Oh, yes, our new secret identities. That will take some getting used to. All this will take a lot of getting used to. But I’m ready to start trying.
“Would you like to see the rest of the house? It’s been standing empty for some time and there’s a lot of work to be done on it.”
He helps me out of bed and I smile and take his hand. “But it’s ours?”
“It’s ours, and I’m going to do everything in my power to see that we’ll be safe here.”
8 8 8
Reinhardt wasn’t exaggerating. There’s so much work to do on the house but in the days that follow I enjoy scrubbing floors, making curtains and scouring the meagre shops for the things we need. The activity keeps the worry from my mind. As in East Berlin there are shortages of things like cooking pots and other household items, but there’s plenty of fresh food to come by. We search the market for second-hand furniture and Reinhardt turns out to be quite good at making shelves and rehanging doors. In the evenings I learn Bulgarian from him, a German–Bulgarian dictionary and the local newspaper.
As the days pass I feel myself slowly unbending. It was hard at first to leave the house on my own. I was afraid that I’d come home to find that Reinhardt had been arrested, or that I’d be arrested in the streets. But the sleepiness of the town is soothing. So is lying beside Reinhardt in bed at night and listening to his steady breathing. All I’ve wanted from my life is to be with the people I love and to be happy with them. The West was the answer at first because it was the place my father wanted, that Ana wanted, and there’s still sadness in my heart that I can’t be with them. But I think I can be happy here, with the man I love.
Reinhardt smells of sawdust and varnish these days, and there are paint smears on his shirt and wrists. We make love in the middle of the day in the sunshine-filled bedroom, or on the new rug that he rolls out on the living room floor. I haven’t taken the pill in weeks.
As we sit in candlelight one evening I say to him across the kitchen table, “Please don’t join the secret police here.” The electrics are being repaired and tangles of old wires hang from all the light switches.
Reinhardt looks up from the newspaper in surprise. Then he smiles, and I see the ghost of the hunter in his eyes. He’s always there, lurking at the edges. “But Liebling, I have to do something and I’m so good at that.”
“I know you are. Very good. But can’t you find something else that you’re good at? Something that’s not so…cruel?”
He leans forward and kisses me softly. “For you, of course.”
But he’s agreed too readily and I’m suspicious. I scramble to add more conditions. “Something that doesn’t hurt anyone, body or mind. Something that helps people.”
Reinhardt smiles a wide, amused smile. “Would you like me to become a fairy godmother perhaps?”
I give his chest a little shove. “Ha ha. I’ll settle for you doing som
ething that doesn’t hurt or terrorize anyone. Is that agreeable?”
He pretends to think on this for a moment as if it’s a great sacrifice. “Well, all right.”
“You could get a job from the State,” I point out. “You could teach History or Politics. You know enough about both.”
Grimacing, he says, “Mm, I don’t think so, meine Liebe. I would grow bored, and you wouldn’t like me when I’m bored.”
I can imagine. I’ve already noticed that he doesn’t seem to know how to sit still for very long. His mind is always ticking over with the next things to do. I open my mouth to make more suggestions but he kisses me into silence.
“I’ll think of something,” he assures me.
I reach for some of the newspaper and the language dictionary so I can translate it. “Good, you’re going to need a job. Because I’m pregnant.”
He freezes, and I see an old fear flicker in his eyes. I look at him over the newsprint, my heart in my mouth.
He takes a deep breath. “Are you sure?”
I nod, tears prickling my eyes. “Pretty sure. I think it must have happened almost straight away. I’m two weeks late and I’m never late.”
His hand reaches for mine and holds on as he searches for the right words. “I just want you to be safe, Liebling. I’m happy, I promise.”
But. The unspoken word hangs in the air. He’s told me that if I’d died by Heydrich’s hands he would have died as well. He would have taken his own life rather than go through all that pain again. Childbirth has risk. Children die young from disease, from accidents. I take a deep breath. “It will be hard, and we will worry, but I didn’t come with you to live half a life. I want to be in this house with you, loving you, and loving our children.”
He nods, and when I return to my translating I can feel his eyes on me, watchful.
As the weeks pass and my belly grows he’s by turns anxious and curious. He never had this the first time, I realize. He never got to see Johanna’s belly grow, or watch her demolish half a loaf of pumpernickel bread at eleven at night, or sit shiny-bellied in a bath full of warm soapy water. He puts his hands on my stomach, feeling for the baby and waiting long periods for it to kick. He’s fascinated by every change in my body. I watch his face sometimes and my happiness is bittersweet. I always assumed that I would have this so I can just get on with things, but he never did. It must seem like a strange dream to him.
Unexpectedly, Reinhardt gets into the art trade. It’s the last thing I would have thought would interest him but he takes his keen eye for detail and applies it to paintings and sculpture. He invests the last of the marks and dollars we brought with us from East Berlin into his first pieces.