The Watcher (6 page)

“Shouldn't that be my decision?” I called out.

Adrie whirled around. “No. It's my decision,” she snapped. “And you'll start next week.”

A
drie made an appointment for me at the Lebensborn nursery in Berlin for the following week. At first I was angry that I had no choice in the matter, but the more I thought about it, I decided it would be better to take care of babies and little children at the Lebensborn nurseries than to be miserable with a bunch of girls who didn't want to know me anyway.

“Where do the Lebensborn babies and children come from?” I asked Adrie.

“Oh, many of the children are homeless or from other countries—Czechoslovakia and Poland; wherever SS officers find healthy, blond Aryan children without parents. Then they're brought back here for a new life as German children.”

“What happened to their real parents?”

Adrie hesitated for a moment then said, “I don't know.
What does it matter? The children will have a better future here.”

“So Lebensborn is like an orphanage?”

“In a way. If a German family wants to, they can apply to adopt these homeless children. But that family must prove it is Aryan and German for several generations back. We are nurturing a new world, remember.”

“I think it would be wrong to steal children from one country and bring them to another.” Then I asked, “What about the babies? Are they from other countries too?”

“No, these babies were born of SS officers and beautiful Aryan German women.”

“Are their parents married?”

“Don't ask so many questions.” Adrie shook her head, as if exasperated. “You'll find out more about it after you've been here awhile.”

Now the day had come when I would begin my work at the Lebensborn. As Adrie and I, in the new Opel, pulled in to a parking space in front of the Lebensborn, I peered out to see a cold-looking gray stone building. “This looks too dreary to be a children's residence.”

“It was a private residence before Herr Himmler felt we needed a Lebensborn home here in Berlin.”

A large flag flew from the side of the building. It didn't contain a swastika, but it had two strange letters that resembled the
SS
.

“What is that?” I asked, pointing to the flag.

“It's an ancient runic letter that stands for the SS. They
represent a flash of lightning. The children here are protected by the SS,” Adrie explained. “No one can ever harm Lebensborn children. Herr Himmler considers them special children because they belong to Germany.”

As we headed for the front door, we passed a girl about my age who stood on the sidewalk with a money box. When she saw us, she approached and spoke to Adrie in German. Adrie stopped, pulled out money, and tucked it into the box.

“What did she want?” I whispered to Adrie.

“She's begging for money so she can buy a uniform and join the BDM—the
Bund Deutscher Mädel
.”

“Speak in English, please.”

“It's the Band of German Girls—the Nazi association for girls,” Adrie said. “You see, Wendy, the girls here are enthusiastic to join—but not you! You should be as eager.”

“I may join, once I learn German.”

I followed Adrie up the steps, where she pushed a doorbell. While we waited, I fidgeted anxiously. “I am so nervous. I don't know what to expect or what they expect of me.”

“You'll be fine. It's only three days a week, and I can bring you and pick you up, since I will be working in Berlin anyway. You'll be coming on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I was told.”

“Why did they ask me to start on a Friday?”

“So you'll have the weekend off to think about things, I suppose.”

I shuffled my feet, getting more nervous by the minute.
“Did you tell these people we'd be here today?”

Adrie looked at her watch. “They know you're coming at ten o'clock, and we're right on time.”

Just then, the heavy wooden door swung open. “Ah,
guten Morgen
!” A tall, stout woman filled the doorway and greeted us. She stepped back, beckoning us in.
“Ich bin Frau Messner.”

Frau Messner led us into a large playroom. Toy train tracks with a wooden train and engine big enough for a child to ride wound through the center of the room. Several children played quietly with blocks and playthings scattered about.

One girl, who looked about three years old, was swinging back and forth on a white rocking horse, while a little blond boy stood by crying.

“I think he wants a turn on the rocking horse,” I said.

When Adrie translated, Frau Messner called out to the girl, scolding her.

At Frau Messner's tone of voice, the girl climbed off the rocking horse and ran into another room. Yet, instead of taking his turn, the toddler's cries turned into screams and he ran behind a chair.

Frau Messner spoke up quickly and Adrie translated. “That's little Hunfrid. He's been brought to us from Poland.”

“So he's an orphan?” I asked, then waited for Adrie to translate.

“Ja.”
Frau Messner nodded and explained something to Adrie.

“His parents are dead,” Adrie told me. “He is such a perfect little Aryan child, the SS brought him here and named him Hunfrid.”

Frau Messner said something else, and Adrie raised her eyebrows. For a moment she paused before telling me what was said. “Um, he is so unhappy and so difficult that they may send him . . . somewhere else. So don't get too fond of him.”

“Where is somewhere else?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Adrie answered with a frown. “There are other children here who need your help, Wendy. Don't focus on one child.”

I picked up a little teddy bear and went over to Hunfrid, who crouched behind a chair.

“Komm zu mir,”
I said softly, hoping he understood the little German I knew. Instead he squatted down and hid his head.

“Come on out and see me,” I said in English in a squeaky voice. But I noticed he was peeking at me from under his arms. I held the bear around the corner of the chair as if it were a puppet, peering at Hunfrid.

“Nein!”
He obviously knew the German word for no.

I held the bear's arm, throwing a kiss, and spoke in English. “Come give me a hug, Hunfrid.”

“Nein!”

“Ohhh, Hunfrid,
komm zu mir,
” I whined as if the bear were crying. “Hunfrid,” I cried.

