The children, the children. She often heard their cry in the
dark of the night. The whimpers. The sobs. The heartbreaking sound. She didn’t
think they still would be here so many years after. They hadn’t been there in
the beginning but now when her body was tired and old she heard their cry. In
her sleep and awake they never left her alone.
In her bed, in the line at the grocery store, at the
doctor’s office and at the library as she tried to pick out a new crime
story to read. Their cries, faint, in the background. Everywhere. And no one
left to speak to. To ask if this was what happened to them, too. Was this the
final payment for the crimes they had committed? But then, back then when the sun
was coming down from the clear blue sky, back then it wasn’t a crime. They were
heroes. They followed orders. They did the right thing for humankind.
Oh, when her body was young, strong and full of life all
those years ago. Now, now she hardly could get up the stairs. And now they came
back. The children. Their cries. Sometimes they would cry for their mother or
nana or father. But often they simply whimpered. In the beginning it had been
hard to listen to those cries but strangely enough you can get used to
anything. Even the smell.
People who are barely alive, closer to death and life,
develop a certain smell. Eventually, she had learned to recognize how they
smelled when they wouldn’t live any longer. Some could look dead but still keep on
living. Others could look better and still be closer to death. She had often
wondered why some lived longer than others even though they were treated the
same. Did some carry a stronger life spark? Or was it good genes? Or simply
luck?
She sat up in bed, looked around the dark room. “I know you
aren’t here,” she said firmly. As she spoke the whimpers and the cries stopped.
She laid down again. Closed her eyes and fell asleep.
She was young in the dream. Her body firm. Straight. Still
beautiful. She stood in front of the mirror, caressed the dark blue skirt and
the white blouse. Her hair was shiny, light brown and she wore it in a bun on her neck. She touched the ring on her left hand, spun it around and felt the
smooth gold under her fingers.
Hans, her love. Suddenly her heart turned tight.
She missed him dearly. With her whole body and soul. Missed his smile. His
green eyes. The brown, unruly hair that hung down over his forehead. How he
used to whisper "Annelies" in her ear and caress her neck with his lips. What if
he never came back…no, no she could not think like that. Victory was theirs!
The Fuhrer had promised this. And she believed him. He spoke so true. With so
much passion. She took a deep breath in. The spring day outside smelled of
apple blossom and she heard how the blue tit’s chicks chirruped for their
parents to come back to feed them. When this war was over. When victory had
come they would have children, Hans and her. Many of them.
Something woke her up, a dull sound from outside the
hallway. It sounded like someone was bouncing a ball on the carpet. She
listened more carefully but then the sound disappeared. “He,” she said to
herself. “Curious…my old ears are playing tricks on me.” Then she heard the
sound again. “One of those nights…” she sighed, turned on the lamp on the
nightstand and got out of bed. The floor was cold and she searched for her
slippers with her feet until she found them. Then she grabbed her old wool
cardigan and wrapped it around her body.
The hallway was empty, of course, she lived all alone now.
Frank, her last dachshund had died six months ago and now it was no use buying
a new one. Who would take care of the dog when she died? It was years ago she
had stopped thinking “if I die”. We all die. Eventually.
She slowly walked down the stairs, holding on to the
handrail and leaning close to the wall. The light over the kitchen table was
always on at night. She stepped into the golden light and felt more at ease.
The nights she couldn’t sleep she did the same thing. Toasted a couple of slices of wholegrain
bread and made a pot of chamomile tea. She poured the yellow-green liquid
into her favorite 1382 Arzberg cup, then added honey and milk. Sat down
with the cup and her toast by the table and started to solve crossword puzzles.
The one in the Sunday paper she always saved for nights like this. The puzzle
was hard enough to keep her mind occupied and eventually sleepiness would win
over weariness.
But this night her mind wandered. The dream had brought
memories to the surface. Memories of youth. Of Hans. Of Beauty. And of
destruction. She sighed and rubbed her face. The dreams she had carried as a
young nurse had crumbled when the war ended. Hans came back a different man. He
looked the same but he was different on the inside. And she…she sighed again.
The years in jail hadn’t been easy for her. She only got ten and was released
after seven, she was lucky in many ways or sometimes she let herself think that
she hadn’t been as bad as the others. But evil is hard to weigh on a scale. Are
you less evil because you obey orders?
She took a bite of the toast, the plum jam was from last
year, this year she hadn’t had the energy to make any. The autumn night was still one uniform
darkness outside the kitchen window. In a few hours the young father across the
yard would get up to get ready for work. Sometimes she turned off the ceiling
light and watched him from her dark kitchen as he poured cereal, ate standing up
in front of the TV and then left before the rest of the family had woken
up.
She never had her own children. When she came out of jail in
1953, Hans were nowhere to be found. He hadn’t visited her much in prison and the last few years not at all. The day she was released was a cold but
clear March day, she stood with the engagement ring in her hand and decided to
not put it on again. She still had some pride left. No one had paid any attention to her as she
walked to the train station and went back home.
Life had somehow turned into a kind of normalcy as she had
spent years locked away from reality. To her it seemed as if everybody wanted
to forget what had been. Forget the war. Forget the Fuhrer. Forget what they
had felt. Move away. Move into the future as fast as possible. Leave it all
behind. Her younger sister had gotten married, started a family and wasn’t
overly happy to have her staying with her so she moved back to her parents house. It
would only be for a while. Only until she had gotten a job. Settled down.
