The others were all sitting in the sun when the two of them came back. A biplane with the red star on its wings flew overhead, purring like a sewing machine. The girls waved up at it. The pilot waved back. 'Well, it'll soon be over now,' said Zastrow. He had given up his porter's job. 'Remains to be seen if the new masters are any better than the old,' he added sceptically.
The new masters arrived on a Sunday. Helga was swimming. She loved those moments in the cool water when she felt weightless and free. In spite of the thunder of the guns, which was getting closer and closer, the war had remained improbable, something which didn't seem to affect her. Now, all at once, it became reality. A shallow, motorized pontoon glided along the waterway and made fast. Six young Red Army soldiers jumped on land, sub-machine guns drawn and ready. One of them had a pockmarked, Mongol face. With a couple of strokes, Helga reached the bank. The soldiers stared at her. They had never seen a woman in a bathing suit before.
One of them shouted and fired a salvo into the blue sky. The others roared something. Two of them seized Helga. She defended herself in silence, but she knew she had no chance.
'Mama, Mama!' Karl came racing up. He was a strong lad of nearly fifteen now, and fearless in his simple innocence. He made for the intruders like a madman, thrust them aside and stationed himself protectively in front of his mother.
'Karl, don't, they'll shoot!' she begged. Her son stood rooted to the spot. One of the six called something out in surprise. He took the pockmarked soldier's arm and pulled him over to Karl. They could all see that the man of Mongolian origin and the mongoloid boy looked like brothers. The men stared in amazement. The soldier hugged Karl and slapped him on the back. The others laughed and applauded. Helga ran into the house, and no one stopped her.
Hejdus had placed himself by the stove with his four women behind him. He was holding a shotgun. 'We'll kill ourselves first,' he growled.
Quickly, Helga flung some clothes on. 'What about your famous Spreewald hospitality?' she cried, running out again. The soldiers were talking to Karl and laughing. Karl took Helga's arm. 'Mama,' he told his new friends. 'My Mama.'
One of them understood. 'Matka.' He pointed to first mother, then son. 'Sin.'
Frau Wanda and the three girls had put on their traditional caps and shawls and carried out trays with water, bread and salt on them. They bobbed curtseys, not submissively but with a welcoming smile. The soldiers understood this gesture of hospitality, and took what was offered with thanks. The two Zastrows came hesitantly out of their cottage. After hiding his shotgun, Hejdus joined them.
Then there was real eating and drinking: sausage made with grits, pancakes, millet and cabbage, with sour milk to drink. They all laughed and talked. The Sorbs and Russians were delighted to find words common to both their Slav languages.
Papa Zastrow ventured to put it into words. 'Friends, I think the war is over.'
Helga had never seen her son so happy before. He raced around in high excitement, filling the guests' plates and mugs. Later they danced to Mato's accordion. Karl stumbled awkwardly around with Breda. He couldn't get enough of the fun. Then, in the middle of the dance, he collapsed. Helga was beside him at once. He lay on the ground, breathing heavily, his eyes closed, his pulse barely perceptible.
The men carried him into the house. Helga undressed him, rubbed him with juniper spirit, and covered him up to keep warm. She sat beside the bed and held his hands. She knew this was the end. His heart, underdeveloped as in all mongoloid children, had held out for almost fifteen years. He opened his eyes. 'Mama,' he said thickly.
You are dying free, my son,' she whispered. 'That's my gift to you.'
Outside, the soldiers started the engine of their pontoon and cast off. The noise of the engine died away. All was quiet in the bedroom. Karl had stopped breathing.
They buried Karl behind the house. The girls wept, but Helga had no tears to shed. The knowledge that she had carried out her task consoled her. She had looked after him and protected him from his first moment of life to his last, had fought for him and defended him, had given him good, happy times. Now that it was all over she couldn't stay in the Spreewald. She returned from Cottbus to Berlin on the roof of a freight train.
The building in Sophie-Charlotte-Strasse was intact, but it was brimming over with people who had been bombed out. Helga kept applying to the Housing Department until they finally let her have a room in her own house. Until then she stayed with her sister in Tempelhof. Monika's small daughter Erika was five. She last saw her father in '42 and can't remember him. They say it will be years before the Russians let their prisoners of war go. Young Frau Pillau next door isn't waiting that long. She takes a student to bed from time to time. It must be fun with a really young man, don't you think?'
Helga told her about her times with Mato. A dear boy. He insists he's coming to visit me here, but I hope some Spreewald girl will put a stop to that. I really don't like the idea. I have to put my life in order and look for work.'
'Why don't you go back to your old job? Children's nurses are always in demand,' Monika encouraged her.
One day soon after that Helga went to the Charite, which was now in the Soviet-occupied sector. The Western Allies had moved into Berlin a few days earlier and taken over their own sectors of the capital. There were no visible lines of demarcation between West and East, only several large and ugly notices on the major thoroughfares: YOU ARE NOW LEAVING THE BRITISH — FRENCH — AMERICAN — SECTOR OF BERLIN. The Berliners weren't bothered. They went all over their city or out of it, on foraging expeditions or to search for friends and relations who had been bombed out.
'You'd like to come back to us? Good. Just go to the personnel department,' a friendly woman at reception told her.
'Rinke, Helga?' The same man was at the registration desk, except that now he'd removed his Party badge. He brought out a card index. 'Nurse in the children's ward until 1929. Reappointed 1941.' He stopped. 'Just a moment, please.' He disappeared into the room next door. She heard him pick up the phone. '. had herself transferred to Klein Moorbach, that euthanasia institute… my duty as an anti-Fascist. 'She couldn't hear any more. She didn't need to. Quietly, she left the office. She had to get out of there! The Western newspapers had reported this kind of thing. The NKVD were looking for alleged Nazi criminals all over the Soviet-occupied zone, throwing them into the camps they had taken over from the real wrongdoers.
'They don't go to the trouble of examining the facts.' she explained to her sister. 'Well, luckily they know me as Helga Rinke and not Helga Lohmann. All the same, no one's getting me back in the East again.'
'Go to the newspapers and tell your story,' Monika suggested.
But Helga wouldn't hear of it. 'That won't bring the children of Klein Moorbach back to life.'
'What are you going to do?'
'Look around here for something.'
Young Frau Pillau next door came to her aid. 'Try the Yanks, Frau Lohmann. They're recruiting Germans to work in all sorts of jobs. Schoolgirl English is good enough. My sister-in-law got a job in the Telefunken canteen, the US intelligence people have set up shop there. I'll ask Marina where you apply tomorrow.'
The place to apply, Helga learned, was the German-American Employment Office in Lichterfelde. She got the address, too. It was in Finckensteinallee. Ask for Mr Chalford.'
Mr Chalford was the man in charge of the office. 'How good is your English. Fraulein Loman?'