A View Across the Rooftops: An epic, heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel

by Suzanne Kelman

  “Yes. Yes, it was,” Ingrid said quietly. “But now I have Heinrich, and we will have our own family.” She tried to sound optimistic.

  “Of course.” Vi took another long, deep drag. “Tell me about you and Heinrich. Where did you meet?”

  Ingrid smiled, remembering happier times. The times that seemed so distant to her now. The beginning of the occupation, when everything had felt so much more positive. Now there was nothing but work and pressure.

  “He swept me off my feet,” she giggled. “I started working for the Third Reich at the beginning of the occupation and enjoyed it immensely. But it has been hard in the last year.”

  “I know,” Vi responded. “I can’t wait for this to be over, too.”

  Ingrid nodded.

  “Do you intend to go to Germany after the war is over?” Vi asked as their drinks and food arrived.

  “Of course,” Ingrid said.

  “So, you get on well with his family, then?”

  Ingrid looked down and quickly took a slug of her gin before answering. Not used to hard liquor, it stung the back of her throat, but it did give her the courage she needed.

  “No, they are a long way away, and Heinrich means to keep them safe.”

  “You’ve not spoken to them?” Vi sounded surprised.

  “I will when I get there. We will all be a family together. I look forward to those days.”

  “How intriguing. That doesn’t bother you?”

  Ingrid felt the sting but shook her head. “I just think he likes to keep things to himself. I’m hoping that once we’re married, he’ll be more open. Then we can settle in Germany.”

  As they finished eating, two soldiers sidled up to them. “Would you ladies like to dance?” one of them slurred.

  Vi pushed her chair back. “Come on, Ingrid. If we don’t dance, they’re going to keep bothering us.”

  “Oh no,” Ingrid said, blushing. “I don’t think Heinrich would like it.”

  “They didn’t ask Heinrich, they asked you,” Vi said jovially. “Heinrich isn’t here. Come on.”

  She grabbed Ingrid’s hand and pulled her to her feet. Ingrid knocked back the rest of her drink before she was pulled onto the dance floor, twirling with a young officer with blue eyes and white-blond hair. He stared at her intently, smiling at her through his drunken glare. She did have fun, though, as he whirled her in circles and spun her around.

  One dance and one partner followed another. She soon lost track of time. Exhausted, she finally collapsed down at her table with her friend. They compared notes about their dance partners and laughed heartily. It was many drinks later when Ingrid finally noticed the time.

  “I must get going,” she said as she tried to focus on her wristwatch. “Heinrich will be home anytime, and I must get back to him.”

  Vi nodded. “Well, if your master is waiting, we should go.” She pulled Ingrid to her feet, and Ingrid swayed with the effects of the alcohol, which suddenly seemed to have hit her. Vi grabbed her friend before she toppled over and insisted on walking her home.

  “I’ll be fine,” mumbled Ingrid. “I can find my own way back.”

  “I know you can, but I’m sure Heinrich will never forgive me if something happened to you on the way there. He is my boss too.”

  Ingrid giggled. “Okay,” she agreed, hanging onto Vi’s arm.

  All the way through town, they acknowledged the Nazis on patrol, knowing most of them by sight. And those who didn’t know them noticed their German uniforms and waved them on.

  When they arrived at Ingrid’s building, Vi kissed her on both cheeks and Ingrid giggled. “See you tomorrow, Ingrid,” she sang out. “And remember, don’t let Heinrich give you a hard time.”

  Ingrid grinned. “No, I won’t,” she shouted back as she stumbled into the building.

  She felt less confident as she went up in the lift. On the way up, she attempted to smooth out her hair and straighten her clothes, knowing that Heinrich would notice. Hopefully he was not back yet. Maybe she would go straight to bed.

  But as she opened the door, she sensed his presence. He was in the hallway, pacing angrily. He had taken off his jacket, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

  “You finally came home,” he snapped. “Thank you so much for doing that.”

  Ingrid shut the door meekly and leaned against it to stop herself from falling over as Heinrich continued to berate her.

