by Jenny Lecoat
All day long, typing reports in that soulless crate of an office, she had played out this moment in her mind, feeling the dread rise. Yet what, exactly, was she dreading? Perhaps he would fly into a rage, but in all these weeks she’d never seen anything to suggest that was likely. Kurt could, in theory, report her to the authorities; miscegenation was unquestionably a sackable offence, and who knew what he might be driven to in desperation. But the fear that nudged persistently, like a rubber band twanging on her wrist, was the anticipation of her own future: months, maybe years, trapped in this island prison, without Kurt for comfort. The secret meetings, the softness of his hand on hers, his kindly questions about her day – they were all that had made the last months bearable. But she had promised Anton, and she knew herself that to stretch this out any further was suicidal. It had to be tonight.
Suddenly she heard a strange sound some distance away – a collective shuffling and heavy breathing, like a herd of small animals. It was getting closer. Anxious, she stood and peered down the road that led back to the Weighbridge and main harbour. In the fragments of remaining light she could just make out an approaching group of people. It wasn’t a troop of German soldiers, whose rapping boots could be heard for miles, but there were guards at the fore, wearing the uniform of the Organisation Todt. Then, as they came closer, she saw it. Lumbering towards her was a stinking cloud of broken humanity. Skeletal, shaven-headed men, some old beyond their years, some no more than boys, shuffling along in a frightened pack, their eyes on the ground to avoid those of their guards, who grinned as they swung their rubber truncheons for any imagined offence. Despite the cold, the prisoners were dressed in nothing but rags, their feet bound only in cloth. Several had visible injuries, many others the obvious stains of shit and vomit. As one sharp breeze brought the smell of them into Hedy’s nostrils, the bile rose in her throat until she retched. She wanted to turn away, in horror or respect, but could not.
The guards drove their victims on at a quick pace; as they passed by, not one raised his face to look at her; they simply stumbled on, saving every gram of energy for the march ahead. Hedy was so shocked that she hardly noticed Kurt approaching from the opposite direction.
‘Did you see that?’
Kurt nodded. ‘Slave labourers, for the defence construction. Third boatful this week. It’s hideous.’
‘But did you see them? They’re half dead already! How can anyone treat human beings that way?’ She searched for Kurt’s eyes in the gloom, and realised his focus was miles away. Anger erupted inside her. ‘This is what your people are doing in the name of your superior race! Can you still tell me you don’t feel responsible? Do you still think this is nothing to do with you?’
‘It’s about all of us!’ His voice was cracked and sour, a tone she’d never heard before. ‘You think this stupid fucking war doesn’t touch everyone? All our lives will be ruined by this, all of us!’
Hedy stared, stunned, cancelling a dozen questions in her head. She reached out and touched his arm. It was all it took. Kurt sank back onto the granite bollard, made a small choking sound and began to weep. She stood silent for a moment, then slowly put her arms around him and cradled his head on her chest. His sobs shook his body while he tried to get control of himself. When at last he spoke it came in forced, intermittent bursts. ‘Had a letter from Helmut’s mother. His unit was attacked by Russian planes. Some of them made it, but—’
‘But?’
‘Helmut’s tank took a direct hit.’
Hedy pulled his head closer to her. ‘Oh, Kurt, no! Are they certain?’
He nodded. ‘They identified him by his dog tag.’ The sobbing began in earnest again. ‘The last time I saw him, he told me to take care of myself. He told me!’
Hedy said nothing, but continued to hold him, stroking that soft, dark blond hair. She thought again of her parents, perhaps still sitting around that kitchen stove, more likely rounded up onto some truck and driven God knows where. She felt his grief blend with her own, and twist painfully in her chest.
‘It’s all right, Kurt, it’s all right. I’m here. I’m here.’
They stayed there on the frozen quay for what seemed like hours, until Kurt pulled away and stood up straight, brushing the tears from his face.
‘I’m sorry. I feel a little better now.’
Hedy nodded. ‘We all need to cry sometimes.’
‘So what was it you wanted to tell me?’
‘Me?’
‘You said in your note that you needed to talk to me about something important. It sounded serious.’
