by Irma Joubert
“Gretl, listen carefully. We’ll have to say you come from East Prussia, close to the Polish border.”
“I know,” she said.
“And you’ll have to pretend you don’t really know how you got there.”
“I know.”
“We’ll have to say you’re one of the Findelkinder.”
“What’s that?”
“A foundling.”
“An unwanted child?” she asked.
“You’re not unwanted. You’re beautiful, clever Gretl Schmidt.”
“Okay.”
“And you must remember that you speak only German.”
She regarded him earnestly. “And that I know nothing about the Catholic Church and don’t have any Jewish blood. I know, Jakób. But I’m sick of all the lies.”
He knew exactly how she felt. He wanted to pick her up and hold her and catch the first train back to Poland. Instead, he held out his hand and said, “I know, Gretchen, I know. Let’s go inside.”
After a long search they found an official who knew that the Jugendamt in Kiel had undertaken to find at least fifty orphans for possible selection by mid-June. “Are you a relative?” he asked.
“She’s a Findelkind,” said Jakób.
The man looked at them skeptically. “Does she have documents?”
“Only a certificate of baptism.” Jakób held out his hand. Gretl gave him her papers.
The man studied the documents carefully, peered over his spectacles at Gretl, and said, “Take her to the Red Cross orphanage.” He gave Jakób the address.
Back outside, Jakób said as cheerfully as possible, “Well, Gretl Schmidt, we’ve passed the first test! Let’s find the Red Cross orphanage.” His heart was weeping.
They found it without any difficulty. A kind, maternal woman opened the door and introduced herself as Frau Schumann. Another of the Findelkinder? She clicked her tongue sympathetically. Yes, she knew about the program. Was Gretl a Protestant? Gretl showed the certificate of baptism. Pure Aryan? Gretl produced her father’s photograph and the official letter. A full orphan? “My father was shot dead,” said Gretl.
“And your mother?” the woman asked, glancing apologetically at Jakób. “I’m sorry, I have to ask.”
Gretl looked straight at her. “My mother died in an explosion. I heard it. And I saw it, the red glow.”
“No other family?”
“My sister also died. She was very sick.”
“I suspect it was tuberculosis,” said Jakób. “You know what a problem it has become.”
Frau Schumann nodded. She filled out a form and stamped it in blue ink. “I hope you’re selected,” she said. “You’re a brave little girl. Come, I’ll take you to your room.” She turned to Jakób. “Thank you for bringing her, sir.”
“I’m going outside with him first,” said Gretl, “then I’ll come back in.”
On the sidewalk he looked down at her. “I’m going to be in Kiel for two or three more days, just to make sure you’re all right. But we can’t speak again, because they think I don’t know you.”
She nodded. Her blue eyes were unnaturally shiny.
He gave her a stamped, addressed envelope. “Write me a letter, Gretchen. Just once, if you’re selected, so that I’ll know. Never again.”
She nodded, her lips trembling.
He felt his resolve begin to crumble, so he cupped her face in his big hands and stroked her cheek with his thumb. She gave him a brave little smile.
“Go in now,” he said hoarsely.
She turned and went up the two steps, her back straight. She opened the big door, walked in, and closed it behind her without looking back.
As she was walking to church with the other children on Sunday morning, she saw him on the opposite sidewalk. She knew if she ran to him, he would open his arms wide and hold her tightly. But she also knew it wasn’t part of the plan, so she gave him a brave smile and walked on.
On the steps of the church she turned and looked back down the street. He was still there. He smiled and waved. She knew then that he was going back to Poland. She reached up with both hands and waved wildly. She couldn’t smile, her throat was too tight. Tears welled up from deep inside her and poured from her eyes so that his image blurred. Then the girls swept her along into the church.
6
GERMANY, SUMMER 1948
Gretl was given a place to sleep in a room with eighteen other girls. There were only ten beds, which meant that they slept two to a mattress, their heads pointing in opposite directions. Only Elke had her own bed, because she was the oldest and the room captain. Except for her bad skin, she reminded Gretl of Sonja.
I mustn’t think about Sonja, she told herself, or other thoughts will creep in.
The lump in Gretl’s stomach remained rock hard.
Gretl shared a bed with Gisela. The memory of the bombs gave Gisela nightmares, but at least she didn’t wet the bed. She was eight years old and coughed a lot.
The older girls had to help in the kitchen. No one considered Gretl old enough until she told them she was nearly eleven. “You look eight. You’re really skinny,” Elke said disapprovingly. Gretl helped clear the table, wash dishes, and clean vegetables. In the afternoons she made sandwiches with syrup for the little ones.
In the mornings they lined up and trooped to school. The teachers were strict and the children obedient. The arithmetic was easy and so was the German reading, but Gretl found it strange to write in German.
After the first week Gretl asked the teacher for a Dutch book.
“A Dutch book?” the teacher replied. “What do you want with a Dutch book?”
“I like reading other languages,” said Gretl.
The teacher frowned and said, “No, I definitely don’t have a Dutch book.” But the next day she brought Gretl one.