  “How dare you disrespect me like this? Where have you been till this time?”

  Ingrid tried to sound as sober as she could. “I just went out for a drink with a friend.” Even though she concentrated, she could still hear the slight slur in her words.

  “What friend?” he snapped back, his eyes blazing.

  “The new girl from the office. You know, Vi.”

  “And what do you mean by not telling me?” he shouted into her face.

  “Don’t yell at me, Heinrich,” she hollered back, feeling emboldened by the alcohol still coursing through her body. “You are gone every single night. You never tell me where you’ve been. I just wanted to go out and have a little bit of fun.”

  He appeared shocked at her forthright comeback but continued on his rant. “You’re an embarrassment to me. Look at you. Look at the state of you.” He looked her up and down in disgust. “Your hair is unkempt, and look at your clothes. Your makeup looks terrible. You’re an embarrassment to that uniform. You shouldn’t be out there looking that way.”

  Ingrid automatically felt shame; she looked down, her eyes taking in her disheveled clothing. How could he make her feel that way? She tried to respond, though her voice had lost its power. “I don’t care what you say. I’ve had a good night, and it’s about time I did.”

  “Well,” he said menacingly, “if you’re going to continue to be with me, you’re going to have to learn to be more considerate. Such as telling me where you are and who you’re with. We have a critical job to do here. Do you understand? Do you know that we are in the middle of a war?” And with that he strode away from her.

  “How will I ever forget that? One that we seem to be losing,” she spat back at him.

  Suddenly, Heinrich raced back to her and took her by the shoulders and started to shake her. She was shocked by the aggression. He’d never done anything like that before.

  “Do not shame me!” he shouted, his face inches from hers. “Do you understand? I will not be shamed.”

  Shocked by the violent turn their altercation had taken, Ingrid backed down. “Yes, okay. Sorry, Heinrich. I did not realize that this would shame you. That is the last thing I want to do,” she whispered, desperately trying to control the panic rising in her throat and wanting to get out of his grasp.

  Her words seemed to calm him. He let go of her shoulders and walked to the bedroom, yelling over his shoulder as he went, “You will come home on time tomorrow. Do you understand? And you will never go anywhere without telling me first.” He slammed the door.

  “Yes,” she whispered quietly to the closed door, making her way to the bathroom.

  She suddenly felt angry. How dare he treat her this way? Weren’t they meant to be engaged? Wasn’t he supposed to love her? This wasn’t how this was supposed to be. But everybody had ups and downs, Ingrid reminded herself as she washed the makeup from her face. And the war was so stressful. Everybody’s nerves were short. He wouldn’t have hit her, would he? She considered the rage in his eyes and the way he’d taken hold of her. Her shoulders still hurt from where he’d grabbed them. Of course not. Heinrich loved her and he wasn’t that kind of a man.

  Ingrid took a moment to pull herself together before she made her way into the bedroom. He was already lying down with his back to her as she slipped under the covers. Her head continued to swim with the effects of the alcohol and her own tormented emotions. Looking up at the ceiling, she felt hopeless. This wasn’t the life that she’d envisioned for herself. She would try harder, make it up to H
einrich. Ingrid turned off the light and closed her eyes, though sleep eluded her until the early hours of morning.

  Chapter 32

  On the last day of 1944, Josef sauntered along the icy sidewalk and turned down his pathway, flexing his chilly red knuckles a couple of times before placing the key in the lock. The snow had come down without warning and swirled into accumulating drifts. Light, fluffy, and whipped up in the wind, it circled and spun its cotton-candied dance around the bushes and shrubs in his tiny garden before finally gathering at the roots.

  Dantes was waiting patiently for him at the door. But instead of his usual warm welcome, he seemed agitated and meowed loudly at his master. Removing his damp coat, scarf, and hat, Josef spoke to his pet. “Are you hungry, Dantes? I did manage to get you some fish.” He went into the kitchen and started his evening routine.

