41. Emilie

FORTY-ONE

Dachau, Germany

For the last six weeks I’ve watched my husband lie in our bed, groaning from joint pain, chronic headaches, and weakness that won’t allow him to get out of bed on his own. I took him to the hospital when we figured it might be rheumatic fever, but every hospital was overfilled, understaffed, and facing far worse issues. We were sent home with simple instructions to keep Otto hydrated and off his feet until the symptoms subsided. Like a cruel joke, I’ve been nothing more than his bedside nurse, doing as instructed and keeping him fed as well as I can. At this point, I’m fearful of the complications that have come about from whatever infection he must have let linger. He should be showing improvement by now. He should be better.

Our families are always here, trying to help, making my house a central station for non-stop visitors.It is late afternoon every day when the abdominal pains grow to an intensity that sends him into tears. I’m not sure I’ve read anywhere that stomach pains are a symptom of rheumatic fever, if that’s even what he has. Aspirin hardly takes the edge off, and I’ve tried every other natural remedy I could think of. I’m left with simply waiting to see how he progresses because there’s no way of knowing. I’ve only managed to slip out of the house once or twice a week at night since Otto got sick. I wouldn’t be able to explain leaving the house while either of our parents is here. I’ve done what I can to ensure Dietrich’s paperwork delivery as well as supplies for Danner within the rolled up newspaper continue smoothly. It doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing I’m doing feels like it’s enough to keep anyone alive and well.

“I brought you some tea,” Mama says, walking in as Otto rolls into the fetal position, groaning for help. I take the cup from her hand and take a small sip. “Go get fresh air. I’ll sit here with him.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. He’s embarrassed to be seen this way. I don’t want to leave him like this.” Frau Berger was also picking up new tea leaves she heard about. There’s a kind of beneficial bacteria that helps heal inflammation. Everyone has been trying to find a way to help him, but nothing works.

“How is the patient today?” Dietrich shouts, stomping up the stairs. He must have heard the moans and groans from outside the front door. There’s no reason to ask. “Good afternoon, family.” He greets us with a conniving grin. I’d like to tear off his face. “I have new medication I’m going to give Otto. It might do the trick.”

“What medication? He’s already been on two rounds of penicillin?” Mama asks, pressing her hand to her chest.

“Oh, my apologies. In some cases of rheumatic fever, internal inflammation can cause blood vessel walls to narrow, thus blocking his blood flow to vital organs. This condition can cause many of the symptoms he’s presenting at the moment. I’m going to give him a dose of chloroquine phosphate to see if that helps him out at all.”

Mama looks over at me because I don’t think she understood much of what Dietrich just said.

“Chloroquine can be harsh on the stomach. I’m afraid that will cause him more pain,” I argue.

“Chloroquine can be harsh on the stomach,” he repeats. “Yes, yes. The benefits outweigh the side effects. If we can reduce the inflammation, all issues will be solved.”

The front door slams from down below and another set of feet charges up the stairs, followed by two more. Papa, Herr and Frau Berger all jolt into the room together, panic-stricken and soaked in sweat.

“Air raids are inbound. We need to get him downstairs,” Herr Berger states. He and Papa move to Otto’s side, both cradling him as they work together to move him off the bed. Otto’s body appears locked in a frozen state of pain, stiff and tangled.

“Ladies, downstairs right away,” Papa shouts between ragged breaths.

Dietrich runs out before the three of us women, unsurprisingly. We’re all making such a racket that I don’t hear any hint of a storm coming toward us, but I won’t question their knowledge.

This house has so many windows, I’m not sure where they think might be a safe sheltering spot, but when we reach the bottom floor and scan the area, we find them cramming into the utility room where I have lines of laundry hanging. There’s a back door but no windows.

I pull bulky clothes from the line to cushion a spot for Otto to lie down. I’m not sure much of anything will help his pain now, but a cold hard floor will only make it worse.

“Who is it? Who is attacking us?” Dietrich shouts.

“The Americans,” Herr Berger says.

“The Americans,” Dietrich echoes. “Are we trying to stop them?” His question comes with haste as if Herr Berger would have that level of information. Dietrich is the one who solidly belongs to the SS. If he wasn’t made aware before the radio broadcasted the news, I’m not sure how much information is available.

