Ingrid packed away her things quickly and grabbed her coat. As she linked arms with Vi, she confirmed, “We’re not going to the bar?”
“No,” Vi responded enthusiastically. “A friend of mine is holding a party. There’ll be music, dancing, and alcohol,” she declared as they bounded off into the night.
They arrived at an impressive-looking townhouse and entered a long, winding staircase that took them up to the top of the building. As they reached the top landing, it was evident from the music vibrating its way out into the corridor that the party was in full swing. The apartment inside was alive with raucous laughter and a blur of familiar faces they knew from the bar and the Reich offices. It was jam-packed with people; the hallway was so tiny they could barely move. A band played in a corner.
Vi shouted to her friend over the hubbub, “Why don’t you wait here? I’m dying for a drink. I’ll get us something and be back in a minute.” She dove off into the heaving mass, pushing her way through toward the makeshift bar.
Ingrid felt awkward and alone without her confident friend’s presence. She heard Vi’s laughter from the bar and knew she was already in the full social swing of the party.
As she looked around to see if she knew anybody else, a voice spoke behind her. “Fräulein Ingrid, isn’t it?”
Ingrid’s body stiffened and then shivered. She knew who it was, and fear consumed her entire being. Turning around swiftly, she confirmed her suspicions. Heinrich’s Lieutenant Colonel stood in his intimidating black uniform, his hooked nose prominent, his black, beady eyes shining and feasting on her as if she were something good to eat. She automatically tried to step away from him, but the crowded, narrow corridor prevented her from moving very far.
“Lieutenant Colonel,” she responded coolly, trying to keep her voice steady, remembering how afraid she had been when his hand had fondled her thigh the evening she had toured his house.
Now, packed in so tightly, he leered over her. “How wonderful to see you again, Fräulein. I noticed that the dashing Heinrich is not with you.” Then he added sarcastically, with a twist of his lips, “Not here to rescue you today, I see.”
Ingrid glanced around nervously and could just about see Vi across the room. She was talking to three men and smoking a cigarette, and wasn’t aware of what was happening in the hall.
“He’s busy,” she responded, trying to keep a brave, conversational tone. “So we’ll not be staying that late,” she added, briskly, “as I need to get home to be with him.”
This man sickened her, but she still needed to be pleasant. This was Heinrich’s superior, after all.
She turned back toward the wall, pretending to look at a picture hanging there. He picked up on her observation.
“A nice piece,” he stated flatly. He pointed at another one across the hallway. It was of a naked woman lying across a bed. “I prefer that one. That would be beautiful in my bedroom, don’t you think?” he purred into her ear.
The insinuation wasn’t lost on Ingrid. Why was Vi taking so long? She desperately needed rescuing. There were so many people and she couldn’t move forward, and was now pinned against a wall as he towered over her.
“I don’t know much about art,” she stated robotically, stepping in the only direction she could manage to go, backwards toward the front door. She pretended to gaze intently at another painting of wheat fields as though there was something in there that was going to jump out and speak to her.
Suddenly, someone pushed past them, and she was rammed against a hall doorway and the Officer was forced upon her. She recoiled as his arms went forward to steady himself and ended up around her waist. He drooled at her. “If you wanted to get close, you should have just asked.”
All at once, he opened the door behind her and pushed her through it. For a second she didn’t know where she was or what had happened. Then she realized she was in a bedroom as she heard the door close behind her in the darkness. Fear shot up her back and squeezed the back of her neck as a voice screamed in her head, Get out, get out now!
“I need to find my friend Vi,” Ingrid snapped, speaking in the direction she knew the officer had to be. “And then I need to go home to Heinrich.”
“Not so fast,” he sneered back. “I feel like we have some unfinished business from the last time we were together.”
“I don’t remember any unfinished business.” Her voice quivered as she desperately looked around for a way of escape. Her eyes started to adjust to the dark. There was a window, no other doors in the room, and one bed. “I really do need to go,” she protested, attempting to push past him.
