Chapitre trente-sept
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
In the stillness of the night, Isra lay on her bed, the discomfort of her cramping stomach interrupting her sleep. This feeling was familiar, but having been drifting in and out of dreams made her unsure of whether this was another figment of her imagination or reality.
She had endured the persistent gnawing cramps throughout the day, but they had intensified now, reaching an excruciating crescendo. A sudden, searing cramp pierced through her like a dagger, and she was jolted awake. Panic surged as she became aware of something warm and wet trickling down her trembling leg.
This pain. It was real.
"Ah!" She wound her arms tightly around her stomach. "Oh... Oh, God... baby..."
Her hands began to feel around in the dark. In search of what? She didn't know.
Hans isn't here.
The amniotic fluid gushed, and Isra knew that the moment had arrived; the baby was making its imminent entrance into the world, and she was all alone. Desperation surged within her, but she needed to stay composed. Suppressing her instinct to scream, she summoned every ounce of strength. With great effort, she hauled herself off the bed, one hand pressed firmly against her quivering lips to muffle any sounds. As she staggered out of the room into the shady hallway, her frail body leaned against the wall for support. The contractions intensified, the physical agony relentless and unrelenting, causing beads of sweat to form upon her brow.
The neighbour. I need to get to the neighbour.
After so many raids being carried out on the building, she wasn't sure if she had any neighbours left. But she would knock on every door on her floor until somebody opened it.
Isra summoned her last reserves of strength as she inched her way toward the front door, every step a torment. She clenched her teeth so fiercely into her lip that it broke the skin, her hair sticking to her perspiring forehead. Despite the overwhelming pain, she gritted her teeth and pressed forward. Finally, she stepped outside and reached the corridor, her desperation spurring her on. She began her search for help.
The first door was a grim reminder of Pierre's tragic end, but she couldn't stop. The second door revealed only emptiness. As she reached the third door, the contractions growing more unbearable with each passing second, she rapped on it with the little strength she had left, her ears straining to catch the hushed voices from within.
"Please help!" her plea erupted from her lips as the contractions coursed through her, and her scream filled the corridor. "Please! Please, I'm begging you!"
Seconds stretched like an eternity until the door finally opened. It revealed a middle-aged woman, French, who Isra didn't recognize. The woman's eyes widened in shock as she took in Isra's dishevelled and agonized state. Without hesitation, she immediately ushered Isra inside.
"You poor thing," the woman said, closing the door behind her, and hooking one around Isra's waist, helping her to the middle of the room.
The woman called out a boy's name, and a lad not much older than seven quickly emerged from another room. She hurriedly issued instructions, directing him to fetch blankets and pillows. She yelled at him to move faster, the urgency plain in her tone.
Isra's screams filled the room again as another agonizing contraction gripped her. "The baby, it's almost here—ah! Please, I need your help! Please!"
She had been pregnant before and it was painful, but had it ever been this painful?
Oh, God, Marcel...
She wanted Marcel. And she wanted Hans.
The boy swiftly returned with the blankets, and together, he and the woman spread them across the floor in a hurry. With gentle care, they lowered Isra onto the makeshift bed, ensuring her head was propped up on the pillow for some comfort.
The woman turned to the boy. "You stay with her, alright? Don't leave her side." The boy firmly agreed with a nod.
As the woman rushed to fetch a basin of water and a stack of towels, the boy stayed close to Isra, watching her with his big, green eyes as she wailed and sobbed.
The woman returned swiftly with the basin and towels, setting them down close to Isra. Her gentle hands tried to soothe Isra, offering words of reassurance. "You're doing great. Just a little longer now. I need to know your name, dear. Can you tell me your name?"
Isra, wracked with pain and unable to find her voice, cried out and moaned in distress. Her focus was solely on the impending birth, drowning out the woman's questions. She gasped for breath between contractions and finally shouted, "Get this baby out of me!" The intensity of the moment had reached its peak, and there was no room for anything else but the arrival.
She was going to give birth to this child without her mother, her father, her husband, or Hans present.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Hans ascended the creaking stairs to Isra's apartment, as he did most evenings, with a paper bag with some food in hand. He had been waiting all day to see her, especially now that she had reached her ninth month, and the baby would arrive any day.
