by Andie Newton
‘That’s what I hear,’ Frau Tiefenbrunn said. ‘Classless.’
A woman sitting in the corner scooted her bottom to the edge of her seat. She had scraped her plate clean and rested it on a wide knee with the fork pressed between the plate and her thumb. ‘Savage,’ she said just above a whisper. ‘Indians.’
Frau Tiefenbrunn pinched the corner of someone else’s cake sitting on the side table. She looked around for her plate, holding the hunk she’d tore off in her hand, but my aunt had already taken it into the kitchen with the other dirty dishes.
‘Darling, can you get me another plate?’ Frau Tiefenbrunn said to my aunt. ‘Someone has taken mine.’
Auntie glanced into her glass cabinet. The only plates she had left were the ceramic dishes she stacked under her china to make it look like she had more to her set then she really did. Her eyes sank with her chest and she stuttered. ‘Of… course.’ She pulled one of the plates out of the cabinet, spun it around and examined the chips along the edge.
‘On second thought, darling,’ Frau Tiefenbrunn said, licking her fingers clean, ‘how about just a napkin.’
Auntie exhaled her relief before handing her a napkin and sitting back down with her legs crossed delicately at the ankle.
Frau Tiefenbrunn looked around the room from her seat. ‘Are you out of kuchen already?’
Auntie’s eyes grew bigger. Her guests had practically eaten everything she’d made.
‘I have something I think you’ll like,’ I said, and then stood. ‘Anyone want some kipfel?’
‘I didn’t bake kipfel,’ Auntie said.
I smiled. ‘I bought some today.’
‘When did you have time?’ she said.
I looked over my shoulder as I turned into the kitchen. ‘I had time.’ I pulled Herr Rudin’s kipfel from the bottom pantry. Moments later Auntie was in the kitchen with me. She set her tea cup down on the counter as I pulled kipfel from the sack.
‘What are you doing?’ she said in a breathy whisper.
I crumpled the sack into a ball before picking up the tray. ‘Getting the kipfel. For your guests.’ She put her hand on my arm, looking at the kipfel on the tray I’d arranged. Only Herr Rudin folded his kipfel to look like horseshoes.
‘I know where these came from,’ she said, squeezing my arm. ‘Put them back.’ She snatched her tea cup from the counter, and then let out a boisterous laugh as she reentered the parlour, sitting back down in her old seat and picking up her dirty napkin.
I stood in the doorway, half-in half-out of the kitchen, clutching that tray. Frau Tiefenbrunn asked where the kipfel was, and so did Margot. Auntie started to make up a lie about how she didn’t have any after all when I burst around the corner.
‘Here they are!’ I said, smiling, holding the tray out.
Frau Tiefenbrunn looked each one over, her nose to the tray, touching several before deciding on the lightest one. ‘I love a good kipfel,’ she said.
‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘Frau Spitz?’ I pivoted my tray to Margot, and she eagerly took one too, not wasting a moment before biting into it.
‘Mmm… this might be the best kipfel I’ve ever tasted,’ she said.
Hilde reached over my shoulder to grab a kipfel for herself before they were all gone. ‘Let me try,’ she said, and then gobbled hers up.
‘Auntie?’ I offered her the last of Herr Rudin’s kipfel from the tray. Her lips pursed, and she shot a look of anger toward me, before glancing over her guests.
‘It’s the last one, Bridget,’ Frau Tiefenbrunn said. ‘You can’t leave it.’
Auntie begrudgingly took the last kipfel from the tray. She smiled politely and then laughed when her guests did, but they’d already moved on to talk about the weather.
I walked back into the kitchen, letting out the gulp of air I’d been holding. I’d never done something so brazen in front of my aunt before, and it felt good. Auntie raced into the kitchen and stood behind me with her hands on her hips.
I wiped off the tray. ‘It’s just kipfel, Auntie.’
There was a knock at the door and Auntie was glad to let me go and answer it. ‘Don’t hurry back,’ she said, as I walked away, knowing she would have words with me later, and answered the door.
It was Claudia, and I quickly stepped outside before my aunt could see who it was. Her clothes hung heavy as though she’d been in the river, and her hair looked more like a sopped-up mop than anything else. ‘What are you doing here?’ Something had gone wrong; she would have never come to the front door if it hadn’t.
