Forty-One
Forty-One
I t’s a crisp afternoon and Erna has come to see me.
“How are you?” she asks, watching me warily.
“You know,” I reply, shrugging.
She smiles. “I have something for you.”
My heartbeat quickens as she takes the envelope from her pocket.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
She hands it to me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, putting it quickly into my skirt pocket.
“Visit me soon,” she says, buttoning her coat. “You need to get out more.”
I fetch Kuschi from the kitchen, pull on my warm coat, and, fingering the letter in my pocket all the way, walk down to the river near the allotments.
It seems like a fitting place to read it.
I sit on the still frost-covered bank and pull out the envelope, smoothing the creases with my fingers.
Erna’s address, written in Walter’s neat script.
My heart dips and twists, as though it were the real person here, in my hands.
I look at it for a long time before I allow myself to tear it open.
My darling Hetty,
Well, here I am. I’ve arrived. I’m safe, which I suppose is a good thing. But I’m also numb and empty. Of course, I miss my parents horribly, but there is also a massive, Hetty-shaped hole inside me, which I doubt can ever be filled.
It is strange to be here, to put it mildly.
As you know, my English consists of only a few words.
It is a baptism of fire, and I shall have to learn quickly.
Anna and her family speak only English now, even to each other at home.
They are so keen to be English that German is forbidden.
But they have been kind and welcoming. The very first thing her father did was to attend to my fingers.
I needed surgery, which I have now had. They had to amputate my badly injured finger.
The other two are saved, although misshapen.
So my hand is still bandaged up. I suppose I will learn to manage with four fingers on that hand. It could have been much worse.
So I can hear you ask, what is life like?
Well, we live in a small town south of London.
The people dress a little oddly—there is a certain frivolity and carefree abandon in their clothing that I hadn’t expected of the English.
Their manners are somewhat strange. I must remember not to click my heels and be too upright.
The English are more tactile than us. There is much clapping of backs and handshakes as well as a good deal of nodding and smiling, but I’m sure I will get used to it soon enough.
They are friendly, on the whole, a little suspicious perhaps, but being unable to speak their language is rather a barrier, I suppose.
I am determined to learn fast. Truthfully, though, everything is utterly confusing, strange and new.
I try my best, but some days I feel like I’m a small child, wading through molasses.
I try to be brave. Thinking of you makes me more so.
I have met a most helpful man, Herr Gunther, who is a big name in the fur trade here.
He is helping me to correspond with the British authorities regarding my own business, and my plan to get the rest of my family here.
He has even gone so far as to offer financial help and has given assurances as to our family’s good reputation.
But there are so many needy cases. Thousands and thousands apply every week.
So far, the British government has said they cannot take any more refugees.
But I’ve heard rumors that the British are offering sanctuary to Jewish children, until they can rejoin their parents at a later date, in Palestine or Germany.
My grandmother, mother, aunt, and her three children are living in the Jewish house now on Humboldstrasse.
They share one room. I wonder if the children might qualify to come here.
They are fifteen, twelve, and eight. I believe the upper age limit for this kindertransport to England is fourteen.
Perhaps just the younger two might come?
How hateful it is to split our family up in this way.
I wonder, darling Hetty, whether you might make any inquiries on your end?
I suppose you are wondering how it is with Anna.
I can only be honest with you, my darling.
It is awkward: painfully uncomfortable. When we are alone, I really have no idea what to say to her.
She keeps saying it is because I have been through so much, and it is fine.
But really, it isn’t. How can I tell her that I’ve given my heart to you?
I can’t, of course, so I say nothing instead.
She is gentle and sweet natured and I cannot be unkind.
In fact, I feel guilty, because I don’t know that I can be the husband she deserves.
I feel like an actor in a bizarre play that will never end.
I try to always keep busy because the worst time is when I’m alone, at night, and my mind wanders freely.
That is when the pain is at its most unbearable and I’m not sure I can keep on living.
I didn’t know whether to tell you, but I don’t want to keep secrets, my darling.
So, with heavy heart, I must tell you that the date for the wedding is set for the fifteenth of March.
I know how much this will pain you, but please do try to be happy, my love.
I do so want for you to be happy. You’ve done so much for me, completely unselfishly.
You should seek happiness with another. And for this reason, I wonder if it would be for the best for you, and least dangerous, that, as we discussed, we don’t stay in contact?
Tell me what you think, my love. I long to hear your news.
I must ask you to write to the post office address I enclose here.
Anna doesn’t yet know about you. I will tell her, but not yet.
It hurts too much for now. Use the post office address, also, if there is ever an emergency.