The Deutsche Luthersche Kirche, where they worshipped on Sundays, was beautiful inside. Some of the windows were broken, because there wasn’t enough money to repair everything that had been damaged during the war. The music was lovely, and the pastor spoke a German Gretl could understand.
She wasn’t allowed to wear her cross to church, Frau Schumann said, because the cross was Catholic.
The nights were a dark, dark tunnel with no end. The moon didn’t come out even once. In her dreams she sometimes believed she was back in Częstochowa, with Jakób. She shouldn’t think about Jakób. But at night, while she was sleeping, she clasped the little cross in her closed fist.
One evening Frau Schumann said to the group, “Tomorrow two people from Südafrika will be coming to speak to you. They will be selecting children to take back with them. Wash yourselves with soap this evening, your hair as well. But use the soap sparingly, and bring what’s left back to me. Elke, you’re in charge of the soap.”
The girls washed first. When it was Gretl’s turn, she struggled to get her feet clean. She washed and washed her hair until Elke exclaimed, “Enough now! Give me the soap, you heard what Frau Schumann said!”
She tried to remove the stain from the front of her dress, but it was hard without soap. She would put her shoes on at the last moment, she decided, because they really hurt her feet. And she would tie the red ribbon Jakób had given her for Christmas in her hair and try to tame her unruly curls.
She wasn’t a crybaby, but her throat grew thick at the thought of him, and the lump in her tummy grew harder.
The next morning the children were so excited that they could hardly eat their porridge. “Don’t come running to me when you get hungry,” Frau Schumann warn
ed.
No one went to school. Everyone waited.
After a while two people arrived. Frau Schumann introduced them to the children. Onkel Schalk Botha wore smart clothes and round glasses, and Dr. Vera Bührmann was there to make certain they were healthy. Frau Schumann explained that Onkel Schalk was the secretary of the German Children’s Fund, which was supplying the money for the children’s transportation. It was obvious to Gretl that Onkel Schalk had a lot of money. His black suit was very stylish.
Onkel Schalk’s German wasn’t very good, and the smaller children soon grew restless. Twice Frau Schumann had to speak sharply. Gretl understood that the children were to be taken to a fine country where a kind new mommy and daddy would be waiting for them. They would have a very good life—“sehr gut,” said Onkel Schalk, struggling with the pronunciation. But they had to understand that they would never return to Germany again.
Only children of eight years and younger were to be considered.
Elke lay on her bed for the rest of the day, crying. “Don’t cry.” Gretl tried to console her. “Crying makes your head hurt, and it doesn’t make anything better.”
“It’s easy for you to talk,” Elke sobbed and sat up. Her spotty face was even redder than usual, and her stringy hair had escaped from the white ribbon Gretl had let her borrow. “I’m fourteen. If they don’t choose me, I’ll have to go and work next year.” She began to cry again. “Probably in a factory or a laundry or somewhere.”
When Elke refused to be comforted, Gretl went to the kitchen. Her tummy ached.
The next day everyone who was older than eight was sent back to school.
Two days later Gretl decided to take matters into her own hands. After school she resolutely walked to Dr. Vera Bührmann’s office.
The door was closed. Inside she heard voices: Frau Schumann’s, the doctor’s, and another person’s. Then a child began to wail. The door opened and a young woman hurried out. She shut the door behind her and burst into tears. Inside, the child cried more loudly.
Gretl tried to comfort her. “Don’t cry. Crying doesn’t help, it—”
“I signed off my little boy,” the woman sobbed, “for adoption in Africa.” She ran out through the front door.
Gretl looked at the fleeing woman and remembered Jakób’s words: I made a promise to the Holy Mother of God to do the best I can for you, to do what I believe is best for you. She understood now.
The child had stopped crying. Frau Schumann had probably taken him to the toddlers’ section. Gretl knocked on the door, pushed it open, and went in.
The doctor sat writing at a desk. She looked up and said, “Yes?”
“I must be examined to go to Südafrika,” said Gretl.
The lady had a slight frown between her eyes. She reached for a stack of files. “Your name?”
“Gretl Schmidt.”
She looked through the files and said, “Your file isn’t here. Where have you come from?”
“I’m here, at the Red Cross orphanage. I’m—”
“I don’t have your file.” She peered at Gretl through her spectacles. Her eyes looked kind but tired. “How old are you?” she asked.
Gretl lifted her chin and looked Dr. Bührmann in the eye. “I’m ten, but I look eight. I’m a Protestant orphan. I have a certificate of baptism that says Pfarrer Helmut Friedrich baptized me Gretl Christina Schmidt in the Deutsche Luthersche Kirche on 18 December 1937. It’s in my file. Frau Schumann has it. My father was Herr Peter Schmidt, a fallen SS soldier. Here is a photo of him in his SS uniform.” She took the photograph from her little bag and put it on the desk. “I’m a full orphan, because my mother died in an explosion, my mother and my grandmother. My sister also died, so I became a Findelkind. I’m Aryan,” she added the most important detail.
“I see,” the doctor said slowly.
