Daisies Are Forever (18 page)

Gisela shook her head. “The Americans bomb during the day, the British at night.”

He had missed so much while in East Prussia. “I know next to nothing.”

She gave him a tiny smile, one that soothed him. “You know all you need to know for the moment. Each Allied bomb brings Germany one step closer to destruction.”

“And one step closer to liberation.”

She nodded.

The Germans bombed British civilians early in the war. Was
this their retaliation? Did that make them any better than the enemy? He pushed away the reviling thought.

Renate tugged on his sleeve and he stopped and lifted the child. She covered her ears with her hands and snuggled her face into his neck. The two old biddies cackled beside him, Audra and Kurt next to them.

Antiaircraft guns began their steady
rat-a-tat-tat
as they approached the entrance to the concrete bunker. The crowd pressed inside, creating a bottleneck at the doorway. Many either going about their business in the area or those who had no shelter in their homes crammed into the bunker with them.

They found seats on the wooden benches built into the concrete walls. The cement rose above them in an arch and large oxygen tanks squatted in the corners.

The noise of the planes above them became a constant roar. The stream of those seeking refuge continued unabated. As many as could manage it packed the bunker to overflowing.

Audra turned as white as a summer cloud. “I can’t breathe.” She rose from the bench. “Bitte, let me go outside. We will be crushed to death in here.”

Mitch took her by the shoulders and pressed her into her seat. “You will be blown to bits if you leave.”

“I would rather have that happen to me than to have every bone in my body broken by the crowd and have all the air sucked out of my lungs.”

Kurt held her hands. “You have to stay here. Don’t let the enemy take you.”

She nodded, but her face remained devoid of color.

The air-raid warden closed the heavy metal door with a great clang.

A short while later, above them came the whistling of bombs. The building shook but stood. In the event of a direct hit, the tons
of concrete above them, meant to protect them, would surely collapse. They would be crushed.

He forced himself to take deep, steady breaths. Not normally claustrophobic, he understood Audra’s fear.

And shared a measure of it.

Gisela rubbed Audra’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about the bombs you can hear. They may break windows or loosen bricks, but the building will stand. The ones you don’t hear are the ones that are dangerous.”

If you couldn’t hear them, by the time you realized what was happening, you would be dead.

What kind of place had they come to?

NINETEEN

D
espite his brave front, Gisela read the fear in Mitch’s eyes even in the dimly lit interior of the luftschutzbunker. Air raids were terrifying. The ones early in the war had knocked the heart out of her. Then several quiet years passed before the bombings returned in earnest.

The ground beneath them rocked as another bomb exploded in the area. Annelies stiffened in her arms. Gisela had been fifteen when the first raids came in 1940. She couldn’t imagine enduring this at the tender age of five.

Audra was more nervous than the kinder, playing with the hem of her faded purple sweater. A muscle jumped in Kurt’s jaw but his eyes revealed nothing.

Mitch leaned toward her and spoke English in her ear. “Is it always like this?” He stiffened as another bomb hit its mark not far from them.

“They seem more intense now than two years ago. Like the Allies are dropping all they have in hopes of ending the war soon.”

He leaned back against the concrete wall. “How long do they last?”

“Some raids go on longer than others. They all last too long.”

Mothers clutched their children . . . old couples leaned on each other for support. Gisela remembered the almost party-like atmosphere that had marked the first raids years ago. Those days had vanished.

“When we were on the street and I didn’t know where to go, you said something very strange.”

He looked at the ceiling.

“You said, ‘Not again.’ What did you mean by that?”

“I have a reputation for getting lost.” He flashed a very brief smile, but his words were underscored by a nervous laugh.

“We all get lost from time to time.”

“Not like me.”

“Does this have to do with France?”

He tented his fingers and sighed. “Do you always ask this many questions? Xavier would call you a nosy bird.”

“You don’t talk about it.”

“What’s to say.” He held his palms upward and shrugged. “My chums followed me around Belgium and France and I led them straight to a group of panzers. Are you happy now?”

“You got separated from the other troops?”

