Winter of the World (110 page)

By the time they finished it was the middle of the night. There was no more they could do until Dobberke showed up in the morning.

Carla lay on the floor next to Rebecca Rosen. There was nowhere else to sleep.

After a while Rebecca began to cry quietly.

Carla was not sure what to do. She wanted to give comfort, but no words came. What did you say to a child who had just seen both her parents killed? The muffled weeping continued. In the end
Carla rolled over and put her arms around Rebecca.

She knew immediately that she had done the right thing. Rebecca cuddled up to her, head on her breast. Carla patted her back as if she were a baby. Slowly the sobs eased and eventually Rebecca
fell asleep.

Carla did not sleep. She spent the night making imaginary speeches to the camp commandant. Sometimes she appealed to his better nature, sometimes she threatened him with Allied justice,
sometimes she argued from his own self-interest.

She tried not to think about the process of being shot. Erik had explained to her how the Nazis executed people twelve at a time in Russia. She supposed they would have an efficient system here
too. It was hard to imagine. Perhaps that was just as well.

She could probably escape shooting if she left the camp right now, or first thing in the morning. She was not an inmate, nor a Jew, and her papers were perfectly in order. She could go out the
way she came in, dressed in her nurse’s uniform. But that would mean abandoning both Hannelore and Rebecca. She could not bring herself to do that, no matter how badly she longed to get out
of here.

The fighting in the streets outside continued until the small hours, then there was a short pause. It began again at dawn. Now it was close enough for her to hear machine-gun fire as well as
artillery.

Early in the morning the guards brought an urn of watery soup and a sack of bread, all discarded parts of stale loaves. Carla drank the soup and ate the bread and then, reluctantly, used the
toilet, which was unspeakably dirty.

With Hannelore, Gisela and Hilde she went up to the ground floor to wait for Dobberke. The shelling had resumed, and they were in danger every second, but they wanted to confront him the moment
he arrived.

He did not appear at his usual hour. He was normally punctual, Hilde said. Perhaps he had been delayed by the fighting in the streets. He might have been killed, of course. Carla hoped not. His
second-in-command, Sergeant Ehrenstein, was too stupid to argue with.

When Dobberke was an hour late, Carla began to lose hope.

After another hour, he arrived.

‘What’s this?’ he said when he saw the four women waiting in the hall. ‘A mothers’ meeting?’

Hannelore replied: ‘All the prisoners have signed a declaration saying you saved their lives. It may save
your
life, if you accept our terms.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said.

Carla spoke up. ‘According to the BBC, the United Nations has a list of the names of Nazi officers who have taken part in mass murders. In a week’s time you could be on trial.
Wouldn’t you like to have a signed declaration that you spared people?’

‘Listening to the BBC is a crime,’ he said.

‘Though not as serious as murder.’

Hilde had a file folder in her hand. She said: ‘I have typed release orders for all the prisoners here. If you sign them, you can have the declaration.’

‘I could just take it from you.’

‘No one will believe in your innocence if we’re all dead.’

Dobberke was angered by the situation he found himself in, but not confident enough just to walk away. ‘I could shoot the four of you for insolence,’ he said.

Carla spoke impatiently. ‘This is what defeat is like,’ she said. ‘Get used to it.’

His face darkened with anger, and she realized she had gone too far. She wished she could take back her words. She stared at Dobberke’s furious expression, trying not to let her fear
show.

At that moment a shell landed outside the building. The doors rattled and a window smashed. They all ducked instinctively, but no one was hurt.

When they straightened up, Dobberke’s face had changed. Rage was replaced by something like disgusted resignation. Carla’s heartbeat quickened. Had he given up?

Sergeant Ehrenstein ran in. ‘No one hurt, sir,’ he reported.

‘Very good, Sergeant.’

Ehrenstein was about to go out again when Dobberke called him back. ‘This camp is now closed,’ Dobberke said.

Carla held her breath.

‘Closed, sir?’ There was aggression as well as surprise in the sergeant’s voice.

‘New orders. Tell the men to go . . .’ Dobberke hesitated. ‘Tell them to report to the railway bunker at Freidrich Strasse Station.’

