A Flicker of Light

by Kagan, Roberta

  “I'm Frau Klingerman. You must be Petra.”

  “I am.”

  “We have been expecting you, Frauline. But before anything else, we must first do a few tests. You realize that it is very important that we are sure both you and the father of the baby are of pure Aryan blood.”

  Petra nodded cautiously. She had not anticipated testing of any kind. Somewhat shaken, she followed the older woman. She must pass the tests. She could not be turned away. She had nowhere else to go.

  She was taken to a sterile room bustling with doctors and nurses, where her weight and measurements were taken. Next there was a thorough examination of her skull and eyes. Following this, Petra endured days of questioning concerning her ancestry and that of the child's father. Even though Hans had pre-registered her, she found she was still required to undergo the complete process. Nearly a week passed as she waited anxiously before she received the notice of acceptance.

  Here at Heim Hockland, an unwed mother received the finest care for bearing a child for Hitler and showing her devotion to the cause. While carrying the future leaders of the Third Reich, the women were given fresh meats, fruits, cheeses, milk, and vegetables to eat three times each day. Himmler insisted upon it, regardless of the fact that the rest of the country did without. Hitler’s right-hand man, he came to speak to the girls at least once a month, to convey the gratitude and pride of the Reich toward these women and the sacrifice they were making.

  Although she longed for companionship, Petra found the other girls cordial, but cool. After all, she was Norwegian, not German - accepted, but still considered an outsider. Discussions at meals always turned to the Third Reich and how it would restore Germany to its rightful place in the world. If Petra heard it one more time, she thought she might scream.

  Secretly, she found the strength to endure by remembering her future plans. Hans would return, and they would leave the war behind. They planned to marry, take the baby and live on his parents’ farm. Hans had told her of their prosperous, sprawling acreage, located not far from Heim Hockland. That was why they had chosen this particular location for Petra. Lebensborn homes had been built in Norway and it would have been easier for her to go to one of those, but besides the appeal of proximity to her future in-laws at Heim Hockland, the anger she’d felt toward her own family had driven her to travel as far away from them as possible.

  When Petra was abandoned by her childhood friends and rejected by her family, stubborn like her father, she’d sworn to herself that she would do this alone, without any of them.

  The nights were the most difficult. Sometimes she thought she might die of loneliness. Petra longed for Hans, to feel his soft breath against her neck, to laugh as he teased her.

  She would often gaze at the stars outside her bedroom window while her mind drifted off to memories of Christmas so long ago with her parents and little brothers. She could hear her father's hearty laughter as he presented them each with chocolates all the way from Belgium. Petra laughed as she thought of her brothers as they’d begged to have some of hers when they had finished their own. And now, with the birth so close at hand, she longed to talk to her mother.

  Days turned to weeks, and then weeks turned to months as she waited. Letters and gifts arrived frequently from Hans, reassuring her of their bright future. She received candy, silk stockings and letters filled with promises of enduring love, until finally the end of his service drew near. Hans would return in six weeks. Her body tingled when she thought of his homecoming. Every morning when she awoke, and every night as she lay in her bed listening to her roommate snore, she repeated it over and over in her mind: Six more weeks!

  The testing on her body continued. The weekly weighing and measuring had become tedious. Every day, she reminded herself that all of this would soon be over and she would be back in her lover’s arms forever. They would be a happy family, and their child would grow up safe in the warmth of their love.

  One Hundred Miles from the Russian Border

  The Russian winter descended upon the ill-prepared German invaders, bringing temperatures well below freezing. Without warm-enough coats or boots to protect their feet, many German soldiers froze to death; others lost appendages to frostbite.

  Engrossed in a conversation with a fellow soldier, Hans marched along a snow-covered rural road. Icicles hung from the barren trees and a blanket of silvery snow on the ground hid a treacherous patch of ice. Hans’ sharp eyes spotted it in time, and he took evasive action as they moved through the frozen landscape.

