“The weak must be chiseled away. I want young men and women who can suffer pain.”
Adolf Hitler 1938 Address to Hitler Youth at Nuremberg
The long journey home
We were awakened by rumbling trucks, exploding bombs, the chilly April morning and hunger pangs. Climbing out of the ditch, we began walking at a fast pace to warm ourselves. We held hands, hopping, jumping and singing to look and feel brave. In the morning light we saw how clogged the roads were with people escaping Berlin and running from the Russians. Again and again we were asked why we were going towards Berlin and advised to turn around. But there were people hurrying in Berlin’s direction, too. It seemed no one knew which way to go. But we had to keep going toward home. There was nothing else to do. As we stumbled our way through the rubble, Emma kept reminding us, “If it weren’t for Hitler, we wouldn’t have strong shoes to help us keep our balance.” Agatha and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.
Every once in a while we saw a lone house standing, undamaged, in the middle of several that had been destroyed by bombs.
“I wonder why some houses aren’t damaged and their neighbors are?” Emma asked.
“Luck,” Agatha answered.
“I think God decides who should be saved and who should suffer,” Emma argued.
“Oh, sure, he sits up there and tells the bombs where to land,” Agatha said.
“What do you think, Helga?” Emma asked.
“I think there’s a God. But I don’t think he picks favorites.”
“Except that he likes the Germans best,” Emma said.
“If that’s so, how come so many bombs are falling on us?”
“I don’t know,” Emma said quietly.
We walked by people sitting beside the road, looking detached from the world. An old woman sat alone, trembling, her eyes vacant. She was smiling and murmuring. Her legs were slack and parted. We could see her underwear. I thought of my Grossmutter and felt sad and lonely. Agatha put her coat around the woman, Emma pulled the woman’s dress down, and we continued walking.
Others we approached looked frightened and gave us extra room to pass.
Emma nudged me, “Do you think they step aside because we’re so dirty and smell so bad?”
“They smell bad too,” I said, from the corner of my mouth.
Agatha laughed, “They're probably afraid of us, thinking we’re loony to be walking the wrong way.”
In the afternoon a woman stopped us and whispered,” You should change from your uniforms if you want to live.” I was about to respond, when she hurried on.
“She’s right, “Agatha said. “The people think we’re still part of Hitler’s youth army. They are afraid of us.”
Emma pursed her lips, “I’m proud they think that.”
Agatha stopped walking. She turned to put her face close to Emma’s. “For Heaven's sake, grow up,” she growled. “We’re in a war! Hitler is not going to save us. The Russians would be happy to kill us.”
“But these people are Germans!” Emma eyes were filling.
“Some of them don’t like Hitler. They’re mad at him,” Agatha said.
“But I...”
I interrupted, “I think we’d be better off if we could get civilian clothes. Besides, we’re so muddy and wet. It would feel a lot better.”
Emma turned her head away.
“I wish we had our coats to cover us,” I said.
“Giving them away was the right thing to do,” Agatha said. “We’ll find a way to get rid of our uniforms.”
“Maybe if we get off the main roads we’ll be safer,” I suggested.
“Good idea.” Agatha patted me on the back and started walking toward a side path. I took Emma’s hand, and we followed.
Fewer people were walking on the side roads. But there were just as many burned out houses and piles of rubble. A Jeep that appeared to be abandoned sat in the middle of a street.
“Look at that!” Agatha pointed to it, “I wish I could drive.”
Emma’s voice shook as she grabbed my hand. “There’s a man sitting in the front seat!”
Agatha waved, “Hello. Where are you going?”
“He doesn’t seem to hear us,” I said.
We crept close enough to see the man’s uniform, brown with dried blood. He had a hole in his neck. His hands were gripping the steering wheel, his eyes wide open. Agatha reached in slowly to give his shoulder a poke. His head flopped forward. “Oh...God! He’s dead,” she screamed, and grabbed my arm.
