Mutti and I stand staring at each other, alone in the hallway. Invisible fingers crawl up my back.
“What doesn’t Vati like?” I whisper.
Mutti sighs again. “Go and wash your face and hands. We’re going to visit the soldiers’ home today.”
“But—”
“Just for a couple of hours. It will be good for you.”
“Do I have to?”
“You do,” she says firmly. “Community work is . . . holy. It brings us closer to the Führer. It’s very important that we look after each other.”
“I’d rather play with Karl and Walter.”
“Young ladies,” Mutti says crisply, “need to learn the meaning of obedience.”
A little knot forms inside as I stomp upstairs.
THE SOLDIERS’ HOME is on Hallische Strasse, set well back from the street. The building is hundreds of years old, once a hospital, now given over to care for the brave soldiers who were badly injured fighting for our nation. A Home for Heroes. It has a pleasant garden and a wide terrace on one side, with a few wheelchairs lined up in a row. The men sit so still, staring wordlessly out across the lawn and the flower beds, that I wonder if they might have dropped dead already.
Mutti marches us up the front steps and rings the doorbell. We’re greeted by a neat nurse who ushers us into a hall smelling of wood polish and bleach. She introduces herself as Lisel. Blond hair peeks from the front of her white cap.
“Heil Hitler. How lovely to see you again, Frau Heinrich,” says the nurse.
“Heil Hitler. This is my daughter, Herta.”
“So good of you both to come. Our residents very much look forward to your visits, Frau Heinrich.”
We follow Lisel along a dark passageway, past a ward, and I glance in. Eight iron beds all neatly made and empty of occupants, who, Lisel tells us, are in the dayroom. I try not to breathe too deeply as beneath the smell of bleach is a pervasive odor of urine and something else unpleasant.
“. . . Some of our inmates are war heroes, Herta, who have no family. They deserve a fitting place to live out their days in comfortable surroundings.”
“Yes, they deserve that.” I nod.
“They certainly do. But we need more funds . . . It’s very difficult . . .” Lisel says with a frown.
“I’m arranging a fund-raising lunch,” Mutti offers with enthusiasm. “And my husband could draw attention to your plight in the Leipziger.”
Lisel smiles. “We are very lucky to have a patron like your mother,” she tells me. “Working tirelessly for the good of others.”
I glance at Mutti in surprise. To me, she is just Mutti. But now I see she is something else besides.
In the sitting room, three old soldiers are parked in a semicircle in their wood and wicker wheelchairs. I know I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it. The sight of one makes me sweat. Half his face is missing; the rest of it, a twisted mess of flesh. A small hole is approximately where his mouth should be, but a great chunk is gone from the cheek area. One eye is missing altogether, and the other stands proud from the shrunken flesh, white and cloudy. His face reminds me of the mangled parts of a half-eaten chicken.
My stomach curdles and I fear I’m going to be sick. Mutti grabs my arm and jerks it, hard.
I take a deep breath. If I’m to be a doctor, I cannot be squeamish.
In comparison, the other two, one with missing legs from the hip down, the other with half a leg and a missing arm, are easier to look at.
I watch Mutti, standing in the center of the dreary room, surrounded by this human horror show, and suddenly she looks like the most beautiful creature in all the world. Her sparkling eyes and charming smile flicker only momentarily as, radiant in her peach dress, she splashes color into the room and works her charm on the patients.
Lemon tea and cakes are brought in. Lisel administers tea to the mangled man through a straw poked into the hole where his mouth should be. It slurps back out when she removes the straw and dribbles down from the mottled flesh, once his chin, onto his shirt. She wipes up the spillage and comes to sit next to me.
“What happened to them?” I whisper.
“Injured by shelling. There are some even worse off than these.” Lisel pauses. “It’s a terrible thing, war.”
“I’ve never really thought about it.”
“And why on earth would you? You’re only a child. Perhaps another time you might stay and read to the men? Your mother tells us how clever you are. They would love that. A pretty young thing to brighten up the place from time to time.”
I look at Mutti with surprise and she smiles indulgently at me. A flush of warm pleasure at Mutti’s words of praise washes over me.
“Of course,” I say, meaning it with all my heart. “I would love to.”
The nurse pats my knee and gets up to wipe the badly injured man’s face again and to offer water.
Later, we wave good-bye to Lisel on the doorstep. I take deep gulps of delicious fresh air and curb the urge to run away at top speed.
“Those men are shockingly injured, Mutti.”
“These are the lucky ones, receiving such good care.”
We walk slowly, savoring the late afternoon sun. Everything around me is in sharper focus, and more dear than ever before. I’ve not appreciated enough the beauty in the spreading branches of a tree; pure, sweet birdsong; or the perfection of my own limbs. I realize more clearly than ever before that I want to become a surgeon. To make them better. I vow to work harder at school.
Please don’t ever let there be another war. Keep us safe: Mutti, Vati, Karl, and me.
“There won’t be another war, will there?”
“Let’s hope not. We are fortunate to have Hitler, because he is a peace lover and wants harmony in Europe. Sadly, the same can’t be said for other countries. Look at what harm they did to us at the end of the war. Those disgusting reparations. So many injured men, so many unemployed, such poverty. They taunt us. Want us to suffer and suffer until we say No More and fight back for what is rightfully ours.”
“But who? Who are they?”
“Our enemies, Hetty. There are many who want to destroy us. They want to kill, to maim, to rid us of everything we hold dear. They want to destroy our very way of life.”
Little fingers of fear creep slowly across my skin.
“But who are these enemies?”
Mutti squeezes my hand.
“Oh, they are many and varied. But behind them all are the Jews. They want to take over the world for their own benefit. But you mustn’t worry yourself, my darling,” she says in her bright voice. “With Hitler at the helm of our new Germany, we have nothing to fear. Those who seek to harm us will be quaking in their boots!”
Four
October 11, 1933
Sorry, I can’t today,” I tell Freda, the Jewess, when she asks me to be her partner in gymnastics. Her shoulders droop in disappointment and I feel a stab of guilt. I search the playground frantically for another partnerless person to avoid being shoved together anyway. Gerda shakes her head at me and grabs Ava’s hand, in case I should be in any doubt.
“Hey, would you like to be my partner today?”
I spin around and there is Erna, long and lean in her white gym-slip. A half smile flits across her lips.