The English German Girl

by Jake Wallis Simons

  —Oh, darling, says Mimi, why didn’t you write?

  —It wasn’t too bad, says Samuel. My arm is a bit gammy even now, but other than that no lasting damage.

  —And you have some scars on your forehead, says Mimi, and your cheek.

  —I didn’t think you’d be able to see that, says Samuel.

  —A mother sees everything, says Mimi.

  —We’re looking at buying a house, says Samuel, for after we’re married.

  —Do you hate us still? says Mimi, interrupting.

  —Of course not, Mother, says Samuel, and looks down at his teacup.

  Gerald clears his throat and starts looking around the room as if he is suddenly interested in the architecture; Mimi raises her teacup and puts it down again. Rosa is struck by the impulse to get to her feet, take them each by the shoulders and shake them, you cannot afford to hold back, she wants to say, no matter how terrible it is, you must shake off the weight and build a future together, for who knows how long you might have left?

  —Has there been any word from your family, Rosa? says Gerald.

  —I’m afraid, she replies, they are no longer with us.

  He looks uncomfortable.

  —May the Lord comfort you amongst the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, he says.

  Rosa bows her head; she is starting to feel a little dizzy, she needs to get away from the claustrophobia of the hotel, she needs to breathe fresh air. The waiter glides back to the table with a cake-stand brimming with sandwiches, with deft movements he arranges it on the table, refills Rosa’s teacup, asks if there is anything further; Gerald dismisses him with a small sweep of his hand.

  They continue to talk, nobody touches the sandwiches, and no more is said about the past, and after a time Gerald pays the bill and they leave. On the pavement outside the Dorchester they shake hands, and Gerald says, good luck with the wedding preparations, we shall be as supportive as we can from afar; then, as Samuel and Rosa walk towards their battered Austin 8, and a little sunlight filters through the clouds, picking out highlights on the curves of the motorcars, the shop windows, the leads of the dogs, the spectacles and necklaces of the people on the pavements, the overhead poles on the trams and trolleybuses, Rosa says, that went as well as could be expected; and she looks at Samuel and sees that his eyes are burning, his jaw is set and his hands are clenched. Supportive from afar, he says, supportive from afar.

  7 March 1947, London

  1

  The square outline of the Bevis Marks synagogue rises against the afternoon sky. The heavy doors are resplendent in the sunlight, crowned by an ornamental lantern and engravings of Hebrew calligraphy; a prominent black-faced clock extends its history with golden hands. Inside a chandelier illuminates a building sombre in colour and tone. Dark panelling on the walls resonates to the sound of liturgical singing coming from the main chamber, at the far end of which a silken wedding canopy, open on four sides to symbolise hospitality, has been raised. Each of the synagogue’s hanging candelabras has been lit with wavering candles; the carved pews all around host a smattering of men, Samuel’s friends and business associates, a little family and members of the congregation; in the ladies’ gallery above, supported by twelve great pillars of cream marble, stand the womenfolk, and prominent amongst them is a collection of fresh-faced nurses who have managed, despite Sister’s protestations, to synchronise their precious days off.

  The choir swells in harmony as the double doors open and Samuel is seen silhouetted against the grey light, flanked by his mother and father; as they step onto the carpet the men in the pews turn to face them, following the groom with their gaze as he walks along the aisle under the great high ceiling of the synagogue, his feet falling in time to the music, and approaches step by step the wedding canopy where the rabbi stands; he looks left and right and sees nothing but smiling faces, he looks upwards and sees the heads and shoulders of the women gazing down from the gallery above, and then, all at once, the shade of the canopy has fallen upon him, and the rabbi has taken him by the elbow and manoeuvred him into position; and as the candlelight glimmers in the polished façade of the intricately carved ark, and the choir’s voices fall and rise in interlocking melodies, all heads turn once again to the doorway, waiting expectantly for the bride.

