by Mick Hare
All introductions were effected on the move as Robert and Lily were ushered towards the cells occupied by the nuns. They knew they were heading in the right direction from the lonely sound of retching they could hear coming from along the corridor.
The convent itself was laid around two quadrangles that sat either side of a central chapel. The corridors were lined with doors to offices, sleeping cells, communal rooms and punishment cells. Tributary corridors ran off the main thoroughfare leading past private quarters and stairways leading to the upper floor.
“Here we are, Doctor,” gasped the Mother Superior breathlessly as she ushered Robert and Lily in through a small doorway. Robert bumped his head on the door frame just as the Mother was about to warn him to duck. The stench of vomit assailed their senses as they entered and it was only years of discipline and training that enabled Robert and Lily to override the nausea.
“Forgive me, Mother,” said Lily, “But it will be better if you wait here, or go back to your quarters. The doctor and I can deal with this.”
“As you say, my dear,” replied the Mother trying not to sound too relieved. “The headmaster and I will wait for you in my quarters.”
She opened the door to the cell and called in, “Sister Gemma, come here a moment.”
The Sister who had been attending Sister Fatima emerged from the cell.
“Sister Gemma, wait outside here until the Doctor has finished and then show them both to my quarters.”
“Yes Mother,” replied the exhausted nun.
Inside the cell Robert and Lily set to work. Robert knew exactly what antidote he had to administer and he had it with him already prepared. Meanwhile Lily set about restoring the cell to a habitable state. She stripped the bed of its meagre rough blanket which had been covered in vomit, and she tossed it out into the corridor.
“Sister Gemma,” she said to the exhausted nun who leaned against the wall to prevent herself from total collapse. “Show me where to take this soiled blanket and where to get hold of cleaning materials and then you can go and rest.”
“Oh I can’t do that,” she protested, “Mother wouldn’t…”
“But you must,” interrupted Lily. “Doctor’s orders.”
Together they set off down the corridor, turning right at the end and then, halfway along this side of the quadrangle they took a left into a side corridor. Eventually they came to an area containing a kitchen and a communal dining room. Sister Gemma led Lily through to a room at the back of the kitchen where she found buckets, mops and cleaning materials.
“Right. I will find everything I want. Now you must go to your bed… and that’s an order.”
Reluctantly, but with a faint smile of gratitude, Sister Gemma turned and disappeared into the dark, shadowy network of corridors.
Meanwhile, Robert had administered the medicinal antidote to the poison and injected a re-hydration solution. The poor girl had suffered more than the rest of them so far in pursuance of their mission. He tried to re-assure her with soothing words.
“I know you feel terrible and probably, right now, death would be your preferred option, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage. You will recover your strength soon. You have done a magnificent thing. It’s up to the rest of us now.”
Lily took a circuitous route back to the cell in an attempt to acquire as much knowledge of the convent and its layout as she could. She heard voices coming from a room at the end of a side corridor and, placing her cleaning equipment carefully on the floor, she tiptoed along the corridor towards the sound. A polished-wood double door screened her from the owners of the voices and so she leaned her ear against it and listened. Without being able to decipher all that was being said she heard enough to know that the voices belonged to Herr Todt and Mother Superior. These must be the Mother’s private rooms. One or two fragments informed her that they were discussing the arrival of the Pope, but not enough to garner much more.
Lily began the process of cleaning out the cell whilst Robert carried Sister Fatima in the direction of the Mother Superior’s quarters. He knocked on the door with his foot and Todt opened it for him. He walked in and laid Sister Fatima on a couch that stood under a large window.
Looking non-plussed Mother Superior asked, “Pardon me Herr Doctor, but what is happening?”
Robert rose and turned to face her.
“I cannot permit Sister Fatima to stay in that cell whilst her health is in such a poor state.”
The Mother Superior stared at him for a few seconds as if deciding whether to attempt an explanation of the life of a nun. Seeming to think better of it she merely said, “Of course! She will stay here with me until you say she is fully recovered Doctor.”
Robert was relieved to hear this. The poison had had a much greater effect on the hapless Fatima than he had anticipated. He had also noticed a significant rise in room temperature on entering the Mother’s quarters. She obviously exempted herself from some of the more stringent privations expected of the ordinary nuns.
“I have done what I can to deal with her symptoms but as yet I cannot say what has caused her malady. With your permission I would like to return in the morning and probably again over the next few days, firstly to check on Sister Fatima but also to take some samples away and run some tests on them.”
“What sort of samples?” asked Todt.