We stood rigid, peering at him for several seconds, until Agatha’s urgent whisper, “Let’s get out of here!”
I couldn’t move. Agatha shoved my back, while Emma pulled my hands, and we ran, not looking back, until we were gasping for breath. As we sat down to rest on a stack of wood and bricks, we saw a half-destroyed clothing store, almost hidden behind a high pile of rubble.
“I can’t believe it!” Agatha shouted. “The answer to our prayer.”
Emma looked pleased with herself. “I told you Hitler would watch out for us.”
Ignoring her, Agatha and I climbed over the rubble into the shop. It had been looted. Most of the remaining clothes were damaged, but some women’s garments hung in one corner.
“Do you think we should take them?” Emma asked.
“Of course we should! If we don’t, the Russians will,” Agatha said.
The thought of a Russian soldier wearing one of the pretty flowered dresses prompted a giggle that extended far past the laughing stage and into crying sobs. Then silence.
We grabbed the dresses, shook off the gray dust and carried them behind a wall. We removed our uniforms and stepped into the new, cotton dresses. Our faces were still smudged with dirt, our arms and legs still cut and scratched, and we smelled bad. But we had new clothes! Agatha found a blue and white dress that fit her, while Emma and I hitched up our floral prints. As we took turns admiring each other, I noticed Emma’s bandage was loose and bloody again.
“Emma, does your cut still hurt?”
“It throbs a lot,” she said. “But it will go away. I have to be strong like the Fuhrer taught us. I want him to be proud of me.”
“I’m sure he is,” Agatha said in a motherly tone. “We don’t have anything to help your pain, but let's put another bandage on to hold it.” She tore a strip from the bottom of a skirt. Winding it around Emma’s head and down over her wound, she said, “Now you have a hat to match your dress. You look quite stylish.”
“Thank you,” Emma whispered, kissing Agatha’s cheek.
“No one can say we don’t look civilian now,” I said.
“And except for our old shoes, we look lovely!” Emma did a high kick and posed.
Our new clothes energized us. When Agatha found a silk scarf, we each held part of it and danced about the shop until we heard gunshots, then jumped behind a dressing room wall. After the gunshots subsided, and before the nightly bombing began, we cleared spaces to sit behind the walls. We celebrated our new dresses by sharing our last chocolate bar. Agatha broke the bar into three equal pieces, placing them in front of us. These chocolate pieces represented our breakfast, lunch and dinner for that day and maybe the next. Emma carefully split her piece in two, “One piece for now. And one for tomorrow,” she said and began to slowly lick the one “for now.”
Agatha quickly popped her chocolate into her mouth and chewed, swallowed and murmured, “M-m-m-m-m delicious!”
I put my piece into my mouth and let it melt. Nothing had ever tasted so good!
We dusted the floor with our uniforms, covered the clean area with two of the dresses still on the rack and covered ourselves with the last three. We held hands and fell asleep, listening to the bombs explode in the distance. I dreamed Grossvater was chasing Russian soldiers with a limb of a tree, startling me awake. I lay in a state of confusion before I knew why. Then I remembered I had left my wooden good-luck bird in my uniform pocket. I scrambled to the corner where our uniforms were piled and found lucky charm. I unzipped my duffle and pushed it to the bottom.
As we left in the morning, we picked up our belongings and took a long look back. Destroyed as it was, the shop had been our sanctuary, bestowing on us our lovely new spring outfits.
“We were lucky to find this place," Emma said. "I hope someone has found Freda. I hope she’s inside a home somewhere."
Our walk that day held the same terrors as the last, with another one added. We were lost. We thought we had come far enough to be within a few miles of Berlin. But most of the street signs were missing, and the bombed out streets all looked alike. When we asked people, “How far to Berlin?” they’d reply, “some miles” or “not sure.”
Agatha kept assuring us, “I know the way with my eyes closed” each time Emma or I expressed our fears. So we kept trudging. When we passed houses that were still intact we thought of going inside to rest, but were afraid of being found and mistaken for looters. So we sat where we could find space between piles of concrete and bricks.
