Only the Beautiful, page 27
“Did he actually say that?” I said, when I was able. “Did he say he can’t?”
Therese poured the hot water atop the tea leaves in their strainers. “He didn’t say that’s why he’s coming back early. I think he’s coming back because of Martine.”
“But surely he’s going to try,” I said, incredulous. “He has to try to get Brigitta back.”
“I would. You would. So I guess he probably will, too. We didn’t talk long, Helen. I could hear other people in the room with him. He wasn’t alone.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” I folded myself onto a chair at the kitchen table. “I didn’t mean for it to.”
“I know you didn’t,” Therese said. “And deep down Martine knows, too.”
“I’m afraid this is it for me. Even if we get Brigitta back—and I will not rest until we do—I don’t know if Martine will ever forgive me for not telling her that woman had been here.”
Therese removed the strainers and brought the two teacups to the table. She handed one to me and took the chair opposite me.
“I think in time she might,” Therese said. “Just don’t expect too much from her too soon. She needs someone to blame, and right now it’s you.”
“But I am to blame.”
Therese shrugged. “I don’t know that there’s any way to have avoided this. I think it was always the Nazis’ plan to do what they did today, to do what they’re doing everywhere else, every day.”
“Surely you are not in agreement?” I was astonished at Therese’s casual tone. “The way they treat the old, the sick, the disabled, the Jews, the Roma, men who love other men? It is as if they want no one around them but their idea of perfect people. Surely you don’t agree with this?”
Therese took a sip of her tea and then set the cup back on its saucer. “It doesn’t really matter what I think, does it? I don’t have the power to change what is happening, and neither do you. The Nazis are the ones in control, and they have decided this is the way it will be. And so it is.”
“But we can’t sit here and drink tea and do nothing! Isn’t that the same thing as being in agreement?”
“I don’t think it is. And you need to be careful what you do and say, Helen. Austria is not a safe place for dissenters, especially if they are foreigners. You shouldn’t be saying what you are saying right now to other people. You really shouldn’t be saying it even to me. I’m telling you this for your own good.”
I was quiet for a moment, letting that warning settle over me. Perhaps Therese was right that I had no power to change the current situation. But that didn’t mean I had no power at all. “I have to try to get Brigitta back. I have to.”
“It’s not completely your fault they took her. I think she was on their list. Even before you talked to that woman.”
“But I should have told Martine that Fraulein Platz had been here.”
“Maybe so, but would Martine have known to flee with Brigitta that very day? To send the two of you to Innsbruck? She wouldn’t have known they were taking children from other schools. It hadn’t happened yet.”
“She might have.”
“Well, we’ll never know, will we?”
We both sipped from our cups.
“Martine wanted to let you go,” Therese said a moment later, “but I convinced her that she needs you now more than ever. And I tried to convince her that they were probably always going to come for Brigitta, no matter what you said or didn’t say. They would have come for her in Innsbruck, too. Innsbruck is Austria and Austria is Germany. They would have found her there.”
“There has to be somewhere safe to take Brigitta,” I said. “If I could just get her to England, I have friends there. And from there maybe I could take her to America.”
Therese laughed ruefully. “You have forgotten we are at war with England. Listen to me, Helen. The best thing you can do right now is care for Martine and her other children. Her heart is broken. She may be angry at you right now, but she is hurting. Let her be angry with you. She has to be angry at someone. And the other children will not understand this. They will need you, too.”
Therese finished the last swallow of her tea, stood, and took her cup to the sink. “I need to go. My own children will be coming home soon.”
I walked with her to the front door. Therese reached for her lacy shawl hanging on a hook on the hall tree.
“You’ll remember what I said, won’t you?” Therese said as she wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. “I mean about speaking out against what is happening. You could get yourself deported. Or worse.”
I nodded. “I’ll try to be careful.”
Therese looked past me to the rest of the house. “This home already seems different without Brigitta.”
I couldn’t summon words in response. Therese turned and left.
The next two days as the family waited for Johannes were tension-filled. Werner and Kurt quietly sorted out the sudden absence of their youngest sister, saying little to anyone. The girls, especially Hanna, dealt with it by asking questions no one could answer.
Martine managed to leave her bed for short periods, but she couldn’t bear to see the reminders of Brigitta around the house— her photograph on the mantel, her slippers by the bathroom, her artwork tacked to the pantry door. She often retreated to her room after only minutes with her other children, overcome by the visible evidence that her youngest daughter, who should have been at home with her, was not.
Werner had noticed his mother distraught at the sight of Brigitta’s hair ribbons on the banister and offered to put them away. Martine had yelled at him to leave them alone and then had broken down and wept for having spoken to him that way.
The hours when the children were at school were the hardest, because then I was alone in the house with Martine. The first time she had ventured downstairs, Martine told me she did not want to discuss what happened.
