The German House Read online

  The Bruhnses lingered outside the church for some time afterward, despite Stefan’s begging that they go home. The German House owners were well known and loved in the neighborhood. To the steady sound of church bells ringing from the white onion dome above, they exchanged Christmas greetings with friends and acquaintances. The family then walked home. There was still snow on the street and in the corners of the recessed doorways, but it had gotten warmer, and the snow no longer crunched underfoot, but splashed. They had all linked arms, so that no one fell, “or so that if one goes, we all go!” as Ludwig had laughed. Except for Stefan, who was bubbling over and describing all the disasters that had happened backstage in the vestry, no one spoke another word.

  Out of consideration for Stefan, they opened presents before dinner. The living room took on a golden glow from the many candles, the tree smelled of pitch and the deep forest, the tinsel shimmered, all four candles in the Christmas pyramid had been lit, and the shepherds and Three Kings hurried like never before. As usual, the Holy Family waited in vain. Stefan, on the other hand, was showered with gifts: both cheeks crammed with chocolate, he received an air rifle from his father, the book about the Swedish child detective from Annegret, and a dark blue seaman’s sweater from his mother. “You look like Grandpa Bruhns. Like Grandpa Sea Lion.” Eva had bought Stefan a Stabil construction set, and he planned to build the Schoormann warehouse the next day after nabbing a few sparrows in the courtyard with his gun. Lastly, Stefan opened the oblong package their grandmother had sent from Hamburg. Inside was a small uniformed doll wearing a knapsack that contained a cloth parachute—a paratrooper that Stefan now eagerly launched from every chair in the house. Purzel snapped at it in flight. Annegret was delighted to receive an elegant, burgundy leather wallet. Eva unwrapped a delicate silk scarf, blue with yellow polka dots. She would wear it in spring. When the sun began to warm things up. Some Sunday, when she took a stroll through the city in bloom. Without Jürgen. Eva stood up, because the image was hard to take, and began to pick up the wrapping paper and carefully fold each piece. Ludwig used this as an opportunity to apologize to Edith, because the washing machine hadn’t been delivered on time. But it did have thirteen wash cycles. And you could set the water temperature. Edith replied that this wouldn’t have happened if they’d ordered it from Schoormann’s. “They don’t sell washing machines!” Eva said, placed the paper on the cupboard, and went to her room.

  Eva turned on her reading lamp and sat down on the bed. It was the same as always, the rituals and timing, with just a few minutes’ difference here and there, like earlier, when they’d arrived late at church. Even Purzel had already vomited, after he’d used a moment of distraction to go after the colorful plates underneath the tree. Everything was as it always had been. Eva lay down and closed her eyes. A recurring dream she hadn’t had in some time began playing through her mind. She enters a long room with high ceilings, a blue floor, and light blue tiled walls. Spinning chairs are arranged along the walls, covered with a shiny, dark blue material, and hanging on the wall in front of every chair is a round mirror. There are two sinks on one of the short sides of the room. Waiting in a corner are three peculiar creatures that appear to be nodding at Eva with enormous, hollow heads. She takes a seat in one of the chairs and turns to face the mirror. But there’s no one in the mirror. And then Eva feels a searing pain on her head. She screams.

  Eva opened her eyes. The strange thing about this dream was that Eva had a scar on her scalp, a three centimeter-long bald spot above her left ear. Her mother always told her she had fallen as a small child. Eva heard someone call her name. It was her mother: sausages and potato salad were served.

