Half of Berlin had been destroyed.
When the guards returned, they did their best to control the chaos and crammed groups of prisoners into the remaining cells. Q and Werner shared a cell the size of their own with four other prisoners. After counting and re-counting everyone, it became clear that four prisoners sentenced to death had seized the opportunity and escaped.
As the guards took stock, it turned out the prison had sustained massive damage. The death chamber was missing its roof, and the guillotine was damaged by fire, torn out of its underpinnings, its operability questionable.
In the following days, repairs were carried out, and Q and Werner were relocated to their original cell, as only the door had been damaged.
Q couldn’t have said what it was, but since the airstrike, a clammy tension had taken hold of everyone in the prison. The guards looked miserable, talking in hushed whispers while the prisoners waited in numb shock for things to come.
On the fourth day, Q noticed bustling activity in the courtyard. At least eight officials had arrived and were preparing – something. Leisure hour had been canceled for the day, and Q heard noises of construction work. He pushed the chair beneath the window to have a better view but couldn’t see what they were doing. He supposed they were working on the destroyed House III.
As soon as night fell on September seventh, all prisoners were ordered outside for roll call.
“They’re counting us again?” Werner tried to joke, but Q wasn’t in the mood for joking. A sense of foreboding twisted his stomach.
It was cold that night, and the sky above the capital was pitch black, with the exception of the odd enemy firebomb detonating in the distance. Despite the blackout rule, spotlights lit the prison courtyard and their rays danced across the sky.
All prisoners were ordered to stand in file. Q took his place and then watched the spectacle in wonder, unsure what to expect from this highly unusual roll call. The tension was palpable, as everyone waited to be told what would happen next.
When the first eight men were called by name and led to the makeshift repaired executions building, a murmur went through the ranks. Several minutes later, eight more men were called out. The remaining men, including Q, stood in a stupor. Not a sound was heard.
Q closed his eyes. His time had come. He searched for Werner’s hand and squeezed it for a moment. “That’s it, my friend,” he whispered.
Q stood there for a long time, while row after row of men were led away. He wasn’t afraid or even nervous. The inevitable end was nothing to be afraid of. He even sensed a small relief that the waiting was over.
Once, the hangmen had to interrupt their work because several shells crashed into a building nearby. The spotlights went out, and only the half-moon cast the scenery into an eerie light.
The horrible murder continued until eight in the morning. When everyone was ordered back into their cells, Q didn’t know whether he should be relieved or disappointed. He looked around, into exhausted familiar faces, and nodded a greeting. A night standing still in the cold, waiting for death to come, had taken its toll on everyone.
Q and Werner had both survived and fell on their cots to sleep the entire day. In the evening, the same spectacle was repeated – for five long nights.
At the end of the sixth night, Q and Werner were still alive. Q shrugged as neither joy nor relief settled in. After that many false alarms, his entire being was numb. All emotions had been extinguished like a candle.
In the evening, a visibly battered Pfarrer Bernau slipped into their cell.
“This…has been the most horrendous experience in my entire life,” the priest said in a grave voice.
Q nodded. The priest was a good man. Having to watch hundreds of men being murdered must have been a lot to take in.
“Two weeks ago, Hitler complained that over three hundred prisoners were awaiting the outcome of their clemency proceedings and the Ministry of Justice promised to speed up the appeals. Which they did. In nearly every case, the sentence was ordered to be carried out immediately.” The priest sighed and shook his head.
Q kept silent for lack of words.
“Pfarrer, you can’t let those bloody nights destroy you. You need to stay strong and do good. The remaining prisoners need you.” Werner had the ability to always find the right words, and after a few moments in silence, the priest showed something like a smile.
“I will. I will. I pray to God to give me the strength to continue.”
“How did they manage to repair the guillotine this quickly?” Q couldn’t resist asking.
“They didn’t.”
“They didn’t?” Werner raised a brow.
“No. The initial plan was to transfer prisoners to a remote location to face a firing squad, but the logistics involved were too difficult. Instead, they installed a beam with eight ropes in the execution shed…” Pfarrer Bernau’s voice trailed off.
“Hanging?” Q grabbed his throat. According to his research, hanging was slow and painful.
The priest looked out the window into the sky as he recounted with a shaky voice, “The prisoners had their hands tied behind them and were forced to climb the two-tiered stool. The executioner followed them and placed the thin cord slipknot around their neck before pulling the stool from under their feet. The next prisoners in line, who were neither hooded nor blindfolded, had to witness the struggles of the others as they waited for their turn. In total, two hundred and forty-six prisoners were murdered during the last six nights.”
Q stared at the priest, wishing he could unhear that terrible news.
Chapter 47
When the mass killings came to a stop, there was an eerie feeling of emptiness. Of the original three hundred prisoners on death row, only fifty remained.
The guards seemed as shaken as the prisoners. None of them had witnessed mass executions before, and rumor had it that more than one of them had to be carried away unconscious and were later seen vomiting their guts out.