However, when he reached her door, suspicion settled within him as he noticed it was slightly ajar, his mind already assuming the worst—perhaps Dr. Muller had betrayed them after all and she had been taken to a camp, or maybe they had conducted a raid of her apartment.
He pushed the door open, cautiously calling Isra's name, his voice a trembling whisper. "Isra, darling?"
Silence greeted him, but the unsettling feeling in his gut only intensified. Ignoring the pounding in his chest, he moved through the apartment, every footstep magnifying his growing worry. When he entered the bedroom, he found it empty, the rumpled sheets the only sign that she had been there. Panic began to suffocate him, but before it could fully consume him, a blood-curdling scream, unmistakably Isra's, shattered the silence. It seemed to pierce through the walls of a neighbouring apartment, a scream echoing with pain, fear, and desperation.
Hans bolted out of Isra's apartment. He followed the agonizing scream, a haunting beacon of despair, down the corridor. Each step felt like nothing in the long stretch of the corridor until he arrived at a door that stood three down from Isra's. The source of the scream had to be behind that barrier.
His fist collided with the door, and he shouted with urgency, "Open this door!"
He pounded on the door relentlessly until it swung open, revealing a bewildered little boy. Confusion overwhelmed Hans for a moment, but as another scream pierced the air, he glanced past the child and saw Isra on the floor, surrounded by blankets and the woman who was assisting her.
Ignoring the boy, Hans rushed into the room. Entering, the woman's eyes widened with fear at the sight of his German uniform, her mind instantly assuming the worst, and she took up a semi-defensive stance in front of Isra. But Isra, tearful and in physical anguish, recognized him and began to sob even harder, crying out his name repeatedly. "Hans... Hans..."
He hurried to her side, leaving the woman in a state of shock.
Hans knelt beside her, his heart aching as he saw her in such distress. She clung to him, her grip like a vice as she writhed in pain from the contractions. The woman, still wary and uncertain, sat to the side, her eyes darting between the two of them. Her mind simply couldn't comprehend it. A German man. A French woman.
"Please help her," Hans implored, eyes wide with fear. "We need your assistance. You've done this before, haven't you?"
"I... I haven't but... I can still try."
Hans nodded, and they both focused on Isra, who was now deep into her labour. "Hans, it... hurts..."
"I know, love. But it's alright. I'm here now. I'm here." He smoothed back some of the hair sticking to her damp face, wishing that he could bear some of her pain. "Right here."
"Alright, you're doing great," the woman assured her. "With the next contraction, give it everything you've got. Push!"
Isra's face scrunched up as she followed the woman's instructions, pushing with all her might. Hans whispered words of encouragement, telling her how strong she was, and how brave. Her breathing was shallow and ragged. She clenched her teeth, mustering every ounce of her strength to expel the baby.
Another contraction hit, and Isra pushed again.
"You're almost there! Push again!"
Her grip on Hans' hand tightened to an almost unbearable level, and he could feel her body trembling. It hadn't been this difficult with Sophie—she hadn't lost this much blood. Her skin began to pale, her heart beating as though it wanted to jump out of her chest.
"One more!"
With one final, tremendous effort, Isra gave one last push. They saw the head of the baby emerge, covered in a film of vernix. The room held its collective breath, and then a cry filled the air, a cry so full of life that it was impossible to believe that such a small being could create such a sound.
The voices seemed so far away, though; her energy was quickly fading. She gasped for breath, eyes fluttering as she struggled to keep them open.
Her hand, which had held on to Hans with all its might, fell limply at her side.
Isra! Isra, please, stay with me. Is there anything we can do? Is she all right?
She's lost a lot of blood, but we'll do our best to help her.
She let go of the rope that tethered her to consciousness.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Isra slowly awakened to a world teeming with noises and muffled conversations. Her eyes cracked open, and the soft, warm light poured into her vision. She was momentarily disoriented, her surroundings appearing unfamiliar. But as she blinked and focused, realization set in — she was not on the cold floor of that woman's apartment anymore; she was in her own bed, in her bedroom.
The recollection of the intense pain and the difficult childbirth flooded her memory. The faint sounds of hushed voices and footsteps drifted into her ears, and she knew that there were people nearby, perhaps the woman who had helped deliver her baby and Hans. Frantic thoughts swirled in her mind. Where was the baby? What had happened after she had lost consciousness? She attempted to sit up but found herself weakened and sore, her body protesting the effort.