“I know you’re sorry,” Martine said tonelessly, “but I don’t want to hear you apologize. I don’t want to hear it.”
“What do you want to hear?” I’d asked. “What can I do for you? I’ll do anything.”
“There is nothing you can do.”
And so I had kept my distance, busying myself with the children’s needs and taking care of all the meals. Twice that first day after Brigitta was taken and three times the second, friends came by to call on Martine. One brought a bouquet of freesias, another a plate of crullers. Martine refused to see them. I had to send them away, suggesting perhaps they try again the following week.
“How is she?” each one had said, and to each I had replied, “She is devastated.”
Finally, just before dark on the third day, Johannes arrived home by taxi. The children and I were at the dining room table eating cassoulet that I had made. He came in through the front door, stepped into the narrow entry with his duffel and travel bag, and the three girls rose as one from their seats to run to him, each one talking at once about the horrible thing that had befallen the family while he’d been gone. “Brigitta is gone!” “Brigitta has been taken.” “When are you going to get her back?” The two boys stayed in their chairs, watching with pensive interest as their father embraced their sisters and struggled to answer them.
The man looked haggard and ill-equipped, despite the commanding appearance of his military uniform, to handle his daughters’ many questions. He turned to me, and his gaze said, Help me. I rose from my chair.
“Come, girls.” I gently nudged the girls back to their places. “Let’s allow your father to sit down and have his dinner, too, and then he can answer your questions.”
Johannes looked both grateful and terrified as the girls led him to his seat. He noticed right away that at the other end of the table, Martine’s chair was empty. I dished him up a plate of cassoulet and brought it to him. As I was retaking my seat, Martine appeared in the doorway to the dining room. She had apparently heard the commotion of her husband’s arrival.
Johannes sprang from his seat and rushed to his wife, pulling her to his chest. Martine was like a rag doll in his arms. She closed her eyes against the strength of his embrace, as if needing to steel herself against feeling the intensity of it.
“I’m so sorry about all of this, Liebling,” he said softly. “I’m so very sorry.”
“Can you get her back?” Martine asked flatly. I noticed with alarm that she hadn’t asked when he’d get her back, but whether he could.
Johannes took a step back to look at his wife, his hands resting on her shoulders. “I came home as soon as I could, Martine.”
“But can you get her back?” Martine said again, the same way.
“Please, can we talk about this later?” Johannes dropped his hands and motioned with his head to all the children seated behind them.
“This? What is the this to talk about later? There is only the question. Can you get her back? Yes or no?”
It seemed to take a long time for Johannes to answer.
“I don’t know.”
Martine stared at her husband for a long moment before she spoke again. “You knew they were coming for Brigitta and you said nothing.”
“I didn’t know,” Johannes said quickly.
“You’ve known about the other terrible things the Nazis are doing. How could you not know about this?”
“This is not a military matter, Martine. It has nothing to do with the fighting, or the men I fight with. I did not know.”
Martine held his gaze for a second and then turned from him and left the room.
Johannes watched her go and then slowly made his way back to his chair. He slumped into it but did not pick up his fork.
“Why did they take Brigitta, Papa?” Werner asked.
Johannes took a long breath and exhaled before answering. “The new government thinks children like Brigitta will have a better life if they live in a place that is specially designed for people with . . . difficulties.”
“Why do they think that?” Liliana asked.
“I guess . . . I guess because people like our Brigitta will have a hard time getting a job when they are older and making a living.”
“Brigitta can live with me when I’m a grown-up,” Liliana said. “I don’t care if she can’t work.”
“She can live with me,” chimed in Amelia.
“No, with me!” Hanna said.
Johannes lifted a hand to rub his forehead, as if trying to wipe away a dirty smudge.
“Why can’t you get her back?” Kurt asked.
Johannes kept massaging his forehead. “Because I don’t make the rules, son. There are new rules now. And I didn’t make them.”
“Does she have to live at that place forever?” Amelia’s voice broke as she asked.
Johannes did not immediately answer her. I felt tears burning in my eyes and a searing pain in my gut.
“I hope not,” he finally said.
No one said anything for a stretch of seconds.
“Can we go see her?” Hanna finally asked. “I want to see her. I drew her a picture.”
Again, Johannes did not answer.
“I’m sure you can,” I said, swallowing my emotion. “I went there to try to get her. They said families can visit. On visiting days.”
Johannes lowered his hand. “You went there?”
“I did. I wanted to bring her home, Captain. I tried.”
He looked at me and said nothing. A moment later, Johannes picked up his fork, and the rest of the family followed suit. The Maiers ate their dinner in silence.
The following morning, I woke early. The third floor I’d always shared with Brigitta was painfully quiet. I went downstairs to make the coffee but found Johannes in the kitchen with the French press already out. We had not talked again after dinner the previous night. After the kitchen was cleaned up and the children were in bed, Johannes hadn’t emerged again from the master bedroom. He made the coffee now and spoke to me as if no time had passed since our last words at the dinner table the night before.