She looked out across the glistening black water, the shadowy shapes of the boats. How she’d love to climb into one now and sail away into the void, swallowed up by the darkness. Her voice was tiny. ‘Yes …’
‘Well, let me say something first. It’s something I’ve wanted to get out in the open before, for a long time, but I wasn’t sure you …’ She held her breath, half anticipating a question. Did he already know? Perhaps someone at work had said something. His hands reached for her face. ‘Anyway, tonight I have to say it. Hedy, I love you. I have done since the start. I’m still not sure if you feel the same, but I know this is it for me. I always want us to be together. So it’s up to you now.’ She pressed herself even closer to him, letting herself melt into his body. The buttons of his uniform dug through her coat into her flesh. Her face ached with the contortions of emotion, and she could feel her heart hammering. ‘So, now it’s your turn. What did you want to say?’
Hedy screwed up her eyes. For the first time in years, she wished for a true faith. A faith like her mother’s, one that brought the gift of guidance. Yet she already knew what she had to do. Even now, it was not too late. She just had to push her emotions aside, drag common sense back in. Find the kind of strength the rabbis used to talk about, the kind her sister Roda could summon at will. She pulled back to look at him and placed her frozen hand on his face.
‘I wanted to tell you … that I love you too.’
He grinned, and kissed her with passion and tenderness. Afterwards, she tried to recall her feelings at that moment – shame, relief, anger? But all she could remember was the pleasure of that kiss.
5
The atmosphere on the street was tangible, Kurt thought, as he strode along St Saviours Road in the pink glow of the afternoon sun. In two weeks it would be Christmas. A novel kind of holiday this year, one without turkeys, trees, nuts or even presents for most of the kids. It would be little better in Germany, he was sure, but that brought no comfort here. If you stretched out your hand into the cold, still air, you could rub the bitterness between your thumb and forefinger and feel its grit. The ‘ghosts’ whom other officers often spoke of – the glass-eyed, unseeing locals who had for months ignored every German on the street as if they were invisible – now stared directly at Kurt as he walked by. Some exuded pure hatred, some just the gloating anticipation that the end was near. It was now ‘only a matter of time’ they muttered to themselves or to each other on street corners, just loud enough for passing soldiers to hear. The game had changed; the tide had turned. The Yanks were in.
Poor fools, Kurt thought. Yes, Pearl Harbor had swung the compass around. But with the Americans focused on the Pacific Theatre, it couldn’t possibly have much effect in Europe for at least a year, probably more. All this meant was a longer, greater, more destructive war, with no guarantee of victory on either side. And for what? The questioning voices that had whispered to Kurt for months were now shouting so loudly they were waking him in the early hours, leaving him staring at the ceiling while Fischer snored peacefully in the bed beside him. What the hell were they all doing here? Parading around this island in their ridiculous uniforms, torturing Slav prisoners, tormenting the locals with cold and hunger. Just yesterday the senior OT officer had lectured the compound staff on the importance of pride in their great nationalist work. The schedule was vital, he told them, for the security and success of the Fatherland. The same day, Kur
t had received Helmut’s last letter, dated two weeks before his death. Inside he felt something taking shape, an icy crystal of disgust. He thought of Hedy, the only light in his life, and felt grateful that he’d kept his promise to keep their relationship private. At first he’d thought her obsession with secrecy tiresome, creeping around and inventing stories to satisfy his colleagues’ questions. But now, with the locals’ attitude shifting, he saw the sense in it.
A twisting murmuration of starlings filled the bright winter sky, and he smiled at the thought of the evening to come. Hedy’s nosy downstairs neighbour was away at her sister’s, and he was off duty till tomorrow morning. As he passed a forlorn little group of children, singing ‘Away In A Manger’ outside an unrelenting house, he felt a rush of Christmas cheer and goodwill, and flipped two coins into their cloth cap. Turning into New Street, he began the final stretch towards Hedy’s building; he imagined her standing by her tiny stove, stirring a pot, and quickened his pace in excitement.
So lost was he in his thoughts that when he first heard the voice he didn’t realise it was aimed at him. Only when the shout of ‘Leutnant!’ became ‘Leutnant Neumann!’ did Kurt turn to see the figure on the other side of the street. Wildgrube raised his silly Alpine hat in a greeting as he hurried across the road. Kurt tried his best to smile but suspected the result was unconvincing.
