Chapter 1
Hamburg, Germany
November 1934
Hilke Fülmer
often wondered if she had been born to the wrong family. If her mother hadn’t
given birth to her at home, she would have suspected that she was switched with
a baby from another family, one that shared her interests and abilities.
She
was not an intellectual like her professor father. Nor was she beautiful like
her blond, blue-eyed mother. It was not that she was ugly, just ordinary. Her
brother, Joseph, took the best of both parents, but she could not hate him for
it even though she had tried.
He
was her protector: when their parents criticized her grades or her insistence
on swimming every day, Joseph deflected their comments by drawing attention to
himself. She had hated him doing it, until the night she hissed her
dissatisfaction as they disappeared into their bedrooms. He’d come to her room
that same night after every one was asleep, including her. Shaking her awake,
he whispered. “Kleine Dumbkopf, don’t
you see. They forget about you when I start talking about me, and then you’re
out of it.”
She
didn’t need him to protect her from physical bullies, because she could fight
her own battles. More than once she had pushed some older or bigger pupil, much
to their astonishment. Physically, she also stopped the school bullies from
picking on other Kinder.
Joseph
protected her also by tutoring her in mathematics, her weakest subject at the Lyzeum
schools for girls, where she was in the Obersekunda.
She did okay, just a little above average in Latin, German, French and history.
Her chemistry and physics grades were below average and her other courses were
average.
She
would present her report to their parents first and, before they could get too
upset, Joseph would come in with his, which always had the highest marks
possible. Her parents despaired of her ever getting the grades Joseph earned at
his Gymnasium. He was destined to be
an ancient language scholar like their father.
Hilke
walked through the corridor at Hamburg Universität
until she reached her father’s office. Her father had more space in his office
since Herr Doktor Jacobson, with whom he had shared office space for fifteen
years, had been informed his services were no longer needed. Her father had
taken over some of Jacobson’s classes, or at least they had been combined with
his own.
Frau
Ute Berchtold was sitting at her desk in front of the door with her father’s
name on it. “Hilke, how lovely to see you.” His secretary was in her late
thirties and unmarried, her fiancé having been killed in the war somewhere in
France. She wore her hair in braids tied like a crown on her head and would
have been pretty if she would only smile.
Hilke
always wondered how real her welcomes were, because Frau Berchtold was the type
of person who might smile with her mouth but the smile never reached her eyes.
Or it could be she was still sad about her fiancé’s death and her lack of a
husband and children.
Before
Hilke could say anything, Frau Berchtold said, “You’re father is in class. Then
he’s going directly into a meeting.”
“I’ll
see him at home, I guess. Sorry for disturbing you.”
“Not
at all. Aufweidersehen.”
Hilke,
aware she’d been dismissed, backed out of the room and headed down the stairs
and into the night air. A few snowflakes were making their way to the ground,
but none looked like they would stick. She pulled her hat down over her ears as
she walked by the Hauptbahnhoff. Its
clock tower read 17:42. She hoped that her mother wouldn’t be angry that she
was late.
Hilke
turned the key in the door of their second-floor apartment. The building had
been undamaged during the last war, although it had grown shabby from lack of
care. The money just wasn’t there to undertake any repairs. As soon as she
opened the door into the large apartment entrance hall, she smelled onions
cooking.
“Is
that you Joseph?” Her mother came out of the kitchen wearing an apron and
holding a wooden spoon. “Hilke. I’m glad you’re home. Can you set the table
please, and I think it would be a good idea if you take a quick run through
Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 77 before we all play the first movement
tonight after dinner.”
Hilke
made a face, which she thought her mother didn’t see.
“The
light is not that dim, Hilke. You haven’t practiced all week, and you know how
that upsets Papa.”
There
were strict rituals in the family, which upset Hilke. During the week everyone
was busy with individual responsibilities, school or housework, but Friday
night after dinner was music night. Saturday they all went shopping before the
stores closed at noon. Then Sunday they might go for a walk along the river
when the weather was good. Hilke always wanted to swim along with her family,
but that would not have been proper, she was told every time she broached the
subject. Once or twice a year during the summer her mother would pack a picnic lunch
and they would take the train to Bergedorf and find a place to eat in a field
with a few cows looking on.
She
would have preferred to do things as the mood came upon her. Why not play cards
on Friday night? Why not take a nap on a Sunday afternoon instead of the walk?
She had proposed the ideas, only to be told that that wasn’t what the family
was going to do.
Because
her father was a professor, the family had never been without an income,
although inflation had taken its toll. But now with the Reichs Mark replacing the Rentenmarks
things were improving, not that Hilke found talk about money all that
interesting.
When
her parents had other professors and their wives for dinner, financial issues
were the subject of conversation, along with what Hitler was doing to help
Germany. Hilke did not notice that her mother never said much about the new
leader. In fact when his name came up, she found reasons to go into the
kitchen, where Hilke and Joseph were eating their own meals so as not to
interfere with the grown-up conversation. Her mother would rearrange the
dishes, prepare a tray for the next course, or if everything had been eaten, go
back into the dining room to clear the table—but never would she sit in on the
political talk.
The
flat was designed in such a way that all the rooms opened off the main entrance
hall. Only the kitchen was attached sideways to the dining room.
Hilke’s
bedroom was large with a desk, a bookcase and a double bed. Her Eiderdown had been plumped by her mother
and neatly folded and she was sure she would find the nightgown she had left on
the floor neatly folded under the pillows.
She
picked up the violin, opened her music to the correct piece and practiced until
the call came for dinner. By the time she’d washed her hands, the family was
waiting for her.
“Frau
Berchtold said you came by today,” Papa asked. “Anything special?”
“I
had some good news.”
Her
mother passed the tureen around the table. The soup made the room smell homey.
“You are passing maths, aren’t you?”
“No
Mutti . . . I mean I’m passing, but that wasn’t the news. When I was at
swimming practice, my coach said if I really work hard, I might be able to try
out for the Olympics. I know I’ve a late start and . . .”
Her
father served himself from the tureen. “I know you’re a good swimmer, but no.
No daughter of mine is going to be an athlete.”
Hilke
had just reached for a Brötchen but
stopped mid-air. Her life for the past two years had centered around working on
her swimming, trying to get everything possible from each stroke. Today, the
coach told her after she’d clocked her best time ever that she had perfected
her form. Her hips were in exactly the right position: her head came out of the
water at exactly the right angle. He had her do it a second time, and she’d
done it two seconds faster. “I beat my own time today. Twice.”
“If
you spent as much time on your studies as you do on your swimming, we wouldn’t
worry about your grades,” her father said.
Hilke
looked at Joseph for help.
“Tomorrow
may I spend the afternoon at Gunther’s? We need to go over our Latin verbs.”
Joseph said.
Hilke
didn’t dare smile at him, but she planned to thank him later.
Papa
nodded, but Mutti put down the
tureen. “I really think you should stop swimming, Hilke until your grades come
up.”
The
sixteen-year old sat still for a minute. Give up swimming? Why didn’t they ask
her to give up her arm? Or her eyes? She felt Joseph’s hand on her leg under
the table. When she opened her mouth, he increased the pressure. So she said
nothing. Later, after music night she would ask him for advice.
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