Читать книгу A Woman of War: A new voice in historical fiction for 2018, for fans of The Tattooist of Auschwitz - Mandy Robotham - Страница 17

A week later, Eva asked me to walk with her again. The day was crisp, but the air heavier with mist and her mood was dampened, though she made an effort to keep the conversation flowing.

‘So, do you think you will ever have children, Fräulein Hoff? I mean, your position – seeing what you do – it hasn’t put you off?’

I was slightly taken aback at her frankness, as we hadn’t broached anything so personal before. She might have known from my files that I was only a year younger than she, and still capable of having a baby, assuming camp life hadn’t rotted my insides – I hadn’t had a monthly cycle in over a year.

‘I hope one day to have a baby,’ I said. ‘I’m certainly not put off, or frightened, of it. Far from it. I think – I hope – I would relish it, welcome the experience. My work has taught me to have great faith in women. Mother Nature seems to get it right most times.’

‘I hope she’ll be kind to me,’ Eva Braun countered in a wistful voice. ‘I really do.’

I couldn’t tell if she was talking of the birth, the baby or both; the pressure on her to produce a consummate heir must have been sitting heavily even then. Nothing less than perfection would be tolerated.

‘And of course, the reward for a hard labour is always the baby,’ I said to lighten the mood, but as the words emerged, I thought instantly of the mothers who hadn’t been allowed to keep their prize, and I was ashamed of coating this dirty business with an acceptable sheen. How could I have forgotten so quickly? So easily? I was hit squarely by a swell of contrition and I coloured with the shame.

Eva Braun, however, heard only the gloss. ‘Oh! I’m so glad to hear that. My mother talked of childbirth being so positive, “powerful” she once said. I hope I feel that way when the time comes.’

‘And your family, are they excited?’

The pause in her step told me I’d gone too far, but Eva’s Reich standing did not turn on me. Instead, she pulled up her shoulders and assumed the facade.

‘Gretl is very excited. In fact, she’s coming in a few days, so you’ll get to meet her. I’m hoping she’ll be there at the birth.’

Her false chirpiness spoke volumes. The shroud of secrecy meant only her closest relatives would know – parents and siblings – and if they were enthusiastic Nazis, they would be proud beyond words. But if they were going through the motions of Third Reich belief, as I knew many families in Berlin had been, well versed in etiquette as a survival technique, they would fear for their daughter as well as themselves. I had heard some of the servants talking about Eva as if she weren’t worthy of her place at the Berghof, questioning what or who her family were – I put that down to envy and jealousy, since almost all seemed loyal supporters of their master. I wondered then if her parents regretted their daughter’s place in the inner circle.

Fräulein Braun cut short our walk, saying she urgently needed to write some letters before lunch.

‘I expect you do, too?’ she said.

I toyed with letting it go, but the lack of contact with my family rankled, especially since news of their wellbeing had appeared to be part of the agreement. And yet Sergeant Meier was always terribly busy whenever I tried asking him.

‘I’m afraid I’m not allowed letters, either in or out,’ I said flatly.

‘Oh … I hadn’t realised. I’m sorry.’ She flushed red, embarrassed, and turned in to the house.

After a minute or so, I went in through the servants’ entrance, and made my way to Frau Grunders’ parlour to choose a new book. There was the usual kitchen bustle but her room was quiet. Through the ceiling I heard voices, agitated and urgent. I caught only the edge of some words, muffled sounds – Fräulein Braun’s voice and the distinctive whine of Sergeant Meier.

‘I will have to … only the Captain can say …’ The words faded in and out.

‘I would be grateful … as soon as …’

I cocked my ear to tune further in to the sound, intently curious. I had never seen them in the same room before, and Sergeant Meier’s office and Eva’s room were on opposite sides of the house.

‘I will arrange …’

‘Thank you …’

A chair scraped overhead, that unmistakable click of heels and then silence.

I was returning to my room when Sergeant Meier caught up with me.

‘Ah! Fräulein Hoff.’

‘Morning, Sergeant Meier, and how are you?’ My amusement over the weeks had been in appearing as sweet and courteous to this odious man as I could bear to – my reward being his visible, sweaty discomfort.

‘I’m perfectly well, Fräulein. I have some news for you.’

‘Yes? My family?’ I was quick to presume.

‘Not yet, but I hope soon. It has been decided that you may write some letters, to your family if you wish. Or your friends.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘That comes as a surprise. I thought my work here wasn’t to be spoken of.’ I smiled innocently.

‘There will be no mention of your work, of course,’ he said, forehead glistening. ‘Just that you are well. You could talk about the weather, or how well the war is going, but no details. Each letter will, of course, be reviewed by myself.’

