Thirty
Thirty
T he next morning, Vati locks himself in his study to make the necessary phone calls. Mutti sleeps late after taking the sedative prescribed by the doctor. I sit in my window seat, Kuschi tucked next to me, pressing his shaggy black body against my thighs, comforting and steady.
Life inexplicably continues on the street below. Cars trundle past. A boy on a bicycle. A couple walk arm in arm along the pavement; the woman’s shoulder-length hair is curled at the bottom, a shade lighter than Erna’s.
Erna.
Erna. My stomach drops. I must tell Erna what has happened.
A soft knock at the door. Ingrid. Her face is drawn and pale.
“Can I get you anything, fr?ulein?” she asks. “You’ve had no breakfast...”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I understand. It’s... it’s such a dreadful shock.”
She stands close and for a moment I think she’s going to reach out and touch me, but she grips her own hands tightly instead, the whites of her knuckles showing.
“It’s the worst thing that could ever have happened,” I tell her.
“I... I know. I’m so very sorry. I mean, Bertha and me, we’re awfully upset too.”
I look at her properly. Straight into her pale gray eyes, trying to see into her soul.
But she’s as impenetrable as steel. Anger flares.
Who does she think she is, with her snide comments and stealthy manner?
Her smirks and her flirtation with Karl.
Was she the one who told him about Walter?
How dare she presume to understand what it feels like to lose my brother. “Why should you care?”
She takes a step backward.
“I’m sorry. I never meant to offend...” She’s blushing.
“You haven’t answered my question,” I press her coldly. “Why should you care so much?”
“Karl was always kind to me,” she stammers. “I mean, he is... was... so handsome, and kind. But the best thing about him, he listened. Took time to talk and get to know me, like he cared—”
“Just how well did he know you?”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” she says, shaking her head and looking miserable. “What are you implying?” She flushes deep red.
I stand, square up to her.
“Nothing. I’m not implying anything.”
We stare at each other.
“I don’t want any food,” I tell her, turning away. “I just want to be alone.”
“I only wanted to help,” Ingrid says, her tone clipped. “That’s all.”
I hear the door click shut behind her and return to stroking Kuschi. I should speak to Vati and get her fired for spying on me. But if she knows what I’ve been doing, what then? What would Vati do if she were to tell him?
Wissen ist macht. There is nothing I can do about her.
I lean my head against the shutter. Drained and exhausted, I shut my eyes.
I have lost my brother. Life will never be the same again.
T HE LATE AFTERNOON air has a chill to it as I make my way to Erna’s flat. Autumn has arrived without me noticing. Or perhaps the cold is coming from inside. Hunger gnaws at my belly. I haven’t eaten a single thing all day.
Erna greets me with a welcoming smile at her front door.
“Oh, Erna.” I grab her hands to stop mine from trembling. “I have some terrible news.”
“What? What’s happened?”
Erna’s arms are around my shoulders. Her warm green eyes search mine and I begin to cry. The pressure in my chest spreads, until my whole body is gripped and wrenched cell from cell by the realization Karl will never again come home.
“Come inside,” she says, guiding me up the four flights of stairs to her flat.
Before she opens the door, I turn to her. I imagine her parents still don’t know about her relationship.
“It’s Karl.” I choke out the words. “There was an accident.”
She freezes and in the gloom of the hallway, the whites of her eyes grow.
“He died yesterday morning.”
“Dear God, no,” she whispers. “It can’t be...” Her disbelief mirrors my own.
We step inside Erna’s comfortable flat and climb the narrow stairs up to her attic room.
“Tell me,” she says, her eyes filled with tears, “exactly what happened.”
I don’t have much detail. The last twenty-four hours have been a blur, but I tell her what Hauptmann Winkler told us.
Erna sinks onto the bed, her eyes moist, twisting a handkerchief between her fingers, listening while I talk.
“Oh, Hetty...” She holds her arms out, and we hug each other for comfort.
“I’m sorry for you, too, Erna. I know how much you meant to each other.”
We lie next to each other on Erna’s bed, my head rested on her shoulder, her auburn hair fanned around us both.
“It makes no sense,” she says after a long silence. “It just makes no sense at all.”
“Mutti blames Hauptmann Winkler. Vati blames the Jews. He vows revenge.”
Erna shifts. “How can he blame the Jews?”
“It’s because of them that we have to build our armed forces. Not altogether rational,” I say with a sigh, “but he has to direct his anger against somebody.”
I don’t tell her that his ranting is making me sick. That Mutti’s flopping about like a wringing rag makes me want to scream and shake her. And I don’t tell Erna that I honestly cannot see how we are all to live anymore.