The route was torturous. Some of the broader boulevards were still reduced in width due to rubble or fallen trees, while others were cleared completely. A few streets were closed, the damage too severe, the thoroughfare not worth the resources. Crews composed of foreign workers, older men, and young boys were still clearing debris. But as hard and tediously as they worked, there seemed to be a never-ending supply.
Charlottenburg would never be the same. Its quaint charm was marred, its liveliness subdued. Buildings Amanda had once photographed, enjoying their beauty or style or craftsmanship, were destroyed, shattered shells or crumbling heaps of wood and stone. Trees that lined the streets, so graceful and stately only a few months before, sprouting leaves and providing a protective canopy from the sun, were barren and broken, limbs shattered, roots exposed, trunks split.
Amanda stopped to get some kreppels, ensuring she had enough for the children Erika was harboring. When she arrived at Erika’s, the driver helped her get her bag to the fourth floor, while Amanda carried her violin and the donuts.
Erika opened the door of her flat as soon as Amanda knocked. She hugged her, clinging tightly, holding her, tears dripping from her eyes. They had battled their own demons, alone and protectively, not knowing they could share their problems with each other. They were mentally and physically exhausted, walking in worlds they never knew existed, but now able to see that the end was near.
“I brought my bag,” Amanda said softly, implying what they mutually understood. “May I leave it here?”
“Yes, of course,” Erika said. “I’ll put it right here. Next to mine.”
“You’re going?”
“Yes, I finally convinced mother. Although she only agreed after she found out you were coming. She’s packing now.”
Amanda hugged her again. “Oh, Erika, I’m so glad. I would like nothing more than to have you with me.”
“I wanted to go from the beginning, but I was too afraid. And I had mother to worry about. But when Michael said you were going, we each found the courage.”
The two sat in the parlor, quietly discussing their plans over some lunch and a cup of coffee. Erika described the children she had hidden, how she had come to find them, and how difficult it had been to get food and supplies for everyone. Amanda discussed Manfred, all he had done, and who he had become.
When they finished, Erika took Amanda upstairs and into the hidden room to meet the children. It was an emotional experience. Amanda knew the sacrifices Erika had made, quietly bearing the burden alone. Now she knew why.
She stayed a few hours more, most of it with the children, and then returned home. She came in quietly, trying to avoid Hannah, not wanting her to notice that she didn’t have her violin. She closed the front door and walked stealthily across the parlor.
“Mrs. Richter,” Hannah said with surprise, emerging from the kitchen. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said, conscious of her empty hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I came home a few minutes ago.”
“You’re timing is perfect,” Hannah said, not noticing the missing violin. “Dinner is ready.”
Amanda went in the dining room and sat down. Hannah served and, as Amanda was eating, she started talking.
“Mr. Richter called,” she said. “He won’t be home tonight. I think he said he was visiting a factory or people wounded in a factory during the bombing, something like that. But he promised he’ll be home tomorrow night.”
CHAPTER 63
York sat in Erika’s parlor, a solemn expression on his face. Confronted with a new crisis, he was evaluating options, searching for solutions. Obstacles kept appearing: Allied bombings, the Gestapo, and now Manfred Richter.
Amanda sat beside him, her fingers lightly caressing his arm. She was distraught but determined, her face firm, her eyes flashing fear, worried that the door opened for their escape was being slammed shut by her husband.
“I cannot be home on Sunday under any circumstances,” she said. “I just can’t do it. I never want to see Manfred again. And if he’s home, I won’t get out of the house.”
York didn’t want Amanda anywhere near him either, for a variety of reasons. The most obvious was emotional, but even if he applied strict logic it was a dangerous situation. Amanda knew too much; Richter was sly and cunning.
Erika sat across from them, watching closely, her face taut and strained. She seemed tired, defeated, her eyes dull with signs of surrender. She listened intently, concerned, but gave no indication of what might be bothering her.
“You’re absolutely certain he’ll be home?” York asked Amanda, keeping a wary eye on Erika.
“Yes, barring some unforeseen disaster,” she said emphatically. “Hannah wrote down his message. He promised he would be home. Manfred doesn’t promise anything.”
“Is it a special occasion?” Erika asked quietly.
Amanda thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “Not that I can remember.”
York didn’t like seeing her upset. The stress and tension were mounting, and he could see it in the faces of both women. Amanda had been eluding Richter, afraid of the Gestapo, and promised an escape that never seemed to come. Erika had hidden eight people, wrought with worry about how to support them, secretly purchasing food, always wary of detection, knowing a slight miscalculation could bring the wrath of the Gestapo upon her household. Both women were boiling with anxious anticipation, like lava in an erupting volcano.
Erika listened sympathetically to Amanda’s plight, but seemed restless and distracted, worried and weary. She was also perceptive, noticing how closely Amanda sat to York, leaning on him for support, touching him tenderly. She seemed to absorb it, not passing judgment, but probably knew there was much more between them than a path to Switzerland.
