MY FIRST IMPRESSION OF PAUL RICHTER was of an ill-tempered, middle-aged man. Beyond that, he was not at all what I had expected. He had gray hair, brushed back, with a wide mustache all the way across his face, more like Stalin than Hitler. He was of solid build, very broad-shouldered, and about six feet tall. He had huge hands and large fingers and held himself ramrod straight. Although he appeared to be between forty-five and fifty years old, I felt sure he was physically very powerful. Not at all the little old blind man I expected.
I had found his apartment with no difficulty and was soon knocking on the door. He had answered immediately. After a series of questions to establish my identity and how I found him, he, reluctantly it seemed, invited me in. Preceded by a guide dog, he led me into the living room. A woman was standing there, looking toward us as we walked into the door. She was petite, about a head shorter than he, with black hair.
“Sit down,” Richter ordered, interrupting my observation of the woman. I thought it quite probable that she was also blind. Most of the furniture was strategically placed around the room’s perimeter to make it easy to find. Having no need for bright lights, Richter kept the room dark and gloomy. The sole exceptions were the two windows, one on each of the outer walls of the room. There was a sofa and two chairs on one side and a table up against another wall.
So I did as ordered and sat down, waiting for the inevitable series of questions and my equally inevitable series of answers, explaining that I was Jewish, homeless, and in desperate need of assistance. I had grown to hate this part of my conversations with potential benefactors, when I would beg for their help and then wait for the pronouncement of my fate. It was like going before a judge for sentencing. It wrought havoc on my nerves as I prayed, each time, that the other person would be kind to me.
I waited for him to take the lead. This was my first contact with a blind person and I felt awkward, unsure of how to act.
“Now who is this Heinrich Schultz supposed to be?” Richter demanded irritably.
“You know him from meetings you have both attended,” I said worriedly.
It quickly became apparent that Richter and Heinrich were far from close friends. I had to explain who Heinrich was and how he had picked Richter as someone who might help me. I tried to remain vague about details, not wanting to give information that could be hazardous to Heinrich if I could possibly avoid it. Then came the dangerous part. I launched into the details of my circumstances and how I lived as a Jewish U-boat.
If I were to be arrested, it would happen soon. Heinrich had said that Richter was a committed Communist, and I therefore hoped that he would avoid doing anything that would aid the Nazi Party, such as turning me in. The Communists and the Nazis were bitter enemies. I remembered times when I would look out of my parents’ apartment window and see Communists and Nazis engaged in violent street fights. Before Hitler became chancellor, such clashes were a regular occurrence. They would use knives, clubs, brass knuckles, guns, even their bare hands in an attempt to annihilate each other. Party members on both sides were injured and killed with astonishing regularity.
Once Hitler came to power, he unleashed his armed SA thugs on the Communists and a reign of terror followed in which thousands of Communists were arrested, imprisoned, tortured, and killed. In July 1943, all other political parties were made illegal, but there were many individuals such as Richter who refused to submit. The Communist Party went underground, holding their meetings in secret. They continued to be a potent force working against the Reich and were therefore a target for the Gestapo and their informants. I had reason to believe that I would be safe from betrayal here. The next few minutes would tell the tale.
There was silence in the room now, as I waited to learn my fate. Finally Richter spoke, still standing there with his dog beside him. “Call me in two days. I will tell you then if I can help.”
Call him in two days? “On the telephone?” I asked, wanting to clarify.
“Yes, on the telephone,” he said. “Here’s my phone number.”
I did not know many people who had telephones then. Few people I knew could afford them. “All right, I will call you in two days,” I said.
“And your name is, again?” he asked sternly.
“Dagobert,” I said, not willing to give my last name. “My name is Dagobert.”
“Yes. Very good,” he said, and he walked me out the front door.
I spent the next two days much as I had the last few, simply trying to survive. I located another bombed-out building to sleep in. This one had no basement and I needed a hiding place that would conceal me from casual view, so I found an unobtrusive corner and set about making an area where I could sleep unobserved.
I piled bricks and stones on top of each other, forming a space big enough for me to lie in. This was not easy, as it had to be done before night fell, when the darkness would be absolute. The bricks proved to be easier to stack, so I concentrated on gathering them and cleaning the old mortar off their faces so that they would lie flat. Slowly, the walls grew until they reached a height of about two feet. I then placed a discarded door on top of the three brick walls, forming a “roof” for my compartment. I left one end open to serve as an entrance, and the shelter was complete.
I spent two nights in my little compartment, with the days spent wandering Berlin trying to avoid drawing attention to myself. On the morning of the third day, I returned to the post office and phoned Richter. It took a while before a connection was made.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Hello, Herr Richter,” I said. “This is Dagobert. I hope my call does not come at an inconvenient time?”
