The Undertaking (3 page)

5

They took the train to the Darmstadt house hidden from the road by a dense laurel hedge. His mother rushed at him, hugging him and chiding him for the surprise. She straightened her skirt and hair when she caught sight of Katharina.

‘Excuse me, I’m Peter’s mother. I had no idea that he was home.’

‘Mother, this is my wife, Katharina Spinell.’

Mrs Faber snorted.

‘Is this a joke, Peter?’

‘No.’

‘You’d better come in. I’ll make some coffee. Your father will be home soon.’

‘Good.’

‘We’ll use the living room.’

She went before them, hurrying to open the curtains.

‘It’s a beautiful room,’ said Katharina.

‘Thank you.’

‘My mother keeps the curtains drawn to protect the furniture from the sun.’

‘And the books, Peter,’ said his mother.

‘It works,’ said Katharina. ‘Everything’s perfect.’

‘Like a museum,’ said Faber.

‘You’re being rude,’ said his mother.

‘Don’t think of doing this in our house, Katharina. I want the sun in every room.’

Faber looked around. Nothing had changed. It never did. He led Katharina to the sofa, sat her down, kissed her, and followed his mother into the kitchen.

‘You should have told us, Peter. Warned us.’

‘It was all very sudden, Mother.’

She stood on the tips of her toes to take down the fine china.

‘But who is she? How do you know her?’

‘I met her through a marriage bureau.’

‘What? Have you gone mad, Peter?’

‘It meant I got leave. To come home. To be here.’

‘And you married for that? A complete stranger?’

‘I really like her.’

‘Oh, thank God. Your father’s home.’

His father put his satchel on the counter as he always did,
and hugged his son. Mrs Faber talked quietly to her husband.

‘It’s a stunt, Peter,’ he said. ‘A Nazi breeding stunt.’

‘It’s a deal, Father. Nothing more. And it’s worked out. You’ll really like her.’

Mr Faber picked up the tray and carried it into the living room, followed by Mrs Faber holding the coffee pot and their son carrying a plate of still-warm shortbread. Katharina stood as they walked in, saluted, and reached out her hand. His parents shook it, but sat down before their guest.

‘Katharina lives in Berlin,’ he said. ‘I think that I’ll move there after the war.’

Mr Faber’s two large, soft hands rose to his face, hovered momentarily in front of his eyes, but moved on through his hair.

‘Your job is here, Peter. Your life. Your career. What would you do in Berlin?’

‘Katharina’s father will help find me a job. He has contacts. Good political ones.’

‘You don’t need the help of politicians to be a good teacher, Peter,’ said Mr Faber.

‘I might not teach any more. Not conventionally, anyway.’

Mr Faber’s derisive laugh startled even his wife.

‘All teaching is conventional, Peter. That’s how it works.’

‘It’ll be different from classroom teaching. I’ll be teaching the nation.’

‘About what?’

‘I don’t know. Germany. Its future.’

His father sat back into his chair, silent as he drank his coffee.

‘Excuse me, young lady – I’m sorry I don’t even know your name,’ said Mr Faber.

‘Katharina. Katharina Spinell.’

‘Miss Spinell, my son—’

‘Mrs Faber, Father. Mrs Faber.’

‘Katharina. My son appears to have lost his way. It can happen. War can challenge the mind as vigorously as it can the body.’

‘I don’t think that applies here, Father.’

‘Since he was a child, Peter has wanted to be a teacher, to work in the same school as his father and grandfather.’

‘That has all changed now,’ said Peter, kissing his wife’s hand.

‘I don’t see why. Did something happen, Peter?’

‘I’m married, Father. I have a different life ahead.’

‘I married, Peter, and it changed nothing.’

‘My wife is very beautiful.’

‘And your mother wasn’t?’

The train back was almost empty, so she stretched across the seat and placed her head on his lap. He draped his coat over her and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. When they reached Berlin, he nuzzled at her ear, whispering her awake.

Her mother had kept dinner for them, potato and vegetable soup, which they ate in the kitchen until her father came home.

‘Where’s your mother?’

‘Bed.’

‘Fine. You may go, too, Katharina. I need your husband tonight.’

‘What for?’ said Katharina.

‘Dr Weinart wants him.’

