Entwined

I dedicate this book to Jeanne F. Bernkopf.

Not just my editor, but my wise, my trusted

and beloved mentor.

Thank you to all the people who gave me so much of their time, especially to those who opened their past and painful memories with such heartfelt frankness and honesty.

I also wish to thank Rose Marie Morse.

Three hundred and fifty thousand to four hundred thousand children were admitted to Birkenau and Auschwitz and only eight hundred survived.

Hilda Deikmann moved silently across the sitting room of the suite and paused to check her appearance in one of the floor-to-ceiling gilt mirrors. Her dress had seen better times—but then so had the hotel. It had not been restored yet to its original splendor, but already it reflected the changing times. East Berlin was now free; the wall had come down.

Standing by the sashed windows, she could see the porters in their new red and gold uniforms, way below in the street. From her post Hilda watched the Mercedes limousine glide to the entrance, and a tall man in a fur-collared coat step from the front passenger seat. He gestured to the porters to remove the luggage from the trunk as a car drew up behind them. A blond woman in a bright red coat was helped out of the backseat. She turned to speak to the tall gentleman as another woman, wearing a dark coat and hat, hurried from the second car. The threesome conferred before bending to the remaining passenger seated in the rear of the Mercedes.

Before Hilda could see who was about to come out of the car, the doors to her suite opened.

A set of matching leather cases and trunks was wheeled in on a porter's cart. Hilda directed the luggage toward the master bedroom, then turned to deal with the second cartful. The room was suddenly alive with movement as the porters removed the cases and placed them on racks. Champagne was brought by a waiter; he was followed by another carrying a crystal scalloped dish arranged with caviar, finely chopped onions and egg whites.

From the corridor Hilda could hear voices speaking in French. The manager's stilted, heavy-accented reply was in English.

"You will be assured of the utmost privacy…please, this way."

Baron Louis Marechal, his coat now loosely on his shoulders, entered the suite. He was a handsome man, gray-white wings at the side of his temples, his thick hair combed back from a high forehead. He wore a gray pinstriped suit, and an oyster-gray tie. A signet ring on his left hand gleamed as he gestured.

The baron turned around as the woman in the red coat, carrying a square leather jewelry box, appeared at the doorway, where she was soon joined by a rather plain, drab young woman. The young woman also carried a square leather vanity case. She looked back to the corridor.

"Madame…please."

Baroness Marechal appeared in the door; everyone fell silent waiting for her approval. She was very tall, exceptionally thin; a black mink cape seemed to weigh her down. She wore dark glasses that hid most of her face. Her black hair was short, almost boyish. She gave the impression of fragility, as if at any moment she would faint, or fall, or float. She moved as lightly as a dancer as she walked into the suite.

Suddenly, she was everywhere—touching and admiring, running to the bedroom suite, throwing wide the doors. As if by magic she brought the sun into the room.

The manager quickly introduced Hilda to the baroness, who laughed gaily as she repeated: "Lady's maid, lady's maid! My lady's maid…how divine! I love this hotel—Close your eyes, Louis, we have traveled back in time!"

Hilda saw the exchange of glances between the baroness's own maid and the woman in the red coat. Suddenly the room, as if by unspoken command from the baron, had emptied. The baroness didn't seem to notice.

Hilda asked the baron if she should unpack.

"Yes, immediately." The baron responded in German. He introduced Hilda to Anne Marie, the maid, and to Dr. Helen Masters, a family friend who was to use the adjoining suite.

Hilda was startled as the baroness cupped her chin in her hands. The tall lady looked down into Hilda's face.

"Do you speak English? You do? Good. I don't speak German, I apologize."

The baroness jumped as the baron wrapped the mink around her shoulders. He then gripped her elbow, whispered something in her ear, than guided her out of the suite. Anne Marie followed them out.

Hilda opened the first of the baroness's standing trunks.

One trunk contained delicate silk lingerie. Not one item appeared to have been worn; even the shoes looked new. Each pair had a small handwritten note tucked inside, indicating which handbag and scarf would complete the outfit.

The large leather vanity case which the young woman had carried was placed at the side of the bed. Hilda carried it into Anne Marie's room, and could not resist peeking inside. It was not filled with jewels, as she had expected, but with countless bottles of pills.

Just then the door flew open, and the baroness burst in.

"Hilda!" The baroness looked momentarily startled. "I can't remember if I carried my jewel box in with me. It's a square dark blue leather box."

Hilda followed the baroness back to her room; she did not recall seeing it. The baroness rushed to the dressing table. The vanity case, smaller than the one Hilda had placed in Anne Marie's room, was stashed on a shelf beneath the mirrored top. She hugged it tightly. Hilda watched her take out small silver-framed photographs and arrange them on the bedside table.

"My children, my two daughters, Sasha, Sophia, and my sons…"

Hilda studied the photographs of the smiling children.

The baroness began to rifle through the unpacked clothes, throwing them on the floor.

"My makeup box, where is my makeup box?"

Anne Marie walked in.

"The photographs…you've unpacked the box, Baroness!" she said.

The baroness retorted that she had found her children, now she could not find the other case. She was on her hands and knees, looking under the bed, when the baron walked into the room carrying yet another square case.

"Darling, do you want your jewels put into the hotel safe?"

"No! I want them with me!"

She held tightly to the jewelry box. He shrugged.

"All right, all right, but take care of them!" He then turned to Hilda, impatiently.

"Run her bath—the baroness needs to rest!"

