May 1
For days, the screech of the Stalinorgels echoed in Audra’s head. The cadence of machine guns lulled them to sleep and woke them in the morning. One day blurred into another. The Holtzmann sisters argued and bickered as did Annelies and Renate. Kurt was short with her, and Jorgen snapped at anyone within ten meters.
The only ones who got along were Gisela and Josep.
There had been a change in their relationship. They were closer, looked at each other with a tenderness that reminded Audra of her parents. They were in love.
And her dreams of a life of fame and fortune in the West were shattered.
The men left the shelter to work on securing the front door. From below, Audra heard them grunt as they picked up Frau Mueller’s hutch and carried it to the entryway. The wardrobe would be harder as it had to come downstairs from the bedroom.
Gisela sat beside her on the bench and rocked a dozing Annelies.
Audra rested her back against the cool concrete wall. “Will the furniture keep the Soviets from getting in?” She had never been as frightened as when the soldiers had burst into the shelter. If they took her virtue, they would take everything she had left.
“Nein. It may delay them, but they will get in one way or another.”
“And then?”
“You know.”
Audra clamped her hands together.
“Put it here.” Josep’s voice carried down the stairs. The piece thunked on the floor.
Frau Mueller sat at the table on one side of the cellar, her red tongue stuck out in contrast to her pale face, as she concentrated on the strange markings she made on the paper.
She had written Тиф карантин—TYPHUS QUARANTINE—in big, bold letters. The Russian she had learned when she gave refuge to a woman fleeing the communist revolution years ago might be what would save their lives. They would post the paper on the front door and pray that whoever tried to force their way into the house could read.
And would be afraid enough of typhus to stay out.
The agonizing screams of women and girls echoed down the street, their purity and innocence snatched from them. Right on their block, the laughing, mocking voices of the soldiers continued day and night. When the women’s cries died out, the wailing and mourning began.
They had traded one form of fascism for another.
Gisela turned to her. “You like Josep, nein?”
Audra smoothed back her movie star-colored hair. “You like him.”
“I love him.”
The swelling in her throat blocked anything Audra might have said. If Gisela would take her to America, then she could have everything she wanted. The fame, the fortune, the handsome man on her arm. “You will go to England?”
“Why do you want to be an actress so much?”
“In the West, I don’t have to be poor anymore. No more awful handmade clothes. No more sharing the last piece of bread with your younger brother. No more sleeping four or five to a bed. If I could go to Hollywood and be famous, I would never have to worry again. Ever.”
“I understand.”
“You didn’t answer my question about England. Will you go there?”
“I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, much less after the war. I want to go to America, to California. When we lived there, I was happy. I want that again.” Gisela clamped her hands together. A single tear escaped down her cheek. “I want you to come to America with me.”
What did she say? Wiping her face, Audra turned back. “You would take me with you? You really would?”
“I would help you get a visa to come, help you get started.”
“Why? All I’ve tried to do is keep Josep from you. For my sake. For Kurt’s sake. He asked me to work with him.”
“We know. Josep and I have known since one of the first nights we were here.”
“Then I truly do not know why you would offer to help me. I don’t deserve it.”
Gisela’s brow furrowed. “Everyone deserves a fresh start.”
“What do you want in return?” The price might be too high. The last of her tears dried. Gisela must want something.
“Your friendship. Nothing more.”
“You want more than that.”
“Nein.” Gisela rubbed her brow. “Everyone makes mistakes. If we could go back in time and make different choices, we would. Each of us. But we can do nothing but move forward. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life. God has forgiven me for each and every one, washed me clean in His Son’s blood. Given me redemption. That is what I’m offering to you.”
“Redemption?”
“Something like that. Not from me. From the Lord.”
From deep inside her welled a spring of tears. She couldn’t stop them from running down her cheeks, even though they washed away the coal dust. And her sins.
The men returned to the bunker as the shelling continued, fiercer than ever. The noises of battle came from within the heart of the city. The Reichstag building must have fallen by now. Deep underground, below the Red Army’s boots, was Hitler’s bunker.
For Gisela, the hours passed with maddening slowness. Together they ate their meager meals. Jorgen carved little horses for Annelies and Renate, who played on the large blue-and-green rag rug in the middle of the concrete floor.
Drunken Russians soldiers, imbibing confiscated liquor for their May Day celebration, roamed the streets. The screams of the women being raped threatened to overwhelm her. How could she stand this any longer? Oh, that the cries outside would stop. That the cries in her memory would cease.
Darkness fell, deepening the shadows in the cellar. Outside, nothing stopped. The inebriated victors celebrated by molesting as many women as they could find. Annelies, Renate, and the old ladies fell asleep.
Tonight Frau Mueller pulled out the rectangular brown Bakelite radio set with its arched dial. Since the Russians had ordered all radios to be turned in a few days ago, she had hidden this battery-operated unit under the bottom stair. The victors wanted to take these magical boxes to Russia with them, not understanding that most needed electricity to make them work. Electricity they didn’t have.
Mitch came to Gisela and pulled her close. She trembled against him. “I can’t make the noises go away.”
“Focus on God. He brings us through the raging waters.”
“Isaiah 43:2. I’ve been reading that. My opa quoted it to me right before we left Heiligenbeil.”
“Cling to it.”
“I miss him terribly. I can’t stand to think what happened to him.”
“Then don’t. Remember the good.”
“And you too. Remember the good. The good of your time with Xavier. The good of the time with your father.”
Frau Mueller turned the knob and the radio crackled to life. The adults sat on the davenport, huddled around it.
Surprise rippled through the group with the first words they heard.
“Achtung! Achtung! The German broadcasting system is going to give an important German government announcement for the German people.”
But no statement came. The broadcast turned to classical music.
Gisela hugged herself. “What could that be about?”
