Hansi awoke feverish and in terrible pain. Axel opened his eyes at six, looked around and took him to the Medic. Cpl. Albers found the phone number of the neighbourhood clinic and the two set out on foot to get Hansi treated on this cool and sunny morning.
“Corporal,” said the sleepy doctor, hopping over to his cane, “this boy should have been seen again. The injury needs regular disinfecting. I can’t let you take this casualty back to the barracks yet again. Want me to call HQ for you?” The Medic decided he liked the idea of handing over responsibility for Hansi to someone else and supplied the information.
Spinning his cane with his free hand, the doctor introduced himself as Major Havemann, immediately asked for the name and rank of the voice on the phone, itself not too bright at 7.00 a.m., then proceeded to inform it that he was treating an under-age casualty from the nearby home guards unit and would drop him off at a hospital “in a day or two,” then slammed down the receiver.
Hansi was given a gray hospital style gown and turned at the door with a hint of the old smile. “Good luck, boy,” said Cpl. Albers.
“See?” said Motz. “Like I told you, a blessing in disguise. The war is over for the kid. Good stuff.”
The Sergeant, meanwhile, is looking for Ulli and is scandalized to find him still in his bunk.
“Wake up, for God’s sake. Remember not to depend on this clown to stand watch. He’d fall asleep in the middle of a relay race.”
Ulli appeared with bags under his eyes, pulling on socks.
“Breakfast’s over,” yelled the Sergeant again.
The Sergeant calls Assembly. They are to stand and listen to Dr. Goebbels’ birthday address for the Führer and High Commander of all armed forces of the Reich.
“Quiet!” yells the Sergeant.
“Today more than congratulations are in order,” intones the familiar voice of Dr. Goebbels, the Propaganda Minister.
“You don’t say…” From the back of the room.
“QUIET!” the Sergeant yells again. Axel prepares to leave, but the Sergeant stops him.
“We are to stand and listen to this address. Show some respect.”
“Look, don’t take this personally,” Axel whispers. “I’ve taken an oath. I’ve promised to give my life for my country, but I do draw the line at RESPECT FOR THIS.” He pushes past the Sergeant and leaves. The boys close by take a deep, nervous breath. But the Sergeant doesn’t make another move, his energy spent, it seems. He isn’t entirely himself today. Soon it becomes clear that he doesn’t know when the Lieutenant will return. He keeps repeating they will hear from HQ, but the Lieutenant, it seems, has made off with the staff car. Headed for the hills.
As Goebbels drones on and on about the enemy allies presently quarrelling and deserting the cause, the kids stand, lost in somber thought, not unlike the effect a Requiem has on an audience initially keen and attentive. When the radio is finally turned off, a few boys shuffle out after the Serge and Cpl. Peters.
It has been a subdued day. The trenches finished, they no longer make the daily trek.
After supper, the night of April 20, in the mess hall, a mini-spider, a quarter the size of a lady bug, had just seized the moment to throw a single silky thread across the top of Ulli’s mug. “Look at this,” he said, holding it up to the light. “I wonder what this little creature was hoping to catch in my cup just now?”
“Göring,” said Eddie, “clear case. It would have been eating to the end of time. Why work if you can be smart?”
“All it knows,” Ulli continued, “is to start weaving over and over and over again.”
“Here we go, admiring base instinct once again,” said Motz, grinning.
“No,” said Ulli, “just life.”
“It’s a sheer wonder he hasn’t been caught,” says Anna.
“At what?” asks Lilly.
“Leaving, taking off at night,” says Anna.
“You can’t be serious,” says Lilly. “Do you suppose, do you suppose he’s got some sort of hiding place? A kind of checking-out plan?”
“I wish, but remember, this is Ulli—”
“What can we do? Should we talk with him?”
“No, he’ll bring us another poem. Another beautiful, astonishing poem.”
“He was reading Rilke’s CORNET the other day. Would you think of rescuing a poetry book if you were being bombed out?”
“No, I would rescue my red accordion, the one my dad gave me when I passed my high school exams. And you?” says Anna.
“I think, I think I might save the family bible,” says Lilly.
On this day, April 20, 1945, The ‘Völkische Beobachter’ warned Berliners that the next day, Saturday, the FLAK would be engaged in a mock battle. The population was told not to be unduly concerned about the thunderous noise between 10.00 am and 4.00 pm.
This was also the day that the Berlin Philharmonics gave a last concert of chamber music. It was also the day of the last Allied air raid, but no sirens warned of an impending attack, and not much action ensued.