‘Good evening, Lieutenant.’ Wildgrube’s voice sounded even more whiney and high-pitched than usual. ‘And where, may I ask, are you headed this fine afternoon?’
Kurt stared at him, trying to remain expressionless. Was this a coincidence, or was the guy actually following him? If so, for how long? Kurt’s immediate concern, though, was that he was no more than ten metres from Hedy’s front door.
‘Actually, I was just taking a stroll.’ It sounded fake and Kurt knew it.
Wildgrube’s smile was stretched to breaking point but his eyes were empty. ‘Really? Around here?’ He looked about him with theatrical puzzlement. ‘Hardly the most scenic choice!’
‘I thought I might head up to Vallée des Vaux – it’s about fifteen minutes that way. Still green up there this time of year. Have you been?’
The policeman corrected the angle of his hat as he replaced it on his head. ‘I confess I have not. I did not know that you were such a keen walker?’
Kurt kept his expression friendly, doing a dozen lightning calculations in his head. If Wildgrube had followed him all the way from his billet, he must be receiving information on Kurt’s movements. Had he received a tip-off of some kind, and if so, from whom? Fischer was the most likely candidate; he had hardly spoken to Kurt for weeks following Kurt’s prison sentence, and he and Wildgrube were definitely chummy. But Kurt was always discreet around Fischer, and it was doubtful the Nazi had anything specific to report. Kurt’s guess was that this was a simple fishing expedition.
He smoothed back his hair to indicate composure. ‘Keeps me out of trouble.’ He hoped Wildgrube would appreciate the self-deprecating reference, but the spy’s expression didn’t change. If Kurt was going to throw him permanently off the scent, he was going to have to come up with something good. ‘All right, Erich, you’ve got me. I’m not planning to walk up Vallée des Vaux …’ He tried to look suitably embarrassed. ‘I heard there was a new “officers’ club”, over on Rouge Boullion. One of the guys in my house went last week, came back with some stories! I thought I might stop by.’
At this, Wildgrube smiled properly, with intent. The effect was rather chilling. ‘Ah! You are looking for some female company, perhaps? The kind whose company is, let’s say, reliable in its outcome?’
‘Exactly.’ Kurt forced out a laugh. ‘Like I said, you got me.’
Wildgrube joined in his laughter. ‘You don’t have to be embarrassed about such natural needs, Lieutenant! Tell you what – I wouldn’t mind checking out the place myself. Would you mind signing me in?’
Frustration rose in Kurt’s gullet and threatened to choke him. The trap had snapped shut – any lie he told now would be too obvious, and he had no doubt Wildgrube would follow him anyway. Now he would be stuck with this reptile for the rest of the night, while Hedy waited alone up there, confused and disappointed. He longed to glance up at her window to throw her some explanatory look. But he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Wildgrube’s face and, accepting his fate, pulled the plug.
‘Sure, if you like.’
‘Great. After we both get laid I will buy you a nice Scotch whisky. How about that? It will be a chance for us to get to know each other better.’
Kurt’s brain continued to whir as they set off up the road. Perhaps there was an advantage to this nightmare. If Wildgrube still had Kurt marked as a potential troublemaker, this was Kurt’s chance to allay suspicions, maybe even soften him up for information in the future. He planned the evening out in his mind – he’d been through enough of these nights back home to know how it would go. Wildgrube would knock back a couple of whiskies then make a big deal of picking the ‘best’ woman in the place. Meanwhile, Kurt would cover his tracks with the youngest, most vulnerable kid he could find, and pay her for a half-hour conversation about her family, tipping her enough to buy any lies he required later. He and Wildgrube would drink the rest of the night away, while Kurt threw in a few remarks about his previous ‘foolishness’ for good measure. That way, the night would at least be an investment. It was the thought of not being able to let Hedy know that hurt the most.
Only when they were a good twenty metres past Hedy’s door did Kurt make the excuse of retying his boot lace in order to sneak a glance up at her window. He had barely a second to take it in, but swore he saw her at the edge of the attic pane, peeping down into the street. Not daring to make even the smallest sign, he took a deep breath before rejoining Wildgrube for the short walk to the officers’ club and the miserable young whores who waited for them.
