Emilia joined in, waving furiously. ‘Papa! Here we are!’
The combination of both voices must have carried over the background noise, and Richard turned towards them, saw his family and broke into a run. Paula and the twins did the same. Emilia and Georg reached him first. Richard let go of his case and wrapped his arms right around the twins.
‘Look how you’ve both grown! It’s been such a long time!’
Then he turned to Paula and held her close. ‘I’ve missed you so much!’ he whispered, then kissed her with all the passion he’d stored up over their ten-month separation, blissfully disregarding their surroundings. Paula felt so happy in his love, in his firm embrace, in the feeling that she could let herself go and not bear the burden of responsibility alone, even if only for seven days. Seven days. One week after ten months apart. She was grateful for every single minute.
When they eventually let go of one another, she took a closer look at him. Had he changed? His eyes still had that old gleam, the one that signalled the unshakeable optimism that had carried him through so many tough times.
She linked her arm through his and, slowly, they walked to the car.
‘Would you like to drive?’ asked Paula.
‘Oh no, I’ll enjoy being chauffeured by you,’ he said, putting his case in the boot and holding the door open for the children to clamber aboard. Then he took his seat beside her in the front. Only then did he take off his cap.
‘Greying at the temples, eh?’ she commented, giving him a sidelong glance.
‘That’s right.’ He ran his hand over his hair. ‘Shall I get the boot polish to it?’ he said with a grin.
‘Don’t you dare! I love you just as you are. Don’t change a thing and, anyway, you’d ruin the pillowcases.’
Emilia giggled from the back and Paula saw in the rear-view mirror how she was signing the conversation for Georg.
‘Or we could just get black bed linen,’ came Richard’s retort. ‘Hey, maybe we should try that. Get away from the old hospital white.’
‘Black bed linen? Is there such a thing?’
‘Oh yes, very popular in certain circles. There are even sheets of red silk – only hearsay, of course. Never been in such establishments myself.’
‘I didn’t think so; otherwise, you’d have sent us photos!’ said Paula.
Richard burst out laughing and Paula joined in. The children laughed with them, innocently unaware of all the deliberate ambiguities.
Richard’s parents and his sister had prepared an enormous spread to welcome him back, particularly as Karl also had home leave and had come back from France just one day before Richard.
‘I’ve been really lucky,’ his nephew told him. ‘I made myself indispensable to the occupying troops at the right time and so didn’t get sent off to the Eastern Front. It’s really not a bad life in France.’
‘So you’re in charge, are you?’ Richard loved teasing his nephew.
‘Not exactly. I’ve ended up in military admin, nice little desk job – got a friend to thank for that,’ Karl said with a grin. ‘I got him out of a real mess and he did me a favour in return.’
‘A real mess? Sounds like a good story there!’ Richard was eager for more.
‘It’s more for men’s ears.’ Karl glanced at the children and shot Richard a conspiratorial look.
‘And how’s life in Africa?’ Richard’s father cut in to change the subject. ‘The newsreel only tells us about all the victories for the Africa Corps. Sounds like a lot of heroic yarns to me.’
‘To be honest, I don’t play a part in any heroic deeds,’ replied Richard. ‘We’ve been working pretty comfortably in the main military hospital in Tripoli, but I think that could change this year. There’s a push towards Tobruk, and that’d put Tripoli not far from the front line. I’ll be fine as long as we carry on being deployed where we are, and I just hope I’ll be spared the field hospital.’
‘How’s it different? The main one from the field hospital?’ asked Margit.
‘In the main military hospital, you’re miles away from the fighting and work in relative safety. It’s more like a normal hospital with various specialist departments. The other kind of hospital, the field unit, is located out of enemy reach but is mostly busy with emergency surgery and the badly wounded with a view either to getting them back to operational fitness as soon as possible, or sending them on to the main military hospital for further recovery. It’s really hard work.
