by Sara Young
And so I told him. What did it matter now? I stood and I made him stand; I hadn't earned any comfort yet, and Karl would never deserve it.
"All right. My uncle arranged for this, for her to come here. She couldn't face it, though. She—"
"Wait. She was pregnant?"
I glared my scorn at him. "You know she was. And she was devastated when you wouldn't stand by her. She lost everything, all her spirit, all her—"
"Mine? It was mine?"
"Stop it!" I hissed. "She told me everything. That she went to see you and you said you were engaged to someone else."
Part of me wanted him to tell the truth then. If he had just said, Yes, I let her down, I was a coward and I left her alone with this, I might have lowered my guard a little. It surprised me that I wanted to. But he didn't.
"I don't know what you're talking about; I'm not engaged to anyone!"
"I know that, too, now. I went to see you, but you'd left. Your friends told me the truth. Look, do you want to hear this or not?"
"Yes. Yes. But I swear I didn't know. She never told me that."
I waved my hand, cutting him off. "You lied to her. But she never knew it, and I'm glad for that. She died thinking you loved her, but just weren't free."
Karl turned away to look out the window, resting his forehead on the glass. At last he asked the hardest question. "Cyrla, tell me. How did she die?"
Suddenly there were rocks in my lungs and I couldn't catch any air. It was hearing my name the way Anneke had always said it—with the hint of a third syllable in the middle, as if it were lingering on her tongue, safe and loved. My name, sounding safe and loved in this man's mouth, was too much.
"How did she die? You killed her, Karl. You murdered her. You broke her heart and left her alone, so she tried to carve your baby from her body and she bled to death. That's how you murdered her."
"Cyrla!" He took a step toward me.
"Don't call me that," I warned him, backing away. "Call me Anneke."
Don't call me that, Isaak. Don't call me Anneke.
"She gave herself an abortion? She died from it? I don't understand this. Why didn't she tell me?"
I almost believed him, he looked so sincere. I could imagine him telling Anneke he loved her, his lie about a fiancée.
"Are you sure she even knew before I left? Because the last time we met, we talked about ... other things."
"You got her pregnant! She needed you! What other things could there possibly have been to talk about?"
Karl was silent a moment and I could see him thinking. Trying to come up with a lie I would believe.
At last he said, "If she didn't tell you, then she didn't want you to know. If she didn't tell you, then I won't, either."
The most cowardly lie. I reminded myself I already knew this, that he had no courage.
He came closer. "Cyrla. When did it happen? Were you with her? I'm so sorry—I know how much you loved her." He reached out, but I stepped away before he could touch me.
I shook my head at him, unable to speak for a moment. I could not reopen this wound, not in front of the man who had caused it.
I turned to my dresser and removed the layette my aunt had packed from the bottom drawer. Tucked into the yellow outfit that Anneke herself had worn, rolled into the tiny mittens, were my mother's ruby earrings, her barrette, her wedding band, which I had put there in the morning. I held them out to Karl.
He looked at the jewelry but made no move.
"Take it. It's all I have right now, but if you don't turn me in, I can get you more. I can get money."
He pushed my hand away. "You think you need to bribe me?"
I let my silence tell him what I thought of him.
He glanced back at the closed door, then spoke quietly. "This is not my war. Didn't Anneke tell you that? You can trust me."
I couldn't help myself. "Anneke trusted you."
His face closed. "That's enough. I don't know what would have happened if Anneke had told me. But I wouldn't have walked away."
"It is enough. I told you how she died. Now all I want to know is what it will take to get you to leave here. Not turn me in." I wrapped my arms around my belly, my child. So little protection. "If you cared about Anneke at all, please leave me alone. She would ask you to leave me alone."
"Cyrla, I have no intention of hurting you."
"You won't tell anyone?"
"Of course not."
"And you'll leave now?"
"Yes, all right. But wait—did you change the forms?"
"What? No, I'm sorry, not yet. I will. Today."
"Don't," Karl said. "Don't do it yet."
