SEVENTEEN
Erich, 1941
After another sleepless night, the warm shimmering rays of the morning sun made everything seem like another world to Erich. He could only wish it were so, where he could hide forever with Julia by his side. There were no more innocent Edens left, though, for those in love to discover.
Entering the hospital again, nothing was certain in his mind other than his physical presence there. What he would do as a doctor when the time came to put a malformed child to sleep forever was as distant from him as God seemed to be now. How fragile moral conscience becomes when fear and duty come through the door to one’s future at the same time. He had theorized about such a happening with Julia and her father one cold, sunless winter afternoon only a few months before Prague fell. It was as if the subject had been hiding somewhere deep within the folds of his conscience, which was struggling to understand what was happening. For Julia and her father, fear was a permanent resident living somewhere in their ancient genes because they were Jews. And like the Jews of history, even though it was there, they lived and played and sang and would die as God intended them to.
“Fear, like everything else, can be good or bad. To fear God is good. To fear dying is bad. It’s as simple as that,” Professor Kaufmann had said, ending the long afternoon discussion.
Later Erich expressed to Julia his disappointment in such a trite statement by her father. He had expected much more than a two-sentence explanation from such a learned man. Something, maybe, from Kant’s treatises on duty, or perhaps Hume’s defense on the priority of emotions in one’s life. Anything would be better than what Dr. Kaufmann had passed on. Julia quickly agreed, yet she knew what her father was saying. Compromise is never an option where one is faced with doing either a good or bad thing. For Erich, though, Darwin’s survival of the fittest was all about fear, and had to be a part of everyone’s struggle to live. It was as much a part of fitness as strength and health. We do not survive in life without fear, he had argued to Julia and her father. Hitler and those around him knew this to be true, too, he pronounced almost arrogantly, pacing back and forth in their tiny living room that day. To defeat the goodness of one’s soul, there was no weapon on earth equal to fear. And it becomes doubly powerful when a political ideology seeks its own validation through scientific means like those to be implemented at Görden and other hospitals throughout Germany. There, Erich knew, the best of doctors would quickly succumb to the combined lure of science and fear, leaving only a saintly few to resist, who would in time grow silent, too. Still, he was still not sure which road he would take when the moment finally came. A compromise by the soul that might heal some distant day would be the ideal road to take, if there were such a thing to be found. Though one’s soul would have to make room for a joint owner other than God if that were to happen, Erich mumbled to himself as he walked to the East Ward where he had been assigned.
Nothing in the hospital had changed from yesterday, which he had hoped it might, as he walked through the halls before returning to the nurse’s station. The darkness in the halls was still unnerving. Piles of trash and discarded bandages lay in the corners of the halls waiting to be hauled away. Only the faint muffled sounds of coughing and crying from children could be heard coming from a few rooms as he walked by. Most of the rooms were still empty, their beds unused, which puzzled Erich at first. But then he remembered that the compulsory registration, spoken of by Bouhler, of all mentally and physically disabled children under three had been in effect only a few days. Soon the children would come to Görden and the beds would be filled and he would be busy being a good doctor.
Erich sat down behind the broad marble counter that encircled the station and began to read through the first of a small stack of patient records.
“Good morning, Herr Dr. Schmidt.”
Erich looked up quickly to find the nurse he briefly spoke with yesterday peering intently at him from the other side of the counter.
“I am Nurse Drossen,” she continued, smiling, “and I should be sitting there and you standing here. May I help you with anything?”
“Yes, what is your full name?”
“Maria Drossen.”
“May I address you as Maria?” Erich asked bluntly, surprising her by his bold dismissal of the professional decorum expected from German doctors. Though he had no good reason for doing so, the situation he found himself in seemed to call for it. His eyes had been quick to follow her outline in the crisp white uniform she was wearing, which to him seemed the only thing clean and sanitized in the hospital. Strikingly attractive, but not in a pretty way, she appeared taller than most German women, made so by her long blonde hair coiled neatly in a large bun on top of her head.
“No, now please, Herr Doctor, you should begin making morning rounds, not sitting in my station. I’ll be in trouble if the head nurse finds me standing here and you sitting there,” Maria said, walking around to the side opening in the counter by a metal gate, waiting for Erich to move.
Erich gathered the small stack of medical records, handed them to Maria, then moved quickly past her to the front of the counter. His only concern now was the paucity of information in all the files. Each one contained only two pages, the admitting certificate with an initial diagnosis, and one daily report page, scribbled on by Maria. There were no doctor’s summaries and notes, no treatment orders for the nurse to follow, no lab reports to check, no reference to drugs prescribed, nor any other details one would expect to find in a patient’s record. Nothing but two nearly blank pages comprised each patient’s record.
“Is this all there is?” he asked. Clearly frustrated, he slammed the stack hard on the countertop, causing Maria to back away.
