She placed her hands on the table, one covering the other. I couldn't believe it at first, she said, then paused to get her thoughts in order. I worked for the Brandenburg health ministry for over ten years. In the medical supplies department. I visited hospitals and asylums on a regular basis, checking inventories, anticipating demandsyou understand?
McKinley nodded.
After the Nazi takeover most of the women in my department were encouraged to resign, but my husband was killed in an accident a few weeks after I had Marietta, and they knew I was the only bread-winner in the family. They wanted me to find another husband, of course, but until that happened . . . well, I was good at my job, so they had no real excuse to fire me. She looked up. Im sorry. You dont need to know all this. She looked across at her daughter, who had still shown no sign of recognition that anyone else was in the room. I suppose I knew from the start that she wasnt, well, ordinary, but I told myself she was just very shy, very self-absorbed. . . . I mean, some adults are like thatthey hardly notice that anyone else exists. She sighed. But I got to the point where I knew I had to do something, take her to see someone. I knew that might mean shed be sterilized, but . . . well, if she stayed the way she is now, shed never notice whether she had any children or not. Anyway, I took her to a clinic in Potsdam, and they examined her and tested her and said they needed to keep her under observation for a few weeks. I didn't want to leave her there, but they told me not be selfish, that Marietta needed professional care if she was ever to come out of her shell.
Did they threaten you? McKinley asked.
No, not really. They were just impatient with me. Shocked that I didn't immediately accept that they knew best.
Like most doctors, Russell murmured.
Perhaps. And maybe they were completely genuine. Maybe Marietta does need whatever it is they have to offer.
So you took her away? McKinley asked.
I had to. Just two days after I left her in the clinic I was at the Falkenheide asylumyou know it? Its just outside Furstenwalde. I was in the staff canteen, checking through their orders over a cup of coffee when I became aware of the conversation at the next table. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't. And they were speaking quite normallythere was nothing clandestine about it. In a way that was what was most shocking about itthey assumed that their topic of conversation was common knowledge. As far as the asylum staff were concerned, that is. She paused, and glanced across at Marietta. What they were talking about was a letter which had been sent out by the Ministry of Justice to all directors of asylums. That letter wanted the directors opinions on how they should change the law to allow the killing of incurable children. Should they announce a new law, or should they issue administrative decrees and keep the public in ignorance? This is what the people at the next table were debating, even joking about. Three of them were doctors I recognized, and the woman looked like a senior nurse.
This was all spelled out? Russell asked incredulously. He instinctively trusted hercould see no reason for her to liebut her scene in the canteen sounded like one of those stage conversations written to update the audience.
No, she said, giving Russell an indignant look. They were talking more about how the parents would react, whether they would prefer to hear that their children had simply died of whatever illness they had. It was only when I read the letter that it all made sense.
How? Where? McKinley asked excitedly.
Like I said, I was in that job a long time. I was on good terms with people in all the asylums. I knew I had to see the letter for myself, and I waited for a chance. A few days later a director was called out early, and I pretended I had to work late. I found the letter in his office.
I wish youd kept it, McKinley said, more to himself than her.
I did, she said simply.
You did! McKinley almost shouted, levering himself off the wall hed been leaning against. Where is it? Can we see it?
Not now. I dont have it here.
How much do you need? Russell asked.
Another five hundred Reichsmarks? The question mark was infinitesimal.
Thats McKinley began.
Good business sense, Russell completed for him. She needs the money, he added in English.
Yes, of course, McKinley agreed. I just dont know how. . . . But Ill get it. Shall I come back here? he asked her.
No, she said. Its too risky for me. Send the money to the posterestante on Heiligegeiststrasse. When I get it, Ill send you the letter.
Itll be there by tomorrow evening, McKinley said, as he printed out the Neuenburgerstrasse address.
Russell stood up. Did you have any trouble getting Marietta back? he asked Theresa Jurissen.
Yes, she said. They wouldn't let me take her. I had to steal my own child. Thats why were here in this place.
They all looked down at the girl. Her drawing looked like a forest after a hurricane had hit it. I wish you luck, Russell said.
He and McKinley reached the street as a coal train thundered over the arches, and set about retracing their steps. It was raining now, the streets even emptier, the rare neighborhood bar offering a faint splash of light and noise. They didn't speak until they reached the tram stop on Berlinerstrasse.
If you get this story out, itll be your last one from Germany, Russell said.
McKinley grinned at him. Worth it, though, dont you think?
Russell saw the excitement in the young Americans eyes, like an echo of his own younger self. He felt a pang of envy. Yes, I do, he agreed.
RUSSELLS FIRST PORT OF CALL on the following morning was about ten kilometers, and several worlds, away from Schonlankerstrasse. The villa, just around the corner from the State Archive in the wealthy suburb of Dahlem, was surrounded by trees full of singing birds, most of whom were probably warbling their gratitude to the Fuhrer. In Schonlankerstrasse it was probably still raining in the dark, but here the sun shone down out of a clear blue sky. The coffee had not been as good since the Jewish cook had been allowed to leave, but everyone had to make sacrifices.
His pupil Greta was a sixteen-year-old with no interest in learning English. She did, however, like practicing her flirting techniques on him. Today it was a new wide-eyed expression which she seemed to think was appealing. She was, he had to admit, a lesson in the nature of beauty. When hed first set eyes on her, hed been struck by how gorgeous she was. After eighteen months of getting to know her, he found her marginally more attractive than Herman Goering. Her grasp of English had hardly improved at all in that time, but that didn't seem to worry anybody. Her father, a doctor of similar age to Wiesner, had not been cursed with the same tainted blood.
An hour later, richer in Reichsmarks but poorer in spirit, Russell retraced his steps down the sunny avenues to the Dahlem-Dorf Ubahn station. Changing at Wittenbergplatz, he bought a paper at a platform kiosk and glanced through it on the ride to Alexanderplatz. The Swiss were the latest target: As neutrals, a lead writer announced, they should refrain from expressing opinions about other countries and refuse to take in refugees. The Germans, on the other hand, should get their colonies back. Three reasons were given. The first was inalienable right, whatever that was. The second was economic need, which presumably came under the inalienable right to loot. The third, which made Russell laugh out loud, was Germanys right to share in the education of backward peoples. Thanks to her racial principles, the writer announced confidently, the Third Reich stands in the front rank of Powers in this respect. Russell thought about this for a while, and decided it could only mean that Germany was well-placed to educate the backward peoples in how deserving their backwardness was.
At Alexanderplatz he picked up the previous Saturdays
Most interesting to Russell, though, was the picture on the back page of the streamlined steam locomotive
