Chapter 11
Dieter lay pale in his bed, apparently asleep. For once, Michaela’s husband was breathing freely, and the furrows of pain had left his face. He looked so… content.
Michaela swallowed the tears and gazed at her beloved husband. She had known for months that this moment would come, and yet it still hit her unprepared.
The force of her feelings was so strong that her knees buckled and she had to sit on the edge of the bed. She took Dieter’s warm, soft hand in hers, holding it to her chest so he could feel her heartbeat.
“I love you so much. I want you to know that I’ve loved every minute of our marriage: both the good times and the bad.”
His eyelids opened, and the steadiness of his blue eyes told her he understood her words.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she assured him, wanting to make it as easy as possible for him to say goodbye.
For weeks he had spoken with difficulty, and two days ago he had closed his eyes as if he was asleep.
Only the gentle movement up and down of his ribcage showed that he was still alive, half in this world, half already in the next.
Michaela wished she could have fetched their two daughters to say goodbye. But the journey to Berlin would have been too dangerous, especially since Michaela didn’t want to leave her husband alone for long and Carola wasn’t free to accompany the girls.
Dieter blinked at her to show he understood. Michaela could no longer control her emotions and the tears tumbled down her face, falling onto the bed sheet and wetting his neck as she bent down to kiss him.
“I love you. Forever.”
As if his soul had been waiting for her declaration of love to find its peace, Dieter wheezed, then closed his eyes for the last time. His suffering was over. Sobbing uncontrollably, she sat by his side, his hand clasped to her heart.
At some point, she found the strength to stand up. She was a doctor; she cared for many people as they died. She knew what to do, which authorities she needed to inform. Her subconscious mind automatically took over the formalities, leaving most of her conscious self trapped in overwhelming grief.
Two days later, the doorbell rang, and the postman handed her an envelope stamped with the imperial eagle. An ice-cold shiver ran through Michaela’s veins. A horrible premonition seized her as she took the letter from his hand.
“I hope it’s not overly bad news.” He gazed at her with sympathy.
Thanks to her marriage to an Aryan, Michaela didn’t have to wear a yellow star, but of course the postman, a man in his early sixties with thinning hair, was well aware of her heritage.
He had never spoken a bad word or treated her unkindly, however he hadn’t ever said anything encouraging either.
When she thought about it, today was the first time he’d ever said more than good day.
“We’ll see. Thank you very much.”
Without another word, he turned and disappeared through the front garden of the small, terraced house where the Kronberg family had lived for almost twenty years.
Michaela turned the envelope this way and that, testing the weight of it in her hand.
She already feared what it contained, but couldn’t bring herself to open it, to read in black and white what the authorities demanded from her.
And yet she knew there was no way around it.
One didn’t simply ignore an official order – certainly not if you were a Jew.
Back in the house, which had been terribly empty since Dieter had been taken away, she put the letter on the dining table and made some coffee. After pouring herself a cup, she sat down at the table and stared at the Imperial Eagle like a rabbit staring at a snake.
Nothing would make this go away, she must face reality. She took a kitchen knife, slit the envelope open and unfolded the message.
Frau Michaela Sara Kronberg,
An impotent rage flared in her chest as she read the detested middle name all Jews had been forced by decree to adopt: Sara for women, Israel for men.
By order of the authorities, we hereby instruct you to make ready for relocation from your house on Monday February 2, 1942, from 8 a.m., and hereby serve you with the declaration of assets to be completed by yourself before your relocation.
Michaela’s hands began to shake so hard that the sheet of paper floated to the ground. The Imperial Eagle stared up at her as if to taunt her. A thousand feelings washed over her all at once, leaving her unable to formulate a single clear thought.
After several minutes, she knelt down to pick up the letter. There was nothing she could do, except to read it to the end.
Upon serving the declaration of assets, your assets are regarded as confiscated. Accordingly, you must refrain from any disposal of the same; in particular, you are strictly prohibited from giving away, selling or giving custody of any items in your possession to a third person.
A hoarse gasp escaped her throat as her eyes wandered around the room.
They had achieved a modest prosperity before Dieter became ill and could no longer work.
They possessed nothing of great value, although she was surrounded by many cherished items: his mother’s antique bureau; jewelry that had belonged to Michaela’s mother and grandmother, which she had been allowed to keep under the privilege of her Aryan husband, souvenirs from trips to France and Spain years before the war. And of course, their little house.
She continued reading:
Each person may not take more than fifty Reichsmarks in cash. Taking any higher amount is strictly prohibited. Violations will be subject to the harshest state police measures.
Taking foreign currency, securities, savings bank books or other valuables, in particular gold and silver items of all kinds, is strictly prohibited. A married person is permitted to take only a wedding band.
So it had really come this far – she was going to be deported. One had to give the Nazis credit; they were efficient. Less than forty-eight hours had passed since Dieter’s death.
Overwhelmed by a fresh wave of grief, tears flowed down her cheeks and the words blurred before her eyes. After a few minutes, she wiped her face and looked at the wedding ring on her finger. Was she still even regarded as a married person?
The very idea of having to give up this last, eternal bond to Dieter pained her so much that she curled up as if she had been kicked in the stomach.
No, she wouldn’t give them up, neither her own wedding ring, nor Dieter’s, which she wore on a cord around her neck. She simply couldn’t. She’d rather follow her husband in death.
For a few minutes she sat motionless in the chair, contemplating whether she should take her own life, and how she could best do it, until a faint voice in her mind asked, “What will become of us, Mama?”
Her two daughters Ilse and Eva had so far largely been spared persecution because they lived far away from Berlin with their aunt, Carola. What would happen to them now? Would they be deported too?
Michaela closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. No, she wouldn’t give up without a fight. She had to keep going, if not for her own sake, at least for the sake of her daughters.
