Fifty-Two
Fifty-Two
Time crawls when there is too much of it.
Without school, with no BDM commitments.
With few visitors, the minutes, the hours, the days stretch longer and longer into one interminable wait.
I hide away in my room and watch the world from my window, my shame unseen and unknown.
Only four people in all the world know in advance that my baby will not survive after its birth.
Vati is no fool. He soon worked out who the real father is.
But it suits him to keep it quiet and out of the news, so he, Mutti, and Tomas plot its demise together.
I’m taking care of the arrangements,” Mutti informs me briskly one afternoon. “For the baby. Vati wants nothing to do with it, for understandable reasons. Besides, he cannot risk any connection.”
“What arrangements?”
“The orphanage. It’s... my area of expertise. Given my work with the children’s home.”
“Will it go to your home?” I could visit every day. Nobody need know. Hope soars in my chest.
“Of course not,” Mutti says, giving me a firm look. “My home is for racially pure children. Your child will be a... It will not qualify.”
“Then where...” The words stick as my throat closes.
“There’s a Jewish orphanage in Berlin. I have been in touch, anonymously .
They will take the child in return for a large donation.
” Her jaw contracts. “They will do anything for money,” she says through pursed lips.
“But in this case, that is useful for us. You will go into a mothers’ home before the birth, in Berlin.
I’ve organized this, too. We cannot risk you being seen by too many people around here, and I don’t want any local midwives to attend the birth. ”
“But, Mutti, please. You can’t make me do this. This is my baby .”
“ Jewish baby.”
“There’s no difference! It’s a baby. Please—”
There is a knock at the sitting room door and Mutti, with a warning look, puts up her hand to silence me. I say no more as Vera pokes her head into the room.
“Tomas is here to see Fr?ulein Herta,” she announces.
I exhale pent-up tension. “Tell him I’ll be right down, Vera,” I manage to say. “Thank you.”
Mutti is talking to Vera, but I don’t hear any of it. I think of my baby and the Jewish orphanage and try not to cry. I sit for a little longer, gathering the energy to hold myself together, before making my way downstairs.
Tomas’s face lights up when he sees me.
“What would you like to do today, darling? A walk? You spend too much time inside, you need some sunshine on your skin. You’ll end up frail, like one of those... pallid, floppy girls. I need you fit and strong, like you used to be.”
“Okay,” I say and put on my outdoor shoes. I keep my voice calm and measured, but inside I’m seething. Never before have I felt such animosity toward another person.
“I guess it’s that thing.” He lowers his voice. “That parasite in your belly, sapping all your strength.”
“Stop it.” Something snaps. “My health is fine, Tomas. But my mother has just told me what is going to happen when my baby is born. How it’s been sold, effectively, to a Jewish orphanage in Berlin—”
“Shh, you don’t want the maid to hear.” He puts a finger to my lips. I slap it away and march out onto the street in front of him.
“I’ve always admired your fiery spirit.” He laughs as he catches up with me.
Firmly, he hooks his arm through mine and marches me down Fritzschestrasse.
“I’ve some good news for you.”
“Oh yes?” My pulse quickens. I look up at him. Perhaps he’s had a change of heart?
“The wedding date! The racial permissions have been granted. We can marry immediately. Your father would like it sooner rather than later, and a quiet affair, for obvious reasons. There can’t be any sniff of a scandal. So how about the Saturday after next?”
You bastard. There is no change of plan. No reprieve. No redeeming quality in the man I’m being forced to marry.
“You really want to marry me, like this?” He will want to take me to bed on our wedding night.
His mouth twists up into a laugh. “Of course, I would prefer to marry you not in that state, but we must, for your father’s sake. Besides”—he gives me an intense look—“I cannot wait to have you all to myself.”
“But... where will we live? We haven’t sorted anything—”
“Ah. That. Well, it’s what I want to talk to you about.”
We turn down Berggartenstrasse. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is high in the sky, the scent of jasmine in the air. I inhale deeply. That snap I felt earlier—like a match lit, it’s taken hold. A small fire burns inside. It’s time for me to take back control.
“Your parents have kindly suggested I move in,” Tomas is saying, “until we can find a suitable place of our own. There’s plenty of space in your house. We can look for a flat in August, after... Anyway, in plenty of time before I join the Heer in September.”
“And in between?” I ask him. “It seems to have all been decided without me having any say. I am to go to some home in Berlin, give birth, and then hand the baby over to strangers. Then I’m supposed to come back here and play the happy wife, with you. I can’t do it, Tomas. I won’t.”
My change of tone makes Tomas jolt.
“You hardly have a choice, Hetty. Do you? You’ve risked your father’s reputation and career.
You risk being thrown into a concentration camp yourself.
This is all your— Well, it’s that vile Jew’s fault, not mine.
I’m your savior here. I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.
Helping out a dear old friend. And, once you’ve sufficiently recovered, we will put all this behind us and start our married life together. Properly.”
The heat is spreading. I’m burning up inside, boiling with a rage I’ve suppressed for weeks.