By late afternoon, we didn’t care if someone thought we were looters. We were starving. We decided to enter the next house we found. Waiting until there was a break in the crowds, we raced up a short incline to the back door of a small, one-story, white house that we hoped was abandoned.
Agatha knocked. No one answered. I tried the door knob. The door opened. Agatha slowly pushed it open. We took small quiet steps as we entered a clean, orderly kitchen. A wooden table and four chairs were in place. In the corner stood an infant’s highchair. We spotted the refrigerator and the sink. Food and water! I began to race for the sink, when Agatha stopped me.
“First we should see if anyone is here,” she whispered.
We slowly crept to the opposite doorway and peered out to a hallway leading to the living room. The living room was not as orderly. Sofa pillows had been torn open, spilling out the stuffing. The two chairs were tipped over. Pictures and lamps were strewn about. A wooden chest was open and empty. Agatha started down the hall. Emma and I followed.
“Look!" Emma pointed to the open bathroom door. “A toilet!” She pulled up her skirt, as she ran to it, and began to sit down.
“Get up!” Agatha bellowed. “That’s clean water.”
Emma stood up. “I know! I’m not dumb. I’ll flush.”
“We should fill our flasks first,” I said.
“But I have to go,” Emma whined.
“Go outside and pee like we have for the last two days,” I said, following Agatha down the hall to the bedroom. We stood in the doorway and saw a ripped mattress and blankets and the empty pulled-out dresser drawers. A baby’s crib and the window curtains were untouched. The closet was empty.
Emma joined us and pointed out the obvious. “I guess the looters have already been here.”
“Sometimes you say the dumbest things!” Agatha shouted, and stomped down the hall to the kitchen.
“Why is she so angry? I only said...” Tears welled in Emma's eyes.
“She’s just tired and hungry. “Let’s go see what’s in the kitchen.
We found Agatha peering out the back window. “Look! Look! Look!”
Across a short meadow behind the house were railroad tracks. A freight train was stopped there. Several box cars had red crosses painted on the open doors. Two men were tossing boxes out of the car, into the field back of the house. A crowd of people were grabbing the boxes and running with them.
“Maybe it’s food or medicine!” Emma said. “I think we should run for one.”
“Let’s go!” Agatha shouted, and ran out the back door.
A crowd of people were fighting for the boxes, kicking and knocking each other down. Agatha plunged into the throng, picking up a box. It was immediately grabbed from her. She fell back. Emma jumped to Agatha and pulled her up. They grabbed another box from the ground. A boy seized one end and struggled to take it from them. I hurried past a woman and pushed the boy down.
“Hold it tight and make a run for the house,” Agatha shouted.”
We dashed for the house and slammed and locked the door. We had no idea what we’d find in the box, but surely it had to be something good, with so many people fighting for it. We set it on the counter and ripped it open. We pulled out packages and tins of raisons and prunes and feasted on them. We were gobbling and sighing and screeching. Emma found a can of salmon, took a handful and handed the tin to me. I put a handful in my mouth and handed it off to Emma, who finished it off with the biscuits she found. Then we found the package of sugar, cheese and chocolate.
“I think we should save most of it.” Emma said. “We may have days to go before we get home.”
“I agree,” I said. “Let’s put the other tins on the table for breakfast and pack the rest tomorrow.”
Emma went to the sink and turned on the faucet. “Nothing's coming out.” She turned to Agatha, “I guess you were right. We should fill our flasks from the toilet. I’m glad I didn’t pee in it.”
Agatha held up several packs of cigarettes. “Look what I found in the bottom.”
“We can throw those away,” I said, reaching for them.
“No!” Agatha grabbed the cigarettes back. “They might come in handy. We could use them for pay or bribes.” We looked at each other, nodded, and stuffed them into our duffels.
