Somehow, time and time again the Gestapo did not come. Some old friends had refused them, but only a few. Little by little they gathered the Reichsmarks until finally, miraculously, they had the enormous sum demanded by Gunther. He collected the money in April and told them he would be in touch as soon as arrangements had been made. Now they waited anxiously day by day, hour by hour for the Nazi to return with word of the escape plans.
Britta paced the room. Trude was surprised to see her daughter had grown so tall that her head was above Trude’s shoulder. Soon Britta would be the same height as Trude; perhaps she would be even taller. She thought with hope of their future in Britain. A childhood far away from all of this with school, music, bright young men coming to call. Everything was possible for their daughter in another land where their religious past and racial background would mean little.
She wanted to get out of the house. “Let’s take her to the park,” she suggested.
Johannes looked up, thoughtful. He shook his head.
“I’ve got a bit of reading to catch up on, my dear. I’m also packing, which is what you should be doing as well,” he said, waving a finger her direction. “Remember, no more than we can carry.”
She realized she had not begun the process of packing. Had she not believed this would ever happen? Perhaps it was her distrust of Gunther. How could they truly trust that man? Johannes thought he was mostly harmless. He’d known Gunther in and out of social circles for years—a lazy, jovial, almost clownlike figure waltzing around the edges of Königsberg society. A relation of a rising star in the SS, but little more. Johannes still thought of him that way. Trude disagreed, and she wondered if her husband understood just how dangerous this clown might well be.
Upstairs, she drew out her suitcase, a small weekend-sized bag. As much as she could carry a long distance. She began to fill it with clothing and a few mementos: a picture of her parents, a porcelain figurine she had from her childhood. They had so little left to connect them to the past. Outside on the street she heard the squeal of brakes. Her heart sank. She made her way cautiously to the window, flicking the curtains back a fraction to inspect the street below. A car had parked at a jarring angle a few houses down. Close enough. Doors opened and four men quickly climbed out of the vehicle, staring sternly this way and that, up and down the sidewalk. A fifth figure tumbled awkwardly out of the vehicle, wrapped in a leather trench coat. It was Gunther. He’s betrayed us, she thought.
Gunther shambled toward their door, trailed closely by the additional men. He strode out of view beneath her, and she heard a sharp rap on the door.
“Get the door, Trude,” yelled Johannes from down below. Her mouth closed and dry dust filled her heart. She tried to breathe, but she felt unable to gather enough air. “He’s betrayed us,” she repeated in a whisper.
Nothing could be done. There was no time to flee, and where would they run to? She pulled herself together and willed her limbs forward, one agonizing step at a time down the stairs toward the looming door. Halfway down there was another crisp, staccato bang on the door.
“Trude!”
She reached the landing and stood a couple of steps from the handle. She glanced to her right. Johannes’s face was buried in a book. Britta ran past her and into the sitting area to stand next to her father, gazing over his shoulder at what he was reading. She took another step. The pounding resumed. She laid her hand on the handle and unlatched the door. Gunther strolled in past her, the four men wedging in behind him, then spreading out like fierce hawks at the hunt. Johannes finally looked up, and she saw the fear and surprise in her husband’s eyes.
“Gunther,” he said, his voice stretched tight with uncertain twang. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You know why I’m here.”
“You betrayed us,” she accused, her voice dripping venom. She didn’t care anymore. What difference could it make if she was rude now?
He looked at her sternly for a moment and then broke into a wild laugh, tipping his head back and clutching at his stomach.
“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” asked the agent. He glanced back at his men and then jerked a thumb at them. “Do you mean these? How silly of you. Just a little extra security because of the war.” He puffed up a little. “At headquarters, they think I’m important these days.” He motioned to the closest man and whispered in his ear. The stranger stared at them fiercely for a moment, then motioned, and the other men followed him out of the home.
“Don’t bother yourself with those precautions,” Gunther said dismissively. “A lot of good those automatons do me. They are too full of their beliefs of party and duty to be any real use to anyone. But they’d stop a bullet perhaps,” he joked.
“Then you’re not here to arrest us?” she asked, still not believing him.
Gunther laughed again. “Arrest you, my dear?” His face assumed a wounded look. “How does such a pretty little head come up with such things? How can you even think such a thing after all that I’ve done for you? Do you think I would just take the money and desert you? I know it was a great sum, but it is paid off now and I’ve made the arrangements for passage. She will sail three nights hence in the early morning.” He pointed his finger at Johannes. “You must be ready, my friend, and I cannot escort you. Leave everything except the smallest of luggage. Even that is a risk. If a policeman sees you with luggage in the streets, they will ask many questions, and your false identifications might not be enough.”
“But you promised a truck,” protested Trude.
Gunther shrugged “What can I do, my dear? Plans change. I’ve done the best I can, but I cannot pick you up and I cannot get you there. You must make your way to the harbor. You must be there before two a.m. The ship will depart at three. The captain will be waiting for you at two o’clock sharp. Walk directly to the docks, to the gangway. They will escort you on board. Twenty-four hours from that moment you’ll be in Stockholm.”