Since the mass killings had ended, prisoners were allowed their daily hour of leisure time again. A week ago, the courtyard had been crowded and noisy, now it was deserted and quiet.
Q sensed a different kind of tension in the air, and soon enough knew why. Word came that Italy had unconditionally surrendered on September eleventh.
“Now the tide is turning,” Q said.
“It was to be expected; Italy never had the military strength to oppose the Allies,” Werner explained. “After Mussolini was deposed, the new leaders did the only rational thing.” He always had more information than most of the prisoners, thanks to his influential contacts on the outside.
One of the guards overheard them and joined their discussion. “On the contrary, Germany has lost a lot of deadwood by losing Italy.”
“Those Itaker have always been more burden than help,” another guard said. “We really shouldn’t have offered them the role of our allies.”
Q kept silent, but he was positive that Italy’s surrender was the beginning of the end to this horrible war.
The discussion turned to the horrific situation in Berlin. The air raids seemed to grow in intensity every night.
“Those child-murdering Tommies have reduced half of Berlin to ashes,” one guard said.
“I heard that the most valued cultural possessions have been destroyed. Only a few precious pieces of art could be rescued in time and are now stored in underground mining facilities.”
“To be honest, I’m sick and tired of this war. My two boys are fighting somewhere in Russia and my wife is a bundle of nerves.”
“Our entire quarter doesn’t have gas for cooking anymore,” another guard complained.
“At least the city officials are providing meals for everyone three times a day. It’s a bit of an inconvenience to go to the distribution centers, but our government cares for us. I’ll bet the Itaker don’t get that.”
Q motioned for Werner to walk out of earshot of the guards. “Even when the entire coun
try lies in rubble, the administration will still work, and they will still make one list or another.”
“It’s as much a virtue as it is a curse,” Werner replied.
As they returned to their cells, the news of Italy’s capitulation still occupied Q’s mind, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for all of the poor soldiers out there. They were just men, or boys even. They shouldn’t be out fighting each other.
“I often wonder what being in the trenches makes of a man. Gunther was in the Great War but refused to talk abut it,” Q murmured more to himself than to anyone else. “Now his oldest son is a prisoner of war in Russia. His parents have no idea whether he’s wounded or not. They are worried sick about him.”
“There are rumors about the way Stalin treats the prisoners of war. Awful atrocities are happening on both sides,” Werner said as he sat on the sole chair to continue writing his novel.
“I never thought humans could stoop so low,” Q admitted. “Maybe Marx was right.”
Werner looked up from his papers. “In what respect?”
“There is no good in humans. They are inherently bad.” Q stretched out on his cot and looked at the ceiling. The damage of the awful air raids was still visible.
“Why would you say that?” Werner wanted to know.
“Think of all the things humans have done to one another in the course of this war. Our kind has behaved worse than wild animals. We’re no better than barbarians, and it seems the human race hasn’t evolved at all in the last few thousand years.”
“I agree that there’s a lot that is bad happening, but that doesn’t mean all humans are bad.” Werner furrowed his brows and smirked at Q. “There’s you and me.”
Q chuckled. “You’re right, but we won’t be around for long.”
“Come on. If more good news like Italy’s defeat trickles in, the war will be over in no time at all.”
“God, no!” Q opened his eyes wide, as the meaning of Werner’s words registered in his brain. “I hope the war doesn’t end soon enough for me to survive.”
“You would be the only person afraid to miss your own execution,” Werner chuckled and turned to work on his novel.
Chapter 48
The year 1944 had begun, and Q was still in prison. He’d spent thirteen months incarcerated and barely remembered how it was outside.
Hilde’s death had left a huge hole in his heart and soul. Five months had passed, and he still woke every morning with insupportable pain and went to sleep with tears in his eyes. Only in his dreams was he happy, because he was with her.
Not even Werner’s attempts to cheer him up worked, and day after day, Q’s mind became more troubled. Like anyone else, he wanted to live, but not without Hilde.
It’s my fault she had to die.
He’d had that same thought so many times that he had honestly started to believe that his rightful punishment was to die as well. Only then could he assuage his guilt.
Every day, he waited for his execution – and every day passed, and he was still alive. Deep down, he knew he didn’t want any more. Despite his jokes about it, this awful limbo between life and death took a toll on his sanity, and he wished the waiting would finally end.
Sometimes he whispered the words without wanting to: “Please, God, let it end.”
***
Q received a letter from his sister-in-law Julia with a picture of the boys. He stared at the picture, trying to manufacture the joy he’d always found in his children, but nothing happened.
The photograph had been taken on Volker’s fourth birthday, and those two children didn’t resemble the two boys that lived in his memory. It had been so long. Peter had been a baby – and now he was a boy. Try as he might, he couldn’t reconcile his memory of them with the persons in the picture.
Q glanced one last time at the picture before he stashed it away. He consoled himself with the fact that they looked happy. They are fine. Then he locked up all feelings for them deep inside. It’s better that way.
