Midnight Hunter
But thinking about summer trips and Dad makes my eyes fill with tears, so I lean forward and open the glove box and fish out a map.
We’re heading southeast now, towards Bulgaria. I trace the route with my forefinger along the network of roads, over rivers, through mountain ranges. The map is in Polish but I use the legend to work out the distance. A thousand miles.
Reinhardt notices what I’m doing. “We won’t take the most direct route through as there are too many borders to cross, which means too many opportunities to be recognized. I think we will head into Ukraine and then down into Romania, and then Bulgaria. It will take longer, but it will be safer for us.”
I consult the map and see that this will add several hundred miles onto our journey. I’m impatient to get to our destination, to see for myself what Sozopol is like, but I know it’s better to be safe.
The sun starts to lower in the sky and we drive into a town. Reinhardt turns in at a sign that reads hotelarski and parks the car.
He leans over and kisses me, and murmurs, “Herr und Frau Bauer, ja?”
I nod, repeating then names to myself several times as if they’re a protective incantation. My stomach starts to knot as we head inside and I keep my face as neutral as possible while Reinhardt converses in German with the hotel clerk, a bored-looking young woman who doesn’t even bother to read what he writes in the register before handing over our key. Living in East Berlin has made me oversensitive about these things. Your name, your papers, these are what define you and they must be scrutinized at every opportunity. Apparently in rural Poland they’re not so important.
It’s a small, old fashioned hotel that’s seen better days but it’s surprisingly cozy once we reach our room. The wallpaper has faded and the carpet doesn’t match, but there’s a fire laid in the grate and once it’s lit it’s quite cheerful in the small room. Reinhardt lays down on the bed with his feet hanging off the edge, not bothering to take his shoes off. He’s tired, I realize. I don’t think he’s slept since he smuggled us out of Germany.
I take a bath, as hot as I can bear, trying to blast the last of the Veronal grogginess out of my system. When I brush my teeth I see that Reinhardt has put my birth control pills into my washbag.
I chew my lip, looking at them. I haven’t taken today’s yet. Wrapping myself in a bath robe I take them into the bedroom. Reinhardt’s still fully clothed and lying on top of the blankets but when I sink down next to him he slides an arm around me and opens his eyes.
“What have you got there, meine kleiner Flüchtling?” My little fugitive.
“My pills.” It’s not that I want to cause him pain but I can’t let things go that are important to me.
He frowns up at me, a hard look in his eyes. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“You also said it was a long time ago. But I think it still haunts you, what happened to Johanna and your child. I saw your face when you saw me holding Frau Fischer’s grandchild. You’re having nightmares about it, aren’t you?”
He reaches up a hand to caress my cheek, looking at me for a long time. He’s not used to this, someone questioning him, pushing him, but I hold his gaze, and finally he gives me a tired smile. “You’re not my captive anymore, are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
He gives me a wry look, and then subsides into silence, thinking. When he speaks his voice is soft and far away. “I dream about her sometimes, on that train with our child, bound for the camps. It’s a nightmare but it really happened to her. Lately it’s not her face I see. It’s yours.” He pulls me down into his arms and rolls onto his side. We’re nose to nose, gazing at each other as the fire crackles and pops in the grate. “I would die for you, do you know that? I wouldn’t hesitate.”
I think of the firing squad back in East Berlin. “You were very nearly going to.” You still might.
He searches my face, and I can see the struggle going on behind his eyes. This is already a difficult undertaking for both of us and what I’m asking him will only increase his worries tenfold. Because I can see now that he doesn’t hate the idea of children at all. He loves it, but he’s afraid of that pain all over again.
“It will be dangerous enough, Liebling, even once we get to Sozopol. What if I can’t protect you both?”
Both of us. Me and his child. I don’t know how to answer that because I don’t know what lies ahead for us. We might find haven at Sozopol, or merely more fear and flight.
He takes the pills from me, examining the half-used blister packet, the foil glinting in the low light. “I took you in spite, in greed, in anger. I meant to possess you, consume you, bend you to my will. But I took the wrong girl if I wanted that. I took the girl who stared me down. Who talked back. Who defied me. Who scratched and plotted and fought. She was nothing like I expected and yet she is exactly what I needed.”
He looks at the pills again, and then sits up and throws them into the fire. Together we watch the blister pack bubble and curl in the flames, and then finally disintegrate into ashes. Lying back down he pulls me tightly against his chest. I can feel his heart thumping hard beneath my cheek.
“And she’s far more than I deserve. It’s not a second chance if we’re afraid. I will just have to learn to be as brave as you are, my Valkyrie.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Evony
Crossing from Poland into Ukraine is one of the worst moments of my life. Reinhardt has to stop the car a few miles from the border so I can get out and be sick.
He strokes my hair back from my face and hands me his handkerchief to wipe my mouth, his expression perplexed. “You’re not…already?” He glances at my belly.
Pregnant. It’s been only two days since we burned my pills and I’m fairly certain morning sickness doesn’t begin quite so quickly. “It’s not that. I’m nervous. You know I’m a terrible liar.” I keep repeating our fake names and dates of birth to myself as if there’s going to be a quiz. I’m Alisz Bauer. I’m on holiday with my husband, Franz. There’s nothing strange about us at all.
Reinhardt seems perfectly at ease but then he’s spent years surrounded by guards and soldiers of one sort or another. Uniformed men who are deferential to him, salute him, follow his orders. A very different experience to the average East Berliner.