender in Reims, France. Ivan had been gathering their uniforms and disguises. He'd found a Russian uniform that enabled him to hide Herta within his unit and get her to France.
On the last Friday before they had to leave for France, they agreed they’d search for Winnie one last time, and they took their chances. With Herta’s hair and skin covered, they went back to the Friedrichstrasse station. Their search was futile. They found a bench in the shadows, held hands, and watched the nervous people and trains come and go and kept a look out for Russian and American guards.
Ivan finally turned to Herta to ask, “Herta? Are you the woman in the legend?”
Herta smiled, “It’s just an old story. Nothing more.”
“Did you ever have any children?”
Herta dropped her head. He’d hit a nerve. When he lifted her chin and her eyes met his, they tried to hide a truth she would not tell.
“A few children, all gone. Many lovers.”
“How old are you, Herta?”
She frowned as a sly smile grew. He knew better than to ask a woman her age.
“How old do I look?” Herta mocked him.
“Thirty-four?”
“I’m not thirty-four, I’m...”
The train coming into the station blew its whistle, drowning out her answer.
“Did you say, thirty-three?” Ivan asked.
“Yes, I’m thirty-three.” Herta smiled coyly, teasing him.
But he never asked again. Nothing mattered now but her safety.
“Is the Rommel report true?”
“It is a good story that will buy me a ticket home. That is all.”
“Do you still want to go to the Americans?”
“Yes. I must or else I’m afraid I’ll be captured if I return home. There are a lot of people who believe that legend, especially the European colonists who will be looking for me again, in order to capitalize on certain quick money. They’ll be looking more intently, especially since they know the Germans arrested Doctor Castellucci. Many may know he died.” Herta hung her head as tears fell.
“I will get you there. I swore I’d fulfill Winifred’s wish for you.”
“She knew you would. Ivan? Promise never to mention the report to anyone except Eisenhower, as long as you live or else you will be hunted too
. Promise me?”
Herta’s beautiful face was expectant and wise all at the same time. There was no vulnerability, just determination, and a wise confidence that crossed eons.
“I swear,” Ivan promised looking into her extraordinary eyes.
Three o’clock. Time to go for the last time. Herta looked into his eyes, so full of tears. She kissed his cheek, then put her face into his neck and cried. Ivan picked up her tear stained face. When she finally looked at him, Herta looked directly into his soul with such intensity, she never need say another word.
He knew.
Suddenly eons of loneliness poured out of her. Her sobs were inconsolable.
He embraced her hard, to crush out the loneliness, the futility, the grief, the loss of Winnie.
Then they walked out of the train station.
Back at the apartment, Ivan laid Herta in Winnie’s bed and stroked her thick, raven hair.
“Don’t leave me,” Herta said in the faintest of whispers.
“I won’t. Not ever.” He’d promised.
Winfred had told Ivan to bring Herta to General Eisenhower and only him. ‘Convince him with the original report found in the brief case,’ her instructions echoed in his head. ‘Interpret for him. He’ll trust you. If I become lost or separated from you, defect together.’
Later that night, in his dream he remembered a version of this story. Winnie had mentioned it once before. Winifred and General Keitel were packing up his desk, he shoved a fat envelope in her hand then quite unexpectedly he hugged her saying --
“For your unwavering service, but especially for your future education Winnie. I’m so sorry I took you away from your Utopia. You’ve served me well. We’ll surrender in Reims. Now go along, good luck and get yourself to America. I want to visit a museum one day and see you there, happy. That would make me very happy knowing you found your Utopia, again.”
“Thank you sir. And good luck to you as well.”
Ivan woke up as if he’d been shaken. He got up and looked in her briefcase. It was much heavier than ever before. She’d polished it, because it smelled of her lotion. Underneath the carbons, the briefcase was full of thousands upon thousands of American dollars. There was an old, previously used, empty, unsealed but closed, plain white envelope. Ivan felt something was still inside.
Inside the envelope was a lock of Winnie’s hair tied in the white silk ribbon.
Inside the envelope Winnie had written the word, “forever” and sealed it with a lipstick kiss. Ivan broke down and cried.
Ivan was dreaming their old familiar surrender dream again. He was young again, back with Ike and Herta in the French schoolhouse bathroom.
“We’ll have some new questions to ask General Keitel, won’t we?” Ike asked.
“I can take you to the camp or I’ll give you directions.” Ivan feared rejection.
“Kimirov, by the look in your eyes I can’t help but believe you. I’m sorry our heroine Winifred is lost to you.”
Ivan nodded, as he choked up. Ike stood and put a hand on his shoulder.
“You loved her didn’t you?”
Ike grasped his hand firmly. Ivan nodded and broke down as Ike comforted him. Ivan hadn’t come to terms with losing her, until now.
Winifred was lost. “Sorry sir,” after a few seconds, Ivan backed out of the embrace.
“I understand. This is your own personal hell,” Ike watched Ivan.
Ivan handed off the documents to Herta to compose himself. She embraced him then let him walk away.
“Ivan loved her deeply sir. We both did. She’s the reason we are both here, alive and safe for the moment. Let me translate for you,” Herta said.
Ike smiled, then nodded to proceed.
Herta read in German, simultaneously translating very softly in English. She stopped and leaned in to whisper. “This is just between us General. Ivan would be in danger if he knew. I’ve been alive for thousands of years, General. Probably because I was struck by lightning on a plateau in Ethiopia with my three children. I found one drowned in the flash flood that followed. I never found my sixteen-year-old daughter or her sister. I never get sick. I never age. I can be killed. I can die.”
