The German Midwife

by Mandy Robotham

  ‘Perhaps they were hungry,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps so.’ Before, we had been bantering, now his voice was cut glass. ‘But perhaps there are German families also in need. It has been noted on—’ here he peered at the written notes ‘—three occasions that your family has failed to leave out the required contribution on one-pot Sunday, and twice have not contributed funds to the German Welfare Fund.’

  It was true. I knew Mama hated the order that required each family to provide a pot of food for collection each week, distributed supposedly to German families in need, but widely known to be appropriated by troops already well fed.

  ‘I’m sure it was an oversight,’ I defended. ‘She’s sometimes forgetful.’

  ‘Hmm, maybe so. But tell me, Fräulein, are you also forgetful when you omitted to report on—’ he made another show of looking through the notes ‘—three occasions when infants have been born with handicaps in your hospital? In direct opposition to the directive that you received – very clearly – from your superiors. I can quote the date if you like.’

  I looked blank. There was no denying it. I had twice colluded with other midwives to spare babies the separation and an unknown future. Once, with an obviously blind child, his smoky, opaque eyes thick with cataracts, I had acted totally alone. Sitting here, remembering that baby’s blank, unseeing gaze, which nonetheless had looked like a plea, I didn’t regret my actions – only where they had taken me.

  ‘What will you do with me?’ I said flatly. ‘Can I at least contact my family? They’ll be worried sick.’

  ‘Your family are well, and in good hands, I’m assured,’ he said casually.

  ‘What do you mean, in good hands? They have nothing to do with my actions, with what I’ve done.’ My voice betrayed panic.

  He closed the file and laid his hands on it, the blue of his eyes sparkling with … was that enjoyment? Excitement?

  ‘Given your experience, Fräulein, and your profession, I am surprised at your naivety,’ he said calmly. ‘Don’t imagine that such actions against the Reich will go unpunished.’

  He saw the look of sheer terror flash across my face, enjoyed teasing it out.

  ‘Ah, don’t worry, Fräulein Hoff, there will be no physical reprimands – I’m confident you have nothing of worth to tell us. We know everything about you. But your presence in Berlin is, let’s say, a disturbance to the strength of the Reich. Loyalty is key. And we cannot rely on your family to assert that loyalty.’ He went on, ‘Have you heard of the Decree Against Public Enemies – or national pests, as we like to call them?’ He really was smiling now, at his own Nazi brand of humour. ‘Well, you are one of that band – a pest. And what do we do with pests?’

  ‘Squash them, I imagine.’

  ‘Oh, nothing so inhumane, Fräulein.’ He shuffled the papers in conclusion. ‘But we do need to stop them infecting others with their poison. We put them in a jar – it’s an effective barrier and sometimes the poison drains away.’

  ‘Punish me, but not my family,’ I said, in a last-bid effort as he stood up.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not my decision, Fräulein. You have sown your own seeds, and what’s that saying? You reap what you sow.’ This time his eyes and the line of his mouth exuded a smug superiority. Easy work for him tonight. A simple task with a thrill to boot. ‘Goodnight, Fräulein.’

  They let me stew for a good while, cultivating my own dirty imaginings, then led me back to the same room. It was still cold, but with the light of a new day pushing through the window. A jug of water sat on the floor, alongside a chipped cup, and a piece of bread. I took both into my mouth hungrily, and lay on the bed again.

  The imagined scene in my head would not be pushed away – of the knock on the door at my parents’ house, them pushing past Mama, Ilse running down the stairs with curiosity, and Papa’s ashen face. Too vivid. I couldn’t stop its flickering, pecking at my conscience, knowing it was me who had put us all under the Führer’s dreaded gaze. Me, whose simple idea of justice had placed us all at the mercy of the worst kind of retribution, from those with little sense of justice.

  What had I done?

  20

  Eva’s Strength

  My night was long and fitful, although Eva slept soundly, muttering in her sleep. Frau Grunders had set up a cot for me in the room, after I declined it being placed in the adjoining bedroom, with the door left open. The bed – his bed – was not offered, and I was thankful for that. Silly as it seemed, I could not bear the idea of sharing the Führer’s air, some leftover molecule of his foul insides, something common to us both. He had touched enough of my life already, and I wanted no other part of him.