Faber jumped into the back of a truck filled with men in brown uniform. They passed a uniform to him. It was too short, but he
pulled it on anyway and sat as silently as the other men. The truck stopped at the top of a wide tree-lined street and the men got out, the doctor emerging from the front cab. He shook Faber’s hand.

‘Thank you for joining us, Mr Faber.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You take that house over there. Number seventy-one.’

‘What do I do with it?’

‘Just get in.’

Faber went, knocked at the door and pushed the doorbell. He received no reply, and returned to Dr Weinart.

‘There’s nobody home.’

‘They’re in there, Faber.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

He lifted the brass knocker and slammed it heavily against the door. He shouted through the keyhole, but the house inside remained still.

‘Maybe they’ve gone out, Dr Weinart.’

‘There’s nowhere for them to go, Faber.’

‘We could come back later.’

The doctor snorted.

‘Get in there, Faber.’

‘How?’

‘Jesus Christ, you’re a soldier, aren’t you?’

‘Not this kind of soldier.’

‘Move, or I’ll ship you out with those fucking Jews.’

The doctor blew his whistle. Six men carrying a telegraph pole charged the width of the street and battered at the door until it splintered, cracked and finally imploded. Faber stepped over the debris and hurried up the stairs after the doctor and his father-in-law.

‘Do as I do, Faber,’ said Mr Spinell. ‘And make sure the doctor sees you doing it.’

They found them, two old men, three women and four children behind a false wall under the stairs. Faber put his gun to their backs and marched them into a truck parked under darkened street lamps.

The following nights, he smashed soup tureens and china clocks, irritated that he had to leave Katharina to drag snivelling children from attics and cellars. He shouted and screamed at them, struck their legs and backs with the butt of his gun, slapped them across the face when they took too long moving down the stairs, more comfortable with howls of hatred than pleas for mercy.

Katharina was always waiting for him afterwards, always warm. On the seventh day, as the sun rose, he took a wide band of wedding gold from an old woman. Later he slipped it on his wife’s finger.

‘I need you, Katharina.’

They built a routine for themselves, the young married couple; they spent mornings in bed, and afternoons in the park, always on the same bench overlooking the lake.

‘I think that we should have four children,’ he said.

‘Two boys and two girls.’

‘But no traditional names. Or family names. We’re starting everything again, Katharina. Doing it our way.’

He spent nights with Dr Weinart, moving across Berlin, while she stayed home, humming, singing, twisting the wedding band on her finger.

6

He folded her brother’s pyjamas and tucked them under the pillow, his back to Katharina as she pinned up her hair.

‘Do you promise me you’ll come back?’ she said.

‘Of course I will.’

‘How can I be sure?’

He pulled on his socks and boots, and went to her.

‘You stink,’ she said.

‘Your mother likes disinfectant.’

‘Leaving as you arrived.’

He kissed her.

‘I’ll be back, Katharina. Just wait for me.’

‘I’ll be here. In this room. This bed.’

They went to the kitchen and sat down to breakfast with her parents.

‘He’ll be back sooner than you think, Katharina,’ said her father. ‘There’s not long left in this.’

Mrs Spinell gave him a package of brown paper and white string.

‘It should keep you going for a bit.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Give some to Johannes if you see him.’

‘I will, Mrs Spinell. I’ll look out for him.’

The train station teemed with men in uniform. Katharina pressed against her husband.

‘You’re shivering, Peter.’

‘I hate going back there, Katharina. The noise. The smells. I hate it all.’

‘It won’t be for long, my love.’

She buried herself into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

‘You’ll be all right, Peter.’

The younger men, the new recruits in fresh uniforms, marched around the station, singing.

‘Bloody fools,’ said Faber.

‘They’re excited, Peter.’

‘About what? Dying.’

‘It’s not that bad.’

‘You’re not there.’

‘You’re doing very well. It’ll soon be over. One last push.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Katharina.’

She stepped away from him and turned to the crowd, to the men playing cards in huddles on the ground.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to go.’

He hugged her, and held her, stroking her hair, until his unit was called.

‘It’s time,’ she said.

He kissed her.

‘I will be back. You understand that, don’t you, Katharina?’

‘Yes.’

‘You understand that no matter what happens I will come back to you.’

‘I know that, my love.’