  In a small anteroom smelling of wine and sawdust, Rosa adjusts her hair beneath her veil, straightens her back and looks at the door, trying to quell her racing heart. Her mouth is dry, her palms are sticky and she is glad of the veil hanging before her face; and she is tired, for last night she was once again kept awake by an overpowering dread; she knows that as soon as she falls asleep she will be vulnerable to whatever dreams choose to make their appearance, and this alone keeps her awake, for just as Samuel’s parents are coming back into their lives, Rosa’s parents have been breaking through the wall of her numbness, slipping round it, appearing as if by magic on the other side, nightly, during her dreams. She has begun to see them vividly, sometimes with breathtaking clarity, entering her room at Cavell House, walking alongside her through the wards; sometimes she dreams simply of daily life in Berlin, school and her bicycle and the Grunewald and family meals, and awakes disorientated, murmuring in German. By day the atmosphere of her dreams lingers, and snapshots flash into her mind when for the occasional moment she sits down to rest; from time to time German words slip into her conversations. Her dizziness has worsened too: when thoughts of her family break into her mind, inevitably they are accompanied by a reeling sensation, as if she is standing vertiginous upon a ledge. Every day tectonic shifts are taking place on a level of which she is unaware; her parents’ fingers are slipping under her armour and prising it away. But they are gone; Rosa shall walk to the wedding canopy alone, all the way along the aisle, alone, to the accompaniment of nothing but music. Be strong, Rosa, be strong. She closes her eyes, and on her left is Papa, dressed in the shiny black morning suit and top hat, his moustache waxed and gleaming above a broad smile, and on her right is Mama, wearing a mauve hat boasting a large ornamental flower, they are taking her arms and leading her towards the door, two ushers doff their hats and open the double doors leading to the main chamber. Rosa appears, a lonely figure at the end of the aisle, the men all turn to face her, and the women far above; she is carrying an arrangement of flowers and is trembling. As she steps onto the scarlet carpet she cannot feel her feet, she remembers Mama saying once that angels have no feet, they simply glide along without them, and that is how she feels, not like an angel as such, of course, but footless, yet her feet must be there for they are carrying her along the carpet leading to the wedding canopy, past rows of smiling men standing in the pews, and there is Samuel so elegant and dapper in the morning suit that he bought from the Fifty Shilling Tailors, and there are Mimi and Gerald beside him, and in the gallery above the nurses have gathered; Betty Robinson is waving.

  Another step, and another, with Mama on her right and Papa on her left, filled with pride on her wedding day, and behind are Heinrich and Hedi, both vital and full of life, smiling at the onlookers as they walk to the sound of a heavenly chorus, there – Baron de Rothschild, how kind of him to come; ah, two more steps, and the shade of the wedding canopy is falling on her shoulders, and with her parents beside her she walks round her beloved seven times, feeling lighter than air, her head bowed, looking at his perfectly polished shoes from beneath her veil, she can see the golden glint of Papa’s watch on his wrist, nestling under his sleeve; she walks round him and round him, her beloved, her groom, mirroring the seven times that Joshua circled the walls of Jericho, causing them to miraculously collapse, symbolising that Samuel’s heart has been disarmed by her love; she takes her place beside the rabbi, and her family congregate behind her, Mama and Papa sharing solemn smiles. The rabbi is intoning the prayers, somebody raises her veil slightly and a goblet of wine appears, it is thick and sweet like blood, her lips tremble as they touch the liquid, more prayers are being chanted, her hand is being taken, she looks up into Samue
l’s eyes, open and dewy, he is saying something in Hebrew, it is familiar, they practised it, he is slipping onto her finger a ring, she glances over her shoulder at her parents – they are not there, they never will be, and now the breaking of the glass is approaching, more prayers, the glass is being placed on the floor, it is inside a napkin, she never thought it would be inside a napkin, the breaking of the glass symbolises that their happiness shall never be complete because their temple was destroyed and Jerusalem was sacked, the flames licking from the roof of the Rykestraße synagogue, the window breaking and the person tumbling through onto the street, the broken windows of their apartment in the Arbeiterviertel which Mama boarded up, looking out of the window of a train, seeing the closed door to the waiting room, wishing that Mama and Papa would open it and wave to her one last time, the door does not open and the train pulls away, and their letter, their last letter, now we must say a very painful goodbye, we will love you always and are so proud of you, we will be with you always, you are in our thoughts, never forget us, please be strong, my darling. Be strong. Rosa is feeling dizzy, and the congregation is singing a mournful psalm – if I should forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither, let my tongue cleave to my palate if I do not remember thee, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy; the glass is about to be broken, what is happening to her? Something is welling up inside, a fist in her stomach pushing up towards her chest, a pressure threatening to break the surface, Mama and Papa and Heinrich and Hedi, names on a list under ‘K’, her numbness has evaporated, the world is in sharp relief, it is too clear, it is unbearable, it has been stripped naked and she has been thrust into life afresh, the singing is blaring in her ears, if I should forget thee, O Jerusalem, now we must say a very painful goodbye, Samuel is raising his foot, and the fist is pushing up into her throat, and Samuel brings his foot down – there is the sound of breaking glass, the glass is broken—