  I checked the baby’s heartbeat before I crawled under the covers, and again in the morning – it appeared unperturbed, pumping away happily and squirming irritably under my hand.

  ‘You just stay in there awhile, little chick,’ I found myself saying, as Eva slept on, her body limp with exhaustion. Her temperature was back within normal range, and the urine all but clear. The antibiotics were almost at an end, and I was happy to leave her briefly.

  I collected some breakfast, and stepped out into the bright and beautiful spring day – that familiar crawl from the cavern of a night shift, the sun’s rays catching you unawares. I had slept, but woken almost every hour to place a hand on Eva’s forehead, and my eyes were subsequently at half-mast. I took my plate onto my porch, for a slice of solace and privacy. Yet I didn’t mind when Captain Stenz walked up the path, his gaze slipping naturally towards the peak view.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said brightly.

  ‘Morning, Captain Stenz.’

  ‘Dieter, please. I thought we agreed no formalities when not needed. I’m glad to see you out here – I assume it means you have no concerns?’

  ‘Yes, I think Fräulein Braun is over the worst. The fever appears to have gone and the baby sounds fine.’

  ‘I’m glad – and relieved. For us all.’ We sat ingesting the glorious view for a moment or two, until a new curiosity burned a hole in my throat.

  ‘Dieter, do you know anything about injuries to Fräulein Braun?’

  ‘Injuries?’

  ‘Last night, I noticed something on her neck – a wound, something like … I’m not sure. It looked like a gunshot?’

  ‘Ah.’ He wore an expression similar to the one he’d worn during our first meeting months before, as if another cat had leapt smartly out of the bag.

  ‘You say that like you know what I’m talking of?’

  ‘Well, let’s just say that Fräulein Braun hasn’t always been as content as she is now.’

  It took me several seconds to absorb his meaning. ‘Are you saying she shot herself? And survived?’ My eyes were no longer half open.

  ‘The suspicion is she aimed at her heart, but thankfully missed. It was a long time ago, before the war,’ he said. ‘It became a statement, a cry for help. It wasn’t the only time.’

  ‘A cry to whom?’

  He looked at me quizzically. ‘Him, of course.’

  ‘But she loves him, as far as I can tell. She idolises him.’

  ‘And love isn’t complex? Are you sure he returns the affection?’

  I pondered over the question, all the conversations with Eva coming back to me – her moods, her need to have contact. The longing was strong on her part, desperate at times. And yet she was the only woman at the Berghof, the appointed mistress. Surely that meant something?

  ‘She’s pregnant,’ I said, and knew instantly I was being naive.

  ‘All men have needs,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t always equal love. Or commitment. But now – now Eva may feel she has her ultimate trump card, more powerful than any threat.’

  ‘And will it work?’

  Dieter drew himself up and scanned left to right, checking the patrol wasn’t passing. ‘He doesn’t treat her as well as he should. Any woman, in fact.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I countered. ‘Is he cruel to her? I’ve neve
r seen any evidence.’

  ‘Cruelty comes in all forms,’ Dieter said bluntly. ‘In the Führer there is contempt – deep contempt – for intelligence in women. I’ve seen it myself. Put it this way, Anke, you and he would not get on. Not at all.’ He managed a weak smile, and I took it for the compliment it was meant to be. He picked up his gloves and walked away, eyes on the vista.

  21

  Recovery and Reflection

  I couldn’t give any serious thought to this latest revelation, as I was called to meet with Dr Heisler and give my report. He examined Eva briefly and pronounced himself happy to leave – his face said deeply relieved – and told me to telephone him later in the day. He would return if there was any sign of a relapse, but he hoped not. He really hoped not.

