The Hollow Bones

by Leah Kaminsky

  The meeting with the regent himself was the climax of their stay in Lhasa. After exchanging katas, a ritual of the strictest etiquette they had practised carefully beforehand, the men sat around a table that was laden with a traditional Tibetan banquet. Seated high up on his throne, the regent was flanked by surly bodyguards, the wall behind him covered with exquisitely embroidered thankas, elaborate wall hangings. The regent’s entourage were all dressed in their finest silken robes, and the German scientists had trimmed their beards and washed their clothes for the occasion. Ernst made sure to bring many gifts: a set of German china, several types of medicine, Zeiss binoculars and a prized Philips radio set. He strategically asked for their gift of Nazi flags to be hung right next to the thankas.

  Ernst spoke passionately, hoping to forge a link between the two nations: ‘As the swastika represents for us Germans, too, the highest and most holy of symbols, so may our visit be a meeting of the Western and Eastern swastikas in friendship and peace.’

  The meeting was a triumph for the team. Ernst even convinced the rimpoche to write a letter to Hitler, though the Tibetan regent likely possessed no in-depth knowledge of who the man he addressed as the Führer actually was.

  To his Majesty Führer Adolf Hitler, Berlin, Germany

  From the Regent of Tibet,

  Your Majesty,

  I trust your Highness is in the best of health and is progressing well in all your affairs. Here I am well and doing my best with regards to our religious and government affairs. I have the pleasure of letting your Majesty know that Dr Schäfer and his party, who are the first Germans to visit Tibet, have been permitted to enter Lhasa without any objection, and every necessary assistance was rendered upon their arrival. Furthermore, I desire to do anything that will help foster the friendly ties and relationship between our two nations, and I trust your Majesty will also consider this essential.

  Please take care of your good self and let me know if your Majesty desires anything.

  I am sending a separate parcel that contains a Tibetan silver saucer and lid with a decorative red teacup. Please also accept a native Tibetan dog as a small remembrance.

  Sincerely yours,

  Reting Ho-Thok-Thu

  On the fifth day of the New Year, the Great Prayer of Mönlam began, and Ernst filmed the chaos of thousands of monks taking over the city. He was horrified to see holy men overindulging in smoking, drinking and other illicit acts. The peak moment of the centuries-old New Year celebration was the prophecy of the Nechung, the state oracle. Listening keenly to the pronouncements of this spiritual medium, via a translator, Ernst was bemused by its prediction: ‘Be wary of the mountains which lie on the border – flying people will approach the land of snow, from the sky … A dragon rules their world.’

  The oracle also uttered a special prophecy about Ernst and his team: ‘The strangers who came from far away across the sea … love our teachings, but they also carry something else with them.’

  CHAPTER 28

  In spite of the hospitality of their Tibetan hosts, the political tensions with the British were becoming almost unbearable for the team. With the postal connection interrupted, they were left entirely dependent upon the sparse, often contradictory news from their rickety shortwave radio. On the afternoon of 15 March, they gathered together after lunch to listen to a crackly broadcast. They huddled close, straining to hear the news, but the transmission kept breaking up, much to Ernst’s annoyance. There was a hum of frustrated murmuring in the room as they struggled to make sense of the broadcast, piecing together words like ‘invaded’ and ‘occupied’. They knew something of enormous consequence was happening in Europe, but the staccato announcement left them all confused and nervous.

  ‘Shut up, everyone!’ Ernst said. ‘Krause, can’t you fix the damn thing?’

  Krause fiddled with the wires and dials, but all his efforts proved useless.

  ‘Scheisse!’ Ernst’s hands were shaking. Pushing his way past the others, he ran straight out the door. In his frustration, Ernst panicked, deciding to rush across to the British mission ensconced in their own ramshackle residence. Despite his deep antipathy towards Hugh Richardson, he knew he would at least learn the truth from him.

  When Ernst marched in unannounced, the Englishman was seated in an armchair, drinking tea from a rose-patterned china cup. Ernst, whose beard had grown long and unkempt again, was met with a look of disdain.