But his intimidating presence loomed ominously over her, his feet rooted to the spot. Fear and shock rose in her throat as his hands were suddenly upon her, grabbing and pawing at her body, and then the horrific sensation of his lips upon her neck. Violently, she jerked away from him. He responded by grabbing her by the throat and slamming her against the door. The door handle jabbed harshly into her back, and she screamed out in pain and fear. He stepped back and slapped her hard across the face with full force. Her head exploded, whipped backward, ricocheting off the door, cracking on contact. It felt as if it had been ripped from her body and she nearly blacked out as the blinding, searing pain spread through her skull and across her cheek and nose.
Pinning her arms to her sides, he lifted her up and slammed her down onto the bed. He kept her in place with his knee and grabbed a chunk of her hair to stop her from wrestling out from under him. She gasped for breath as her lungs emptied with the force of assault. Then, aware of his body on top of her, she felt sheer panic course through her veins like an electric shock, her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest. The realization of what was about to happen terrified her, along with the knowledge that she was powerless to stop it.
He grappled with her clothes, his hand thrusting inside her silk blouse as he pulled aggressively at her bra.
She started to beg. “Please, don’t do this. I don’t want to do this.”
He grabbed her face and squeezed her cheeks together to stop her speaking, spitting out, “You will be quiet and do as you’re told. Remember, you Dutch whores are here for our pleasure. Heinrich has spoiled you keeping you all to himself. Well, we need to remedy that now, don’t we? And if you tell anybody, I will kill you. Not to mention, I will make sure Heinrich knows that it was you, his whore, who came on to me.”
His hand thrust up her skirt and he started to tear at her underwear. She sobbed, silent tears streaming down her face, her body shaking uncontrollably.
All at once the bedroom door was flung open and the light flicked on. A couple fell in, giggling, a young soldier and a Dutch woman. They stopped dead when they saw what was going on. Then the man stuttered, “Lieutenant Colonel, we just need to get our coats from the bed. We didn’t mean to disturb you.”
As the officer turned his attention to respond, he rolled his weight to the side and released Ingrid’s face and hair for just a second. It was all she needed. With all of her might, she pushed him from her and rolled onto the floor. The Lieutenant Colonel grabbed for her arm and ripped off her bracelet instead as she jerked it away from him, scattering beads across the floor. She didn’t stop to pick them up. Instead she leaped to her feet and ran through the open door. She grabbed her purse, which she’d dropped in the hallway as he’d forced her into the room, and scrambled through the throng of people, stumbling to the farthest point away from the bedroom.
She could still feel his grip on her throat as it continued to throb. Her head was splitting with the pain, her neck and jaw ached, and she was sure her face would be a mass of bruises in the morning. Grabbing at the edges of her gaping blouse, she fought her way back up the hallway, her head pounding and his voice still ringing in her ears. If you tell anybody, I will kill you… I will make sure Heinrich knows that it was you, his whore, who came on to me.
Once in the safety of a room full of people, she pressed her back against the wall to steady herse
lf before her legs collapsed from under her. She tried to calm her breathing. The heat from her body melded with the hot, sticky wall as a trickle of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades, causing her delicate silk shirt to cling to her back. She looked down at her clothes and was shocked to see the top of her lacy cream bra. Her hands shook as she buttoned up her shirt.
As feeling returned to her legs, Ingrid made her way rapidly through the rooms, trying to find a bathroom; she needed to clean herself up before she spoke to anyone. The building was a mass of staircases and landings. She spotted Vi over by the bar, still talking to a young soldier, her head thrown back laughing at something he had just said, a cigarette held high in her hand. Feeling as if she was no longer in her body, Ingrid stared around in amazement. How could everything seem so normal around her? How could no one know what had just happened to her?
She eventually found a bathroom. Once she locked the door, Ingrid reached out to the stark tiled wall, her hand needing its reassuring presence. As the cold stone permeated her skin, she caught a glance of herself in the mirror. She was shocked at the face that greeted her. It was filled with terror, her eyes staring out, almost paralyzed with fear.