They sat quietly for a moment, considering options, before Erika spoke. “I also have a problem, but I haven’t shared it. Just like Amanda, I must leave before Monday. I wasn’t going to tell you; I didn’t want to make matters worse. But it’s best that you know.”
York and Amanda exchanged nervous glances. Neither knew what Erica was facing. They wondered what could have possibly gone wrong, and why she never told them.
Erika withdrew a letter from an envelope and unfolded it. “I received this on Thursday. Words can’t describe how upsetting it is. What sick society could invent such a disgusting, demented program?”
Amanda looked at her friend, dumbfounded. “What happened?”
“I am supposed to report to Gestapo headquarters on Monday at 8 a.m.”
She handed the letter to York, who held it so Amanda could read it. It contained the official letterhead of the Nazi Party, and opened with the deepest sympathy and appreciation for the loss of Erika’s husband. It then discussed her duty to the Fatherland as a patriotic citizen. It closed with notification that her ancestry had been investigated, her natural characteristics classified and, consistent with program criteria, she had been chosen to participate in the production of Aryan offspring. Her first meeting with a preselected German officer, also proven genetically pure, was scheduled for Monday. The meetings would continue three times each week until she conceived.
York handed the letter back, stunned and disgusted. “Who could believe such horrors exist? You’re right, Erika. I’m speechless.”
She smiled weakly. “It convinced my mother to go to Switzerland.”
Amanda was shocked. “Why didn’t you tell us? We’ll protect you. Surely you realize that. We’d never let anything happen to you.”
Erika shrugged meekly. “I didn’t want to trouble you. Michael was so busy planning our escape, and you have your own issues to deal with. I didn’t want you distracted by my problems.”
“What were you going to do?” York asked with disbelief. “You weren’t going to go, were you?”
“No, of course not,” she said. “I had no intention of doing that. I just hoped we would be gone before they came to arrest me.”
<
br /> “It wouldn’t have worked,” York said softly, showing compassion. “They would have come for you as soon as you missed the appointment.”
“Then that settles it,” Amanda said, looking to York. “We can’t endanger Erika by leaving Tuesday, and I am desperate. You have to do something.”
He had already altered the plan, the hours until departure vivid in his mind, along with all that had to be done to get there. “You’re right,” he said. “We have to leave earlier.”
The women exchanged glances and sighed with relief. “The sooner we can go, the better it will be,” Amanda said.
“I agree,” York said. He was quiet a moment, thinking. “How secure is Manfred’s boathouse?”
Amanda was surprised by the question and, for a moment, her mind drifted to people and places from a different time. “It’s off the road, fairly secluded. There’s no cottage or anything like that, just the boathouse. No nearby neighbors.”
“Can the ambulance fit inside?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not built like that. Only the boat fits in. There’s little floor space, just a few meters in the back. The building sits over the water. You drive the boat inside. And then there is a hoist to lift it out of the water when needed.”
York thought for a moment. “How far from the road is it?”
“Fifty or sixty meters,” she said. “It’s just a dirt road, surrounded by trees.”
“If we parked the ambulance near the boathouse, would the trees hide it from the road?”
Amanda thought for a moment. “During summer they would, but not now. There are some evergreens, but most of the trees and shrubs are bare. It’s dense, though.”
York sighed. “We’ll have to take the chance.”
“When are we leaving?” Erika asked.
“We can go Sunday evening, but spend the night at the boathouse. We have to go there anyway for petrol.”
“But it’ll be harder to get the ambulance in the garage,” Erika said. “The neighbors will still be awake.”
York sighed, struggling to fit the pieces together. “You’re right. And it’s much more dangerous getting the vehicle from the hospital. Even if I got it tonight, we would take a chance having it in the garage.”
“We can cover the windows,” Erika said.
“But someone still might notice,” York said.
“We have to leave early Sunday evening,” Amanda said firmly. “There’s no alternative for me or Erika.”
The telephone rang and Erika excused herself to answer it. They could hear her in the kitchen, talking. It was a pleasant conversation, accented with light laughter. She returned to the parlor a moment later.
“You’ll never guess who that was,” she said.
York and Amanda looked at each other, but offered no reply.
“Albert Kaiser. He called to say that we’re auditioning viola players at the Renaissance Theater on Kenessebeckstrasse at seven p.m. on Sunday.”
Amanda sighed with relief. “At least we know he’s safe. I was really worried about him after the bombing. I kept trying to telephone but couldn’t get through.”
“He said his neighborhood was severely damaged. He and his wife are staying with friends. Their telephone just started working today. I was laughing as he told me how upset his dog has been.”
“How long will the auditions take?” York asked, calculating the timeline.
Erika looked at Amanda and shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe three hours.”
Amanda nodded. “That’s about right, depending on how many people come. That’s how long it took when Gerhard Faber auditioned.”
“I think we can make this work,” York said. “We can get everything ready to go, everyone packed and waiting, while you two are at the auditions.”
“And you’ll get the ambulance?” Amanda asked.
“Yes,” York said. “I’ll put it in the carriage house. It’ll be dark, which will help. And some neighbors may be sleeping.”
“Then we’ll leave as soon as we get home?” Erika asked.