"Don't try to move, Isra," she heard Hans' voice beside her, strained with worry.
She blinked up at him, the memories slowly falling back into place. "What... what happened?" Isra managed to mumble, her mind still hazy from the ordeal.
Hans let out a shaky breath, a cheeky grin following. "You gave birth," he said. "You and the baby... you're both okay."
"The baby? Where's the baby?"
He reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "He's in the crib right beside you. He's safe and sound. You both made it."
"He? Klaus?"
"Yes." Hans looked close to tears. "Yes, our Klaus."
Isra slowly turned her head to see her newborn son sleeping peacefully in the crib. Tears welled up in her eyes, relief and joy flooding her. "Oh, thank God," she whispered.
Hans leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I was so scared. I thought I might lose you both."
"Thank you for being there Hans."
"Of course, my darling. I'm glad I made it on time." He kissed her forehead once more. "Would you like to see the baby now?"
Anxiousness surged through her, but she said yes. Hans approached the crib he had brought into the room from the nursery. He carefully lifted their newborn son into his arms, cradling the precious bundle. "He's been sleeping most of the night. He might be hungry now."
Isra's eyes glistened with tears of happiness. She extended her arms, eagerly waiting to hold her son for the first time. "Bring him here, Hans."
He gently placed their newborn son in her arms, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside her. The baby was so small and fragile, and it was difficult to believe that he was real, that this was the human being she had carried for nine months. She kissed his soft, chubby cheek, the moment striking a chord deep within her, reminding her of the time when she first held Sophie.
"He's so tiny," she murmured, a smile rising to her face.
Their baby had fair skin, a trait from Hans, and a tiny tuft of light brown hair that adorned his little head.
"This reminds me of the day I first became a mother to Sophie. Holding her in my arms felt like a dream come true. I couldn't believe the joy she brought into our lives."
He smiled softly, stroking Klaus' cheek with the tip of his finger. "I wish we could have had more time with her."
It was a little bittersweet, having lost her daughter but gaining a son. "Yes, but we'll cherish every moment we have with our little Klaus."
Klaus slowly opened his eyes, revealing two gems of dazzling hazel. His eyes were beautiful, the perfect mix of herself and Hans. He let out a little yawn and a soft, adorable coo before fussing, signalling his hunger. They shared a gentle laugh at their son's enthusiasm.
Isra carefully adjusted Klaus in her arms, cradling him closer and using one hand to tug on the neckline of her nightgown, revealing her breast. "Looks like our little one is ready for his meal, isn't he?"
Their baby immediately latched on, his soft lips finding their place, and his tiny hands curling around her finger as his eyelids slipped shut.
"How will I break the news to Marcel? He's going to be a stepfather!" she joked. Hans, however, noticed the wistful look in her eyes, the shimmer of unshed tears. He knew that beneath the playful question lay a deep well of grief and loss. Her old life seemingly slipped through her fingers in two measly years. No husband and no daughter. "Sometimes I feel like I'm betraying Marcel, even though I know he's gone."
He cupped her cheek, his gaze soft with love. "You're not betraying anyone, Isra. Life is full of complex choices. We just have to make the best of them."
A tear finally slipped down her cheek. "Thank you for being here, Hans. I don't know what I'd do without you."
His once crisply pressed uniform now looked rumpled, and his strong, chiselled features were blurred by fatigue. Dark circles lingered beneath his eyes, pointing to the hours he'd spent keeping vigil. His hair, usually neatly combed, had fallen into slight disarray.
He really did sacrifice so much for her, perhaps more than anyone in her life ever had. Every day he took the risk to see her, knowing he'd be executed if he was caught, but to him, she was worth the chance.
The room was silent, except for the soft, rhythmic sounds of Klaus nursing and Isra's occasional sigh. Hans didn't seem to mind the hushed ambiance, basking in the beauty of his makeshift family.
"You're tired. You should return to the barracks and rest. I'll be here with Klaus."
"I should stay a while longer."
"No," she said firmly. "You've been gone for far too long. You'll arouse suspicion. Please, for me, return to the barracks. I need you safe and alive."
He didn't want to leave them, but he knew Isra was right. He needed to rest, and they needed him to be at his best.