  He was surprised when the cat showed no interest in the bowl of food he placed on the floor. Instead, Dantes circled the kitchen, agitated, meowing urgently. Then he trotted purposefully to the back door, which was also surprising. The cat was not a fan of the cold. Josef opened up the door, which led into an alleyway and spoke softly. “You won’t want to go out, Dantes. It’s freezing.”

  Dantes stood and peered out into the frozen night, complaining incessantly. Josef chuckled to himself as he began to close the door. Suddenly, a fierce gust of wind picked up and ripped it from his hand. The door squealed angrily on its hinges as it was wrenched wide open, allowing a circle of turbulent snow to dance around his kitchen, chilling Josef to the bone. As the windows in the kitchen rattled their own displeasure, Josef grabbed hold of the door and wrestled against the wind to shut it.

  That was when he noticed something outside. Something dark that lay partially buried by a snowdrift. At first he thought it was a bundle of ragged clothes. But then it seemed to move, and he realized that it was alive. A black dog curled up in a ball, perhaps? Pulling on a jacket he ventured back out into the frigid, howling weather.

  As he drew closer, he realized it wasn’t a dog at all, but a person, lying face down. Hurriedly rolling them over, he realized with a jolt, this icy, bone-thin creature with a gray complexion and filthy, matted hair was, in fact, Michael.

  Falling to his knees, he rubbed the young man’s frozen cheeks, calling his name over and over again. “Michael. Michael, can you hear me?”

  He picked up the limp hand, and the chill shocked him. The skin was blue and frozen. He felt for a pulse. It was slow, but he was alive. He pulled Michael to his feet and dragged him inside, noting how light he was, just a bundle of clothes and bones. He laid his friend on the kitchen floor and started to rub his body vigorously. His hands, his arms, his shoulders, his chest.

  “Michael,” he called out frantically, over and over again. “Can you hear me?”

  Once inside the warmth of the house, the young man started to shiver uncontrollably, and Josef rushed to get him some blankets and smothered him with them, then lit a fire and went upstairs and started to fill the bath with warm water so as not to shock him too much. When the water was in the tub, Josef whispered to his friend, “There is a bath for you.”

  There was no response, so Josef carried him upstairs into the bathroom as Dantes followed and stood at the door, watching with curiosity. The steam from the bath brought Michael back to some sort of awareness. His eyes opened a couple of times, though he still looked dazed. Even so, he seemed to understand Josef’s words when he told him to get undressed. He fumbled for his shirt buttons, but his numb and frozen hands were unable to complete the task.

  Gently, Josef started to unbutton and then remove his shirt. Michael, whose eyes were still shut, mumbled through his semi-consciousness, “I hope you’re a brunette. I’m very partial to brunettes.” Josef shook his head, amazed at his friend’s sense of humor even though he was barely alive. He took it as a good sign.

  Josef finished undressing him and then lifted Michael into the bath. As he was lowered down into the heat of the water, the shock of it seemed to sting him, and he cried out in pain.

  Josef reassured him, “It’s okay, my friend, it’s okay.” Cradling Michael’s head, he started to scoop up the water and pour it gently down his body.

  The young man’s eyes flashed open in terror. “Where am I?”

  “You are here, Michael. You are home.”

  Michael seemed to understand and slowly his eyes focused on the person in front of him.

  “Professor,” he slurred in recognition. “I bet you thought you’d got rid of me.”

  Josef shook his head and continued to lap water over his frozen flesh; slowly Michael started to thaw.

  Josef looked at his young friend’s body. It was painfully thin, covered in dirt, marked with untreated cuts, bites, and bruises that confirmed he had probably been sleeping rough the whole time. Taking a piece of soap, Josef rubbed it into a lather and then slowly started to wash Michael, paying particular attention to his hands and feet, which were caked in the grime of weeks out in the elements. Then he carefully washed Michael’s hair, un-matting the clumps in his thick, dark curls and pulling out the burrs that had buried themselves there. His anger began to rise.

  “Why did you not come back before?” he demanded. “You could’ve come back at any time.”

  Michael opened his eyes and fixed his older friend with his sadness, the hurt and pain evident on his face. “I had something I needed to do, something I needed to come to terms with. And, honestly, toward the end, I just wanted to die.”

