Chapter 6

Berlin, November 1918

I left the sleepy town of Pasewalk in the early morning and, hours later, emerged into the central Berlin train station. The only money I had was the five months’ pay issued on my release and a photograph of people I didn’t remember. On the train I could think of little else other than finding Anna. What would I do if Anna no longer worked at Charité Hospital? Or if she no longer had an interest in me?

I located the hospital on a wall map and set off to find her. I found a city in crisis. There were brigades of men dressed in mismatched jackets and pants topped with every manner of fedora. They marched out of step, shouldering rifles while hooting and hollering like hooligans. Back at Pasewalk, newspaper headlines were alarming:

BERLIN SEIZED BY REVOLUTIONISTS

AND

NEW CHANCELLOR BEGS FOR ORDER

News accounts and Wolf’s warnings were one thing. Witnessing the disorder was another.

There was fighting in the streets. Armed Communists knelt behind barricades. Red banners hung from buildings and windows. Every few blocks I was forced to change direction in order to navigate around rowdy gangs of every flavor: Socialists, Monarchists, and Bolsheviks.

When I finally reached the hospital, I inquired as to Anna’s whereabouts at the reception desk.

“I’m sorry, mein Herr, but hospital staff are not permitted personal visitors.” Rather than argue, I turned to leave, dawdling until she was distracted, and then I ducked into a stairwell and trekked up one floor to look around. No luck. Then the second and third floors. Still no Anna. On the fourth try I spotted her leaving a ward.

“What are you doing here?”

“These are for you,” I pressed a small bouquet of flowers into her hand. “I had all to do not to crush them getting here from the railway station.”

She smelled them and then threw her arms around me, kissing me full on the mouth. My concerns about Anna were answered.

She stepped back and surveyed me from head to toe. “Pasewalk agreed with you.” She poked me in the ribs. “You put on some weight. You look wonderful.” Then with a look of concern, she asked, “How about your memory?”

“Nothing came back to me.”

Her smile turned into a frown. “Not even your name?”

I shook my head. “But I have one now. They gave it to me at the hospital: Friedrich Richard.”

“I like it. It’s a strong German name. It suits you.”

Then she turned me into the light to get a closer look. With a delicate touch she turned my face from one side to the other. “Your wounds have healed without scars.” Her fingers lingered an extra second.

“I’m sure Dr. Joseph would like to see how you have healed. I will arrange an appointment.”

After muttering that I would like to see him, too, I said, “I’m lucky I made it to the hospital from the train station. Troops are everywhere. People chanting and singing songs. What’s happening in Berlin?”

“Too much to tell you about now. It’s wonderful that you’re here, but I need to get back to work.”

I had hoped for more than a hug, a kiss, and a goodbye. Crestfallen, I fussed as if trying to find something in my pocket.

She saw my concern. “Friedrich, my shift ends in two hours.” She smiled warmly. “If you occupy yourself for a while, you can come back to my house. I’ll feed you and catch you up on the news. How does that sound?”

“Like a wish fulfilled.”

“I’ll meet you at the hospital entrance.”

I set off in a random walk, keeping my head down to avoid contact with the gaggles of men clogging the streets. I found a quiet street and peered through a storefront window. For a time, I watched a shoemaker trim a strip of leather to form the sole of a shoe. He looked up and motioned me to come in.

“May I help you?”

He was old and hunched over, but his thick fingers were nimble. “I was fascinated by the way you used your tools. The precision of your work.”

“I’ve been doing this since before you were born. Hands have their own memories. I don’t have to think about what I am doing.” He wiggled his fingers. “They do all the work.”

“I would like to learn a trade. Is it possible you might have a job opening for an apprentice?”

“As much as I would like to teach someone what I know,” he sighed, “there is not enough business to pay wages. I barely pay my bills now.”

“It was just a thought. Thank you for your time.” I pulled open the door.

“Why don’t you try the lighting store across the street? Everybody is converting gas lamps into fixtures. Buildings are being wired for electricity every day. It is a good business.”

No matter which shop I entered—the lighting store, a butcher, a men’s clothing store, even a barbershop—it was the same. The few businesses that made enough to remain open could ill afford to take someone in. I lost track of time.

I found Anna waiting on the hospital steps. I was about to apologize when she grabbed my hand. “I was worried about you. Let’s go. I live a short walk from here, but we still need to watch for roving bands of ruffians.”

Getting to her home proved a challenge. We would start down one street only to reverse ourselves, duck into an alleyway or hide behind a garden wall to avoid groups of rifle-toting men. A ten-minute walk from where Philippstraße ended at Hannoversche Strasse took half an hour.

