‘Papers,’ demanded the taller one of the two.
Clara’s mouth dried and she tightened her grip on her bag. At least now she was south of the River Spree and had a valid reason to be travelling on the tram. Had she been in the Rothsteins’ district she would have needed a plausible reason for being in what was essentially a Jewish district.
The two policemen methodically made their way through the tram. Clara reached into her handbag and withdrew the little blue booklet – her foreigners’ residence permit.
The policeman gave a cursory glance at the papers the gentleman in front of Clara offered before moving onto her. He looked particularly bored.
Until he reached Clara.
He snatched the permit from her hand, examining the details – name, nationality, address – while his colleague looked over his shoulder.
‘English,’ said the second policeman. ‘You’re a long way from home.’
‘I’ve lived in Berlin for over seven years now,’ replied Clara, careful to keep her tone neutral. ‘My husband is an officer at Bendlerblock.’
The taller of the policemen continued to scrutinise her documentation for several long moments. ‘Your reason for travel?’
Clara thanked God, or whoever was watching over her that she was now on what would be her usual route from the hospital to home. ‘I work at the Charité. I’m on my way home.’
The policeman leaned down, his eyes narrowing. ‘You work at the Charité? As what?’
‘I’m a midwife.’
He looked from Clara to the documentation and back to Clara before snapping the booklet shut and thrusting it back to her. Clara sat frozen, not daring to move, or even look at the policemen. She could feel his heavy gaze still on her. Then he was moving on down the tram to the woman and child sitting further down the carriage.
It wasn’t until they disembarked, and the tram pulled away that Clara let out a long sigh of relief. She was going to have to be so careful when she next visited the Rothsteins. It would only be a matter of time before she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And then what?
Clara didn’t dwell on the question and much less on the answer.
When Friedrich finally walked through the door later that evening, Clara flung her arms around him, burying her head in his shoulder, before he even had time to take off his jacket.
‘Clara?’ Friedrich kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back gently. He led her through to the living room, sitting her down on the sofa. ‘What’s wrong? This is not like you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Clara with a huge sigh. ‘I just needed to feel the warmth of human kindness today.’
‘What happened?’ asked Friedrich.
Clara gave a small shake of her head. ‘Nothing really. People are avoiding me, that’s all. People who I thought of as friends.’
‘Marie?’
Clara dipped her gaze. ‘To an extent.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, softly. ‘Especially after this morning. More and more these days, I feel ashamed of what my country is doing to non-nationals.’
‘Don’t you ever apologise for the government. The Nazi Party,’ said Clara, sitting up straight and looking at her husband. ‘You are not them.’
Friedrich gave a small smile. ‘That’s more like Clara Bergmann,’ he said. ‘Don’t let them wear you down,liebling.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘Now, I must attend to some paperwork, but after dinner, I promise, I am all yours.’
Friedrich got to his feet and crossed the room. He paused at the bureau, looking down at the carpet. Clara jumped up, suddenly remembering that was where she had dropped the medical bag when she had come home. She watched as Friedrich bent down and picked it up.
‘It’s mine,’ said Clara. ‘I mean, it’s from the hospital.’ What was she supposed to say? She brought it back from work. How could she explain it? She could hardly have brought it home by accident.
She watched as Friedrich opened the bag and took out the fetoscope, the blood pressure sleeve and other pieces of equipment. He looked up at her. ‘Clara?’
Clara’s mouth dried and her heartbeat raced even faster. ‘I need to take it back to the hospital tomorrow,’ she said uncertainly.
‘Why did you bring it home?’
