The Hours After

by Gerda Weissmann Klein

  Regards to all your friends, and do let’s hear something favorable from you. That’s when your much-maligned “iceberg” will melt with joy. Despite your impudence you’ll get a kiss, and just you wait for the punishment that will follow once you’re here.

  Kurt

  Buffalo, December 26, 1945

  Gerda, my beloved,

  The dreariness of this winter day in no way matches my mood. In reality I wish I could embrace you and shower you with countless kisses, while conveying the big news to you: I have a job! I’m not entirely certain whether all the euphoria isn’t somewhat exaggerated; nevertheless I was gradually getting concerned that the matter took so long to be settled. Let me share the details with you.

  I’m going to start working in a printing plant as a typesetter. What’s especially favorable about it is that instead of the year-and-a-half training period that was technically still ahead of me, it will now only take another half year. At the same time the starting salary of fifty dollars is quite decent compared to that for other jobs, and if all goes according to plan, it will soon increase to sixty dollars (per week, naturally). This being Buffalo, that’s more than adequate to get along. Certainly a lot more than the same in New York. Actually I consider it only a springboard toward something better, and within a few months plan to take an advertising course at the university here, concurrently with my work. That’s made quite easy for qualifying veterans (how peculiar to hear myself so described), inasmuch as the government will subsidize tuition and board. I can’t see myself spending a full four years at the university, though.

  To answer your inquiry regarding your possible occupation once you arrive here, let me tell you first of all that I hope to let myself be simply intoxicated by the magic of your charms for a considerable period. Should any time be at our disposal after awhile, I will leave it to your judgment to select something to your liking. I feel that after so many years of forced labor, you should only be aware that you can do anything you have an inclination to pursue and that you find stimulating. If you’re asking my advice, I’d like to suggest that you do something along the lines of arts and crafts, providing that still interests you, while at the same time you learn the language. If I suggest this as a daytime endeavor, it’s only because I can’t quite picture evenings spent without you, after all this unnecessary involuntary separation. But let’s discuss that more later.

  In my next letter I’ll enclose a copy of Truman’s speech, according to which I’ve reached the conclusion that, despite all predictions, American consulates will nevertheless open in Germany by spring, that the granting of visas will be accelerated, and that the transportation problem will be solved by then. That means that if all else fails and you can’t get transit visas for either Switzerland or France, there is a good chance that a get-together by May 8* will yet be a possibility.

  Hoping that these lines will reach you much faster than all that

  preholiday mail, I am with much love,

  Your Kurt

  Munich, December 26, 1945

  My dearest Kurt,

  Well, it’s done. A chapter of my life lies behind me again. Perhaps that statement is too strong, but my work at the Civilian Censorship Division, my first real job, can be called the end of a chapter. My leaving there is definite. I found it hard to resign after all, and devoted a lot of thought to it before I did. I hope that you know me well enough to realize that it was not a spur-of-the-moment decision, and trust you are in agreement with my step. Once we are together, I shall tell you in greater detail exactly why I left there.

  I hope that the new job will let me do something more positive. There should be satisfaction in being able to aid people in need, and that is really what I aspire to do. Now a new chapter is about to start.

  I never got around to finishing this letter, then forgot about it, and now have a few days on the new job behind me. It’s quite a change from what I was doing. Just to give you an idea, I had an interesting case today. You wouldn’t believe this one. A man came to see me because he has “a very strong feeling” that he really was born Jewish and might therefore be entitled to receive help. I asked the usual questions and stopped cold when he told me that he had been a member of the Nazi Party since 1927.

  “Why were you in such a hurry?” I asked. He had an explanation.

  “Well, you see, look at me. Don’t you think I look Jewish?” Indeed, he had a strong Semitic look about him, I had to agree.

  “That was my problem; people took me for a Jew, so I thought if I wore the party badge early, that would take care of it. And it did.”

  I had my fun with that one, only he was dead serious.

  We come again to the question of my emigration. When you sent me the needed papers I was told that I’ll be able to get out of here. But how, without a consulate being open in Munich? There seem to be nothing but endless difficulties. I have gone from office to office in every conceivable organization, only to conclude that these days we are engaged in another war, a battle to scale the walls erected by hostile authorities. But in the end we will win!

  And what then? We will get married and be very happy. Seriously, I am starting to think about what I will be doing besides cooking and loving you. Do you have any idea what you would want me to do? I would like to study, if that’s possible. Perhaps I could begin by taking some courses here, but my work hours are so long and I don’t want to give up my job, which keeps me busy and independent.

  I can’t wait to hear what Uncle Leo thinks about our engagement. If only Artur could be there, my beloved big brother. I dare not think about it, but I pray hard.

  My thoughts turn to you again and again. I try to imagine so many things that may have happened moments after your return home. Then I focus on the instant you took off your uniform jacket that you wore “cum laude” for so many years. What was that like? Filled with gratitude, relief, and some nostalgia, perhaps? You must have taken it off very slowly, didn’t you? Did those colorful civilian ties feel strange after being used to nothing but khaki for such a long time? But please do take good care of your uniform; I shall always remember it with love and gratitude.

