The Watcher (7 page)

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

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

I let Hunfrid fall holding his hands as he dropped to keep him from falling to the floor. Soon he was laughing and wanting more.

“Wi
ę
cej.”

“That must mean ‘more' in Polish,” Johanna said, looking concerned. “We need to teach him how to say
more
in German, or Frau will be angry.” She clapped her hands to get Hunfrid's attention.
“Mehr! Mehr!”
she said.

Hunfrid became still for a moment. Then he yelled, “
Mehr. Mehr.”

“Gut! Gut!”
Johanna pulled a cookie from her apron pocket and gave it to him.

“Gut!”
exclaimed Hunfrid as he bit into the cookie. Then he looked up at me.
“Mehr,”
he said. “Boston.”

Within a short time, I sang quiet songs and rocked Hunfrid as I sang. Soon he had fallen asleep in my arms. His blond hair clung around his forehead, and his adorable face melted my heart. This baby was so lost. How did his parents die? Why did the SS bring him here to Berlin? Surely, he must have had other relatives back in Poland who were worried about him and would take him.

Frau Messner came by with a nod and a smile of approval, and I gave Hunfrid a kiss on his cheek before
she took him from me to another room.

After lunch in the children's dining hall, Johanna showed me around the nursery where the newborns and youngest babies lived. I had never seen so many babies at once. The changing table was huge and covered with thick leather padding and filled with dozens of wiggling babies. Nursemaids in uniforms stuffed bottles and pacifiers into their mouths; others changed diapers, rocked, walked, soothed screams, sang songs . . . The sounds, noises, and commotion reminded me of a zoo rather than a nursery.

Suddenly nurses shoved two babies each into our arms and gave orders in German.

“They've been fed and now they want us to rock them to sleep,” Johanna explained.

“Where are their mothers?”

“Some are upstairs getting well after the births—others are gone now.”

“Will they be back? Don't they want their babies?”

“Some work here so they can be near their babies. However, the babies are no longer theirs. These babies belong to the SS and are under its protection.”

The babies howled and wiggled, and I held on to them tightly for fear they would squirm right out of my arms. “They'll never go to sleep with so much noise in here.”

“They're used to noise.” Johanna pointed to rocking chairs near the windows. Then we both sat and rocked as we held the babies close. Johanna sang a lullaby. She had a sweet voice, and the babies quieted down with her song. It was nice and comfortable holding them. They were soft
and warm, newly bathed, and smelled of fresh soap and baby powder. It wasn't long before all four of them were asleep.

“How long have you been volunteering here?” I asked Johanna as we tucked the babies into bassinets.

“For over a year now.” Johanna looked at me with a sad smile. “I'm really not a volunteer. I'm here for the same reason as little Hunfrid out there in the other room. They are trying to make me become one of them too—a loyal Nazi.”

“I . . . don't understand. You aren't Polish like Hunfrid, are you?”

“No, I'm German,” Johanna said softly as she smoothed the babies' blankets. “They . . . the
Reich
 . . . the government wants to change my thinking—things I've been brought up to believe that make me who I am. We no longer have freedom of religion. Because I speak German, French, and English, they feel I would be valuable to them. So they put me here instead of the camps. All the while, they try to convince me to give up my beliefs. But my parents and my brother are already in the camps because they would never disown our God.” Before she looked away, I could see her eyes brighten with tears. “I miss them, and I worry so much about them.”

“The camps don't seem so bad,” I said, trying to make her feel better. “I've seen newsreels where detainees were having a nice time dancing and playing musical instruments. They're being treated well, aren't they?”

Johanna leaned close to me and whispered. “What you
see in the newsreels is not what is really happening in the camps. It is not true.”

“I don't understand. . . .”

“You will—eventually.”

“Why is your family in concentration camps, Johanna? They're not criminals—and they're German, aren't they?”

