Eighteen
Eighteen
W e take a tram to the city center and sit near the door, squeezed together on the wooden bench, my leg touching his.
The Reichsmarks I’ve been saving since my birthday sit heavily in my skirt pocket.
He slides an arm around my shoulder. I freeze.
Is this too much? I risk a glance behind, but most people in the carriage are staring sightlessly out the window, lost in their own worlds.
Walter convinced me it would be fine when we discussed it in the soggy, deserted barn. Now we’re here, I’m not so sure.
“You look... beautiful,” he says, sending a warm rush from my head to my toes. His breath tickles my ear.
An elderly lady, sitting behind us, tuts at Walter’s outrageous attentions. I spring away, my heart pounding so hard I feel sick.
“Relax,” he whispers, pulling me closer.
The lady huffs, louder this time.
He leans in, placing his mouth right up to my ear. “You must join in. Look like you’re enjoying this, or she might become suspicious. Please.” He speaks so quietly I can barely make out the words.
I swallow, then turn to look at him, forcing myself to smile. Our heads are close together and for an instant I think our lips might connect. The lady taps her stick on the metal bar at the back of our seat. We jump at the shock of the sound, but Walter just laughs and pulls me close again.
“Young people today, there is no decorum anymore,” we hear the lady say to her neighbor.
My body fizzes. What the hell are we doing?
How can Walter be so calm? He’s staring out the tram window, humming a tune, tapping a hand lightly on his thigh.
But his other hand holds mine, and I can feel his palm is clammy.
Act natural , I will myself firmly, just like we agreed.
Surely, in my BDM uniform, with this attractive blond young man at my side, nobody can suspect a thing.
But my nerves remain on edge all the same.
We jump off the tram in Hindenburgstrasse, not far from the House of Nations.
I exhale a slow breath of relief. Ahead, the huge building housing the fair is festooned with flags from every nation, flanked by tall flagpoles from which swastikas flutter in the breeze.
It’s a beautiful day and the square opposite is teeming with visitors.
Tables and chairs have been set up outside and waiters in long white aprons rush from one customer to the next carrying trays piled high with tankards of beer, pretzels and sausages.
As soon as the tram has rattled away, Walter catches my arm. “Hetty, you must act like we do this every day of the week. That way we really won’t attract attention. Remember, we deserve to be together. Just like everyone else. Don’t we?” His jaw is fixed, his expression fierce.
“Yes. Of course we do. I... I didn’t realize I’d be so nervous. How do you stay calm?”
“Because...” He swallows hard, and for a moment I think he is going to cry.
“This is my city, my girl, and I should have as much right as the next man to walk about, out in the open with her. I’ve thought about it a lot.
I’ve spent too long creeping in the shadows.
This feels like the right thing to do. It’s defiance against a giant wall of despair.
With you at my side, Hetty, I feel strong. You give me that.”
People are bustling all around, but where we stand, his fingers tight around my arms, there is absolute stillness. As though we two, in the midst of this crowded city of strangers, are alone in an invisible oasis of calm.
My thrumming heart slows. “It’s going to be fine,” I say with a nod.
“Yes. It really is.” He releases my arms and smiles. “Now. I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
“We’ll never find somewhere.” I look around the busy square. Every table is taken.
“All two hundred thousand fairgoers are here, getting lunch,” Walter observes. “Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter.”
We walk south, threading our way through the throngs, passing the imposing new government buildings and the law courts.
We turn down unfamiliar backstreets where it’s quieter, poorer.
I’m reminded of the street outside our old apartment block.
Children play in the road, several without shoes.
An old woman sits on a stool in a doorway, shelling peas.
A man pushes a barrow, knocking on doors, trying and failing to sell kitchenware.
Skinny, mangy dogs sniff in the gutters.
“Time for a joke, I think,” Walter says. He checks behind us, then speaks quietly, so nobody else can possibly hear.
“Hitler visits a lunatic asylum. The inmates are all lined up. He passes down the line and comes to a man who isn’t saluting. ‘Why aren’t you saluting, like the others?’ he barks. ‘Mein Führer,’ the man replies, ‘I’m the nurse, I’m not crazy!’”
I swallow a snigger. “Walter, really, you shouldn’t tell such jokes,” I caution, “you’ll be sent to a camp if anyone hears.”