She readjusted her skirt and underwear back into position, rinsed her face with water, and dabbed at her cheeks. Tears collected in her eyes, and her throat was dry as she fought down the need to scream. She had to keep it together. She couldn’t let him win. This couldn’t get back to Heinrich. Things between them were already so complicated; he was so angry all of the time. He might not even believe her word, especially against someone higher up in the party than he was. She wanted it all just to go away.
Fumbling through her purse, she found some makeup and quickly reapplied her crimson lipstick. Her hands shook so violently she could barely draw a straight line; she used her other hand to attempt to steady her trembling fingers as she tried desperately to pull together a semblance of order. After her lipstick, she carefully cleaned the streaks of mascara running in two black tram lines down her face. She combed her hair into smooth waves from its twisted, mangled clumps, trying not to wince from the throbbing pain where he’d slammed her head against the door and then grabbed handfuls of her hair. As reality began to sink in, she couldn’t believe this had happened to her, and even though she tried to fight it, tears rolled down her cheeks in hot, thick waves.
When she felt that she could maybe face the world again, she carefully dried her eyes and went back out to find Vi. From a far corner, she sensed him watching her, his eyes boring into her as she walked across the room. Even though she didn’t meet his gaze, it was as if, with each step, his words echoed in her head. Heinrich’s whore. Ingrid straightened up. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of thinking he’d intimidated her. She wasn’t going to let him believe that he had broken her spirit.
Vi was suddenly by her side. “Hey, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
“I was in the bathroom,” Ingrid responded, not wanting to talk about what had just happened.
Vi seemed to sense something. “So, do you need a drink?” she enquired.
Ingrid nodded. “I would like something very strong.”
“Okay.” Vi quirked her eyebrows and had the barman pour Ingrid a large gin. “Here, this should be strong enough.” She handed Ingrid the brimming glass, which she drained.
Ingrid took a slow, deep breath, allowing the warm, intoxicating liquid to smooth her ruffled nerves.
Somehow, Ingrid managed to make her way through the rest of the evening without revealing the emotional turmoil deep inside. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Vi what had happened; it just felt surreal, too horrible to confess out loud. Perhaps not dwelling on it would make it all just go away. Ingrid continued to stay close to Vi, before feigning a headache and asking her if they could leave early. Perpetual fear raged through her being, informing her that her body was injured at a much deeper level than the pain and bruises now massing under her skin. She thanked God the Lieutenant Colonel had been interrupted, but still, she felt immense shame. She felt violated.
As she stood alone waiting for Vi to fetch her coat, fear gripped her again as if she were still trapped in that room with him. She could still smell his breath, hot and rancid on her face. She could still hear his words as he had spat into her ear. She could still feel his hands on her body, tugging at her clothes, pulling her hair. It took everything in her to concentrate all of her energy on something else, just to stop the screaming that wanted to erupt from the pit of her stomach. She allowed thoughts of Heinrich, and the life they would have once the war was over, to fill her as she smiled at people and made light conversation.
Vi walked her home, chattering to her obliviously as Ingrid hung onto her friend’s arm. The full force of what had happened kept washing over her in nauseating waves, paralyzing her. Once back in the safety of her apartment, she couldn’t hold it together for one more minute. Breaking down into tears, she fell to her knees and sobbed. She clamped both hands over her mouth to muffle her desperate cries. The last thing she wanted to do was wake her fiancé.
She stumbled to the bathroom, stripped off her clothes, lit the boiler and ran a bath. Submerged in the hot water, she allowed her tears to flow freely. She scrubbed furiously at her skin with her nails and soap until she was red raw, staying in the water until it turned cold. Then she wrapped herself in a thick white towel and sat down on the toilet seat.
Her whole body ached and she felt desperate about her life. She wished that she and Heinrich were closer. Ingrid wanted them to have the kind of relationship where she could tell him what had just happened. But as she contemplated that possibility, the reality hit her hard: Heinrich wasn’t that kind of man.