‘I need you here for me, Katharina. I need to know you’re waiting for me.’

‘I’ll be here, Peter. I promise.’

‘I’ll be back. No matter what.’

He hugged her tightly, as though trying to absorb her.

‘You should go,’ she said. ‘Get a seat.’

The train ground its wheels into the metal track, inching forward until it gathered pace and carried him out of the station, away into the morning light. The other women left, went back to their homes and children, but Katharina lingered in the dusky anonymity of the station, warding off the moment when she would return to being a daughter. She sat on a bench, silent among the men, until the cold wind whipping at her legs made it too uncomfortable to stay. She began the walk home, but stopped at a café, remaining for as long as she could, for as long as seemed decent for a woman on her own.

Her mother hurtled towards her as she opened the door.

‘Where have you been?’

‘At the station, with Peter.’

‘But his train left hours ago. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now. Hurry up, pack your things. We’re leaving.’

Mrs Spinell picked up a bundle of clothes from the floor.

‘What do you mean?’

‘We have to leave here. Pack. Quickly.’

‘Mother, stop. I have no idea what is going on.’

She dropped the clothes and put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders.

‘Katharina, it has finally happened.’

‘What has?’

‘The apartment. We have a new apartment! A huge one. With its own living room! And three double bedrooms!’

‘That’s marvellous. But I can’t go.’

‘What do you mean? You hate your bedroom, and the smallness of this place.’

‘I promised Peter that I would wait for him. Here.’

‘For God’s sake, write to him. Give him the new address. And Johannes too.’

‘But this was his home, our home. I’ll wait here, move into your room.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I’m not ridiculous. I’ll live here by myself until Peter comes back.’

‘And how will you live? Pay the rent? Anyway, somebody else will be coming here.’

‘Who?’

‘Oh God, Katharina. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.’

‘It matters to me.’

‘Stop it, Katharina. Just pack. We have to move today. It’s our big chance.’

She turned her back on her mother and walked into her parents’ bedroom. The bed had been stripped. She ran back into the hall.

‘Where are the sheets? Where did you put the sheets?’

‘In the bath. I was washing them when your father came with the news.’

Katharina raced down the hall, her coat slipping from her shoulders as she fell to her knees in front of the bath. She picked at the folds of sheet that rose above the water, at the coils of black, wiry hair floating on the surface, then plunged her arms into the bath, soaking her clothes in the traces of their time together. She lifted the sheets to her face, and rubbed them across her lips, cheeks, forehead and eyes, soaking her skin with what remained of him.

Mrs Spinell walked by the bathroom door.

‘Katharina, what are you doing?’

‘Washing the sheets.’

‘Oh, leave them. The Jews have much better sheets than those.’

Katharina dropped her hands and arms back into the water.

‘You’re soaked, Katharina. You’ll catch cold. Just leave them.’

‘I’m taking them.’

‘Do as you please. But we have to leave today. Before somebody else gets it.’

‘So you keep saying.’

She rinsed the sheets in cold, clean water, squeezed and folded them, and left them on the side of the bath. She went to find her father, who was packing Johannes’ medals and trophies.

‘So you’ve heard the news,’ he said.

‘How did it happen?’

‘Dr Weinart organized it. It’s on the other side of the city, on the second floor and very big, with lots of furniture to dust. It should keep your mother happy.’

Katharina tapped her toe against the door into her brother’s room.

‘He got away, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’ll be back. Sooner than you think.’

‘I hope so,’ she said.

‘He’s a good young man. There’ll be space in the apartment for him until we find you somewhere of your own.’

‘I’d rather stay here, to wait for him.’

‘It’s not practical, Katharina. They wouldn’t let me keep two apartments. Anyway, you’ll change your mind when you see this place.’

Katharina fell silent.

‘I’d better go and pack,’ she said.

‘Good girl.’

She closed her bedroom door and pushed against it, locking out her parents. She was twenty-two years of age. A married woman. When would they accept that and stop calling her girl? He had to come back to take her away from them, because she couldn’t bear it any longer. Being their daughter. The good girl.

She packed her things quickly, easily, into a small suitcase, covering everything with the wet, dripping sheets taken from the side of the bath. She placed the case by the hall door and returned to her mother in the kitchen.

