The once vibrant neighbourhood of Prenzlauer Berg, which had been home to many middle-class families before the Nazi rise to power, now didn’t look so grand. Unlike the well-maintained apartments of Charlottenburg, where she lived, and the elegant villas of Grünewald where her in-laws resided, the buildings were visibly falling into neglect. Several storefronts, formerly Jewish-owned businesses, were now empty, their windows boarded up and propaganda posters showed a different sort of window display. In the few weeks she had been coming here in secret, she could see the conditions worsen with every visit.
As she followed Paul onto a narrow side street, she realised she was in the same road she had been to help Rachel and her baby with croup. Her building though was a bit further along to the one Paul had now entered. Clara gave a quick glance around and as certain as she could be that she wasn’t being followed, she entered the building.
Inside the main hallway, the smell of potato latkes frying in oil loitered in the air, together with that of damp plaster and too many people living in one space. A bare single bulb provided just enough illumination for her to ascend the stone staircase after Paul. The handrail was sticky to touch so she avoided doing so and by the time she reached the fifth floor, her legs were protesting at the exertion.
Paul was standing at the open door of the apartment, waiting for her. ‘In here,’ he said needlessly.
Clara was greeted by a woman in her forties, clearly not the pregnant woman. ‘It’s my daughter,’ said the mother not waiting for any introductions.
Clara could hear the panic and fear in the woman’s voice. She gave a reassuring smile and followed her through to a bedroom where a young woman was lying in bed.
‘This is Ruth,’ said the mother.
‘Hello, Ruth,’ said Clara. Then turning to the mother asked her for some soap and hot water to wash her hands.
Clara then carried out an examination of Ruth, all the time asking her questions and reassuring her. How long had she been bleeding? Had it stopped? Where was the towel? Had she been doing anything to exert herself. She took her blood pressure and listened to the baby’s heartbeat, then gently felt Ruth’s abdomen, making sure the baby was in the correct position and checking its size and presentation.
‘So, the bleeding has stopped now?’ asked Clara.
‘Since I’ve been in bed,’ replied Ruth.
‘Good,’ said Clara. ‘It’s likely you have placenta praevia, which means it’s lower than usual and possibly over the cervix. It’s not safe to carry out an internal examination as that can cause more problems and bleeding.’
‘What should we do?’ asked the mother.
‘Bed rest at this point,’ said Clara. ‘Strict bed rest. Keep a towel or cloths to monitor any bleeding. If I have to come back, I need to see how much blood loss there is.’
‘Is there anything we can do to help her now?’ asked the mother.
‘Iron tablets or powder,’ said Clara, reaching into her bag and taking out the packet she had obtained from the clinic. ‘Take these.’
‘But we can’t pay for them,’ said the mother.
‘I don’t want paying. Please, take them.’ She pushed the packet into the palm of the older woman.
Satisfied that Ruth was now stable, Clara fastened her cape around her and said her goodbyes, telling them they needed to contact her again if the bleeding got worse or when Ruth went into labour. She could need help, especially if the placenta was low enough to cause an obstruction.
The mother followed Clara out to the door, where Paul was waiting to guide her back to the nearest tram stop. The woman gripped Clara’s hands. ‘Thank you for coming. And for everything you have done.’ She hugged Clara and whispered, ‘Engel des Lebens.’
Chapter 13
The day was pushing on, and Clara was mindful that she had arranged to meet Marie for a coffee before her visit to Frau Müller. Clara had come home a couple of nights ago to find a note pushed under her door.
Coffee? Same time? Same place? M
Clara hadn’t seen Marie for a few weeks now and she missed her friend. As she entered the café, she spotted Marie already seated at their usual table by the window, her nursing bag tucked beside her chair.
‘I’ve already ordered you a coffee,’ Marie said with a smile as Clara approached. She got to her feet and hugged her friend. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to come. I’m sure you’re very busy in your new job.’
‘I always have time for coffee with you,’ Clara replied, settling into the chair across from her friend. ‘How are things at the Charité?’
Marie stirred sugar into her coffee. ‘Busy, as always. Though we did lose a few more staff recently – transfers and such.’ She lowered her voice slightly. ‘Actually, remember Brandt?’
Clara rolled her eyes. ‘How could I forget her? Such a delight.’
‘Well, she finally got what she wanted – a transfer away from the main hospital. Went to some maternity clinic north of the city.’ Marie waved her hand dismissively. ‘Neuruppin, I think it is called. Good riddance, honestly. The atmosphere on the ward has been so much better without her stirring up trouble.’
‘I’m sure it has,’ Clara agreed, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘At least you don’t have to deal with her anymore.’