“I’m really tired,” Agatha said. “Let’s go to sleep.”
“I’m going to fill my flask with the toilet water before I go to bed,” I said.
“Me, too,” Emma said.
“Good idea,” Agatha pulled her flask from her duffel, and we headed for the bathroom.
In the bedroom we shoved the stuffing back into the mattresses, collected the torn blankets, lay down and cuddled close together. We drifted off to sleep with filled stomachs under warm blankets.
Awakening with the morning light, we felt more rested than we had in days. We stayed in our nest, imagining being home with our families.
“I feel almost happy. It won’t be long. I can hardly wait!” Emma said.
“And there’s food in the kitchen from the train. We can have a real breakfast.” I said.
Agatha sat up and began to pull the blanket off us. “We won’t have breakfast or get home, if we don’t get out of bed.”
I was about to agree with Agatha when we heard the front door flung open and shouts in Russian. My body turned to ice.
Emma grabbed Agatha’s arm. “What will we do?”
“Nothing. Don’t move,” Agatha warned. “And don’t make a sound."
We huddled together with our heads under the blankets, listening to the men tramp through the house bellowing at each other. Finally one came to our room. After a moment, he yanked the blanket off and stood looking down at us with a big grin. He yelled something in Russian. Three more soldiers appeared in the doorway. They grinned and laughed and rubbed their crotches and laughed some more. Then one grabbed my arm and tilted my head back. Another grabbed Emma’s leg and pulled her to the kitchen. A third began ripping at Agatha’s dress.
I kicked hard at the shin of my attacker. He yelped and let go. I made a run for the door. He caught me in a hard grip, pulling me into the living room. I heard screams and scuffling in the bedroom as I tried to break loose. He slapped me. My head hit the floor, and I was dazed for a second. I tried to roll away, but he locked his arm on my neck. We were all screaming and kicking and biting. The soldiers were hitting and dragging.
They won.
He pinned down my arms with one hand. I screamed and tried to bite him. He forced my legs apart with his other hand, sat on my legs, and unzipped his pants. He was so heavy I was sure he’d break my bones. He looked down at me. I saw the face of a boy not much older than I. He was filthy and smelled like dung. Was he going to kill me? Torture me? What? Then I remembered Agatha telling us about how babies were made. How the man pushed himself inside the woman. NO! I would not let that happen to me. I tried to kick. I thought of the cigarettes in my duffel we’d planned to use as a bribe. They were no good to me now. I screamed again, and he put a muddy hand on my mouth. I tried to bite it, but he was pressing so hard I couldn’t move my mouth. His breath was horrible. I prayed to die. I pretended this wasn’t happening. But it was. And it hurt. I screamed and screamed and screamed and tried to scrape my nails down his face. I missed. He laughed and slapped me. I heard Emma and Agatha screaming from the other rooms. As he pushed himself in it hurt so much I felt nauseated. Okay, I’ll vomit on him. But it didn’t come up. But worse than the pain was the disgrace, the thought that a Russian put his dirty self inside of me. I’ll never be pure again. What will the Fuhrer say? I tried to scream again, but the weight of his body kept me from taking a breath. Then he finished and collapsed on top of me. I lay rigid, holding my breath.
After a minute he rolled off, stood up and pulled his pants on. He grinned at me, spit on the floor, yelled something to the other soldiers, and they all went into the kitchen. Emma and Agatha crept to the living room. They were both dirty and bloody. Emma’s dress was torn. She was clutching a pillow. Agatha had her arm around Emma and was pale and trembling. I looked down and saw I was filthy and bleeding and wondered again what the Fuhrer would say.
“We should run for it while we have the chance.” Emma said. Agatha whispered, “There’s no use now. They got what they wanted. They won’t pay us any attention now.”
“Yes. You’re probably right,” I agreed.
