David Gillham - City of Women

“He’s out there,” Ericha assures her leadenly. “Whether you see him or not.”

“You should tell him to be on the lookout for a man with a brown snap-brim who has a pair of ears that stick out. He could be Gestapo.”

But Ericha says nothing in response to this. Only stares into the air.

“What time have you arranged to meet them?” Sigrid asks.

“What?”

“What time have you arranged to meet them? The woman and her children.”

“An hour before the train. But I should mention. There’s been an addition.”

“An addition ?”

“Not another U-boat. Just a man who needs to get out of the country.”

Sigrid suddenly feels off kilter. “But we have no papers for an addition . No plans. No money for the passage…”

“He has his own resources. We are simply to transport him to Lübeck with our group and get him on the ship for Sweden.”

Sigrid narrows her eyes. “Say that again?”

“Why? I think you must have heard me.”

“Heard you, yes. But the way you put it: ‘We are simply to transport him’? Are you following orders ?”

She frowns “No. Of course not orders. But I’ve made connections with another group. A better-funded group, with a much broader network. Not just in Berlin. We can increase our effectiveness tenfold if we work with them.”

“Work with or for them?”

“It’s cooperation. Please , Sigrid.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand , ” the girl suddenly bites. Her eyes flash blankly, and then cool. “I’m sorry,” she offers. “I’m sorry, I just can’t answer questions. It is what it is ,” she says. “Can you accept that?”

Sigrid looks into the girl’s face. She looks suddenly childlike.

“Yes,” Sigrid whispers. “Yes, of course I can. If that’s what you need me to do.” Ericha holds her gaze for an instant longer, then turns away.

“I’m very thirsty,” the girl says with a small swallow. “Do you think,” she asks, “that I could get a glass of water?”

“Water?” Sigrid repeats. Then stands quickly. “Yes. Yes, I’ll bring it to you.” She goes into the small kitchenette across from the bath. There’s a window over the sink and a large rip in the blackout curtain. As she fills a water glass from the tap, she can see a flicker of light down in the alleyway. A match touching a cigarette, which glows red and then vanishes.

Ericha accepts the water glass without words, and Sigrid watches her drain it in two long drinks, then takes away the emptied glass and sets it on the nightstand.

“You must rest,” Sigrid tells her. She expects resistance to this, but is surprised when Ericha slumps sideways on the mattress.

“Rest,” the girl repeats. “That’s a foreign word.”

Sigrid slips off Ericha’s shoes and lifts her feet onto the bed. Drapes the bedspread over her and perches on the edge of the mattress.

“I want you to promise me something, Frau Schröder,” Ericha says. “When the day comes to do this, I want you to promise me that you’ll stay home. Press your husband’s shirts like a good hausfrau or argue with your mother-in-law. Better yet, go to your lover.”

“Ericha.”

“Everything will go smoothly without you. It’s all planned out, and there’s no reason why anything should go wrong. But if it does , then there’s no reason they should get us all. So you will promise me that you will stay away from the Anhalter Bahnhof.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You must.”

“So now you’re giving the orders?”

“Someone will have to continue, Sigrid. If we’re taken, then someone must be left.”

“What about your new friends with their broad network. They won’t be continuing?”

“They’re not interested in saving people. They’re only interested in politics. So you must agree. You must promise me.”

“Close your eyes,” she whispers, and brushes a strand of hair from the girl’s forehead. “If I must promise you, then I will promise you.”

Ericha nods lightly. “Thank you,” she breathes as her eyes drift shut. But when Sigrid starts to stand, the girl squeezes her wrist.

“Stay,” Ericha whispers. “Can you? Just for a bit?”

Gently, Sigrid places her hand over Ericha’s. “Yes,” she whispers. “I can stay.”

SHE IS STANDING on the landing, the walls shake with the bombing. Fire scorches the ceiling, and all she can think of are the sand buckets . Where are the sand buckets? When the floorboards beneath her feet separate, she latches onto the railing, but the railing is attached to nothing, and she is falling, plummeting into a swirling black hole.

Sigrid awakes with a start, settled in the padded armchair by the bed. She blinks, dimly trying to decide where she is, and then wipes her face with her hands. The stove has gone out, and the room is cold. She can see daylight edging through a crack in the blackout curtain, so she shoves it aside, and the Berlin morning invades the room. Her heart falls when she sees that bedclothes are twisted in a heap but the bed is empty.

SHE LOCKS THE DOOR to Wolfram’s flat and travels down the stairs, excusing herself around a young female Ostarbeiter scrubbing the tile floor of the foyer. The woman mumbles contritely in Polish and keeps her eyes on her scrub bucket. Outside, the chill of the morning awaits her. She carefully glances about, checking for idling autos or any men loitering innocuously about the newspaper canisters, but sees only a few Berliners minding their own business as they travel the sidewalk. So she is shocked when a hand seizes her from behind by the hair, and yanks her to one side. “This way, Liebste,” Egon tells her and guides her painfully into the narrow alley around the corner.

“You’re hurting me.”

“ Hurting you? You’re lucky I don’t wring your fucking neck .” He pushes her roughly against the alley wall and presses his face into hers. Holding up the diamond pouch, he turns it upside so the contents spill out. “ Rock sugar ,” he seethes. “You took my diamonds and left me rock sugar .”

“That’s right,” she breathes.

“Why?”

“Because there are those who have needs greater than yours.”

“Sigrid,” he says, pronouncing her name as if he might bite it in half. “Sigrid, I want my diamonds. ”

“Go to hell,” she tells him.

“You bitch ,” he swears, and cracks her across the face with the back of his hand. She expels a yelp of pain, as he seizes her chin in his hand. “I want my property!”

“It’s not,” she manages. “It’s not your property.”

“It is ! It belongs to me !”

“ No . No, it belongs to the Jews whom you sent to their deaths .”

Silence .

“It belongs to them ! Like that pretty watch you wear . Like the money in your pocket and the fancy coat on your back .”

His face hangs in front of her, still contorted.

“I know what you are ,” she assures him. “I know what you’ve done .”

His teeth grind. “You know nothing .”

“How many lives , Egon? How many lives did you trade for your own?”

“So now you think you are the expert. But you’re not. You’re an idiot! A silly cunt who knows nothing !”

“Tell me about Freya.”

“Freya,” he repeats.

“I hear she is quite the dish. Was she good in the sack ?”