Thirty-Two
Thirty-Two
A fter the funeral, Mutti flees to stay with her sister, Adèle, in Weimar.
“She needs to be cared for,” Vati tells me firmly. “She’s in no fit state to look after anyone else. Time away from prying eyes and gossipers will help her heal.”
“But I could take care of her. I could go with her to Weimar.”
“No, you must stay in Leipzig. Oma Annamaria is coming this afternoon from Berlin to keep an eye on you, and the household. Tomorrow you return to school. Life must get back to normal.”
“But it isn’t normal anymore.” My heart sinks at the thought of Vati’s strict mother—a true Prussian, with her sucked-in cheeks and ramrod straight back, dressed as always from head to toe in black—in place of Mutti’s soft, perfumed presence.
“A new normal. We must be strong, Herta. Strong for your mother and strong for the Fatherland.” Vati stares into space, as if seeing visions of all he must achieve.
“I have to work. It’s the best way to cope.
” He heads toward the study. “I may have to be away a good deal, so don’t give your oma any trouble. ”
How very convenient. Send Mutti away and go to your mistress for comfort.
I follow Vati into the hall, wondering what to do with myself, when there is a knock at the front door. Another visitor.
Tomas is on the doorstep holding a bunch of yellow roses. I usher him inside and put the flowers in a vase; they are cheerful. Full of hope, like spring.
We sit opposite each other in the morning room. He looks awkward and uneasy in the armchair. His hair is neatly slicked back, glasses cleaned. His best jacket on.
“Thank you for coming to see me. It’s kind of you.”
“I’ve wanted to come for ages. Soon as I heard. But it’s hard. Long shifts, you know. Besides, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to...”
He uses the same soft, low voice as everyone else. It’s unbearable. Suffocating, like air turned to water, it’s hard to breathe.
“Such a fuckin’ awful thing to happen. What a shitty waste.” He speaks harshly, through gritted teeth. The change of tone, the swear words make me smile.
“Would you like coffee?”
“Please.”
I ring the bell and ask Ingrid to bring us a fresh pot. She looks from Tomas to me and back again. Is that a hint of surprise in her eyes? Perhaps I should get Tomas to visit more often.
“You look worn out. And thin,” he says, studying me.
“It’s hard to sleep. And eat.”
“Of course. How’s your mother?”
“Inconsolable. She’s gone to stay with her sister in Weimar for a while. I’ve got the pleasure of my oma, Vati’s mother, coming to look after me. She’s awfully strict.”
“I’m so sorry, Hetty. Truly. If, you know, there’s anything I can do. Just ask, yeah?”
So everyone says. But really, what can they do?
“It’s very nice to see you, Tomas,” I say, meaning it.
A FTER O MA HAS arrived and settled down for her afternoon nap, I change into my BDM uniform.
My palms are clammy and I fumble at my buttons with clumsy fingers.
I know I shouldn’t go, but the desperate need is too strong.
Karl’s voice sounds loud and clear in my brain.
Stay away from him, Little Mouse. Stay away.
“It’s fine, Karl,” I say out loud to the empty room. “He’s as good as gone anyway. This will be the last time I see him. I promise.”
I head toward Walter’s uncle’s warehouse.
The Brühl is packed with people heading back to work after lunch.
Grand stone buildings run the length of the street.
The heart of the Jewish business quarter.
Or at least, it had been. Many of the department stores, fur businesses, and law offices have changed hands now.
The street is becoming Aryanized. Walter’s uncle’s firm, Keller on the other are lines of dark, inert shapes hanging down.
There is a strange, cloying odor. The atmosphere is so still, it’s as if the air inside the warehouse is frozen.
“I had to see you.”
“Oh, Hetty... It’s been so hard to stay away from you. Every little thing that happens, you’re the first person I want to tell. Every idea, every feeling, every doubt. I want to share it with you.”
“I know—”
“I came looking for you.”
“You did?”
“The other day, outside school, but I didn’t see you. Then I walked past your house. But there seemed to be a lot of people coming and going.”
“I thought you might already have gone to England.”
“If only it were that easy.” He sighs.
“I wasn’t there. At school, I mean. Walter, the most dreadful thing has happened. I’ve been desperate to see you for days, hoping against hope you were still here.”
“Come with me. Tell me...” He places a hand between my shoulder blades and guides me toward a brightly lit office at the back of the warehouse.
“Rabbit skins,” Walter explains as we walk, pointing at the bales, “for making hats.”
He points at the shapes dangling from hooks in the ceiling. Through the gloom, I can see they have heads and tails. Even the little feet are still attached.
“These are raw skins. Silver fox and mink. Once they’ve been treated, they’ll be sold to be made into coats and jackets.”
The smell in the warehouse is overwhelming. It makes my head spin and stings my throat.
“Whatever is that stink?” I ask, covering my mouth and nose with my hands.
He chuckles, looking more relaxed. “Naphthalene,” he explains, “to kill the moths. They would destroy the skins otherwise.”
“How can you stand it?”
“You get used to the smell. I don’t even notice anymore.” He turns to the rows of dead creatures. “Aren’t these beautiful?” He runs his hand along the silvery white fur of the fox skins. “I wish I could dress you, head to toe, in a coat made of these.”
I stare at the dead creature hanging directly in front of me, trying to imagine it draped over my body. Its four little paws hang down forlornly. The inside of the skin is stained red where the flesh has been peeled away and the eyes are a dull, milky white.
I shudder.
Walter grabs my hands, pulling me close. “Tell me, what happened?” His face is serious. “Hetty, you look exhausted. Whatever is it?”
“Karl...” The tears begin to flow, and Walter’s face swims and dissolves before me.
We hold hands across the table in the little glass office, surrounded by this warehouse of the dead.
My head aches from breathing in the chemical stink and from the effort of retelling the story of what happened to Karl.
Even though he is holding my hand, Walter feels a long way away.
A table between us, when I want to be in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he says at last. “What a terrible shock for you all.”
He seems distant. There is something stony about the set of his mouth, the look in his eyes.
It isn’t the reaction I’d expected. Perhaps he’s come to terms with the thought of marrying Anna.
Perhaps he’s even looking forward to it.
Or maybe he’s secretly happy Karl is dead. I pull my hands from his.
“This is my brother . I don’t know how to exist without him.
” How can I make him understand? “While you and I were together that morning, talking about your plans for England with your new wife ”—I spit the word at him—“Karl was being rushed to hospital fighting for his life, and losing it. You don’t give a jot whether he’s alive or dead, do you?
” There is heat in my neck. It rushes to the top of my head like a boiling wave, erupting from my mouth.
“You stupid, unfeeling bastard ! I was an idiot to come here, to think you would even understand.”
“I do care, Hetty. I care that you are so upset.”
He tries to take my hand, but I fold my arms across my chest.
“You don’t care he’s dead, though, do you?” I shout.
“Shh! Someone will hear.” Now he stands, leans on the table, body bent toward me.
“Karl rejected me and treated me like a piece of dirt.” His lips are thin, drawn back; his face taut, like skin stretched over a drum.
“He could have been like you and valued me as a human being. So, in all honesty, yes. I’ve been angry and hurt.
More than you could ever know. But I didn’t wish him dead.
And I’m sorry for your loss. That’s the truth. What more do you want me to say?”