We held each other. Agatha hummed to us as if she were soothing a baby. From the corner of the living room, we watched the soldiers in the kitchen as they devoured the food we had saved. One picked up the infant’s high chair, looked closely at it, and gently set it down again. One brought his flask to me and ordered, “Fill!” I took it into the bathroom and was about to obey his demand when I had an idea. I lifted my bloody skirt and peed into the flask, hoping they’d be far away before he discovered my vengeance. It didn’t take the pain and shame away, but it helped.
We stood in the living room listening to the soldiers laughing and smashing things. When they returned to the living room, the one who raped me grabbed my hair, held my head back, and plunged his tongue down my throat. Then they all laughed, shouting, “Dasvidaniya” and walked out the door.
I raced to the door, locking it. We sat on the floor, holding hands until we stopped shaking. We were quiet until Emma said, “Will we have babies now?”
“Don’t be silly, “Agatha said. “It takes more than once.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said.
“We’re not pure anymore,” Emma said. I wonder what the Fuhrer would say.”
“I think he would be proud of us for the way we fought back,” I said, trying to convince both Emma and myself.
“He doesn’t care!” Agatha growled and stood up.
“How can you say that?” Emma said.
Agatha took Emma’s arms and pulled her up, “I can say it. I can say it. Grow up, Emma!”
“The Fuhrer loves us!” Emma shouted.
“If he loves us so much, how come he lets this happen to us?”
“I...don’t...know,” She said and began to cry.
Agatha turned away, “Let’s go to the bathroom and clean ourselves.”
We found some old towels and rubbed at the dirt and blood. “I wish we had some soap and water,” Emma said. “I hate to be dirty.”
“The Russians took our soap, remember?” Agatha said, and left the room.
Emma said, “I’m so worried about what the Fuhrer would say.”
“It doesn’t matter to him. He didn’t keep us safe did he? Hearing my own words, I suddenly felt abandoned. Maybe the Fuhrer didn’t love us after all.
We had no way of knowing, of course, that Hitler was in his bunker at the time, trying to save his own skin. He would not have cared about three young women from his youth group being raped.
As we were making an effort to clean ourselves, there was a knock at the front door. “They’re back. Hide!” I whispered.
Emma pulled at my arm. “No, run out the back way.”
As we rushed for the back door, we heard another knock. A male voice spoke in German.
“Please don’t be afraid. We are from next door.”
Then a female voice in German, “Are you all right? We want to help you.”
“It’s a trick,” Emma whispered. “I’m leaving.”
Agatha held her arm. “I don’t think so. If the soldiers wanted to get in they would break the door down. They would not be polite about it, and they wouldn't have a woman with them."
I added, "And and they wouldn't speak German.”
“Let’s talk to them through the door,” Emma said.
We peeked out the front window and saw a middle aged civilian man and woman.
Agatha spoke for us.
“Who are you?”
“We live in the house down the block. We saw the Russian soldiers leave your house this morning,” the female voice said. “We were worried about you.”
“If we let you in, we warn you, we have guns and knives and we are strong!” Agatha yelled.
“We won’t hurt you, we promise,” the gentle female voice yelled back.
We looked at each other, not knowing what to do. Our bodies still hurt from the rapes. The smell of the soldiers still filled our nostrils. Agatha started for the kitchen.
“Wait a second,” she yelled through the door. To us she whispered, “We need some things to fight with. I’ll get a knife.”
“I’ll get the lamp stand in the living room,” Emma said. “Helga, you keep talking to them.”
“What’s your name?” I yelled.
“Eva and Joseph Klein. Please let us help you.”
"Where do you live?”
“Down the block. We want to offer you a safe place.”
Agatha heard the last exchange. She put her knife in her pocket and beckoned for Emma to join us. Emma held the lamp stand behind her. They both nodded they were ready. I unlocked the door.
We stepped away from the door when Agatha yelled, “Okay. Come in now.”
Opening the door cautiously, the woman peeked inside. The man pushed the door open wider, and they both stepped in as he explained, “We would have come sooner, but we thought it would be best to wait for the morning light.