‘Maybe a little tighter around the waist? I’m so skinny now – well, who isn’t these days! I don’t want it to hang off me or I’ll look like I’m wearing an old sack!’
Dorothea giggled and pulled the dress tighter on her body, indicating to Hedy where the fabric should sit.
Hedy, squinting with concentration, pulled the darts a little further out and pushed the pins into place. ‘Like that?’
Dorothea stepped down from the chair and stood back, craning her neck to try to view the dress from different angles. Hedy took the tiny vanity mirror from her dressing table and held it up for her, wishing that her landlord provided a full-length mirror as part of the furnishings.
‘That’s much better. I love the texture of this dimity, don’t you? I mean, it would have been lovely to have something new …’
Hedy obediently rubbed the fabric between her fingers. ‘Yes, but no one expects new clothes these days, even for a wedding. Anton’s borrowing a suit from Mr Reis’s son, isn’t he?’
‘I know.’ Dorothea sighed. ‘It’s just … you know how you always planned your wedding, dreamed about what you would wear, right from when you were a little girl?’ Hedy raised her brows as if in agreement, even though it was a topic she’d never given a moment’s thought. ‘I even used to walk my dolly down the hallway to “Here Comes The Bride”, with an old lace curtain draped over her head! Still, this is a lovely dress. And I think with that little white hat …’ She twirled herself around Hedy’s apartment, her head flicking back for approval.
Hedy opted for a stock response. ‘You’ll look lovely. Anton will be proud of you. But you should probably take it off now – it’s like an icebox in here. And you don’t want to get it dirty before the big day.’
Dorothea unzipped herself at the side and wriggled out of the dress, trying to avoid the pins, babbling as she did so. ‘Still can’t believe I spotted that hat in the exchange adverts. I mean, what are the chances of the perfect hat popping up just this week? Well worth a bar of soap and an old bedsheet! Now all I need is gloves to match, but that’s probably over-optimistic.’
; Hedy sneaked a glance at Dorothea’s pale, bony body beneath her slip, wondering how much of it Anton had seen and what he would think of it. She wondered if that was how she looked to Kurt; perhaps it was fortunate not having a proper mirror after all. ‘And listen, Hedy, I wanted to say thank you for doing this. I loved making things before we had to trade the Singer, but I’ve never been much good at hand-sewing. My grandmother would have helped if she could, of course, but her eyesight is so poor now. Then I thought of you, and when Anton told me you’d volunteered, I was just … well, it means a lot to me.’
Hedy, avoiding Dorothea’s eyes, knelt on the floor and placed the pins back in their old tobacco tin one at a time. She knew what her mother would call her at this moment – a Farshtinkiner, a louse. Only three days earlier, Hedy had visited Anton at the bakery. She’d gone on the excuse of returning a borrowed book, but in truth intended to talk to him about this marriage, perhaps even persuade him not to go through with it. She’d even manoeuvred him into the privacy of the bakery’s backyard, away from prying ears. If she could just make him see that he had only proposed through guilt, through a fear of leaving Dorothea without a widow’s pension … Surely he would understand this was no basis for a marriage?
Of course, the conversation had never got that far. No sooner had Anton closed the outer door, he had badgered her about Kurt, demanding to know what had happened – had she told him the truth? How had he reacted, were they still together? Hedy rushed headlong into a passionate defence of her procrastination: if Anton had only seen Kurt that night! The man was broken, and it would have been inhuman to pile on so much grief in one day. And she’d honestly intended to tell him at their next meeting, if only Kurt had not been followed by that dreadful secret police officer. But she would tell him the truth the next day, she swore, or at least the day after. And as her mouth sprayed its pitiful nonsense, she watched Anton nod wearily, his hair and lashes covered in fine grey flour, too stooped and exhausted by his impending conscription to argue. She knew he saw right through her. Overwhelmed by her own hypocrisy and spinelessness, Hedy had hurried from the bakery without bringing up the wedding at all, guiltily agreeing over her shoulder to help in any way she could. She’d slouched home, comparing the open, straightforward girl she’d been at school with the selfish, scheming reflection that now jumped out at her from dark shop windows. This infected boil of lies and self-delusion swelled a little more each day, contaminating people who were supposed to love each other, poisoning her own soul. She cursed this stupid, pointless war.