Winter of the World

by Ken Follett

  Permanent Installation

  The NAZI PARADISE

  War Hunger Lies Gestapo

  How much longer?

  There was one such poster stuck to the tram shelter, and it warmed Carla's heart. "Who puts these things up?" she said.

  Frieda shrugged.

  Carla said: "Whoever they are, they're brave. They would be killed if caught." Then she remembered what was in her bag. She, too, could be killed if caught.

  Frieda just said: "I'm sure."

  Now it was Frieda who seemed a little jumpy. Could she be one of those who put up the posters? Probably not. Maybe her boyfriend, Heinrich, was. He was the intense, moralistic type who would do that sort of thing. "How's Heinrich?" said Carla.

  "He wants to get married."

  "Don't you?"

  Frieda lowered her voice. "I don't want to have children." This was a seditious remark: young women were supposed to produce children gladly for the Fuhrer. Frieda nodded at the illegal poster. "I wouldn't like to bring a child into this paradise."

  "I guess I wouldn't, either," said Carla. Maybe that was why she had turned down Dr. Ernst.

  A tram arrived and they got on. Carla perched the basket on her lap nonchalantly, as if it contained nothing more sinister than cabbage. She scanned the other passengers. She was relieved to see no uniforms.

  Frieda said: "Come home with me. Let's have a jazz night. We can play Werner's records."

  "I'd love to, but I can't," Carla said. "I've got a call to pay. Remember the Rothmann family?"

  Frieda looked around warily. Rothmann might or might not be a Jewish name. But no one was near enough to hear them. "Of course--he used to be our doctor."

  "He's not supposed to practise anymore. Eva Rothmann went to London before the war and married a Scottish soldier. But the parents can't get out of Germany, of course. Their son, Rudi, was a violin maker--quite brilliant, apparently--but he lost his job, and now he repairs instruments and tunes pianos." He came to the von Ulrich house four times a year to tune the Steinway grand. "Anyway, I said I'd go round there this evening and see them."

  "Oh," said Frieda. It was the long drawn-out oh of someone who has just seen the light.

  "Oh, what?" said Carla.

  "Now I understand why you're clutching that basket as if it contained the Holy Grail."

  Carla was thunderstruck. Frieda had guessed her secret! "How did you know?"

  "You said he's not supposed to practise. That suggests he does."

  Carla saw that she had given Dr. Rothmann away. She should have said that he was not allowed to practise. Fortunately it was only to Frieda that she had betrayed him. She said: "What is he to do? They come to his door and beg him to help them. He can't turn sick people away! It's not as if he makes any money--all his patients are Jews and other poor folk who pay him with a few potatoes or an egg."

  "You don't have to defend him to me," said Frieda. "I think he's brave. And you're heroic, stealing supplies from the hospital to give to him. Is this the first time?"

  Carla shook her head. "Third. But I feel such a fool for letting you find out."

  "You're not a fool. It's just that I know you too well."

  The tram approached Carla's stop. "Wish me luck," she said, and she got off.

  When she entered her house she heard hesitant notes on the piano upstairs. Maud had a pupil. Carla was glad. It would cheer her mother up as well as providing a little money.

  Carla took off her raincoat, then went into the kitchen and greeted Ada. When Maud had announced that she could no longer pay Ada's wages, Ada had asked if she could stay on anyway. Now she had a job cleaning an office in the evening, and she did housework for the von Ulrich family in exchange for her room and board.

  Carla kicked off her shoes under the table and rubbed her feet together to ease their ache. Ada made her a cup of grain coffee.

  Maud came into the kitchen, eyes sparkling. "A new pupil!" she said. She showed Carla a handful of banknotes. "And he wants a lesson every day!" She had left him practising scales, and his novice fingering sounded in the background like a cat walking along the keyboard.

  "That's great," said Carla. "Who is he?"

  "A Nazi, of course. But we need the money."

  "What's his name?"

  "Joachim Koch. He's quite young and shy. If you meet him, for goodness' sake bite your tongue and be polite."

  "Of course."

  Maud disappeared.

  Carla drank her coffee gratefully. She had got used to the taste of burned acorns, as most people had.