The woman looked at us and asked if we were all right.
“Yes,” we said.
“We’d like you to come to our home and have a meal with us.”
“We’d better talk it over,” Agatha said, nodding for us to follow her to the kitchen. “Well, what do you think? You want to try it?”
“They seem nice enough,” I said.
Emma nodded in agreement. “If we don’t like it, we don’t have to stay.”
“All right, then, let’s go.” Agatha said. “But I’ll keep the knife in my pocket.”
After announcing the decision to our visitors, we gathered our duffels. Frau Klein asked us our names as we left the house without looking back. We followed the couple down the debris-strewn block to another large, two-story, brick house. Herr Klein opened the door.
“We live in the basement most of the time. It’s safer there.”
I had a sinking feeling that we made the wrong decision. If they got us down there...maybe they were leading us into a trap. I wanted to run, but I didn’t want to be rude. Besides, Agatha didn’t seem troubled. So I followed her.
We descended the long flight of creaking wooden basement steps into a dark, dank cellar. I was right! A dungeon! Along the sides were wooden benches filled with people of all ages staring up at us. I was sure now this was a place of torture. I grabbed Emma’s hand to retreat when Herr Klein announced, “We have new friends. This is Emma, Agatha and...I’m sorry I’ve forgotten your name”
“Helga.”
“Yes, Helga.”
Frau Klein continued, “We’ve invited the girls to stay with us for awhile. Let’s all introduce ourselves and make room on the benches.”
We stood near the bottom of the stairs like sticks, waiting for the members of the group to tell us their names. Two women, heads down, sat without saying a word. A very skinny, bald man at the end of the row began. The introductions continued down the line as if this had been done many times before. One woman held a whimpering baby. Two little girls sat beside her, both barefoot with dripping noses. Next to them was an old man, asleep, leaning on the shoulder of a handsome young soldier with a bandaged arm.
All looked dirty, thin and frightened. One or two smiled, murmuring a greeting. An elderly woman sat in the middle of the group. She was little, almost tiny, with pale, wrinkled skin and lovely coifed silver hair. She wore a formal, black velvet dress with a lace collar and elbow length black calf gloves on her tiny hands. She sat with a straight back. When it was her turn to say her name, she stood up, took a step towards us, held her head high, and announced her name.
“I am Countess Adelia Bernadetta Schultz.” She held out her hand and smiled. “Welcome!”
We each shook her hand and did a small curtsy. She peered at us as if she smelled something bad and declared, “You have good manners, but you are very dirty. Come upstairs with me and I’ll give you soap. It’s almost time to prepare the meal. You may help.”
The oddest thing about this scene was that no one paid much attention to the Countess. Most of the people on the bench either talked with their neighbor or stared straight ahead.
“Come!” she demanded, and climbed the stairs. I looked at Agatha and Emma. Emma looked worried, and Agatha shrugged.
“Come!” the Countess demanded again. For a small person she had a large voice, obviously practiced in giving commands. But it was the dream of soap that prompted me to follow.
She led us up the stairs, through a back hallway and a small sitting room, where three chairs were placed around a smashed table, to a dining room that appeared untouched. The four walls were papered in red and blue squares. Blue velvet drapes hung beside high narrow windows. On one wall hung a large picture in an ornate black frame of a seated man with a woman standing beside him, her hand on his shoulder. He had deep-set dark eyes, a handle-bar mustache and a dour expression. She had a large chest, a pearl necklace, and beautiful face. It reminded me of the picture of my grandparents hanging in Mutter's and Vater’s bedroom, across from their bed. I stood staring at the picture until Agatha pulled me away.
We followed the Countess across the oriental carpet and past a mahogany dining set. Against the end wall was a mahogany side board with carved back and legs that matched the dining set. All were in perfect condition. The sight was so different from anything I'd seen in the past two days, I thought I was dreaming.