I waited. There was a new danger here; I could sense it, but I couldn't see its shape.
"I thought about it. If you do it now, you'll draw attention to yourself. And this way I can come to see you. I can make sure you're all right. I can bring you things."
I had to look away—suddenly Karl's face was too hopeful. I remembered the last time I had worn an expression like that—Isaak, when the war is over, we'll be a family, won't we? It was the expression of someone waiting to be wounded.
"We could talk," he said.
"I don't want you to come here. We have nothing to talk about."
He recoiled. But I needed to hurt him more. I folded my arms across my chest.
"Anneke isn't something we share."
"Look. I'm just trying to help. If you change the father's name, there'll be questions. Just don't do it yet. Let me find out some things."
"If I promise to leave your name on the forms, you won't tell anyone who I am?"
"I wouldn't, anyway. I only want—"
"Fine, I won't. So you can leave now. We're finished here."
He made no move, so I went to the door and opened it.
He spread his hands as if he were going to ask something of me, then dropped them and put on his coat. He didn't speak as he left, and when I closed the door the silence grew even deeper.
FORTY-FIVE
After Karl left, I went downstairs to retrieve the basket I'd left by the laundry door. A Sister caught me by surprise, leaving with a stack of linens; I stumbled over a clumsy excuse about how forgetful I was. She stared at me as if she could see into all of my lies, so I grabbed my basket and fled back to my room before I could give myself away to anyone else.
In the afternoon, I would go to the orphanage and press Klaas to my chest and hold him tight. Until then ... I was too restless to sew or read, so although it was only Wednesday, I began to clean; dusting and polishing the dressers, the desk, the wardrobe. What I longed to do was take the rugs outside and beat them over a bar until there wasn't a puff of dust left in them. Hiding in plain sight seemed the hardest way of all.
Neve came back. She looked worse than when she'd left; her skin pale, almost gray. I dropped my rag. "Is it time?"
She shook her head. "I just want to lie down."
"No contractions?"
"No. My back hurts, that's all."
"Maybe Dr. Ebers should look at you. Or we should let Frau Klaus know. Sometimes labor begins in the back."
"No!"
"All right," I soothed. "It's all right. What can I get you? A hot-water bottle? For your back?"
Neve caught her breath and reached out for the dresser to steady herself, wincing.
"Neve, are you sure you're not—"
"I think I can sleep." She straightened a little. "Will you get my nightdress?"
When I helped her pull off her slip, I saw new stretch marks streaking over her hips like purple lightning. Even the nightdress, loose and smocked, stretched tight over her swollen belly. Her hips, though—her hips were so frail and narrow. "Her pelvis cracked," I heard Sister Ilse say again. I eased Neve down onto the bed, where she curled up on her side. I sat beside her and rubbed her shoulders; as soon as she fell asleep, I would alert the staff.
"All this time," she said, so softly I had to lean over to hear, "all this time I've just been
waiting to be done with it. But now—"
"Now what?"
She looked down at herself, huge under the thin blanket. "He hasn't moved for two days. All this time, he's been my ... my reason. I can't lose him."
"Hush. You're not going to lose him. You're going to meet him!" I tried to get up to get her a glass of water but she pulled me back, gripping my hand so hard I could feel her panic seep into my skin. "What's wrong?"
Tears brimmed. I had never seen Neve cry. "I'm so afraid," she said. "Of everything. Of having him. Of losing him. I signed papers. Where will they take him? How will I know he's all right? In a good home?"
I stroked her forehead with my free hand. "Shhh. There's plenty of time for this. You're going to stay a long time, remember? First you have to have him. I think it's soon."
She drew a sharp breath and hissed as she curled tighter.
"A contraction? Neve, you're in labor, aren't you?"
She gave a short nod, her eyes still squeezed shut. Then she seemed to melt, but she still didn't release my hand. She took a short breath through clenched teeth. "What if no one takes him? Some babies end up in the orphanage for ... for years. You said they just lie there. What if—"
"Neve, you can't pretend this away. It's time to have this baby. I'm going down to get a nurse. I'll just be a minute. You're going to be all right."
