Authors: John Anthony Miller
Amanda telephoned Erika late Saturday morning. It took several attempts to get through, as many telephone lines had been damaged by the bombing, but she persevered and was eventually successful. She knew once the call was connected, that someone could be listening to their conversation, so she chose her words carefully.
“Erika, do you have time for me to visit today?” Amanda asked cryptically. “I’m having a problem with one of the Mozart movements. May I bring my violin and we can work on it together.”
“Of course,” Erika said. “I would enjoy that. I can always use the practice.”
“I’ll stop by in hour or so. Should I bring lunch?”
“No, I’ll prepare something, but thank you. And if you’re bringing anything else, you’re welcome to leave it here.”
Amanda understood the offer. She could bring whatever she was taking to Switzerland and leave it at Erika’s. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about it on Tuesday.
She had already packed her canvas bag. It was stuffed with clothes, her photographic negatives, and her camera and lenses, with just enough room for her treasured violin. She had money hidden in the lining, sewn inside some of the clothing, and tucked in the compartments of the violin case. To maintain the appearance of normalcy, she had placed another violin, one of inferior quality that had been tucked in a closet, onto the stand in her music room.
She now had to get the bag from her townhouse to a taxi without anyone seeing her. Manfred wasn’t home, but Hannah was, and she couldn’t be trusted. Amanda decided to carry the violin case separately. That was easy to explain, since she occasionally visited other musicians. But the canvas bag, almost a meter long, would be much more difficult.
She went downstairs to see if Hannah was in her bedroom. Standing quietly by the door, she could hear a news program on the radio, but no movement. She decided to take the risk.
She got her bag and came quietly down the stairs, starting towards the front door. As she slowly crept forward, she warily watched the steps to Hannah’s room.
“Will you be having lunch, Mrs. Richter?” Hannah called from the kitchen.
Amanda was startled, her eyes wide. Hannah was coming closer, towards the parlor. She put her bag behind a leather chair and walked towards the kitchen, trying to keep Hannah occupied.
“I may visit some musician friends,” Amanda said, reaching the kitchen just as Hannah emerged. “I haven’t decided yet.”
They stood in the entrance, Amanda subconsciously blocking her path. Hannah looked at her curiously, and stepped around her.
“I have some bratwurst cooking, if you decide to stay,” Hannah said as she walked into the parlor. She paused, as if thinking of something, moving to the table beside the couch. Amanda’s bag was a few feet away, poorly hidden.
Amanda watched in horror, barely breathing. The bag couldn’t be explained. If Hannah saw it, she would open it and tell Manfred what she found.
Hannah stopped, the bag almost in sight, but not quite. “I have some sauerbraten, too, if you prefer.”
Amanda had to distract her, had to get her out of the parlor. “I’ll probably go to my friends,” she said. “There’s no need to prepare anything just for me.”
Hannah shrugged, took another step, and grabbed the newspaper off the table. “I’ll be in my room,” she said, still facing Amanda. “Let me know what you decide.”
Amanda nodded, fighting to keep her eyes trained on Hannah and not let them drop to the bag that was almost at her feet.
Hannah started walking towards her room. She turned and looked at Amanda curiously. “Are you all right, Mrs. Richter?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Amanda stammered, smiling weakly. “I’m just trying to decide.”
Hannah smiled politely and walked to her flat.
Amanda breathed a sigh of relief, the tension temporarily eased. But she had to hurry. Hannah may be in her room, but she was also cooking. She wouldn’t be there for long.
Amanda got her bag and tiptoed to the front door, keeping a wary eye on Hannah’s room. When she got to the entrance, she carefully opened it, making as little noise as possible. She looked up and down the street and, when seeing no neighbors or strangers near her house, she set it outside.
She called a taxi, getting through on the third try, not caring if Hannah heard, and then went upstairs for her violin. When she came down the steps, she laid her instrument on the couch and got her coat from the closet. She peeked in the kitchen, but Hannah wasn’t there. Bratwurst simmered on the stove, the aroma drifting through the room.
Amanda picked up her violin case and walked to Hannah’s door. She listened for a moment, but heard nothing, not even the radio. She knocked lightly. The door opened a few seconds later.
“I did decide to spend the day with my friends,” she said.
Hannah’s eyes moved to the violin case and then to Amanda’s face. “I’ll be sure to have dinner ready. We’ll have the bratwurst I was cooking for lunch, if that’s alright.”
“Thank you, that will be fine,” Amanda called as she started for the door. “Enjoy the day.”
The taxi was waiting when she went outside. Hannah’s room faced away from the street, towards the adjacent townhouse, her windows against the alley. As long as she was in her room and didn’t look out the parlor windows, Amanda was safe. It was a chance she had to take.
The driver placed her bag in the trunk, but Amanda carried her violin case. As the vehicle pulled away she looked back at the house. She saw no curtains move, no drapes disturbed, no face in the windows.
As they drove to Erika’s house, she studied the bomb damage, the crumbling buildings, piles of rubble, and thought about all the people who had lost their homes. It was still the beginning. There would be many more.
