Thirty-Three #2
“March next year,” I echo, for a moment allowing my mind to project further ahead than the next few days.
What future has this Germany in store for me , without Walter, without Karl?
It stretches ahead, like this forest: bleak, empty, desolate.
It has to happen, I know, but the cold reality is a bitter poison on my tongue.
“I want you to be safe, Walter, I do. But I can’t bear the thought of you and her—”
“I know. I can hardly bear it either. But I don’t see how I have any choice.
I’m so sorry. Shit,” he says, letting go of me and burying his face in his hands.
“Words are just so inadequate...” He raises his head, eyes watering, and pulls me by the shoulders to face him.
His jaw is fixed, teeth clenched. “I feel like a traitor, leaving you and my parents behind. I’d give anything to take you with me.
As for my parents, as soon as I’m in London, I’m going to work like hell to get them to England.
I’ll do everything I can, work twenty-four hours a day if I must, to make it happen.
Besides, if I don’t think of it as a rescue mission, none of it is bearable. ”
I float my head onto his chest.
“I’ve already made some progress,” he says.
“I’ve been in touch with contacts of Josef’s.
We’ve registered a company, Keller the clouds drop down and gloom pervades this deserted spot. He tries to kiss me, but I turn my head away.
“Hetty... look at me, please.”
The lump in my throat is huge and hard. “I’m going to miss you more than I can bear,” I mumble at last.
“One day, I hope, this madness will end. With luck, England, America, the Western world will fight for freedom. Hitler won’t stop here, that’s for sure.
And then, who knows? We must have hope. For now, you must bite your tongue and pretend to go along with things, just as you always have.
Nobody can know what you really think. Stay safe, and true to yourself.
” He gently wipes my tears away with his fingertips.
“I will love you always and forever. Every day for the rest of my life; if the worst happens and you never hear from me again, you must know this.” His voice breaks then, and there is no more to be said.
L ATER, DURING SUPPER, Mutti barely eats a thing while Vati eats with gusto. I stir the greasy pork around my plate; its full, fatty flavor turns my stomach.
Ingrid brings assorted pastries and a small glass of sweet pudding wine. I gulp half a glass, swill it around my mouth to cleanse it of the sickly taste of pork. I stare at her, try to work her out. Is it her?
She carefully avoids my eyes.
Vati clears his throat and looks at me.
“Your mother and I have been talking.” His water-pale eyes are serious. Red rimmed. He exudes exhaustion. Like a shroud, the shadow of Karl’s death smothers us all.
“School will be over for you soon and we have decided what your next step should be.”
“I want to go to university. You know I do. I want to become a doctor...”
“Herta,” Vati snaps, “we’ve been through this. It’s impossible.”
“I could go abroad.”
He snorts with contempt. “University is out of the question. You will go to Hausfrau school.”
“What!” I shriek. “I don’t want to go to Hausfrau school! I would only learn needlework, or to speak politely at a cocktail party, or plan a dinner for twelve. I have no intention of getting married, so—”
“Don’t talk to your father like that,” Mutti scolds. “You are being unspeakably rude.”
They both glare at me, and I close my mouth. Heat flares.
“You’ve been allowed too much free rein.
Freedom has infected your mind. May I remind you”—Vati’s voice is low with warning—“that selfish desires, if allowed to perpetuate, spell the death of civilization. Duty comes first, above all and everything. Of course,” he continues, “you want to get married. Early marriage is good for the young. Curbs their natural inclination to be flighty and out of control.”
“I’m not... What do you mean, free rein? What am I supposed to have done wrong?”
Neither answers me. “I know my duty. I don’t understand—”
“Your duty is to marry and produce as many children as you can for our Führer, for the future of this country. That is all.” Vati is angry, red in the face.
“Your brother did his duty. He was prepared to give his life to do his bit for the Reich. While you? You cavort around, more intent on entertainment and enjoyment, cultivating wild plans for... for... travel, and university and jobs and other ridiculous notions.” He thumps his fist on the table. Mutti and I both jump.
“Your mother has lost control of you,” he continues.
“It’s not that I blame you, Hélène, given what has happened, but it isn’t right for a girl of your age, Herta, to be granted such freedoms. Always out and about doing heaven knows what, with heaven knows whom, and no brother to keep an eye on you. ”
I look around for Ingrid, ready to throw daggers at her, but she’s left the room. Blood pulses in my temples. They cannot stop me going out. How I wish I could point out how Vati carries on.
“Franz, I’m sorry, she shouldn’t...”
Ingrid returns to clear away the dessert.
“Coffee?” she asks, her voice bright and cheerful as though she has been listening gleefully outside the door.
“In the sitting room, if you please, Ingrid.”
She leaves the room again, without bothering to shut the door.
Vati wipes his mouth on his napkin. “Your cousin Eva has just finished at a very good school in Halle. Or perhaps you could go to Dresden, or Berlin.”
Hausfrau school!
“Vati, I would like to take my Abitur.” I try to keep my voice steady. “Please. I’m a good student—I should get an excellent mark.”
“The Abitur is a waste of time, especially for girls. You can study teaching at Hausfrau school, if you are so set on a job. That would be acceptable to your mother and I.”
He places his hand over hers where it lies, limp and pale on the table. He smiles at her, then at me. His anger has evaporated. He has that look on his face that says, I’m being so very indulgent. I’m kindhearted but I don’t give in to hysteria or weak-minded women.
I look from one to the other. Mutti is closed off and I’m all alone. If Karl were here, he would know just what to say. He would make them see reason.
I collapse back in my chair. Words are useless.
They won’t listen. Mutti and Vati move on, talk of something else.
The air around me is leaden, pressing me down.
Squeezing and suffocating. More than ever before, I’m aware of the confines of the walls of this house, solid and impenetrable as a prison.
I will not go to Hausfrau school, Vati. I simply will not go.
Back in my room I shove the linen aside in my cupboard and, with shaking hands, pull up the loose floorboard.
Reaching into the void, my fingers brush the journal.
Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you. I pull it out and stare at the patchwork of colors on its cover.
I remember, as though it were yesterday, when Karl sat on my bed, anxiously awaiting my reaction when he gave it to me.
And how the light dazzled in his eyes when he knew the pleasure it gave me.
I imagine burning it. Watching the pages curl and blacken in the heat. Would the cover turn to ash, or would traces of it be left in the grate for Ingrid to find in the morning?
I smooth my hand back and forth over its cover, as if it were a precious pet. One day I’ll be old and my memories will be all I have. When they fade, what will there be to remind me? What if I should forget altogether?
Carefully, I fold the journal in a pillowcase, place it in the void, and drop the floorboard back into place. If Ingrid hasn’t found it yet, she is hardly likely to before Walter leaves this country for good. And I’m going to make damned sure of that.