Johanna frowned. “We will not ‘Heil Hitler,' for one thing.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Maybe you don't realize it, but the word
Heil
in German means . . . um . . . ‘salvation' in English. I cannot salute Hitler as if he is God. All we Bible Students live good lives and obey the law. All we ask for is freedom to practice and live our religion. But they—the Nazis—are determined that
Bibelforscher
should renounce our religion or we will be put in the camps—even put to death.”

“What? Put to death?” I could not imagine such a thing. “You must be mistaken.”

“Wendy, you have no idea how many . . . undesirables . . . Jews, Gypsies,
Bibelforscher
—are disappearing once they're put into the camps, even if they are German.”

“There must be something you can do to avoid that.”

“
Ja.
They have given
Bibelforscher
a choice because we are German citizens. If we sign a paper saying we will give up our religion and Heil Hitler and obey the Nazi rules, we can go free.”

“You mean if you just sign a paper, you'll be free?”

Johanna nodded.

“That seems easy enough,” I said after thinking about
this for a moment. “Why not just sign the paper, and then do what you want?”

“I couldn't live with myself if I did that. You don't understand.” She stood up to leave. “I've said too much already.”

I grabbed ahold of her sleeve as she started to walk away. “Please don't go, Johanna. I'm sorry. You're right. I don't understand. And trust me, I'm here only because I have to volunteer at something, not to spy on you.”

Johanna swung around, and I could tell she was not convinced. “I hope not.”

“I'm here because I didn't want to join the girls' youth groups.” I lowered my voice. “They don't seem to be doing anything useful. They dance around and do cartwheels and wave flags—at least that's what I've heard and seen in the newspapers. And what's worse—they're only my age, and I've heard many of them are being groomed to be mothers.”

“
Ja,
most of the babies here have young, unmarried mothers,” Johanna said with a nod. “But the children will probably never live with them.”

“Well, I certainly don't want to be a young unmarried mother. I would much rather be here just caring for the babies. That's why Dr. Ernst asked me to . . .”

Johanna took in a breath and her eyes widened. “You are friends with Dr. Ernst?”

“I only met her . . .”

“I didn't realize you . . . ” Johanna straightened her apron and then turned to walk away. “I can't help you
after all.” This time she moved quickly and resolutely away from me.

“Why not?” I called after her. “What have I done?”

Johanna whirled around accusingly. “She—Dr. Ernst and her daughter, Gertrude —put you here to . . . trap me . . . to make me surrender who I am inside.” She patted her chest. “To make me one of them.” She stood tall, her face determined.

“I hardly know them. In fact, Gertrude was so rude to me, her mother gave me this job instead of her. She would be here in my place if she could be. Neither of them is a friend of mine,” I said, crossing the room to catch up with her. I put my hand on Johanna's arm. “Please don't go. Can't we be friends and work together?”

Johanna stared at me for a moment and must have seen the earnest sadness I was feeling, because she reached out to me. “I would like a friend, but only someone I can trust. You tell me to sign the paper and be free. I would rather you encourage me to stand firm in what I believe. That's what a friend would do.” Her voice quavered.

“I'm sorry, Johanna. Where I come from we never hear of things like this. We aren't given choices like this. I think you are very brave.”

Johanna came closer and whispered again. “Anything I say might endanger my family or my friends. If you are a friend of Dr. Ernst, or . . .”

“I swear to you, I hardly know either of them.”

“I want to believe you, Wendy,” she said with a cautious smile.

I put out my hand, pleading. “Please believe me.”

Johanna took my hand. “We will be friends, but please, don't try to talk me out of my Christian decision. And don't ever betray my trust.”

“Never,” I promised.

I spent the rest of the day working with Johanna. Little Hunfrid followed me around—grabbing my skirt, wanting to be bounced or just held. He carried the little teddy bear Dobry close to him wherever he went.

By the time I was ready to leave in the late afternoon, Hunfrid had learned my name. “Wen-dee! Wen . . . dee!” he called after me whenever I went out of his sight. I gave him a hug, and a kiss on the cheek, when I saw Adrie's car outside. Immediately he knew I was leaving and began to cry.