  Mazel tov! shout the crowd, again and again, and music is playing, and people are dancing, and Samuel is reaching for Rosa’s hand, and she struggles against the unbearable pressure, and she sees Mimi and Gerald standing side by side, clapping, and she tries to smile, and she is vaguely aware that Samuel is saying something, but she cannot make out the words, the world has gone silent. The synagogue and guests are like objects seen through a telescope, everything is distant, hissing somehow, she falls to her knees, her hands grasp at her veil as if tearing away cobwebs, and finally the pressure is released, it bursts out of her mouth, and from the depths of her soul a sound comes, a primordial, human sound; the sound – at last – of her grief.

  Samuel crouches beside his new wife, people are closing around them, a forest of legs and shoes and voices, has she fainted? Is she ill? Samuel moves the veil aside, Rosa’s face is contorted in a way he has never seen, Mama, she cries, Papa, Mama, Papa; people are closing around them, the music has stopped, somebody is saying in a grave voice, the doctor is on his way, in the meantime we should raise her feet above her head. Samuel, making a decision, stands and lifts her into his arms, her white dress fanning out below her; he carries her through the crowds, back up the aisle, asking the onlookers to move out of the way, to give them a little time alone, Otto Klein’s golden watch glinting on his wrist. In the foyer he pauses; at the bottom of the synagogue steps he can see the Daimler ready and waiting, the chauffeur reading the newspaper, he could get in and instruct the man to drive; Rosa is hiding her face in his chest, her legs hanging limply; he hesitates for a moment then changes his mind, backs into the anteroom, closes the door and sets her down gently on a chair.

  For many minutes he holds her as she cries. Gradually the sobs subside, and she sits there, spent, in silence. He hands her his handkerchief, and she wipes her eyes, then he removes the golden watch.

  —No, she says, I want you to wear it. Please. Put the watch back on. Papa would have wanted you to wear it.

  Slowly Samuel obeys. Rosa removes her veil and tiara and places them on the floor.

  —I’m sorry, she says, I’m sorry, it all just came out.

  Her face begins to crumple again, and he takes her in his arms.

  —I’ve ruined everything for you again, she cries.

  —No, you haven’t.

  —It’s just, I almost saw my parents, I almost saw them.

  —It’s all right, it’s all right. You’ve been bottling it all up.

  Rosa wipes her face again, gets to her feet and crosses to the mirror, dress rustling.

  —I quite understand if you can’t face the dinner, says Samuel, we can go home and leave them all to it.

  —No, says Rosa. My parents would have wanted me to be strong. I want to be strong. I want to build a proper future with you, and I want it to start today.

  Samuel takes her hand and feels her fingers slipping over the strap of his golden watch; her wedding ring scrapes softly against it.

  —I can do it, she says, I’m not going to abandon our wedding. We shall take our seats at the top table, and lead the dinner, and take the first dance, and celebrate. I can do it if I know you are there.

  —Very well, says Samuel, but if it’s all too much, let me know.

