A Fight in Silence

by Melanie Metzenthin

  ‘If drinking to it helped, I’d cheerfully become an alcoholic.’

  ‘Watch out there! Didn’t you tell me alcoholics have to be sterilised?’

  ‘I can take the risk. My family’s complete.’

  Fritz cleared his throat.

  ‘Hey, Fritz, are you telling me Dorothea’s expecting again?’

  ‘What on earth makes you think that? No, our family was complete when Harald came along.’ He laughed. ‘I’d risk being an alcoholic and drinking to peace, but shaky hands aren’t too good in the operating theatre!’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘And a toast to peace,’ said Fritz firmly. ‘Looking forward to it.’ Then he put down the receiver.

  Chapter 32

  Early in October, Richard made a start on the first batch of forms. It was tedious work, hard grind too, but he got a new typewriter for it. This was because at the top of these new forms, heavily underlined and festooned with exclamation marks, was the instruction that forms were to be typed, not handwritten.

  Next to personal details was a space headed ‘race’. Richard shook his head in disbelief when he read the options he had to choose from: ‘Of German blood, or related, Jew, Jewish mixed-blood Grade 1 or 11, Negro or Negro mixed-blood.’ Good thing he had no Indians or Chinese among his patients, he thought with a bitter irony. He couldn’t have classified them at all.

  In addition to this, he had to give information about whether a patient received regular visitors, whether the patient was a war veteran or a twin and whether there were any mentally ill blood relatives. Then came all the questions about diagnosis, symptoms, treatment, the course of the illness and any criminal offences. At the end, the patient’s occupation and degree of productivity had to be compared with the average performance of a healthy individual for the same work.

  So this was the loophole he needed. The standards for comparison with the average person were not specified. It was for the expert witness himself to make his own estimate.

  Richard first set to work on the files for those patients based in the open country houses. They all worked in agriculture, so he compared their capacity for work with that of the average agricultural worker. He gave eighty per cent to those he knew were barely capable and pondered what plausible reasons he could find to disguise the true extent of their condition.

  His secure-unit patients, however, presented him with greater problems, particularly when he saw Herbert’s file in front of him. Herbert, his old patient, the first one he’d worked with so intensively and who, through his repeated failures, had demonstrated to Richard that he simply could not cope outside the secure unit. He had now known the man for ten years and an almost affectionate relationship had developed between them in spite of their being worlds apart. Richard had worked his way up from being a young and inexperienced junior doctor to a consultant and a recognised writer of expert statements, while Herbert had simply grown older. He was as charming as ever and had managed to improve his concentration, which meant that he could now work for a few hours on simple tasks, such as making paper bags, but despite spending a long time thinking about how he could, at least on paper, make the capability of this severely ill patient look better, Richard finally had to acknowledge that there just wasn’t a way. Fifty per cent was perhaps plausible, but he would be hard pushed even to justify that. Anything higher just would not wash.

  It seemed, though, at least for now, that the completion of the forms had no particular consequences, and when rations for the secure unit were barely reduced, Richard felt he could breathe more easily. The supply situation in Germany remained stable, although petrol rationing became a constant problem for most drivers. Thanks to Fritz, Richard had enough fuel to carry on going to work by car. That wasn’t entirely due to Fritz’s personal generosity but owed a great deal to the black-market contacts that he had been cultivating. Black-market petrol coupons were expensive and illegal, but Fritz took the view that it didn’t matter whose car was filled up as long as the coupons were genuine. When Richard asked him how he’d managed to get these contacts, Fritz explained how three weeks back he’d started working Saturday afternoons as a prison doctor in Fuhlsbüttel. ‘The previous prison doctor decided to join up and they couldn’t fill the vacancy. It was circulated among us as a fee-paying role, so I went for it. The money’s good and it reduces the likelihood of my getting called up if I’m holding down two important jobs. Besides, you get to meet some rather interesting people with even more interesting connections!’ He grinned.

  On 3 September, Great Britain and France did indeed declare war, but this made no appreciable difference to daily life. In October, Hitler announced that the Polish campaign had concluded successfully. The German military now turned its attention to the Western Front and France. Richard’s nephews were called for scrutiny and the two eldest were conscripted. This was a blow for Richard’s father as Karl had only just become a master craftsman and was set to take over his grandfather’s business. In addition, the outbreak of another war stirred old memories.

  ‘The last war took my elder son from me,’ said Richard’s father sadly. ‘I don’t want this one to take my two eldest grandsons.’

  Richard tried hard to reassure his parents, his sister and her husband, Holger, but the very words ‘French campaign’ filled the four of them with such horror that even he could not lift their spirits. The last war had broken his brother, but Richard had always believed that Holger had somehow weathered the whole experience, mentally at least, and had even come to terms with the loss of part of his leg. Margit, however, now told him a different story of how Holger had regularly suffered nightmares since his two sons had been called up, just as he had in the first few years after his own war. Sometimes, she told Richard sadly, Holger seemed to be in another world and she would have to call his name several times before he came to again. This caused Richard grave concern as he recognised these symptoms from other severely traumatised men and yet Holger’s experiences lay twenty years in the past. Could it be that the anxiety over his sons had brought back the mental trauma they all believed he had overcome?

