10.
ON CHRISTMAS DAY, JOHANNA and Astrid had built a snowman in the garden under the steady gaze of Hauptmann Müller. The nights were freezing; the days a little less so. The snowman, like everything else in her life, hadn’t changed in the week since. Gerhard worked late and returned home in a bad mood. Astrid sought solace with Lakritze, and Johanna waited for the war to end. She would be happy when the clock struck midnight and they could start a new year. It wouldn’t be long before Christmas was forgotten altogether. After all, there was too little of anything positive to remember it by.
She didn’t want to leave Astrid while she and Gerhard went to the generalmajor’s house for dinner, not this evening nor any evening. She tugged her daughter to her and held her tightly. She kissed her cheek and toyed with her hair, kissed her cheek again and didn’t want to let her go. “You will be a good girl for Nanny.”
Tears welled behind her eyes, and the base of her throat was beginning to ache. It was only for one evening, just for a few hours, but the thought of being separated from Astrid even for a moment in this place, so far from their home, filled her with dread.
Astrid started to cry. “I’m scared, Mutter.”
Johanna swallowed past the lump in her throat and tugged her to her chest and squeezed her. “You’ll be safe here. We won’t be back late.”
Astrid pulled away from her and ran to the corner of her bedroom. She sat with her back to the wall, tucked her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Lakritze ran towards her and pounced on her hand. She ignored him. He purred and nuzzled her leg. “What if something happens to you?”
Johanna knelt in front of her. She wiped the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “Nothing is going to happen to us, my darling. We will have a guard with us and there will be more guards at the generalmajor’s house.”
“But it’s so dark here at night, and Hauptmann Müller is always angry.”
“Nanny will stay with you. She’s the one who looks after you. Hauptmann Müller is here to watch over the house, so you can feel safe with them both protecting you.”
Astrid looked at her with pleading eyes. “Can Fraulein Brun stay here until you get back?”
Johanna would like that. She would feel more settled knowing Astrid was in the Frenchwoman’s care. Nanny was a good tutor, but she was too strict when dealing with Astrid’s emotions, and Müller Johanna disliked intensely and did not trust. “That’s not possible. You have Lakritze to play with and then it will be time for bed.”
A kitten was a poor substitute for a trusted and kind-hearted adult, but she was sure that as soon as Astrid’s head hit the pillow she would sleep soundly.
Johanna would rather go to bed and be alone than go to the generalmajor’s house, where she was expected to behave like an obedient soldier, lacking in intelligent opinions, and blindly exalting praise for the Führer. It was evident from the dramatic change in her husband, and Müller’s aggressive manner, that things would never be the same again. The grief that they were living with daily, that would hit them even harder at the end of it all when they returned home and tried to get back to normal, was too profound for her to articulate, and she was probably more broken by it than Astrid. How could she help her daughter when she didn’t know how to deal with it herself?
Johanna stood up and ruffled her hair. “Will you come and get some dinner?”
Astrid shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll have Nanny bring you a slice of bread and jam, and as a treat you can eat it in your room.”
Astrid shrugged.
“I promise, we’ll be back before you know it.”
Astrid stroked Lakritze, seemingly ignoring her. Getting mad with Astrid’s defiance wouldn’t help; she was reacting this way because she needed to feel loved and safe.
Johanna kissed her head and held her limp body tightly. She left the bedroom with a deep ache in her chest. As she started down the stairs, Müller lingered in the foyer. She didn’t like the way he looked at her.
“The kommandant is waiting for you, Frau Neumann.”
She walked past him, through the dining room, and past Nanny who was eating dinner at the kitchen table.
“Fraulein Brun. Could you make some bread and jam for Astrid?” She turned to Nanny. “And would you take it to her? She can eat in her room tonight. And, Nanny, can you stay with her, please? She’s feeling very unsettled with us going out.”
Fraulein Brun prepared the food and put it on a tray. She added a cup of warm milk and put the tray on the kitchen table.
“Thank you, Fraulein.”
Nanny frowned. She would hate that Johanna showed gratitude to the Frenchwoman. Johanna smiled at her to make the point that kindness cost them nothing.
“Thank you, Nanny. We are leaving now.”
“Very well, Frau Neumann.” Nanny finished her dinner and picked up the tray.
“You may go home, Fraulein Brun.”