Hopefully there won’t be a need for it, but in case you hear any news of my family you need to relay, then do use it.
It will get easier, for us both soon, I hope.
All my love and gratitude,
Walter
The letter is a stab to the heart. I am his past. Anna is his future.
He is never coming back. He won’t be in contact again.
I read his words over and over. I touch the paper he touched. I try smelling it, to see if there is any hint of him on the page. But there is none. Just a taste of his new life. And once his family is gone, no trace of him will be left here, in this city of his birth.
“Y OU ’ VE MISSED COFFEE and cake!” Bertha exclaims when I eventually push open the back door and return with Kuschi, still fingering the letter in my pocket.
“I’m not really hungry anyway,” I tell her, releasing Kuschi from his leash. He noisily laps water from his bowl on the floor.
Bertha picks up a cloth and begins to dry the crockery she has recently washed.
“Everything all right, Fr?ulein Herta?” Bertha asks, tilting her head slightly, concern in her hooded gray eyes.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Sit down,” she instructs. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
I sink down onto the bench at the big oak table.
“Thank you, Bertha,” I mumble. I watch her pour the milk into a pan, fetch the cocoa, and spoon it into a waiting pot. She adds the sugar and leans against the stove as she stirs the milk. It seems that she, at least, is forgiven by my parents.
“You’re missing him, I suppose,” she says.
“Is it so obvious? He sent me a letter. Seems to be settling into London life.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? Not much of a life here for him, was it?”
“I know. He deserves a good life, after everything...”
She flashes me a look.
“And so do you, Fr?ulein Herta. So do you.”
“Even after I risked all that trouble for you?”
“All’s forgiven, Fr?ulein. Forgotten about.” She takes the pan off the heat and pours steaming milk into the pot, stirring.
“He’s getting married, you know. He had to, to get the visa.”
Bertha places the pot, a sugar bowl, and a cup and saucer on a tray.
“I don’t know much about most things, it’s true,” she says slowly. “But I know a little about love affairs. And I know this: You can’t hold on to Walter forever. He’s gone now. Safe, but gone. It’s time you moved on and found someone new.”
“But you never did.”
She places the tray in front of me and looks me squarely in the face.
“Which is exactly why I know what you must do. It’s over. Blessedly no harm’s come to either of you, and that’s to be thankful for. You’re young. You have plenty of time.” She places a hand on my shoulder, gives it a squeeze, and walks back to the draining board to continue her work.
I pour the steaming chocolate from the pot and cradle the cup in my hands. I watch Bertha with a grateful heart.
Forget him. Move on. Live a normal life once more.
I’ll try, dearest Bertha. I’ll try.
L ATER, WHEN EVERYONE is asleep, I sit up in bed and switch on my reading lamp.
Propped against my pillows, I pen a reply to Walter.
I will pass it to Erna to send on. I can’t risk Ingrid, the snake, or anyone else reporting back to Vati that I’ve been spotted in the post office, sending letters to England.
My darling,
I’m so very relieved you have arrived safely, and that, although different and strange to start with, you have received a good welcome in England. I very much hope that you are able to live the life you deserve to live, and that England stays free of the Nazi ideology.
I cannot begin to tell you how alone I am now that you have gone.
It’s as though my heart has been ripped from my chest. It made me smile when you mentioned the Hetty-shaped hole in your life.
You should know that I am living with a Walter-shaped hole in mine.
It is, of course, larger, given our relative sizes. I can hear you laughing at that.
Kuschi has been my main comfort, in all honesty, but Erna is also being a stalwart at propping me up, and now that you are gone, I’m finally allowed more freedom again.
So a return to the interminable BDM meetings and school.
I can barely stand the BDM anymore, but I have no choice but to go.
So instead, I will throw myself into schoolwork and hope that I can gain a good enough result in the Abitur to allow me to study abroad one day.
I should still so much like to become a doctor.
I will speak with Erna’s family to see what, if anything, can be done to help your cousins make it to England. I must be careful to not raise suspicion because Vati hasn’t forgiven me.
If only there could have been a way that we could have left Germany together.
But there wasn’t, and for this reason, even though it pains me so much to even write it, I know it will be best for you that I don’t stay in contact.
I do not want to make trouble for you and your soon-to-be-wife.
I think of Vati and his secret lover and it’s quite unbearable what this would do to Mutti if she knew.
I know you are honorable and good, and you would not want to mistreat your wife.
You must start a new life with your Anna properly. I will never be “the other woman.”
I am not entirely sure that I will ever completely recover from all this, but I will try.
Please know that I shall never stop thinking of you, ever.
All my love, now and forever,
Hetty