Winter of the World

The few Jews still in Berlin could not be treated, if they were sick, by Aryan doctors and nurses. So, by the tangled logic of Nazi racism, the hospital was allowed to remain. It was mainly staffed by Jews and other unfortunate people who did not count as properly Aryan: Slavs from Eastern Europe, people of mixed ancestry, and those married to Jews. But there were not enough nurses, so Carla helped out.

The hospital was harassed constantly by the Gestapo, critically short of supplies, especially drugs, understaffed and almost completely without funds.

Carla was breaking the law as she took the temperature of an eleven-year-old boy whose foot had been crushed in an air raid. It was also a crime for her to smuggle medicines out of her everyday hospital and bring them here. But she wanted to prove, if only to herself, that not everyone had given in to the Nazis.

As she finished her ward round she saw Werner outside the door, in his air force uniform.

For several days he and Carla had lived in fear, wondering whether anyone had survived the bombing of the school and lived to condemn Werner; but it was now clear they had all died, and no one else knew of Macke’s suspicions. They had got away with it, again.

Werner had recovered quickly from his bullet wound.

And they were lovers. Werner had moved into the von Ulrichs’ large, half-empty house, and he slept with Carla every night. Their parents made no objection: everyone felt they could die any day, and people should take what joy they could from a life of hardship and suffering.

But Werner looked more solemn than usual as he waved to Carla through the glass panel in the door to the ward. She beckoned him inside and kissed him. ‘I love you,’ she said. She never tired of saying it.

He was always happy to say: ‘I love you, too.’

‘What are you doing here?’ she said. ‘Did you just want a kiss?’

‘I’ve got bad news. I’ve been posted to the Eastern Front.’

‘Oh, no!’ Tears came to her eyes.

‘It’s really a miracle I’ve avoided it this long. But General Dorn can’t keep me any longer. Half our army consists of old men and schoolboys, and I’m a fit twenty-four-year-old officer.’

She whispered: ‘Please don’t die.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

Still whispering, she said: ‘But what will happen to the network? You know everything. Who else could run it?’

He looked at her without speaking.

She realized what was in his mind. ‘Oh, no – not me!’

‘You’re the best person. Frieda’s a follower, not a leader. You’ve shown the ability to recruit new people and motivate them. You’ve never been in trouble with the police and you have no record of political activity. No one knows the role you played in opposing Aktion T4. As far as the authorities are concerned, you are a blameless nurse.’

‘But Werner, I’m scared!’

‘You don’t have to do it. But no one else can.’

Just then they heard a commotion.

The neighbouring ward was for mental patients, and it was not unusual to hear shouting and even screaming; but this seemed different. A cultured voice was raised in anger. Then they heard a second voice, this one with a Berlin accent and the insistent, bullying tone that outsiders said was typical of Berliners.

Carla stepped into the corridor, and Werner followed.

Dr Rothmann, wearing a yellow star on his jacket, was arguing with a man in SS uniform. Behind them, the double doors to the psychiatric ward, normally locked, were wide open. The patients were leaving. Two more policemen and a couple of nurses were herding a ragged line of men and women, most in pyjamas, some walking upright and apparently normal, others shambling and mumbling as they followed one another down the staircase.

Carla was immediately reminded of Ada’s son, Kurt, and Werner’s brother, Axel, and the so-called hospital in Akelberg. She did not know where these patients were going, but she was quite sure they would be killed there.

Dr Rothmann was saying indignantly: ‘These people are sick! They need treatment!’

The SS officer replied: ‘They’re not sick, they’re lunatics, and we’re taking them where lunatics belong.’

‘To a hospital?’

‘You will be informed in due course.’

‘That’s not good enough.’

Carla knew she should not intervene. If they found out she was not Jewish she would be in deep trouble. She did not look particularly Aryan or otherwise, with dark hair and green eyes. If she kept quiet, probably they would not bother her. But if she protested about what the SS were doing she would be arrested and questioned, and then it would come out that she was working illegally. So she clamped her teeth together.

The officer raised his voice. ‘Hurry up – get those cretins in the bus.’

Rothmann persisted. ‘I must be informed where they are going. They are my patients.’

They were not really his patients – he was not a psychiatrist.

The SS man said: ‘If you’re so concerned about them, you can go with them.’

Dr Rothmann paled. He would almost certainly be going to his death.