Clara gripped the edge of the window frame. Then she was moving before she even realised. She was racing across the room and down the hallway, fumbling with the lock, her only thought to get downstairs, to get to the truck and do something.
Friedrick’s hand reached over her shoulder, encasing her hand within his, moving it away from the lock. He turned her to face him. ‘Clara.’
‘Let me go.’ She twisted against him, her hands clawed at his to release her. ‘The baby! Friedrich .?.?. the baby.’
‘There’s nothing you can do.’ His voice cracked. ‘Not here. Not like this.’
She tried again to free herself from his hold, begging him to let her go. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I can’t let you go.’
Clara’s legs gave way. Friedrich lowered them both to the floor by the door. Still holding her as she sobbed.
She heard the truck pull away, its engine fading into the distance.
Clara got to her feet and forced herself to return to the window. The street below was eerily quiet. It was as if the Levins had never existed. Their apartment door hung open, dark and empty.
Friedrich guided her to the chair by the window and sat down opposite her. They sat in silence, watching the empty street. After a while, a different man appeared. Some sort of official with forms and went into the Levins’ apartment. When he emerged several minutes later, he locked the door and hung a notice on it.
‘Confiscated’.
As if a life could be confiscated. As if a four-month-old baby was property of the state to dispose of at their will.
‘How many families have just disappeared like that?’ she whispered.
Friedrich didn’t answer. He dragged his hand down his face. There was a sense that this was only the beginning.
That night, Clara couldn’t sleep. She kept seeing Frau Levin’s blank face, kept seeing the four-month-old baby wrapped in a blanket being passed up onto the truck. Finally, careful not to wake Friedrich, she slipped out of bed and went across the hall to the living room. She sat down at her desk and pulled out a piece of paper and began to write.
Dearest Rose,
I know I cannot send this letter, but I can at least pretend everything is normal and the distance between us is merely miles and not this impossible chasm of war.
Do you remember when you said I was too serious, always trying to fix everything? You were right. But Rose, I’ve found myself in a position where I cannot fix anything, and yet I cannot stop trying. I deliver babies into a world that has gone mad. Four months ago, I looked down at a newborn little girl, healthy, beautiful, full of promise. I tried to warn her parents about things that were happening, but they thought it was just rumours. Tonight, I watched the rumours become a reality, I saw with my own eyes things I’d only heard about – I watched that baby and her parents disappear. I don’t know what will happen to them. And I could do nothing but stand at my window and watch.
Some nights I lie awake wondering if you’re doing the same at the hospital – holding someone’s hand through the darkness, pretending you have more control than you do.
I miss you terribly. I miss being able to tell you the truth. There are things happening here that I cannot write down, not even in a letter I’ll never send.
I hope you’re safe and that this wretched war ends before it takes any more from us.
All my love,
Clara
She read the letter again, the tears filling her eyes and the hopelessness she felt and the deep yearning to be with her sisters and parents again.
‘Clara.’ It was Friedrich.
She turned to see him standing in the doorway, uncertainty in his eyes. ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said, getting up from her chair and picking up the letter. ‘I needed to get my thoughts down.’
He said nothing, just watched as she crossed to the fireplace. She tore the letter once, twice, the sound of ripping paper sharp in the quiet of the room. The match flared and she touched it to the torn edges. The words she could never send curled and blackened turning to ash.
‘Come back to bed,’ said Friedrich softly.
Clara watched the last corner of paper catch fire, then turned to him and nodded. He took her hand, his grip warm and steady. As he led her from the room, she glanced back once at the fireplace.
It held so many secrets now. One more wouldn’t matter.
The week rolled on with an underlying tension. The small respite of Saturday morning long forgotten about. Clara tried her hardest to remain cheerful and positive, but the fate of the Levins was never far from her thoughts. Friedrich too was putting on a positive face but they both knew neither of them felt the outward appearance.