Carla knew Dobberke was making this up, and Ehrenstein seemed to suspect it too. ‘When, sir?’

‘Immediately.’

‘Immediately.’ Ehrenstein paused, as if the word ‘immediately’ required further elucidation.

Dobberke stared him out.

‘Very good, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘I’ll tell the men.’ He went out.

Carla felt a surge of triumph, but told herself she was not yet free.

Dobberke said to Hilde: ‘Show me the declaration.’

Hilde opened her folder. There were a dozen sheets, all with the same wording typed at the top, the rest of the space covered with signatures. She handed them over.

Dobberke folded the papers and stuffed them in his pocket.

Hilde placed the release orders in front of him. ‘Sign these, please.’

‘You don’t need release orders,’ Dobberke said. ‘And I don’t have time to sign my name hundreds of times.’ He stood up.

Carla said: ‘The police are on the streets. They’re hanging people from the lamp posts. We need papers.’

He patted his pocket. ‘They’ll hang me if they find this declaration.’ He went to the door.

Gisela cried: ‘Take me with you, Walter!’

He turned to her. ‘Take you?’ he said. ‘What would my wife say?’ He went out and slammed the door.

Gisela burst into tears.

Carla went to the door, opened it, and watched Dobberke stride away. There were no other Gestapo men in sight: they had already obeyed his orders and abandoned the camp.

The commandant reached the street and broke into a run.

He left the gate open.

Hannelore was standing beside Carla, looking out with incredulity.

‘We’re free, I think,’ said Carla.

‘We must tell the others.’

Hilde said: ‘I’ll tell them.’ She went down the basement stairs.

Carla and Hannelore walked fearfully along the path that led from the laboratory entrance to the open gate. There they hesitated and looked at one another.

Hannelore said: ‘We’re frightened of freedom.’

Behind them a girlish voice said: ‘Carla, don’t go without me!’ It was Rebecca, running down the path, her breasts bouncing under a grubby blouse.

Carla sighed. I’ve acquired a child, she thought. I don’t feel ready to be a mother. But what can I do?

‘Come on, then,’ she said. ‘But be ready to run.’ She realized she did not need to worry about Rebecca’s agility: the girl could undoubtedly run faster than either
Carla or Hannelore.

They crossed the hospital garden to the main gate. There they paused and looked up and down Iranische Strasse. It seemed quiet. They crossed the road and ran to the corner. As Carla looked along
Schul Strasse she heard a burst of machine-gun fire and saw that farther up the street there was a firefight. She saw German troops retreating towards her and Red Army soldiers coming after
them.

She looked around. There was nowhere to hide except behind trees, and that was hardly any protection at all.

A shell landed in the middle of the road fifty yards away and exploded. Carla felt the blast, but she was not hurt.

Without conferring, all three women ran back inside the hospital grounds.

They returned to the laboratory building. Some of the other prisoners were standing just inside the barbed wire, as if not quite daring to come out.

Carla said to them: ‘The basement stinks, but right now it’s the safest place.’ She went inside the building and down the stairs, and most of the others followed.

She wondered how long she would have to stay here. The German army must give up, but when? Somehow she could not imagine Hitler agreeing to surrender under any circumstances. The man’s
whole life had been based on arrogantly shouting that he was the boss. How could such a man admit that he had been wrong, stupid and wicked? That he had murdered millions and caused his country to
be bombed to ruins? That he would go down in history as the most evil man who had ever lived? He could not. He would go mad, or die of shame, or put a pistol in his mouth and pull the trigger.

But how long would it take? Another day? Another week? Longer?

There was a shout from upstairs. ‘They’re here! The Russians are here!’

Then Carla heard heavy boots clattering down the steps. Where had the Russians got such good boots? From the Americans?

Then they were in the room, four, six, eight, nine men with dirty faces, carrying submachine guns with drum magazines, ready to kill as quick as look at you. They seemed to take up a lot of
room. People shrank away from them, even though they were the liberators.

The soldiers took in their surroundings. They saw that they were in no danger from the emaciated prisoners, mainly female. They lowered their guns. Some moved into the adjoining rooms.

