Chapter 37
After the incident with Fr?ulein Vogel, Knut lit a cigarette and paced up and down the corridor. How could she be so reckless? Once he had calmed down again, he opened the window a crack, stubbed out his cigarette and threw out the butt.
Then he straightened his uniform and pulled the compartment door open. He paused to survey the passengers: the two children, whose misbehavior he had feared so much, were sitting obediently in their seats. Eva was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, and Ilse was drawing.
Fr?ulein Vogel was writing something in a small notebook. His gaze fell on Frau Kronberg, kneeling next to Herr Seifert. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end, and he swallowed heavily. Stepping into the compartment, he pulled the door closed behind him and crouched beside them.
Herr Seifert’s jaw was clenched with the effort of disguising the pain. A medical emergency was the last thing Knut needed. After a furtive glance at his watch, he whispered to Frau Kronberg, “Is something wrong?”
“He’s having a gallstone attack.” As she turned to Knut, the tension on her face made him flinch in shock. “Normally, he’d have to go to a hospital right away.”
That would not only endanger Herr Seifert’s emigration, but also the other members of the group.
Knut’s mind worked feverishly. How could he get Herr Seifert to a hospital while continuing to escort the others on their journey?
He couldn’t divide himself in two. Besides, Frau Seifert would never travel without her husband, and he doubted Frau Kronberg would abandon her patient…
and without their mother, the children wouldn’t be allowed to cross the border… the situation was a disaster.
“Do you think he’ll make it to the border?” whispered Knut.
Frau Kronberg rubbed the bridge of her nose with a finger. Suddenly, she looked very old. “I can’t honestly say. Gallstone attacks like this can fell the strongest of men. And after years of deprivation, Herr Seifert’s constitution is not exactly the best.”
Knut understood that all too well. He’d had to witness for himself the slow deterioration in the health of his sister Edith and her Jewish husband. “Is there anything I can do?”
“If you could organize some painkillers?” She gave him a wry smile.
“I wasn’t allowed to bring my medical bag with me, since the few medications I had left weren’t considered personal requirements.
” She shrugged. “Although there was nothing left in there that would relieve an acute gallstone attack.”
“What do you need?”
“Morphine, if possible. If not, oxycodone, or anything that will temporarily ease Herr Seifert’s pain.”
“What will happen if I can’t find anything?”
Her expression clouded. “I’m worried he won’t survive the journey. You can see for yourself he’s flinching at every little movement the train makes.”
Glancing back at Herr Seifert’s sweat-soaked, greenish pale face, Knut asked, “Would alcohol help?”
“Medically speaking, that would be irresponsible, but needs must when the devil drives.”
Knut stared at Frau Kronberg. “Pardon?”
“Strong alcohol, schnapps for example, does reduce the intensity of the pain. But we’d have to get at least three glasses of schnapps down him to have any effect, which might then cause other problems.” Frau Kronberg chewed at her lower lip as she scrutinized her patient.
“Under the circumstances, I’d say anything is better than nothing.
So if you can’t find painkillers, then yes. As a last resort, so to speak.”
It was an overwhelming responsibility for this petite woman to carry. Knut felt the urge to hug her to give her courage. After all, Herr Seifert’s health wasn’t her fault, nor was she responsible for him not receiving adequate medical treatment.
Instead, he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
He stood and walked into the corridor, where he lit another cigarette. He didn’t usually smoke this much, but the closer their departure date had come, the more nervous he had become, and reaching for a cigarette at least relaxed him a little.
Of course, he could talk to the train driver and request help by radio, which he didn’t want to do for several reasons, not least that nobody would approve a large-scale medical rescue for a Jew.
Pondering, he walked along the corridor, hoping to find a doctor among the passengers. But the few men left on the train were all wearing dark business suits and carrying briefcases more typical of a banker. Once, he ventured into a compartment to ask, “Excuse me, are any of you a doctor?”
“No,” came the answer.
“Ask the conductor, I’m sure he can help you.”
That was the last thing Knut wanted to do. “Thank you very much, I will.”
Back in the corridor, he came across a compartment of six soldiers in Wehrmacht uniform. They seemed to be in the best of spirits, roaring loudly at each other’s jokes. Knut was about to move on, when an idea struck him.
He slid the door open and stuck his head into the compartment. “Sieg Heil, comrades! Where are you headed?”
“Heidelberg, on home leave,” one replied, raising an almost empty schnapps bottle. “What about you, Lieutenant?”
“On my way to Freiburg.” Judging by their state of drunkenness, Knut concluded none of these soldiers was capable of asking critical questions – even if they wanted to.