“Retreating. Most of them went one way. We went another. I thought it would be easy to find our way west into France. We’d have a jolly good time along the way. But it turns out I was daft.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Getting lost in a strange country is no sin.”

“But it is.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. We all . . .” Well, she wouldn’t want to talk about Goldap and her cousins. “Forgive me.”

He nodded, then closed his eyes. She wondered if he was praying or remembering.

With ever-maddening slowness, the American bombers wheeled
around and headed west. An even longer time passed before the all-clear signal sounded and the heavy shelter doors were opened.

Audra pushed and shoved her way through the throng, ducking under arms, stepping on toes, and was among the first on the street. The rest of the their group joined her some time later and continued their journey toward home.

Home. Mutti. Gisela couldn’t wait.

Then they came to the Unter den Linden
,
a wide boulevard, the main street of Berlin.

She spotted the lampposts.

A terrific scream rose in her and ripped from her chest.

She couldn’t stop it. From each lamppost down the street, a man or woman or child swung from a noose, legs dangling in the wind, faces and bodies bloated. Her empty stomach protested violently. She covered Annelies’s eyes and closed hers. “Nein. Nein. What have they done? Oh nein.”

How could she ever erase these images from her memory?

Mitch pulled her close, Renate’s hand still clasped in his. Gisela leaned into him, wanting him to hold her and make this horror disappear. He said something to her, but she couldn’t hear him over her screams.

Mitch released her, then caught her upper arm and squeezed hard. “Stop. Stop. You are scaring the girls. No more shouting.”

She quieted at his command and became aware of the kinder crying. She looked down and opened her eyes so she wouldn’t see the horrible scene. “I am sorry, girls, so sorry. Please don’t cry. You are fine and safe. Nothing bad will happen to you.”

Annelies, free of Gisela’s hold, peered at her through long eyelashes and golden bangs. “Why are those men hanging there?”

Gisela squatted beside her and took Annelies’s face in her hands. “They are men who ran away from the army. They didn’t want to fight for their country.”

“They are bad men?”

“Nein, not bad men. Just men who didn’t do the bad things they were told to do. The bad men are the people who told them to do wrong. When they didn’t listen, this is what happened to them.”

Annelies’s gray eyes grew large and solemn. “Will it happen to me? Or to you? To Mutti or Vater?”

“Nein, never. Do you understand? You need not be afraid. God will take care of you.”

In her heart, Gisela believed this truth. But how much did He care for them? When would this terror stop? The gruesomeness of war, the unimaginable need and uncertainty—how could this continue?

And then she stared at Mitch in his SS officer’s uniform.

He could be strung up as a deserter.

He played a dangerous game.

The sight before Mitch’s eyes—traitors and their families hung out like laundry to dry—drove home what he knew. The Germans were brutal beasts. No better than the Russians they were fleeing.

His stomach churned.

Traitors and deserters had to be punished. But not like this. Was every infraction worthy of the death penalty?

He pulled Annelies against his legs, shielding her from the grisly sight. No little girl should have to see this. No one should.

Gisela leaned against him, her entire body shaking. He wrapped one arm around Annelies and one around Gisela.

“You have to be careful.” Her brows knotted together.

“Why?”

“That could be you. You don’t have papers. They won’t believe your story and you’ll be the next one to swing from a lamppost.”

His knees went weak. Kurt was suspicious already. What
would keep the German soldier from turning him in? “We need to get out of here.”

Gisela nodded.

Had God deserted them? Did he believe what Gisela told Annelies? Right now he didn’t see how any of them could survive.

Kurt held Renate who burrowed her head into his shoulder. Audra stood with her head bowed. The two elderly sisters huddled together.

“Do you see what I see, Sister?”

Katya spun around in a circle. “They have the oddest decorations here, don’t they? Hanging dummies from the lamps. Who thought up that idea?”

Oh, to be senile for a while. The pleasure to not understand the brutality of the human race. If the Lord had any compassion for them, He would return at this moment and take them all home.