Neve let me get up. "You'll come right back, though?"
"Of course," I promised at the door.
"And then you'll stay with me? Until he's born? You won't leave?"
"I won't leave." People can die if you leave them. Neve knew this, too.
I hurried to the nurses' station. Frau Klaus was on duty, and for once I was glad of her coolness—she just grabbed her black leather case and followed me up to the room.
Ten minutes passed. Then she called me into the room. "She has a way to go yet, but you can help me bring her down now."
We waited through another contraction, then helped her downstairs and to the labor ward. One of the Little Brown Sisters met us at the door and led Neve to a bed.
Frau Klaus turned to dismiss me.
"I'm going to stay with her." I stepped into the ward and gave Neve a little wave.
"You'll only be in the way. She needs to concentrate on her labor."
I stood my ground, folding my arms across my chest. Frau Klaus looked at me as if she didn't recognize me. Then she shrugged. "Suit yourself. She'll go into the delivery room when she's at nine centimeters. As long as there are no problems, you can stay with her."
I made a face of mock amazement behind her back as she left, and Neve actually laughed out loud. I pulled a chair over to her bedside and took her hand.
The ward overlooked the back courtyard. Fresh snow covered the grounds and the afternoon sky was cloudless, so blue it stung my eyes. The firs bowed under their drapings of snow and it seemed it couldn't have been only last night that I was hiding beneath them. Inside, the room was spotless, with rectangles of bright sunlight spilling to the waxed floors from the huge windows, and smelled comfortingly of bleach and soap. For a moment I had such a feeling of safety, of well-being, it jarred me.
"This is it," I said.
"This is it," Neve agreed. Her eyes, so wide they always looked surprised to me, looked shocked.
Sister Ilse came in and fussed with Neve's pillows. "The first baby all week. It's about time we had some activity in here."
Neve looked relaxed for just a moment, then a new contraction seized her and she cried out. Now that she wasn't trying to hide them, I could see how bad they were.
"Is she all right?" I asked. "Can you give her something for the pain?"
But Ilse only looked at her watch and smiled encouragingly at Neve when it was over, as if Neve had done a good job. "She's fine," Ilse answered then, completely calm. "It's hard work, is all. We'll give her something at the end, don't worry." Then she took off her watch and put it on my wrist. "Time them. If they get to be five minutes apart and I haven't come back yet, or if the doctor hasn't come to examine her, come and get me."
"Wait," I called, standing up. "Are you leaving?"
Ilse laughed. "I'll still be in the ward. I have work to do—babies and new mothers to take care of. First babies take their time. It'll be hours before anything happens. Maybe not until tomorrow. She's doing fine. Don't worry!"
And then she was gone.
"Don't worry!" I repeated to Neve, and she laughed a little.
"Do you want me to get the backgammon set? Or something to read?"
Neve shook her head. "Just sit with me."
We talked about little things, gossip about the other girls, our conversation punctuated by her contractions. But soon she said again how worried she was.
"What if I've made a mistake?" She worked the edge of the sheet between her fingers, rubbing and twisting it. The sheet was thin, as if it had been through a lot of rubbing and twisting. "When Franz refused to have anything to do with this, I was happy to sign away the baby. Why would I want a reminder of him, of how stupid I was? But now ... no one ever needed me before. I want to take him home."
"Neve, I was wrong." I stopped her. "If I ever made you feel ... well, it wasn't any of my business. Look at me; who am I to judge anyone?"
"Well, I think I was wrong. Or at least I've changed my mind. I don't know. That's the thing—I don't know, and now it's too late."
Another labor pain seized her and she clutched her belly, grunting through clenched teeth. This one was much stronger than the others: The effort brought a sheen of perspiration to her face and the fine hairs framing her forehead curled up against her damp skin, as if every part of her body were coiling in tension. When it was over, she relaxed, but she looked exhausted. I checked the watch—still eight minutes apart. How would she ever make it through if it really took until the next day?
