Soon after her father had received the curt telegram from Washington, she went to Warsaw to break the bad news to Boris in person. He was dismayed—more than she had expected, which was rather satisfying—and their brief hours together were more passionate than ever, infused with the sweet melancholy of their inevitable parting.
Martha supposed, unhappily, that the rendezvous would be their last, but in mid-December, Boris unexpectedly appeared at the front door of Tiergartenstrasse 27a. He carried a bottle of vodka in one large hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, but he managed to hold on to them both as he took her in his arms and pulled her close.
She spent the night with him at his hotel rather than add more turmoil to the household by inviting him to stay. She was astonished to learn that he had left his post without permission in order to see her one last time, and the thought that he would risk so much for her sake delighted and aroused her. “I want to marry you,” she told him as they lay in bed together, their limbs intertwined.
“It is impossible,” he said, sighing heavily. “It always was. Now it is even more so.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Darling, let’s forget about the future and just enjoy this time together. I’ll certainly pay dearly for it when I return.”
Their stolen days were glorious and heartbreaking and over too soon. Martha refused to believe that they might never see each other again, and she waited for Boris’s letter from Warsaw humorously describing the reprimand he had earned for her sake. She hoped against all reason that he might somehow manage another visit, just one more, to hold her over until they could meet again in better days.
Martha postponed saying goodbye to Mildred until the last possible moment. Mildred had been her truest, dearest friend throughout the four and a half years she had spent in Berlin, from the moment Mildred had met her family’s train at the Lehrter Bahnhof bearing flowers from the American Women’s Club.
A few days before Martha’s departure, she and Mildred met at a restaurant near the Harnacks’ flat where they were unlikely to run into any Nazi officials. They chose an inconspicuous table away from the front windows and lingered over lunch, reminiscing wistfully about their literary column, Mildred’s fascinating salons, mutual friends who had already left Berlin, Thomas Wolfe, their observations of Hitler at the Olympic Games. Only then did Martha realize how many of her memories of Germany were indelibly marked by Mildred’s presence.
They chatted about books, their dread of fascism, and their hopes for the future. “You must write to me now and then,” Martha said, when the hour grew late and she was overdue to help her mother finish packing.
“I’ll have to be circumspect,” said Mildred. “Don’t expect too many specific details.”
“Anything you can sneak past the censors will be good enough for me.”
“Agreed,” said Mildred. “You must promise to write back. Send me chapters of your book.”
“I haven’t even begun writing it yet. Besides, what I have to say would definitely get held up by the censors.”
They laughed together, but then Mildred abruptly stopped. “How can we joke about having our mail censored, as if it’s a perfectly ordinary inconvenience? What has happened to us? Five years ago, we would have been shocked and outraged by the very idea.”
“I’m still shocked and outraged.”
“Are you really?” Mildred shook her head. “I’m afraid we’ve all become acclimated to cruelty and injustice by being exposed to it in steadily increasing doses through the years. Intolerable wrongs we accept now as a matter of course would have provoked marches in the streets and calls for new elections only a few years ago.”
Martha reached across the table and took her hand. “Not you, Mildred. You don’t accept injustice any more now than you did when we first met. You could never be cruel or tolerate cruelty. And you are not alone.”
Reminded of their brave friends, Mildred allowed a small smile. Someday, they agreed, Germany would emerge from this nightmare of fascism and become a just, tolerant, and wise nation again, at peace with itself and the world.
They left the restaurant and parted with a quick kiss and promises to stay in touch. After they went their separate ways, Martha suddenly halted and turned around, eager for one more glimpse of her friend, hoping she would glance over her shoulder and offer one last smile, a parting wave. But Mildred had