She pointed. “This is it. Number twenty-three.” We stood outside a red brick building surrounded by a six-foot block wall. Her voice turned husky. “I should warn you, I live with someone.”

“Oh!”

Anna turned impish. “She is out most nights. Marta has a job in an underground nightclub.”

Relieved, I asked, “What is an underground nightclub?”

“The Kaiser was very prim and proper. He discouraged nightlife, but that didn’t stop Berliners from having a good time. We just did it quietly. Most often in dark cellars. Now he’s gone and clubs and cabarets are springing up all over town. But,” she laughed, “we still call them ‘underground.’ My roommate, Marta, works in one.”

Anna’s apartment was on the second of a three-floor, U-shaped building that overlooked a garden courtyard. White lace curtains covered the windows of the living room. There were two small bedrooms.

Marta was in her mid-twenties. Slender, with a narrow face, her thick lips made prominent by bold red lipstick. Her short blond hair emphasized large gold-colored looped earrings. She greeted me with a broad, bright smile.

“Anna tells me you work in a nightclub.”

She shrugged. “I was trained as a dietician, but the pay was awful. I make enough at the club to put up with the lecherous old men that try to paw me every night.”

“Are they that bad?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

We squeezed around the kitchen table for dinner. When we finished, Marta rose. “Do you mind if I leave the dishes to you two? I need to get ready for work.”

“I am so glad you decided to see me on your return,” said Anna, once Marta was gone.

“You have been in my thoughts since the day I left Charité.”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s not a soldier who doesn’t fall for his nurse.” Then she reached for my hand. I felt a spark race up my arm. Her dimples deepened. “I had hoped you would return. Stay here with Marta and me, at least until you find work. Where else would you go?”

“What about Marta?”

“She won’t care. The apartment is small, but we work opposite schedules. She at night, me during the day. Believe me, it will be nice to have a man here with all that is going on in the streets.”

I looked down at the couch.

Without blushing, Anna shook her head. “You can’t stay out here. You have to share my bed!” She drew me near. “Will that be a problem?”

*

I awoke to an empty bed in the morning. Anna had gone to the hospital while Marta’s door was closed. In the kitchen, a note rested on a linen napkin that covered a plate of food: “Coffee is on the stove. Bon appétit. See you after work.” I reheated the coffee, ate with gusto, and rinsed the dishes and silverware.

Having finished cleaning up, I left the apartment in search of a job. The answer was the same everywhere: businesses were hanging on by a thread. There was no work.

*

Anna found me on the couch, sitting in the dark, with a glass of whiskey in my hand.

“There are no jobs out there. I can’t eat your food, drink your liquor, and not contribute.”

She slipped next to me, her face painted with concern. “Is that what this is about? You paying to stay here? Listen to me, Friedrich. Even though I like you very much—and it has been a long time since I said that to anyone—this is also about me helping someone in need. Until you find yourself, I will provide you a place to stay and food to eat.”

I turned away, unable to meet her gaze. “I refuse to be a charity case.”

Anna touched my chin and drew my face toward hers. “You’ve got it all wrong. This is not charity. I am a caregiver, Friedrich. You need help and I am fortunate that I can give it to you. Take it in the spirit it is given.” Then her eyes narrowed, her thin brows arched, and she permitted the smallest smile. “Actually, consider last night a deposit on your repayment to me.”

*

Anna arranged for me to see Dr. Joseph the next day. When I arrived, she greeted me at the clinic entrance. “He’s anxious to see you.” She ushered me to an examination room, handed me a hospital gown, and left to see another patient.

“I hear that you now have a name, Herr Former X.” Dr. Joseph chuckled as he entered the room.

He was as I remembered: professional yet exuding warmth. “It’s Friedrich Richard,” I said. “Dr. Forster gave it to me at Pasewalk. It’s not my real name.”

“To quote the Bard, ‘What’s in a name?’”

I had no idea what that meant.

Dr. Joseph touched the bridge of his glasses, as he often did. “Let me take a look at you.” He adjusted the overhead dome-shaped light designed for close inspection. He had me turn this way and that. Maneuvering the gown, he studied the areas that had been burned: my right leg, arm, and back.

While I dressed in front of him, he said, “I am pleased with your progress. From what I hear, so is Anna.” He patted me on the back, and then turned serious. “You promised a certain someone to schedule appointments with him. He’s been asking for you.”

“Could you please tell Dr. Forster that I am doing fine?”

“If your memory was restored, I would. But it’s not.”

“Nothing he tried worked. Why should I waste time seeing him when I could be out finding a job?”

“If for no other reason than he’s the doctor who cared for you.”

“No, Dr. Joseph. You are that person. As far as Dr. Forster is concerned, I was a clinical experiment that failed.”