  She chatted idly to Ada for a few minutes. Ada had once been plump, but now she was thin. Few people were fat in today's Germany, but there was something wrong with Ada. The death of her handicapped son, Kurt, had hit her hard. She had a lethargic air. She did her job competently, but then she sat staring out of the window for hours, her expression blank. Carla was fond of her, and felt her anguish, but did not know what to do to help her.

  The sound of the piano ceased and, a little later, Carla heard two voices in the hallway, her mother's and a man's. She assumed Maud was seeing Herr Koch out, and she was horrified, a moment later, when her mother entered the kitchen, closely followed by a man in an immaculate lieutenant's uniform.

  "This is my daughter," Maud said cheerfully. "Carla, this is Lieutenant Koch, a new pupil."

  Koch was an attractive, shy-looking man in his twenties. He had a fair mustache, and reminded Carla of pictures of her father when young.

  Carla's heart raced with fear. The basket containing the stolen medical supplies was on the kitchen chair next to her. Would she accidentally betray herself to Lieutenant Koch, as she had to Frieda?

  She could hardly speak. "I-I-I am pleased to make your acquaintance," she said.

  Maud looked at her with curiosity, surprised at her nervousness. All Maud wanted was for Carla to be nice to the new pupil in the hope that he would continue his studies. She saw no harm in bringing an army officer into the kitchen. She had no idea that Carla had stolen medicines in her shopping basket.

  Koch made a formal bow and said: "The pleasure is mine."

  "And Ada is our maid."

  Ada shot him a hostile look, but he did not see it: maids were beneath his notice. He put his weight on one leg and stood lopsided, trying to seem at ease but giving the opposite impression.

  He acted younger than he looked. There was an innocence about him that suggested an overprotected child. All the same he was a danger.

  Changing his stance, he rested his hands on the back of the chair on which Carla had put her basket. "I see you are a nurse," he said to her.

  "Yes." Carla tried to think calmly. Did Koch have any idea who the von Ulrichs were? He might be too young to know what a Social Democrat was. The party had been illegal for nine years. Perhaps the infamy of the von Ulrich family had faded away with the death of Walter. At any rate, Koch seemed to take them for a respectable German family who were poor simply because they had lost the man who had supported them, a situation in which many well-bred women found themselves.

  There was no reason he should look in the basket.

  Carla made herself speak pleasantly to him. "How are you getting on with the piano?"

  "I believe I am making rapid progress!" He glanced at Maud. "So my teacher tells me."

  Maud said: "He shows evidence of talent, even at this early stage." She always said that, to encourage them to pay for a second lesson, but it seemed to Carla that she was being more charming than usual. She was entitled to flirt, of course; she had been a widow for more than a year. But she could not possibly have romantic feelings for someone half her age.

  "However, I have decided not to tell my friends until I have mastered the instrument," Koch added. "Then I will astonish them with my skill."

  "Won't that be fun?" said Maud. "Please sit down, Lieutenant, if you have a few minutes to spare." She pointed to the chair on which Carla's basket stood.

  Carla reached out to grab th
e basket, but Koch beat her to it. He picked it up, saying: "Allow me." He glanced inside. Seeing the cabbage, he said: "Your supper, I presume?"

  Carla said: "Yes." Her voice came out as a squeak.

  He sat on the chair and placed the basket on the floor by his feet, on the side away from Carla. "I always fancied I might be musical. Now I have decided it is time to find out." He crossed his legs, then uncrossed them.

  Carla wondered why he was so fidgety. He had nothing to fear. The thought crossed her mind that his unease might be sexual. He was alone with three single women. What was going through his mind?

  Ada put a cup of coffee in front of him. He took out cigarettes. He smoked like a teenager, as if he were trying it out. Ada gave him an ashtray.

  Maud said: "Lieutenant Koch works at the Ministry of War on Bendler Strasse."

  "Indeed!" That was the headquarters of the Supreme Staff. It was just as well Koch was telling no one there about learning the piano. All the greatest secrets of the German military were in that building. Even if Koch himself was ignorant, some of his colleagues might remember that Walter von Ulrich had been an anti-Nazi. And that would be the end of his lessons with Frau von Ulrich.