“You can come to visit us,” he said, ignoring my pleasantry. “Today or tomorrow. I prefer between one and two o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Very good,” I said. “I will be there this afternoon.”
Although he was a Communist and therefore an enemy of the Reich, I still was unwilling to trust him completely. So I arrived at his house, not at one or two, but at eleven o’clock in the morning. I positioned myself so that I could not be seen but so that I could see anyone going in or out of the door. If his intention was to turn me into the Gestapo, they would certainly arrive before one o’clock. I was confident that I could spot them and thereby avoid the trap, if in fact it existed.
I stood there at my observation point, watching and waiting. No one entering the building aroused my suspicions. As I waited, I decided to trust this Paul Richter. He was a stern man, somewhat ill-tempered, but there was nothing in him that led me to suspect that he would betray me. His apartment would be a particularly good place for me to hide, since the neighbors were aware that two blind people occupied the apartment and would therefore be home most days. Noises coming from the apartment would not arouse suspicions. Just as important, the fact that they were blind would probably greatly decrease any notion that they would harbor a fugitive. People would believe them to be too limited by their handicaps to carry it off.
Close to two o’clock, I went in. I had seen no one suspicious in the two and a half hours I had watched the front door.
I went inside, up the stairs, and knocked on the door of Richter’s apartment. My heart beat fast. I prayed I had not just made a stupid mistake.
Richter answered the door. He opened it without a greeting and waved me inside.
I walked inside. Back through the small foyer. Back into the living room. Back onto the chair where I had sat two days before.
Richter came in and sat down on a chair. The woman was also there, sitting on another chair. Richter began to speak.
“Regina and I have decided that we are willing to keep you in our apartment for a time. But we want you to tell us more about your background, your family, and in particular about your parents. We will do our best to help you by providing you with a place to stay and a limited amount of food.”
A smile came across my face. I was extremely happy to hear this. But he continued speaking before I had a chance to say anything.
“In return,” he went on, “we ask that you help us with anything and everything that we cannot do for ourselves. In the past, we had a woman come into our apartment two or three times per week. Now, she is unable to come, because her husband has fallen ill and she has to remain with him constantly. Being blind, there are things we cannot do, including some types of cleaning, attending to our laundry, certain amounts of food preparation, and other tasks of a similar nature.
“We have limited means available to us, but we are willing to share what we have with you. If this is agreeable, we will keep you and do our best to protect you. It should be understood that you must take certain precautions. You must be very careful in contacts with others, especially when it comes to shopping and traveling with us.”
“Traveling? Where do you travel to?” I asked.
“We do only a modest amount of traveling and it is always to our little house in the country. We go there in the summer and stay approximately four weeks. We would expect you to travel with us, stay with us, and return with us. Is all this agreeable to you?”
I did not have to think about it. I gladly agreed to anything and everything he asked of me, beginning immediately. “Yes, all of your conditions will be fine. However, I think that it would be safer if I did not stay with you for more than a few days at a time. I know this would mean you would not be able to count on me for those periods when I was gone, but it would be safer for all of us if I did not stay with you continuously.”
Paul Richter sat silently, thinking about this. Finally he spoke, “Yes. I suppose that will be fine. While it would be more convenient for us to have you here continuously, you are right that it might look suspicious. But when we travel to the country, you will need to stay with us the whole time. We will be away from Berlin, though, so the chances of anyone recognizing you will be greatly reduced.”
Now it was my turn to think. Yes, that would be fine, I told him. I would stay with them for their entire month in the country. But there was just one more catch, I thought to myself. I had to tell them about Ilse.
“Herr Richter,” I began, “there is one other matter I need to talk to you about regarding my staying with you. You see, and I am sorry I have not brought this up before, I am married.”
“What?” Richter barked in surprise.
“Well, yes, I suppose I failed to mention it before. I hadn’t said anything because I wasn’t sure whether you were going to let me remain here. Your new terms about staying with you in the country for a lengthy period of time mandate that I bring this up.”
“You think so?” he asked sarcastically. Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea not to come right out with this at the beginning.
“I’m really very sorry, Herr Richter, but as I was saying, I have a wife named Ilse. She is fine where she is for right now, but if I am to be with you for an extended period of time, it will be necessary for her to be with us.”
He motioned as though he wanted to interject. I ignored him, thinking that if I got it all out, it would be better than arguing back and forth.
I continued, “My wife will be a wonderful addition for you. She is a nurse. She will be able to help you in more ways than I could, and she will be very helpful to Regina. I am sure that Regina would feel very comfortable with her. And Ilse will not be any trouble, I assure you. And she’s a good cook too!”
Richter was silent and seemed to be thinking about what I’d said. I prayed my points would win him over. A nurse to care for them while they’re in the country. A female companion for his blind girlfriend, Regina. And a cook, too! Wouldn’t blind people need someone to cook for them? Otherwise, wouldn’t they risk burning themselves?