“May I join you? I could really use a sip. It’s been a tough week, and I haven’t slept for days.
I really don’t know how I’m going to get through this. ”
One of the men handed him the bottle and Knut took a big gulp. The harsh grain burned its way down his throat. If only he could convince his new friends to give him the rest. That would help numb Herr Seifert’s pain.
After a few minutes, he broached the subject. “I have to get back. My comrade is doubled over in pain. Gallstones, or something like that.”
“Never fear, Ole’s here,” slurred one of the soldiers. “Giv ‘im this an’ ’e’ll be good’s’new.” With those words, he pulled a packet of Pervitin from his jacket pocket.
“Sweet, sweet rocket fuel. Works every time,” said his comrade.
Knut had never taken Pervitin himself, though he knew it was a powerful stimulant. Frontline soldiers packed it into their kitbags to fend off hunger, fatigue, and pain, as well as fight the enemy day and night without tiring. It was worth a try.
“Don’t you need that yourself?” he asked, for appearances’ sake.
“Nah, I’ got plenty more o’ the stuff.” Ole shrugged, patting his kitbag with a lewd grin. “Don’ need it on ’ome leave anyways, gonna be spending mosta my time in bed.”
“Thanks again. And enjoy the leave back home with your wife.” Knut made a show of exuberant goodbyes, left the soldiers and returned to his own compartment, where Herr Seifert was writhing in pain.
By now, everyone except Ilse had noticed his desperate condition and was staring, mesmerized, at the poor man, like rabbits staring at a snake.
Knut cleared his throat and gestured to Frau Kronberg to join him in the corridor. Hidden from the curious eyes and ears of their fellow travelers, he showed her the packet of Pervitin. “This was the only thing I could get.”
She took a deep breath before taking the packet. “My doctoral supervisor would expel me from the medical profession for this. But as Leo so charmingly put it, desperate times require desperate measures.”
She looked so desolate, Knut simply had to say something to cheer her up again. “I could go again?”
Amazingly, her face twisted into a lopsided grin. “This will help. And I’ve lost my license anyway, what more can they take from me?”
Nervously chewing his lower lip, Knut watched as she dosed Herr Seifert with the Pervitin. Within minutes, the man visibly relaxed, and was even able to sit upright again. Now all he had to do was hold on until Basel.
But their next problem was already approaching: an SD train patrol. “Tickets and papers, please.”
Knut handed him the bundle of papers for everyone in the compartment. The moment the SD officer spotted the J on the passports, his attitude changed.
“These people must get off at the last stop before the border. They won’t be permitted to continue their journey.”
“I have orders to escort this group to the border.” Knut straightened his shoulders and spoke in an authoritarian tone, “All the necessary documents for their departure are here.”
“Jews aren’t allowed to leave the country,” the SD officer insisted.
“That’s correct, but this group has an exemption. Here.” Knut handed him the certificate from the Gestapo, as well as a letter signed by Admiral Canaris, stating the Jews present were in the service of the Abwehr and had to be given free passage.
The SD officer wasn’t so easily convinced. “This procedure doesn’t comply with my orders. I am instructed not to let any Jews leave the country. They must get off at the next station and clarify this with the border police.”
Under no circumstances was Knut prepared to let his charges disembark this train to freedom.
Who knew what nasty surprises awaited them at the border police, or how long it would take for the next train to arrive?
“We have tickets for this train. These persons have special permits, exit permits, entry permits, clearance certificates, everything necessary. They will not be leaving this train.” With all the arrogance he could muster, Knut looked down at the man, who was about half a head shorter than him.
“If this exceeds your competencies, get your supervisor.”
“He’s based in Frankfurt am Main.” They had traveled through there over an hour ago.
“Then go to the train conductor and get confirmation by radio that my people are allowed to leave.”
“I-I can’t do that.” The man was visibly intimidated. “What would that look like? Jews leaving the country!”
“For the love of God!” Knut exploded. “This is an order from the Führer himself! I’m not supposed to tell you this, but the Führer has ordered that dangerous missions abroad are to be carried out primarily by Jews.”
Knut’s outburst had the desired effect. At his mention of the Führer, the SD officer instinctively clicked his heels together, and straightened his spine. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t know… Well, if it’s an order from the Führer, then of course the subjects are permitted onward travel.”
Why couldn’t you say so at the beginning, thought Knut, as he thanked the man curtly, stowing tickets and passports in his briefcase.
As soon as the SD officer disappeared in the next carriage, he pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped his forehead.
It wasn’t much further to the border. Then they’d find out whether this operation had been worth all the effort.