  “Ah, I can still remember that football game. I say it should have been a red card. It looked like a slide kick, I tell you,” Hans said as he adjusted his helmet.

  “Oh, no, my friend, I don't agree at all. I don't even feel he deserved a warning,” the other soldier insisted as he pulled his coat tighter around his waist against the onslaught of the arctic wind.

  Hans briefly considered his comrade’s opinion, then he replied, “He should have been…”

  The bullet flew across the field and hit Hans in mid-sentence. He dropped silently. The virgin snow surrounding him slowly turned a deep scarlet. Hans was dead before he touched the ground. Although she did not yet know it, Petra's dreams had just come to an end.

  Chapter 3

  Heim Hochland/Steinhoring Instiuite for the Lebensborn

  Munich, 1943

  A

  s Frau Klingerman walked slowly down the center of the aisle, her steps were labored as she thought of the awful burden she carried, soon to be passed along, like a dreaded plague. Each of the girls at Heim Hockland gave a sigh of relief as she passed them by, carrying the familiar envelope. As soon as Petra saw it, her heart fell like an airplane crashing out of the silver-blue winter sky into a thousand undistinguishable pieces. She knew that Frau Klingerman would stop in front of her; she felt it before it happened.

  “I'm very sorry, Fraulein Jorgensen,” the old woman's face showed genuine concern as she placed the dreaded symbol of death into Petra’s hand. At that moment, Petra’s entire world began to spin. She fought to get herself under control and crunched the letter in her hand. Then Petra gripped the table and stood. Everyone’s eyes were upon her, but she was unable to speak. Petra turned away, clutching the envelope to her chest, and left the dining room. There was an unnatural silence in the room. The piano player had stopped playing Wagner; the other girls had stopped talking; each of them stared, saying a silent prayer of thanks that the letter had not been addressed to them.

  Death. The letter meant death.

  In fact, the presence of death in its looming stillness was overwhelming in the lunch room that day. Just death and the sound of the clicking of Petra's shoe heels on the marble floor.

  Petra pulled herself up the stairs using the banister. The walk down the corridor seemed endless, but finally she reached her room. She closed the door, relieved to be alone; Ursula was downstairs having lunch. It would have been difficult to endure her well-intentioned sympathy. Petra sank onto her bed, full of despair. With shaky fingers, she opened the letter. It said all she needed to know. It told her that in an instant, in just a flash of a second, her entire life had changed.

  Dead. Hans’ life was over. He had died while fighting at the Russian front.

  Without warning, the grease and spices from the lunch she’d just consumed bubbled angrily in her stomach. A dizzy headache and nausea accompanied the pounding of her heartbeat, which she could hear clearly in the stillness of the silent room.

  Even before she’d opened the envelope, Petra had known what the message would say. The girls at Heim Hockland had seen these letters many times before; it was always the same. But even though Petra had known what the letter would say, until she read it, she had hoped that somehow there had been a mistake. That somehow, someway, this time the familiar envelope would contain a different message. Or perhaps it had been given to her in error. Her eyes refused to focus and she whispered, “Please God, let it not be so. Please, I beg you; I'll do
anything, anything you ask. Please.”

  Her tears fell, sprinkling the white parchment and blurring the black ink. She read the words again, this time aloud:

  Frauline Jorgensen,

  It is with deepest regret that we must inform you of the death of your fiancé, Hans Kurman. He died while bravely fighting for the Fatherland. You have much to be proud of; your future husband proved himself a hero. We of the Third Reich offer our condolences. We also offer our thanks for the dedication you have shown by agreeing to bear a child at the Lebensborn Institute, making a selfless contribution to the future of the Reich.