Richter rose and went over to discuss this new information with Regina. He returned shortly and stood over me.
“Fine,” he said. “All four of us will leave for the country in one week. Both of you should be here next Monday at 8:00 AM sharp.”
And that was that. I rose and attempted to thank him. It did no good, though. Richter did not seem to be one for pleasantries and small talk. Quite a reserved man, I thought to myself as I left the apartment. I wondered if he would loosen up as I got to know him. A fascinating man. A blind Communist! Not the kind of person one meets very often. I smiled a bit to myself as I walked to the train. Things were looking up. Ilse and I were going to get out of Berlin. We were going to a place where I hoped we would feel safer.
I went back to the Kusitzkys and told Ilse all about the plans I had made. She seemed agreeable to the whole thing, though she wasn’t happy to be leaving Klaus. But it was time for her to leave the Kusitzkys. They wanted Klaus, but hiding adults was more than they had bargained for. They would never push Ilse out the door, they would never say to her, “Leave.” But the intent was clear. It was wise for us to lessen the burden.
For the next week, I stayed with Ilse and the Kusitzkys, leaving in the early morning before dawn and returning after nightfall. I spent two days in the middle of the week sleeping in the rubble in Berlin, in spite of Ilse’s protests. She was afraid something would happen and I wouldn’t be able to return to get her in time. But it was too dangerous to be in one place for so long.
During this time, Alex went to work at the meat processing plant every day. Anni tended her garden. Ilse concentrated on preparing Klaus for her absence. The idea of Ilse leaving was very hard for Klaus to accept. There was a lot of crying on both sides. “When are you coming back?” Klaus wailed. “Why are you leaving me, Mommy?” It was all very heartbreaking, but it could not be avoided. Ilse had to leave.
Klaus complained about everything he could think of, poor thing. Eating alone. Playing alone. Sleeping alone. Anni tried to counter all of his protests. “You’ll eat with Uncle Alex and me.” “You and I will play every day.” And finally, “If you are scared you can always climb in with your Tante Anni and Uncle Alex.”
Each night when I returned to the Kusitzkys, I spent much time talking with Ilse, trying to help her to understand how important it was that she not stay in one place for too long. “There are informers everywhere,” I reminded her, even though she knew this. “The Nazis want to scare everyone, to keep everyone in line. That is why there are such great incentives for people to turn others in.”
One thing that wasn’t a problem was packing our goods. I had the clothes on my back, including a light jacket, and the shoes on my feet. Our luxury items were a comb, toothbrushes, a small rag that could be used as a towel, and a small piece of soap that I kept in my pocket. We definitely were not weighed down with possessions.
And so, with tearful good-byes to Klaus and the Kusitzkys, we headed for Richter’s apartment. Paul Richter himself opened the door, and behind him I could see that their bags were packed and they were ready to leave. I introduced Ilse to them. We probably had said not more than three sentences to each other when Richter moved everyone out the door. We began to make our way to the train station.
Richter held the guide dog’s leash with his right hand. Regina then hooked her arm into Richter’s left arm. In this way, the guide dog led Richter and Richter led Regina. It was interesting that they were both blind and yet they only had one dog between them. They must always be together when they are out in public, I thought. That would be the only way to get around with only one dog.
We arrived at the train station and boarded the train. Ilse and I sat together across from Richter and Regina. None of us said much the entire trip. Ilse held my arm tightly and looked out the window, teary-eyed, thinking of Klaus. I kept looking around, watching for police and army patrols.
Traveling to their vacation home took about two hours. I had never been in that area of Germany before. It was flat country, mostly cultivated for growing common crops such as potatoes, wheat, and the like.
We stuffed ourselves—four adults and a dog—into a taxi. The driver, a man in his early sixties, recognized Richter from his past visits, which was not surprising. I was sure that there wouldn’t be too many blind couples roaming around the train station in this small town.
“Who do you have with you, this young couple?” the taxi driver asked Richter. This nearly made me panic. I hoped that Richter could think on his feet, since we hadn’t anticipated the need to explain my absence from the army quite this soon. If Richter gave the wrong answer, we could all end up in prison. Of course, there was no way to catch Richter’s attention. He was blind and unless he could sense us and our feelings, he had no way of knowing.
I squeezed Ilse’s hand very tightly and prayed. “Oh,” Richter began confidently, “he is home from the front, on leave for a little while. We have hired him and his wife to help us.”
This explanation seemed to satisfy the taxi driver. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Richter was sharp. He’d obviously thought about this before.
After about ten minutes of being in the taxi, we pulled up to a little house. It stood by itself on a small lot, surrounded by fields. The nearest houses could be seen, but they were several hundred yards away.
