Page 66 of Love in the Shadows

He protected his face with his raised arms, turned away, allowed her to hit him though her swipes were pathetic. So much effort for so little in return. Eventually her energy dried up altogether and she slumped back to the floor, sobbing and screaming so hard it was as if her own life depended on it. “You killed my baby boy.”

She didn’t know how long she’d sat on the floor, rocking, staring into the void. Gerhard hadn’t moved from the spot. He stared down at her, his features tight from his own form of grief. Silent and distant.

He stepped towards her.

“Leave me alone,” she said.

“Johanna, please.”

She was trembling, anger surging in waves. “How did you think it would end, Gerhard? Medals, flags and glory. You’re a fucking idiot. How could you be taken in by this, this…” What word summed up the destruction, the hate, the devastation, the evil, and the utter blindness that had captivated them all, like a disease. She thumped her head, annoyed with herself for not stopping Gerhard when she should have done, for being weak. “This ludicrous fanaticism.”

He went to the table and poured himself a drink, gulped it down, poured another and drank that too. He set the glass down on the table too firmly, breaking it, cutting his hand. He watched the blood dripping, wrapped his handkerchief around the wound, and picked up a new glass. He filled it and drank until it was empty. “Does it ever occur to you that I do not like this war any more than you do?”

“You killed my son, Gerhard. But do you know what is worse?”

He looked to where she was sat, though he avoided making eye contact.

“I should have been stronger. I should have stopped you from turning him away from me.” She started to cry as she thought about her little boy with his blond curls and beaming smile. He had been excited to leave them, naïve and innocent. She hoped he hadn’t suffered. “Get away. I never want to see you again.”

He walked into the kitchen and returned with a new bottle of wine, picked up the glass from the table, opened the door and went up the stairs.

Johanna stood up; her head spun, and she felt nauseous. She went out through the kitchen doorway and crossed the yard, taking deep gulps of air. She stood outside the back door of the cottage, hand raised, fist clenched, her heart breaking into pieces, drawing her down. Her arm dropped to her side and her head fell to her chest. She landed on her knees and sobbed.

The door opened.

“Frau Neumann, what has happened?”

Frau Tussaud glanced towards the house, then opened the door fully and reached down to help her up. “Come in, quickly. What on earth is going on? Does your husband know you’re here?”

Johanna shook her head.

Frau Tussaud led her to the table, and Johanna slumped in a chair. “Is Fabienne here?”

Frau Tussaud hovered next to her. “Yes, she’s just taken some food to Linette. She’ll be down in a moment. Can I get you something to drink, perhaps?” She stirred a pot on the stove and took a bottle of brandy from the cupboard.

Johanna shook her head. “I need to talk to Fabienne.”

Frau Tussaud poured herself a drink, watching Johanna closely.

When Fabienne entered the kitchen after what felt like an eternity, Johanna stood too quickly. Her head spun and she dropped back into the chair. “He’s dead,” she said.

Fabienne came to her and stroked her cheek. “Look at me. Who is dead, Johanna?”

Johanna said her son’s name on a sob and continued to cry. Fabienne held her, stroked her hair, helped her to stand and led her through to the living room, and helped her to sit on the couch. Then she sat next to her, put her arm around her shoulders and drew Johanna to lean against her. She kissed the top of Johanna’s head.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.”

Johanna closed her eyes, calmed a little by the comfort. The rage quieted, and the sadness burrowed deep into her soul. She had always known she would never see Ralf again. She’d denied it, of course: hoped, as any mother would. But deep down, she’d known when he’d stepped on the train heading for the Hitler Youth that she’d lost more than her baby boy. She closed her eyes and all she could see were his smiling, blue eyes and cheeky grin, chasing around the park, climbing the tree in her mother’s back garden, spilling lemonade down his best shirt, fidgeting in church when everyone else around them was still. He loved to run, and he ran like the wind. He’d won medals for cross country and had been the Hitler Youth fifteen-hundred metres champion every year from the age of thirteen. He had been gifted. The perfect candidate to serve in the 12th Panzer Division. And his talents had cost him his life.

She sighed and eased away from Fabienne. “I’m sorry to have burdened you,” she said.

Fabienne took her hand, shaking her head. “You didn’t. Stay a while.”

Tears flood Johanna’s cheeks. She wiped at them, but they kept coming.

Fabienne tugged her close, held her tightly. “It’s okay, Johanna. Let it out.”

Again, she felt the kisses on the top of her head, Fabienne’s strong, comforting embrace. The sobs eased and Fabienne’s hold relaxed.

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