  Eva woke later that afternoon, groggy and needing a careful explanation of the past twenty-four hours. Her blue eyes showed alarm as I told her, but once I had listened to the baby, with several limbs responding to my touch, she was calmer. The relief in her face was obvious – not for herself, but for the child. For all her silliness and ignorance, her infuriatingly blinkered nature about life outside the Berghof, Eva remained as on the day of our first meeting, selfless where the life of her baby was concerned. She caught my hand as I fussed with the covers.

  ‘Thank you, Anke. Thank you for looking after us. And Lena too. We are grateful.’

  The ‘we’ was ambiguous – I couldn’t help wondering: did she mean her and the baby, or the absent father? Did he even care?

  Disengaged from her tubes, Eva was well enough to get out of bed and into the bath, and she looked instantly brighter once her hair was washed, and with a little make-up. I took the opportunity of a bath myself, and was on my porch, the afternoon breeze tickling at the roots of my wet hair, when Captain Stenz appeared again. This was getting to be a habit.

  ‘Afternoon, Anke.’ He sat down instantly, formalities erased.

  ‘Good afternoon, Dieter. I’m surprised to see you here again so soon. I thought you might have meetings to catch up on.’

  ‘Unimportant compared to the events up here,’ he said. ‘My priority remains the smooth running of … well … like I say, events up here.’

  ‘Do you mean the pregnancy? Eva’s baby? The Führer’s baby? Is that what you mean?’ I was suddenly prickled he would use his inferences on me.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I mean,’ he said, eyebrows arched. ‘Why so irritated?’

  ‘Well then, why can’t you say it?’ My voice was urgent, if not raised. ‘Why always the guarded hint, the cloak and dagger, like some Shakespearean tragedy? Is that what they teach you as officers – that if you infer, it’s never as bad as the raw truth? This poor child, it’s like it’s hidden before it’s even born.’

  I pulled fingers through the wet strands of my hair, letting frustration fly. His face fell, crestfallen. For a second, he was a little boy hurt, that I had made him just one of them, the dark weave of his jacket instead of the man.

  He stood up, his face turning white. ‘I think …’

  ‘What do you think, Dieter? What do you really think? Tell me.’

  The veins in his neck stood proud, as if the words were fighting to spring forth. The conditioned diplomacy beat them back.

  ‘I don’t think you understand how complex this is, Fräulein Hoff. The tightrope this baby will walk upon.’ He looked like he had said too much, wished he could suck back the last sentence.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I flashed. But he was already turning.

  ‘Good day, Fräulein Hoff.’ His back was towards me, and I saw the shoulders square and tense.

  ‘Dieter, come back! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …’ But my words were lost on the breeze.

  I slept fitfully again that night, even with the comfort of my own bed. Dieter’s last words rolled continually around my head – did he believe the baby was already under threat? Poor scrap of a thing, innocently somersaulting around its mother’s insides, destined to be pushed from pillar to post once born – already a pawn, a devil, an angel, and yet only flesh and blood. Like its father. Much like the camp babes, better off inside, safety in gestation.

  I thought also of the wound on Eva’s neck, of the moment when she’d felt so desperate for the love of her man that she pointed a gun at her own heart. Badly aimed, but snug to her skin nonetheless, sure to create some damage and possibly death. How deep was her longing for the attention of another? I was certain she wanted to be a mother – I had seen enough of indifference at the Lebensborn to know she felt deeply – but she couldn’t fail to be aware that this baby might also be her ticket, perhaps to his hard-won heart, marriage, and possibly her place as the mother of Germany.

  Dieter was right – unfair as it seemed, this baby was more than mere flesh and blood, and I had been naive to think we could treat this as just another birth among thousands. We might need more than midwifery skills to secure everyone’s future.

  22

  New Demons

  Eva had a visitor the next morning. Magda Goebbels swept up to the Berghof, laden with flowers and chocolates ‘for the patient’ I heard her say. I was duly summoned to the terrace and quizzed as to the progress of the pregnancy. On these visits, Eva was like a frightened child in the presence of an overbearing aunt, while Magda gushed at how relieved she was that everything had settled down and the baby was healthy. I mused on her words of false delight sticking in her thin, white throat, to see Eva looking well, the baby unharmed. Her own longing crushed.