  ‘Well, well, well! Hello, my dear Dr Schäfer. To what do I owe this surprise visit?’

  Ernst smiled. He cleared his throat, preparing to use the mannered, obsequious English he had put to such good use in Philadelphia. ‘I do beg your pardon, barging in on you like this, but our radio seems to be on the blink. We heard there are some unusual goings-on back home. I wonder if you might clarify what is happening over there.’

  Richardson took a sip of tea, crossing his long legs. ‘Well, let’s just say it’s nothing I didn’t expect. I always knew this appeasement nonsense was a ruse of your beloved Führer.’

  Ernst waited for him to continue.

  ‘Would you like to join me for afternoon tea?’ Richardson asked, in the manner of a guard offering a prisoner his last meal.

  ‘No, thank you. I’ve already eaten.’

  ‘Ah. Good, then. I won’t hold you up. You must have a lot to do today.’

  ‘Tell me what has happened.’

  ‘Of course, with absolute pleasure.’ He placed his cup back on its saucer. ‘Your friend Hitler has invaded and occupied Czechoslovakia. German troops rolled in during the early hours of the morning and took over without any sign of a fight.’

  Ernst felt a wave of nausea rise up. This was a potential disaster for his expedition. Appeasement allowed them to stay in Tibet far longer than they had ever expected, and this abrupt turn in world events was likely to endanger not only the future of his entire expedition, but also his career.

  Ernst tried not to show his distress. ‘Your government will be fine with that, won’t they?’

  Richardson stood abruptly, his manner cold and officious. ‘I certainly hope that they will not. It seems your Führer has his eyes set on mopping up the world. I wouldn’t want to be one of those so-called lesser breeds you folk seem to have such hatred towards.’

  It was clear from the man’s stance that the meeting was over. Ushering Ernst towards the door, Richardson spoke to him with quiet enmity. ‘I do not wish to see you ever again, Mr Schäfer.’

  Sure enough, despite Ernst’s elation at everything they had managed to achieve in such a short time in Tibet, heavy clouds started gathering over the fate of their expedition. In the days after news of the annexation, malevolent rumours, which at first only approached like a fine mist, finally arrived as a downpour of curses, slander and vulgar intrigues against the team of Germans. It was with deep regret that Ernst decided the time had come for them to make their withdrawal. He was certain now that if they stayed and the situation grew worse in Europe, Richardson would be the first to have them all interned in a British prisoner-of-war camp.

  Ernst was devastated. As he told the team, he had hoped they might have been able to stay on a little longer, but his men’s safety was his first priority. They would travel the shortest route towards the south, to reach India again. This would take at least two to three months, so they needed to leave immediately.

  Privately, Ernst was far more concerned with the fate of their precious cargo of specimens, which needed to be sent home box by box. Every step of the way, from muleteers to cargo-ship handlers, would require delicate diplomatic negotiation, something Ernst usually navigated like a fish darting through water. But the situation was rapidly changing, and the British would try to complicate their way at every opportunity. He could not dare to risk losing their hard-won treasures, so he made it his mission to personally ensure there would be careful handling at every part of the journey home. Ernst knew better than most that when it came to the authorities, diplomacy and discretion were alway
s of paramount importance, as were manipulation and bribery. After ensuring their yield was securely loaded onto a waiting cargo ship, the plan would be for the five explorers to fly from Calcutta over Karachi, Basra, Baghdad, Athens and back home once again to their beloved Fatherland. He had come so close to achieving all he desired, but now his wings had been clipped. Like Icarus, Ernst feared he would fall back into a sea of anonymity.

  Amid the flurry of preparations for their departure from Lhasa, Ernst found his thoughts drifting back to his father’s study in Waltershausen. He recalled the day, distant in time but still festering in his mind, that his father sent him off to boarding school. How would he say goodbye to his secret woods, leave everything he had worked so hard to collect, all his extraordinary specimens, behind?

  ‘I don’t want to end up working in an office, Papa,’ he pleaded. ‘My place is in the wilderness, living as close to the birds as I can.’ What he’d meant to say was, as far away from human civilisation as possible.

