Chapter 12 #2
‘Yes. I will put forward the recommendation and ask Doktor Weber to sign it,’ said Clara. ‘The letter will then be sent to the local housing and residency office. It should be approved without any issue and then your mother will receive the necessary travel documents.’
‘Thank you. That is very much appreciated.’ Tears of gratitude shone in the woman’s eyes.
‘I know some people said I shouldn’t go to the clinic because there were foreign nurses there, but I’m glad I didn’t listen to them.
I feel like you’re the first person to do something tangible about my fears. ’
It lifted Clara’s spirits to think she had helped her patient. She knew if it were her, she’d want her mother there. Her heart contracted as she thought of her parents and her sisters. If only it was as easy as that for her to be reunited with them. Of course, that wasn’t possible anymore.
She and Friedrich had talked about it last year when the British embassy had recommended all British nationals return to Great Britain.
She had, of course, refused to go. How could she?
She wasn’t about to leave Friedrich without knowing when they would see each other again.
But it didn’t mean she didn’t miss her family.
Her sister Rose was working at the Queen Alexander Military Hospital in London and her other sister, Evie, the younger of the three, had been trying to break into photography.
Clara realised she didn’t know what either of them were doing now.
Had Evie been successful and was Rose still at the same hospital?
She really shouldn’t torture herself thinking about them. She had to hope that this war would be over before it had even really begun. Now, she had a woman who needed her help.
She took the tram across the city to the bridge where she’d agreed to meet Paul. She hoped she looked more relaxed than she felt and was relieved when she alighted from the tram and saw there were no checkpoints on the bridge.
As she crossed the bridge, she looked casually towards the other side of the street.
She spotted Paul leaning against the corner, one foot up against the wall, hands in pockets and his cap pulled down.
A newspaper was tucked under his left arm.
He must have seen her as he switched the newspaper to his right hand and then without hesitation, turned and headed up the street.
Clara crossed the road and at a safe distance, followed Paul. She kept her head high and walked with purpose, to give the impression she knew where she was going, as her guide wove his way through the streets.
The apartment buildings with their ornate facades gradually gave way to narrower and more cramped streets.
With every step she became increasingly paranoid that she was being followed and had to remind herself why she was doing this.
The thought of a pregnant woman in need of her help spurred her on.
The once vibrant neighbourhood of Prenzlauer Berg, which had been home to many middle-class families before the Nazi rise to power, now didn’t look so grand.
Unlike the well-maintained apartments of Charlottenburg, where she lived, and the elegant villas of Grünewald where her in-laws resided, the buildings were visibly falling into neglect.
Several storefronts, formerly Jewish-owned businesses, were now empty, their windows boarded up and propaganda posters showed a different sort of window display.
In the few weeks she had been coming here in secret, she could see the conditions worsen with every visit.
As she followed Paul onto a narrow side street, she realised she was in the same road she had been to help Rachel and her baby with croup.
Her building though was a bit further along to the one Paul had now entered.
Clara gave a quick glance around and as certain as she could be that she wasn’t being followed, she entered the building.
Inside the main hallway, the smell of potato latkes frying in oil loitered in the air, together with that of damp plaster and too many people living in one space.
A bare single bulb provided just enough illumination for her to ascend the stone staircase after Paul.
The handrail was sticky to touch so she avoided doing so and by the time she reached the fifth floor, her legs were protesting at the exertion.
Paul was standing at the open door of the apartment, waiting for her. ‘In here,’ he said needlessly.
Clara was greeted by a woman in her forties, clearly not the pregnant woman. ‘It’s my daughter,’ said the mother not waiting for any introductions.
Clara could hear the panic and fear in the woman’s voice. She gave a reassuring smile and followed her through to a bedroom where a young woman was lying in bed.
‘This is Ruth,’ said the mother.
‘Hello, Ruth,’ said Clara. Then turning to the mother asked her for some soap and hot water to wash her hands.
Clara then carried out an examination of Ruth, all the time asking her questions and reassuring her.
How long had she been bleeding? Had it stopped?
Where was the towel? Had she been doing anything to exert herself.
She took her blood pressure and listened to the baby’s heartbeat, then gently felt Ruth’s abdomen, making sure the baby was in the correct position and checking its size and presentation.
‘So, the bleeding has stopped now?’ asked Clara.
‘Since I’ve been in bed,’ replied Ruth.
‘Good,’ said Clara. ‘It’s likely you have placenta praevia, which means it’s lower than usual and possibly over the cervix. It’s not safe to carry out an internal examination as that can cause more problems and bleeding.’
‘What should we do?’ asked the mother.
‘Bed rest at this point,’ said Clara. ‘Strict bed rest. Keep a towel or cloths to monitor any bleeding. If I have to come back, I need to see how much blood loss there is.’
‘Is there anything we can do to help her now?’ asked the mother.
‘Iron tablets or powder,’ said Clara, reaching into her bag and taking out the packet she had obtained from the clinic. ‘Take these.’
‘But we can’t pay for them,’ said the mother.
‘I don’t want paying. Please, take them.’ She pushed the packet into the palm of the older woman.
Satisfied that Ruth was now stable, Clara fastened her cape around her and said her goodbyes, telling them they needed to contact her again if the bleeding got worse or when Ruth went into labour. She could need help, especially if the placenta was low enough to cause an obstruction.
The mother followed Clara out to the door, where Paul was waiting to guide her back to the nearest tram stop. The woman gripped Clara’s hands. ‘Thank you for coming. And for everything you have done.’ She hugged Clara and whispered, ‘Engel des Lebens.’