All the rooms were full of people. Most were women, but there were some old men and a fair number of small children. They sat or lay in mostly silent misery, their suitcases beside them, often attached to their wrists with string.
The corridors and stairways were also heavily populated, except for those that connected the underground hospital to the outside world. These had to be kept clear for the stretcher-bearers. Two Hitlerjugend patrolled them, moving on anyone who tried to settle.
Eventually they found a place, a niche off the cleared corridor where residence was apparently permitted. The previous tenants, their nearest neighbours told them, had just been taken away. The baby had died of hunger, and the mother had tried to stab herself with a shard of broken glass. She’d been taken to the hospital.
Effi leant back against the wall, and enfolded Rosa in her arms. ‘At least we’re safe,’ she whispered.
‘I’m all right,’ Rosa said, then repeated the phrase, just to be sure.
‘Good,’ Effi murmured, and gave the girl a squeeze. They’d be here for a while, she told herself. She wouldn’t take Rosa back outside until the shelling had stopped, and why would it stop before the fighting was over? The Russians seemed unlikely to run out of ammunition, and she couldn’t see the Wehrmacht pushing them back out of range.
When Paul awoke the daylight was almost gone, and a tall figure was leaning over him, gently shaking his shoulder.
‘Hello, Paul,’ the man said.
He recognised the voice before the face. ‘Uncle Thomas!’ he exclaimed, throwing off the greatcoat and scrambling to his feet. They looked at each other, burst out laughing, and embraced.
‘Come, let’s sit down,’ Thomas said, indicating one of the cast-iron seats that lined the river promenade. ‘I’m much too tired to stand up.’ He took off his helmet, unbuttoned his coat, and lowered himself wearily onto the seat.
He looked a lot older than Paul remembered. They had last met three years ago, when his uncle had tried to defend his father, and he had refused to listen. How old was Thomas now – fifty, fifty-one? His hair, cut back almost to nothing, had gone completely grey, and the lines on his face had multiplied and deepened. But the deep brown eyes still harboured mischief – Uncle Thomas had always found something to laugh at, even in times like these.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked Paul.
‘God knows,’ Paul replied. My unit was overrun on the Seelow Heights. The usual story – too little ammo and too much Ivan. I’ve been backpedalling ever since. Looking for my unit.’
‘Still in the 20th?’
‘What’s left of it.’
‘And who’s that?’ Thomas asked, twisting in his seat to look at the sleeping Werner.
‘His name’s Werner Redlich. I picked him up… no, he picked me up – a couple of days ago. The other boys in his unit all wanted to die for the Führer, but Werner wasn’t so sure.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Fourteen.’
‘He looks younger.’
In sleep he did, Paul thought. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked his uncle.
‘Defending Berlin,’ Thomas said wryly. ‘I was called up last autumn. They spent several months training us to fight a street battle, then sent us out here to defend a river.’ He shrugged. ‘The earthworks are good enough, but there’s nothing to put in them. No artillery, no tanks, just a bunch of old men with rifles they might have used in the First War. And a few disposable rocket launchers. It would be a farce if it wasn’t a tragedy.’ He smiled. ‘But at least I’m getting some exercise.’
‘How are the family?’
‘Hanna and Lotte are with Hanna’s parents in the country. They should be behind American lines by now.’
‘And Joachim?’
‘He was killed last summer, in Romania.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’
‘Yes. I should have found a way to let you know at the time. But, well, I wasn’t thinking too clearly for a while, and then there was the factory to deal with, and then the call-up…’
They sat in silence for a few moments, both staring out across the darkening river.
‘What’s happening at the factory?’ Paul asked eventually. The last he’d heard, the Schade Printing Works was one of the few businesses in Berlin still employing Jews. Thomas had fought a long rearguard action against their deportation, insisting that their expertise was irreplaceable if he was to fulfil his government contracts.
‘It’s still running,’ Thomas said, ‘but most of the workers are Russian POWs. The Jews are gone.’ He grimaced. ‘People always told me it would end badly, and it did.’
‘How?’
‘Oh, the Gestapo just kept coming back. I don’t know whether you knew it at the time, but I was cultivating some pretty disgusting people before your father left. I hoped they would provide me – and the Jews – with some protection. It might even have worked, but the two with the most clout both died in the bombing – and on the same day! A third man was arrested for plotting against the Führer – I couldn’t believe it, the man seemed such a shit! And the rest… well, they just refused to stick their miserable necks out. One did give me a day’s warning, which helped a great deal. There were about forty Jews still working for me then, and I was able to warn them. Half took the chance to go underground, and didn’t turn up for work the next morning. The rest were carted off to God knows where. I assume they were killed.’
Paul said nothing for a moment, remembering a lecture his father had once given him in London about Jews being people too. ‘I saw the remains of a camp,’ he said slowly. ‘In Poland, a place called Majdanek. The SS had flattened all the buildings, and a local woman told us they’d dug up thousands of bodies and burned them. If they did, they did a good job. There was nothing left.’
Thomas sighed.
‘We killed them all, didn’t we?’ Paul said quietly. ‘All those we could get our hands on.’
Thomas turned to face him. ‘Did you kill any?’
‘No, of course not…’
‘Then why the “we”?’
‘Because.. because I’m wearing a German uniform? I don’t really know.’
‘The victors will want to. Did the Germans do this, or just the Nazis? – that’s what they’ll be asking. And I don’t think they’ll find a simple answer.’
‘We voted for him. We knew he hated the Jews.’
‘Berlin never voted for him. But yes, a lot of Germans did, and we all knew he hated the Jews. But we didn’t know he meant to murder them all. I doubt even he knew it then.’
Paul managed a wry smile. ‘It’s good to see you, Uncle Thomas.’
‘And you.’
‘I thought I saw Effi a couple of weeks ago. There was a woman standing on the opposite platform at Fürstenwalde Station – she had a young girl with her. And there was something about the woman. I only caught a glimpse of her before a train came between us, but I could have sworn it was Effi. Of course it wasn’t. I expect she’s living the high life in Hollywood.’
‘Perhaps,’ Thomas said. ‘There was always a lot more to Effi than most people realised. Your father has been lucky with women,’ he mused, ‘first my sister, and then her. I expect you miss them both,’ he added.
‘I do,’ Paul said, and felt suddenly ashamed. Uncle Thomas had lost his son and his sister, and his nephew had refused to talk to him for three years. ‘The last time I saw you, I behaved like a child’ he admitted.
‘You were a child,’ Thomas said drily.
Paul laughed. ‘I know, but…’
‘Have you forgiven your father yet? In your own mind, I mean?’