Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [94]
“Berlin,” Sean O’Sullivan answered.
Part 2
The Last Days of April
Chapter One
April 12,1945, Berlin
THE AIR-RAID CELLAR beneath the Falkenstein house shifted with a sudden violent jolt. A wide split opened in one of the walls spewing a shower of granulated plaster. The precious Rosenthal china, which Frau Herta Falkenstein had meticulously wrapped and stored for safety, careened out of an overturned barrel and splintered into a million bits.
Hildegaard Falkenstein whimpered in her mother’s arms.
Another blast! Another! Another! Each closer than the last. The cellar plunged into darkness. A match flame groped for the candle on the wooden table in the center of the room.
“Is everyone all right?” Bruno Falkenstein asked.
Herta and the two girls answered haltingly.
Another hit sent all four of them to the damp floor flat on their bellies. “I can’t stand it any more!” Hildegaard shrieked. She beat her fists on the floor and writhed hysterically. “I can’t stand it! Kill us! Kill us!”
“Keep her quiet!” Falkenstein commanded of his befuddled wife, but the girl continued her tantrum. Hildegaard was becoming more unraveled every day. By the second or third hour of the raids she was usually in a state. Bruno pulled his daughter to her feet, out of his wife’s grasp, and slapped her hard across the cheek.
“Quiet! I demand it!”
She stifled her sobs to whimpers. “Yes ... Father.”
On the opposite side of the room Ernestine clawed through the silt which had fallen from the ceiling over her cot and nightstand. She cut her fingers digging for the little music box, clawing in desperation until she found it. A part of it showed in the debris; she worked it clear and took it up. Five of the ten figures of Prussian Hussars had been knocked off, the box was chipped and gouged. She blew off the dust and wound it ever so carefully and pulled the release plunger. The five remaining horsemen began to circle around and around on the top and the music tinkled and she hummed.
Once there was a faithful Hussar,
Who loved his love for a year or two,
A year or two ... or three or four ...
He swore he’d love her ever more ...
And the crash of the bombs seemed farther away, particularly to Ernestine. They all breathed deeply during the respite. Frau Falkenstein petted Hildegaard, who had slowed to a jerky sobbing.
But the calm was short-lived. Another wave of bombers passed in on the tails of the first and another load of hell from the skies whistled down upon them and the flak crackled back and the room danced again.
Now Bruno Falkenstein’s nerves were also shredded. “Pigs! Dirty American pigs! Ami beasts!”
No one seemed to hear his protest.
Ernestine had drifted into tranquility. Years and miles passed by as she watched the little music box, transfixed. “The Faithful Hussar” ... how many thousands of years ago was it? Only six faithful years? It was 1938 then and there was peace. Peace ... what a strange word. Could it have only been six years ago? I was only seventeen then. Oh Lord! The bombs have been falling on Berlin for a hundred years. Dietrich, my love! The bombs have been falling on us night and day for a hundred years. Oh Dietrich ... my photo album was burned in a raid so long ago I have forgotten what you look like. Can you forgive me?
Springtime, Berlin 1939
Ernestine held the tiller steady while Dietrich Rascher took down the sail and dropped anchor. The dark-green mass of the Grunewald and the shoreline was far away. Ernestine could not conceal her joy that the two of them were able to slip away together from the rest of the Group.
How handsome Dietrich is, she thought. How deftly he moves about the boat. How beautiful his face is. Kind and thoughtful, with puppy-dog eyes.
She looked back to the shore with a twinge of guilt. The Group would be singing Nazi Youth songs. Today there was a lecturer from the party. The devil with it. It was much nicer in the middle of the lake with Dietrich Rascher.
He slipped alongside her. Dietrich could hardly