The Countess Schultz proceeded to the kitchen, where she unbuttoned her long gloves and pulled them back from her hands. Then she dipped a cloth into a basin of water, rubbed a bit of soap on the cloth and handed it to Agatha.
“Wash.”
Agatha cleaned off the top dirt from her arms, face and hands. The Countess dipped the cloth into the water again, rubbed the soap on it and handed it to me.
“Wash.”
I was thrilled. Whatever the next few minutes held, at least I had clean hands. Emma did the same and handed the cloth back to the Countess.
“Now girls, you will set the table, while I prepare the food."
Food! She might as well have handed me a million gold pieces. My stomach ached for food. All I had to do was help set the table before I sat down to a meal!
“Follow me,” the Countess commanded, and floated back to the dining room. “Now we will dress the table.” She opened a drawer in the sideboard, removing a white, lace table cloth and eight white, lace edged, linen napkins. Spreading the table cover and handing two napkins to each of us, she directed us to, “Place them three on each side and one at each end.” Next, she returned to the sideboard, opened a drawer and counted out eight silver knives, forks and spoons.
I heard gunfire outside and flinched. She handed the silver to us, as if she hadn’t heard a thing.
“Place them by the napkins.” She handed eight crystal water glasses to us and said, “The glasses go in front of the knives. “Hold them with care. They belonged to my Mutter.” Next she brought eight matching dinner plates, again saying, “Hold them with care.”
For a moment my mind flashed to a play I’d seen with Mutter. It was about a grand dinner party that ended in everyone throwing food and smashing dishes. I thought it was funny then. Now, looking at these lovely white and gold plates I thought, what a stupid little girl I was.
“Now the food!” she announced. I could hardly wait. I started for the kitchen, anticipating helping with the cooking.
“No. I will bring the food,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned carrying a silver platter. On the platter were three pieces of dark bread and a knife. Setting the platter on the table, she announced, “I will call the others.”
We looked at each other, shrugging our shoulders.
“She’s strange,” Agatha whispered.
“It’s all strange,” I whispered back.
The Countess returned with four others from the cellar. Herr and Frau Klein accompanied two gray-haired women who looked like twins, except one had a long thin nose and the other had a small, flat one. They followed behind her to the kitchen. As we watched, each in turn took the same cloth and wiped their hands clean. They returned to the dining room and stood behind the chairs. The Countess took her seat at the head of the table and gave the command.
“Please sit.”
We didn’t hesitate.
Looking at those bedraggled refugees, clean hands in lap, seated at the elegantly appointed table, quietly waiting for the Countess to serve those small squares of old bread, I felt a laughing fit coming upon me. I studied my hands on my lap, biting my tongue hard to stifle my giggling impulse, and watched the Countess slowly slice the piece of moldy bread into eight pieces.
My stomach growled as she passed the tray to the man on her left. He speared one piece with the serving fork and passed it on just as a bomb exploded a few blocks away. No one seemed to notice. They just kept passing the platter until we all had taken a piece and it was returned to our hostess. Surely now she’d invite us to eat. Instead, she said, “We will now hold hands and thank the Lord for this meal.”
Okay. It may only be a tiny crumb of bread, but it is food and I will gladly thank the Lord. We took hands and bowed our heads. While the others prayed, I remembered the last time I had Christmas dinner with my family. Like these people on this day, we sat holding hands, eyes closed. I had been impatient to have the meal, resenting the time it took to thank God. This time I did thank him and begged him to show me the way home.
The Countess’s spoken prayer was long, allowing plenty of time to peek at the small piece of old bread in the center of my plate. The longer I stared at it, the better it looked. And when, finally, the Countess invited us to, “Please eat.” I ate slowly, savoring each tiny crumb. It tasted better than steak.
As we ate, the Countess directed us to, “Enter into polite conversation.”
We murmured awkwardly for a few minutes, until she excused the others and told the three of us to, “Clear the table and wash the dishes.”