  Perhaps someday our children might want to play “soldier.” No, better not, but by all means let them see it. May they never have to wear one like it again. But you should keep the uniform for some future reunion of “Old Veterans.” We should reserve a place of honor for your old helmet with the red diamond of the Fifth Infantry Division. I shall dust it carefully each day. And please do promise me that you will acquire a net* for it. I must have the net you wore over it when I saw you for the first time. Please, even if you have to buy it on the black market!

  Many kisses and much love,

  Yours, Gerda

  Munich, December 27, 1945

  Dearest Kurt,

  Sorry I had to stop yesterday; I had 1,001 things to attend to. But today my thoughts are on a different plane, and my sorrow blots out everything else. It is my empathy for Günther, a friend whom I value and admire, a most decent human being, finding himself tested to the limit of his endurance. I told you about his engagement to his brother’s widow. Today he got a letter from the love of his life. She survived the war and is in Australia. She has waited for him for seven years, despite the fact that she knew he was in Auschwitz. Seeing him today, I found that he appears to have aged overnight. Witnessing his suffering is the most heartbreaking thing I have done since the end of the war. So far his decision is to stay with his widowed sister-in-law. Can you imagine his dilemma, his pain?

  This damned war has left so much sorrow and pain in its wake. I hear about such a multitude of individual tragedies every day. So many survivors are being asked to make incredible sacrifices. What a price to have to pay for a little happiness! I can’t bear to see so many people unhappy. In light of all that, my not having seen you for three and a half months seems very small.

  I love you,

  Gerda

  In the course of a visit to Australia
in 1998, we were to find out that this story had a happy ending. The resolution of Günther’s dilemma was told to us some fifty-three years later by Stella, who had befriended me while we were both working at the Civilian Censorship Division. She was the one who, much to our relief and gratitude, had helped us forward our correspondence to each other through army channels after our initial contact person, Captain Presser, returned to the United States.

  We learned that once Günther discovered that the love of his life was alive and had waited for him steadfastly, despite the odds against his survival, his sister-in-law released him from their engagement. In due time they both emigrated to Australia, where he was able to realize his dream by marrying his former sweetheart.

  Unfortunately Günther was no longer alive by the time we made our journey to Australia, but we took great satisfaction in hearing how well disposed providence had been to all concerned: His sister-in-law found happiness as well by meeting and marrying a decent man.

  Munich, December 28, 1945

  Hello Kurt,

  Outside spring is undeniably in the air, because there is a lightness and transparency in the atmosphere that allows my hello to be heard in New York without the help of the postal service. I think nature has heard my pleas and was kind enough to move ahead of itself. Unfortunately it seems to have affected Captain Presser in just the opposite way. She is ill, perhaps I should say “under the weather,” which could well be the cause of it all.

  I met an American woman at work who is about to leave for Paris in order to meet her husband there. She seems to know someone in that city who finds herself in the same predicament as I but who will soon—or has already been able to—leave for the States, thanks to the favorable disposition of her case by the American consul. Do you think that might perhaps work for me as well? Do you want me to pursue it?

  Now something in a lighter vein. The Munich streetcar system has become the butt of all sorts of jokes. Most people are terribly upset by it, and for good reason. All the same I find it amusing most of the time because of all the characters you see and the way people hang from those straps, like bunches of grapes. Well, this morning I acquitted myself nobly. It was more crowded than a sardine can, with people standing on each other’s feet. Just then a really jolly-looking woman pushed herself into the center of this mass of humanity, carrying on her head—you won’t believe it—a rocking horse! You should have seen the disgust and indignation that registered on a sea of faces. I couldn’t help but visualize how they had looked in uniform not so long ago, so arrogant and self-righteous, and that gave me an idea. Making my way around the mass of people, and in the process stepping on many toes, literally and figuratively, I managed to add to their wrath by getting close to the lady and allowing her to put the horse on the floor.

  Now a caustic voice, dripping with venom, was directed at me. “Why don’t you ride that horse to where you’re going?” “An excellent idea!” I retorted, and much to the chagrin of many, but also to the amusement of others, I rode in great style to the Sendlinger Tor, on the back of a rocking horse!

  Enough for today. Many kisses,

  Gerda

  Munich, January 1, 1946

  My dearest Kurt,

  I can’t in good conscience say that I had much sleep—about three hours—but I don’t mind at all, because the most marvelous news just came as a morning greeting, on the first day of the new year. What a good omen!! It was announced that emigration to the United States is to begin soon!

  This month the American consul should arrive in Munich, and the American ships are to start operating, with transports of about one thousand people to leave twice a month. American citizens have priority, of course, along with their wives, even if noncitizens. But I hope that my chances are good as the fiancée of a serviceman. Can you believe that? I am jumping with joy at the very thought! It seems you were right in your estimate that it should take between four and six months. I can’t write much more, am truly overcome by the thought that it is for real.