  Before Albert Schäfer had a chance to take out the strap and thrash it over the flesh of his rebellious son, there was a clacking of footsteps down the corridor, followed by a loud, insistent knocking at the door. The clock had just chimed eleven.

  ‘Herr Schäfer!’ a small voice called from the other side. ‘Bitte schön, come quick!’

  The door creaked open and Herta popped her head around the edge. Ernst, who stood silent now before his father, turned to look at her.

  ‘Please forgive the interruption, Herr Schäfer, but Vati has sent me to ask for your help. Urgently!’ There was a trace of panic on her face.

  ‘What’s wrong, my child?’ He lowered the strap to his desk.

  Herta looked across at Ernst, tears suddenly rolling down her cheek. ‘It’s Margarete. She’s been hurt.’

  Albert Schäfer hauled his jacket on and rushed outside. Ernst recovered from a moment’s shock that his father seemed to know about Margarete and grabbed Herta’s hand. Following close behind, they ran together down the empty street.

  ‘What happened?’ Ernst asked.

  Herta breathed hard, trying to hold back her tears. She told him how she had dragged Margarete upstairs to her room, wanting to show her the beautiful feather collection he had given her. Herta built a tower of blankets on her bed and, climbing to the top, showed Margarete how she was teaching herself to fly. Her sister giggled, clapping her hands, her eyes lighting up as Herta leapt from her perch onto a pile of pillows thrown on the bedroom floor. Herta loved the rush of air on her face as she dived. Wanting to share that feeling with poor Margarete, she heaved her little sister up onto the cliff of bedding.

  Mutti, finding Margarete’s room empty, called out to them, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching as she climbed the flight of stairs to Herta’s room. Herta tried to pull Margarete back down onto the bed before Mutti found her up there, but it was too late. Their mother burst into the room.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Mutti yelled, as if by sheer volume she could make her youngest daughter hear again. ‘Get down from there!’

  In a flash, Margarete’s fingers fluttered like feathers at the tips of her wings, and she jumped.

  When Herr Schäfer arrived with Ernst and Herta in tow, Frau Völz was waiting for him at the front door. She ushered them down to the back room where Vati was bent over his youngest daughter, who lay slumped and still on the floor, her arm bent like a broken wing.

  ‘Her head was almost touching the ceiling,’ Mutti told them, her breath raspy. ‘She sat up there with her arms stretched out, feet together.’

  The adults busied themselves with finding some bandages and a piece of wood to fashion a makeshift splint. There was no question of the doctor being called. Herta sat down on the floor and lifted her sister’s limp hand, stroking it gently. Ernst kneeled beside them. Margarete’s eyes darted back and forth, finally landing on Ernst’s face. Whimpering, she looked at him, her brow furrowed, as though searching for an answer.

  What might her question be, Ernst wondered. While the adults were arguing over what to do, he leaned down and whispered in Margarete’s ear, as if she could hear him: ‘The grown-ups are too weighed down with the troubles of the world. You are so small, with feathers and bones as light as a baby cuckoo’s. Patience, my little bird, you still have plenty of time to learn. First you need to grow your wings.’

  Just before the adults shooed him and Herta away, Ernst was sure he saw a smile flash across Margarete’s tiny bird-like face.

  Five days after the ominous news broadcast, Ernst and his colleagues vanished from Lhasa. They set out just before sunrise. Ernst led his caravan south, taking several days to cross through the treacherous snow-capped mountains. By mid-April they reached Shigatse, where each of them hurried to complete their research. Time was running out. Events back in Europe saw a flurry of telegrams and letters arriving from friends and family, begging them to come home.

  How would it be to return after so long? It was hard to believe only eighteen months earlier he had been enjoying the luxuries of Carinhall with his dear Herta.

  Bruno hastily gathered anthropometric data from up to ten people a day; Weinert completed his measurements at fifteen geomagnetic stations; and Ernst went out on forays with his slingshot and rifle to bag a slew of specimens, ten rare blue pheasants among them, to add to his already enormous collection.

