The History of History - By Ida Hattemer-Higgins Page 0,123
and Gerda until they fell asleep. I looked out the window for long, empty minutes; I took aimless walks. I remember that I began to recognize patterns with greater alacrity than I had ever been able to before. Once we had rain followed by a cold snap. Afterward the trees were encased in sleeves of ice, so that the skeleton of wood glowed with an inner fire.
I saw Jewish friends and acquaintances infrequently now. Most were spending all day in faraway factories where they had been called to do forced labor. They rose before the sun and came home exhausted long after dark. I was released from this by my condition, but Franz expected a call from the Gestapo any day. He had managed to convince them, so far, that he was too ill and had too many influential friends, but this sham could only deceive so long. During the day he sat by the living room window.
I continued my work as a maid at the Tombanzens’. I should have worried over what would happen when I finally had to give birth and could no longer work there. But instead I told my baby, “Stay down below just as long as you can, little submarine of mine,” and I think I remember believing that if I communicated passionately enough, the baby might shrink back down in size, stay in hiding, in my body, forever. These sorts of thoughts also released me from the impatience that usually accompanies the end of pregnancy.
Strangely enough, through all this, Ferdinand the bird stayed alive. It was as Herr Apfelbein had said it would be, at least in part: the bird did not thrive and he ceased to sing. But perhaps thanks to Rahel, who took such care of the birds, little Ferdinand clung to life.
At night I read to the children stories of the mountains, of the oceans, of faraway cities. After little Gerda fell asleep, I told Rahel about the cafés and boulevards of Paris, about what I could remember of the silks the ladies wore there. My girls had never been to the sea, never been to the mountains. They had never been anywhere but the sandy plains of Berlin. I read to them about Wally of the Vultures in the Alps of Tyrol, and about Heidi of the Swiss Alps, and Winnetou on the American plains. I reminded Rahel of the time before the war she hardly remembered. I always fell asleep instantly as soon as Rahel’s eyes closed, so exhausted I was. But never did I consider letting go of these nightly readings, as they held my dreams gentle. Often Franz would come and sit in the chair by the bed where Rahel and Gerda and I lay together, facing away from us and looking out the window, but inclining his head to hear the story, and sometimes turning his face to meet my eyes. We exchanged a look of pride when Rahel asked one of her questions at once naïve and wonderfully precocious.
I got a letter from my sister, then still living in Schwedenhöhe, saying that she was to be resettled with her family further to the East. Then came no more letters.
One night at Eastertime I slept poorly and woke up to the air-raid siren. Again we would have to go down to the cellar. I noticed that the bedclothes around me were wet, and it wasn’t long before I realized I was in labor.
Our midwife from my last births was gone from Germany—she left already in 1939. Franz telephoned Dr. Epstein, but there was no answer—of course in the middle of an air-raid there was no answer; Franz rang up his sister, who hadn’t spoken to us in so long, again no answer. We went down into the cellar with the neighbors and for a while I tried to disguise my contractions, shutting my eyes. But it wasn’t long before it was impossible for me to hide my pain, and the contractions were closer together. Franz’s face became whiter and whiter.
We waited together for half an hour, and then another half hour. My contractions continued. But a little later I began to realize that the all-clear would not come before the baby. So I sent Franz upstairs again, to again try Dr. Epstein, but the switchboard operator told him something ghastly: the doctor was deceased. Franz called over to Sveta Grigorieva. She said: Didn’t you hear? Epstein took his own life with veronal.