I took a deep breath of relief, seeing this. When Richter had made me promise to come and stay with him for a month, I had worried about how risky it would be. Staying anywhere for more than a week was against my better judgement. But now, seeing that the neighbor’s homes were so far away and that this was a rural area, I relaxed a bit. Perhaps this would be OK after all.
Richter paid the cab driver and, bidding him good-bye, we walked the short distance to the house.
The place was quite bright and cheery. There were a few windows with sunlight streaming through them. There was no foyer or front hall. Instead, we walked straight into what seemed to be the living room. It was simply furnished, equipped with comfortable upholstered chairs, a sofa, and a sturdy wooden table. The furniture and the walls were decorated in dark colors even though the room appeared bright from the sun.
All of a sudden Richter started talking in my direction. “There is a small room in the corner that you and your wife can use. You’ll find everything that is necessary in there. There is a bed and a table and chair and an armoire where you can hang things up if you want. Unfortunately, we have only one bathroom in this house and we all have to share it. You’ll find it between our room and your room. I’m sure we’ll work that out to everybody’s satisfaction,” Richter said.
“That’s all fine with us,” I replied, looking at Ilse, who met my eyes with a worried smile. “I’m sure that will be just fine.”
Richter and Regina also had a small kitchen in the house, accessible from the living room. It seemed very simply equipped: a sink and an electric stove with two burners. There was no refrigerator, but there was an icebox standing on four legs on the floor. This allowed access to it without having to stoop down.
A small water heater was mounted on the wall, above the sink. This was something one saw only in poorer areas. It was powered by electricity. Soon after we arrived, Richter went into the kitchen to turn it on. He then turned around to talk to me.
“Over there is our icebox. Please walk into town and order some ice delivered.”
I hesitated. While I wanted to avoid seeming uncooperative, walking into town alone might attract attention that could prove unhealthy.
“Herr Richter, I am very sorry, but I do not think that would be a good idea. It would be risky for me to be so exposed. My presence in town would give rise to raised eyebrows and questions by anyone I see. They’ll wonder why I’m not in the army.”
“Oh yes,” Richter said pleasantly. “I didn’t think about that. You’re absolutely right. That could cause problems for all of us. Just stay put now and I’ll go into town to make the order. Then, when the man with the horse and buggy comes to deliver the ice, you and Ilse can hide in your room and keep quiet.”
It was a relief to hear this. For a moment, it had seemed that my employment might be extremely short-lived. I was also glad that he did not seem upset about it. My previous impression of him had led me to believe that he might be too strong-willed and cantankerous to admit being wrong, at least without throwing a fit. I was glad to see that he could take things in stride.
Richter interrupted my thoughts. “I’ll go into town and do it myself,” he began. “It isn’t that far—only a mile or so. The walk will do me good. In fact, I’ll go right now.”
He whistled for the dog. “Sascha!” he called. “Let’s go!”
Richter left with the dog. Ilse was in our room. Regina and I remained in the living room. I looked over at Regina, who stood by the wall. She seemed shy, and I wondered to myself whether I should start up a conversation. Then I decided against it. There was always time for that later.
“I’m going to go into our room to help Ilse get settled,” I announced and slowly made my way out of the living room.
The room designated for our use was very small. It had the table, chair, bed, and armoire that Richter had told me about. Absolutely the barest of necessities. I went over to the bed and lay down on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. I took a deep breath. The next thing I knew, the dog was barking. I realized that I must have been dozing. I jumped up, pulled the curtain slightly open, and saw the iceman helping Paul down from the seat in the front of the wagon. Paul, led by the dog, walked toward the house while the iceman worked on getting the block of ice out of the rear of the wagon.
As Paul reached the door, I opened it to let him in. He said, “Dagobert, go to your room and stay there with Ilse until after the iceman leaves.”
Retreating into our room, I watched the iceman as he made three trips with blocks of ice resting on his shoulder, which was protected by a wide leather strap. Ilse and I sat on the bed, trying hard to be as quiet as possible. It reminded me of our time at Herr Braun’s apartment. At least we didn’t have Klaus to worry about now.
It was a time of constant stress and strain. There was no way for me to really feel comfortable in any situation. I wouldn’t be able to relax, I thought, until Hitler was defeated. Until I no longer feared for my life. Until I had a home again. Until I could find my parents, if they could be found.
There was also the fact that I was not just an “I” anymore. I was part of a “we.” I looked over at Ilse as she occupied herself with cleaning the room. She said nothing, but I could tell that Klaus’s absence bothered her deeply.
My life right now is so strange, I thought as I lay on the bed, staring fixedly at a white spot on the ceiling. For as much as I kept trying to maintain my sanity and some semblance of a sense of humor, every single minute of my life was full of anxiety. Anxiety about my safety, anxiety about my parents, anxiety about this strange role I was thrust into, husband and pseudo-father. What am I doing? How am I going to survive? So many questions I had no answers for. I could do nothing except rise the next morning and try to face each day as it came.