"Look," I said. I pulled the sheet from her hand gently and flattened it out. "I don't think you should be worrying about all this now. There's time. You've got fourteen months to figure it out. To get help, perhaps a lawyer. To talk to Franz. Who knows? In another year the war may be over; then the Germans won't have the power to enforce anything on us. Let's not worry about this now, all right?"
She let it go then, but no matter what I distracted her with, she came back to it always. How could she not? With each contraction, the reality of her baby's presence became harder to ignore.
Every hour the doctor came and examined her, drawing the curtain around her, checking her dilation. Each time we held our breath, but the doctor would just shake his head when he came out. Not yet.
I had an inspiration. I went back up to our room and found the bottle of nail polish I had taken from Anneke's bureau, then came back to the ward. "Let's get you all beautiful before you meet your baby!" I suggested.
Neve took the bottle of nail polish and stared at it in wonder. "How did you get this? It's forbidden, you know."
"Nail polish is forbidden?"
"You don't go to the lectures, Anneke. 'No good German girl would spoil her natural beauty by using lipstick or dyeing her hair or polishing her fingernails.' They're not even supposed to pluck their eyebrows."
"Well, I guess we're not good German girls. How sad." I shrugged with regret and Neve laughed. We painted each other's nails and compared our favorite films, pausing whenever Neve had a contraction. Neve liked American westerns. "I'm going to ride a horse out there, one day," she confided. "One of those places where you can see forever like that. And I'm going to ride like the men do, with one leg on either side, and I'm going to gallop! I'm going to be Barbara Stanwyck in Annie Oakley!"
"You want to go to America?"
"Of course. You can take care of yourself there. You don't have to wait for some man to give you a life."
"Well, I'd like to see New York," I conceded. "And maybe Hollywood. I could be a famous movie star." I fluttered my scarlet nails and—for an instant—saw Anneke's hands. "I'm terribly glamorous already."
"No food for this one," Ilse told me. "But you need to eat, An-neke. Go to dinner. I'm on a break. I'll stay with her."
Neve nodded, so I left. But I ate quickly and hurried back. Ilse stayed with us, playing cards and sharing stories about her sister. Around nine there was a small commotion. Frau Klaus led two girls through the room, explaining things as if they were on a tour.
She lifted Neve's chart from the foot of her bed. "This mother will be delivered tonight or early morning," she said. "Her contractions are four minutes apart and she's six centimeters dilated."
"Will we get to see the delivery?" one of the girls asked.
"No, not until you've been through your training. For now you'll be cleaning and tending to the mothers."
"Training!" Ilse huffed when they left. "What a joke. This is a busy home. They need real nurses here, like me. Not 'Little Blond Sisters.'"
"Little Blond Sisters?" Neve and I asked together, alert to the tease of gossip.
"They're here only as a reward for doing their duty."
"Wait!" Neve demanded. She rolled to her side and clutched her belly, hissing through another contraction. "All right," she gasped when it was over, then took a few breaths. "Now, what do you mean?"
"They're all blond and blue-eyed and they're here only because they're sleeping with SS men in order to present the state with a new citizen. They're an insult to real nurses."
Ilse told us stories that made us laugh: about a Little Brown Sister running to heat blankets in the big kitchen ovens instead of the warming ovens in the ward—"Roasted them to a crisp with the potatoes!"—or mistaking a placenta for a twin. Neve cried out again and rolled over in pain. Ilse rubbed the small of her back and I squeezed her shoulder gently until it was over. Rounds of sweat had bloomed on her back, her chest, under her arms, darkening the little roses of her nightgown.
I looked at my watch. "Less than three minutes. Should we get someone?"
"Not yet. Soon though." But the next contraction came even faster and was clearly worse. "Now," Sister Ilse said. She patted Neve's hand and then left and returned a moment later with Frau Klaus and a doctor. They pushed me aside and drew the curtain around Neve's bed. Then they helped Neve onto a gurney, moaning, and wheeled her away.