He followed her out of the parlor and up a winding staircase. For Bruno, each step of the ascent felt harder and harder, as if the weight of the war was pressing on his shoulders.
“I’ve placed towels and water in your room,” Celeste said, opening a door. She sat the case next to the bed.
“Danke,” he said.
“If you need anything,monsieur, you can find me in the kitchen or my room in the attic.” She turned and closed the door behind her.
Bruno collapsed onto his bed. His mind raced with potential ramifications of his actions. He struggled to convince himself that Anna—if she learned of his role in the gassing deaths of thousands of men—would never hurt herself, like Haber’s wife, Clara.But how can I know for sure?Unwilling to risk ruining his engagement and, most importantly, burdening Anna with knowledge of his sins, he resolved to never divulge the truth.
CHAPTER9
LEIPZIG, GERMANY—JULY19, 1916
Alone in his apartment, Max shuffled into the living room and sat in a wool upholstered chair. A recording of Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 7 in C Major played on a horn gramophone, next to a dust-covered Blüthner grand piano. The music resonated through the room, but Max’s eardrums—damaged from the shell blast—were unable to register the upper treble clef notes, typically played with a pianist’s right hand. For Max, the high-pitched tones disappeared into a muffled, black abyss, as if the piano strings were smothered with a blanket.
Max’s doctor had attempted to improve his hearing loss with herbal remedies, which included the consumption of dill tea and the insertion of garlic oil droplets into his ear canals. When these treatments failed, the doctor prescribed an electronically amplified hearing aid, the size of a tall cigar box with a cumbersome speaker that was inserted in his ear. While the apparatus amplified the tones Max could already discern, it did nothing to help him detect high-pitched sounds. The doctor diagnosed him with a permanent, high-frequency hearing loss and informed him that there was nothing further that could be done.
Max refused to give up hope that his range of hearing might improve over time. Each morning, after Wilhelmina left for work at the munitions factory, he sat at the piano. He played ascending scales until the notes—beginning with D-sharp on the second highest octave of the keyboard—became undetectable. Of the seven octaves on an eighty-eight-key piano, Max could only hear five of the octaves. He diligently conducted his daily auditory tests. But as months passed, his range of hearing did not improve, and his dream of composing music, as well as his desire to play the piano, began to fade.
Prior to the war, Max’s ambition to be a composer was driven by his passion for the piano, which was fostered by his parents, Franz and Katarina. But now, as a blind veteran, music was one of the few paths for him to gain meaningful employment. The country considered a sightless person to be completely disabled. However, Max refused to be viewed as an invalid or an object of charity.I will not be a burden to Wilhelmina, nor will I be a blind beggar on the street.I’ll find a way to support myself, no matter what I have to do.
Even if his hearing improved, Max’s blindness still created a huge obstacle with mobility. Since his brutal mugging on an unaccompanied trip to the market—which resulted in a concussion, a lacerated scalp requiring six stitches, and having his food and money stolen—he’d relied on Wilhelmina to obtain provisions. While most of the residents of Leipzig were kind, law-abiding, and respectful, the shortage of food and rumors of starvation, due to the British naval blockade, had driven some citizens to commit criminal acts. A blind man carrying a basket of food was an easy target for a group of adolescents with hungry bellies. Despite having been beaten and robbed, Max did not abandon his pursuit to explore the streets. With a new walking cane, which he’d made from an old broomstick, he took trips around the apartment block. Each day he ventured farther and farther over the cobblestone sidewalks, determined to create a cerebral chart of his neighborhood.
The quest for independence, Max believed, required far more than the ability to navigate a few city streets. Therefore, he insisted on preparing meals and cleaning the apartment, despite Wilhelmina’s concerns that he might make a mess or burn down the apartment building. With much practice, and the precise organization of food, utensils, and cookware, he was able to prepare basic meals, which mostly consisted of toasted bread, fried potato dishes, and coffee. Soon, she grew tolerant, if not appreciative, of his work. He hoped that by lessening the household burden on Wilhelmina, her affection for him would rekindle. However, little changed between them. Exhausted from extra shifts at the factory, she spoke little during meals and often went to bed early. Their intimacy withered, and Max worried that their prewar days of bliss would never return.
The music stopped. The gramophone’s needle scratched over the center of the disc. Max stood. With his hands extended, he located the gramophone and raised the tone arm. As he prepared to replay the recording, a key jostled in the door to the apartment. He flipped a switch, and the turntable slowed to a stop.
Wilhelmina, her coveralls stained with grime, entered the apartment and closed the door. She placed an empty tin lunch pail on the kitchen counter.
He shuffled forward with his hand on the wall. “Hallo. Wilhelmina?”
She removed her head scarf. “Were you expecting someone else?” she asked, her voice tired and hoarse.
“Nein.”We used to eagerly embrace when we reunited, he thought.My disability and the strain of your job at the munitions factory has created a mountain between us.“How was work?”
“Same.”
“Still have the headache?”
“Ja.”
Wilhelmina’s work at the factory required her to fill shell cases with explosive. She endured daily exposure to hazardous chemicals without adequate protection. In addition to migraines, she and the munitions women were plagued with chronic colds, anemia, and nausea.
“I’m sorry.” He shuffled to her and found her hand. Her coveralls, stained with explosive residue, omitted a sweet, chemical odor. He squeezed her fingers, but she didn’t return the gesture. “You’ll feel better after you wash and eat. We have a few potatoes. I’ll make us latkes for dinner.”
She slipped away her hand. “I’m not hungry.”
“Then I’ll make you coffee.” He expected a rebuttal. Instead, he heard the creak of a chair as she sat at the kitchen table. Locating a ceramic jar, he carefully hand-scooped substitute coffee grinds, made from tree bark, into a pewter pot.
Wilhelmina removed an envelope from her coveralls. “You received a letter from the Imperial German Army.”
Max’s chest tightened. Locating a glass pitcher, he poured water into the pot and checked the fill level with his finger.
“Would you like me to read it to you now or later?”
“Now is fine.”
She opened the envelope and read.
