Tommy Kellerman was buried by a rabbi from the Oranienburger Tor area. His body was taken to a run-down quarter where Eastern Jews lived. No one attended his burial. The plain black coffin was taken from the morgue before sundown, as Ruda Kellerman had requested. The costs were forwarded to the station, and Torsen planned to pass them on to Ruda Kellerman, care of the circus.
Vebekka had slept soundly, and had even eaten some breakfast. She found herself in a small, white-walled room, with an old iron bed frame painted white. The chest of drawers was also white, but a bowl of flowers provided some color. At the center of the door there was a keyhole, but no handle on the inside. A white tiled bathroom was off the room, but it had no door and no mirror. There was no telephone.
Dr. Franks drew up the only chair in the room.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine. Do I have to stay in this room?"
"Only for a little while, then we'll go into my study. You remember you were there yesterday?"
She nodded. Franks told her that her husband had called and he would be in after breakfast. If she felt like it she could have a bath and get dressed. If she needed help, all she had to do was ring the bell by her bed, and Maja would be with her in no time.
She put her head back and said: "They should never have brought me here, it's very closed in, I feel it..."
Franks cocked his head, and held her hand. "Feel what?"
"I don't know, a presence. I've felt it before, but not this close."
Franks threaded his fingers through her long perfect slim hands. "Maybe we will find out what this presence is, make it vanish."
She gave him a sad smile. "They've sent me away this time, haven't they? Ah well... I suppose it had to come."
"You are not away, Vebekka, you are here, in my clinic, until we sort things out. You do want me to help you, don't you?"
Tears welled in her eyes. "I don't think anyone can help, I hoped He came closer to her. "I want more than hope, my dear. I want what you want, I want you to get well, I want you to help yourself, and for you to help me help you... okay?"
He returned to his office and picked up his notes, carefully transcribed from the day before. He had underlined two passages:
1. Get me to lie down and talk to me, so I would be calm.
2. Put her in a cupboard and throw away the key.
These were Vebekka's own words, describing what her mother had done and had told her to do. Franks was sure that the key Vebekka's mother had told her to throw away was at the root of her problems. He was so engrossed in thought that he hadn't noticed right away that his phone was blinking. The baron had arrived, bringing the newspapers. He told the receptionist to show the baron in, a little irritated he was so early.
Frau Klapps opened the front door while eating a piece of toast. She was about to slam the door in Helen's face, but Helen put her foot across the threshold.
"I know this is an intrusion, but I have to speak to you. Please, I won't take more than a few moments."
Lena turned and walked into the hall, pulling the door open. She led Helen into the living room.
"I have to leave for the bus in fifteen minutes!"
"I understand. I'd be happy to give you a lift to the bureau in my taxi."
Lena walked out of the room and returned carrying a cup of coffee, but did not offer Helen one. She stood with her back to the large bookcase.
"I told you everything I know. I don't see how I can assist you any further."
"You have worked at the records bureau for many years? Is that correct?"
Lena nodded. She picked at a stain on her skirt with her fingernail, the same gray pleated shirt she had worn on Helen's previous visit. She sat in the typist chair, looked to Helen as if to say, "You may continue."
"I have checked the hospitals for any record of your sister. You mentioned that she worked at one of the large hospitals just after the war, when she came back to Berlin. They all referred me to the records bureau. You head the bureau, don't you?"
Lena continued sipping her coffee. When Helen asked her just how long she had worked in the bureau, she swiveled slightly in the seat.
"You have no right to pry into my affairs, Miss whatever-your-name-is. I have told you all I know. Now please I would like you to leave."
"If you won't help me then you leave the baron and me no choice but to go over your head at the bureau. I want to know whether your sister adopted a child, and I want to know the background of this child. I don't care, Frau Klapps, if the adoption was legal or illegal, all I am interested in is to try to help a woman who lives in a nightmare."
Lena stared into her empty coffee cup; a small muscle twitched at the side of her mouth.
"We all have our nightmares."
"No, no, we don't. Are you telling me that a sister, a sister you grew up with, didn't make contact with you when she returned to Berlin, that she didn't try to see you?"
Lena looked up, her eyes filled with hatred — whether for Helen or her sister, Helen couldn't tell. She banged the cup down on the table.
Helen was losing patience; she didn't mean her voice to rise but she couldn't help herself. "All I want is to know more of Rebecca's background, I am not interested in yours..."
Lena whipped round. "Please keep your voice down, I don't want my husband to hear you!"
She clasped her hands together. "No one has ever been interested in me. When we were children it was always Rosa this, Rosa that. She was the beautiful one, the clever one. She had everything, looks, brains... everything. And you know something else? She was always happy, always smiling, as though she had some secret, something filling her life. My father doted on her, worshiped her... she broke his heart."
Lena tightened her lips. Helen remained silent.
"She refused to listen to him. He pleaded with her to break off her relationship with David Goldberg, it was very embarrassing for him, for all of us. My father was a very well-respected scientist, with many connections, my brothers—" She lifted her hand to her forehead, as if unable to continue. She turned her back to Helen and faced the bookshelves. "When Mama died, I cooked and cleaned and waited hand and foot on him. But he wanted Rosa, always wanted Rosa. She made a fool of him, a fool of us all, but she refused to listen... and then, then she became pregnant."
Lena remained with her back to Helen, her arms wrapped around herself.
Helen had to know more. "You told me Rosa had an abortion, but I need to..."
"It was not an abortion."
Helen half rose to her feet: Rebecca was their daughter after all?
"My father and my brothers locked her in the house, and my father... he performed the operation himself, he sterilized her."
Helen sat back, shocked.
Lena's hand shook as she patted the coiled bun at the nape of her neck, but she looked defiantly at Helen. "Rebecca is not my sister's child."
Helen's face remained neutral, but she pressed her hands firmly against her thighs.
Lena moved closer, and stood in front of Helen. "I lied to you, I did see my sister again. She was working at the main refugee hospital with children picked up from the streets, from the camps, from everywhere. It was my job to keep a record of how many, of their names — that is if they knew their names. My father and my brothers were dead. I lived in the cellar, in the rubble of our old home, for years... and I hoped, hoped she would come back one day."
Lena repeated the same dismissive wave, as if she were shooing away a fly. "One day, smiling, she drew this child forward, she said... 'This is my daughter, Lena, this is Rebecca.'
Helen stood up. "You have a record?... the child's last name?... the adoption papers?"