As the stew for everyone in the house and another for the land army girls and guards were already simmering, Martha must have guessed who we wanted the extra food for, but she didn’t say anything, just set about making it.
She boiled it up in one of the coppers in the wash kitchen so as not to alert the soldiers. When the guards were safely in the kitchen eating dinner with the land army girls, and the Poles had returned to their cottages where they cook their own rations, so the guards and land army girls can’t see that we give them extra, Brunon, Marius and I carried the pot out to the barn. The prisoners are always locked in there at lunchtime so the guards can eat together.
Brunon opened the side door – he has never given the guards the key to that entrance. The men were lying on the few remaining bales of last years’ straw. They stank horribly and looked even more wild, filthy and fierce than they do from a distance. I was petrified, but Brunon spoke to them, first in German, then Polish, telling them they had nothing to fear. We laid the copper on the floor and lifted the lid. Before Marius could open the sack that held the spoons, bowls and bread, they fell on the pot, knocking Brunon to the floor.
They ate with their hands, plunging their filthy fingers into the boiling stock, scooping what they could to their mouths just like animals at a watering hole. I helped Brunon to his feet.
Marius stood back, round-eyed in wonder. He murmured, ‘They really are subhuman beasts, aren’t they, Papa?’
I am ashamed to say that I had been thinking the same thing, but Brunon said, ‘No son, they aren’t beasts, just starving.’
It was then that I noticed how thin their hands and wrists are beneath the layers of rags. They are little more than skeletons. For the first time I understood why the cats had been disappearing, why they risked beatings from the guards by rummaging in the pigswill bins, and even a little of what Wilhelm had been trying to tell me.
I turned away sickened, not by the way they were eating, but the fact that I was not only a witness to, but responsible for, their state. How could I be so blind and indifferent to the plight of fellow human beings I see every day?
The Russians have been working at Grunwaldsee for months. Even Mama’s sickness hadn’t prevented her from noticing their state, but I, who was supposed to be in charge, had ignored their desperate condition. Watching them cram the food into their mouths made me feel as though I was peering through a keyhole at an intimate scene. I looked at Brunon, then someone called my name.
One of the men left the food and the others and walked towards me. He repeated my name. Brunon took my arm to protect me and Marius ran to the door ready to open it.
The man turned back, apologized in German for bothering me, and said he could understand why I didn’t want to know him. It was then that I recognized him. The filthy skeleton in rags was Masha’s brother Alexander, who together with Masha had given me the amber necklace on Moscow station. The one I had thought was good-looking for a Russian.
Charlotte set aside the diary, opened the mini-bar and poured herself a brandy. She lifted the glass and murmured, ‘To you, Sascha, wherever you are.’
DAWN, FRIDAY, 3 SEPTEMBER 1943
After Alexander spoke to me, Brunon sent Marius outside to keep watch on the guards in the kitchen and told him to warn us when he saw them preparing to leave. Brunon stayed with the prisoners while I filled a bowl with stew for Alexander. We sat to one side, talking while he ate. I tried very hard not to let him see just how much the sight and smell of him and the others sickened me.
I apologized for not recognizing him sooner, but he said he doubted that his mother, sister or the girl he had married when war broke out would recognize him as he is now.
I asked what it was like in the prison camp. He said no prisoner had lived there for longer than two months, and the lucky ones died sooner. Sitting close to him and the others, I couldn’t believe that I had ignored their condition for so long. They are not only thin, but their bodies and faces are covered with masses of open, running sores.
I asked what I could do to help them, and Alexander said the most important thing was food, because they weren’t given any rations. When they were marched out of Russia, they were turned into pasture fields every night and told to graze like animals.
They thought things would get better once they reached a camp, but even there, all they had was the grass in the open field they sleep in and, with so many men penned together, the last of it went months ago. They only get one barrel of water a day and it is not enough for drinking, so there is none left for washing themselves or their clothes. There are no latrines and the guards refuse to give them spades to dig one. So much for the camp commandant telling me that Russians won’t keep themselves clean.
I promised to do what I could for them. Alexander begged me not to risk my life or the lives of anyone at Grunwaldsee on his or his men’s behalf. He said that so many Russians die every day in the camp; they regard themselves as already dead.
I offered him my hand, but he refused to shake it because he was filthy and crawling with vermin. As if to prove his words, he pinched a louse from his sleeve and killed it. I picked it up from the floor and tucked it into my handkerchief.
I left the barn and went into the kitchen where the guards were eating one of Martha’s apple cakes and drinking acorn coffee. Alexander told me that the fattest of the three guards, an invalided veteran, wasn’t a bad man, and often turned a blind eye when he saw him or one of the other prisoners stealing pigswill from the bins or raw vegetables from the fields. So, as the guards are all of the same rank – corporals – I decided to approach him.
After pouring myself a cup of acorn coffee, I sat opposite him. He was arguing with the other two about which was the best nightclub in Berlin. I took my handkerchief, unfolded it and placed the louse in front of his plate. The land army girls were leaving, but one of them looked back, saw it and screamed.
