Chapter 35 Firebombs
Firebombs
Berlin
Derek had heard somewhere that doubt was the wealth of the young. If so, he was becoming richer by the day.
He had spent a lifetime trying to do what his family had told him was right. Now he was left to wonder who he was. He was
weak from months of incarceration with rations calculated to keep the human organism alive and no more. He had only been allowed
to shower three times. His one consolation, and unconfirmed hope, was that Helene, Alexander, and Matilde were safe.
Rudolf Kummer was the only fellow human Derek saw on a daily basis.
Kummer no longer beat or tortured him physically, but he continued to delight in the decline of Derek’s physical and emotional strength.
In those endless hours of desperation and anguish, Derek found himself turning to the simple faith of his grandparents on his mother’s side.
He had the vague notion that there was a good, fair God who would get him out of this situation and bring justice to the world—though the horrors Derek had seen in Austria and later in Poland made him doubt whether enough justice could possibly exist.
In Vienna, he had watched Austrians grab old men and force them to clean the sidewalks on their knees just because they were
Jews. He’d seen them beat a group of young girls and whip boys who were barely older than Alexander. The atrocities in Poland
were even worse. The German soldiers, and especially the SS, treated the Poles as if they were lower than dirt. Derek was
sick with remorse, having done nothing about it. He had believed for a long time that true greatness was not just doing the
right thing, but also keeping the wrong thing from happening.
A few days before, he had realized that the cell next to him was occupied. There were groans of pain coming from that direction,
especially at night. Eventually, in a bid to keep the loneliness at bay, Derek worked up the energy to speak to his fellow
prisoner.
“Hey, how are you doing over there?”
For several minutes there was no response. Then came a weak, “Okay. You? What’s your name?”
“Derek. I’m okay, I guess.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Alban.”
Derek’s spirits lifted at the common courtesy with which this stranger spoke to him. He had not heard a kind word since he
had said goodbye to Helene the morning he was arrested. Derek wasn’t sure what to talk about, so he began with the obvious.
“Why are you here?”
The question sounded stupid and rude after it came out of his mouth, but he meant it in terms of the Gestapo basement.
Alban took his time in responding. “Here on Earth is one thing. Here in the cell next to you, I’m not exactly sure.
I think that a member of my congregation denounced me.
In my sermons, I speak out against the attacks against Jews and other minorities.
I’m only saying what the Gospels talk about—you know, about loving our enemies and blessing those who persecute us.
Jesus taught us to love our neighbors as our own selves.
The Nazis think I’m part of some resistance movement, and they want me to denounce other pastors.
But I’m not. I’m just preaching what my conscience tells me is right. ”
Derek leaned against the cold wall to hear better. “I hope you get out soon. So you’re a pastor. Can I ask . . . why is God
letting this happen?” Derek spoke the last part so quietly, he was afraid Alban would not have heard it. There were again
several minutes of silence, and Derek wondered if Alban had decided the conversation was over or was maybe too weak to continue.
Then his voice came softly. “There are so many unanswered questions. What I do know is that suffering is a scar that Christians
can bear with pride. God doesn’t remove us from situations of suffering, but he’s with us in them. He’s with us now. He sent
his own son to suffer.”
Derek started to cry. He felt so lost, so alone, so forgotten. He decided right then and there that, even if what Alban said
were not true, it was better to pretend, to believe and live like there was a good God who loved him and would one day, somehow,
stop all the evil and make everything okay.
From someone who had seen Klaus in a lineup, Helene eventually learned that her library assistant had been arrested and sent to Dachau, an infamous concentration camp near Bavaria.
Along with their beloved colleague, they had lost a fourth of the books they had kept hidden for so many years.
Some of them were irreplaceable and lost forever, like some of Stefan Zweig’s manuscripts.
Helene knew that Zweig himself was safe, having gone to England in exile.
There was still no trace of Derek, but Helene had resumed seeing Alexander and Matilde, carefully timing her visits according
to when Blaz was gone. Those precious few hours with them were not enough to fill the pit of desolation in her gut.
At the end of May, Lena had given birth to a healthy, robust baby she named Mark. Helene had been helping Lena as much as
possible, but taking care of that precious infant only made the ache for her own children worse.
That morning, Helene was driving to Lena’s house in the city when the air-raid siren went off. It was the first time she had
heard it. Up to then, the far-off war had only had ripple effects on the German population. The surrounding countries had
fallen so easily, like a house of cards: Norway, Denmark, the Netherlands, Belgium, and then the supposedly unvanquishable
France. Hitler was preparing to invade England before heading east. But the previous day’s bombings on London provoked the
new British prime minister into a direct attack on Germany’s capital.
Helene was close to Lena’s house and did not pull over. Before she turned onto Lena’s street, she heard the motor of planes
and the shooting of Berlin’s antiaircraft guns. The afternoon sky lit up with explosions like a macabre New Year’s Eve. Bombs
visibly going off on the horizon shook Helene out of the illusion that they were just powerful fireworks.
She parked and ran to Lena’s house. No one answered the door, so she hopped the fence to the backyard and ran to the basement door. She found Lena huddled over Mark in a corner.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m terrified. I’ve never felt afraid like this before. It’s not for me—it’s for him. I couldn’t bear it if something happened
to him.” Lena snuggled Mark even closer to her chest.
When it seemed like there would be no more explosions, they went upstairs. Everything seemed unscathed, but both women were
shaking.
“If there’s one thing I’m proud of in life,” said Lena, “it’s that you’ve never walked behind or in front of me. You’ve been
right here beside me every step of the way, no matter how hard.”
Lena’s words bolstered Helene. Their friendship was the last ray of light left on Helene’s path. It was modest, only illuminating
a step or two ahead, but it was enough to keep Helene going. Her relationship with Lena was a bedrock Helene did not have
to question: No matter the obstacles, she would not be alone, and Lena would always be there to help her get up when the terrible
injustice of life made her stumble.
Helene rested her head on Lena’s shoulder, and Lena stretched her free arm across Helene’s back. Theirs was the faithful friendship
that stories told of.