  While Richard stayed strong on the outside for the sake of his family and continued to do everything he could for Holger and Margit, it was Paula who kept him afloat. She kept saying they couldn’t compare this war with the last one and was firm about Richard still taking her to the cinema and watching the positive newsreel reports. The German army was on the advance, was victorious; this was not trench warfare like the last time. In his heart Richard knew these newsreels were nothing more than clever propaganda but he was only too willing to be taken in as it gave him the strength to give moral support to Holger and Margit. Karl and Jürgen would come unscathed through the war and be home soon. That was all that mattered.

  At Christmas, Karl and Jürgen came home on leave. As the lads recounted their adventures, there were moments when the war lost its horror. Their stories sounded more like wild escapades and seemed entirely different to the terrors experienced by their father, Holger, and uncle Georg.

  ‘If it carries on like this, it’ll be springtime in Paris for us,’ said Karl, full of confidence as he tucked into the Christmas roast.

  ‘We’ll send you a postcard of the Eiffel Tower!’ added Jürgen with the same smile he’d had when he’d been the little rascal at Richard and Paula’s engagement party, secretly pilfering biscuits from the celebration table with his brothers and little sister. Richard’s heart ached at the memory. Had that really been twelve years ago?

  After the Christmas meal, Richard took a photograph of the whole family, Karl and Jürgen in uniform in the middle – two young men, full of the joy of life, their military duty hopefully soon a thing of the past because their grandfather needed them in the workshop.

  By the time Richard developed the photograph in his makeshift dark room at home a couple of days later, his nephews were already on their way back to the Front.

  ‘That’s turned out well,’ said Paula,
when she saw the photograph hung up to dry.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about Georg such a lot recently. He had the same bravado as those two at the beginning of the war, and this photo reminds me of the one my father took before he left. It was the whole family with Georg, so proud to be wearing the Kaiser’s uniform. He left here a proud young man with his whole life ahead of him and came back a wreck. But Karl and Jürgen have no recollection of that – after all, they weren’t born until 1917 and 1919.’ He paused. ‘Have you noticed Holger’s and Margit’s eyes? Have you seen the worry in them?’

  ‘Yes, I know exactly what you mean. All parents are worrying about their sons, and Holger knows better than anyone what war means.’

  ‘I worry too. On days like this, I wish I was a believer. Believers can at least pray.’

  Paula looked up at him, her gentle hands on his shoulders. ‘Whatever happens, Richard, we’ll get through it together. The whole family.’

  It was a hard winter. Richard was fearful for his nephews, although the field post from the two of them was always bursting with confidence and entertaining anecdotes. He wondered whether these letters were genuine or whether they were simply to reassure the folks back home. Either way, they had the desired effect. Holger regained his old resolve and Margit told Richard the nightmares had stopped. Life carried on as usual for a while, in spite of the food stamps and petrol coupons. Meanwhile, the Reich clothing ration card was introduced, restricting the purchase of new clothes through a points system. Every German had one hundred points for one year and these were deducted according to purchases made. A pair of stockings worked out at four points, a pullover put a twenty-five-point dent in your card, and at the beginning of February Paula’s new suit cost her no less than forty-five in one go.

  Richard teased her. ‘Oh well, you can still afford thirteen pairs of stockings and one sock for the rest of the year.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be so stingy with your own points! Do get yourself a couple of new shirts,’ retorted Paula as she looked at herself in the bedroom mirror in the new suit. ‘Your clothes are starting to look so threadbare.’

  On the previous day, Richard had intervened in a violent struggle between patients and the seam of his shirt had been ripped in the process, although Paula had been able to mend it for him.

  ‘Oh, they’re not that bad and, anyway, yesterday’s incident was only the second like that since I started there.’ He deliberately played it down, although he was sure that incidents like this would increase as the change he had feared for some time had now come into force: the reduction in food rations for all inmates who couldn’t make a productive contribution. The atmosphere became increasingly tense, as it had during the economic crisis, and there were more and more outbursts of aggression in the secure unit. While Richard had come out of it with a torn shirt, Kurt Hansen had ended up with a nasty bite on his forearm.

  By March, Richard was more relieved than usual to feel the gradual arrival of spring as the temperature finally moved above freezing and the snow melted.

  On the last Friday of March 1940, Richard arrived at work earlier than usual as the streets were clear of snow and very few cars were on the road due to the scarcity of petrol. It was still dark as he drew up in front of the secure unit and saw a large black bus in his parking spot. Richard parked next to it and went into the building.

  Kurt was already there, looking out for him. ‘Did you know about the transfer?’ He sounded upset.

  ‘What transfer?’ Richard was alarmed.

  ‘All secure-unit patients are being taken to an institution in Brandenburg. That bus was outside here really early and we were ordered to pack everybody’s things.’

  ‘This is all news to me. Who gave the order?’

