Lilac Girls (29 page)

“V
ilmer Hartman is here to see you,” Nurse Marschall said with a knowing look. Why did she continue to enter my office without knocking?

I'd woken that morning in a foul mood and with a strange buzzing sound in my head. Maybe it was due to the fact that the camp was bursting at the seams. Ravensbrück had been built for seven thousand prisoners but by that summer held close to forty-five thousand. Maybe it was the constant air-raid sirens or the ominous war news. In early June word reached camp that the Americans had landed in France. Or maybe it was the fact that the camp was overrun with infectious prisoners, and every other week I had to cleanse the
Revier
completely of patients not fit for work and send them on black transports. Even after a few cuts to relieve the tension, I still couldn't sleep.

To make it all worse, Suhren had made no headway in the case of the Rabbits. The blocks were so overcrowded and mismanaged it would be impossible to find them without a camp-wide lockdown. Gerda told me their friends exchanged numbers with them and hid them everywhere, even in the TB block.

I was in no mood to visit with old friends.

Vilmer Hartman, a psychologist I had known at medical school, wanted to tour Uckermark, a nearby former youth camp for girls, where Suhren sent prisoner overflow. I knew psychologists did the rounds of the camps checking the mental health of the camp staff—a waste of time when there were so many more important tasks. I hoped to take him to Uckermark, conduct his tour in five minutes or less, and be on my way without complications. I planned on an early evening and a cool tub, for we were in the middle of a heat wave. It was the hottest July on record.

I found Vilmer out in front of the administration building, waiting in the passenger side of a
Wagen.
I took the wheel, started the engine, and switched on the radio to discourage conversation.

Germany continues to be victorious. Allied supplies continue to dwindle as German troops continue Operation Watch on the Rhine. In other news—

Vilmer switched the radio off. “Victorious? Such lies. How can we delude ourselves? We've already lost the war. It was over back in Stalingrad.”

“So what brings you to camp, Vilmer? The last time I saw you was in biology class. You were having a hard time with a fetal pig.”

Vilmer smiled. “That class almost did me in.”

Vilmer was a good-looking man with a slight wave to his blond hair and a gentle way. He wore civilian clothes, I assumed to gain the trust of the patients he spoke with. His expensive-looking pair of cordovan brogues somehow stayed polished even through the dust of the camp.

“The medical doctor path is not for everyone,” I said.

“It certainly pays better,” Vilmer said. “But I'm happy being a psychologist.”

Once we reached Uckermark, I parked and Vilmer, a typical German gentleman, opened the
Wagen
door for me. We surveyed the three newly built blocks and the enormous canvas army tent set up on the
platz,
under which hundreds of
Häftlings
stood and sat, still in their civilian clothes.

Vilmer had excellent manners, typical of a cultured German man, but was a dull sort. He'd asked me for a date once, but I'd been too busy to go.

“You publish so much, Vilmer. What a career you've made for yourself.”

I brushed the sleeve of my white coat, for black ashes had collected there.

“It is too warm for long sleeves today, isn't it?” Vilmer said. “No need to dress formally for me.”

“Why are you here, Vilmer?”

“Studying the connection between trauma and psychosis.”

“Another study? You will have endless subjects here, starting with the officer's canteen.”

“I am more interested in the prisoners.”

“Who cares about them? Don't touch them unless you want to catch something.”

“I care very much,” Vilmer said. “It's only part of my assignment, but through talk therapy with prisoners, I've learned a great deal.”

“What's your official assignment?” I asked.

We reached the tent, and Vilmer turned to smile at a
Häftling.

“To evaluate the population's ability to contribute based on a variety of criteria.”

What he meant was
to cull those mentally unable to work.
Before he marked them for special handling, he dabbled in a little research of his own.

“Observing the rats in the maze,” I said.

“I like to think it helps them to talk about it. Since when did you become so callous, Herta?”

“Should I be on a couch for this?”

“It would do you good. I'm not surprised, really. You have been systematically desensitized for years after all, starting with medical school. I remember a sword fight with human limbs in the dissecting lab.”

“And you are here to observe only prisoners?”

“Oh no. Select camp staff as well.”

“Does that include me?”

Vilmer shrugged. “We all have a job to do.”

“So everything I say will be recorded and fed to Suhren?”

“I report to Berlin.”

“Did they tell you to evaluate me?”

“You are one of many, Herta. The camp doctors are especially at risk. As a group, you show a deep respect for authority. You accept, even crave, the status quo.”

“I can't live in a place so dirty as this.” I brushed more cinders off my coat. “What does my file say?”

“You tell me.”

“I'm sure the whole incident with the Pole is in there.”

“Perhaps.”

“What is there to tell? I found a prisoner, a former nurse, who helped me transform the
Revier,
and Nurse Marschall became jealous and put an end to it. Marschall. There's one to study.”

“Do you know why they have you playing chess with Dr. Winkelmann?”

“We don't exactly chat about it, Vilmer.”