“Yes,” York said. “Your mother and Inga can have the children waiting. We should be gone by eleven p.m.”
CHAPTER 64
St. Francis Hospital was a large brick building trimmed with marble moldings, designed to be functional but still esthetically pleasing. It dominated the block, dwarfing the buildings beside it, surrounded by mature trees with bare limbs that stretched over the adjacent boulevard. One wing of the building had been bombed, and bricks from a damaged upper elevation had collapsed on the pavement and were shoved in a heap against the wall.
York went to the hospital Saturday night, well after dark, when fewer people wandered the streets or sped by in taxis. As he approached the main entrance, he saw a nurse and two patients standing outside. They were probably soldiers, their arms in slings, one with a bandage covering the left side of his face. They seemed to be waiting for someone, and ducked in and out of the entrance, trying to stay warm.
The facilities parking lot was at the rear of the hospital, close to a row of rubbish cans on a narrow back street. There were a dozen vehicles parked there: four ambulances, three small trucks, and five sedans. The area was deserted, tucked in a distant corner with a single door that led to it. It was dimly lit by a single lamp post, surrounded by shrubs, and flanked by the hospital walls.
York watched the area for thirty minutes, then moved furtively through the bushes to the vehicles. He sprawled on the cobblestones, hidden in shadows, and removed the front and rear license plates from all four ambulances, placing them in a satchel he had brought with him. License plates were identified by vehicle use. He wanted several sets of ambulance plates so he could switch them throughout the journey. It wouldn’t fool the Gestapo, he realized that. But it might confuse any others that reported them to the authorities.
He left the area quickly, moving down the street and trying not to lean too heavily on his cane. As he turned the corner, he stopped and looked behind him. No one was following. No one was watching. But just as he started on his way, he noticed a face peer around a building and then duck back again. It was a man with dark clothes and a dark hat, the moonlight reflecting off his spectacles.
York hurried down the street, afraid it was the Gestapo agent who had followed him before, at Max’s and at the cemetery. He caught the next tram, rode for two blocks and got off, taking a bus in the opposite direction. Six blocks later he got off and immediately boarded another tram, making sure he wasn’t followed.
He made his way to Olivaer Platz, leaving the tram and then taking a bus before walking the last three blocks, shivering in the chilly night. When he reached the hospital, he sat on a bench across the street, watching closely, just as he had done at St. Francis. When convinced the passing people were visitors or staff, with some patients mingled among them, he moved to the facilities parking lot.
A smaller hospital with fewer employees, York saw only two ambulances, one with two axles that held four stretchers, the other a large three-axle truck, more appropriate for their needs. They were parked beside each other, a sedan next to them and closer to the road, partially hiding them from the street. Two other cars were parked closer to the building.
After observing for thirty minutes, and seeing no activity, York made his way to the vehicles, using the foliage that bordered the parking lot as shelter, just as he had done at St. Francis. But now his objective was much different.
He lay on the ground beside the ambulance and removed the cap to the petrol tank, which was just behind the driver’s door. He stuck his finger in, could not feel petrol, and then stuck a narrow wooden branch in, using it as a dipstick and letting it touch the bottom. It was just over halfway full.
York moved to the smaller ambulance, removed a narrow rubber hose from his satchel, and inserted it in the gas tank. He stretched the tube out to the larger ambulance, and sucked on it, producing a vacuum until the bitter petrol entered his mouth. He shoved the tube in the gas tank
of the larger truck.
It took almost five minutes to fill. As soon as the tank started to overflow he pulled the tube from the first vehicle and replaced the cap, letting the petrol in the tube drain to the ground. He returned the cap to the tank of the second truck, staying on the ground, hidden from view. He carefully surveyed the surrounding area and when satisfied it was safe, he walked up the ramp, staying close to the foliage, and left the hospital.
He went into the park where he used to meet Amanda, and found a bench with a view of the road. He sat down and watched the few passing pedestrians, studied the vehicles on the street, and surveyed the buildings destroyed by the bombings. Most of the park was intact, although an uprooted tree and the crater beside it gave evidence to the attack. He waited for almost thirty minutes and when sure no one had seen him, he went back to his hotel.
*
Sunday was cold and overcast, snow flurries swirling through the air and melting when they kissed the cobblestone streets. York met Amanda at Erika’s, and found the women nervous with anticipation, fearful of the unknown. They knew they were risking their lives, a million things could go wrong, but it was something they had to do. They couldn’t stay in Berlin any longer.
They practiced the escape planned for that night: how the children would be taken to the ambulance, how to load the luggage, who would serve as lookout, what to do if they were discovered. Then they made the warning signs to place on each side of the truck and at the rear doors: Gefahr: Tuberkulose! Nicht betreten! Danger: Tuberculosis! Do not Enter!
Hours passed slowly, the tension mounting, and when early evening arrived, it was time for the women to leave. York stood in the doorway and said his goodbyes, trying to assure them that everything would go smoothly. Amanda hugged him tightly and kissed him. She wouldn’t let go, burying her head in his shoulder.
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