  "It is a great privilege to work there," said Koch.

  Maud said: "My son is in Russia. We're terribly worried about him."

  "That is natural in a mother, of course," Koch said. "But please do not be pessimistic! The recent Russian counteroffensive has been decisively beaten back."

  That was rubbish. The propaganda machine could not conceal the fact that the Russians had won the battle of Moscow and pushed the German line back a hundred miles.

  Koch went on: "We are now in a position to resume our advance."

  "Are you sure?" Maud looked anxious. Carla felt the same. They were both tortured by fear of what might happen to Erik.

  Koch tried a superior smile. "Believe me, Frau von Ulrich, I am certain. Of course I cannot reveal all that I know. However, I can assure you that a very aggressive new operation is being planned."

  "I am sure our troops have everything they need--enough food, and so on." She put a hand on Koch's arm. "All the same, I worry. I shouldn't say that, I know, but I feel I can trust you, Lieutenant."

  "Of course."

  "I haven't heard from my son for months. I don't know if he's dead or alive."

  Koch reached into his pocket and took out a pencil and a small notebook. "I can certainly find out for you," he said.

  "Could you?" said Maud, wide-eyed.

  Carla thought this might be her reason for flirting.

  Koch said: "Oh, yes. I am on the General Staff, you know--albeit in a humble role." He tried to look modest. "I can inquire about . . ."

  "Erik."

  "Erik von Ulrich."

  "That would be wonderful. He's a medical orderly. He was studying to be a doctor, but he was impatient to fight for the Fuhrer."

  It was true. Erik had been a gung-ho Nazi--although his last few letters home had taken a more subdued tone.

  Koch wrote down the name.

  Maud said: "You're a wonderful man, Lieutenant Koch."

  "It is nothing."

  "I'm so glad we're about to counterattack on the eastern front. But you mustn't tell me when the attack will begin. Though I'm desperate to know."

  Maud was fishing for information. Carla could not imagine why. She had no use for it.

  Koch lowered his voice, as if there might be a spy outside the open kitchen window. "It will be very soon," he said. He looked around at the three women. Carla saw that he was basking in their attention. Perhaps it was unusual for him to have women hanging on his words. Prolonging the moment, he said: "Case Blue will begin very soon."

  Maud flashed her eyes at him. "Case Blue--how tremendously thrilling!" she said in the tone a woman might use if a man offered to take her to the Ritz in Paris for a week.

  He whispered: "The twenty-eighth of June."

  Maud put her hand on her heart. "So soon! That's marvelous news."

  "I should not have said anything."

  Maud put her hand over his. "I'm so glad you did, though. You've made me feel so much better."

  He stared at her hand. Carla realized he was not used to being touched by women. He looked up from her hand to her eyes. She smiled warmly--so warmly that Carla could hardly believe it was 100 percent fake.

  Maud withdrew her hand. Koch stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. "I must go," he said.

  Thank God, Carla thought.

  He bowed to her. "A pleasure to meet you, Fraulein."

  "Good-bye, Lieutenant," she replied neutrally.

  Maud saw him to the door, saying: "Same time tomorrow, then."

  When she came back into the kitchen she said: "What a find--a foolish boy who works for the General Staff!"

  Carla said: "I don't understand why you're so excited."

  Ada said: "He's very handsome."

  Maud said: "He gave us secret information!"

  "What good is it to us?" Carla asked. "We're not spies."

  "We know the date of the next offensive--surely we can find a way to pass it to the Russians?"

  "I don't know how."

  "We're supposed to be surrounded by spies."

  "That's just propaganda. Everything that goes wrong is blamed on subversion by Jewish-Bolshevik secret agents, instead of Nazi bungling."

  "All the same, there must be some real spies."

  "How would we get in touch with them?"

  Mother looked thoughtful. "I'd speak to Frieda."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Intuition."

  Carla recalled the moment at the bus stop, when she had wondered aloud who put up the anti-Nazi posters, and Frieda had gone quiet. Carla's intuition agreed with her mother's.