“I will clear the dishes first.”
Johanna felt gently caressed by the softness in her gaze.
“If that’s okay, Frau Neumann?”
“Hauptmann Müller is staying here. Don’t be too long.” Johanna smiled, pleased that she had been able to warn Fraulein Brun.
“I understand. Thank you.” Fraulein Brun started clearing away Nanny’s plate. She glanced beyond Johanna along the line of the dining room to the foyer. “You look nice,” she said.
Johanna couldn’t stop the heat expanding from her chest and into her cheeks. “That’s kind of you to say so, thank you.” They stared at each other, as if neither wanted to break the spell that linked them in a way that wouldn’t be safe, that made them both vulnerable to the other.
“Be safe, Frau Neumann.”
Johanna broke eye contact and strode to the foyer, her heart racing. She hoped Fraulein Brun got back to the cottage quickly. She addressed Müller in the foyer. “You are not to leave the house. My daughter’s safety is your only concern. Do I make myself clear, Hauptmann?”
“Of course, Frau Neumann. The kommandant has already given his orders.”
His words fuelled her anger. She swallowed it down.
He held the front door open for her and closed it before she reached the car. She stared up at Astrid’s shuttered window and prayed that she would eat her food and play with Lakritze and not worry about them. Though God knew she would worry about Astrid until they returned safely home.
It was a few miles on the other side of town to the generalmajor’s house. The streets were empty of people and light. Under the half-moon, a heavy mist hung, obscuring any stars that might have brightened the sky. The snow had turned from white to a speckled brown and sludge at the side of the road. Outside town, a patrol passed their vehicles heading northeast to Strasbourg no doubt. She watched through the windscreen, the spotlights up ahead getting closer.
The driver slowed their car. “A checkpoint, Kommandant Neumann.”
Gerhard huffed.
Lights suddenly flashed in various directions, as though spotting a moving target. Machine gun fire rang out, piercing screams, and then suddenly there was silence.
Johanna gasped and clutched her chest. She turned to Gerhard who seemed unmoved. “What was that?”
“They were probably trying to pass with false papers.”
Her skin crawled and her palms became clammy at the matter-of-factness in his tone. “So they were shot.”
He turned to her. His eyes were as empty as the streets they’d just driven through, and his features fixed in annoyance as though everything was an inconvenience, especially her.
“Of course. What do you expect?”
She moved towards the door, as far away from him as she could get. She wanted to scream, complain, ask questions, find a better solution, but she said nothing because anything she said would make her a target too.
As they got closer to the checkpoint, she saw the bodies in a heap at the side of the road, like trash waiting to be collected.
“They never learn,” Gerhard said.
Johanna bit her lip until she tasted blood.
***
The dinner had been an all-right affair, and Johanna had thought of little else other than being back at the house with Astrid. The generalmajor was a pleasant-enough man, quite a bit older than Gerhard and charming, not at all how Gerhard had depicted him. They had talked about how this winter seemed colder than the previous, their Christmases past, in Berlin for them and in Dusseldorf for the Bauers, their children and the social engagements they’d enjoyed before the war. They had stopped short of any meaningful discussion about the war, of course, although Gerhard had mentioned with great pride Ralf’s imminent recruitment into the 12th Panzer Division, and Frau Bauer had mentioned with equal sadness her sons who were both fighting on the Eastern front.
Johanna had said nothing. She hadn’t been able to get the image out of her mind of the three dead men lying at the side of the road, and had struggled to eat while her husband had filled his belly. He had added very little to the conversation, addressing only the generalmajor, and glanced in Johanna’s direction even less.
The men had retreated to the drawing room after dinner, to drink brandy and discuss matters they deemed too important to be discussed in front of women.
Johanna wanted to go home.
“The war will be over by Easter,” Frau Bauer said as they sat at the table. She sipped her drink and drew down on her cigarette and became shrouded in a cloud of grey smoke.
Johanna stifled a yawn. She would rather they lost the war before it claimed her son. “Do you really think so?” She took a sip of wine and forced a smile.
“Well, Hans is absolutely convinced.”
“And what do you think?” Johanna held her gaze. “I’m petrified of losing my son,” she added, drawing on the sadness she’d seen in Frau Bauer’s expression when talking about her boys.
