With a sharp pang of loneliness, Martha continued on to Tiergartenstrasse 27a. She would miss Mildred terribly, but she felt none of the bitter unhappiness of her parting from Boris, whom she suspected she would never see again. Surely she and Mildred would reunite someday back in America, perhaps not soon, but eventually.
Until then, they would share letters and memories.
On December 14, Martha took a train to Hamburg, where she boarded the SSManhattanbound for New York. As the ship sailed slowly up the Elbe, Martha stood at the railing on an upper deck and took in her last views of Germany, marveling at how beautiful it became at a distance, as the swastika flags diminished and became indistinct, blending into the background of quaint villages and rich farmland and deep forests until she could almost convince herself that they were not there at all.
Chapter Forty
January–June 1938
Mildred
When Greta and Adam welcomed their son into the world in early January, Mildred and Arvid were among the first to meet him. Little Ule Kuckhoff had his father’s broad face and his mother’s dark, wavy hair and dark eyes, solemn and pensive, as if he knew that courage and sacrifice would be required of him soon.
Greta wrapped him in the soft blue-and-white-striped blanket Mildred had knit for him and placed him in Mildred’s arms. “This is your Tante Mildred,” she said softly, “and though you’ve only just met, she already loves you.”
“It’s true, dear one,” said Mildred softly. She eased herself into Greta’s chair and gently rocked the tiny newborn, her joy for her friends tempered by her incessant yearning for a child of her own. She was already an aunt several times over, but although she found much consolation in the role, it could not fulfill her heart’s desire.
Greta’s mother had come to help the new parents through the first few weeks, but Greta had endured a difficult labor and when her recovery came slowly, her mother’s visit stretched into a month and then two. Mildred visited as often as she could to help, and once, when they were alone, Greta confessed her frustration that her resistance work had come to an abrupt halt. “Adam and his comrades toil over their pamphlets and posters, and what do I do?” she fretted. “Nothing. I lie around the flat doing nothing while people suffer.”
“You’re regaining your strength and caring for your baby,” Mildred protested. “What could be more important?”
“Bringing down the Reich,” Greta retorted, but quietly so her mother would not overhear. “Speaking the truth. Refuting their lies. I have to make a better world for Ule.”
Mildred assured her that she would be able to resume her work soon, but Greta’s frustration mirrored her own. Ambassador Dodd, her most important American contact, had been recalled to the United States, and no one else had emerged as someone she could trust with the intelligence Arvid gathered from the Economics Ministry. Worse yet, acquaintances among the embassy staff had told her that Mr. Dodd’s successor, a career diplomat named Hugh Wilson, had resolved to take a more cordial approach to the Nazi regime. Improved relations between their two countries could only benefit American businesses, he had declared in more than one meeting, and after one junior official had presented reports of Gestapo abuses, Wilson rejected his offer to draft a stern condemnation. “We do not love or hate, we do not judge or condemn,” he had admonished the younger man. “We observe, we reflect, and we report.”
Even as Mildred’s contacts at the American embassy were diminishing in number, Arvid was losing his among the Soviet delegation. Stalin, apparently determined to rid the Soviet Union of every conceivable threat, had ordered sweeping, violent purges of his political enemies. Rumors abounded that within the past few years, nearly five million Soviet intellectuals, military officers, Communist party officials, police chiefs, and others had been arrested. Of these, nearly a million had been executed, and one could only assume that countless others had suffered and died in prison camps, with more deaths every day.
The sheer number of estimated dead was almost too vast to comprehend, but Mildred’s amorphous dread came into sharp focus when, without warning, many Soviet diplomats and attachés stationed in Berlin were ordered to return to Moscow. Among those recalled was Sergei Bessonov, a prominent economist assigned to the Russian trade mission who had helped Arvid set up ARPLAN. In the years since, he and Arvid had become close, and Arvid and Mildred had frequently invited him to their home for supper. Bessonov had left Berlin so suddenly that Arvid had no chance to offer help or say goodbye.
They heard nothing more of Bessonov until early March, when the newspapers listed him as a defendant in the Trial of the Twenty-One. Prosecutors claimed that he belonged to a “Bloc of Rightists and Trotskyites” who had conspired to assassinate Lenin and Stalin, to commit espionage, and to collude with the governments of Germany and Japan in order to overthrow the Soviet Union. Arvid was deeply upset by the news. Bessonov was a good friend, and Arvid knew he was already lost. No defendant was ever acquitted in Stalin’s show trials.
Two days after Bessonov’s trial began, Mildred was reading theBerliner Tageblattover breakfast when a familiar name leapt out at her from a column on international diplomacy. “Boris Vinogradov has been recalled to Moscow,” she said, dismayed. “He’s been accused of collaborating with the Nazis.”
“Poor fellow.” Arvid sighed, removed his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “He put a target on his own back with that foolhardy visit to Martha in December.”
Mildred nodded soberly, searching the column for more details, finding none. The last time she had seen Boris’s name in the German papers had been shortly before Christmas, when the German press reported on that same ill-fated unauthorized trip. While Boris had been away from his post, the NKVD had raided the Warsaw embassy and had found incriminating documents in his office, or so they claimed. “I wonder why the Soviets waited so long to recall him.”
“Perhaps all their jail cells were full. Perhaps he was still useful to them for a while. I hope he disobeyed the order and fled. He must know that if he returns to Moscow, he would be signing his own death warrant.”
From what Mildred knew of Boris, he did not fear his superiors and would have readily obeyed their summons. “Martha always said that he was unshakably loyal to the Soviet Union,” she mused aloud. “I can’t imagine he betrayed their secrets to the Nazis.”
“If he believes his innocence will protect him, I’m afraid his trust is misplaced.” Arvid’s voice turned bitter. “My friend Bessonov was loyal, for all the good that does him now.”
“I wonder if Martha knows.” With a sudden pang, Mildred realized that it was her responsibility as Martha’s friend to break the bad news to her before the American press did. “I’ll write and tell her.”
“There’s no need. Martha has probably forgotten him by now.”
“Nonsense,” Mildred protested. “I think she truly loves him. She wanted to marry him.”
“I’m sure she did at the time, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already found someone new.”
“Oh, Arvid, that’s unkind.”
“I’m sorry,Liebling. I’m not feeling particularly kind today.” He rose from the table and kissed her on the forehead. “Forgive me.”
“Of course,” she said, watching as he headed down the hallway to their bedroom. She tidied the kitchen as he got ready for work and kissed him tenderly when they parted at the door. She knew he was not as cold or unfeeling as his words suggested. It was his frustration coming out, his anger at his powerlessness to help his doomed friend.
Alone in the flat, with only the distant sounds of traffic passing outside and other tenants moving about the building to keep her company, Mildred poured herself a second cup of coffee and settled down with a notepad, a pen, and theNew York Times. The paper was several days out of date, but it was the most recent edition she had and it was essential for her work. Earlier that year, the Berlin publisher Rütten & Loening had hired her as a reader and consultant, advising them on American novels they might wish to acquire for translation. This often involved scanning American newspapers for book reviews and announcements of newly released works, copies of which publishers eagerly sent her, all for the price of a stamp and an official request on Rütten & Loening stationery. Her astute recommendations must have impressed her employers, for they soon began offering her translation projects as well, with a commensurate increase in pay. She missed teaching, but her new job was intellectually stimulating, it filled her hours, and it supplemented their household income, and for that she was grateful.