"Alright, my love," he whispered. He placed a tender kiss on Isra's lips, careful not to disturb Klaus, who was still nursing. Then, with great reluctance, he stood up and made his way to the chaise lounge, putting on his coat and cap. He went to the door, and as he opened it, he turned to look back at them one last time.
"I'll be back soon," he assured her before stepping out and closing the door gently behind him.
Before he left the apartment building, he made a brief stop at the woman's apartment. Her initial distrust toward him had melted in the span of the night, and she agreed to check on Isra and look after her in his absence.
There was giddiness in his step as he made his return to the barracks. He tried not to smile in public, to assume a mask of stoniness, but it was apparent to anybody who saw him that he was in a splendid mood.
He had a son now. Klaus Ziegler.
His immediate plan, once he returned to his room, was to compose a letter to his family, informing them of the birth of their grandson. However, he knew he had to be selective with the information he shared. His family was deeply traditional and staunchly religious, and they wouldn't be accepting of the unconventional circumstances. They were upstanding citizens, actively involved in church activities and dedicated to charitable works. Hans, while not particularly religious himself, recognized the importance of maintaining appearances. Revealing the truth about Klaus's parentage and the fact that Isra wasn't either French or German would be a surefire way to incur his family's wrath. An out-of-wedlock child was a secret that could cost him everything, even more so than the war itself.
He'd have to wed Isra somehow. But all that could be sorted out once he determined how he would desert.
As he promised her months ago, now that she had the baby, he would have to abandon his post. It wouldn't be easy, and the punishment was death, but why should he be forced to fight in a war he considered pointless? Why should he bear the burden of his government's ambitions?
He had a family now.
This war was no longer his own.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Kurt and Friedrich marched together on their regular patrol that evening, their boots hitting the streets with rhythmic precision. The sun was setting on Paris, the skyline a beautiful shade of orange and violet.
"Have you noticed how strange Hans has been lately?" Friedrich's voice was hushed, almost conspiratorial.
Kurt knitted his brow, glancing at Friedrich. "Strange? How so?"
Friedrich kept his eyes forward. "He's been acting distracted, almost like his mind's not on the job. I've heard some whispers that he might be involved with a French woman."
Kurt frowned and replied, "That's not so odd, is it? Many men visit brothels."
"I don't think this woman belongs to a brothel." His annoyance grew, and he cast a sidelong glance at his comrade. "It's not just risky; it's foolish. If he's involved with her, he's jeopardizing his position and ours. We need to focus on the mission, not indulge in affairs with the locals."
"You sound quite concerned about this. What do you think we should do about it?"
Friedrich shook his head, exasperated. "We should keep an eye on him, of course, but let's not get too involved in his personal matters. We have our duty to uphold."
He refused to let himself be played for a fool. They were all in France, risking their lives for the fatherland, while Hans was treating his duty as if it were nothing more than a pastime.
"You know what, Kurt? I've had enough of this. I'm going to follow Hans tonight to see where he's sneaking off to."
Kurt shrugged nonchalantly. "She could just be a prostitute. Perhaps you're reading too much into this."
"No, it's more than that, Kurt. There's something off about the whole situation." The late-night escapades, the way Hans secretly squirrelled away his rations, and those inexplicable, blissful grins he wore all day long—these things gnawed at Friedrich, fueling a storm of frustration and bewilderment. Could it be that he was overanalyzing, as Kurt had suggested? Maybe, but he couldn't dismiss the hushed conversations and the mounting doubts that swirled around Hans. His sense of duty to his country was undeniable, and he couldn't afford to take it lightly. He fully believed in their aspirations, and traitors were traitors—that is if Hans was doing anything that could possibly endanger them all.
That woman could have been a spy for all they knew.
"Just be careful, Friedrich. This could end up causing more trouble than it's worth."
"I know what I'm doing. Tonight, I'll follow him."
Whether it was a matter of duty or a personal affair, he needed to know the truth.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
"She had the baby last night," Hans said, staring out of the window.
Dr. Muller sat behind his desk, his pen scratching across a sheet of paper, jotting down notes. He paused, his expression darkening. "You idiot," he muttered under his breath, setting the pen down. He leaned back in his chair and swivelled toward Hans. "You've complicated your life in ways you can't even comprehend, Ziegler. Bringing a child into this madness? You've endangered yourself and the woman."