“If I can be honest,” Frau Bauer said. She looked up and Johanna nodded. She sighed and stared into her wine glass as if seeking answers. “Every day, I pray for it to end, Johanna. I want my sons back alive.”
At last, someone who talked from the heart. Johanna softened towards the woman, let her guard down. “I heard we’re withdrawing all along the Eastern front. Hopefully, they’ll both come home sooner than you think.”
“You have doubts that we’ll win the war, Frau Neumann?” The older woman drew down on her cigarette and let the smoke circle around her face.
“Some, yes.”
“Voicing an opinion that promotes uncertainty is a dangerous thing to do. We must boost morale, not destroy it, no?”
Johanna tensed and sipped her wine, uncertain at the twist in the conversation. Had she said too much and been drawn into a trap? “Morale is indeed fragile. I’m sure the spring weather will help. It must be hideous fighting in this cold.”
Frau Bauer looked at her quizzically. “I happen to agree with you, Johanna. I’m under no illusion that my sons would be redeployed, should they survive the Russian advances. We are trapped, are we not?” She drew down on her cigarette and exhaled slowly, then smiled. “Do you paint, Johanna?”
Johanna was taken aback by her openness. The only thing that might guarantee the safe return of their sons was an immediate end to the war. They were stuck, and all they could do was sit back and wait. “No, I don’t. Though I am a lover of the arts.”
Frau Bauer put out her cigarette and stood up. “Come and see my collection. Maybe it will inspire you.” She led Johanna out of the dining room and along a short corridor. “I used to paint more, but it is almost impossible to get hold of supplies now.”
The heady smell of oil and turpentine overpowered the small room that had been set up as a gallery. There was an easel in one corner with a canvas on it, jars and brushes on the floor, an abstract scene in the early stages of development. Other canvases on the floor leaned against the walls. None of them looked finished. Amongst the paintings that were hung up, she recognised immediately Picasso’s Bare Foot Child and Gauguin’s Day of the Gods. It seemed that some works of a degenerate nature were permitted for those in privileged positions.
“How did you get hold of them?” she asked before censoring herself to what might be perceived as an allegation of illegality.
“They were in a house we were stationed at, in Rennes, in forty-one. They were hidden in the attic. We were told that the owners had fled the house, leaving everything. I don’t know if that was true, but I had to assume they weren’t coming back and that whoever moved into the house after us, well, I thought they might be destroyed. Rightly or wrongly, and believing I could do something good, I felt compelled to rescue them.” Frau Bauer ran her fingertip along the gilded-edged frame of the Bare Foot Child. “It’s stunning, isn’t it?”
“It’s a Picasso,” Johanna said, because she couldn’t very well accuse her of stealing them, even though that was technically the truth. “What is there not to admire?”
Frau Bauer was watching her closely. “I am taking care of them until after the war,” she said. “I am not a thief. However, like you, I am a lover of the arts. I sense your despair at this war, and I share in your sentiment. God help us all if we cannot preserve what little culture the war has left us with, so our grandchildren may take it and breathe new life into it. I will find a new home for them once all this is behind us, a museum somewhere so that they can be properly enjoyed.”
The tension Johanna had been holding melted away. She wanted to hug Frau Bauer. She smiled. “It’s such a relief to know that some of us still care about these things.”
Frau Bauer sighed and gazed lovingly at the Picasso. “I pray that there are more people who care about our culture than do not.”
“Well, I for one hope you get to paint again soon.”
“Hmm.” Frau Bauer seemed lost in her musings.
Johanna heard Gerhard’s voice down the corridor and took one last look at the masterpieces she would probably never see this closely again, enjoying them through a new lens of optimism. “I think we are about to leave,” she said. “It’s been nice meeting you.”
“You wear your heart on your sleeve, Johanna. Be careful who else notices.”
Johanna didn’t feel so much chastised as liberated by the comment. Whether she would see Frau Bauer again or not didn’t matter; she had an ally; and that meant there would be others. She didn’t need to know who those people were: just knowing they were out there somewhere, that was enough to lift her spirits.
They made their way to the front of the house and, ignoring Gerhard, she thanked the generalmajor for his hospitality. She held out her hand to Frau Bauer. “Happy New Year.”
Frau Bauer smiled. “Let’s hope so, Johanna. For all our sakes.”
She sensed Gerhard’s coldness towards her even more strongly on the journey home, though it touched her heart a little less.