“Live your life,” said Gretchen.
“You’ll be using a new name,” said Hans.
“Why? What’s wrong with my name?” she replied.
“You’ll be traveling with the drayman, Karl Pitt, as his daughter. Your name will be Inge Pitt. Remember it.”
“Well I think it’s a horrible name,” said Inge.
Hans made the painful trip to Siemensstrasse again to tell the drayman about the change of plan.
Pitt was content that the journey would be significantly shorter. “Dresden was probably an unrealistic target,” he said. “I hope you won’t ask for a refund.”
“No, keep the money,” said Hans with an imperious wave of his hand.
Pitt produced a welcome glass of schnapps to fortify Hans for the return trek home.
36
On the morning of February 20, Gretchen spent two hours queuing for vegetables. She came away with two sturdy rutabagas and missed the postwoman on her rounds. Later, she ran into Frau Tannhäuser and Frau Carlson on the staircase. The undertaker’s wife was weeping into a voluminous handkerchief, sobbing and gulping air. Her husband and son were both with the Volkssturm, defending the eastern approaches to the city. Gretchen suspected that one or other had been injured or killed.
“What’s happened?” Gretchen asked Frau Carlson.
“Frau Niedermeyer was here earlier. Didn’t you hear the news?”
Gretchen shook her head. “No, tell me.”
“The Westwall has fallen. The Americans and the English are advancing from the west.” Frau Carlson seemed unaffected by the news.
“We are all doomed!” wailed Frau Tannhäuser.
Gretchen thought this was good news. Berlin would fall soon – nothing was more certain. Better that it fall to the Allies on the west than the Red Army.
“You’ve heard nothing from the eastern defenses?” she asked
“Nothing,” said Frau Tannhäuser, wiping her eyes.
“It’s not the worst news,” said Frau Carlson. “They still have to cross the Rhine. They will find that difficult. I’m sure our troops will hold them there.”
Frau Tannhäuser smiled weakly. “Do you think so?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“I’m hoping they’ll release my husband soon. The funeral parlor is full. Surely they must see the dangers of leaving so many bodies unburied, don’t you think?”
Gretchen patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure they will. Have you heard anything from him, or from Anton?”
At the mention of Anton’s name, she burst into tears again. Frau Carlson rolled her eyes before escorting the undertaker’s wife back inside her apartment.
That afternoon, Gretchen set out toward Grunewald, five kilometers away, where her friend’s apartment was located. Her path was obstructed by fallen masonry from several giant blocks that had been toppled. Row after row of others stood blackened and burnt out, their half-demolished walls pointing skyward. Small children played amid the debris.
Martha lived in a minor mansion in the middle of a cluster of affluent houses that had survived the bombing raids almost untouched. Gretchen knocked on the door and Martha opened it. Her immediate, warm, protracted embrace told Gretchen how pleased her friend was to see her.
Martha had a small gas camping stove in her kitchen. She made tea and they did their best to chat about the sort of inconsequential things that they would have chatted about before the war. Inevitably, every subject they chose brought them back to the war – and to Martha’s fiancé, Paul.
“I thought we might live in the country,” she said. “You know, when he comes back, when the war is over.”
“Whereabouts?”
“I’ve always loved Bavaria.”
“The mountains, the forests, and the beer.”
“Yes, and the Dirndl. I’d look good in a tight bodice, don’t you think?”
“You’d look spectacular in the Dirndl,” said Gretchen with feeling.
Martha giggled. “And Lederhosen for Paul. Let me show you something.” She opened an ornate blanket chest and pulled out a long white dress. “This was my mother’s wedding dress. I will wear it at my own wedding.” She held it up against herself, arranging the train behind her.
“It’s beautiful, Martha. You will make a stunning bride.”
“It is beautiful, but it will need a wash,” said Martha, looking closely at the dress.
As Martha folded the wedding dress carefully and put it back in the chest, Gretchen spotted Paul’s half-unraveled jumper and the ball of wool.
She pointed at it. “Have you done anything with that jumper?”
Martha flushed red with embarrassment. “Not so far. I’ve been practicing my knitting, but I’m not good enough to do anything with it yet.”
Finally, Gretchen broached the subject she’d come to talk about. “Have you given any thought to leaving the city?”
Martha shook her head. “I’ve thought about it, and I appreciate your generous offer, but I need to be here when Paul returns.”
“Have you heard the news? The Allies have broken through the Westwall.”
“I heard. Frau Niedermeyer was here earlier. They’ll never cross the Rhine.”
“We said that about the Westwall. It’s too risky, Martha. Please think about it some more. Better to stay safe and pick up the threads of your life when the war is over.”
The argument continued for a few minutes, but Martha remained adamant. She would remain in the city in readiness for her fiancé’s return.
As she was leaving, Martha opened the chest again and lifted out the jumper. She handed it to Gretchen. “You take it. I’m never going to do anything with it.”
37
February turned into March and the day for the escape, March 11, drew closer. Gretchen had goosebumps all over her body every time she thought about it. Would Inge’s papers be good enough to fool the SS? Could they make it out of the city? And would a horse and cart be able to take them 60 kilometers to safety?
And what about Oskar? What were his chances of living through the war, and would Hans know how to handle his moods?
Riddled with guilt at the prospect of leaving Oskar, she fretted over him, doing everything she could to shake his memory cells into life. He had occasional lucid moments when his old memories resurfaced, but he could recall nothing remotely recent.
She tried to keep Oskar and Inge apart, but it was difficult in such a small apartment. Inge kept