With a heavy heart, she got up and walked to the nearest coin-operated telephone, where she called her sister-in-law. Yesterday she hadn’t found the strength, but today she had to tell Dieter’s sister Carola the sad news.
“Carola Kronberg,” said a voice at the other end of the line.
“It’s me, Michaela.”
“Has something happened?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
A heavy silence ensued, as Carola had been aware her brother was dying.
“Dieter has passed away.”
“I had a feeling. He came through it,” said Carola helplessly.
Tears constricted Michaela’s throat and she had to swallow several times before she could continue speaking. “That’s not all. This morning I received the order to report to an assembly point for deportation.”
A groan sounded down the line. “What about Ilse and Eva?”
“They weren’t mentioned in the letter. I think they’re safe for now.”
“Thank God.” Carola had no children of her own and loved her nieces like her own flesh and blood. “You’re not going, are you?”
“What else can I do?
“Disappear. Hide.”
“But where?” Michaela suddenly felt old and tired. She didn’t have the strength to live underground.
“I’d offer you—”
“No. That’s far too dangerous. It would lead the Gestapo straight to my daughters.”
“You’re right, of course. Could one of Dieter’s friends maybe…?”
Most of Dieter’s Aryan friends had turned their backs on him years ago. Michaela shook her head before muttering, “Highly unlikely.”
“Maybe one of your former patients?”
“I’ll give it some thought. Give my daughters a big kiss from me. I’ll call again as soon as I know more.”
“Take care.”
Carola hung up, leaving Michaela alone with her thoughts. In her mind she went through every single one of her acquaintances, friends and patients, hoping there might be someone among them influential enough to help her out. A knock on the glass tore her away from her thoughts.
“Hey you, are you coming out? Other people want to make a telephone call, too.”
“I’m sorry.” Michaela left the telephone booth and walked home. Shortly before she arrived at the door, she turned on her heel. She didn’t have the strength to go into the empty place and stare at Dieter’s bed: she went for a walk.
Suddenly it hit her: Erika Canaris, Admiral Canaris’ wife.
Many years ago, Michaela had treated their daughter who was mentally disabled.
The Canaris family had a certain reputation for being sympathetic to the plight of their fellow Jewish citizens.
Not officially, of course, but the grapevine had hinted at it on more than one occasion.
With renewed courage, Michaela resolved to visit Frau Canaris, in the hope that she still remembered the young doctor who had treated her daughter more than a decade earlier.
The next day, Michaela put on her best dress and made her way to the Canaris residence in Zehlendorf. A maid opened the door. “Can I help you, madam?”
“Good morning, my name is Michaela Kronberg. I would like to speak to Frau Canaris.”
“What shall I say it’s concerning?”
Michaela thought for a moment. “Please tell her that I treated her daughter a few years ago.”
The maid disappeared, returning shortly after. “Madam is prepared to receive you. Please follow me.”
She had passed the first obstacle. Heart pounding, Michaela followed the maid into the drawing room.
“Frau Kronberg, what a pleasant surprise. Please have a seat. Would you like a coffee?” Frau Canaris had aged visibly since last they had met.
“Thank you, I’d love one.” Michaela settled on a chair, wondering how she should best broach her concern, when Frau Canaris opened the conversation. “What brings you to me after all this time?”
Of course, she knew that Michaela was Jewish. It had been the reason she hadn’t been allowed to continue treating the Canaris girl.
“My Aryan husband has passed away and I received my deportation papers yesterday.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The door opened again, and Frau Canaris indicated to the maid to put the tray with the coffee pot and two cups on the table. “I’ll pour, you go upstairs and carry on with the cleaning.”
“Yes, madam.”
As soon as the door had closed behind the maid, Frau Canaris turned back to Michaela. “When must you report to the assembly point?”
“Next week.”
“Didn’t you have a daughter?”
“Two.” Michaela took a sip of coffee while considering her next words. “They live in the country with my sister-in-law and are safe there for the time being. But I fear they will be deported too, once I have been taken away.”
Frau Canaris nodded slowly. “You are in a difficult situation. Fortunately, you aren’t obliged to wear the star, or the maid wouldn’t have been allowed to let you in.”
Michaela startled. “Please forgive me, I wasn’t aware of that. I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position.”
“People often think we can do whatever we want because my husband is an admiral. Nothing could be further from the truth. It is precisely because he holds such a high position that he must appear particularly loyal to the party line and cannot allow the slightest suspicion over his loyalties.”
“I should leave. I don’t want to get you in trouble.” Michaela put the cup on the table and stood.
“No, please, stay. You did wonders for my daughter back then. If it’s at all possible, I would like to show my appreciation. However, you mustn’t breathe a word to anyone.”
“Of course not, Frau Canaris.” Michaela would never betray the person intending to help her.
“I’m sure my husband remembers you. I’ll ask him if there is anything he can do about your case. The Abwehr has occasionally managed to rescind a person’s deportation.”
Michaela was almost dizzy with relief. She had to hold herself back from throwing herself at Frau Canaris’s feet and kissing them. “That’s too kind of you. I am deeply indebted to you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet, and I can’t promise you anything either.” Frau Canaris seemed genuinely saddened by her own powerlessness.
“Merely the fact that you are willing to try gives me hope. No matter how it turns out, I will always be grateful to you.” Michaela raised her hands helplessly. “If I can ever be of service to you, in some distant future…”
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and a moment later the maid peeked in. “I’m finished upstairs. Do you need anything else, madam?”
“Please escort Frau Kronberg out, then clear the coffee cups.” Turning to Michaela, Frau Canaris continued, “Come back tomorrow, I will know more then.”
“Goodbye, Frau Canaris, and thank you again for taking the time to see me.”
“Goodbye, Frau Kronberg.”