––––––––
The following day, Martin returned to the apartment, looking pleased with himself. Monika was in the living room, using a tea towel to sweep the dust and bits of plaster off the table. Peter lay fast asleep.
‘I went to see Albert today,’ he said, rubbing his hands against the cold.
‘What for?’
‘He’s doing us a little favour.’
‘Is he? Like what?’
‘We’re going to Switzerland, we can’t stay here.’
‘Switzerland? Are you mad?’
Her words stopped him in his tracks. ‘Monika,’ his voice quiet. ‘Monika, I told you – I’m not going back. The war is lost; everyone knows that. Everyone except the diehard fanatics. Once the Russians get here, we’ll be as good as dead, that is unless the Brits don’t get us first.’
‘No. That stuff about the Russians, they say it’s just government propaganda, that it won’t be that bad.’
‘After what we’ve done to them? They’ll be out for revenge, Monika. If we stay, they’ll kill me and Peter, that’s for sure, and they’ll rape you.’
‘Rubbish. You’re just saying that to frighten me. What do we do about Peter?’
‘Leave him.’
‘I don’t believe you can mean that.’
He threw his scarf onto a chair. ‘We have no choice.’
This was the side of Martin she didn’t like, the arrogance of the dominant brother – no hesitation, no second thought, simply the dogged belief that what he said was right. But Peter was in no state to offer his opinion – it was down to her.
‘I won’t leave without him.’
‘He’s dying, Monika, we can’t take him.’
‘Then I won’t leave at all.’
He pounced on her with such force she fell back against the wall. The memory flashed through her mind – pushed against the tree near the lake so many years ago. ‘For fuck’s sake, the time for heroics is over.’ A splay of spittle doused her face; she’d never heard him so high pitched. ‘We’ll be slaughtered, we have to leave.’
‘He’s right, Monika.’ The voice so weak seemed to come from somewhere faraway.
They halted as if caught in a freeze frame, Martin’s hands grasping her by the shoulders.
‘Peter,’ she cried. Shrugging Martin off, she went to him and placed her hand on his forehead. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘OK, I guess.’
‘You are, Brother?’
Struggling to pull himself up, Peter answered breathlessly. ‘Better than ever.’
Monika tried not to wince from the stench of his breath. ‘Martin thinks we should leave.’
‘I know, I heard.’
‘But we can’t leave you.’
Peter smiled a ghostly smile. ‘I think I could do it, I feel OK.’ Monika shot a doubtful look at Martin. Peter caught it. ‘Believe me,’ he said. ‘Just get me to a train and I’ll be all right.’
‘That’s right,’ said Martin. ‘And once we’re in Switzerland, we’ll be able to get you some proper attention.’ Monika wondered whether Martin was serious or, as she feared, merely placating him. Outside, a fire engine, its siren full blast, made its way down the street. Martin reached for his coat. ‘I’ll have to go and see Albert again – if it’s not too late.’
She watched him leave, trying to squash the sense of disappointment that he hadn’t said goodbye, not even a look of acknowledgement. Instead, she took Peter’s hand, wishing she knew what she wanted.
*
Hours later, Monika’s heart leapt as the door burst open. Instinctively, she reached for the revolver hidden beneath the upturned crate next to Peter’s bed, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Albert standing at the doorway. She put the revolver back.
‘Is Peter here?’ he asked.
She was about to point to Peter in the bed, but realised he meant Martin. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Here.’ He threw an envelope on the table. ‘I’ve done my bit. Tell him I don’t expect to see him again.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Your passes.’
‘Our passes?’
‘I signed them off. It gives you and him official permission to travel to Munich. I didn’t want him coming again to the office, hence this personal delivery. How kind am I? I guess Switzerland is not too far from there – if that’s what you want. I don’t want to know. As Peter’s officially classed as an invalid, it wasn’t too difficult. I put you down as his carer. What you do once you’re in Munich is not my problem.’
Monika glanced nervously at Peter who’d drifted back asleep and hoped he was sleeping soundly. ‘Did Martin, I mean Peter... did Peter come see you about a third pass?’