  Dev Heldentod,

  Furfuhrer Volk Und Vaterland

  Eng Hero for Hitler volk und Patriotic

  Now Petra was truly alone in the world, alienated from her family and everyone she knew; all she had left kicked gently inside of her womb. She fell back upon the pillow and raised her hands to the sides of her head. Pressing them tightly against her scalp, she fought the thunderstorm of tears that stung the back of her eyes. She felt herself grow nauseous. Running quickly to the bathroom, and arriving just in time, she threw up.

  Tears of loss and anger stained her face as she wiped the vomit from her mouth with the back of her hand. What seemed like a long time passed before she felt able to stand upright. When she did, she leaned against the wall for balance.

  Hans, the man to whom she had given her heart, soul and body, lived no more. Never would she hear his voice again, or share his laughter. She could no longer comfort herself as she looked out her window with the thought that somewhere he saw the same stars she did. Hans saw nothing. To grasp this horrible truth seemed impossible.

  She could not imagine a life without him. She knew she was somehow going to have to find the strength within herself to go on, for the baby’s sake, if not her own, but at that moment Petra couldn’t imagine how or where she would find that strength. She had no money and she could no longer turn to her family. I must think of something! I must! Desperation set in. What to do? What to do?

  She would not fail her baby; she could not. Her tears fell onto the letter, smearing the ink. Without Hans, the Lebensborn would surely take the infant. And God help her, if the baby came into the world somehow imperfect, the Nazis would surely destroy it. She’d heard rumors whispered among the girls of the fate that awaited unsuitable children. What had she done? What devil’s contract had she entered into? She must escape from this place, she realized, and she must do it tonight.

  If she could just get far enough away from the Institute, she could try to find a ride back to Norway. She could not be sure how she would be received by her family, if she did in fact manage to find her way home, but she must try. If only she’d asked Hans where to find his parents’ farm, she could have gone there. But since she did not know where it was, she could not find it. Although the plan had no depth, nothing concrete to it at all, she knew she had to try. Petra bit her lower lip and called upon the stubborn nature of her ancestors. After all, had her father not told her she had the blood of the Vikings running through her veins? She had to do this; she simply had no other option. The child whose tiny heart beat steadily within her womb depended upon her.

  “It's all right. We're going to be all right,” she whispered to the baby.

  Once Ursula was asleep, she would wait a while for everyone else to get settled, and then get out before the guards changed their shift at midnight. An amusing and well-known fact among the girls had to do with Frau Klingerman’s “watch” over the house. Her tour of duty began at lunch time and continued until midnight, when she retired to her bedroom upstairs. Once the evening meal ended and night fell, Frau Klingerman, instead of patrolling the rooms, could be found sound asleep in her overstuffed easy chair, her round face resting on a full set of hairy chins. The old woman snored and grunted in her dreams. Fatigued from over indulgence in rich food, this “guard” would be unlikely to hear Petra as she departed.

  Feeling like a hunted deer, Petra descended the wooden staircase. She wanted to run, yet she could barely walk as her unsteady legs threatened to give out beneath her. The wood creaked and groaned under her weight. But as predicted, Frau Klingerman sat with her legs splayed apart, lost in sweet slumber, a line of drool running from her mouth onto the bosom of her green dress. Beside her on the table sat an almost empty cup of schnapps and a plate of half-eaten pastries, with yellow custard oozing and forming a small pool on one side. A loud honking noise sprang from Frau Klingerman's lips, freezing Petra in her tracks. She gripped the banister with white knuckles as she watched the woman, paralyzed with fright. Petra could not take a deep breath, and she panted like a startled animal. Finally, when Frau Klingerman did not awaken after a few minutes of observation, Petra continued on until she reached the end of the corridor.

  Turning the doorknob with unsteady hands, she pulled her black wool coat tightly around her protruding belly. Then, without looking back, Petra stepped out into the harsh German winter. Late February brought a frigid north wind as she clutched a small handbag in her left hand; in her right she held her suitcase. Without a plan, Petra left the Institute forever.