Though I had at first railed against the forced visits with my rotund colleague Winkelmann, I had come to find them oddly relaxing. I dabbed mentholated jelly under my nose to fight his body odor and watched him eat an endless queue of fish sandwiches as he lectured me on the benefits of fish as brain food. I'd had worse dates.

“I assume they suspect I became overly close with another woman and would benefit from male company.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“It is not my job to feel.”

“Internalizing your emotions won't help you, Herta.”

Vilmer was so
soft,
with his sad brown cow eyes. Never the sharpest student, medical school had been wasted on him.

“I was simply sad about it all. She was a hard worker and a good person.”

“My notes say you took to your bed for several days. Acute anxiety.”

“I got over it.” Anything can be overcome with hard work and discipline. Why was he making such a production out of it all?

“You seem upset that your jacket is becoming dirtied by the
Krema
cinders. Care to talk about it?”

“I happen to prefer wearing a clean white coat, Vilmer. Is that a violation of some behavioral rule?”

“No need to raise your voice, Herta. Have the episodes become more frequent?”

How much more did I have to take?

“How are you sleeping?”

Suddenly it felt hot like hell standing out there in the sun. “Not well, Vilmer. Might have something to do with the four
A.M.
siren. Not that anyone cares if I sleep.”

“You feel like no one cares?” Vilmer asked.

“Would you stop asking me about feelings?
Mein Gott,
Vilmer. What good does that do? How do I feel? How do I feel?”

My raised voice attracted the attention of an
Aufseherin.
That was all I needed—more reports in my file.

“Look, this is not an easy place to call home,” Vilmer said. “Your chart indicates your camp responsibilities. You can't possibly be indifferent to it all. It's not in your nature to end lives, Herta. You're no doubt experiencing psychic numbing.”

“I do my job,” I said, pulling the sleeves of my dress down over my wrists.

“Any more cutting?”

What if there was? I could handle it.

“No, of course not,” I said. “No cutting.”

Vilmer put a cigarette to his lips and flicked open his lighter, the glint of sun on the aluminum case blinding me for a moment. “You can't have it both ways, Herta. Kill and still be seen as a healer. It takes a toll.”

“On my time off, I think of other things.”

“That's doubling, you know. It's unhealthy.”

“So is smoking.”

Vilmer winced and tossed his cigarette away, causing a scuffle among the
Häftlings.
“Look, a certain amount of compartmentalizing is healthy, but you might be better off with a change of pace.”

“You are transferring me?”

“I think you could do with a change, yes. At this point, there isn't a lot you can do to help the Reich.”

“So you'll stick me in some small-town hospital ward with a tongue depressor and a bottle of aspirin? You may not have taken your medical education seriously, but I have worked hard to get where I am.”

“No need for hostility, Herta.”

My dress was like a furnace, causing perspiration to roll down my back.

“So now I am hostile? Please. Have you ever done something so well you think you are destined to do great things? No, don't write ‘suffering from grandiosity' on my chart. This is real. I am a
medical doctor,
Vilmer. It is my oxygen. Please don't let them send me away.”

“This mess is not ending well for Germany, Herta. You must see that. You will be in line for the gallows.”

I started back to the
Wagen.
“Suhren is managing things.”

Vilmer followed. “You think Suhren will protect you? He will make a run for Munich. Or Austria. Gebhardt is already lobbying to have himself made president of the Red Cross, as if that will absolve him. Why don't you just take a leave of absence?”

It was sickening. Such weakness. Had all Germans turned to jelly overnight?

“I will leave you to your research.” I stepped back into the
Wagen
and tossed him the bag of sandwiches we'd brought. “I can handle this, Vilmer. I have come this far. Please don't take it all away.”

As I drove out of the Uckermark gates, a truck passed me in the opposite direction, coming to pick up a special-handling transport. I found Vilmer in my rearview mirror, squatting near the tent, talking with some Hungarian Jews. Chatting with them about their feelings, no doubt. As if that would help the Reich.

A
FEW MONTHS LATER
Suhren called me to his office, his face earthworm gray.

“Our sources tell me news of Gebhardt's Rabbits has leaked. Berlin intercepted a Swit broadcast from the Polish government-in-exile in London that gave details of the Rabbits. Called it vivisection and mentioned me by name. Binz too. Said our crimes will be avenged with a red-hot poker.”

“Any doctors mentioned?”

“Just Gebhardt. They said a Catholic mission in Fribourg sent word to the Vatican.”

“I told you, Commandant.”

He paced. “How did word leak? We were so careful. I suppose we need to make sure those Rabbits are well tended then.”

“No, Commandant. Just the opposite. As we discussed—”

“The security office says the Polish government-in-exile has condemned Gebhardt to
death,
you know. This is international opinion we are dealing with. Must be handled carefully. It can make a difference once things are, well,
over.
”

“It's better if the Rabbits are never found. Hard for public opinion to comment on something that never existed.”

“But Himmler is talking to Sweden about transporting
Häftlings
out of here. To Sweden in Red Cross buses. Thinks it might encourage leniency. Perhaps this will help us. I hope it is well noted that I objected to the operations.”