  But the visit wasn’t without joy. Soon after, Christa’s slim form rounded the house and walked the path towards my porch.

  ‘Anke!’ We hugged like long-lost colleagues.

  ‘How did you find an excuse to make the journey up here?’

  ‘Cranberries,’ she said with a broad beam. ‘I convinced the mistress they were good for warding off future infections, and I don’t think she could be seen to refuse.’

  ‘Well, they are, and I’m delighted. I’ve been aching for some company, someone to talk to.’

  Christa brought me up to date on the politics at the Goebbels’; with the Allies in a strong position, Joseph was stamping his mood on an already tense household, where the floorboards were a carpet of eggshells. The audible exchanges between husband and wife were bitter and strained as Joseph became desperate for production of his new propaganda tool to be complete.

  ‘The way he talks about it, I’m sure he thinks of this baby as some kind of new tank or aircraft,’ Christa scoffed.

  Suddenly, she cast around at our surroundings, spotting a single patrol making his rounds on the perimeter. The guard was young, bored and easily swayed by her pretty face, her maid’s uniform assuring him neither of us was about to make a break.

  ‘We’re just off down the path to pick some flowers for the mistress.’ She threw her sweetest smile in his direction, and he nodded, staring longingly at her pert figure as she pulled me off down the path towards the Teehaus. I felt strangely out of my comfort zone, without Eva or permission.

  ‘Why are we out here?’ I asked as we slowed to an amble.

  ‘Well, you never know,’ said Christa. ‘I’m beginning to believe walls really do have ears.’ Her eyes tacked towards the overhanging trees with suspicion.

  ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  ‘I’ve been contacted.’ She looked directly at me, a mixture of fear and excitement in her eyes.

  ‘What do you mean, contacted? By who?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure. She was German, told me they knew. About the baby.’

  I stopped walking and tried to digest what she had said. ‘In what way do they know? And who are they?’

  ‘They know it’s the Führer’s baby, roughly when the baby is due – but as to the “who”, they weren’t clear. I’m certain they’re not friends of the Reich.’

  ‘The Resistance, perhaps? Allied spies?’ I was guessing, since my knowledge of the opposition within Germany was limited to what I’d picke
d up in the camp. A good portion of the inmates were Germans, imprisoned because of their refusal to follow the Führer. It was entirely possible this had come from inside our own country. ‘What did they want, from you, I mean?’

  ‘Information,’ said Christa, tugging at my arm again to get me to continue walking. She talked in a light voice, rather than a whisper, as if we were having an everyday conversation about the weather. ‘Somehow they knew I had contact with the midwife, but they didn’t say your name.’

  ‘Did you tell them anything? Did they threaten you?’

  ‘I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t feel in danger. I was walking in the town when a woman caught up with me and just started talking. I could have stopped and shouted, called for help, but I didn’t. It’s strange, Anke, and I have no experience or reason to think it, but I had a feeling they were friends of Germany. Not enemies.’

  The idea that Christa and I had been thrust into a scene of deep political intrigue made me feel light-headed. Life at the Berghof was becoming increasingly surreal.

  ‘Friend or foe of our beloved leader, it’s a question as to whether they are friends of the baby,’ I said at last. ‘You know, Christa, I haven’t changed my mind – I’m here to ensure safe passage of the mother and baby. I may not empathise with Eva, approve her choice of mate, but that’s not my concern.’

  This time she stopped. ‘I know, Anke, and I respect it. I’m just as confused as you are. I’m a maid, not a messenger or a spy. I just want this war to go away so I can get back to my father.’

  I sighed heavily. ‘You and me both.’ We plucked absently at some wild flowers, to have something to show for our excursion. ‘So, how did it end, this encounter?’

  ‘The woman just said they would be in touch. Then she walked away. What do you think we should do?’

  I had no doubts on that score. Information matured like good brandy. It gained value the longer you held on to it – that much I had learnt in the camp. Letting this out in the open could have dire consequences for all.