“It served no purpose going to Am Steinhof yourself,” he said as he scooped the ground coffee beans into a measuring cup.
“It was the only thing I could think of to do. So I did it.”
“But that hospital didn’t take her from us. It was an administrative office here in Vienna that ordered it. I will go there tomorrow.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“I need you to stay here and do your job.”
He sounded angry with me. Like maybe he believed it was my fault, too, that Brigitta was gone.
“If I had known this would happen, I never would have let that woman in the house,” I said.
Johannes set down the tin of coffee and stood silent and still at the counter for a moment. “I am not saying this is your fault,” he finally said.
“But I told Fraulein Platz I would be here for Brigitta for years to come. Years. I made it seem like she would need someone for years to come.”
“These people don’t need a nanny to tell them what kind of care someone like Brigitta needs and for how long. This isn’t about whether or not you will be able to keep renewing your visa for years on end. It’s not about you at all. This is all about Brigitta. All they had to do is look at her medical file. The visit here just confirmed what they already supposed.”
“Then I should have told Martine that woman had been here.”
Johannes sighed, picked up the tin again. “Maybe. I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
The kettle of water began to boil, filling the kitchen with its trembling wail.
* * *
• • •
Over the next three days, Johannes was in and out of the house, tending to his wife when he was home and making the case for his daughter at the local administrative office for the Reich when he was not. I went to Brigitta’s school to ask Emilie Pichler if any more children had been taken. None had, but I learned the parents of the other six students snatched the same day as Brigitta were also visiting the local administrative office and writing letters to higher-ups. I learned parents of children too young yet for school had been forced to hand over their disabled babies and toddlers, and they were doing the same. Some of these parents, Emilie said, were in the beginning stages of planning a joint trip to Berlin to advocate for the return of their children.
Johannes also made daily calls to Am Steinhof to ask about visiting Brigitta. Each time, he was told there had been such a large influx of new residents that visiting hours were still temporarily suspended.
“When will they be reinstated?” he’d asked.
“Soon,” was the answer.
By the afternoon of the third day, however, Johannes’s leave was nearly up. He was to depart in the morning to return to his division, which was still deployed for control measures in Poland. As he placed one of his bags at the door for the next day’s early departure, Martine implored him to ask for an extension.
“I won’t be granted one, Martine,” he said. The children were still at school and only I was in the house with them. “I was lucky to get the time off that I did.”
“But you haven’t even asked for it. You can at least ask!”
“It won’t do any good.”
“Give me your commander’s telephone number and I will ask him myself!” Martine shouted, and Johannes finally said he would make the call. But he insisted he needed to finish packing first. Martine, furious with him, climbed the stairs to their room and slammed the door shut.
I wanted to be anywhere but in the same room while they fought, but I’d been right there at the kitchen table, just a few yards from them, mending one of Liliana’s blouses.
Seconds later, Johannes stepped over to the telephone on its little table by the entrance to the kitchen. Apparently he was not going to pack his second bag before making the call. Now he was only a few feet away from me on the other side of the wall. In another short stretch of seconds, he was talking to one of his superiors. I heard him ask if he might be granted an extension of his leave, as his wife was not well. The person on the other end of the line began to yell, his voice clearly projecting out of the handset and into the airspace where I sat.
“We are at war!” the man yelled.
And then the man said something so vile I stabbed my finger with the needle.
“Stop obsessing over your monkey child, Captain Maier, and get back to your duties.”
When I heard Johannes answer, “Yes, Obersturmbannführer,” I dropped the mending and bolted for the back door to the alley to get away from the phone call, the house, the madness. I came back inside only after I was sure Johannes was no longer downstairs.
Early the following morning, Johannes kissed his children good-bye and called for a taxi. When it arrived, he instructed me to keep calling Am Steinhof to inquire about visiting hours. He would continue to write letters from his posting. He would appeal to ranking officers who had known him for years, knew Brigitta, knew what a sweet and happy child she was, and ask them to intercede on the Maiers’ behalf.
And then he left.
* * *
• • •
Each day after Johannes’s departure seemed endless. I waited to hear good news either from Johannes by telephone or directly from Martine. No news came. Every day was the same.
The first week of June, fourteen days after Brigitta had been taken, Martine was at last told by a staff nurse on the children’s ward at Am Steinhof that she could see her daughter the following afternoon. But as she readied to leave the next morning, there was a phone call. Brigitta had come down with pneumonia and could not have visitors.
For a week, Martine called and begged to be allowed to see her sick child. She called Johannes’s unit incessantly to plead with him to intervene until he told her she had to stop. He was going to be officially reprimanded if she did not. That would not help Brigitta.