  —I will, says Rosa.

  They take a deep breath, leave the anteroom and walk hand in hand into the foyer of the synagogue. As they rejoin the throng and reassure the guests, and the music starts again and festivities resume, a sense of acceptance arises in Rosa, one quite different from the numbness that has enfolded her for so long. Suddenly she understands that these scars will never go away, her life will forever be a wounded one; yet she also knows that there is a future filled with promise that is there to be lived, and her parents would want her to embrace it.

  3

  For the first year of marriage, Samuel does not feel as if he ever comes to rest. Days and months slip into one another, unified by a stream of work, chores, weekends and evenings and breakfasts, repairing the roof of the house and washing the car and mowing the garden lawn. His business reaches a comfortable plateau, and although they are not short of money Rosa chooses to continue with her career. For her part, she is the perfect wife; as one of the few married nurses at the London she is not given special treatment, she is not even exempted night duty, yet she is still able to make time for her husband, always providing the meals and keeping the house spick and span. They make local friends, not many but a few, entertain them once a month at home over sherry. As the months build like bricks, cemented and unmoving, and each season gives way to the next, Samuel fears that despite the routine, despite the money and the meals and the friends and the garden, something, somehow, is not right.

  It is a Friday in the middle of June 1948, and Rosa has the day off work. Samuel has taken the day off as well, leaving the business in the hands of his new manager, Ronnie Bawden. Rosa has been out all morning doing chores, leaving her husband at home to read, listen to the wireless and polish his shoes; now she is back, cooking lunch while he sits at the kitchen table brooding upon last night, which they passed, as usual, on opposite sides of the bed, with a stretch of cold mattress between them, a no-man’s land. Rosa, exhausted from her work at the hospital, appeared to fall instantly asleep, and for a long time Samuel lay awake looking up at the faint column of moonlight on the bedroom ceiling, struggling with a tangle of emotions that he was not able to understand, feeling as if Rosa was not simply on the other side of the bed, but countless miles away, aloof and inaccessible. And as he lay sleepless amongst tangled blankets, his thoughts turned to the week before, when, one morning, about to leave the house for work, he had seen an envelope on the mat with his father’s handwriting unmistakably etched upon it; he stopped, crouched, turned the letter over in his hands, and his heart was beating a little faster, he knew it was stupid but he was always nervous when he received a letter from his parents, or even a telegram, he was never confident that it would not contain a rebuke, or a final decision that the years of silence would be reinstated. So he had turned the letter over immedia
tely, slit the envelope with his penknife and removed a single folded piece of foolscap, inscribed with a brief missive in his father’s small, high-spiked writing:

  Dear Samuel,

  It is with great regret that I must notify you of the tragic death of your friend Esther Cailingold, who was killed in action on 23 May while defending the Old City of Jerusalem against the Arab Legion. Esther had been a full-time soldier in the Haganah since January, and was acting as a Sten gunner in the Jewish Quarter at the time of her death. Your mother and I wish to send our deepest condolences.

  With best wishes,

  Father

  Samuel’s reaction had been to pocket the letter, leave the house, get into the rattling old Morris 8 that he was driving at the time and make his way to work, telling himself that after all he hadn’t seen Esther since he went to war nine years ago, and they hadn’t kept in touch, so it did not affect him personally. It was only later that the matter began to play on his mind, and last night, lying in bed with nothing but the moonlight on the ceiling for company, he found himself thinking of Esther, shuddering at the circumstances of her terrible death, recalling how they used to ride on a motorcycle out of London and through the countryside; as these memories bloomed into his mind and faded into the darkness, and flickered and died, and lived again, he looked across at the slumbering form of Rosa, so far away from him, hunched against the wall on the far side of the bed, tiny and remote amidst the blankets, and he found himself wishing that he had been with Esther in her final hour, fighting alongside her in the defence of Jerusalem.

  —Boiled? says Rosa.

  —That would be fine, Samuel replies.

  The door slams in the neighbouring house, footsteps fade down the path and onto the street.