those whose ashes were buried there, settled into silt? How could I be blamed? I had only taken the job of camp doctor out of necessity. It was too late for the lost to raise their bony fingers and give testament against me now.
As I neared Fürstenberg, I met a sea of German men, women, and children walking, some with luggage, some with only the clothes on their backs. Half of Fürstenberg’s civilians had headed south months before, and it seemed the other half was evacuating that day to escape the Red Army. From their posture alone, one read the humiliation of defeat. I joined that great autobahn of the displaced and was swept up in the crowd, half-numb. It was hard to believe it was all over, that I was running away. The shame of it was near debilitating.
“Where are you going?” I asked a German man in a tweed overcoat and mustard yellow hat. He carried a birdcage strapped to his back. The bird swayed, perched on its little wooden trapeze, as the man walked.
“We are taking side roads to avoid Berlin, then south to Munich. There are American troops advancing from the west, Russians from the east.”
I joined a group headed for Düsseldorf, and our passage on foot was long and unremarkable. We avoided main routes and followed wooded trails and field tracks, slept in abandoned cars, eating anything we could find to stay alive.
I imagined how happy Mutti would be to see me. She had been living with a man named Gunther in a nice apartment upstairs from our old place, and I’d stayed with them one holiday break. He was a nice enough magazine salesman. Rich too by the looks of the apartment. I imagined the fried onions and mashed potatoes with applesauce she would make in that kitchen when I got home.
It was drizzling when I reached Düsseldorf, and I had to be careful to keep a low profile, since there were American soldiers everywhere. Not that I was high on the authorities’ list of suspects. Did they even care about me? They had bigger fish to fry.
The streets of Düsseldorf were littered with abandoned suitcases and horse and human corpses. I walked by the Düsseldorf train terminus, bombed to rubble. As I neared Mutti’s building, I passed a looted wagon tipped on its side as two elderly women tried to strip off its wheels. Along the street, people came and went, some with all their worldly possessions. I tried to blend in with them, to look like just another displaced person.
Once I made it to Mutti’s doorstep, I was happy to see the apartment building not only still standing but in perfect order. All I could think of was her bathtub and a hot meal. The smell of fried onions hung in the lobby. Some lucky person had squirreled away some food.
I made it to the third floor and rang Gunther’s apartment bell.
“Who is there?” came a voice from behind the closed door. Gunther.
“It is Herta.”
He hesitated. What was that buzzing sound in my head? Was it due to dehydration?
“Is my mother here?” I called through the door.
The lock clicked, and the door swung open.
“Quickly,” Gunther said. “Come in.” He grabbed me by the arm, pulled me inside, and relocked the door.
The apartment was still well furnished, with thick carpets and chairs upholstered in velvet. Someone had removed a portrait of the Führer from the wall, exposing a rectangle of brighter wallpaper behind. That was fast.
“Two looters tried to break the door down this morning. It’s anarchy out there.”
“Really, Gunther—”
“Everyone steals from everyone now. Goods belong to those who can hold on to them.”
“I’m starving,” I said.
“Everyone is starving, Herta.”
“They were still cooking food at the camp—”
“That’s not all you and your friends were doing there. The truth is getting out, you know.”
I walked to the radio. “There must be rations. They will broadcast—”
“No rations, Herta. No broadcasts. Women are prostituting themselves for a spoonful of sugar.”
Gunther did not appear to have missed many meals. He’d lost a bit of weight, but his skin was still taut. Just a slight creping at the neck. How had he managed to stay out of military service? Things were not adding up, and the buzzing sound in my head grew louder.
“I’m in need of a bath,” I said.
Gunther lit a cigarette. How was he getting cigarettes? “You can’t stay here. They know what you’ve done, Herta.”
“Where is Mutti?”
“She had to go down to the station. They