‘When Fritz was on home leave, we had a surgeon in from the field hospital to cover for him. I haven’t got enough surgical experience to fully deputise for him, you see. If the operation’s not complicated, I can do it, but Fritz is a real wizard when it comes to finding solutions in complicated cases. He’s developed two new surgical methods and has passed these on to Professor Wehmeyer for the next research paper. I reckon Fritz will be heading for a professorship himself after the war.’ Richard smiled gently.
‘But I digress,’ he went on. ‘The stand-in surgeon from the field hospital said working with us was like a holiday, with everything done according to a timetable and Tripoli being such a pleasant place. There are hardly any air attacks and, if there are, well, it’s all dealt with through aerial combat. The Brits fly over, our people take off to meet them, and then it’s fighter pilot against fighter pilot.’
‘That’ll be like Hans-Joachim Marseille, then,’ butted in Karl. ‘All the newsreels are full of him as the big hero. Have you come across him?’
‘No, we have virtually no contact at all with fighter pilots. They live in their own world. And any fighter pilot who doesn’t get out in time when he’s shot at – well, he doesn’t come to us in the hospital. He ends up in the heroes’ graveyard.’
An awkward silence fell around the table.
‘Don’t let’s deceive ourselves,’ said Richard. ‘No matter what the weekly propaganda tells you, men are fighting and dying at the front. Daring deeds come at a price. I’m very glad I’m only in the third row and have never had to act the hero.’
‘Don’t do yourself down, Richard,’ said Paula. ‘It was your heroic work that got you sent to the front in the first place.’
‘My failure, you mean, surely?’
The bitterness in his voice took her breath away.
‘You didn’t fail.’
‘I did. Because I took it too far. I wanted to save everyone and in the end saved no one.’
‘That’s not true, Richard,’ piped up Margit. ‘Just think of Manfred and Rolf, the twins here. Or Johannes Mönicke. You saved all of them. Johannes has turned out so well. He’s living with his family again and comes here to work just like any of our other journeymen. OK, he’s not quite as productive as someone who’s fully fit, but it’s amazing how being included here at the joinery has helped him get back a sense of normality. And his wife is so happy about everything.’
Richard didn’t say anything, although it was clear how Margit’s words had moved him.
Once Richard and Paula were back in their own flat that evening, he showed the children how to develop a film and let them enjoy seeing how the images slowly came to life in their makeshift darkroom. And so in their own bathroom they saw photos of the crossing from Africa back to Italy, brilliant blue skies and an enemy destroyer on the horizon at a safe distance, the Italian coast, the main station at Rome where they had changed trains, and then some landscapes he’d taken from the moving train.
Eventually, he got the children to bed and sat with them until they fell asleep, while Paula sorted out which of his clothes needed to be taken for laundering by their daily help the next day.
She’d just finished the job when Richard came out of the children’s bedroom.
‘Are they asleep?’ she asked him.
‘Like little dormice,’ he said, pulling her towards him. ‘I hope we don’t hear the sirens tonight. I’ve wanted you for so long.’
‘And me you,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘We’ve got some catching up
to do.’
He swept her off her feet suddenly, like a bride being carried across the threshold. ‘Then let’s get started before some idiotic Tommy interrupts us with his bombs.’
Chapter 40
Richard’s home leave was over much too fast. When Paula drove him back to the railway station with the children the following Sunday, she wondered where the time had gone.
‘I hope it won’t be so long this time before we’re together again,’ she whispered to him. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to stand it without you.’
‘Remember we’re not alone. You’ve got the whole family around you, and I’ve got Fritz, at least.’ Before she had a chance to reply, he drew her close and embraced her with the same passion as when he first came home.
‘Take good care of yourself and the children.’ Then he hugged Georg and Emilia and got on the train.
The twins stood on the platform, waving until the train was out of sight.
‘Mama, do you think we’re going to win the war this year, and then Papa can come home again?’ asked Emilia.
