فصل 17

alfred

Hello, dear Hannelore!

How writing or just thinking your name alters my mood. Sometimes I lie on my cot and whisper it oh so slowly into the darkness. Han-ne-lore. Little Lore.

It is late evening. I imagine you at home, finger twirling in your hair while reading one of your beloved books. Perhaps the snow falls there as it does here?

Home in Heidelberg feels so very far away. Buffered by distance, I feel compelled to share a secret. Perhaps it is naughty of me to mention, but did you ever realize that your kitchen window stands opposite our lavatory window on the main floor? I could often smell your mother’s duck in the oven from our bathroom. Yes, I frequently watched you eating your breakfast before school. Oh, do not be embarrassed, Lore. Neighbors share close quarters. We of course shared more. Those memories, they are the coals that shield my heart from frost.

But time for reflection is scant. Relaxation is nonexistent for a brave man of the Kriegsmarine. As you know, I am quite an accomplished watchman. Attention to detail has always been one of my great strengths, hence I am making note of everything to report to you. There is word of a massive naval evacuation and we are preparing at the port. I will finally be at sea, traversing the waterways into the oceans, like the adventurers you so love to read about in your precious novels.

And it will be an adventure, Lore. People are already arriving at the port to stand in line for one of the big ships. Some have carried all of their earthly belongings with them, piled high upon horse-drawn carts and sleds. Expensive rugs, clocks, china, chairs, they have brought it all. Certainly there won’t be space enough and some items will be denied. I saw a lovely crystal butterfly on a cart today. It brought you instantly to mind—how your dark, silken hair floats like wings of gossamer. If the butterfly is not permitted on board, I have decided I will keep it. Redistribution to those who are worthy makes the most sense.

Your kind heart would break if you saw the people at the port. They are weary and filthy from their long treks. Some have escaped from countries as far away as Estonia. Can you imagine? Stalin has stolen more than land, Hannelore, he has stolen human dignity. I see it in their forlorn eyes and broken posture. It’s all the fault of the Communists. They are animals.

And now Stalin’s army is closing in and people are panicking. No, no, fear not. I am quite confident and assured of my abilities. After all, a human being cannot be trained for these situations, he must be born for them. And thanks be to God that I was.

I rolled over and slid my duffel out from beneath the cot. I reached inside for my well-worn copy of Hitler’s book, Mein Kampf, and spotted the writing paper Mutter had given to me. Perhaps tomorrow I would actually put pen to paper.