Letters From Berlin: A Story of War, Survival, and the Redeeming Power of Love and Friendship by Kerstin Lieff

Author:Kerstin Lieff
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Lyons Press
Published: 2012-10-02T04:00:00+00:00

The first rays of daylight poked through the windows before I became conscious of where I was, and the idea that I was on my way to freedom filled me with euphoria, the kind I had not felt since I was a student in Jena. We were somewhere east of Berlin by now, it was easy to see. Wide stretches of farmland lay to either side of us, the morning light still painting the fields lavender. Here and there were dense patches of forest, and farmhouses dotted the clearings. All of them, I noticed, were abandoned; all had broken windows. Now and again I’d see a lace curtain flying through an open hole. Where did the people flee to? Were any of them among those I saw flooding the train stations in Berlin, “the refugees from the east”?

A woman and her sister sat just behind Herr Koch, and they had brought a map with them. They were surmising that we must be near Posen. If this was true, we were coming close to the town where I was born, Beuthen, in Silesia. Of course I wanted very much to see what this city looked like and rushed to the window on their side of the car to see.

My heart fell into my stomach. It was no different from everywhere else. Broken walls with no buildings behind them. Vehicles lying askew off in the ditches. I saw no people. Dead streets and everything black and burned.

Therese entered our car with a tray of breakfast food. It was that dreadful Muckefuck we’d had for the last six years, Ersatzkaffee, and dark bread. But she gave us butter and jam made from real gooseberries, which was delicious. I had not tasted gooseberry jam in such a very long time. With our breakfast, we sat in our seats and watched with anticipation where we would be going next. The train took us farther east, through Kutno, then Warsaw—we were now in Poland, according to the train station signs.

Late that evening, Therese came to our car again. She did not come to bring us food this time, but to inform us of a change in route. We would be headed for Leningrad in northern Russia. It was necessary, she said, because there was so much destruction from the war that the train could not go directly. However, “From there we will begin to head west for Finland,” she said. “You still have German papers, you know, and Germany is no longer a country. In fact, Moscow is now your capital.”

We had lost the war, and it seemed that meant we had lost our identity, too. We would need to get Russian papers, she said, as those were the only ones that would be accepted from now on. The trip to Leningrad would take another five days.

“The passage to Finland will of course cost money as well,” Therese continued. Mutti and I were startled. No one had told us anything about money. “What money are you talking about?” Mutti interrupted.

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