  AT THE SCHOORMANN ESTATE, Jürgen sat by himself in an armchair in the living room. The housekeeper, Frau Treuthardt, had been off since that afternoon. He hadn’t eaten, he hadn’t drunk, he had turned out all the lights and gazed out into the shimmering evening. He simply sat there and beheld the quiet picture, which hadn’t changed in more than an hour. He looked like someone who had broken into the house, then sunk into a chair, overcome by the beauty of the garden. Jürgen’s eyes, however, were blind to the charm the view was offering him. He was deliberating how to respond to Eva’s disobedience. The Eva he had first met was much different—compliant, yielding, and prepared to accept that the man had the final word in a marriage. She was showing a whole new side of herself now, like one of those acerbic women who went to war alongside their husbands. Eva hadn’t been in touch, and it was clear that she was determined not to budge. It was equally impossible for him. He couldn’t lose face before they were even married. And while Jürgen ruminated on the traditional power dynamics in marriage, underneath it all he could sense his actual fear: he was afraid of the trial Eva was joining. He had fallen in love with Eva’s innocence, with her purity, because he lacked it himself. What would this encounter with evil do to Eva? What would it do to him?

  The standing clock in the hallway struck eleven. It ran fifteen minutes slow, and Jürgen realized that if he wanted to get a seat for midnight Mass at the Liebfrauenkirche, he would have to leave this minute. But he stayed seated.

  AT MIDNIGHT, ANNEGRET ENTERED the first nursery, which was dimly lit. She had volunteered for the overnight shift and left her family after their meal of sausages and potato salad. A siren howled outside—maybe a Christmas tree had caught fire. Annegret liked the sound. It meant: Help is on the way! She paced between the bassinets and checked in on each little face. Most of the infants were sleeping soundly. Annegret stopped at one of the cradles. The name Henning Bartels was on the card at the end of the bed. Frau Bartels was housed in the maternity ward downstairs, battling childbed fever. Henning, on the other hand, was already a remarkably sturdy child, despite being just days old. Annegret bumped into the bassinet, as if by accident. Henning opened his eyes a crack, shook his little fists, and yawned toothlessly. Annegret gently stroked his cheek.

  “Hm, you poor little nugget.” Then she pulled something out of the pocket of her uniform: a reusable glass syringe without a needle. The barrel, which held ten milliliters, was filled with a brownish liquid. Annegret moved to the side of the bed, slipped her hand under Henning’s head, and lifted it slightly. Then she stuck the syringe between the boy’s lips, pushed it under the side of his tongue, and slowly emptied the contents into his mouth. Henning’s eyes widened a little, and he began to smack.

  “Tastes good, mmm, nice and sweet, right?” Henning sucked some more and swallowed. Some of the fluid ran out the sides of his mouth. Annegret pulled a cloth from her pocket and carefully dabbed his tiny face. “There we go, now you’re all set.”

  IN THE APARTMENT ABOVE GERMAN HOUSE, Edith and Ludwig sat in the living room. The candles had burned out, and the floor lamp flickered tiredly. Eva’s parents were both drunk, which they only allowed themselves on rare occasions. Midnight Mass at the Liebfrauenkirche was being broadcast on the radio. “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called . . .” Edith listened as the organ started to play and the priest made his auspicious proclamations—the Gloria—and she finally allowed herself to cry, shamelessly and unobserved. Ludwig sighed occasionally too, although he wasn’t listening. He was reminiscing about childhood Christmases on his home island, the way Father Christmas would come riding through the darkness, over the frozen mudflats in a horse-drawn sledge. Blazing torches were affixed to the box seat, and Father Christmas heaved the bag of gifts for the Bruhnses from the sledge. One year, Ludwig jumped onto the skids in the back, held tight, and rode along to the next farm. Father Christmas discovered him there and gave him a mighty tongue-lashing. Ludwig recognized his voice as that of Ole Arndt, a hired hand at their neighbor’s farm. Then he spotted the familiar bluish nose under his fake white beard. From that point onward, Ludwig had considered himself very grown up. But the First World War didn’t start till a year later. Neither of his older brothers returned from France, and
his mother died of grief. At age fourteen, Ludwig began to cook, after his father’s spirit had failed and he’d stopped opening the grocery store. He cooked for his little sister and father. That’s when he truly grew up. The doorbell rang. Edith wiped her nose and looked at Ludwig quizzically through misty eyes. He groaned as he struggled, like a beetle stuck on its back, to sit up. Not but yesterday, he’d been a young man. And now his back hurt. “It’s twelve thirty?!”