  But that was not the only problem. "Even if we could, do we want to betray our country?"

  Maud was emphatic. "We have to defeat the Nazis."

  "I hate the Nazis more than anyone, but I'm still German."

  "I know what you mean. I don't like the idea of turning traitor, even though I was born English. But we aren't going to get rid of the Nazis unless we lose the war."

  "But suppose we could give the Russians information that would ensure we lost a battle. Erik might die in that battle! Your son--my brother! We might be the cause of his death."

  Maud opened her mouth to answer, but found she could not speak. Instead she began to cry. Carla stood up and put her arms around her.

  After a minute, Maud whispered: "He might die anyway. He might die fighting for Nazism. Better he should be killed losing a battle than winning it."

  Carla was not sure about that.

  She released her mother. "Anyway, I wish you'd warn me before bringing someone like that into the kitchen," she said. She picked up her basket from the floor. "It's a good thing Lieutenant Koch didn't look any farther into this."

  "Why, what have you got in there?"

  "Medicines stolen from the hospital for Dr. Rothmann."

  Maud smiled proudly through her tears. "That's my girl."

  "I nearly died when he picked up the bag."

  "I'm sorry."

  "You couldn't know. But I'm going to get rid of the stuff right now."

  "Good idea."

  Carla put her raincoat back on over her uniform and went out.

  She walked quickly to the street where the Rothmanns lived. Their house was not as big as the von Ulrich place, but it was a well-proportioned town dwelling with pleasant rooms. However, the windows were now boarded up and there was a crude sign on the front door that said: SURGERY CLOSED.

  The Rothmanns had once been prosperous. Dr. Rothmann had had a flourishing practise with many wealthy patients. He had also treated poor people at cheaper prices. Now only the poor were left.

  Carla went around the back, as the patients did.

  She knew immediately that something was wrong. The back door was open, and when she stepped into the kitchen she saw
a guitar with a broken neck lying on the tiled floor. The room was empty, but she could hear sounds from elsewhere in the house.

  She crossed the kitchen and entered the hall. There were two main rooms on the ground floor. They had been the waiting room and the consulting room. Now the waiting room was disguised as a family sitting room, and the surgery had become Rudi's workshop, with a bench and woodworking tools, and usually half a dozen mandolins, violins, and cellos in various states of repair. All medical equipment was stashed out of sight in locked cupboards.

  But not anymore, she saw when she walked in.

  The cupboards had been opened and their contents thrown out. The floor was littered with smashed glass and assorted pills, powders, and liquids. In the debris Carla saw a stethoscope and a blood pressure gauge. Parts of several instruments were strewn around, evidently having been thrown on the floor and stamped upon.

  Carla was shocked and disgusted. All that waste!

  Then she looked into the other room. Rudi Rothmann lay in a corner. He was twenty-two years old, a tall man with an athletic build. His eyes were closed, and he was moaning in agony.

  His mother, Hannelore, knelt beside him. Once a handsome blonde, Hannelore was now gray and gaunt.

  "What happened?" said Carla, fearing the answer.

  "The police," said Hannelore. "They accused my husband of treating Aryan patients. They have taken him away. Rudi tried to stop them smashing the place up. They have . . ." She choked up.

  Carla put down her basket and knelt beside Hannelore. "What have they done?"

  Hannelore recovered the power of speech. "They broke his hands," she whispered.

  Carla saw it at once. Rudi's hands were red and horribly twisted. The police seemed to have broken his fingers one by one. No wonder he was moaning. She was sickened. But she saw horror every day, and she knew how to suppress her personal feelings and give practical help. "He needs morphine," she said.

  Hannelore indicated the mess on the floor. "If we had any, it's gone."

  Carla felt a spasm of pure rage. Even the hospitals were short of supplies--and yet the police had wasted precious drugs in an orgy of destruction. "I brought you morphine." She took from her basket a vial of clear fluid and the new syringe. Swiftly, she took the syringe from its box and charged it with the drug. Then she injected Rudi.

  The effect was almost instant. The moaning stopped. He opened his eyes and looked at Carla. "You angel," he said. Then he closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.