  A month later they trekked back across the Tibetan plateau, with not a tree in sight to shade them. On 24 June, Basil Gould summoned Ernst to meet with him at his camp on the banks of the Dochen Lake. His manner was unusually hospitable.

  ‘I am delighted to extend an invitation for the group to stay an extra two months in Sikkim.’ Gould smiled, raising his glass in a gesture of friendship.

  Despite the delicious roast he was served, Ernst became wary of this sudden about-turn in attitude, surely a plot to stall their departure. He decided to continue their journey home, knowing full well that if war was to break out in Europe, Gould would, like Richardson, immediately intern his team as enemy aliens.

  One night, Ernst and his men fled to Calcutta, abandoning their loyal guides without so much as a goodbye. Once they arrived in the bustling city, the five Germans hastily made preparations, packing up and organising transport of the spoils of their expedition at the docks. They needed to ensure safe handling of over 40,000 photographs, 18,000 metres of film footage, thousands of animal specimens and bird skins, wasps, bees and other insects, as well as all the seeds Krause had collected for Himmler. The bird skins were tightly stacked together top to tail, their shimmering feathers folded delicately. Ernst and his team had also acquired thousands of priceless ethnographic artefacts: nomad tents, tsampa bowls, rugs, lama trumpets. They ensured heavy locks were placed on their German-built boxes to protect their contents from theft. The most difficult task by far was building crates for live Tibetan animals – native dogs, wolves and cats among them – to be shipped back to Germany, where they would fetch a handsome price from various zoos.

  On the evening they were to catch their flight back home, just before he joined the men who were waiting for him in two cars near the docks, Ernst couldn’t resist taking a moment to examine his prize specimen once more: a bearded vulture, the dur bya, luminary of the Tibetans’ sky burials. This bird alone made the whole trip worthwhile.

  Ernst reached into the box and fingered the orange feathers on its neck. The bird preferred to live in desolate regions. Although it waddled clumsily when it was on the ground, with a wingspan of over nine feet it could gracefully soar to heights of over 6000 metres. It was not very vocal, except for when it engaged in courtship displays, letting out shrill whistles to attract a mate. Its diet was unique, consisting almost exclusively of bone marrow. Immature birds took up to seven years of practice to learn the skill of dropping bones from a height of 100 metres, smashing them onto the rocks below before swooping down to hollow them out.

  The bird had once been known as the Lammergeier, the ‘lamb
-vulture’, because its kind was believed to attack the unsuspecting offspring of mountain sheep. Ernst had heard stories of them swooping human babies up in their sharp talons and carrying them away. Yet, for Tibetans, the bearded vulture was a sacred bird, revered as a protector of the land. Disguised as dakinis, or angels, the birds fed on a corpse, taking the soul of the dead person up to the heavens to await rebirth.

  If, as the Tibetans believed, Ernst could live his next life as a bird, he wanted to return as a majestic Lammergeier.

  CHAPTER 29

  4 August 1939

  Templehof Airport, Berlin

  Steel birds circled over Welthauptstadt Germania, the world’s capital. Here was their own city right below them, looking more beautiful than ever, the Spree in the distance gently winding its way alongside Unter den Linden and the Tiergarten. It was a glorious sunny day and to the east Ernst could see the Zoological Gardens, where he had proposed to Herta. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

  Reichsführer Himmler, who was seated right beside him, pointed out the window. ‘You see over there, just near the airport?’

  Ernst looked down at the remains of a large concrete building.

  ‘That used to be the Columbia-Haus camp.’ Himmler laughed. ‘We used it for prisoners when Gestapo headquarters was overflowing. But they demolished it last year to make room for extensions to the air terminals.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Never mind. Not to worry, my son. There are plenty more camps on the planning board.’

  The team’s retreat from Tibet had been organised by Himmler himself. As the British Indian Airways flying boat took off from the Hoogli River in Calcutta, Ernst gazed out of the window, knowing he might never return to this exciting part of the world in which he had spent the bulk of his early twenties. With each gust of wind that buffeted the aircraft, he felt as though he were falling back to earth, dragged down by thoughts of regret.