‘It’s Wilhelm,’ she sobbed. ‘Wilhelm was arrested.’
I gasped. I didn’t want her to see the alarm in my face, but there was little I could do to hide my concern. We sat on the wood bench outside away from the light of Auntie’s party. ‘What for?’
‘There can only be one charge.’ Her shoulders stiffened as she wrapped her cold, wet fingers around my upper arms. ‘There was a leaflet in his pocket. Hans must have planted it after the drop,’ she said. ‘Sarah saw the whole thing, said she heard Wilhelm curse Hans as the Gestapo took him away.’ She shook her head and let out a gut-wrenching groan. ‘They’ve taken him to Verräters Gasse Prison.’
I shivered, repeating the words. ‘Traitor’s Alley.’ It was a dark, cindered palace with a central courtyard we called The Pit. There was only one reason they brought people there: to be shot. Family and friends of those within its walls brought clothes and other items to their loved ones. Only when the guards refused to accept it did they know the person had died.
‘Claudia, be strong. He’ll get out of it. If anyone can, it’s Wilhelm.’ I tried to sound hopeful, but I knew deep down Wilhelm was in big trouble.
Her eyes sagged. ‘Ella, you don’t understand. It’s more than that. We’re… we’re to be married.’
I jumped in my seat. ‘What?’
‘We have plans to marry in secret. My father knows of his politics, how he hates the Reich, their policies, their control over the country. He would never allow us to get married openly. Don’t be mad I didn’t tell you. I thought it was safer that way.’
We shared a moment of silence. She did the right thing keeping her marriage plans a secret, even if it was from me. ‘Oh, Claudia.’ I held her close, crying along with her. ‘He’s a patriot.’
She sat up with a jerk, using the back of her hand to wipe her face. ‘It’s of little consolation, Ella… if he’s dead now, isn’t it?’ Her gaze hardened along with her voice.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to kill Hans.’ Hate twisted in her cheeks. ‘A rat always sleeps.’ Sarah swooped out of the darkness and knelt at Claudia’s feet.
‘Where did you come from?’ I said. Her eyes darted toward mine but then slid quickly back to Claudia’s. She wore a pair of men’s trousers, and hid her hair under a grey swindler’s cap, which she pulled down low, almost over her eyes.
‘I found Hans,’ she said to Claudia. ‘He’s at the Hütt’n. In the dining room.’
Hans is a traitor. Only Nazis frequented the Hütt’n. It was a restaurant where the Party recruited members, a place where the Reich celebrated victories over the resistance. I thought back to when I first met Hans at the Steichele. He and Sarah had never got along. Now I knew why.
Sarah squeezed my knee. ‘I need your help. I left a woman in the basement of the antiques shop. She needs help tonight. Bring some food. Geb will transport her in the morning, but she needs you now.’ There was a sense of urgency in her voice, and it was the first time I had heard her sound that way.
‘Yes. I’ll go.’ I looked through the window and saw the hazy silhouettes of Auntie’s guests through the Nazi flag she had hung in the window. ‘I’ll leave now.’
Sarah pulled a leather sheath from her back pocket and unveiled a small dagger. Its blade shined like an icicle even in dull light. ‘Are you ready?’ she said. Claudia’s brow furrowed and a slight frown tugged on her lower lip—and I realized Sarah had kil
led before, and she intended to show Claudia how to do it.
Sarah tucked the dagger into her waistband and walked toward the open road only to stop in the middle of the street. One hand motioned for Claudia.
Claudia looked at me. ‘Ella, why did you jump into the fountain with me? All those months ago. Why, when you knew it would shame your family, your aunt?’
‘What?’
She squeezed my hand. ‘I need to know.’
I swallowed, looking at Sarah’s outstretched hand, and then to Claudia’s strained face. ‘You know my parents didn’t raise me to be a National Socialist. They would have wanted me to jump in it.’
She closed her eyes, and I thought she was relieved to hear me say the words out loud. ‘Your aunt always blamed me for what we did. I sometimes wonder if you’d be better off without me.’
