Carla moved closer to Gottfried and lowered her voice, as if they were the only two people in the room. ‘As a Catholic who believes that human life is sacred, will you put your hand on your heart and tell me that mentally ill children are not being murdered at Akelberg?’
Gottfried smiled, made a reassuring gesture, and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
Carla knelt on the rug in front of him. ‘Would you do that, please? Right now? Here in your house with you are four young Germans, your son and his three friends. Just tell us the truth. Look me in the eye and say that our government does not kill handicapped children.’
The silence in the room was total. Gottfried seemed about to speak, but changed his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, twisted his mouth into a grimace, and bowed his head. The four young people watched his facial contortions in amazement.
At last he opened his eyes. He looked at them one by one, ending with his gaze on his son.
Then he stood up and walked out of the room.
The next day, Werner said to Carla: ‘This is awful. We’ve talked of the same thing for more than twenty-four hours. We’ll go mad if we don’t do something else. Let’s see a movie.’
They went to the Kurfurstendamm, a street of theatres and shops, always called the Ku’damm. Most of the good German film-makers had gone to Hollywood years ago, and the domestic movies were now second-rate. They saw
The three soldiers were a tough Nazi sergeant, a snivelling complainer who looked a bit Jewish, and an earnest young man. The earnest one asked naive questions such as: ‘Do the Jews really do us any harm?’ and in answer received long, stern lectures from the sergeant. When battle was joined the sniveller admitted to being a Communist, deserted, and was blown up in an air raid. The earnest young man fought bravely, was promoted to sergeant, and became an admirer of the Fuhrer. The script was dire but the battle scenes were exciting.
Werner held Carla’s hand all the way through. She hoped he would kiss her in the dark, but he did not.
As the lights came up he said: ‘Well, it was terrible, but it took my mind off things for a couple of hours.’
They went outside and found his car. ‘Shall we go for a drive?’ he said. ‘It could be our last chance. This car goes up on blocks next week.’
He drove out to the Grunewald. On the way, Carla’s thoughts inevitably returned to yesterday’s conversation with Gottfried von Kessel. No matter how many times she went over it in her mind, there was no way she could escape the terrible conclusion all four of them had reached at the end of it. Kurt and Axel had not been accidental victims of a dangerous medical experiment, as she had at first thought. Gottfried had denied that convincingly. But he had not been able to bring himself to deny that the government was deliberately killing the handicapped, and lying to their families about it. It was hard to believe, even of people as ruthless and brutal as the Nazis. Yet Gottfried’s response had been the clearest example of guilty behaviour that Carla had ever witnessed.
When they were in the forest Werner pulled off the road and drove along a track until the car was hidden by shrubbery. Carla guessed he had brought other girls to this spot.
He turned out the lights, and they were in deep darkness. ‘I’m going to speak to General Dorn,’ he said. Dorn was his boss, an important officer in the Air Force. ‘What about you?’
‘My father says there’s no political opposition left, but the churches are still strong. No one who is sincere about their religious beliefs could condone what’s being done.’
‘Are you religious?’ Werner asked.
‘Not really. My father is. For him, the Protestant faith is part of the German heritage he loves. Mother goes to church with him, though I suspect her theology might be a bit unorthodox. I believe in God, but I can’t imagine He cares whether people are Protestant or Catholic or Muslim or Buddhist. And I like singing hymns.’
Werner’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘I can’t believe in a God who allows the Nazis to murder children.’
‘I don’t blame you.’
‘What is your father going to do?’
‘Speak to the pastor of our church.’
‘Good.’
They were silent for a while. He put his arm around her. ‘Is this all right?’ he said in a half-whisper.
She was tense with anticipation, and her voice seemed to fail. Her reply came out as a grunt. She tried again, and managed to say: ‘If it stops you feeling so sad . . . yes.’
Then he kissed her.
She kissed him back eagerly. He stroked her hair, then her breasts. At this point, she knew, a lot of girls would call a halt. They said if you went any further you would lose control of yourself.
Carla decided to risk it.
She touched his cheek while he was kissing her. She caressed his throat with her fingertips, enjoying the feel of the warm skin. She put her hand under his jacket and explored his body, her hand on his shoulder blades and his ribs and his spine.