Gunther reached into his pocket and pulled a small roll of Reichsmarks back out. “Here,” he said, handing them to Trude. “You’ll need a little money where you’re going.”
She was taken aback. Was this really happening? She had never quite believed it. And now Gunther was giving them money so they would have resources where they were going? She had expected they would have to sell the remaining jewelry in Sweden for food and lodging. Now she would have cash immediately. They could find a hotel in Sweden and send a telegram to the family to try to arrange for transportation to England.
Before she knew what she was doing, she embraced him. He froze for a moment and then put his hands on her back, patting her gently. “Now, now, my dear.” Gunther released her and bowed slightly to Johannes. He waved at Britta and silently departed, leaving behind a miracle and the first real hope they had had these many months.
The three days passed slowly. For so long, they had grown used to the fear of discovery, of sudden arrest, until the sensation eroded away to a kind of constant, dull anxiety. Now the fears returned sharply. Each moment Trude expected the Gestapo to burst in, guns drawn to arrest them all, taking away the future that was growing so close. She found herself strangely hoping that Gunther would return. If for no reason other than to reassure her that this escape was real. She could’ve at least spent a little of their time packing, but as Gunther had explained, they could take so little with them. It would be strange enough to find a family walking the streets of Königsberg after midnight. They would take only a couple of satchels they could sling over their backs, as if headed out for a hike. Even this would arouse suspicion up close.
Trude had carefully sewn their jewelry inside the seams of her dress and overcoat. She also brought with her the tiny porcelain doll given to her by her mother before she could even remember receiving it. She placed this fragile object in the right pocket of her coat and fastened the button above so she did not accidentally lose it. She also had the small stack of Reichsmarks. She divided this equally between her and Johannes so they
would both have resources even if they were separated.
Finally, the night came for their departure. She cooked a splendid meal, using up their ration cards for the occasion, knowing if all went well she would not need them again. There were bread and butter, even a little sugar to go in their coffee. For once there were plenty of potatoes and cabbage to make a thick broth. She looked around at her family as they ate. They’d all lost a little weight in the past few months. The standard-issue ration in Germany was insufficient to sustain the daily needs of a person. She wondered about this even as Germany mounted victory after victory. Was there something the government wasn’t telling the people? She realized she would know soon enough. In Stockholm, she would buy papers from a free press, the first access to real information they would have in years. She hoped when she learned the truth it wouldn’t be as bad for the Jews and the rest of Europe as the Nazis were telling them.
She thought again about the evening that lay ahead. Their whole life would be at risk for a couple of hours before they were safely onboard. Even at sea there would be some danger. There was always the possibility the ship might be attacked by a British submarine. However, Gunther had assured her the risk was slight. If all went well, they would be free tomorrow, safely in a neutral country and already proceeding toward contacting her family in England. She had no idea how they would get from Sweden to England, but she couldn’t worry about that now. One step at a time.
She looked at their still-full plates. She had no appetite, and her family clearly felt the same. She sternly commanded them to eat. They would need all their strength for the journey ahead. When they were finished, they did the dishes and put them away. She laughed at this empty gesture. What difference did it make? Still, she couldn’t bring herself to think of leaving their home out of order.
They gathered in the sitting room with all they would take with them. They tried to talk or read, but nothing kept their attention. They all sat in silence, alone with their individual thoughts as the moments ticked slowly by. After an eternity, Johannes finally rose and checked his watch. “It’s time,” he said. She checked the clock—it was past midnight.
“Remember,” he said, “follow closely behind me. Walk casually as if on a stroll. If we are stopped by anybody, let me do the talking.” He looked sternly at their daughter. “Britta, you must say nothing. If you are questioned directly, pretend to cry. I will explain that you are too shy to answer. Our lives may depend on that. Do you understand?” he asked. She nodded, but her eyes flickered with fear.
“I know I haven’t been myself these many months,” he said. “I’ve done my best since the arrests—but it hasn’t been enough.” He looked at Trude. “I know I’ve put far too much on you, my love. I will confess I gave up hope, but now I know we will make it.” He smiled. “We are going to get to that ship tonight, and we will escape. When we get to Stockholm let us start over with this past forgotten.”
Trude felt a shudder, and hot tears ran down her cheek. This was so much like the old Johannes. He was asking her forgiveness and promising to return to his old self. That was everything she had ever wanted: the safety of her family and the return of her husband. She nodded gratefully in answer. He kissed her on the cheek and drew her and Britta to him, holding them both close for a moment.
“Let’s go,” he whispered. He opened the door a crack, looking out. Then he pushed it open a bit farther, poking his head out and staring for a moment up and down the street. He turned back to them. “It’s safe. Let’s go.”
He stepped into the street. Trude and Britta followed closely behind him. The night was dark, the moon hidden behind clouds. The air was warm but would not be hot for another month or two. Trude was thankful that the streetlights had been extinguished at the beginning of the war. The city was dark so it would be difficult to mark their passing, with their muted clothing.
Johannes headed out on Yorckstrasse, turning north to travel toward the Rossgarten District and onward toward the port. The old feeling rose in her again, experienced on so many journeys at night. This one took on so much more urgency and anxiety because it was the last. She waited for the sharp command of an officer emerging from the shadows, demanding their papers.
