The Woman at 1,000 Degrees

58 Frozen Stone 1942

How did I become an orphan in the war? It happened in March 1942. My short-term stay at Frau Baum’s had dragged on and by now turned into a whole year. We all thought the war would end in a few months, while Hitler swallowed countries like a seagull gobbling herring. But the situation was about to change. Mum now had her own apartment. And since Dad was on a week’s leave from the army, he was advised to come collect me in Amrum, after which Mum would meet us in Hamburg. From there I’d travel on with her to Lübeck. I had mixed feelings. Of course, I looked forward to seeing Mum and Dad again, but I’d immediately started to miss Maike and Heike and our peaceful lives on the white beaches.

Dad was a changed man. His expression had hardened like that of a dry fish, and there were traces of frostbite on his nose. He also spoke German more confidently than before. He frightened me when he launched into his long rants. He had graduated from the military academy the previous spring, but without any distinction. No doubt his age was to blame. The SS insignia had vanished from his collar and he’d now become a lorry driver. He had spent the whole winter driving back and forth across the plains of Ukraine, transporting weapons, people and food on the tented back under muddy downpours or in such polar temperatures that not even an Icelander like him had ever encountered them before.

He’d had no experience of battle, other than some crossfire in the woods, and never reached the frontline himself (which at that moment was behind both Belarus and Ukraine and was now extending into Russia at a crawling pace), so he hadn’t killed anyone. Yet he wasn’t the same man who had counted the steps up to our attic in Lübeck with me and spontaneously danced with Mum and me in the living room, without any music. The military academy had stiffened the corners of his mouth, and the Russian winter had, in addition to nibbling off the tip of his nose, frozen his gaze. Even though he managed to pull out some of his typical old Hanseatic jokes, his eyes were like two pebbles on the tundra. It was a subtle but perceptible change. The difference between a stone and a frozen stone.