  EVA HAD FALLEN ASLEEP next to Stefan. She’d carried her brother to bed an hour earlier. He clutched the little paratrooper in one hand and his air rifle in the other. Eva started reading him a story about a young Swedish boy who wants to be a detective. But Stefan wanted her to sing something instead, his favorite Christmas carol, “Come, All Ye Shepherds!” He liked it “because the music bounces so nice.” She hadn’t needed to sing long and then snuggled up to her brother’s small, comforting body.

  She was now woken by the doorbell. Purzel was barking like mad. Someone was actually downstairs at the front door. Eva got up and padded into the hallway in her stockings. Her updo had come loose, and her hair fell long and disheveled down her back. She pressed the buzzer to unlock the entrance downstairs, and cracked open the door to the stairwell. Purzel slipped out and down the steps. Ludwig had also materialized in the hallway at this point. He was in his shirt and swaying a bit.

  “Who the hell is it? Must be Father Christmas.”

  Eva heard the front door open and someone mount the stairs in big strides, while assuring Purzel, “You’ve met me already!”

  Eva recognized the voice and quickly tried to fix her hair in the mirror. No use. Jürgen appeared in the doorway to the apartment, without a hat and his coat unbuttoned, out of breath, as though he had run the entire way from the Taunus hills. Ludwig gave him a quick, hard look, at once resigned and relieved, grunted something regarding a Merry Christmas, called “Purzel, come!” and with that, father and dog disappeared into the living room. Eva and Jürgen stood in the door and looked at each other in silence. Eva tried not to look happy. Finally she gave him a little smile. Jürgen touched her messy hair.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said earnestly.

  At that, Eva grabbed Jürgen by the lapels and pulled him into the apartment.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  And then they kissed in the corner by the coat rack, long and hard and without a hint of reverence.

  Part Two

  I SWEAR TO TELL THE TRUTH, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”

  It was the twenty-third day of the trial, and today the first testimonies from Polish-speaking witnesses would be heard. Eva was no longer seated in the outermost spot at the rear of the gallery, but now stood at the witness stand in the middle of the large auditorium. She was flanked by two older gentlemen in dark suits, the Czech translator and the English translator. Eva placed her left hand—which now bore a ring with a blue stone—on a heavy black book with a small stamped golden cross, and lifted up her right hand. Eva addressed the chief judge, who regarded her amiably, and his two associate judges. Her raised hand shook slightly. Her heart beat fast and hard, from her chest up into her throat.

  “Please speak a little louder, Fräulein Bruhns.”

  Eva nodded, took a deep breath, and started over. She swore to translate carefully and faithfully all documents and testimonies delivered in Polish and examined in the trial. She would neither add nor omit any details. As Eva spoke, she thought she caught David Miller turning away in disdain, but the blond man calmly watched her take the oath. Eva could feel the looks coming from her left. From the defendants’ tables. Some of the men and their attorneys regarded her with favor. Because she was a healthy young woman with bright blond hair. Because she looked decent and respectable in her high-collared, dark blue suit and flat shoes.