‘I wouldn’t expect any less, Sergeant Meier. How many letters am I permitted to write, and what should I write on?’

Sergeant Meier had already driven home that the small ledger and some loose paper I had been given were to be used only for my clinical reports on Fräulein Braun. Keeping a diary was not permitted.

‘No more than two per week, and I will arrange for you to have ample paper and envelopes,’ he said, a tiny bead of perspiration snaking towards one eyebrow. ‘If you put the letters into my office, I will see that they are forwarded, and any replies are given to you. And I will expect your monthly report on my desk soon – Captain Stenz will be visiting to collect your copy.’

I virtually ran all the way to my room, stepped inside the door and hugged myself, a broad smile turning into a laugh. A letter! The prospect of some news in return was so exciting. I realised then how isolated I had felt in recent weeks, with no friends to confide in or physical contact with anyone. Clearly, Eva Braun had engineered this change, either as a genuine act of friendship, some pity on her part, or as a way to engage my favour. The truth was, I didn’t care. I wasn’t too proud to accept her help if it meant I could know my family were alive. And if they were dead I wanted to know, I really did. To stop the hoping, the endless, unknown void.

The paper and envelopes duly arrived in my room that same afternoon – sheets of thick, grainy parchment, each stamped with the eagle icon of the Third Reich. I sat down to write to my parents, a letter each since it was almost certain they weren’t together, likely in different camps. What on earth to write? How to describe my state of mind – that constant, fizzing thread of anxiety that jolts you out of sleep at three a.m., to stare at the ceiling for hours on end, when you wonder what on earth you are doing, and how you might survive? How to convey meaning in a message in which even the words have bars?

I concentrated on making the tone of my news positive, relaying that I was at least out of danger – for now. When our lives in Berlin had become ever more precarious, my father and I had created a loose code between us. We’d settled on two words to signal our wellbeing; any mention of ‘sunshine’ meant we were safe, in relative terms, but greying ‘clouds’ or a ‘flat horizon’ signalled the opposite.

I wrote that I was fine, eating well – very true at that point – and that the sunshine was making me feel upbeat. ‘The horizon is sometimes quite bright, Papa,’ I rambled on, desperate to convey something he could interpret, not quite safe yet not in imminent danger. The rest was padded out with, ‘I hope you and Mother are well, I think of you and Franz and Ilse every day.’ If my father’s mind remained sharp, he would find a way of reading between the lines. And I had to rely on his faith, to know that, despite the notepaper, I had not become a zealous Nazi. I had not turned.

I was wrapped in a blanket on my porch and fighting against the dying light when I heard footsteps. Engrossed in my novel, I didn’t look up.

‘Goethe? I’m impressed.’

‘Captain Stenz,’ I said in greeting. ‘Do you need to see me? Would you like me to come into the house?’

‘No, no,’ he said, taking off his cap, ‘I don’t want to disturb you. But I would like a brief talk. May I?’ He gestured at the second chair. His tone suggested I wasn’t due for any rebuke, and his manner seemed relaxed as he sat.

‘Of course.’ I was glad of the company and yes, I was actually pleased to see him. Was it merely because he wasn’t Sergeant Meier? The Captain wore the same uniform, and yet my reaction to the man inside was entirely different.

He sat, turning his gaze and squinting as the sun slipped behind snow-capped mountains to the right of our view. I watched his eyes glaze over for a few seconds, then heard a sigh slip from between his lips, before the noise pulled him to attention.

‘So, how are you getting on? Are you being treated well, and do you have everything you need?’

‘Yes, I am well looked after,’ I assured him. ‘I have everything I need to do my job.’ I watched him catch my meaning.

‘Fräulein Braun tells me she is very happy with the arrangement, and says she is feeling well, so we can be grateful for that.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She’s in good health. In fact, I feel rather underemployed. It’s not what I’m used to.’ We both seemed aware of exchanging niceties that said very little.

‘I wouldn’t be too concerned about that,’ he said, smiling. ‘Your value will be in the later stages, I have no doubt. It’s an important job.’

His eyes turned again to the horizon. The sun was dropping rapidly behind the peaks, white against the orange blaze. I fingered the pages of my book, looking at his blond hair cut neatly into the nape of his black collar, but which might have turned to curls if left to grow. From the neck up he looked like a boy from the country, and not a man who carried power in the threads of iron-grey below.

I wondered why he didn’t just up and leave, since he clearly had nothing else to say. It was me who sliced the silence, preventing his sudden departure.

‘Captain Stenz, can I ask you something?’

His fair head swivelled and he looked faintly alarmed. ‘You can ask, although I can’t promise to answer.’ Suddenly, he was SS again.