  Her eyes glanced up at the tower; the men on guard there continued to converse. She had not been noticed. Along the edge of the barbed wire, down on her knees, crawling, she felt for the opening in the fencing that she’d seen earlier in the day. As she did, she felt a stinging pain in her hand as the sharp wire sliced into her knuckles. Once her bloody fingers found what they sought, Petra lifted the line and struggled underneath to freedom. Quickly she stood, and as the snow fell from her clothing, she ran with her heart racing faster than her feet could move.

  Could that be the search light she saw? Only another fifty feet to the edge of the forest - run! Dear God, help me! Please! I am running for my life! I am running to save my baby! Run! Run!

  Chapter 4

  S

  he could not catch her breath. With fewer than fifty feet to the safety of the forest, Petra prayed she would not be spotted. Never looking back, she kept her eyes fixed on the freedom that lay just ahead. Her ample belly swung back and forth as she ran. An aching in her overly-sensitive breasts made her wince as she dashed across the field. Then a pain shot through her side, doubling her over, but she did not stop. At first mild, the throbbing grew stronger as she forced her feet forward, clutching her side. She knew that she must keep going.

  If the guard in the tower saw her, he would ring the bell and then the dogs would be released. If the dogs did not tear her to shreds, she would be forced back to Heim Hockland. In the distance she could see the trees, dark and dense, promising refuge if her feet would only move fast enough to get her there. An animal, perhaps a wolf or a fox, howled as she finally gained the shelter of the forest and hid behind a tree, and for a moment escape seemed as dangerous as prison. She bent over, gasping for breath. She had to stop for just a little while.

  As she sat, trembling, she assessed her situation. In her youth she’d loved fairy tales, and therefore had always feared the woods. Now the gnarled trees casting evil-looking shadows in the moonlight reminded her of her night terrors. Grimacing, she realized she must wipe such thoughts and fears from her mind if she meant to survive.

  She must travel on foot as far away from the Institute as possible. Then it might be safe to seek out a town or village. She began inventing a plausible story. She would need one when the time came to ask for help. Petra decided she would calmly inform those she encountered that while on her way from Munich to visit friends in Denmark, she had left her handbag, all of her money and her papers in a café where she had stopped to dine. When she’d returned to look for her things, no one claimed to have seen them. Perhaps some kind souls might be sympathetic to her plight and assist with food and water, and should good fortune favor, even a ride, as she made her way back to Norway. Distance would be the key. If she could get far enough away from Heim Hockland, no one would suspect she had escaped from there.

  The cold sliced th
rough her. Then reality set in. She realized she could never get home walking in this frigid weather. How far could she get before she froze to death?

  Again she wished she had asked Hans for his parents’ address. In the darkness the forest seemed like a dark, endless void, one that might swallow her.

  Hans had sent her a few reichsmarks when he’d sent the admission papers to Heim Hockland. She might have enough money for a ticket, but she knew it would not be safe to take the train back to Denmark. She must keep her papers hidden. If the authorities saw them and realized where she had come from, she would surely be returned to Heim Hockland.

  Even worse, she knew if she were caught she would suffer severe punishment for running away. Over the short time she had spent in Steinhoring, she’d learned that the Nazis could be cruel, very cruel. Individual lives had no worth, only their precious Third Reich was of any value to them. And she knew firsthand that they would gladly kill to protect what they believed in, and never think twice. They did not tolerate any dissent. Running away might cost her life.

  No, she decided that her best option had to be to try to catch rides with unsuspecting travelers. Of course, there would be the sea to contend with later, but if she made it that far, she would find a way to cross. And then if by some miracle she made it to her parents’ house, she prayed that the birth of the infant would soften their hearts. Even her strong-willed father would be forced to turn soft at the sight of his first grandchild, wouldn’t he? An icy wind gusted down from the north on this crystal black night, as the stars sprinkled the sky like tiny guiding lights and the new moon gave just enough illumination to allow her to see the path.