“Sometimes,” he says, “a little humor is the only thing that makes it all bearable.”
We turn into a wider, busier road. Across the street is a large department store. Salamander’s , I read.
“Perhaps there’s a café in there,” I suggest.
We walk through the revolving doors. Just inside the entrance stands a board with a store guide.
We look down the list of departments and sure enough, there is a café on the ground floor.
A shop assistant points us in the right direction.
We wander through the rug and curtain departments. The shop floor is quiet.
I try to ignore the creeping feeling that someone might be following.
“Hetty?” Walter studies my face. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Fine,” I tell him, checking over my shoulder.
“Sure?”
“Absolutely.”
I force a smile.
“Good,” Walter says. He takes hold of my hand and gives it a squeeze, just for a moment, his skin warm and soft against mine.
The café has rows of square tables covered with bright red linen and cheerful prints on the walls. A counter stretches across one end with delicious displays of cakes and pastries. There are a couple of empty tables and we choose the one near the window.
I order kartoffelsuppe and Walter the goulash.
“So, fr?ulein,” he says in a low voice when the waiter has gone. “Are you looking forward to the rest of our day?”
He leans across the table, smiling into my eyes.
I bury my fears, wondering what it is he has in mind.
Thoughts begin to bubble. His coat spread beneath a tree and us lying on it, kissing.
Window-shopping, arm in arm, laughing and joking together.
A visit to a museum, perhaps, or even to the fair.
The day stretches ahead with tantalizing possibilities.
“Where do you want to take me?” I smile back at him.
“I’ve arranged to give you something. You are going to love it.” And he rubs his hands together with delight.
The waiter returns to the table with our drinks, setting down two glasses of chilled apple juice. The background chatter from the other tables rises and falls around us. Nobody looks or stares. Walter watches me over the rim of his glass.
“Tell me! What will you give me?”
“You’re going to have to wait. I want it to be a surprise.” He winks.
The waiter returns with my steaming bowl of potato soup and Walter’s goulash and potato pancakes. The soup is deliciously salty; tangy, with chunks of bacon and sausage. We eat in silence.
I place my spoon in the empty bowl and glance around at the other customers while Walter finishes his meal.
A noisy family; a couple smiling into each other’s eyes; two ladies gossiping; the next table along by the window, a mother and daughter perhaps.
.. I catch my breath. My eyes float back to the two ladies.
One of them is vaguely familiar. Do I know her?
Is she a friend of Mutti’s? One of her charity ladies, I think. Could she have seen me?
“Shall we go? Let’s get the bill,” I urge, passing a handful of coins to Walter.
“Thank you.” He wears a pained expression, shame, perhaps, as he slides the money across the table.
“Hurry,” I urge.
“Are you okay?” He looks at me with concern and signals to a waiter.
“Couldn’t be better. Just want to enjoy the rest of the day.” I force myself to smile.
The ladies are having a disagreement about something. They shake their heads and gesticulate. Fortunately, this keeps them from observing their neighbors.
Walter counts out the cash for the waiter and I follow him out of the café.
Once we are back in the crowded, narrow cobbled streets of the old town, I can breathe again.
How stupid, how utterly reckless we’ve been.
I long to be in the fields and woods where there is no chance of being seen.
We head toward the outer ring road, where the old city walls would once have stood.
There’s a chill to the air, but the sun is out, bathing the city in a rich amber gold that only autumn brings.
“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” Walter smiles at me as we walk arm in arm.
“Frequently,” I reply, wishing he would lower his voice.
We cross the tram lines and busy main road and he leads me into Gottschedstrasse, a quiet side street flanked with tall buildings and a few shops with awnings overhanging the pavement.
We stop on the corner outside an imposing churchlike building, three stories high, with a huge iron door.
Light shines from the glass windows above it.
“What...” I begin, but my eye is caught by the large, gold Star of David on the wall beside the door.
“The Community Synagogue,” Walter explains.
I shrink away.
“Why did you bring me here?” I look at him in disbelief.
“It’s okay.” He smiles. “You don’t have to come in. But hidden in here is the thing I want you to have.”
“But... oh, Walter, that’s not a good idea.”
“Why not? You don’t know what it is yet.”