  “. . . so help me God,” Eva finished. The chief judge gave her a tight nod. The two other interpreters were then sworn in. Eva’s nerves quieted some, and her gaze fell upon the large map behind the bench. From this distance, she could make out the inscriptions. Block 11. Main Camp. Crematorium. Gas Chamber. “Arbeit macht frei” was printed at the bottom. One of the other interpreters smelled strongly of alcohol. Probably the Czech. O Lord, preserve my judgments, Eva thought sardonically. Her own breath was undoubtedly stale and sour, because she had hardly managed breakfast this morning. This morning—it seemed so long ago. Yet only two hours had passed. At seven thirty, Eva sat at the kitchen table with Annegret and Stefan and nervously stirred her coffee, the spoon clinking inside the cup. Their mother came up from the cellar with a jar of preserves labeled “Blackberry ’63.” She handed the screw-top jar to Annegret, who opened it effortlessly, without so much as glancing up from her newspaper. A hiss escaped from under the lid, and for several minutes Stefan tried to mimic the sound. “Pfiiiifffffff” was the closest approximation. Edith scraped off the layer of greenish-white mold into the trash. She joined her children at the table and spread jam on a piece of bread for Stefan. Then they all recalled how late last summer, Edith had ridden her bicycle up the local mountain, two tin pails hung from either side of the handlebars, with another large bucket secured to the rear rack. On the mountain, Edith filled the three pails with jet-black, sun-ripened berries. The sisters were in the living room, watching the show On Sundays, It’s My Treat when their mother returned from her outing, and they jumped up in horror as she entered. “Mummy! What happened? Did you have an accident?!” Eva ran to the phone to call the doctor, while Annegret tried to take Edith’s pulse. Edith didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, till she saw her face in the hallway mirror—she looked terrifying. Blackish-red berry juice was smeared over her lips and chin, and her pastel blouse was covered in dark stains. Edith had snacked as she picked, and the sticky juice ran down her chin. Patting her face with her handkerchief only worsened things. It looked like she’d fallen on her face and was bleeding heavily from the mouth. All three women had broken into laughter of relief that summer day. But no one laughed that morning at the breakfast table. A dark gray cardboard folder lay beside Eva’s plate like a poisoned letter. It contained evidence the witness Jan Kral had provided to the prosecution’s investigator two years earlier, which Eva would translate today in court. Eva had read through the documents twice the previous evening. If everything Herr Kral claimed to have experienced and seen was true, it was a miracle he was still alive. As she took a sip of coffee, she wondered what he must look like. Bent and full of sadness. At the same time, Stefan was whining about the sandwich his mother was making him for recess.

  “I don’t like crone beef. It’s gross!”

  “Mettwurst?”

  “That’s even grosser! Ew! That makes me sick to my stomach!”

  “Well, I have to put something on it. Or do you just want butter?”

  “Yuck, butter is gross!”

  At that, Eva took her folder and lightly hit Stefan on the back of the head. “Stop being a baby!” Stefan looked at his sister in surprise, but she got up and left the room.

  “Don’t you want to take a sandwich, Eva?”

  “I can eat there, Mum, there’s a cafeteria.”

  Eva pulled on her wool coat in the hall. She looked at herself in the mirror. She was pale, her face almost white, and her knees felt like pudding, her stomach as though some furry creature were carving it out from the inside. As she listened to the quiet emanating from the kitchen, the silence of her mother and sister, she admitted to herself that what she’d felt creeping up inside her for days now was fear. She tried to puzzle out what it was she feared most: the fact that she would be speaking in front of all those people, or was it the responsibility she had to find the correct translation? Was it fear of not understanding the witnesses properly? Or, indeed, of understanding them exactly? Eva placed the folder in her leather briefcase, which she had given herself as a gift for earning her certification three years earlier. She put on her hat, called “Auf Wiedersehen!” toward the kitchen
, but only received a response from Stefan.

  “See you later, alligator!”

  It was one of those days that has no weather, no sunrise and no sunset, a day that remains utterly gray, that turns neither warm nor cold. The snow was no more than a memory now. Eva walked all the way to the municipal building. With every step, her courage waned, seeping away like snowmelt in the gutter, and by the time she reached her destination it had vanished almost entirely. But the moment she entered the packed foyer and took in the countless reporters and two men with heavy cameras, recognized several defendants shaking hands, noticed policemen saluting the white-haired main defendant—the moment she witnessed the sense of self-evidence these men exuded and heard their strident voices, and then spotted individuals or small groups of tense, quiet, and knowing women and men standing round, Eva knew she was in the right place.