  Josef listened. In time, he knew, Michael would tell him everything.

  As Josef rinsed his hair, Michael relaxed, the soap and water revitalizing him. When he was clean and sufficiently warm, Josef helped him out of the bath, wrapped him in a dressing gown, and supported him down the stairs to a seat in front of the fire. He fetched Michael a brandy, stoked the fire until it was roaring, then made him a bowl of thin soup, all he had. By the time the food was ready, Michael was looking more alert. Josef placed the tray of food in front of him.

  “You must eat now and get well,” he stated plainly, noticing Michael had started sweating profusely. He hoped he didn’t have pneumonia.

  As Michael attempted to take a spoonful of soup, his eyes rolled back and closed again as he mumbled, almost to himself, “It was impossible out there. The whole of Holland is like a barricade. There’s no way out.”

  “Thank goodness you weren’t caught. It was a perilous thing to do.”

  As the fire crackled happily in the grate, they found a peaceable silence.

  “Michael?”

  Michael opened his eyes slightly. “Yes, Professor?”

  “Please stay. Please stay to the end. It’s much safer here.”

  All of Michael’s fight appeared to have left him as he whispered back his response, “I have nowhere else… no one else to go to.” There was anguish in his words, and Josef wondered if there was more he was not saying. He could only imagine what the young man had gone through. The streets of Amsterdam, in fact of the whole world, were a dangerous place to be in this dark time.

  After Michael had forced down half a bowl of soup, Josef guided his friend back up to the attic, made up his bed, and added more blankets. The young man melted into it with a deep sigh.

  All at once, from outside, the air-raid siren screeched into life. Josef turned out the lights and looked over at his friend, who was already fast asleep. There wasn’t any way he could take him to the shelter under the house and he wasn’t going anywhere without him.

  So they remained side by side in the darkness while bombs dropped down upon Amsterdam, one after another. The whole house shook with the force of the detonations from the Allied bombing campaign, and the sky continually lit up as if with fireworks. The smell of smoke, the sound of glass smashing, and the constant drone of ambulance bells filled the streets.

  One bomb dropped a couple of streets away, shaking dust and plaster from the rafters and waking Michael from his deep slumber. He reache
d out a hand and grabbed frantically in the darkness. “Josef!” he cried out.

  “Yes, I’m here.” Josef took a firm hold of Michael’s hands.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m glad you’re back.”

  Michael answered in just above a whisper, “Me too.”

  Chapter 33

  Ingrid and Vi’s relationship fell into a comfortable rhythm as the war escalated on the outside. The girls relieved their day-to-day stresses by going out two or three times a week, much to Heinrich’s begrudging displeasure. But with the continued lack of troops and the war being fought on multiple fronts, he was always distracted and appeared to prefer that Ingrid was not demanding anything of him.

  Often they would go to the little jazz bar in town, making their way through the dark, dreary streets down into the solace of the smoke-filled bar with the haunting sounds of jazz piano, trombones, and trumpets in order to dance their cares away.

  Ingrid realized how lonely she had been before Vi. She and Heinrich had been so much happier at the start of the war. There had been plenty of time for parties and to be together. But now, as things had intensified, she felt more and more isolated from him. He had become suspicious of everybody around him, keeping secrets and coming home angry every evening, always refusing to share with her why he was so upset.

  Their lovemaking, which had been so magical in the beginning of their relationship, had become dry, clinical, and loveless; a physical act to distract him from some deeper need that wasn’t being met for him out in the world. She felt more like a dress-up doll, waiting at home in beautiful clothes for him to play with if he had the need. But the rest of the time she was no more than a piece of furniture.

  On the other hand, Vi was exciting and fun-loving. Ingrid shared her fears and her life openly with her new friend and had planned to ask Vi to be her bridesmaid when they went back to Germany, after the Reich had won.

  One evening her friend arrived at her desk. “We’re going out,” she announced with a gleeful glint in her eye. “Somewhere different.”