“Dobry,” Hunfrid said suddenly, pointing to himself. “Dobry.”

Frau Messner came closer and whispered to Adrie, who then explained to me that Dobry was his Polish name. “You must use only his German name, Hunfrid.”

That name would make anyone miserable,
I wanted to say. Instead I held the teddy bear close and kissed it on the cheek. “Hunfrid want a kiss too?” I asked, holding the little bear out to him.

The little boy took a step toward me but then looked fearfully at Frau Messner and hid himself again.

Frau Messner spoke brusquely in German, and Adrie translated hesitantly, “Frau says the boy is an obstinate child. He doesn't adapt well.” Adrie turned to the supervisor and conversed with her for a few minutes.

That's what they said about Watcher, and they were going to shoot him. I wonder what would happen to this little boy if they sent him to . . . somewhere else.

Finally, Frau Messner nodded and smiled slightly.
“Ja, das ist gut.”

Adrie interpreted the conversation. “I pointed out how well you spoke to Hunfrid even though you primarily speak English. He doesn't speak German either. Frau Messner agreed and said if you'd like to work with him and simply make him comfortable here, that would be fine. He needs to forget his family in Poland. That's why you must teach him that his name is now Hunfrid—not Dobry—and that he's a German boy.” Adrie smiled at me. “I think you can do that.”

Just then a door on the other side of the playroom opened and a pretty girl—who seemed to be about my age—came
across the room. The thick blond braids that wound around her head reminded me of a golden crown, or perhaps a halo. She wore a faded but clean and pressed German dress with the traditional apron.

“Guten Morgen,”
the girl said. Then, after a few words with Frau Messner, she turned to me. “I am happy to meet you, Wendy. I hope you can understand the little English that I speak. My name is Johanna. We . . . you and I . . . will work together.” Smiling, she took ahold of my hands and squeezed them.

At last! A girl my age who is sweet and friendly. And not only that . . . she speaks English!

I
'll leave you now with Frau Messner and Johanna,” Adrie said. “They'll show you around and help you get acquainted with what you'll be doing here.”

“As long as I have someone who speaks English, I'll be fine.” I turned to Johanna. “Since we'll be working together, maybe you can help me with my German.”

“I'll be happy to help you, Wendy. And you can correct me with my English.”

“You speak English very well,” I assured her. “Where did you learn it?”

“In school. I was in a special school for advanced students—until I was expelled.”

I was surprised to hear she was expelled from school! She seemed so poised and intelligent. “I notice you pronounced my name properly.”

“It is difficult for Germans to pronounce
w
and
j
. You
probably noticed, my name is spelled with the letter
j
but pronounced as a
y
. Yo-hanna.”

Before Adrie left, she beckoned to me as she stood by the door. “Wendy,” she whispered when I went to her. “Don't get too friendly with that girl Johanna. She is not here for the same reason as you are. Frau Messner said she has been assigned to Lebensborn for reeducation, to change her ways. They have been unable to do anything with her. She is a bright, intelligent girl, but she has been obstinate and a traitor to the Fatherland. She had better change soon, or . . . well, her family is already in the camps.”

“Camps? What kind of camps?”

“Work camps—rehabilitation camps.”

I slowly remembered hearing about concentration camps where people were sent who did not cooperate with the Nazis. “She said she had been expelled from her school. Why? What has she or her family done?”

“She's a
Bibelforscher
—one of those International Bible Students who will not capitulate and renounce their religion. She will not salute our Führer, and she considers herself neutral in this war.”

“I don't care whether she's a
Bibel
 . . . whatever . . . or not,” I argued. “I could use a friend my own age.”

Adrie sighed. “It's all right to work with her, but you should never be friends. Frau Messner seems to like and respect her. But Johanna had better yield her beliefs or . . .”

“Or what? She'll be sent away to the camps too?”

“Most likely.” Adrie walked out the door.

I went back to Johanna, who stood waiting for me.
“Where would you like to start, Wendy?” she asked.

“With little Hunfrid over there behind the chair.” Once again I crossed over to the little boy who sat on the floor, his thumb in his mouth, looking totally lost and sad. I walked as far as I dared so as not to frighten him into hiding somewhere else. Then I again gathered the fuzzy toy bear in my arms and sat it on the rocking horse. “I don't know children's songs in German,” I whispered to Johanna. “But maybe it doesn't matter.”

Johanna nodded. “Just a melody and rhythm will delight him. That would be good for your first day.”

“We can name the bear Dobry, can't we?”

Johanna hesitated for a moment. “The officers here are very firm and determined to Germanize him.” Then she shrugged. “Well, no one is here but us, and it's only the bear that has a Polish name. So I think it will be all right.”

I held the bear up and asked, “Want to play, Dobry? Want to go to Boston?” I bounced the teddy bear in my lap as I sang in English a rhyme I had loved as a child.

“Trot, trot to Boston? Trot, trot to Lynn.

Look out, little Dobry, or you might fall . . . IN!”

At the word
in
, I let the bear drop to the floor. I repeated the nursery rhyme several times, waiting for a reaction from Hunfrid. The first few times he only watched, but gradually he showed an interest and even began to laugh when the bear fell “in.”

Finally I put my arms out to him. “Want to go to Boston?”

Johanna gasped when Hunfrid climbed onto my lap.

Once again I sang.