“You’re my savior ? Doing this from the goodness of your heart ?
Don’t kid yourself, Tomas. This suits you just fine.
Get rid of the problem and be left with just the part you want.
Me. But what if I don’t go along with your plan?
What if I say no?” I stand still in the middle of the street, every cell in my body screaming.
“I am not like you, Tomas. It wasn’t that vile Jew’s fault I’m pregnant.
He never forced me to do anything. We loved each other.
I did it willingly with him because I wanted to.
Because he is a wonderful, kind human being.
Jews are no different from anybody else.
It’s all lies. All of it. There is no evil conspiracy to take over the world, unless you’re Hitler, of course—”
“Shut up!”
“No, I won’t shut up. For once, I’m going to speak the truth—”
Tomas grabs hold of both of my wrists, squeezes them hard. Shakes me. But I won’t stop now.
“Yes! That’s the truth. Hitler’s the evil one who’s wrong, who lies. There is no master race, no inherent superiority. Everyone is the same, Jew or non-Jew, African or Aryan. We’re all humans —”
“Shut the fuck up!” Tomas shouts, shaking me harder. “How dare you—”
“ I’m going to keep this baby! ” I yell. “ Over my dead body will I let anyone take it away! ”
Tomas jerks my wrists so hard I cry out in pain.
“Enough,” he commands, without relinquishing his grasp.
I’m gasping for breath, my cheeks wet with tears.
“Have you finished with the dramatic little outburst?”
My energy is spent and he loosens his grip, dropping my wrists. We stare at each other, eye to eye. And then, his mouth twitches. A snigger at first, then full-on laughter. He stops laughing and lunges forward, grabbing me around the waist, bringing his face right down close to mine.
“Hetty,” he says, in a high voice, “we will never mention this conversation again. But you remember just who you are, and what you have done. You have no choices. I’m your only hope.
And don’t worry, I shan’t lay a hand on you until that thing is out of your belly.
The idea is repellent. I shall wait. I’ve grown used to waiting.
And when you are ready, I will cleanse you, mind and body, and you will belong to me, completely. ”
He pulls me toward him and kisses me on the mouth, full and hard.
I choke, try to push him away, but he’s too strong.
My mind clears. Oh, Tomas, you think you have the better of me. But as long as I live and breathe, I will never love you, because my love belongs to another.
And know this, too: my mind will always be free.
F IVE MINUTES AFTER Tomas leaves me at home, I walk fast to Erna’s flat. Thankfully she is there. I’m shaking so much it takes me time, and a long drink of water, before I’m calm enough to talk.
“I can’t go through with this, Erna! I can’t let them take my baby.
They’ve planned it all!” My voice rises as panic seizes me.
There’s a viselike grip around my throat, and I can’t breathe.
Black stars dance in front of my eyes. “They’re throwing it in an orphanage.
.. a Jewish orphanage... and then what? ”
“But you always knew—”
“I hoped, prayed, that Tomas would change his mind. It’s all he has to do.
Let me keep my child. It solves everything, doesn’t it?
I’m happy because I have my baby, and it is safe because people will think it’s Tomas’s.
He’s happy because he has me. Vati is happy because nobody can ever know the truth and his reputation is saved.
Mutti is happy because she has a grandchild to love and care for. ..”
The speech exhausts me. I collapse into a chair, heaving air through my narrowed throat.
“But... Hetty, right from the beginning, Tomas never said he would let you keep it.” Her tone is gentle, but her words, the harsh truth, stab all the same. “To him, this child is abhorrent. It would be like... welcoming the enemy, the devil into his own home—”
“You’re defending him!” I choke out the words. “How can you say such—”
“No! I’m not defending him, never! But you have to be realistic. From his perspective, there is no benefit to him keeping this baby. It’s far better for him to have it out of the way. He’s never going to let you keep it, Hetty.”
“You’re right.” I watch Erna pace the room, deep in thought.
“Of course you are. I’ve been so stupid—so soft and pathetic.
I’ve made it all too easy.” I sit up straight.
“I’ll refuse to marry Tomas unless he lets me keep the baby.
I’ll threaten to go to the press. Expose Vati and his affair and his worthless daughter who went with a Jew. ..”
Erna looks appalled. “You can’t do that. You know what would happen to you then.”
“What?” I challenge, but I don’t need to ask. We both know I’d end up in a camp. Vati, for his part in the cover-up, would likely be stripped of his position, his house, his beloved newspaper.
“Your child wouldn’t survive, Hetty,” Erna says, her face grim. “Truth is, they would take it to a room and smother it. What you’re proposing, it isn’t an option.”
“What has this nation come to? That they would take babies and smother them...” My anger has dissolved, replaced by an overwhelming weakness, the feeling of hopelessness.
Erna is nodding, tears in her eyes. “They would, Hetty. I’m so sorry, but they would.” She comes to me then, looks into my eyes, and says, “You’ve no choice but to go along with their plan, for now. I’ll... I’ll try to think of something. I promise.”