The route was torturous. Some of the broader boulevards were still reduced in width due to rubble or fallen trees, while others were cleared completely. A few streets were closed, the damage too severe, the thoroughfare not worth the resources. Crews composed of foreign workers, older men, and young boys were still clearing debris. But as hard and tediously as they worked, there seemed to be a never-ending supply.
Charlottenburg would never be the same. Its quaint charm was marred, its liveliness subdued. Buildings Amanda had once photographed, enjoying their beauty or style or craftsmanship, were destroyed, shattered shells or crumbling heaps of wood and stone. Trees that lined the streets, so graceful and stately only a few months before, sprouting leaves and providing a protective canopy from the sun, were barren and broken, limbs shattered, roots exposed, trunks split.
Amanda stopped to get some kreppels, ensuring she had enough for the children Erika was harboring. When she arrived at Erika’s, the driver helped her get her bag to the fourth floor, while Amanda carried her violin and the donuts.
Erika opened the door of her flat as soon as Amanda knocked. She hugged her, clinging tightly, holding her, tears dripping from her eyes. They had battled their own demons, alone and protectively, not knowing they could share their problems with each other. They were mentally and physically exhausted, walking in worlds they never knew existed, but now able to see that the end was near.
“I brought my bag,” Amanda said softly, implying what they mutually understood. “May I leave it here?”
“Yes, of course,” Erika said. “I’ll put it right here. Next to mine.”
“You’re going?”
“Yes, I finally convinced mother. Although she only agreed after she found out you were coming. She’s packing now.”
Amanda hugged her again. “Oh, Erika, I’m so glad. I would like nothing more than to have you with me.”
“I wanted to go from the beginning, but I was too afraid. And I had mother to worry about. But when Michael said you were going, we each found the courage.”
The two sat in the parlor, quietly discussing their plans over some lunch and a cup of coffee. Erika described the children she had hidden, how she had come to find them, and how difficult it had been to get food and supplies for everyone. Amanda discussed Manfred, all he had done, and who he had become.
When they finished, Erika took Amanda upstairs and into the hidden room to meet the children. It was an emotional experience. Amanda knew the sacrifices Erika had made, quietly bearing the burden alone. Now she knew why.
She stayed a few hours more, most of it with the children, and then returned home. She came in quietly, trying to avoid Hannah, not wanting her to notice that she didn’t have her violin. She closed the front door and walked stealthily across the parlor.
“Mrs. Richter,” Hannah said with surprise, emerging from the kitchen. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said, conscious of her empty hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I came home a few minutes ago.”
“You’re timing is perfect,” Hannah said, not noticing the missing violin. “Dinner is ready.”
Amanda went in the dining room and sat down. Hannah served and, as Amanda was eating, she started talking.
“Mr. Richter called,” she said. “He won’t be home tonight. I think he said he was visiting a factory or people wounded in a factory during the bombing, something like that. But he promised he’ll be home tomorrow night.”
York sat in Erika’s parlor, a solemn expression on his face. Confronted with a new crisis, he was evaluating options, searching for solutions. Obstacles kept appearing: Allied bombings, the Gestapo, and now Manfred Richter.
Amanda sat beside him, her fingers lightly caressing his arm. She was distraught but determined, her face firm, her eyes flashing fear, worried that the door opened for their escape was being slammed shut by her husband.
“I cannot be home on Sunday under any circumstances,” she said. “I just can’t do it. I never want to see Manfred again. And if he’s home, I won’t get out of the house.”
York didn’t want Amanda anywhere near him either, for a variety of reasons. The most obvious was emotional, but even if he applied strict logic it was a dangerous situation. Amanda knew too much; Richter was sly and cunning.
Erika sat across from them, watching closely, her face taut and strained. She seemed tired, defeated, her eyes dull with signs of surrender. She listened intently, concerned, but gave no indication of what might be bothering her.
“You’re absolutely certain he’ll be home?” York asked Amanda, keeping a wary eye on Erika.
“Yes, barring some unforeseen disaster,” she said emphatically. “Hannah wrote down his message. He promised he would be home. Manfred doesn’t promise anything.”
“Is it a special occasion?” Erika asked quietly.
Amanda thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “Not that I can remember.”
York didn’t like seeing her upset. The stress and tension were mounting, and he could see it in the faces of both women. Amanda had been eluding Richter, afraid of the Gestapo, and promised an escape that never seemed to come. Erika had hidden eight people, wrought with worry about how to support them, secretly purchasing food, always wary of detection, knowing a slight miscalculation could bring the wrath of the Gestapo upon her household. Both women were boiling with anxious anticipation, like lava in an erupting volcano.
Erika listened sympathetically to Amanda’s plight, but seemed restless and distracted, worried and weary. She was also perceptive, noticing how closely Amanda sat to York, leaning on him for support, touching him tenderly. She seemed to absorb it, not passing judgment, but probably knew there was much more between them than a path to Switzerland.
They sat quietly for a moment, considering options, before Erika spoke. “I also have a problem, but I haven’t shared it. Just like Amanda, I must leave before Monday. I wasn’t going to tell you; I didn’t want to make matters worse. But it’s best that you know.”