‘I don’t know.’ It struck Paula for the first time how everyone around her, including the children, constantly spoke of victory. They would win the war and then it would be over. Even if they were right, what would happen then? Her mind went back to the conversations she and Richard had had in the privacy of their bedroom, undisturbed, with no one to overhear them. ‘However the war ends, we’ll be the losers,’ he’d said. ‘If we win, just think how that would strengthen Hitler – he’d be so powerful, he’d be out of control, and I don’t know how I’d keep silent about the injustices going on here. And if we lose, well, it’ll be even worse than the last time.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because this time the war’s raging all around us here at home,’ he explained. ‘Every single bomb that hits our city and kills innocent civilians stirs up more hatred and makes people even more defiant. The desire for vengeance and retribution will drive even youngsters to man the flak guns. You only have to listen to Emilia. Looking at it from where she stands, she’s quite right. She needs to feel angry so she can take action and not be suffocated by the fear. And the whole population needs that too. The war fires everyone up, and the worse it gets, the worse the mutual hatred, and the end can only come when the enemy is wiped out. And that’s either them or us.’
The bitterness in Richard’s voice shocked her. ‘Richard, tell me what you really saw at the Front.’
‘Nothing worse than I’ve seen here. In fact, I think the children have something even worse to struggle with, and that’s the loss of faith in having any safety in bed at night.’
‘Emilia and Georg have faith in our flak guns.’
‘Yes, that’s true, but only until the first house in our road is destroyed, and with it the myth of our all-conquering army that protects us from every evil.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, we can do about it. Whatever the outcome, we lose. I’ve often wondered what would have happened to me if my falsified registration forms had been found in a different era. With no war going on. With no Front for an insubordinate doctor to be sent to. Maybe I’d have ended up like Alfred Schär. I don’t know how I’ll live with the injustice if the Nazis achieve their final victory and Hitler’s ideology reigns everywhere. And I’m fearful that we won’t be able to protect Georg for ever.’
‘We’ll always protect our children, Richard. We’ll find ways, no matter what happens.’ She snuggled in close, sensing how her presence gave him some reassurance.
After Richard’s departure, Paula felt empty. It was even worse than after the first time because she now knew the difference between the reports in his letters where he tried to paint a positive picture for her and the children and his real thinking. Yes, he was still intrinsically optimistic but his confidence had taken a severe beating. And she feared that being apart from his family again could cause him to lose it completely.
With the arrival of May, the days grew warmer and so Paula spent weekends and school holidays at her parents-in-law’s allotment garden. The children loved the simple, natural life there but what Paula treasured even more was their relative safety from the air raids.
At the end of May came the traditional Whitsun holiday, and they spent it outdoors with their neighbours. There were barbecues and Georg and his friend Horst enjoyed bathing in the little tributary of the Elbe, while Emilia told them they were crazy to swim in such cold water.
‘Red Indians know no pain,’ announced Horst. ‘And it’s not surprising that Kolma Puschi stays away from the water, ’cos if she put on a swimsuit, everyone would know she isn’t really a man at all.’
‘And she’s a chilly mortal anyway,’ said Georg, his words beautifully clear. Whenever he was with Horst, he made huge efforts with his enunciation and his friend always made sure Georg could see his lips. He’d also learned some of the gestures that Georg recognised so well.
‘What on earth’s a “chilly mortal”?’ asked Emilia.
‘It’s what Uncle Erich always says,’ retorted Horst. ‘It’s what you are. The water’s fine.’
‘No, it isn’t, silly! I bet you’ll both have colds tomorrow.’
‘Oh no, we won’t!’ Horst shot back. ‘We’re tough nuts – we can put up with anything!’
That night Georg said he had a sore throat.
‘Told you,’ said Emilia. ‘Winnetou isn’t such a tough nut after all, and I’m sure Old Shatterhand has got it too.’
By morning, Georg had a high temperature. Paula was horrified when she looked inside his mouth at his throat. The white coating was an unmistakable sign of diphtheria. Emilia had no symptoms at all.
‘You’ve spent the last few days with Horst, haven’t you?’
Georg nodded.
‘Then I must go and see him.’ Paula pulled on her cardigan and went off to knock at Horst’s grandmother’s cabin on her allotment.
‘Good morning. I’ve just come to ask how Horst is today.’
‘The boy caught a terrible cold somewhere yesterday; a bad sore throat too. I’ve made him some camomile tea. Is Georg sick too?’