‘That’s impossible. We’re connected, forever.’ I glanced up at Sarah, who was still waiting for Claudia with her hand out. ‘But why are you asking me about this now?’
Claudia hugged me unexpectedly. ‘In case I never see you again.’ She let go as quickly as she had grabbed me and then ran off with Sarah.
10
There’s something about an empty shop at night. The silence. The shadows. The black air. When Jews were hidden in the basement these things were amplified, given a life of their own, a heart; the stillness screamed, objects moved on their own, and black spaces solidified.
I should have noticed these differences when I arrived—a loaf of marbled rye tucked tightly under one arm—but my mind was on other things, like Claudia. The straightness of her face when she spoke, the dagger. It still wasn’t clear to me how Wilhelm was caught; why would Hans slip a leaflet into his pocket when we were all part of the drop? How did Sarah know Hans was at the Hütt’n? But I knew Claudia would figure it out, or at least, cut it out of Hans. I winced at the thought, but it could have been me or even Claudia sitting in that prison instead of Wilhelm, and I had to remember that.
A long, drawn out moan came from the basement.
I scurried down the corridor, unlocked the door in a panic and found a very pregnant woman sitting in the corner with her legs spread out, holding her perfectly round belly with both hands.
‘What the hell?’
She huffed and snorted from her mouth and nose. ‘Quick,’ she said in a scratchy, throaty voice. ‘Get some towels!’
Her face pulsed purple, and chunks of brown hair that had been hastily tucked behind both ears soaked in her sweat. She moaned again. This time her voice stretched like taffy and filled the entire shop with a laborious groan. A pool of water spilled out from between her legs, and I jumped. The marbled rye I had tucked under my arm slipped from its sack, hit the concrete step, and then rolled across the floor and into the water that flowed out of her.
‘Hurry!’
I shook my coat off, unsure what to do, and placed it on the ground like a dog’s piddle pad. She stopped panting and gave me a hard, bitter look as she pulled herself back into the corner of the wall. ‘It’s over now,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘We’ve got a few minutes before it comes again.’
‘Before what comes again?’
She cocked her head. ‘Aren’t you here to help me? Sarah said she was sending someone smart.’ She lifted her skirt up and fanned it over her bump.
My face dropped. ‘Sorry, I… I… are you having a baby?’
She laughed.
When I didn’t laugh back, a look of dread washed over her face. ‘I was only told you needed me.’ I looked down at the marbled rye sitting in her waters and moved it to a dry spot, grimacing from the sight of the soggy bread. ‘And to bring you some food.’
‘Do you know how to deliver a baby?’
Before I could answer she started panting again. ‘Here comes another one.’
‘Another what?’ I scooted back, expecting another wave of water to gush out between her legs.
‘Not that! A contraction!’ Her eyes shook with agony, and she screamed, gripping my hand and squeezing my palm in two. After a few seconds, after the pain seemed to ripple through her body, she tossed my hand to the side and closed her eyes as if she were sleeping. At one point I thought she had fallen asleep, looking very rested and peaceful, but then her eyes popped open and she looked at me as if she had just realized I was still there.
‘Can you be in false labour? I’ve heard of that before.’
‘What’s your name?’
I hesitated. ‘Sascha.’
‘Sascha, this baby is coming tonight, and you’re going to have to help me deliver it. You’ll need to get some blankets and a bucket of water. Hot water if you can.’
My neck got increasingly warm as I loosened the tie from my uniform—I knew nothing about birthing babies.
‘It’s all right, honey. What are you, seventeen?’
‘Eighteen,’ I said, lifting my chin. ‘My birthday was on New Year’s Eve.’
She smiled and didn’t seem as irritated with me as she had been. ‘I appreciate you coming here, even if you didn’t know what you were getting into. Otherwise I’d have to go about this alone.’ She rubbed her belly. ‘My son and husband left for France before the Reich stopped the visas. I was left behind. It was only supposed to take a few days to get me out, but now… I guess it has been months now, hasn’t it?’
I nodded, pretending to listen, but my mind was on the baby, and how exactly I was going to help her deliver it.