I told them that I had found the louse on my clothes when I went into the stable after the prisoners had cleaned it that morning. The second guard, the thin one that Alexander had told me was a sadist, said the solution was simple. The Russians would have to be kept outside at all times and the land army girls would have to take over the inside work.
I pointed out that we couldn’t bring in this year’s harvest or plant the next without the help of the prisoners of war, and the easiest solution would be to wash them and their clothes. He replied that would be a useless exercise because even if the Russians wanted to wash themselves and their clothes – which, according to him, they most certainly didn’t – the camp was full of lice and the rest of the prisoners filthy. So, as soon as our prisoners returned there in the evening they would pick up fresh lice again.
Then I suggested that we should clean up our twelve prisoners and allow them to live at Grunwaldsee.
I knew the guards didn’t have the authority to allow me to do that, but they are men first and soldiers second, and all three, even the fat married corporal, are chasing the land army girls. I hear them laughing together and see them going off to the woodsheds in pairs when they think no one is watching.
I reminded them that if the Russian prisoners were barracked at Grunwaldsee, they too would have to stay with us. I didn’t have to say any more. In between guarding the prisoners and enjoying their playtimes with the land army girls, they eat in our kitchen and are always complimenting Martha on her cooking and saying how much better her food is than the rations that are served at the camp.
I proposed that I telephone my father-in-law, General von Letteberg, in Berlin, and, while he made the necessary arrangements, Minna, Martha and I would wash the men’s clothes; as they were drying, the men could wash themselves. When the guards hesitated, I picked up the louse and reminded them that typhus is not fussy whether it kills Aryans or sub-humans.
As I was leaving the kitchen to go to Papa’s study to telephone, I saw the guards check their own clothes. After what had happened the last time I spoke to the camp commandant, I did not even try to reach him but telephoned Papa von Letteberg’s office. His aide promised to get a message to him. I stressed the urgency of the situation, and said that Papa von Letteberg’s grandson, along with everyone else in the household, was at risk of contracting typhus. Also it was vital we bring in the harvest to supply the troops, and we couldn’t do that without the assistance of prisoner labour.
I then went to the wash-house to help Minna and Martha with the Russian uniforms. Martha wanted to burn them, but I knew the guards would never stand for that, so we threw them into the wash boilers. In the meantime they had to wear something, so I went to Papa’s and Paul’s rooms and raided their wardrobes. Fortunately, they had a great many clothes. There were warm trousers, underclothes, shirts and pullovers, enough for all twelve prisoners and more. I sent disinfectant soap, combs, brushes and scissors into the barn with Marius and Brunon. (They hid the scissors; the last thing I wanted was an argument with the guards over whether or not the prisoners could use them as weapons.)
It was hard to believe that the men who emerged an hour later were the same ones who’d entered the barn at lunchtime. Alexander saw me watching them from Papa’s study window, but gave me no nod of recognition.
I understood. It would not do for the daughter-in-law of General von Letteberg, the wife of a Wehrmacht colonel and mistress of Grunwaldsee, to admit to knowing a prisoner of war, a sub-human and enemy of the Reich. Why does life have to be so complicated? Alexander’s family were kind to me when I lived with them in Moscow. If there hadn’t been a war, Papa would have insisted that I reciprocate their hospitality and invite him and Masha to visit Grunwaldsee as our guests.
By late afternoon, Papa von Letteberg had gained permission for both guards and prisoners to be billeted at Grunwaldsee. Then we had to decide where to put them. Brunon and Martha offered to give up their house so the guards could move into it. It was generous of them. They knew I hated the thought of having the men living in the house with Mama, Irena, the children and me.
I helped Brunon, Marius and Martha to empty the lodge of their personal belongings and carry them into the main house. I gave them the rooms at the end of the corridor on the second floor of the east side. There are four rooms and a bathroom there, and a door separates that part of the house from the rest, so they almost have their own front door.
Brunon said that it was far better that he, Martha and Marius move in with us than the guards, but he repeated it so often that I knew it was a wrench for him and Martha to leave their home.
Minna and I sorted through the linen closets. We found a dozen clean blankets. They were coarse and of poor quality, but warm enough for this time of year. There is enough straw in the barn for the men to sleep there tonight, and tomorrow we will make better arrangements. Martha boiled up another stew, and cooked all the windfall apples, so the Russians could have an evening meal.
The guards locked the prisoners in the barn before returning to the camp to pick up their things. I warned them that the prisoners couldn’t remain in the barn indefinitely because we needed it to store hay and straw, and the chickens nested there. They wouldn’t hear of my billeting them in the ballroom, so Brunon and I decided that tomorrow the Russians will have to clean out the loft above the stables and move in there.