Paula came straight to the point. ‘Yes, but this is no ordinary cold. It looks like diphtheria.’
Horst’s grandma was puzzled. ‘But they all had their inoculation. It can’t be.’
‘I’d still like to examine him. Inoculation doesn’t always give full protection.’
Horst was as poorly as Georg. One look inside his throat confirmed her suspicions.
‘It’s diphtheria,’ Paula said to his grandmother. ‘We must take both of them to the children’s hospital at Rothenburgsort straight away.’
So Georg and Horst didn’t get to spend those early summer days in their paradise at the allotments, but on Paula’s old ward at the children’s hospital. She felt a trace of wistfulness for her old life when she arrived but was anxious for the lads too. Although she knew the illness would be a little less severe due to the boys’ previous inoculations, she was painfully aware that a period of unpleasant treatment and a mass of injections lay ahead for them both.
‘At least you’re not on your own here,’ she said as she prepared to leave them. ‘You two friends will see it through together, I know.’
‘Like Papa and Uncle Fritz in Africa,’ Georg replied, taking the greatest of care how he enunciated every word. Paula had drummed it into him that at the hospital he was to use spoken language only. Georg had no idea why this mattered so much, but he’d made a promise to his mother and Paula was sure he’d do it for Horst’s sake too.
As Paula left the ward, she caught Horst saying to Georg, ‘We’ll escape before anyone ties us to the stake!’ and she couldn’t help but smile, in spite of the gravity of their condition. She felt sorry for Emilia, as the boys were her best and only playmates. She wondered if this might change in August, when the twins would turn ten. This meant the two boys would have to join the Hitler Youth junior win
g and Emilia the League of German Girls. Richard loathed the Hitler Youth, as did Paula, but membership of both was compulsory and there was no way of avoiding it. Paula hoped that at least the company of other girls for once would be good for Emilia and that she’d have fun at the outdoor camps and make friends. It was Georg she was worried about. The deaf and dumb were routinely excluded from the Hitler Youth and it was doubtful whether Georg would be accepted as hard of hearing and not deaf. What would happen if someone uncovered his secret?
Paula composed herself. They weren’t there yet. What mattered now was to get both boys better.
During the week following Whitsun, the sirens went almost every night. Paula and Emilia would hurry down to the cellar, but their thoughts were always with Georg and Horst. The seriously ill and infectious couldn’t ever be taken down to the hospital air-raid shelter. She hoped the boys would help one another through it. Fortunately, another letter from Richard had recently arrived to divert her mind from these worries.
My dearest Paula
I don’t know when this will reach you, but we’ve now left Tripoli and are in a field hospital outside Tobruk. The work here is so different from the civilised, leisurely existence we had in Tripoli, but we’re still a good way from the Front. As ever, Fritz is our best surgeon, and for the first time I don’t feel like a useless hanger-on because we’ve got a lot of distressed and traumatised men here. Up to now they’ve been on the receiving end of the tough old ‘cruel to be kind’ approach that’s supposed to get them back on duty. It took me a while to persuade people to let me do things my way, but when they actually saw it working I got my own allocated area and am now responsible for getting our men back to strength mentally.
Calming people who are utterly terrified and lashing out in all directions is no easy matter. In many cases only an intravenous dose of Evipan works. I hit on the idea when I was dealing with a man we just couldn’t bring under control and we were afraid he would beat some of us to a pulp. I thought that whatever helps administer an anaesthetic effect must surely help here too. The result was astounding. He fell asleep straight away, and when he woke up, his nerves had settled completely. It was as if he’d woken from a nightmare with a bad head and now felt ashamed of his previous behaviour. This worked the same way a second time. Since then I’ve used varying doses of Evipan, depending on how badly the patient is suffering. I know this can’t be a long-term treatment because there’s a risk of addiction, as with morphine. But when it comes to breaking the vicious cycle of panic, anxiety, panic and making the patient somehow receptive again, this is ideal. I have even observed how a lower dosage can facilitate the use of suggestion to restore the inner equilibrium.
A Fight in Silence Page 27