‘No. Anyway, that’d be pushing it. I wouldn’t be able to wrangle that much.’ He stepped over to the bed. ‘So,’ he said, peering inquisitively down at Peter. ‘What happened to Martin? Christ, he looks awful.’
‘He was wounded. Eastern Front.’ How easily came the falsehood. ‘Shush, you’ll wake him.’
But it was too late; Peter opened his eyes and saw Albert standing over him. ‘Albert? What... I don’t understand... what passes? What are you doing here?’
‘You mean, they’re going to leave you behind?’
‘What?’
‘Ask your brother. I can’t hang around.’
As he was about to leave, the door swung open again, and there stood Martin, breathless, his hair dishevelled. ‘Did you get them?’ he asked on seeing Albert.
Albert pointed at the table.
He picked up the envelope, inspecting the passes inside. ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘Your secret’s safe with me, my friend.’
‘Fuck you.’ And with that, he was gone.
‘It’s like an inferno out there,’ said Martin, removing his coat. ‘Bodies everywhere. Everyone’s talking about the Ivans. They’re terrified and they have every right to be.’
‘How did you get Albert to obtain those passes?’ asked Monika. ‘What secret?’
‘It’s all about what you know,’ he said, tapping his nose. ‘The Party still frowns on homosexuals, don’t they?’
‘You blackmailed him?’
‘Yeah. So what?’
‘I can’t leave Peter.’
Martin sat down next to Monika, both next to Peter’s bed. They didn’t dare look at each other. Monika’s mind spun and yet no thoughts formed, only the booming of her heart. After a while, she got up. ‘You need a wash, Peter; I’ll boil up some water,’ she said, trying not to let her voice betray the shame simmering inside her.
‘He thought I was you.’ The softly spoken words hung accusingly in the air.
‘Albert? No, he got you confused,’ said Monika, standing next to the stove.
‘Like when we were kids,’ said Martin. ‘We’re used to that, aren’t we, Brother?’ Martin tried to add a chortle but it came across contrived.
‘We need to get you cleaned up,’ said Monika.
‘He got confused,’ repeated Martin.
‘We’re not so easy to confuse nowadays.’ He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. ‘So, you’re escaping. Both of you. Using my name as an invalid. I remember Oskar saying to me that I had to get Monika away before the Russians arrive. But what about me?’
‘He couldn’t get us another. I tried, honestly, Peter, I tried.’
Peter reached out towards the upturned crate.
‘Want a hand?’ said Martin, still sitting next to the bed.
‘No, I only need some water.’ With that, he leant over, and in one movement pushed the crate over – the plate, mug and ashtray falling noisily to the floor – and scooped up the revolver.
‘Peter?’
Monika came over from the stove. ‘Peter, you don’t need that, love.’
He held the gun lightly in his hand. ‘No?’ Then, with tears clouding his eyes, he spoke quickly, painfully. ‘You didn’t try – I heard him. You’re just going to leave me here. Funny thing is, I don’t blame you. But don’t worry; I’m not going to let the Russians get me. What upsets me is that you’re using me, my name, my disability as your ticket out of here. I’ve always played second fiddle to you, haven’t I, Martin? You remember, as kids? We always did what you said, went where you wanted to go; you never thought to ask me because my opinion didn’t count. You know, I’ve often wondered about your conscience and over the years and I’ve come to the conclusion you don’t have one.
‘Do you remember Miss Hoffman? It was you all the time, wasn’t it? She liked me more than you and you couldn’t bear that. So, you got your little revenge, shopped her for daring to utter an anti-Nazi thought. I only hope she survived, that she’s out there now, living and surviving.
‘And the play. You remember that, of course. You resented it because I got the better part – even if was just the one line. I hated you for not admitting your sabotage. I got caned but you could have saved me – but no, why would you want to?’
His tears had made rills through the dirt on his face. ‘Monika was my one victory over you, and all because I had the better balance. And how you must’ve hated that. But even I didn’t know quite how much it rankled. How long was it? Five, five and a half years? And then she succumbed. How did you do it, Martin? Showed her your softer side, tried to merge the two of us into one, so she’d fall for the Peter in you? I hate you, Martin; I never knew how much I hated you until now. Funny, isn’t it, how people assume we’re the same just because we are on the outside. But in the inside, we couldn’t be less alike. I reckon we’ve always hated each other without really realising it. But it’s over now; we don’t have to face it any more. Either I shoot you now or you walk out that door for Switzerland and never come back. Which is it? Tell me, Martin, tell me what to do, one last time.’