A tall soldier pulled up his left sleeve. He was wearing six or seven wristwatches. He shouted something in Russian, pointing at the watches with the stock of his gun. Carla thought she knew
what he was saying, but she could hardly believe it. The man then grabbed an elderly woman, took her hand, and pointed to her wedding ring.

Hannelore said: ‘Are they going to rob us of what little the Nazis didn’t steal?’

They were. The tall soldier looked frustrated and tried to pull off the woman’s ring. When she realized what he wanted, she took it off herself and gave it to him.

The Russian took it, nodded, then pointed all around the room.

Hannelore stepped forward. ‘These people are prisoners!’ she said in German. ‘Jews, and families of Jews, persecuted by the Nazis!’

Whether he understood her or not, he took no notice, but just pointed insistently at the watches on his arm.

Those few who had any valuables that had not been stolen or traded for food handed them over.

Liberation by the Red Army was not going to be the happy event many people had been looking forward to.

But there was worse to come.

The tall soldier pointed at Rebecca.

She cringed away from him and tried to hide behind Carla.

A second man, small with fair hair, grabbed Rebecca and pulled her away. Rebecca screamed, and the small man grinned as if he liked the sound.

Carla had a dreadful feeling she knew what was going to happen next.

The short man held Rebecca firmly while the tall man squeezed her breasts roughly, then said something that made them both laugh.

There were cries of protest from the people all around.

The tall man levelled his gun. Carla was terrified he would fire. He would kill and wound dozens of people if he pulled the trigger of a submachine gun in a crowded room.

Everyone else realized the danger, and they went quiet.

The two soldiers backed towards the door, taking Rebecca with them. She yelled and struggled, but she could not break the small soldier’s grip.

When they reached the door, Carla stepped forward and cried: ‘Wait!’

Something in her voice made them stop.

‘She’s too young,’ Carla said. ‘Only thirteen!’ She did not know whether they understood her. She held up two hands, showing ten fingers, then one hand showing
three. ‘Thirteen!’

The tall soldier seemed to understand her. He grinned and said in German: ‘
Frau ist frau.
’ A woman is a woman.

Carla found herself saying: ‘You need a real woman.’ She walked slowly forward. ‘Take me, instead.’ She tried to smile seductively. ‘I’m not a child. I know
what to do.’ She came close, close enough to smell the rank odour of a man who had not bathed for months. Trying to conceal her distaste, she lowered her voice and said: ‘I understand
what a man wants.’ She touched her own breast suggestively. ‘Forget the child.’

The tall soldier looked again at Rebecca. Her eyes were red with weeping and her nose was running, which helpfully made her look more like a child, less like a woman.

He looked back at Carla.

She said: ‘There’s a bed upstairs. Shall I show you where?’

Again she was not sure he understood the words, but she took him by the hand and he followed her up the steps to the ground floor.

The fair one let go of Rebecca and came after.

Now that she had succeeded, Carla regretted her bravado. She wanted to break away from the Russians and run. But they would probably shoot her down then go back to Rebecca. Carla thought of the
devastated child who had lost both parents yesterday. To be raped the next day would surely destroy her spirit for ever. Carla had to save her.

I will not be smashed by this, Carla thought. I can live through it. I will be myself again afterwards.

She led them to the electrocardiogram room. She felt cold, as if her heart were freezing and her thoughts becoming sluggish. Next to the bed was a can of the grease used by the doctors to
improve the conductivity of the terminals. She pulled off her underpants, then took a large dob of grease and pushed it into her vagina. That might save her from bleeding.

She had to keep her act up. She turned back to the two soldiers. To her horror, three more followed them into the room. She tried to smile, but she could not.

She lay on her back and parted her legs.

The tall one knelt between her knees. He ripped open her uniform blouse to expose her breasts. She could see that he was manipulating himself, making his penis erect. He lay on top and entered
her. She told herself this had no connection with what she and Werner had done together.

She turned her head to the side, but the soldier grasped her chin and turned her face back, making her look at him as he thrust inside her. She closed her eyes. She felt him kissing her, trying
to force his tongue into her mouth. His breath smelled like rotting meat. When she clamped her mouth shut, he punched her face. She cried out and opened her bruised lips to him. She tried to think
how much worse this would have been for a thirteen-year-old virgin.