Winter of the World

‘That’s terrible.’ Carla was sad for her friend, but also suspicious. She had had a bad feeling when Professor Willrich spoke to them a month ago about the new treatment for Kurt. Had it been more experimental than he had let on? Could it have actually been dangerous? ‘Do you know any more?’

‘We just got a short letter. My father is enraged. He phoned the hospital but he wasn’t able to speak to the senior people.’

‘I’ll come round to your house. I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

‘Thanks.’

Carla hung up and went into the kitchen. ‘Axel Franck has died at that hospital in Akelberg,’ she said.

Her father, Walter, was looking at the morning post. ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘Poor Monika.’ Carla recalled that Axel’s mother, Monika Franck, had once been in love with Walter, according to family legend. The look of concern on Walter’s face was so pained that Carla wondered if he had had a slight tendresse for Monika, despite being in love with Maud. How complicated love was.

Carla’s mother, who was now Monika’s best friend, said: ‘She must be devastated.’

Walter looked down at the post again and said in a tone of surprise: ‘Here’s a letter for Ada.’

The room went quiet.

Carla stared at the white envelope as Ada took it from Walter.

Ada did not receive many letters.

Erik was home – it was the last day of his short leave – so there were four people watching as Ada opened the envelope.

Carla held her breath.

Ada drew out a typed letter on headed paper. She read the message quickly, gasped, then screamed.

‘No!’ said Carla. ‘It can’t be!’

Maud jumped up and put her arms around Ada.

Walter took the letter from Ada’s fingers and read it. ‘Oh, dear, how terribly sad,’ he said. ‘Poor little Kurt.’ He put the paper down on the breakfast table.

Ada began to sob. ‘My little boy, my dear little boy, and he died without his mother – I can’t bear it!’

Carla fought back tears. She felt bewildered. ‘Axel and Kurt?’ she said. ‘At the same time?’

She picked up the letter. It was printed with the name of the hospital and its address in Akelberg. It read:

Dear Mrs Hempel,

I regret to inform you of the sad death of your son, Kurt Walter Hempel, age eight years. He passed away on 4 April at this hospital as a result of a burst appendix. Everything possible was done for him but to no avail. Please accept my deepest condolences.

It was signed by the Senior Physician.

Carla looked up. Her mother was sitting next to Ada, arm around her, holding her hand as she sobbed.

Carla was grief-stricken, but more alert than Ada. She spoke to her father in a shaky voice. ‘There’s something wrong.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Look again.’ She handed him the letter. ‘Appendicitis.’

‘What is the significance?’

‘Kurt had had his appendix removed.’

‘I remember,’ her father said. ‘He had an emergency operation, just after his sixth birthday.’

Carla’s sorrow was mixed with angry suspicion. Had Kurt been killed by a dangerous experiment which the hospital was now trying to cover up? ‘Why would they lie?’ she said.

Erik banged his fist on the table. ‘Why do you say it is a lie?’ he cried. ‘Why do you always accuse the establishment? This is obviously a mistake! Some typist has made a copying error!’

Carla was not so sure. ‘A typist working in a hospital is likely to know what an appendix is.’

Erik said furiously: ‘You will seize upon even this personal tragedy as a way of attacking those in authority!’

‘Be quiet, you two,’ said their father.

They looked at him. There was a new tone in his voice. ‘Erik may be right,’ he said. ‘If so, the hospital will be perfectly happy to answer questions and give further details of how Kurt and Axel died.’

‘Of course they will,’ said Erik.

Walter went on: ‘And if Carla is right, they will try to discourage inquiries, withhold information and intimidate the parents of the dead children by suggesting that their questions are somehow illegitimate.’

Erik looked less comfortable about that.

Half an hour ago Walter had been a shrunken man. Now somehow he seemed to fill his suit again. ‘We will find out as soon as we start asking questions.’

Carla said: ‘I’m going to see Frieda.’

Her mother said: ‘Don’t you have to go to work?’

‘I’m on the late shift.’

Carla phoned Frieda, told her that Kurt was dead too, and said she was coming to talk about it. She put on her coat, hat and gloves then wheeled her bicycle outside. She was a fast rider and it took her only a quarter of an hour to get to the Francks’ villa in Schöneberg.

The butler let her in and told her the family were still in the dining room. As soon as she walked in, Frieda’s father, Ludwig Franck, bellowed at her: ‘What did they tell you at the Wannsee Children’s Home?’