York and Amanda exchanged nervous glances. Neither knew what Erica was facing. They wondered what could have possibly gone wrong, and why she never told them.
Erika withdrew a letter from an envelope and unfolded it. “I received this on Thursday. Words can’t describe how upsetting it is. What sick society could invent such a disgusting, demented program?”
Amanda looked at her friend, dumbfounded. “What happened?”
“I am supposed to report to Gestapo headquarters on Monday at 8 a.m.”
She handed the letter to York, who held it so Amanda could read it. It contained the official letterhead of the Nazi Party, and opened with the deepest sympathy and appreciation for the loss of Erika’s husband. It then discussed her duty to the Fatherland as a patriotic citizen. It closed with notification that her ancestry had been investigated, her natural characteristics classified and, consistent with program criteria, she had been chosen to participate in the production of Aryan offspring. Her first meeting with a preselected German officer, also proven genetically pure, was scheduled for Monday. The meetings would continue three times each week until she conceived.
York handed the letter back, stunned and disgusted. “Who could believe such horrors exist? You’re right, Erika. I’m speechless.”
She smiled weakly. “It convinced my mother to go to Switzerland.”
Amanda was shocked. “Why didn’t you tell us? We’ll protect you. Surely you realize that. We’d never let anything happen to you.”
Erika shrugged meekly. “I didn’t want to trouble you. Michael was so busy planning our escape, and you have your own issues to deal with. I didn’t want you distracted by my problems.”
“What were you going to do?” York asked with disbelief. “You weren’t going to go, were you?”
“No, of course not,” she said. “I had no intention of doing that. I just hoped we would be gone before they came to arrest me.”
“It wouldn’t have worked,” York said softly, showing compassion. “They would have come for you as soon as you missed the appointment.”
“Then that settles it,” Amanda said, looking to York. “We can’t endanger Erika by leaving Tuesday, and I am desperate. You have to do something.”
He had already altered the plan, the hours until departure vivid in his mind, along with all that had to be done to get there. “You’re right,” he said. “We have to leave earlier.”
The women exchanged glances and sighed with relief. “The sooner we can go, the better it will be,” Amanda said.
“I agree,” York said. He was quiet a moment, thinking. “How secure is Manfred’s boathouse?”
Amanda was surprised by the question and, for a moment, her mind drifted to people and places from a different time. “It’s off the road, fairly secluded. There’s no cottage or anything like that, just the boathouse. No nearby neighbors.”
“Can the ambulance fit inside?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not built like that. Only the boat fits in. There’s little floor space, just a few meters in the back. The building sits over the water. You drive the boat inside. And then there is a hoist to lift it out of the water when needed.”
York thought for a moment. “How far from the road is it?”
“Fifty or sixty meters,” she said. “It’s just a dirt road, surrounded by trees.”
“If we parked the ambulance near the boathouse, would the trees hide it from the road?”
Amanda thought for a moment. “During summer they would, but not now. There are some evergreens, but most of the trees and shrubs are bare. It’s dense, though.”
York sighed. “We’ll have to take the chance.”
“When are we leaving?” Erika asked.
“We can go Sunday evening, but spend the night at the boathouse. We have to go there anyway for petrol.”
“But it’ll be harder to get the ambulance in the garage,” Erika said. “The neighbors will still be awake.”
York sighed, struggling to fit the pieces together. “You’re right. And it’s much more dangerous getting the vehicle from the hospital. Even if I got it tonight, we would take a chance having it in the garage.”
“We can cover the windows,” Erika said.
“But someone still might notice,” York said.
“We have to leave early Sunday evening,” Amanda said firmly. “There’s no alternative for me or Erika.”
The telephone rang and Erika excused herself to answer it. They could hear her in the kitchen, talking. It was a pleasant conversation, accented with light laughter. She returned to the parlor a moment later.
“You’ll never guess who that was,” she said.
York and Amanda looked at each other, but offered no reply.
“Albert Kaiser. He called to say that we’re auditioning viola players at the Renaissance Theater on Kenessebeckstrasse at seven p.m. on Sunday.”
Amanda sighed with relief. “At least we know he’s safe. I was really worried about him after the bombing. I kept trying to telephone but couldn’t get through.”
“He said his neighborhood was severely damaged. He and his wife are staying with friends. Their telephone just started working today. I was laughing as he told me how upset his dog has been.”
“How long will the auditions take?” York asked, calculating the timeline.
Erika looked at Amanda and shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe three hours.”
Amanda nodded. “That’s about right, depending on how many people come. That’s how long it took when Gerhard Faber auditioned.”
“I think we can make this work,” York said. “We can get everything ready to go, everyone packed and waiting, while you two are at the auditions.”
“And you’ll get the ambulance?” Amanda asked.
“Yes,” York said. “I’ll put it in the carriage house. It’ll be dark, which will help. And some neighbors may be sleeping.”
“Then we’ll leave as soon as we get home?” Erika asked.
“Yes,” York said. “Your mother and Inga can have the children waiting. We should be gone by eleven p.m.”