"I know the risks, but I couldn't just abandon her."
His voice remained sharp, dripping with frustration. "What are you planning to do now?"
"I intend to keep them safe," Hans replied vaguely, stepping away from the window and turning around to face the doctor.
"And what does that mean, Ziegler?"
He pursed his lips, then swallowed hard. "I haven't decided yet."
Dr. Muller's eyes widened, deducing the hidden meaning behind his words. His eyes darted to the door of the infirmary as if he expected somebody to walk in before settling them back on Hans. "Don't be a fool. If you're going to do what I think you'll do..."
"I don't know." He was no longer interested in staying and fighting. He wanted to live a life of his own with Isra, no matter how stupid it might make him seem to his fellow soldiers, he knew deep down in his heart what he ought to do.
"If you even think of abandoning your post, I will not hesitate to report you myself. Do you understand the consequences?"
He met the doctor's gaze with a steely resolve. "I understand the consequences."
Dr. Muller removed his glasses and set them down on the table. "You're willing to risk your life and your honour for a Frenchwoman and the child?"
"I love her, and that's a risk I'm willing to take, should it come down to it."
The doctor's silence spoke volumes, and Hans couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't executed him right then and there. It was within his moral obligation to do so. Was it out of some hidden empathy? Or perhaps it was the result of a deeper, more complex conviction.
"Do you believe in this war, Dr. Muller?" he asked.
Dr. Muller remained inscrutable.
Hans couldn't fathom what lay behind that stern countenance, behind those piercing eyes, which always seemed to scrutinize every detail of his existence. There was something beneath the surface, something that Hans couldn't grasp. The war had cast its shadow over them all, changing everything, even the people who were part of it.
"This war... it's a beast that devours all in its path. I've seen too much suffering, too many lives lost. And I've witnessed too many things that I cannot forget, Hans." He looked him directly in the eyes, and Hans could see the resignation there. "I've seen too much suffering and death to believe in the righteousness of it all. But we are all cogs in a machine much larger than ourselves. I've learned that it's safer to remain silent."
Hans walked closer to Dr. Muller's desk. "I can't abandon them. What happens if I get transferred? What happens if I must return to Germany?"
"You've made a difficult choice, and it's not my place to judge. But if you ever put your comrades or your duty at risk, I won't hesitate to report it, like I said. I mean that."
The line he walked was razor-thin, but he was determined to do whatever it took to keep Isra and Klaus safe. The war had already taken so much from him; he wouldn't let it steal his newfound family as well.
"I must go now. She is expecting me."
Dr. Muller put on his glasses and picked up his pen, swivelling around on his chair, resuming his previous task. "Very well. Go to her."
Hans gave a curt nod in response, saluted, and exited the infirmary.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
It had been a sleepless night for Friedrich, plagued by curiosity and nagging doubts. He had never been one to embrace such an intrusive role, but the growing unease and rumours that circulated within their unit couldn't be ignored.
His footsteps soft on the street, Hans moved with a purpose that defied his usual stride. Gone was the carefree façade Friedrich was accustomed to. It had been replaced by a man on a mission, a clandestine goal that no one else seemed to know about.
Friedrich kept his distance, careful to remain hidden within the inky shadows. He felt like a predator stalking its prey, a sinister purpose pulsating through his veins. The flickering light from a nearby lamppost cast eerie shadows across the unassuming building. It was clear that this was Hans' destination. The realization that he had reached his objective sent a ripple of anticipation through him.
With a keen eye, hidden in an alleyway across the street, Friedrich watched as Hans slipped inside. What secrets had he been concealing? What connection did he have to this place? The questions gnawed at his conscience even when he contemplated the potential consequences of his own investigation. The temptation to follow was almost overpowering, but he refrained, not wanting to risk being discovered.
Friedrich knew that he couldn't linger in the open for long, conspicuous to anyone who might happen upon his solitary figure. His suspicions had driven him to this pursuit, but now, he needed to retreat and collect his thoughts, not sure of how long Hans would spend inside the building.
He resolved that, in the morning, he would seize the opportunity to reconnoiter the mysterious building that Hans had visited, under the pretense of a routine patrol.
For now, he would retreat to the barracks.
Tomorrow, he would learn the truth.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know it was a lengthy one, but let me know your thoughts!
xx