Winter of the World

They returned to the hostel. They washed and changed and went out in search of something to eat. The only café was the one with the grumpy proprietress. They ate potato pancakes with sausage. Afterwards they went to the town’s bar. They ordered beers and spoke cheerfully to the other customers, but no one wanted to talk to them. This in itself was suspicious. People everywhere were wary of strangers, for anyone might be a Nazi snitch, but even so Carla wondered how many towns there were where two young girls could spend an hour in a bar without anyone even trying to flirt with them.

They returned to the hostel for an early night. Carla could not think what else to do. Tomorrow they would return home empty-handed. It seemed incredible that she should know about these awful killings yet be unable to stop them. She felt so frustrated she wanted to scream.

It occurred to her that Frau Schmidt – if that really was her name – might have further thoughts about her visitors. At the time, she had taken Carla and Frieda for what they claimed to be, but she might develop suspicions later, and call the police just to be safe. If that happened, Carla and Frieda would not be hard to find. There were just five people at the hostel tonight and they were the only girls. She listened in fear for the fatal knock on the door.

If they were questioned, they would tell part of the truth, saying that Frieda’s brother and Carla’s godson had died at Akelberg, and they wanted to visit their graves, or at least see the place where they died and spend a few minutes in remembrance. The local police might buy that story. But if they checked with Berlin they would swiftly learn the connection with Walter von Ulrich and Werner Franck, two men who had been investigated by the Gestapo for asking disloyal questions about Akelberg. Then Carla and Frieda would be deep in trouble.

As they were getting ready to go to bed in the uncomfortable-looking bunks, there was a knock at the door.

Carla’s heart stopped. She thought of what the Gestapo had done to her father. She knew she could not withstand torture. In two minutes she would name every Swing Kid she knew.

Frieda, who was less imaginative, said: ‘Don’t look so scared!’ and opened the door.

It was not the Gestapo but a small, pretty, blonde girl. It took Carla a moment to recognize her as Nurse König, out of uniform.

‘I have to speak to you,’ she said. She was distressed, breathless and tearful.

Frieda invited her in. She sat on a bunk bed and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. Then she said: ‘I can’t keep it inside any longer.’

Carla glanced at Frieda. They were thinking the same thing. Carla said: ‘Keep what inside, Nurse König?’

‘My name is Ilse.’

‘I’m Carla and this is Frieda. What’s on your mind, Ilse?’

Ilse spoke in a voice so low they could hardly hear her. She said: ‘We kill them.’

Carla could hardly breathe. She managed to say: ‘At the hospital?’

Ilse nodded. ‘The poor people who come in on the grey buses. Children, even babies, and old people, grandmothers. They’re all more or less helpless. Sometimes they’re horrid, dribbling and soiling themselves, but they can’t help it, and some of them are really sweet and innocent. It makes no difference – we kill them all.’

‘How do you do it?’

‘An injection of morphium-scopolamine.’

Carla nodded. It was a common anaesthetic, fatal in overdose. ‘What about the special treatments they’re supposed to have?’

Ilse shook her head. ‘There are no special treatments.’

Carla said: ‘Ilse, let me get this clear. Do they kill every patient that comes here?’

‘Every one.’

‘As soon as they arrive?’

‘Within a day, no more than two.’

It was what Carla had suspected but, even so, the stark reality was horrifying, and she felt nauseated.

After a minute she said: ‘Are there any patients there now?’

‘Not alive. We were giving injections this afternoon. That’s why Frau Schmidt was so frightened when you walked in.’

‘Why don’t they make it harder for strangers to get into the building?’

‘They think guards and barbed wire around a hospital would make it obvious that something sinister was going on. Anyway, no one ever tried to visit before you.’

‘How many people died today?’

‘Fifty-two.’

Carla’s skin crawled. ‘The hospital killed fifty-two people this afternoon, around the time we were there?’

‘Yes.’

‘So they’re all dead, now?’

Ilse nodded.

An intention had been germinating in Carla’s mind, and now she resolved to carry it out. ‘I want to see,’ she said.

Ilse looked frightened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I want to go inside the hospital and see those corpses.’

‘They’re burning them already.’

‘Then I want to see that. Can you sneak us in?’

‘Tonight?’

‘Right now.’

‘Oh, God.’

Carla said: ‘You don’t have to do anything. You’ve already been brave, just by talking to us. If you don’t want to do any more, it’s okay. But if we’re going to put a stop to this we need proof.’

‘Proof.’