‘I will. Let me go, let me take Monika with me. You know what will happen to her if I don’t.’
‘Martin, stop,’ cried Monika. ‘Stop, just stop.’ She thought she was yelling but the words emerged as barely a whisper. ‘I won’t leave Peter.’
‘He’s right though,’ said Peter. ‘I... want...’ A fit of coughing took hold. Clutching his chest with one hand and the revolver in the other, he coughed and wheezed.
Monika stroked his hair. ‘You OK, Peter? I’m staying right here; I won’t leave you.’
‘No. I’d rather you fell into Martin’s clutches than a Russian’s.’
Martin rose carefully to his feet, aware of the revolver in his brother’s shaking hands. ‘Maybe you’re right, Peter, maybe everything you say is right. I admit, I am a selfish sod; I can’t help it. I admit it, I did denounce Miss Hoffman; I did plan to steal Monika away from you, exactly as you said. But there’s something you’ve got wrong. I don’t hate you; I love you, you stupid bastard, you’re my brother, I shall always love you...’
‘Do I believe you, Martin?’
‘Yes, Peter, you do.’
‘Perhaps I do. Save her, then. Take her with you; get her out of here.’
Martin nodded. He leant down and kissed his brother on his brow.
‘Be brave,’ he whispered in his brother’s ear. ‘You can do it.’
‘Peter... please.’ Monika paced up and down, scrunching her hair.
‘I can’t help you, Monika. Only Martin can help you now. But please, go now. Don’t make it worse.’
Martin disappeared to the bedroom, returning moments later with his army rucksack. ‘I took the liberty to pack a few things. Bit of food, a few clothes, underwear. Not much, mind you. We don’t want to give the impression we’re not coming back.’ He scooped up the passes from the table, picked up his coat and took Monika’s. ‘I’m going to go now. It could take the whole day to get on a train. Monika, please, let’s do this now.’
With tears in her eyes, biting her hand, she looked down at Peter.
Peter nodded at her. ‘Please go. Please.’
She stepped towards him, as if wanting to embrace him. But she stopped – she knew if she touched him, she’d never let go. ‘Goodbye, my love.’
‘Go, please. Go now.’
And so, with her heart aching with pain and shame, she followed Martin out of the apartment, closing the door behind her.
They passed Jünger, the block warden on the stairs. ‘You two going somewhere?’ he asked. Monika kept her head down, not wanting Jünger to see her crying.
‘Taking provisions to my aunt,’ said Martin. ‘She’s poorly.’
‘Right then; you’d better hurry.’
Outside, the sun shone upon the devastated street, the piles of rubble, blackened houses, the ruination of a city. Everywhere, people scurried around, dazed, fatigued faces. Buildings smouldered, smoke lingered. ‘City of the damned,’ muttered Martin. ‘Come.’ He offered Monika his hand. She took it. ‘It’ll take a good hour to get to the station.’ With a final glance up at their apartment window, he guided her away.
Carefully, stepping over debris and around holes, they left the block behind them.
They’d only walked half way down the street when Monika stopped abruptly. ‘Martin, I forgot my sister’s brooch. I can’t–’
‘No, you can’t go back for it.’
Flinging off his hand, she made to return. Martin called after her. She didn’t stop. Swearing under his breath, he made to catch her up. Encumbered by his rucksack, tripping over a couple of bricks, he lost ground. By the time he caught her up, they were back outside the apartment block.
‘Monika, no...’ They heard it – the sound of the single shot from inside. Monika, her hands on her cheeks, looked up at their window. She screamed. The world stopped, fell silent, then drew breath and started again. Losing balance, she fell against Martin, a booming voice in her head asking what that unfamiliar feeling was.
And then, burrowing her face into his shirt, she knew. It was the feeling of her heart breaking.