As fresh tears slid down her cheeks, she wondered what she needed to do to make him love her again. If only she could figure out what she’d done wrong.
When there were no tears left, she slipped out of the bathroom put on her nightgown and, wincing in pain, limped slowly into the bedroom. She hovered on the edge of the bed, not wanting to disturb Heinrich. As she carefully pulled back the covers, he turned away from her, moaning in his sleep. She desperately wanted to hold him or to have him hold her, but he would be so angry if she woke him. So instead, she drew her feet under the covers and, clutching her pillow, slipped into a fretful sleep as her battered body gave way to exhaustion.
Chapter 34
It had been two days since he had found Michael in the alley and, seated on the trunk in the attic, Josef watched as the young man tentatively sipped his soup, Dantes curled up in a perfect furry ball at the end of the bed. He studied his young friend with grave concern as he labored through his food, his pale face ashen and haggard. It spoke not only of the severity, but also the extent of his ordeal, which he had still barely hinted at to Josef.
“Are you starting to feel better at all?” Josef attempted to sound hopeful but couldn’t hide the heightened concern in his tone.
Michael waved a pathetic hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine,” he croaked. The words petered out as he punctuated his declaration with a prolonged and wracking cough.
Josef’s heart sank as a blanket of impending fear wrapped its way around his body. He tried hard not to allow the alarm to show on his face, but couldn’t disguise the tremble in his voice. “Would you like some tea, perhaps?”
Michael shook his head and closed his eyes, gasping for breath, the mere act of eating seeming to exhaust him. “I just need to rest,” he said wearily as his head sank into his pillow. The spoon in his hand fell to the bed as he dropped into a deep sleep.
As Josef removed the bowl and spoon from Michael’s hand, he could hear his rasping breath and feel the heat emanating from his body. He stood to his full height, hesitating, trying to decide what to do. All of his being wanted to sit down beside Michael and watch him breathe in and out, monitor any sign of distress. With a heavy heart, he realized he must go to work.
The Nazis at the university had be
come hyper-vigilant. Anything out of the ordinary was weighed and scrutinized as their paranoia saw plots and resistance everywhere. He shook his head. He would put Michael in danger if they were to search his house. He had to go on pretending everything was normal, move through his day predictably, blending in the way he had for most of his life.
That day at the university was excruciatingly long. In between classes, Josef went to the library and read through books about illnesses similar to Michael’s, then piled up a stack to take home with him. As soon as the day was over, he hurried home without even stopping for his mail or to get his meager weekly ration of potatoes.
He ran up the stairs and into the attic, hoping for the best. But his mood shifted as he lit the tiny light and caught sight of Michael. He looked worse. His thick, dark hair was matted and damp across his forehead. Beads of perspiration glistened on his face, and he muttered in his sleep.
Quickly going for the jug that he’d placed out that morning, Josef poured a glass of water and touched it to Michael’s lips. “Michael, Michael, it’s me.”
Michael started in his sleep, then rolled his eyes a couple of times before opening them. As he looked at Josef, he seemed to have trouble focusing, screwing up his eyes. Finally, he spoke.
“Professor, can you turn out the light?” There was pain in his voice. “It’s hurting my eyes.”
Josef snapped off the light and came back to join his friend in the darkness at the side of his bed. Even in the gloom, he could see that Michael’s pajamas were soaked with sweat. “I will get you a cloth,” he said, feeling hopeless.
Downstairs, he soaked a cloth in cold water. He glanced at his reflection in the kitchen window, shocked at the person staring back. He didn’t even recognize himself. When had he aged so much?
He hurried back upstairs. Once in the cold, dark attic, he dropped to his knees and gently wiped his patient’s face and neck. Unbuttoning Michael’s pajama top, he was shocked at the angry rash spreading across Michael’s chest. Josef’s gut tightened. If only he was a doctor, not a mathematician.
A View Across the Rooftops: An epic, heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel Page 21