‘What are we taking from here?’ asked Katharina. ‘Plates? Cutlery? Saucepans?’

‘Only saucepans. The rest they leave behind. They are allowed only one suitcase. What remains is for us.’

‘Where have they gone?’

‘I don’t know. East, I think. Out, anyway. Here, take this.’

She handed over Johannes’ favourite mug, dark brown with a heavily moustached man etched into its side.

‘He would never forgive us if we left it behind. And take his ashtray too.’

The hall filled quickly with boxes and suitcases.

‘I think we’re ready,’ said Mrs Spinell. ‘Mr Ewald is lending us his cart.’

‘Will you miss it, Mother?’

‘No. Not a bit.’

They stacked the grocer’s cart and pushed it until the streets grew quieter and wider.

‘The trees are beautiful,’ said Katharina. ‘They’re huge.’

Mr Spinell stopped the cart behind a car, in front of two enormous and elaborately carved wooden doors.

‘Is this it?’ said Mrs Spinell. ‘It can’t be.’

‘It is, my love.’

They stepped into a large hall, its ceiling heavy with white sculpted plaster. Mr Spinell rubbed his shoes against the back of his legs and stepped onto the red patterned carpet covering the staircase. The women followed. Katharina squealed at its softness; her mother bent down to touch the rails and rods.

‘Solid brass, Günther.’

They climbed, three abreast, to the second floor, uncertain whether to turn left or right.

‘The key is in the door,’ said Mr Spinell.

‘I can see it,’ said Katharina. ‘We’re on the right.’

She turned the key and they entered a square hallway with a gilt-edged mirror and a white marble bust. Two glass doors led to the living room with polished wooden floors, a grand piano, sofas, rugs, paintings and alcoves lined with leather-bound books.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Katharina.

‘Finally,’ said Mrs Spinell. ‘A proper home.’

The two women threw off their shoes and rushed around the apartment, laughing as they opened doors onto enormous bedrooms and balconies. The kitchen drawers were stacked with equipment for slicing and beating, and cupboards filled with starched linen sheets, tablecloths, napkins, and huge soft towels, still perfectly white.

‘They had everything,’ said Katharina.

‘While we had nothing,’ said Mrs Spinell.

They converged again on the living room, telling Mr Spinell about the bathtub big enough for two, but he was focused on the alcoves, cursing loudly and throwing books onto the floor.

‘Rubbish, rubbish. These will have to go before we can sleep a night in this house.’

Katharina chose the bedroom furthest from the kitchen, with a balcony overlooking the small but richly planted courtyard. She opened the large mahogany wardrobe and tried on the silk dresses and linen skirts, but none would fit. The shoes were also too small, so she settled for some cardigans, shawls and a long fur coat with matching hat that she wore into the living room.

‘Any jewellery?’ asked Mr Spinell.

‘No,’ said Katharina. ‘Not that I can see.’

‘Bloody thieves, the lot of them. They swallow it, you know. To hide it from us.’

He piled his arms with books and headed for the front door. ‘Take your things off the cart. I need it,’ he said.

He dumped the books into the cart, their covers splaying as they fell.

‘Wait here. I’ll fetch the rest. Make sure nobody takes any of them. They’re corrosive. Every one of them.’

He disappeared back up the stairs, and returned with more books and the marble bust.

‘Not the statue, Günther,’ said Mrs Spinell. ‘It suits the hall.’

‘It’s Mendelssohn, Esther.’

Katharina carried her suitcase to her room and unpacked, draping the wet sheets across the balcony and hanging her dull, limp clothes alongside the fur coat. On her way to the linen cupboard, she caught sight of her mother in a red, woollen dress.

‘You look lovely, Mother.’

‘But it’s Jewish. I can’t possibly wear it.’

‘Take it. It suits you.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You deserve it.’

‘Do you think so?’

She looked at herself in the mirror again. And smiled.

‘I suppose I do. But I’ll wash it first. And disinfect it.’

When Mr Spinell returned, the three of them sat at the polished dining room table.

‘It’s our turn now,’ said Mrs Spinell. ‘Our turn at the good life.’

‘I think I’ll take piano lessons,’ said Katharina.

‘A fine idea,’ said her father. ‘It’s about time we had a musician in the family.’