  What all is going to happen during the interval until this letter reaches you? Tomorrow I hope there will be mail from you. Tomorrow also I will be starting my new job. During the past few days, I have met a lot of people. For years now, people have confided in me, although I don’t know exactly why. I am privy to many secrets, so many wrenching life stories, and the more I hear, the more I marvel at my good fortune and realize how lucky I am. What enormous happiness was given to me through you!

  Yours,

  Gerda

  Munich, January 2, 1946

  My dearest Kurt,

  I had a strange and uneasy premonition today. I got home rather late with a gnawing feeling of uneasiness, apparently unfounded. On my bed I found your two letters of December 15 and 16, containing two photos of you. It gave me so much pleasure to see your image, and now they bear some lipstick stains.

  Now, to my premonition: Uncle Leo’s letter. It is touching of you to have deleted a reference to “something” that you felt would upset me and from which you want to spare me pain. But you know, dearest, what I seem to gather from the rest is worse than the bitterest reproaches. I do prefer the unvarnished truth, whatever it may be. I can’t imagine what I am to make of the fact that my uncle accuses me of “coldness” and of keeping a distance. How could he possibly be angry with me for the brevity of my letter to him on the day of our engagement! Does he have no idea what it was like? A few hours earlier, to my inexpressible joy, you had asked me to marry you. Then, a short while later, I had to part with you, my most beloved being on earth, not knowing when I would see you again. I love my uncle very much, now more than ever, since he appears to be the only one left from my family. But I can’t understand him. I have not seen him in eight years. I was thirteen at the time. Doesn’t he know what happened during those years?

  You sat next to me as I penned those lines to him, informing him of my engagement to you. I could barely restrain myself. How could I have imagined what approach he expected at a moment when everything was churning within me? Had I truly given free rein to my emotions, I might have lost my self-control completely and made our parting even harder. You, my beloved, are trying to spare me, though I do know that my uncle is angry that I did not ask his permission to marry. Does he think that I just came out of my convent school and because my parents are not here I owe this to him? I am so sorry to have upset him and caused him pain. It certainly was not intended that way.

  I am touched by his goodness, love, and concern. Is it because I am his beloved sister’s child? Does he know that I am ashamed to have stayed alive while she did not? Were it not for you, I would ask myself why I survived and what for. You are the center of my life and the hope of our future together. Were it not for that, I could not go on living in this place. You are the anchor to my normalcy. The thought of you dispels my terrible loneliness, which I confess, despite everything, overwhelms me at times. Then all I have is your picture.

  I shall write a letter to my uncle. Please read it and forward it or withhold it, as you see fit. In time to come, once I can do so face-to-face, I might tell him what I tried to spare him. I know how much he loved my mother. He does not know the truth about the terrible years in the basement of our house and later in the ghetto. He knows nothing of the deprivation, the pain, the illness, Mama’s suffering, and her constant worry about Papa and Artur.

  Please forgive me for the burden I must be imposing on you, the concern I am causing you. I promise I shall try to repay you when we are together.

  So I am sitting here reliving the day. After only one day on my new job, how much have I seen! I ask applicants the usual standard questions: “Where were you born? Where did you spend the war years? Have you lost family members?” Invariably I will look into tear-filled eyes and receive answers from trembling lips. So far it’s been most difficult to keep my own emotions in check, and it took every last reserve of strength to hold back my own tears at some of the stories that unfolded. I found myself saying
meaningless pleasantries to people I encountered, all the while longing to get to my room, to be myself, to let go and hold your picture, read your letters. I promise I will be brave and endure the loneliness, as long as you are there for me.

  Gerda

  Munich, January 4, 1946

  My beloved Kurt,

  We had a meeting today at my new office at the Bavarian Aid Society, and I think it rivaled what I read about meetings in the British House of Commons, both in length as well as boredom. I sat among forty men and four women, all very old, I assume between forty-five and fifty. A man from the Central Committee was present, and there was an awful lot of talk about the desirability of a merger between this agency and the Joint Distribution Committee. They would work hand in hand, with the idea of gathering all loose threads into one united, strong, and meaningful strand.

  But, as you might guess, they are not going to do it. The ladies, matrons in long sleeves, dresses buttoned to their throats and some wearing pince-nez glasses, looked so forbidding and accusing that I felt it would be construed as a criminal act if I crossed my legs. I felt very uncomfortable under their scrutiny, certainly intimidated. Then I started to wonder where they had been and what they had done when the people who are now their clients were in the camps. I gather those women are Germans who would probably deny ever having been card-carrying Nazi Party members. They exuded a lot of authority, but I don’t think much understanding or compassion.

  Suddenly I felt that a new era was dawning in which it’s possible to offer help without being stern or severe, but simply by displaying understanding. It’s sufficient to offer your hand and tender whatever help is possible. In that way we can ensure a better future. I said little, merely expressing my opinion that we should work together harmoniously. In that way the fruits of our work would become evident and reflect our success.