♦ ♦ ♦

The bathwater was laced with oils and perfumes. Hilda tested the temperature, and then warmed the towels on the heated rails. The baroness, wrapped in a white terrycloth robe and still wearing her glasses, sang at the top of her voice as she dropped her robe. Skeleton-thin, white-skinned, she had the body of a young girl. She handed Hilda her dark glasses, and then sprang into the bath.

"Hilda, will you order some hot chocolate, and biscuits?"

The baroness was not as young as Hilda had first thought. There were telltale signs under her chin: The skin was a little loose, she had fine lines around her eyes and mouth.

She immersed herself in the soapy water, blowing at the soap bubbles, then lay back and let the water cover her face, her dark hair fanning out behind her.

Hilda stood transfixed as she watched the baroness's hands break the surface of the water like a ballet dancer's. Her back arched and the nipples of her small breasts lifted. Finally her face emerged, cheeks puffed out. Like a child she spurted a stream of water from her mouth.

Hilda laughed nervously, and left the bathroom.

♦ ♦ ♦

Hilda saw the baroness emerge from the tub, go to the closet, then to the dressing table. She did not look at herself in the mirror. Quickening her pace, the baroness arched her back, her hands in front of her as if pushing something away. She caught Hilda's reflection in the mirror, and saw that she was being watched. She bared her teeth and her body arched again, like a cat's. Hilda was agape.

The moment was broken as the baron entered. He took one look at his wife, ordered Hilda from the room, and called out for Anne Marie, while gripping his wife's wrists.

Anne Marie walked into the bedroom with the case of pills and slammed the door behind her. Hilda heard screams of terror mixed with a stream of abuse in French and English. Then silence.

When the baron left the bedroom, he found Hilda still waiting "My wife is very sick. She is in Berlin for treatment. I would be grateful were you not to repeat what you saw tonight."

Hilda nodded. "I will be here in the morning," she murmured.

"That won't be necessary, Anne Marie will take care of my wife's needs."

♦ ♦ ♦

Helen Masters hurried into the suite and found him looking at the teeth marks on his hand.

He shook his head. "I've seen this coming all day. She gets excited, and then explodes with this terrible rage."

"I know, Louis."

"It's as if she hated me, hated the children. She attacked Sasha. I think she will kill someone!"

Helen stood by the mantel, running her fingers along the cold marble. She felt uneasy, she had never spent time alone with the baron before, except for brief meetings when he came to collect Vebekka from her office. It was she who had suggested that they consult Dr. Franks, her mentor and former teacher in Berlin, because Vebekka was clearly beyond her help. She had offered to travel with them, taking a two-week holiday to do so, never suspecting how deeply involved she would become.

"I have not seen her this bad; all the more reason to consult Dr. Franks."

She looked at the baron; his face was taut with anger. She chose her words carefully.

"Dr. Franks will ask you many questions. He'll need to probe into the background of her illness; this includes your own history and your marriage."

Louis sprang to his feet. "Illness! Every doctor she has been to insists on calling her madness 'illness'! Well? What do you think, now that you've seen her in one of her rages?"

Helen coughed. "She is obviously very distressed tonight."

"Distressed? You tell me she has been like this with you?" he snapped.

"No, but I expected the journey to upset her, and her behavior is not surprising. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll turn in."

"I'm sorry, you must be tired, forgive me. Good night, Doctor."

As she left, he noticed that she had very shapely legs.

♦ ♦ ♦

Vebekka didn't know whether it was day or night but she knew it had happened again. She couldn't recall what she had done, what she had said or who she had hurt this time. How many strange rooms had she been brought to over the years? She stared at the ornate chandelier above the bed, and hoped it would fall and crush her. Why had she agreed to come to this place, why had she insisted they stay in East Berlin?
Had
she insisted? She could not remember. She could not even remember why Louis had brought her here.

The tranquilizers made her thirsty; she slipped out of bed and stood by the partly open door. Louis was sleeping in the bedroom suite, one arm crooked over his face, the other spread across the empty space next to him. She'd often watched him sleeping, sometimes for hours, fascinated by the contours of his handsome face. Vebekka moved silently around the bed.

She was close enough to touch him. She wanted to lie next to him, wanted to slip her hand into his, but she saw the dark red bruises, the teeth marks, and she crept out, knowing now what she had done. She wanted to cry, but she had wept too many times, for too many years. She knew she had alienated him and the children. It was a terrible thing to see the fear in their eyes if she laughed too loudly, called out too sharply; no matter what assurance she gave them, their fear hung in the air. And lately she could no longer fight it. Vebekka knew it was just a matter of time before the darkness swallowed her.

The streets were empty. As she stared from the window, a disembodied voice in the distance overwhelmed her with panic. It was coming, it was beginning.

"Oh please, dear God, no…"

She tried to draw the dark green curtain, but her hand pulled back. Something was crawling inside the curtain; she didn't want to see it. Her heart began to beat rapidly and she couldn't catch her breath, she was suffocating. She whispered, for someone, anyone, to help her, she didn't want the curtain to open.

Anne Marie had heard the muffled sounds; she quickly checked the baroness's room, and saw the empty bed; she ran into the adjoining bathroom in a panic. The tiles and floor were covered with blood. She found Vebekka, naked, curled up by the toilet. She had slashed her arms with a razor. She was weeping, saying over and over she wanted to leave Berlin. As Anne Marie touched her, she struggled and kicked out viciously. She wanted to be taken home, she wanted to die. Her voice rose to a screech as she cried out that it was here, it had come for her, it was here, it was taking over, and they should let her die.

Anne Marie woke Helen Masters, and the two women sedated and bandaged Vebekka and together carried her back to her room. The struggle had exhausted her, and at last she was calm. They waited until she fell into a deep sleep.