I could hear his sobs as I ran out the door to the driveway. Johanna held Hunfrid up to the window to wave good-bye. However, Hunfrid cried and held his arms out as if calling me to come back.

“I hate to leave him. I feel like I should go back and hold him,” I said to Adrie.

“He needs to know you won't be here all the time. As I said, do not become too attached, or you will be the one to get hurt. You heard Frau Messner. She said he might be sent somewhere else.”

“Where? Tell me. Where is somewhere else?”

“I don't know. Perhaps he'll be put up for adoption.”

Even though adoption would be better than living in the Lebensborn, something about Adrie's answer did not
ring true. Where would they send little Hunfrid, really?

A sinking feeling surged over me as I remembered what the SS officer said about Watcher.
He's worthless and can't be trained. We'll have to put him down.

What might happen to Hunfrid and Johanna if they “couldn't be trained”? Were they considered worthless? Would they be put down?

Of course not!

Don't be foolish,
I told myself.

H
aving Watcher jump up and lap my face when I got home from the Lebensborn helped me turn off the picture in my head of little Hunfrid with his arms outstretched to me.

After supper Adrie went to her office and turned on the radio to hear the news. Frieda was busy tidying up and bringing in clothing from the closed-in yard on the other side of the house, where she hung the laundry.

Out of curiosity, before the darkness of night set in, I went to the library and stood by the patio door. The leaves of the park were still. I wondered if I would ever see the watcher in the woods again. Then I remembered Barret! I had been so overwhelmed with Adrie, the new car, the puppy, and that awful tea party, I had forgotten all about Barret.

It was just as well I hadn't mentioned Barret to Adrie. If
I had, Adrie would probably have forbidden me to see him again. Look how concerned she was about Johanna.

Don't make friends with her,
she had said. She even warned me not to get attached to little Hunfrid.

I was sure now that if I ever did see Barret again, I would keep our friendship to myself.

I decided to take a walk in the cool evening air. I knew I should ask permission, so Watcher and I went to the den where Adrie was sitting close to the radio, her face serious. She put her finger to her lips. “Sh! There's an announcement.” I waited while the announcer spoke in a loud, excited voice.

Adrie turned the volume down. “The sixth army is battling with the Russians. To win Stalingrad will be a tough battle. I hope they can take the city before winter comes.” Adrie looked worried. Then, turning to me she asked, “Did you want something?”

“Yes. I'm going for a walk with Watcher.”

“Go for your walk, but be back here before dark.” Adrie fiddled with the radio. “I'm going to see if I can get England and hear what lies they're telling now.” She turned the volume back up.

“Come along with me, Watcher.”

Watcher wiggled and hopped around, then ran to the hooks where his leash hung.

“You are such a smart puppy! You remember where I keep your leash!” I clicked the hook onto my dog's collar, and he danced around me, tangling my legs in the leash. “Calm down, Watcher,” I said, laughing.

I decided to take a shortcut to the sidewalk behind the house, so we went out to the terrace and down a seldom-used set of stairs to the back wooden gate that creaked open onto the street and sidewalk.

We crossed the street and walked along the sidewalk. The scent of climbing roses on the park fence was scattered on the evening breeze. Then the aroma of a pipe flowed through the air. Someone nearby must be smoking, although I did not see anyone around me.

Suddenly I heard German voices drifting from inside the park—on the other side of the iron fence—from the woods where I had seen the silhouette of a man. I paused and strained to hear. Two voices in a soft conversation and the familiar scent of pipe tobacco drifted through the trees.

Watcher stopped, his head turned, listening. He gave one quick bark, and I put my hand on his head. “Sh, Watcher,” I whispered. Watcher stopped barking and stood alert, except for that one floppy ear. I noticed that when I spoke in whispers, Watcher often became still, as if he knew he must not bark or move.