Several days later, a guard announced that he was allowed to write a letter, but it had to be written today.
The man wouldn’t meet his eyes, so Q nodded and sat down to write…
My dear beloved Dremmer family,
By now, I am experienced enough to throttle down my emotions to a small flame. But this isn’t the reason for my bad handwriting. It’s caused by the old quill pen and not by my dwindling mind.
This morning, I was surprised by the announcement that I’m allowed a letter today and have to use it. Otherwise, the next possibility of sending a letter would be in six weeks from now. But that is too far away to even consider it.
This is the reason I cannot wait for my dear mother’s letter to answer it, but will take the opportunity to assure you of my love for you all.
While I’m still alive, Gunther has been made the custodian for my two little boys. I’m thankful that now two families, yours and his, are taking care of them.
Please tell my mother that I won’t be able to write as often or as extensively as before, but that I’m longing for her letters and wish to know all the mundane details that you experience out there in freedom, and especially stories about the children.
There is an indifference settling into my mind, and the longer I must live with death as my constant partner, the more it loses its hold over me, and I fall deeper into numbness.
We humans will never be able to fully fathom the wonder and miracle of coming to life every morning and leaving the conscious mind behind every night when falling asleep, and finally when closing our eyes forever. The same way, we will never be able to fathom the vastness of the universe. But what we can do is to take away the mysticism and get used to it.
And I, for my part, have had enough time, and I can say with some satisfaction, “I’m done with it.”
All the little things, all the thoughts you’re sending me, are making it easier for me.
I’ve had several false alarms that gave me the assurance that I am not afraid to die anymore.
But this peace of mind is bought at the high price of indifference to human suffering out there. Nevertheless, I think of all of you in soft and distant love from far away over the clouds.
If you think of me and remember me in the years to come, be assured that I didn’t suffer during this last part of my life. Know that I was bored.
For a long time now, I haven’t felt hunger or thirst. As I said before, my life has been reduced to a tiny flame. I’m fully aware that outside, this life is not all sunshine. It is similarly constricted and unsatisfactory, surrounded by death.
The future is still a closed curtain, and as impatient as one may be, it won’t be opened to anyone before the time is right.
Please take this letter as what it is. I have, in reality, not been there for you in a long time. Give my greetings to everyone, and especially my children, from a good friend who wasn’t meant to be there for them.
I wish for my wonderful sons to be able to participate in rebuilding the world into a better place – albeit without their parents.
Yours, Q
Q sent the letter off with a worrisome indifference. Nothing, not even his research, interested him anymore and he waited to join his beloved wife.
***
Several days later, the guard arrived with news for Werner.
“Pack your things, you’re being transferred,” the older man said.
“My clemency appeal has been approved?” Werner asked with a hopeful smile.
“Yes, to five years of prison, but don’t rejoice too soon.” The guard grimaced before he continued, “You’re transferred to the Wehrmacht Prison Torgau Forst Zinn.”
“A military prison?” Werner muttered, “But I’m not a soldier!”
“Every promoter of a seditious attitude can be interned there, including conscientious objectors, insubordinate personnel, deserters, those who aided the enemy, and spies, as well as prisoners of war and members of the resistance,” the guard
explained.
Q looked at his friend. Happy and sad at the same time. He wouldn’t be executed, but what would await him in Torgau? A place where few men survived the harsh conditions and illness that so often affected those incarcerated there.
“Well, this is goodbye,” Werner said, putting on a brave face.
“Yes, goodbye.” Q shook his friend’s hand and then found himself engulfed in a tight hug.
When Werner released him and met his eyes, unshed tears made them glisten. “Be strong, my friend. The war is almost over.”
“Take care of yourself, and one day, we will meet again in another world.”
“Time to go,” the guard called from outside the cell.
It was with both a sad and hopeful heart that Q watched his friend walk away.
Chapter 49
January 27, 1944
One month before his forty-first birthday, Q received news he would be transferred to the prison in Halle, a town about three hours from Berlin.
Everyone knew why people were transferred there.
“Is it time?” Q asked and looked around his cell, meeting the eyes of Pfarrer Bernau and the prison director, who had arrived to bid their farewell.
“Yes. It is time.” The director stood in the doorway to the cell and nodded with a sad face.
Q shrugged.
“Doctor Quedlin, I want you to know how sorry I am about this. If there was anything I could do…”
Q shook his head. “No, this is how it has to be. How it needs to be.”
The director nodded, then turned and walked away, allowing the priest to enter for a final few words.
“My friend, are you ready for what is to come?”
“Pfarrer, I am. I am done with this life and ready for what comes next. I’m waiting to be with my Hilde once again.”
“I will say a prayer for you.”
Q shook his head. “Save your prayers for someone who needs them, Pfarrer. My soul is at rest knowing that I will soon receive the judgment I deserve and my Hilde will no longer be alone. Goodbye.”
Unwavering: Love and Resistance in WW2 Germany Page 19