“And I’m reading a Dutch book so that I’ll understand when my new family talks to me,” said Gretl. She had decided to keep that bit of information for last, to show the lady how keen she was.
The doctor got up and walked around the big desk. “You’re ten, you say?”
“Yes, but I look eight,” Gretl repeated.
“You’re a truly remarkable little girl,” said the doctor. “Sit here, let me examine you.”
Gretl took off her dress and clambered onto the bed. Her heart beat wildly. She hoped the doctor wouldn’t think there was something wrong with it. “My heart doesn’t always beat this fast,” she said.
“There’s no need to be afraid,” Dr. Bührmann said kindly.
“I’m not afraid.”
The doctor pressed the cold listening thing against her ribs. “My, you’re just skin and bones,” she said.
“I can eat a lot and get fat,” Gretl suggested, adding with a laugh, “Like Hansel and Gretel at the witch’s house.”
The doctor laughed. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
When they were sitting at the big desk again, the doctor said, “Gretl Schmidt, you’re exactly the kind of child we’re looking for. But you’re two years older than our cut-off date.”
Gretl felt her heart sink. “I have no one,” she said. “If you don’t take me to Südafrika, I’ll have to go to work in a factory or a laundry. And I’m clever; I must study, that’s why I must go.” It was hard to look into the lady’s eyes and not cry.
The lady took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I promise, Gretl, if we don’t find enough suitable children under the age of eight and we’re given permission to push up the age limit, you’ll be one of the first children I’ll include.”
“Why do they want only young children?” Gretl asked.
The lady put her glasses back on. “The new mommies and daddies prefer them,” she said without looking at Gretl.
Gretl understood.
“Go back to your room now.”
That evening she took the paper and envelope Jakób had given her from her bag.
“Lieber Jakób,” she began to write. But she put the pencil down, because she still didn’t know what would happen to her.
The next day Onkel Schalk and the lady doctor left to look for children in other places. For more than three weeks the children went to school and to church as if no one from South Africa were looking for orphaned children.
Then one rainy day when the sheets wouldn’t dry, Frau Schumann called Gretl and eight other children to her office. “Fetch your things,” she said. “You’ve been chosen to go to South Africa.”
Gretl froze to the spot. Was it really happening, or was it just another story in her head? “Really?” she asked.
“Yes, Gretl, really.”
She couldn’t believe it. She looked at the other children, who were jumping up and down, creating a commotion.
She returned to her room in a daze. The other girls were helping in the kitchen. She and two of the younger girls were the only ones from their room to be chosen. They rolled their possessions into bundles.
“Lieber Jakób,” Gretl wrote before she went downstairs, “I’ve been chosen to go to Südafrika. We’re on our way to the Red Cross orphanage in Lübeck-Brandenbaum by bus.” She put the letter back in her bag. She wouldn’t mail it yet, because she could write only one letter to Jakób. She had just wanted to tell someone.
When they drove away, she did not look at the place where Jakób had stood.
The Red Cross orphanage in Lübeck-Brandenbaum was another redbrick building with many rooms where other selected orphans also gathered. Here Gretl had her own bed and received new clothes that Onkel Schalk had bought in London at Marks and Spencer.
Gretl was given new shoes and socks, two pairs of underpants, a dress with yellow flowers that was a little too big for her, a navy blue skirt that was the right size, and a red blouse that was much too big. There weren’t enough sweaters, so she didn’t get one, but it didn’t matter. She told the helper lady, Tante Hildegard, she still had the one Mrs. Sobieski had made for her two years earlier. And she had her red coat as well, even though the sleeves were way too short.
In her room she laid out her new clothes on the bed and took the letter to Jakób out of her bag. She tried to describe the clothes, so that he would know how fine she looked.
But she wasn’t ready to mail the letter yet.
Two days later thirty-five children from Schleswig-Holstein were taken to Maschsee in Hannover. Before they departed they were addressed by a very important man, Schleswig-Holstein’s minister of the interior, Wilhelm Käber. “You’re about to go to a new country,” he told them. “Remember that we Germans are a proud nation. You’ll always have German blood in your veins. Be proud of it. And behave like true Germans!”
Because the minister made such a long speech, they had to leave without eating breakfast. But the helper ladies had packed sandwiches for the bus ride. It turned into a disaster, because the boys didn’t behave like true Germans and got syrup all over themselves. Everything was sticky and the ladies were quite despondent.
Gretl hoped there would be no brother in her new family. Boys were undisciplined and silly.
“What’s today’s date?” she asked Tante Hildegard.
“August the twentieth,” she answered. “Here, take this facecloth and wipe Ingeborg’s face.”
The head of the Jugendamt in Kiel, Dr. Walter Blaser, accompanied them to Hannover. On the bus he spoke to the older children. They took turns sitting with him in the front seat. After a while Tante Hildegard took Gretl to the front. “This could be the one you’re looking for,” she said to Dr. Blaser.
“She’s very young,” said the man.
“Exactly,” said the lady, then she returned to the back of the bus, where two boys were fighting.