  ‘Dr Krüger came here yesterday after you’d left and made the announcement. But he didn’t say the bus was coming today. He said something about a transfer in the next few days. I thought we’d have a bit of time to work out what was going on. Krüger said there’s going to be some restructuring – some of the country houses are to be set aside for children, and our own asylum inmates will be transferred to the secure unit. Our good Dr Krüger seems to be extending his expertise to include the children’s department at Langenhorn.’

  ‘As far as I know, he’s good friends with Dr Bayer, the senior consultant at the children’s hospital in Rothenburgsort,’ said Richard. ‘My wife used to work there and is still in touch with an old colleague. I don’t know any more than that.’

  ‘Dr Hellmer, why must we go away?’ Herbert had seen Richard and Kurt talking outside Richard’s office and made straight for them. The uncertainty in his eyes was obvious and Richard wanted to reassure him, as he would do with a child.

  ‘I presume it’s because there’s better food in the country. Here in the city provisions are really not so good now because of the war.’ He didn’t know whether there was any truth in what he said, but he wasn’t going to let Herbert see his own uncertainty. And, anyway, his theory was quite logical. Why else would all the patients be moved to Brandenburg?

  ‘Kurt, tell me something,’ said Richard, turning to his senior nurse while Herbert still stood anxiously next to them, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Isn’t Brandenburg where Dr Harms went?’

  Kurt Hansen nodded.

  ‘You see?’ Richard said to Herbert. ‘You know someone there already. You always got on well with Dr Harms, didn’t you?’

  Herbert’s face lit up. ‘Yes, he’s a nice man. Maybe there are cows there too.’

  ‘And no pubs to lead you into temptation,’ added Richard with a smile.

  ‘But I don’t do that any more,’ replied Herbert sincerely, with an innocent expression. Kurt Hansen rolled his eyes while Richard patted Herbert on the shoulder in farewell. ‘Perhaps there’ll be new opportunities for you there. I wish you the very best.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Hellmer.’ For the last time he gave Richard his trusting smile, then set about gathering up his bags before climbing on to the secure bus, which also contained a number of men in uniform.

  An hour later, Richard and Kurt Hansen walked together through the empty building where they had worked together for almost eleven years.

  ‘It feels somehow dead,’ said Hansen. ‘Like a grave.’

  ‘Yes. I feel like someone’s walking over mine this very minute. When are the new residents arriving?’

  ‘No idea. I hope Dr Krüger will give us due warning this time.’

  ‘Maybe you could ask him. You know he has no time for me,’ said Richard.

  ‘What makes you think he’s got any time for me? He never saw our patients as human beings. To him they were only ever unpleasant cost factors, and every act of aggression here simply confirmed his opinion.’ Lost in thought, Kurt ran his finger over the fading bite mark on his forearm.

  ‘Perhaps Brandenburg really will be better for our patients,’ commented Richard. ‘After all, Dr Harms went there to get away from Krüger’s views, and he always shared ours.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. I’d be really glad for Herbert and all the others if they could have a new start there,’ added Hansen, his mind still preoccupied.

  Richard waited throughout the morning to hear whether the residents from elsewhere in the asylum would be moving into the secure unit, or whether Dr Krüger was about to divulge something different. His telephone rang.

  ‘Richard, it’s me, Margit!’ His sister’s voice was thick with emotion. ‘A letter’s come for Holger – Jürgen fell on 21 March.’

  ‘My God, my God!’ shouted Richard. ‘Oh, Margit, I’ll come straight away. How has Holger taken the news?’

  ‘He’s with Papa and both the journeymen on the way to our woodland to get new timber; they’re not due back until this evening. He doesn’t know yet. What on earth do I say to him?’ She broke down in tears.

  ‘Nothing, Margit. I’ll talk to him. I’ll drive strai
ght to where they are.’

  ‘But can you really just leave work like that?’

  ‘No question. All my patients have been taken to Brandenburg and the others aren’t coming for a couple of hours. I’ll ring Paula and she’ll come and keep you company while I let Papa and Holger know.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you, Richard.’

  ‘Margit, there’s nothing to thank me for – you’re my sister. I’m here for you whatever happens.’

  He hung up, then phoned Paula to tell her what had happened. She was as horrified as he was and promised to take care of poor Margit. Then he went to find Kurt Hansen.

  ‘I have to leave straight away, Kurt. If anyone’s asking for me, you can tell them my nephew has been killed. I must go to support my sister.’

  Hansen was white-faced. ‘Which nephew is it? Oh, Richard, I’m so very sorry.’

  Richard blinked back the tears. ‘The younger one, Jürgen. He would have been twenty-one next month.’

  ‘This is terrible for you all. Please tell your sister and her whole family that I’ll pray for them to stay strong.’

  ‘Thank you, Kurt.’

  The roads were even emptier now and Richard reached the family’s woodland plot just outside Hamburg faster than he’d expected. His father and brother-in-law were hard at work, checking the quality of the trees they’d felled that day, while the two young journeymen loaded the timber that had passed muster on to the truck. But as soon as they saw Richard’s car, they stopped what they were doing.

  His father walked over, smiling. ‘What brings you over here at this time of day?’ His smile froze the moment he saw the look on Richard’s face. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Margit phoned me.’ Then Richard turned to Holger. ‘Holger, a letter came for you this morning.’