“Yes, sir. That is all Dr. Heinze wants until the new medical forms arrive from the Health Ministry.”
Still angry, Erich motioned for Maria to follow him as he started down the hall to his right.
“Tell me, why do you keep the halls and rooms so dark and gloomy? It would be quite frightening to me if I were a child. Children love bright and shiny things around them.”
“Dr. Heinze ordered the change. He thought it would be less threatening, keep the children calm, you know, in such a strange setting.”
Erich said nothing more and entered the first room with an infant patient, clicking on the ceiling light as he did. The small child was curled up on her side in a fetal position, sucking on the stub of an arm that had no hand. Erich glanced at the admitting report, which noted nothing other than the child’s name and age: Brigitte Wallenhorst, age two.
Terror swept the child’s face, as he gently lifted her from the bed and cradled her in his arms, speaking softly to her for a moment, then handing her to Maria. As he did, he felt her twisted and malformed spinal column, causing the child to draw back in pain. She would never walk, nor be able to sit up by herself, he knew.
“She is soiled and should be changed,” was all Erich could think to say.
“It’s not time to do so, Herr Doctor. A rigid cleaning schedule for these children has been set by the Health Ministry due to rationed supplies—the war, you know,” Maria responded, putting the child back in the bed.
“For God’s sake, this is supposed to be a hospital. Clean the child.”
Maria said nothing, nor made any move to touch the child. Instead, she backed away from Erich, standing near the door as if she were not a part of the medical rounds taking place.
“Does this child stay here alone? Where are her parents?” Erich asked, becoming more demanding and upset with what was taking place.
“They have been sent home, that’s all I know. All of our children are alone.”
“How could anyone let their child die alone, if that is what were to happen?” Erich asked incredulously, moving back to the child’s bed.
“It is not what I would do,” Maria said softly.
Erich stood by the side of Brigitte’s little bed for a second, stroking her soft cheeks with his fingers, then her tiny forehead and t
he back of her neck. Soon she closed her eyes to sleep for a while. He knew what Maria was saying. If the child were going to die, which she would in time, it would be easier to explain her death by a simple letter to her parents than face their questions. Besides, there would be too many eyes to watch what was happening to their child and the other children being brought to the hospital by order of the Chancellery.
“Where are you from, Nurse Drossen?” Erich asked, wanting to change the subject and talk about something more pleasant.
Again surprised by his sudden personal question, Maria waited a moment before responding.
“Mainz. My family has lived there for years.”
“Any children, siblings?”
“None. My husband is away, stationed somewhere in Czechoslovakia. Why are you asking these questions? They seem improper.”
Erich said nothing and took Maria forcibly by her arm, leading her to the side of the infant’s bed.
“Tell me, if Brigitte was your child would you let her die?”
Maria immediately pulled her arm away from his grip, moving quickly back to the doorway where she had been standing.
“I don’t know, but it would no longer be my choice,” she said nervously, showing some fear in her voice at Erich’s strange conduct.
“If it were your choice, what would you want?” Erich demanded.
“I don’t know, really. Death belongs to God, doesn’t it?”
“That’s too easy of an answer, Maria. To whom does killing an innocent child really belong, then?”
Uncertain of his questions and intentions, Maria remained silent. Erich covered the child’s bare legs with a small cloth, then left the room. As he did he heard the sharp click of the light switch as she returned the room to darkness again. Darkness and death were inseparable, he thought, walking into the hallway. Even on the brightest of days, death brings darkness to those around us when we close our eyes for the last time. No wonder the medieval churches were able to strangle the minds of the masses in the name of God. No one, least of all the innocent, could escape the darkness unless granted by the church. Even today, for those dying, what might elude us in that mystery, frightens us.
Erich paused for a moment in the hallway, thinking about the futility of even trying to care for Brigitte, and then abruptly decided against examining the other four children at this time. Their medical records were all the same, empty, and he had no authority to go further in treating the children than what he was doing now, which was nothing.
The next week a sprinkling of children were admitted to the hospital to be treated through the compulsory registration program of “misfits,” as they were now called. But none came to the East Ward where Erich waited with Maria, for which he was glad. With little to do, he spent many hours of the day, and even into the night, in the medical library reading on all that medicine knew about Down’s syndrome and microcephaly and malformations of every known kind, of the limbs and head and spinal column. Even vague explanations of the term “idiocy” were studied. He would learn far more, so it seemed to him, than in all his years in medical school. He had gained a vast medical knowledge, far more than the committee of doctors who would determine the end therapy to be imposed on all the “misfits” brought to the hospital for treatment. Perhaps now, he felt, he would be in position to at least provide some hope to a few of the children. The others would be lost, as the Health Ministry intended them to be.