The guards were happy with that because they think there is only one outside staircase that leads up to it, which makes their job easier. They don’t realize there is a door in Papa’s study that opens directly into the tack room adjoining the stables, and a hatch in the tack room ceiling that opens into the loft. My great-grandfather had it put in so sacks of feed could be lifted up or dropped down to save the bother of hauling them up and down the outside stairs.
It will be useful for passing up forbidden items. The guards have already berated us for giving the prisoners soap and disinfectant, which are in short supply at the Front. I pointed out that Grunwaldsee isn’t the Front, and that if it will help I will send parcels of both to my husband and brother in Russia so they can distribute them there. That shut the guards up. They have a very cosy billet at Grunwaldsee while Claus and Wilhelm … I can’t bear to think what they will suffer during a second winter on the Russian Front.
I don’t feel good about what Brunon and I are doing. We haven’t made the Russians’ lives any safer or easier, only ensured that they will be in better health to work, which means that we can produce more food for the war effort. A war the Russians are praying that we Germans will lose. And I wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help them if Alexander hadn’t been one of the prisoners. Why is it so easy so ignore people you don’t know, even when they are starving to death, and so difficult to walk away from someone who has once shown you kindness?
‘Why indeed?’
Charlotte set the diary aside, walked to the window, opened the balcony door and stepped outside. Above her the vast dome of the night sky stretched infinite, immeasurable, over the shimmering lake. Moonlight shone on the water that lapped below her. Fire and candlelight flickered on the bank to her right, and the melancholy strains of a Brahms violin concerto echoed in the cool night air. She could smell meat roasting and hear the high-pitched voices of young people raised in song wavering in snatches on the breeze.
It was a scene that had been played out on the banks of the lake time and time again during her youth, and, she didn’t doubt, in the decades since and the centuries before. If she left the hotel and went in search of the party, would she see boys who’d remind her of Paul and Wilhelm, and girls like she and Irena had been?
A shadow of a yacht moved into view. Its ghost-white sail flapped and picked up the wind, and the boat sliced through the surface of the lake, scattering the reflected images of the moon and stars. On the opposite bank, darkness encroached with the woods at the water’s edge. She looked for and found the light that marked the lakeside end of Grunwaldsee’s jetty. Was it her imagination or could she really see the glimmer of white that was the little summerhouse?
‘I knew you wouldn’t be sleeping.’ Laura was standing on the balcony of her room next door. She turned on the outside light, and mosquitoes danced in a cloud around it.
‘I trust you are wearing insect repellent,’ Charlotte warned. ‘The Grunwaldsee species can be particularly vicious when offered fresh meat.’
‘Why do you think they are all up there, well away from me?’ Laura leaned on the railing and looked out. ‘It’s beautiful. I hope it never changes.’
‘It’s bound to in some ways, but, with luck, not drastically, so something will be saved for future generations. There are many more buildings around the lake than there were in 1945, but the waters are not polluted and, judging by the singing and barbecue smells, young people still come here to have fun.’
‘Did you ring room service?’ Laura asked.
‘I forgot, but I helped myself to a brandy from the mini-bar, which was very extravagant, knowing the prices they charge,’ Charlotte confessed.
‘I knew you wouldn’t send down for something, so I asked the waiter for take-out.’ Laura went into her room and returned with a plate, napkin-wrapped cutlery and two boxes. ‘A kielbasa on rye sandwich and a slice of poppy-seed cake.’
Charlotte took them. ‘Who’s the grandmother and who’s the granddaughter?’
‘If you’re not hungry, dump them.’
‘What was your dinner like?’
‘Good. Polish pork with cabbage rolls, or rather golabki – you see, I’m learning Polish. Washed down by krupnik.’
‘I’d forgotten about fire vodka.’
‘Two was my limit. Three and I’d have forgotten my name,’ Laura joked.
‘And is there a documentary?’ Charlotte set the boxes on her balcony table.
‘With the Jewish girls, no.’ Laura shook her head. ‘The area where the family farm once stood is covered by Communist tower blocks, and the cemetery where their great-great-grandparents were buried is now a hospital car park.’ She looked at her grandmother. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Your parents—’
‘Were buried in the family vault in the church at Grunwaldsee. I must ask Marius if their memorial is still there.’
‘There’s a church at Grunwaldsee as well?’
‘There is. You still look tired, Laura.’
‘I am. When I’m making a film I work such long hours, I don’t even realize I’m tired. Then, when I stop, I’m ready to sleep around the clock.’
‘Why don’t we breakfast in my room tomorrow morning on the balcony? Then we can eat whatever time we like,’ Charlotte suggested.
‘Is ten o’clock too late, Oma?’ Laura knew her grandmother was an habitual early riser.
‘Ten o’clock sounds perfect.’
Charlotte watched her granddaughter close the balcony door and the curtains of her room. Then she took the boxes and returned to her own room, closing the door behind her. The mosquitoes around Grunwaldsee had never bitten her before. But as Greta used maliciously to say when she dabbed lotion on her bright-red swellings, ‘If there’s any justice, one day there will be a first time for you, Charlotte.’