We carefully collected her precious plates and silver, rinsing them in the sink while she watched us from the kitchen door.
Emma stood close and whispered in my ear, “Do you think she’s right in the head? I mean...”
“I don’t know. She’s certainly strange. What do you think, Agatha?”
“Let’s talk downstairs,” she said, and carried the plates to the dining room. Emma and I followed with the silverware.
The Countess reverently accepted them, wrapped them in cloth and replaced them along with the linens in the sideboard. Closing the drawer, she told us, “You did a nice job. I will give you more training tomorrow at supper. Now we must go to the lower floor for a night of bombing.”
When we joined the others in the cellar, most of them were curled up on the damp floor on rugs and towels. The old man’s head still rested on the young soldier’s shoulder. The mother and her daughters huddled together against the wall. Some women sat on the bench with the Countess. We all listened through the night to the gunfire and bombing. The house shook, and we heard windows shatter upstairs. I could barely make out the Countess in the dark. Just enough to see her holding the woman's baby and softly humming.
Lying between Emma and Agatha, holding their hands, I tried to be brave. But with each explosion, my body jumped, my throat went dry, and I gripped their hands tighter. Most of the group had to use the bucket in the corner to relieve themselves. By morning we held our noses against the stench. At dawn, a man rose to his feet. Without a word, he picked up the bucket, and climbed the stairs. “It must be his turn to empty it,” I whispered to Agatha.
“Yes,” Agatha said, “I’m glad I didn’t have to do it.”
“This is really a strange place,” Emma whispered.
“Very strange,” I said. “I wonder why all the linens, plates and silver are still up there?”
“And why are the table and sideboard still in perfect condition?” Agatha added.
“That’s easy,” Emma said. “The Russians haven’t discovered them yet.”
“But the rest of the rooms are ransacked,” I said,
“How do you know?” Emma asked.
“I looked into the living room and took a peek into a bedroom while you were laying the linens and she was in the kitchen.”
Later in the day, while the Countess was upstairs, we took our questions to Frau Klein. She told us soldiers had been there and had pillaged the house. They took what they wanted, including all the food. But when they came to the dining room, the Countess stopped them.
“How?” we asked together.
She speaks some Russian and ordered them to, “Stop that! Your mothers would be ashamed!” Frau Klein laughed. “She shook her finger at them. It was quite a funny sight. Four soldiers, twice her size, looked down at her as she scolded them.”
“What did they do?” Agatha asked.
“They backed off. And I guess the word went around that this house was off limits.”
“Is she really a Countess?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter what she calls herself. She’s a brave woman who has taken all of us in. To us she’s a saint.”
That evening, as promised, the Countess coached us again on how to arrange her table. Another group was called up from the cellar. It consisted of the ones who had stayed below the night before. They were invited to sit at the table. We were invited to stand by the windows and wait to clear the table. The same program followed: the prayer, the conversation and the serving of the tiny bits of moldy bread. As the evening before, everyone ate with appreciation, paying no attention to the bombs and gunfire. When they were excused, we were reminded how to clear the table and clean the plates.
That night seemed very long. One of the men, who had a cold, chose the space between exploding bombs to sneeze and cough. I became used to the bombs and began to fall asleep between blasts. Then he’d cough and bring me wide awake again.
I was into a deep sleep the next morning when Agatha shook me awake by the shoulders.
“We’d better leave today or we’ll never get home,” She whispered.
“You’re right. Let’s wake Emma and pack up.”
We said good bye and good luck to everyone. Those dear people, who had been my family for the past two days, had taught me courage while sharing their bread. I had given them nothing.
The Countess followed us to the front door. As we were about to open it, she said, “This is for you.” She handed each of us a tiny portion of bread. “Eat it slowly and thank the Lord when you do. I wish you a safe journey.”
“Yes, we will,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”
“Yes, thank you,” Emma said, and curtsied.
“Thank you very much,” Agatha said. “I’m very grateful.”
I would miss the Countess.