Eisenhower couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked at her and she nodded.
She felt Ivan staring at her and stopped. Had Ivan heard everything?
Yes, he had although, Ivan never let Herta know.
“General? I predict you will be President one day. You will have just as much authority and resources to hide me as you do, today. But today is when I need you. Until you get your hands on Rommel’s letter, I will hide in your Nurse Corps. I want to be in a country that would want to protect me. You realize only you have this secret now. And you may share it with President Truman and only if you trust him. Mrs. Roosevelt would believe in me. I know she would. FDR made many mistakes with the ethnic people of the United States, the Jewish Europeans and the Americans of Japanese decent, especially. Should Truman agree to grant me asylum, then my secret should die with the two of you, and Ivan. Then I can be free again to live my life. Agreed?”
“Well, my dear, I am willing to do exactly as you say, however because I too am an old man under great stress, there is one other, a young man, who I’ve known since he was a boy that we must include in our circle of trust. Agreed? I can grant you asylum without involving the President. Your friend Ivan here must come to America too, that is the only way we can protect you both. Agreed, Ivan?”
“Agreed,” they both said together eliciting a smile that lit up the room.
Ivan opened the door for Ike.
“Charles? Would you come in here, please?” Ike called.
Herta hugged Ivan, then Ike.
Thirty minutes of extraordinary stories later, the four of them, including Lt. Charles Andersen left the latrine, Ivan carrying the briefcase.
Escorted by Charles, Ivan and Herta went to England for a while then on to America.
Herta went on her way to her new mapped out life, first as an aide to Mrs. Roosevelt until her death, and then as a visiting academic in the universities of America.
When Charles returned from Switzerland with Rommel’s letter, Ike believed it was authentic.
Ivan went to Harvard, completed his PhD, and began his teaching career. He was not allowed to follow Herta or contact her or know where she was assigned. He quickly sank into a lingering depression. Ivan numbed his lonely life with Vodka.
Years later, Ivan was still in the grips of a chronic depression, still drinking heavily. He felt he could not function much longer in his teaching position at Harvard.
One day during their bi-annual visit, on impulse over drinks with Charles, he asked Charles if his memory could be scrubbed. Afraid in his drunkenness, he might discuss Herta. He’d recently gotten into an argument with an Egyptian professor at a faculty party and argued about the myth of Nana Bubu.
Months later, Ivan met Dr. Desiree Richards, a young, brilliant, British government psychiatrist who said she could bury his memory and only when he was older would he remember and by then, nothing would matter. He agreed and came back to Russia in a prisoner exchange after having invested in the U.S. stock market heavily, and done quite well, transferring the funds to Swiss banks.
Ivan left America a different man.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN -- I SURRENDER
YEARS LATER, when Ivan was able to travel freely outside of Russia, every Friday in the months of March through April at thirty minutes before noon, Ivan would arrive at the old Friedrichstrasse station, open locker 15, dust and polish the old briefcase in the men’s latrine stall, then wait on the bench for Winnie. Lonely but dedicated decades of continuing the ritual and yet, Winnie never came.
A few days earlier, Ivan had awakened from a vivid dream in his New York apartment.
Spurred by the dream, as soon as he was dressed he headed to the huge City Library and checked out the newsreel footage of Eleanor Roosevelt’s funeral.
Ivan s
miled. There she was.
He’d bought Herta that hat in England. They’d laughed about how crazy it was. They’d altered the image to disguise her face and protect her far into the future, but they’d forgotten to change her hat. It was Herta’s way of saying hello.
He never forgot her tear-stained face as she waved goodbye from an Army car saying, ‘don’t forget me.’
Drawn back by instinct, Ivan had retrieved the briefcase from locker 15, because he’d got word parts of the old Friedrichstrasse train station were being torn down.
Ivan finished the odd tasting brandy Mavra had poured for him and checked his healing gunshot wound, brushed his teeth, took his pill, then texted Peder’s cell phone with his disguised house phone.
Ivan opened up his new wall safe above his toilet. Inside was a new bust. Ivan toasted the new sculpture of Herta.
By sheer lucky co-incidence, Peder had found a Brooklyn DNA lab where former geneticists taught lay people to extract DNA and interpret the printout. A few innovators were making art from the DNA information. Peder had asked an artist to construct a 3-D sculpture of the DNA extracted from Herta’s hair sample.
There was Herta’s beautiful face, a perfect replica. She was smiling at him. Ivan blew her a kiss.
The drug in the brandy was making him sleepy now.
He closed the safe and the panel then shut off the light.
Ivan sat on the bed. His head was getting heavy. He toasted the painting of Winifred in her pink gown, hoping they’d meet someday in another life. Ivan got under his blue sheets and white silk duvet, and closed his eyes to remember their days in Berlin.
He had loved tiny precocious Mavra from the time she was born, relishing in her independence and her intelligence, until now. She had failed to learn how to love. Mavra had irreparably broken his heart. He felt surely she now wanted him to die, too.
The old, comforting thought of Herta and Winnie free, young, and beautiful, running through a meadow, laughing with sunlight and wildflowers in their hair, soothed his heart as Ivan exhaled, surrendering to the heaviness knowing Peder would carry out his orders if he didn’t survive.