Minute by minute time passed, but nothing happened. She didn’t know how long they’d been traveling, but she knew they were making good progress through the darkness. Once Johannes stopped them, raising his hand and turning, a finger pressed to his lips. Straining, she saw in the distance a dark shadow walking no more than fifty meters away from them down the street in the opposite direction. Fortunately, the figure turned the corner and disappeared. They waited there, frozen, not sure who it might be, or whether they’d been spotted. Was it a police officer or merely an eccentric pedestrian taking a late-night walk?
After long minutes Johannes motioned them on and they began to pick their way forward. They reached the intersection, keeping to the shadows. Johannes searched up and down the street. Trude did the same. She could see nothing. The figure had disappeared. They crossed the intersection rapidly, rushing down another street. She held her breath the entire way, waiting for a scream or a whistle, but again God seemed to be on their side and they were safe. God. There was that word again. Something she didn’t even believe in but somehow a powerful image of salvation here in the darkness.
They journeyed on. She wondered what time it was, but she didn’t dare call out to Johannes. She wasn’t even sure where they were. She hadn’t traveled very often in this area near Königsberg’s port. The streets were filled with shops and warehouses and the salty stench of the harbor.
Then they were there. Johannes motioned for them to stop. Trude stepped near him. They were across the street from what appeared to be an empty lot bisected by railroad tracks. A few hundred meters away she could see the port itself. Docked immediately in front of them was a huge merchant ship. Their ship.
“Let’s go,” she whispered. She could feel their freedom just a sliver away. He motioned for her silence and checked his watch. He nodded to her. They had made it.
She felt a surge of relief. They weren’t too late. “Let’s go,” she repeated. She squeezed his hand; her fingers were shaking, she realized. She started forward, but he stopped her to pull her back behind him.
“I’ll go first,” he said.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You wait here. In case something is wrong. I don’t want all of us to be there. Think of Britta.”
“No!” she said, her voice too loud. She didn’t want to wait here in the darkness. She wanted to go forward and get on the ship. She wanted an end to all this torment. They were so close.
He stared at her intently. “Listen to me. We can’t all go out there together. If this is a trap, I don’t want them to get us all.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t want to face this without you.”
He shook his head. “I can’t let you come. I know I’ve not been much of a man these past months, but I will be now. You will stay here with Britta and you will wait. When I make sure everything is in the clear, I will come back for you.”
She wanted to resist, to fight him, but he pushed her back again, holding her firmly. This was the Johannes she had married: determined, sure he was in the right, brave and powerful.
She embraced him, kissing him on the lips. “I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too.” He lifted her up and kissed her. Holding her tight before gently letting her down. He looked at her a moment longer, then turned and walked briskly toward the ship. His form faded out of her sight. She watched carefully, waiting for his outline to reappear under the lights of the harbor. She was not breathing, expecting the worst at any moment. She saw him again as he stepped up a slight incline and crossed the railroad tracks, then he disappeared again from view. He was gone for long seconds and then emerged under a solitary streetlight near the gangway of the ship. She saw him speaking to another man at the base of the dock. They sho
ok hands.
She breathed a deep sigh of joy. They were going to make it.
From the darkness figures appeared. Her soul filled with horror. Johannes turned to confront them. She could hear the shouts back and forth ripping through the night. He turned in their direction and screamed. A man grabbed him; Johannes struggled but was seized by several others. They wrestled him to the ground. Now there were lights behind her. She could see a car driving down the street, then another. They were looking for her, she knew. Searching for her and Britta in the darkness.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Britta asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” she murmured. She steeled herself. They were trapped, but she had to try to flee. “Everything is fine. You must come with me; we are going home.”
“But what about Daddy? And the ship. You promised me we were going on a ship!”
She slapped her daughter across the face and grabbed the front of her jacket, pulling her close. “Look at me, Britta. We are in danger. Terrible danger. We must go right now. You can’t talk, you can’t cry, you must follow me where I go. Do you understand? Our lives depend on it.”
Her daughter was ghost white, but she nodded. Trude removed her satchel and Britta’s, placing them on the ground. She led her daughter back through the vacant lot, her eyes darting back and forth down the street where they had come from. Fortunately, there were still no vehicles there. She broke into a run, crossing the road onto the first block away from the harbor. Britta followed close behind her. She tried to move as quietly as she could, but her shoes clumped loudly on the concrete. Trude was sure they would be arrested any moment, but she had to try. She reached another intersection and approached slowly. A vehicle raced down the street from the other direction. She pulled Britta into the shadows. The car passed without stopping.
She grabbed Britta’s hand and sprinted across another street. Somehow they made it. They kept going, step by step, drawing farther away from the port. Soon there were no cars at all, only darkness. She couldn’t think, didn’t know where to go. She knew home would not be safe, but she still led them in that direction. She needed time to think, to determine what they should do. They kept walking as the early morning slipped past them. Kilometer after kilometer they retraced their steps, always waiting for the police to stop them. They would be looking for them now, she knew. Looking for a woman and a child.
A Bitter Rain Page 13