Robert looked at him as if he had just appeared. When he answered Todt’s question he addressed himself to the Mother Superior, “I need to test your drinking water for impurities. I must also take samples of the food you have stored here. If I do not isolate the cause there is no guarantee that other members of the Sisterhood will not be affected in the same way. I cannot express too strongly the danger Sister Fatima has been in.”
Mother Superior looked at Todt and then back to Robert.
“Of course, Doctor. I bow to your judgement. We will see you in the morning. By the way, where is Sister Gemma?”
Robert answered without thinking.
“I ordered her to her bed. The poor girl was exhausted. When I return tomorrow I would like permission to check her out too.”
“Of course Herr Doctor. Whatever you say.”
Back in the cell Robert assisted Lily in restoring the cell to a safe, habitable condition. When all was completed they stopped and looked at each other. A smile passed between them.
“I think we’ve accomplished all we can here tonight,” whispered Lily.
“I think you’re right my precious one,” answered Robert as he leaned down to place a kiss on her lips.
“Back off Herr Doctor,” laughed Lily. I don’t think a convent is the place for what you might have in mind!”
They both laughed and set off for home. Each knew, instinctively, the elation the other was feeling at the ease with which this initial success had been achieved. The danger had excited the basic elements of their natures and it was a commentary on their emotional make-up. But knowing this did not affect their enjoyment.
Over the next few weeks Robert and Lily became regular visitors to the convent. Unfortunately, Frau Helga had to be subjected to a dose of poison to facilitate their visits but then, luckily, an outbreak of scarlet fever amongst the nuns kept Robert and Lily busy in a more legitimate way. On Sundays the doctor and his wife attended mass in the convent chapel and afterwards they were always invited into the Mother Superior’s quarters for coffee or sherry and biscuits. They were usually joined by Herrr Todt and his plump but very pretty wife, Julia.
“Tell me Herr Todt,” asked Lily during one of these pleasant social gatherings. “How are the schoolchildren surviving these brutal times we live in?”
Herr Todt paused in the act of sipping his sherry.
“We bring them up to be good patriots. They understand the justice of Germany’s fight. We also teach them to fear and honour God. They are good Catholics. Their faith is their greatest gift.”
“What about their health, and their hygiene? Before the English and Amer
icans committed their war crimes against us we enjoyed the best health and hygiene in the world.”
“Well,” hummed the headmaster, prepared to concede some shortcomings here, “Shall I say, things have been better.”
“Headmaster,” said Lily enthusiastically, “Why don’t you let me come into school for regular visits. I can provide medical inspections. I can check for things like head lice, scabies, and ringworm as well as malnutrition.”
The headmaster looked at her over the rim of his glass.
“You know, Frau Hermann, I think that is a wonderful idea.”
He turned to Mother Superior and called across to her, “Mother Superior, listen to this new idea Frau Hermann and I have come up with. And he related Lily’s idea to the mother as if he had just thought of it himself. Such was his enthusiasm that the Mother too agreed that it would be a marvellous service for the children, not to mention a protection for the poor nuns and teachers from infection.
Twenty-six
As a skilled surgeon, Robert had to work three days each week in the casualty department of the University Hospital, Munich. In some ways working there reminded him of his days in Berlin at the Friedrichshain Klinik. There were the political Nazi appointees. However, the difference was caused by the amount of work everyone had to do. Allied raids on Munich were regular in occurrence and devastating in effect. Even the Nazis had too much to do to worry much about the niceties of dogma. Besides, the issue that had confronted him in Berlin was solved now. There were no Jews. If there were, they had become invisible.
Robert finished his shift at the university hospital and walked briskly towards Marienplatz. He had become accustomed to cutting through a warren of narrow lanes before emerging onto the approach to the square. It was quicker and it gave him a good feeling – as if he was a true native of the city. Miraculously, few of the buildings here had been hit by the bombers - Yet! And he loved the sounds and smells that spilled out of the cramped homes onto the walkways as he passed through. Sporadic voices, sometimes so close as to be almost intimate; a dog yapping; the clatter of a knife or spoon on a plate as a table is set for dinner; scents of cabbage and potatoes cooking in a pot and, very occasionally, the aroma of meat.
So familiar was he with his route now that he barely paid attention to where he was. He could navigate himself automatically whilst indulging in a relaxing reverie. But tonight his thoughts were splintered by a sudden scurry of footsteps behind him which startled him from his daydream. Too late! He had just begun to turn towards the source of the sound when a thunderous blow landed on him. A jagged length of timber bounced off his shoulder and caught a glancing blow on the side of his head. As he stumbled beneath the blow he retained enough survival instinct to glimpse his attackers: two or maybe three men, each with lengths of timber, closing in on him. Comically, his only thought at the time was, ‘if they kill me, who will assassinate the Pope?’