Mitch stood silent for a full minute, waiting for the Second Coming. It didn’t happen. He spoke in English, softly, to Gisela. “Let’s go home.”

Gisela nodded. “Ja. Mutti will be there and you’ll see, everything will be fine.”

Was she trying to convince him or herself?

Kurt had a difficult time making his legs obey the commands his brain sent them. He didn’t want to see that sight. Men, traitors, strung up as banners to all.

Men who didn’t want to fight. He didn’t understand them. He fought. He gave an arm for his country. His dream to Hitler.

He just wanted it to end. Wanted it to be over. The nightmares. The panic. The terror. The memories. If only he could forget. All of that drowned out the sweet music.

If only he could hear the melodies again.

Renate squirmed in his arms. He set her down and let her walk for a while.

Gisela strode ahead of him, her swaying hips the rhythm he missed in his life. It began with that. Rhythm led to notes and notes led to music. He needed to be close to her so he could recapture even a small part of what he had lost.

Audra walked next to him, Bettina and Katya trailing her. She said something to him, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. Couldn’t get the noise of whistling bombs and ricocheting bullets out of his head.

He would never purge the sight of those men hanging from the lampposts from his memory. He knew, just knew, they would haunt him forever.

They robbed him of the few notes dancing in his head.

They arrived at the cross street and turned into the familiar neighborhood. The bakery still stood, the line of housewives stretching down the block as they waited for their bread ration. The café where Gisela sat with her girlfriends on a carefree summer’s afternoon and drank coffee sat silent, its bright awning rolled away. The butcher sported a line almost as long as the baker’s. Inside the dress shop, its dirty display window bare, the seamstress bent over a ragged pair of men’s pants.

The neighborhood became more residential, rows of old apartment buildings lining the narrow road. Before she moved, Greta had lived in the one across the street, one side of it now ripped away, the rooms exposed to the public.

On her left rose the most familiar of all the buildings. Red bricks covered the outside. Arched windows, framed by cream-colored stone, looked over the scene below.

Gisela couldn’t contain the tears that began to flow. “This is it. We have made it home.”

Mitch saw the joy and the sorrow mingled in the tears coursing down Gisela’s heart-shaped face. “You are home.” How wonderful it would be to walk through your own front door. He set Annelies down.

Audra rubbed Bettina’s hand in hers. “You have a very nice house.”

“Ja. Mutti plants flowers in the garden in the summer. Now vegetables too.” Gisela climbed the three steps to the front door and entered, the rest of the band straggling behind her.

The interior was lit by a single, bare light bulb. The green Oriental rug covering the hardwood floors in the entrance bore the signs of many years of footsteps crossing it. One door was on their right and a stairway on their left, its banister worn down by many hands.

Gisela bounced up the steps, dragging Annelies along with her. Up two flights they went before they arrived on the landing at the top. Gisela stopped short, hesitated a moment, then knocked.

Her timid rap brought no response. She banged louder. “Mutti? Mutti?”

The door opened a tiny crack. “Who is there?”

“It’s Gisela.”

The woman flung the door open so it banged against the wall. “Oh, Gisela, my daughter, my daughter.” She gathered her child in her arms. “You have come home, my daughter. You are alive.”

Mitch bit back his own emotions as homesickness caused his arms to ache. He imagined his own homecoming, when he would see his parents for the first time in more than five years. Would he get this warm of a welcome? Would Father be happy to see him?

“And who is this with you? You brought a caravan.” Frau Cramer released Gisela and stroked Annelies’s cheek.

“This is Annelies, Mutti, and Renate here. Ella’s girls. She stayed in Heiligenbeil with Opa.”

Frau Cramer nodded, her long brown hair caught in braids in a crown on top of her head. Tears filled her eyes. “My vater, my vater.”

Gisela drew her mum to her and for a while held her while they both cried.

Then Gisela turned to him and touched his arm. The heat of it radiated to his fingers. “This is Josep Cramer. My husband.”

“Your husband? Truly?”

“Ja, Mutti. It was a whirlwind romance and we were married not much before we left Heiligenbeil.”