“Yes, the Luftwaffe is pushing against them, of course,” Herr Berger says.

“We should be far enough away but it’s best to take precaution,” Papa says.

Though my mind is running rampant with fear and concerns for everyone’s well-being, Dachau seems to have been purposely hidden away from the city for a reason. Therefore, Papa is likely correct about his assumptions.

“Did you warn the others?” I ask. “Gerty’s parents? And Felix’s?”

“Yes, yes, of course. We warned everyone to get out of the city if they could,” Papa says.

Once the commotion settles, our focus solely returns to Otto, who is in the process of being injected. “Wait!” I shout at Dietrich.

“Wait! You must listen. This will help him. He’s my nephew. I don’t want anything to happen to him, my dear,” Dietrich says, calm as he always is when the world around him is in a panic.

“You said you’ve been doing everything you can these several weeks,” Herr Berger says to his brother. “He hasn’t shown any sign of improvement. Is there something you aren’t telling us? Because if so, I suggest you say it now.” Herr Berger’s face is beet red, and his veins are pulsating at his temples. I’ve never seen or heard this level of anger from Herr Berger before.

“Hasn’t shown any signs of improvement,” Dietrich mutters. “There’s no official cure for rheumatic fever. I’ve told you this. Each patient reacts differently. Some have milder cases than others. Then, there are some who end up with complications from the initial manifestations, which is what I’m trying to resolve with the chloroquine phosphate.”

“Is he going to die?” Frau Berger asks, her voice high-pitched, caught in her throat.

“No,” I reply before Dietrich does. “No, he’s not going to die.”

Dietrich’s gaze fixates on mine and though I want to look away, I feel frozen, stuck, being forced to accept a truth I’m not ready to come to terms with.

The room becomes quiet after the last round of ramblings, and Otto has fallen asleep, likely as a result of the injection. I watch his chest move up and down at an even pace and try to focus on the moment instead of what may or may not happen.

Papa leaves the utility room and steps into Otto’s office down the hall before returning with the radio he keeps on his desk. He turns the power dial, finding nothing but static. I know Otto keeps the radio on one frequency but depending on where the broadcast is coming from, we may have to find another source. It takes Papa a couple of minutes before finding a broadcast clear enough to make out.

…under fire. Airfields and manufacturing facilities from Friedrichshafen to Leipheim have been hit. The German Luftwaffe is in flight on the defense from the Swiss border to Stuttgart and Munich. With the head-on, heavy artillery battle, it is recommended to take cover, get to low ground, and move away from the center of cities, airfields, and manufacturing facilities immediately.

Once Papa turns down the radio, the distant alarm of sirens grows louder outside. Jets fly overhead, leaving us with nothing more than a zing following in the path of their engines.The floors vibrate, sometimes mildly, other times more aggressively, and the screams of speeding engines sound much closer than they are, but I can’t convince myself we aren’t within a target zone.What if someone is aiming at Dachau? Does Danner know to take cover? I don’t know if there’s somewhere to hide there. After all he’s survived, he could be sitting beneath a falling bomb. I close my eyes and pray.

Please, keep us safe—keep the innocent at Dachau safe. Spare us after we have fought so hard to stay alive. Please, God. Please.

I’ve been sitting in a corner, holding my knees to my chest as if my legs will protect me like armor, but I’m scared. Any second could be the last and that will be it, and I don’t know what comes next. There’s no next. We don’t get another chance, ever. Forever, is an infinite amount of time to question what becomes of us after we die.

The night has caved in on us, wrapping the house in a blanket of darkness with only the glow from a gas lantern in the center of the room. All four parents and Dietrich have fallen asleep, somehow, despite the continuous rumbles. To be asleep is better than to be awake, in case we’re hit.

“Emi,” a hoarse whisper sharply grasps my attention. Otto is awake and staring at me through the flickering glow.

I crawl over to his side and take his hand within mine. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he says.

“Your stomach?”

He shrugs, the movement so slight I’m surprised I noticed. “Not as awful as before.”