“I didn’t understand all of it.” Mitch’s voice held a trace of worry.
“A special announcement. Not from the Führer, but the German government.”
Kurt moved beside her. He rubbed his hands together. “News of a great victory, no doubt.”
But doubt it Gisela did. The sounds outside their cellar were not the sounds of triumph but of utter defeat.
They sat, hardly daring to breathe, not daring to move.
Just before ten o’clock, the achtung warning was given again and the broadcaster began to play the slow movement of Bruckner’s Symphony no. 7, a well-recognized piece of music in Germany.
Gisela worried the cuff of her sleeve with her fingers. “How long are they going to make us wait? The batteries will die before we find out what they are going to say.”
Mitch took her hand in his. “All in good time.”
She jiggled her leg for a while, then paced the small room. Bettina and Katya snored so loudly Gisela was sure they would drown out the radio. The minutes ticked by. How long was this music?
It was close to ten thirty when the music came to an abrupt stop. Three drum rolls followed. Gisela couldn’t swallow.
“It is reported from Der Führer’s headquarters that our führer Adolf Hitler, fighting to the last breath against Bolshevism, fell for Germany this afternoon in his operational headquarters in the Reich Chancellery.”
A collective gasp went up. Gisela bit back tears. Could it really be true? Might this be over? Mitch slipped his arm around her waist.
“On 30 April, Der Führer appointed Grand Admiral Dönitz his successor. The grand admiral and successor of Der Führer now speaks to the German people.”
Admiral Dönitz took the microphone. “German men and women, soldiers of the armed forces: Our Führer, Adolf Hitler, has fallen. In the deepest sorrow and respect, the German people bow.”
So it was true. Dear God, You are our Savior.
Her tears flowed freely, as did those of the other cellar residents. All except for Kurt. He hardened his face and clenched his hand. While the others rejoiced, he mourned. It must be hard to know your sacrifice had been in vain.
With her thoughts whirring, she missed some of the admiral’s remarks. She concentrated on his words once more.
“It is my first task to save Germany from destruction by the advancing Bolshevist enemy. For this aim alone the military struggle continues. As far and for so long as achievement of this aim is impeded by the British and the Americans, we shall be forced to carry on our defensive fight against them as well. Under such conditions, however, the Anglo-Americans will continue the war not for their own peoples but solely for the spreading of Bolshevism in Europe.
“What the German people have achieved in battle and borne in the homeland during the struggle of this war is unique in history. In the coming time of need and crisis of our people, I shall endeavor to establish tolerable conditions of living for our women, men, and children so far as this lies in my power.
“For all this I need your help. Give me your confidence because your road is mine as well. Maintain order and discipline in town and country. Let everybody do his duty at his own post. Only thus shall we mitigate the sufferings that the coming time will bring to each of us; only thus shall we be able to prevent a collapse. If we do all that is in our power, God will not forsake us after so much suffering and sacrifice.”
Gisela’s knees buckled and Mitch led her back to the couch. “It’s not over.”
He shook his head. His trademark dimples had disappeared. “No, it’s not.”
Wracking sobs overtook her.
He drew her close and held her, whispering words into her hair she couldn’t understand.
Kurt rubbed her back. “I know Der Führer’s death is a great blow, but you heard Admiral Dönitz. The fight continues and we will be victorious.”
“No one will win. This will never end.” Her tears soaked Mitch’s shirt.
But Gisela saw no end in sight. With or without the Führer.
May 2
Mitch sat on the long wood bench in the cellar, bouncing Renate on his knee. His attention, however, was focused on Gisela. She lay on the bed, eyes glazed, hair tangled.
He was at a loss as to what to do. She became despondent when Dönitz announced the war would continue. How could he help her?
Today was quieter. Perhaps he imagined it, but the fighting seemed to have subsided a bit. At least moved farther away.
Was it the calm before the storm? Or the harbinger of peace?
After the rest had finished their meager lunch, Mitch went to Gisela. She rolled over and opened her eyes. Red rimmed them and dark bags hung under them.
“Sit up, please. Eat a little bit.”
She complied, nibbling at the crumbling piece of stale bread. It had to be comprised of at least half sawdust. But they ate it, hungry stomachs winning the battle.
He stroked her hair, longing to draw a brush through her soft brown tresses. Even broken as she was at this moment, she was beautiful.
No matter what it took, they would survive this ordeal. When they did, he intended to make her his own. Even if he had to fight Kurt again for her.
“Are you feeling better?”
She gave a slight nod but no smile. He missed the light in her eyes and the brightness in her face.
And suddenly, the guns and Stalinorgels fell quiet. For the first time in weeks, the air was still. Not a soul stirred.
It was not like the church-quiet from his childhood—holy and serene. It was a fragile quiet. At any moment, it might shatter and the bone-rattling noise would start once more.
For a while, the momentary peace held. No one in the cellar spoke. To do so would bring the war crashing around them.
A truck passed down the street, its engine the only sound in the neighborhood.
A blaring message pierced the air. “General Wilding has surrendered Berlin. Cease all fighting immediately. Berlin has fallen.”
The message repeated several times before Mitch understood its full implication.
Berlin had come under complete Red Army control.
With Hitler dead and the German capital in enemy hands, it would be a matter of days before the most horrific war in European history would end.
Mitch couldn’t help it. He whooped and his feet moved of their own volition and he danced a jig. Annelies and Renate laughed and joined in the festivities. They were the only celebrants.
Gisela frowned. “This isn’t a time to rejoice. Look how many hundreds of thousands, even millions, have died. Life will never be the same. Under Stalin, nothing will change.” She pinched her nose and swallowed hard.
His momentary joy evaporated.
Gisela crushed the bread crust in her hand. “The nightmare has only begun.”