Adjusted to this new life. She never left.
In the beginning they all said, “Find someone new.” “Let him
go!” “You will see it will all turn out good in the end.” Sometimes she held
the engagement ring in her hand and read the words inside Myn Genyts, My soul.
My heart. But she never cried. Jail had snuffed out her tears.
She rubbed her face again and yawned. Maybe she would be
able to go to sleep now. She took the last bite of her toast and left the
table. In the downstairs hallway she stopped for a moment and looked at the
pictures on the wall. Photos of her and Sonja. First as babies, then as school
girls and then as teenagers in their BDM uniforms. Her parents had removed the
photos but when they died she fished them out of the box in the attic and put them
on the wall again. Her sister had protested, her nieces and nephews hadn’t
understood. But her grandniece, Sandra had asked questions. Some were
uncomfortable to answer and others easy.
As she stood there she got the
sensation she wasn’t alone. Something stroked her leg. Lightly and soft as a
cat begging for food. Then she heard the bouncing from the upstairs hallway.
With determination she grabbed the hand rail and started to
climb the stairs again. “I am on my way up and I would appreciate if you could
show yourself this time.” The bouncing
grew louder for each step.
The girl stood with her back towards her as Annelies arrived
at the top step. She wasn’t perfectly solid but not translucent either. She
looked like a faded hand colored photo. She bounced the red ball a few
times. Annelies stood still, catching her breath for
a moment. The girl stood still, too. “You killed them.” The voice didn’t emanate
from the girl, it came from everywhere and still nowhere. Then the crying
started again. Not very high, more like a radio you turn on in the background
to keep you company.
She recognized the girl. She knew who she was. She had been
the doctor’s favorite. Beautiful, slender, strong, bright with black eyes and
golden skin. The sun seemed to live under that skin, it glowed by itself. The
doctor had given her the red ball and she used to bounce it up and down the hallway
in the hospital or outside on the dry, dusty ground. She defended her ball with
fierceness and bravery. “Savages,” the guards used to laugh when she fought the
other children for the red ball.
She lived longer than the other children who had arrived at
the same time as her. The doctor gave her apples and extra margarine and jam.
And he used to ask her to sing. Her voice high and clear. Angel like. Annelies
used to think it all was absurd. A game with reality. The child wouldn’t
survive no matter what and the doctor knew this. Still he kept the girl as a
pet for a whole year.
In the summer of 1944 the camp started to get crowded and
more people were sent to the gas chambers. The girl still had her red ball and
still got her apples and jam and margarine but the doctor started to grow tired
of her. Her skin didn’t glow as the sun anymore. The camp had sucked the essence out of her.
One day he asked one of the guards to take her away. The
girl cried, and fought and screamed. Of course she knew what was waiting for
her. They all knew.
The next morning another child picked up the ball and played
with it. Annelies watched the child as he played and then she walked up to him
and took the ball away. “It is not yours!” she had said and for a moment she
had felt like the world made sense in all its madness and horrors. She kept the
ball through all these years. Last time she had seen the ball, a few summers
ago, it had been in its normal place in the trunk in the attic.
Now the girl bounced the ball, then she slowly turned around
and looked at Annelies. She was as beautiful as she had been in the beginning.
“Evil never goes away,” the girl said with her clear voice.
“We always remember.”
The darkness behind the girl changed, it trembled, she could
feel the trembling under her feet. Then one spot of light appeared, then two,
then three, then more than she could count. The lights hovered behind the girl.
Pulsated then grew. Each light slowly transformed into a child. Some she
recognized, others she had forgotten.
“You starved us,” a little blonde boy said. He wore a blue
shirt and brown shorts. One of his socks had slid down.
“I…I,” Annelies stammered. “I wasn’t in…I didn’t decide how
much…”
“Evil never goes away,” the girl said again.
“You drowned them like kittens.” At first she couldn’t see who
spoke, then a girl stepped forward holding a baby in her arms. The baby was
wrapped in a white and yellow blanket and seemed to be sleeping deeply.
“You don’t understand,” her voice was urgent. “A baby
couldn’t survive. We had to…”
The girl with the baby stepped closer to her. She had two
long, thick braids and big brown eyes.
“You drowned them like kittens.” The baby in her arms started
to move, opened its eyes. The eyes were a newborn’s clear, deep eyes. One day
they might have turned brown but now they were blueish green.
“Hold him,” the girl said and reached out with the baby in her arms.
Annelies shook her head and took a step backwards, she was very close to the stairs now. The other children moved closer.
“Hold him. Hold him. Hold him,” they all murmured.
“No,” Annelies screamed and shut her eyes. “You don’t
exist! Leave me alone!”
It grew quiet around her. She stood with her eyes
closed and listened. She heard how the boiler turned on down in the basement
and how the heat moved up the radiators. But she didn’t hear anything else.
She opened her eyes again. The hallway was empty. She shivered, suddenly cold. Her body was
covered in sweat and she was exhausted. Slowly, she walked across to her
bedroom, opened her door. The room was peaceful. Her bed looked inviting. She
kicked off her slippers and crawled under the blanket. She left the bedside lamp
on and closed her eyes again. Sleep would be liberating. As she felt her body
grew warm and relaxed she heard the bouncing again. And then children who were
laughing.