“That’s great. Maybe you’re turning a corner.” I haven’t seen him this complacent in weeks.”Wouldn’t that be nice? We can get our lives back on track and?—”

“Emi, why are we down here? What’s going on?”

I smooth his hair off his forehead. “It’s okay, don’t worry. It’s just to be safe,” I tell him, not wanting to add any unnecessary stress to his clouded mind.

“And our parents, Dietrich? Why are they all here?”

I squeeze his hand a bit tighter and keep my voice soft to avoid startling him. “Munich is under attack.”

“Oh God, I think death might be chasing me,” he says, his voice shuddering against his throat.

“Don’t speak like that,” I tell him, despite thinking the same.

“Emi, I don’t deserve to live. This illness happened for a reason. It’s punishment for what I’ve been a part of.” I would like to know why Dietrich isn’t being punished too if that’s the case. “I never thought our lives would end up like this here. I was ignorant to follow—” he looks over at his sleeping father. “Them, but I thought it was an open door to a good future for us. It wasn’t. I’ve ruined your life, stolen your hopes and dreams, and haven’t found any way to undo what I’ve done.”

“No one could have known what the future of this war would bring.”

We’d had many hints and warnings, but we were thirteen when our world began to change, making life before that age disappear into faint memories. It was easy to get lost in the way of life we have referred to as common. I too should have known better. I didn’t have to agree to an engagement proposal or give in to the force of dropping out of classes to move here, but I hadn’t found my strength yet.

“It’s not just that. I haven’t done right by you. I wanted to secure our future because I imagined it to be perfect with you. We just always seemed to fit, but I knew you loved Danner, though you weren’t a fit per society. I know love can’t be masked. I knew you would never love me as much, but I thought maybe over time, our life together would be what we both loved most.”

“Otto, you don’t have to say this…”

“I have to. I need Danner to know how sorry I am that I didn’t do more to help him. I should have done more.”

“Otto, you don’t need to focus on Danner right now.”

“I need you to tell him I’m sorry. Okay? And I need you to know how sorry I am, too.”

“Stop talking like this, just stop,” I scold him.

“What I’ve put you through here is something I’ll never forgive myself for, and I’m undeserving of you, this life we have been playing the roles of, and I won’t take any more of your future away. Whether I make it through this or not, I?—”

The ground erupts with a quake that sends us flying into the wall. The chandelier clatters in the dining room and the glassware in the kitchen rattles, picture frames fall, and it all happens at once. I dive on top of Otto and cover my head with my arms, not knowing if the roof will cave in over us, or worse. Another rumble shakes us around and fills the air with a sudden onset of white noise.

“Are you—” I can’t hear myself speak, only a loud ringing. I push myself up and Otto grabs my hand.

He’s mouthing something, but I can’t hear him either. I pull my hand from his and step over the others who are trying to figure out what’s happening as they pull themselves upright.I reach for the nearest wall for stability, throwing myself from one wall to another until I reach the front door, noticing the glass from the windows has all blown out and shattered. My head is heavy, or maybe my brain has been shaken around too fiercely. I try to wrap my hand around the doorknob but miss twice before securing it in my clutch. I pull the slab open and hobble down the front stone steps. Smoke and smog cloak the sky, an ominous telltale sign of what has happened. When I reach the street, I spot flames growing from the row of houses behind ours. The pungent odor of jet fuel burns my nose as I make my way to the corner of the street.

A hand on my shoulder startles me and I scream, but I don’t hear that, either. Ingrid, Karl, and their children huddle together, pointing but not speaking. Helga and Wilhelm, and Ursula and Hermann make their way out of their houses and spot the rest of us on the corner. Helga is holding her ears like Ingrid’s three children.

Ursula comes toward us with an unblinking stare, her eyes full of shock.

Karl, Hermann, and Wilhelm group together and hold their hands up for us to stay where we are while they venture down the street. Ursula, Ingrid, and her children are crying as they reach out for the men. Helga takes my hand in hers just as a wave of fighter jets flies overhead, lower than I’ve ever seen. The force from their engines pushes us to the ground and again…we take cover.

We’ve all become deafened by the war, but not everyone had noticed until now.