She took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘By the way, my name is Julia.’ She tipped her head back and rested it in the corner of the cold brick wall. ‘Maybe you should add pillows to that list as well.’
*
Hours passed. Julia’s contractions got worse. She barely had a chance to rest before gearing up for another. Fluids from her bottom soiled the only blankets I had. Moans escalated into wails, and even though she said water wasn’t going to flow out of her again, I didn’t entirely believe her.
She pulled her sopping wet skirt over the top of her belly, and then adjusted the pillow I had given her behind her head. ‘Sascha, you’re going to have to check me.’
‘Check?’
‘You need to check for the baby’s head. Look in there.’
I started to mumble, not sure if I could go through with it or not. I had never seen another woman’s vagina before and I didn’t want to.
Her pants sped up with another contraction. ‘Now!’ she yelled, and I pushed her knees apart and looked deep into the cavern between her legs.
Liquid oozed from a blood stained, diamond-shaped hole. I covered my nose and my mouth from the smell, then she moaned and a bald head poked out. ‘I see it!’
‘How big is it?’
‘It’s a nice head, a small ball!’
I looked again, but it had disappeared back inside of her.
She shook her head from side to side, hissing. ‘Nein!’ She dipped her fingers into her crotch and searched her way around the hole, but she couldn’t get close enough to touch the space where the baby’s head had been. ‘How big is the opening?’
I held my hand close to the hole. ‘Four fingers wide. Plenty of room for a baby to squeeze out.’
Julia’s pants turned into cries. She searched her skirt for a dry edge, and then wiped the tears from her face with the palm of her hand. ‘You need to get help. A midwife. Something isn’t right. It should be bigger. I feel like I need to push, and at four fingers my baby will die.’
‘Die?’ Her words hit me like a slug to the chest. ‘But I… I…’ There was only one midwife I knew in Nuremberg—only one.
‘You have to,’ she said, now weeping.
‘You don’t understand—’
‘Go!’ she yelled, and I screamed, bolting from the shop.
*
I stole a car to get home, parking a block away and then sprinting down the street. I burst through the front door and landed on my knees, folding my hands near my face. Auntie had been waiting for me on the divan with e
very light in the house turned on. She crossed her legs tightly at the knees, watching me.
‘Auntie!’ I used the back of my hand to wipe some slobber from my lower lip. It mixed with a smudge of Julia’s blood and I felt it streak across my face.
Aunt Bridget jumped up when she saw the blood. ‘What happened?’
She held onto my shoulders, trying to catch my gaze, but I was near delirious. I thought about Julia, alone in the basement, choking on my own words, then in a fraught voice I blurted, ‘I need you to deliver a baby.’
Her eyes constricted into small, black holes. ‘Whose baby?’ she said in a harsh, direct voice. There was only one reason a woman would give birth in secret. If she didn’t have a midwife it was because she wasn’t supposed to exist: she was Jewish.
My lips trembled along with my hands. ‘Please, Auntie. She’s in the basement of the shop.’ I hung my head low and reached up for her hands. ‘Please…’
Her body turned stiff as a board. ‘What did you get yourself into this time?’
When I didn’t answer, she pushed my searching hands away, went to the closet and took her dusty old midwife’s bag down from the top shelf. She stood for a second and stared at the front door, holding the bag at her side, her grip pulsating around its handle, breathing deeply. I was just about to call out her name when she grabbed me by the ear and dragged me backward out the front door with her.
We drove her Volkswagen to the shop. Neither of us said a word. Auntie marched briskly into the basement with stiff shoulders and a jutted chin, but once she saw Julia on the ground like a barge unable to unload its cargo, she rolled up her sleeves and crouched between Julia’s legs.
Julia’s moans turned into sharp screams.
‘Ella!’ Auntie kicked the water bucket. ‘Get some fresh water.’ Each syllable she spoke had a tone to itself, and when she called me Ella, like she normally did when I was in trouble, it stung like a zap of electricity.
Auntie ripped Julia’s skirt down the middle and flipped them out of her way like curtains. ‘I’m Bridget. What’s your name?’ Auntie’s voice changed when she talked to Julia. It was calm, sympathetic. ‘Relax. I’ve done this before,’ she said with a wink.