The glancing blow to his head had not connected sweetly enough to deprive him of consciousness and, in the moments it took his assailants to follow through, his adrenaline rush gave him sufficient awareness to raise his hands above him to protect his head from further blows. He could feel his shock turning to aggression and as the next blow landed he succeeded in grabbing the end of the club he was being beaten with. As he entered a tug of war with this particular assailant the other one (he could now definitely see that there were only two) landed two blows upon him; one on his back and one to the back of his legs. He knew his only hope of gaining ground was to concentrate his aggression on the one attached to the other end of the club he now had firmly gripped in his two bloodied and splintered hands. With a vicious wrench he pulled the timber towards him and then as the attacker fell forwards he reversed it into his oncoming face. He knew he had the upper hand with this one attacker when the accomplice landed a mighty blow across his shoulders bringing him down to his knees, again close to a loss of consciousness. All the time his assailants were shouting at each other.
“Get his wallet, get his watch, take his case, kill the bastard!”
Flailing wildly with his arms to protect himself, not really sure now where the next blow was coming from, Robert began to realise that he was beaten. As he was sure the final blows were about to be delivered he was surprised to hear a cry of pain burst from lips other than his own. Dimly, he became aware of some other body having entered the fray. This stranger had grasped the raised club as it was set to be delivered and wrenched it from the second assailant’s fists. He then used it to deliver a sweet blow to the crown of the assailant’s head, rendering him completely unconscious. Turning to the other assailant, who was still bloodied and bruised following Robert’s successful counter-attack, he chased him out of the lane. By the time he returned the other attacker had recovered consciousness, got to his feet and made good his retreat. Robert watched him go.
Robert’s rescuer returned. He was a little out of breath after his exertions but he helped Robert to his feet.
“You let the other fellow go. A pity! They have both escaped now. We’ll never find them in this rat hole of a place.”
As he talked Robert took in his saviour. He wasn’t a big man but he was heavy-set. His face was round and sat atop his bull neck without the seeming delineation of any chin to speak of. His bushy moustache rose and fell animatedly as he spoke. He was flushed with the excitement of the fight but his face was lit with a kind of innate joy.
Although small and substantially overweight he gave the impression of enormous strength. As he stood face to face with Robert and examined his injuries he exuded a generosity of spirit that Robert found very appealing.
“Well,” he said. “What’s it to be; hospital or my local bar for a strong drink?”
Despite the pain it induced, Robert could not help but laugh. “I guess I’ll take the drink,” he said and with the aid of his new comrade he made his way to a bar he had passed many times but never entered before.
Friedrich Lehmann, for that was his name, placed Robert at a table in the corner of the room and stomped to the bar to order drinks. As he came back to the table men from all parts of the room called to him and he called back friendly greetings in return. Everyone asked him what had happened to his companion and he delightedly informed them of the attack in the lane.
As he returned, Robert took in more of his new friend. Most significantly he observed the Nazi insignia armband he wore. The barman brought over a tray containing two enormous tankards of beer and one large glass of brandy.
“Here, my friend,” said Friedrich handing the brandy across. “For the shock, yes.”
He watched Robert intently as he took the brandy and raised it to his lips. From the intensity of Friedrich’s stare Robert knew he was expected to down the large measure in one swallow. He obliged to be greeted by a roar of approval from Friedrich and the sight of the beer tankard being handed to him.
“Now we begin the rehabilitation, yes.”
Both men drank deeply from their tankards. Wiping a mountain of froth from his moustache with the back of his hand, Friedrich began the conversation.
It took many weeks for Robert to find out all about Friedrich and his life, but it took only a couple of moments to realise that he was in the company of a man he thoroughly liked. It was something he reflected on often. What was it that drew individuals to one another? Here was this fireball of a man with that hated armband proudly worn at all times. A man who loved his Fuhrer; a man completely incapable of finding anything disagreeable in any of Hitler’s domestic policies or in the conduct of the war. Someone Robert would argue with day and night if he was at liberty to honestly share his own views. Someone he would kill in the line of duty. But still, a man he liked more than most he had met. He thought back to many comrades in arms he had known during his fighting days in the Republican Army. Men who shared his vision of the future for Ireland. Men who had stood back-to-back with him in desperate shoot-outs. Most of them he would cross the street to avoid having to spea
k to. Friendship, like love, was a mystery to him.