Ada. Frau Schäfer never offered up her first name, and neither did he when he barely introduced me yesterday morning. A first name sounds too informal for him.
“She needs a doctor,” Ada says, her voice controlled, but also trembling.
“You know, your desperation and ignorance are going to cost us our daughter’s life. And to be frank, I’m sick and tired of having the same conversation with you night after night,” heseethes. He steps in toward the kitchen—toward Ada. “As I’ve said before, Ada, if word gets out that Flora is unfit and unusual, our so-called perfect Aryan child will be seen as a threat to the ‘racial hygiene’ of the nation. Is that what you want?”
“Don’t call her unfit or unusual,” Ada interrupts, her words cunning, but desperate. “Flora’s delay and nerve pain might be treatable, but how could we ever know?”
“And if it’s not? If it’s proven to be a type of defective heredity, then what? What will that mean for you both?” he grunts. “How would that make me look? Do you think anything through, at all? Goddammit, Ada!”
“What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and watch our baby suffer in pain?” Ada cries out.
Officer Schäfer releases a laugh with a cutting edge to it. “You’re supposed to be a better mother. An ideal mother. One who knows how to console her child.”
“We—we—what about if we can find a non-German doctor?” she suggests, ignoring his last insult, her staggering.
“And where do you think you’re going to find one of those right now? They’ve all been sent out to Hamburg to tend to the victims of the British and American firebomb attacks. How selfish can you honestly be right now?”
“Selfish?” Ada repeats. “You told me to keep her quiet so people don’t ask questions, and left me with no options. It must be easy for someone like you to condone poisoning a baby while you flood your veins with those God awful ‘storm pills’ and nightly bottles of liquor just so you can block out the pain of being a monster.” Ada’s words bleed with resentment, leaving me in shock. “So tell me, Heinrich, what exactly do you want from me?”
He jerks his back, shocked by her insult. “Did you ever consider that I’m taking those Pervitin pills just to stay in amarriage with you?” He points his finger at her. “You know what I want, Ada? A decent wife. Wouldn’t that be grand? Huh?”
Ada steps out from behind the dividing wall between the kitchen and family room. She’s still in her nightgown, her gold curls now a rat’s nest. With shaking hands, she reaches out for her husband’s chest. “I’m sorry, darling. It’s the pregnancy moods. They come and go, and—I’ll do better. I will. You’ll see,” she says, her response coming as if she’s said it many times before.
He shakes his head and shoves her hand away. “When will I see? How long do I have to wait, Ada? Just prove it already, won’t you?”
“Papa,” Isla cries out from the kitchen. She must have been hiding behind her mother. “Don’t hurt Mama again! You could hurt the baby!”
Officer Schäfer lunges into the kitchen and I take in an unruly breath, holding it—please don’t touch that little girl…“I wouldn’t lay a hand on our baby, Isla. Your mother, on the hand…Well, I wouldn’t have to keep teaching her a lesson if she’d just learn to obey.” His words whip and crack through the air. “Let this be a lesson to both of you girls.”
“Papa, no,” Marlene utters between hysterical sniffles.
“Never argue with the man of the house,” he hisses. “Never!”
The word echoes through the hall and into my bones.
I spin back toward the attic, each step deliberate, toes skimming the wood to avoid the creaking boards. Almost there. Just a few more steps…
“What do you think you’re doing?” A voice I don’t recognize, deep and rusty, his German words spoken with a Polish accent.
I freeze, clutching the banister as the shadow of a figure rises behind me, then slowly turn to face him. A kapo, his armband stitched with a star beneath his branded title. I’ve seen him before, hovering over the prisoners as if he’s proud to do so.
“I work here,” I say, trying to sound composed, though my voice wavers. My skin prickles.
“You’re not due to report downstairs for another hour. You were spying on the officer and his wife, weren’t you?” His accusation seeps through his gritted jaw. “I’m due to inspect the construction, but instead, I find you moseying around an opportune time.”
“I wasn’t—” I swallow hard and warn myself not to repeat his words. If someone in this house didn’t hear him at first, they could hear me.
“Then what? What is it you were doing?”
I want to tell him I don’t owe him an answer or explanation, and I could point out that he’s the one in a striped uniform. But I’m not a fool. Authority is the result of loyalty…a secret teller. A traitor.
“I was using the washroom.”
“Liar!” he grunts, pointing his finger at me. “You aren’t permitted to use the washroom on this floor. You think you’re special? Like the others before you? You think because you’re not wearing stripes, you can do as you please?” His voice strains with each word as if he’s losing his steam. This isn’t discipline, it’s resentment.
“No. That isn’t the case,” I say, complicit to his unnecessary rage.
“Sure,” he quips. “Come.” The one word snaps between us. “We’ll see what the officer has to say about your little spying habit.” He takes two steps up the stairs.