Late on a rainy Friday afternoon, as Erich moved along a row of shelves in the library replacing texts he had been reading, he noticed an odd assortment of medical journals and papers from past world conferences on research in eugenics and other scientific areas. Among them was a publication he had never seen before, or knew existed, titled The New German Physician. Erich lifted the journal from the shelf and placed it with the other papers he was taking to study in his apartment. “I will see what you have to say and what I should be when I am not so tired,” he said to no one as he left the library to go home alone in the rain.
When Monday came, Erich arrived earlier than usual at the East Ward to surprise Maria, who always reported in ahead of most of the other nurses and would be waiting for him. When she arrived, he immediately summoned her to follow him on the morning round, which in the past, had been perfunctorily carried out at best. This time though, he carefully examined every inch of the children’s wretchedly deformed bodies, what they looked like and felt to the hand. Nothing went unnoticed, not even the tiniest moles, or the shapes of their ears and feet. When he was through, he could recite from memory all that he had found in examining each child. All were soiled in one way or another, until he finally prevailed on Maria to ignore the rigid bathing schedule and see that the children were kept clean, should the committee decide to look at them.
In the days that followed, he would continue to see and examine each child in the morning and afternoon, looking for the slightest change in their physical condition, though nothing was being done for them other than to keep them comfortable. But it was Brigitte with whom he would spend the most time during his rounds, talking to her softly and calling her name, while he gently massaged her useless legs. When he was finished, he would stand at the nurse’s station, carefully entering in each child’s record the date and time and details of his examination. Brigitte’s would be the most detailed, noting at length what he believed to be positive signs of improvement in her muscle tone, though there were none. At times, his antics seemed almost theatrical to Maria, as she watched his meticulous attention to the slightest movement in Brigitte’s legs. Nothing had changed in the days the child had been with them in the East Ward, nor would there ever be, she knew, except in Erich’s foolish mind. He had for some silent reason embarked on a useless quest to heal a child whose horrific infirmities were frozen in time the day she entered the world. What he might do when the Health Ministry committee’s recommendations were placed in Brigitte’s and the other children’s files bothered her. She could be seen as a part of the problem, should he take issue with the committee’s findings. Like her soldier husband, Martin, Maria believed herself to be a good German, placing duty to the country above all else, and now she was frightened by Erich’s obsession with trying to heal Brigitte.
After his last examination of the children, Erich turned to Maria to ask a question she thought strange, coming as it did at this time when he should know the answer.
“Are there unregistered children, like we are treating on the other floors?”
“I don’t know. A few, maybe. Why do you ask?”
“I assume then, the Health Ministry’s committee knows nothing of our children, and will not examine them?”
“You should know that they will. Dr. Heinze was here yesterday, examining your patients, wanting to know why they had not been registered. He was not pleased with all that you had written in their records either, called it a barnyard name,” Maria said, closely watching Erich’s reaction to her words.
Erich turned pale for a moment, nervously flipping the edges of the files back and forth before Maria took them from him, placing them on her desk. He realized now, with the intervention of Dr. Heinze and the committee, he was walking a precarious path, surrounded on all sides by uncertainty and the possibility of personal disaster. Maria watched Erich closely, feeling little sympathy for him. He was nothing like she had imagined the son of Dr. Vicktor Schmidt would be. Indeed, he seemed to her to be the meekest of the meek when compared to the grandiose aura his father projected. She believed he was afraid of what was sure to happen in the hospital, as she was, but for a different reason. And what he would do, or not do, when the time came to act on the committee’s recommendations, was of no small concern to her now.
Maria waited for some kind of response from Erich, but he said nothing. His mind was elsewhere, as if he were lost in some kind of vegetative state, hearing but unable to speak. After minutes passed staring in silence at the children’s files, he took the files from Maria’s desk and opened each
one, carefully reading through all that he had written. He could no longer pretend as he had been.
After a long pause, he spoke quietly to her. “There really is nothing for me to do, except keep these children comfortable, is there?”
Maria only nodded.
“What are the names of the consulting doctors, Maria, the ones that will make the final treatment decision for the children?”
“I don’t know. The committee is in Berlin, and is secret,” Maria answered quickly.
“That isn’t what I asked,” Erich said, becoming impatient with Maria’s evasive manner.
“The ad hoc committee here at the hospital is Dr. Brandt and Dr. Heinze and Dr. Catel from Leipzig. That’s all I have been told.”
His father’s name was missing from the committee, which surprised Erich. Had he been on the committee, the door to some kind of redemption would have been kept ajar for a little while longer by talking with him. But now, he knew, there was nothing between himself and the infinite depth of a political ideology veneered with the science of eugenics. Yet he was not ready to shut his mouth on the truth. Not only would he enlist his father’s prestige in confronting the committee, he would artfully defend each child’s medical condition against any prognosis that it was hopeless. Handing the files back to Maria, he turned to leave the ward.
“I will be in the library,” he said, calmly walking away, leaving Maria puzzled.
***