“You are putting your mother at risk, Herta, just being here. Take your bath, but you need to find other—”
“My mother may feel differently,” I said.
“Take a bath, and then we’ll talk.”
I set my suitcase on the sofa. “I may need Mutti’s help with some matters.”
He tapped cigarette ash into the ashtray. “Money matters?”
“Among other things. Legal fees maybe.”
“Oh, really? If anything should happen to you, the state pays the fees.”
“Happen?”
Gunther strolled to the hall closet and came back with a towel. “Take your bath while we still have hot water. We’ll talk later.”
I dropped my things in the guest room and ran the bath, one ear to the lavatory door, half-expecting Gunther to call the authorities. There was sure to be some sort of Allied military hierarchy set up. Gunther would never turn me in, I assured myself. Mutti would be livid. But Gunther had never been a real patriot, and the new power shift made almost everyone suspect.
I locked the bathroom door and took my time running the water extra hot. I slipped into the tub, sliding down the enameled cast iron into that glorious burning sea.
I felt every muscle slacken there in the hot water. Where was Fritz? I would ask for my old job back at the skin clinic. If it was still standing, not under a pile of stones. I rehearsed my talk with Mutti as I soaped my legs, feet black with dirt from the walk. She would support me, no matter what Gunther said.
“So what?” she would say when I told her about the camp. “You were doing your job, Herta.” Where was she? Probably out doing her best to find some bread.
I closed my eyes and recalled Mutti’s breakfasts: hot rolls and fresh butter, her coffee—
Were those footsteps in the living room?
“Mutti?” I called. “Gunther?”
A rap at the bathroom door.
“Herta Oberheuser?” came the voice through the door. The speaker had a British accent.
Shit. Goddamned Gunther. I had known he was not to be trusted. How much had they paid him to turn me in?
“I am coming!” I said.
I lost control of my limbs there in the tub. Could I make it out the window? Something hard hit the door, and it cracked open. I may have screamed as I reached for the towel. A British officer entered the bathroom, and I sat back in the tub, the diminishing soap bubbles my only protection.
“Herta Oberheuser?” he asked.
I tried to cover myself. “No.”
“I hereby place you under arrest for war crimes against humanity.”
“I am not she,” I said, in shock, like an imbecile. How could Gunther do this to me? Mutti would be furious. “I have done nothing.”
“Step out of the tub, Fräulein,” said the man.
Another British agent came to the bathroom with a canvas raincoat in hand. I motioned for the two to turn their backs.
“I will leave for a moment,” said the first agent, red-faced. He handed me a towel, averting his eyes. “Wrap yourself in this.”
I took the towel, and he left, pulling the door closed. I hoisted myself out of the tub. Goddamned Gunther, I thought as I stepped to the medicine cabinet. I found his razor blades and slid back into the tub, the water cooling.
“Fräulein?” called the first man from outside the door.
“Just a moment,” I said as I pulled a blade from the pack.
I felt for the radial artery and found it easily, since my heart was pumping hard. I drew the blade down my wrist, deep into the artery, and watched it open like a peach. The water grew pink, and I lay back in it as it cooled, light-headed. Would Mutti cry when she saw what I’d done? At least I’d done it in the tub. Cleanup would be easy.
Before I could get to the other wrist, the agent came back in.
“Christ,” he said when he saw me, the water squid-inked with red by then. “Teddy!” he called to someone somewhere. “Christ,” he said again.
After a great deal of shouting in English, they pulled me from the tub.
So much for modesty.
I was losing consciousness, not about to tell them how to treat me, but noted with satisfaction they were doing just fine without me, for some reason elevating my legs. A sure way to make me bleed out. My feet were still filthy black, in each toenail a crescent of dirt.