My Name is Eva(73)

I think it is for the best. After all, I only ever wanted your children, my darling, no others. Our children would have brought us such joy and we would have taken such pride in their achievements, however slight. If only we hadn’t waited and I had given birth to a honeymoon baby, as many of our friends did, then I would have had a part of you with me for ever.

Please forgive me for my carelessness, my dearest, and for my foolish trusting nature. I will do my best to make you proud in some way or other, I promise.



Your ever-loving Evie, xxxx Ps I love you





66





Eva, 24 September 1947





The Time Has Come





For three weeks Brigitte hid Eva away. But she was sure all the other aid workers and many residents knew why she was not present at her desk. How could they not? She was ungainly, her huge bulge plain to see, impossible to disguise even with loose shirts and jackets. And all through the heat of late summer she had felt slow and cumbersome, burdened with this most unwanted child.

‘Don’t leave me,’ she cried, after four hours of labour.

‘It won’t be long now,’ Brigitte said, wiping her forehead. ‘You’re nearly there.’

‘I can’t do it. The pain is terrible.’

‘You can do it. And it won’t last much longer. Then it will all be over.’

Sally held her hand. ‘You’re being so brave. I’m going to make you a special cocktail when it’s all over.’

Eva managed a weak laugh. ‘If there’s something to celebrate.’ And then her words were carried away on another wave of pain.

Brigitte and Sally were her accomplices in this hidden tragedy. They brought her food when she was too tired to walk to the canteen, they found her larger clothes to disguise her bulk when her own became tight. They even managed to locate talcum powder to soothe her chafed thighs in the summer heat. And when Brigitte gave her a small bottle of castor oil, saying, ‘You must rub this on your belly,’ Sally laughed and said, ‘Then I shall have to donate a few drops of my precious Soir de Paris to add to that foul potion, so you don’t end up smelling like a fishwife.’

Would the oil do the trick? Could anything eliminate all signs of the calamity that had befallen her, she wondered as she massaged her taut, swollen stomach in the weeks before the birth. Would she be able to forget it all when this was over?

Her friends were loyal and never asked questions. Sally had only once said, ‘You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen. You do know that, don’t you?’ And both of them had shielded her from prying eyes and awkward silences. But she guessed that her secret was more widely known and when Brigitte came back to their room one day with a package of dried leaves wrapped in a square of rag, she realised Irene Komorowski knew too. ‘She told me to pour boiling water on these,’ Brigitte said. ‘To make you Himbeereblatte Wasser.’

‘Whatever is that?’

‘Raspberry leaf tea. It is for the contractions of labour. Many women say it makes them come more easily.’

‘So, she knows about me?’

Brigitte shrugged. ‘She must do. But she didn’t hear it from me.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Nothing. She just gave me this and said she hopes you will be well soon. She didn’t say why she was giving me the leaves, but I already knew their purpose.’

‘But it’s obvious, isn’t it? Everyone must know.’

Brigitte put her arms round Eva. ‘Maybe they know, maybe they don’t. But nobody cares. People here have their own worries.’

So she had made the tea and drank the bitter liquid during her final weeks, thinking she was willing to drink anything that would help her get through this ordeal more easily. But it didn’t seem to work. ‘Bloody tea,’ she yelled as yet another contraction seized her. ‘Fat lot of good that did.’

‘Shhh,’ Brigitte said. ‘You’re nearly there.’

And then finally, with screams from her and encouragement from her friends, it was all over. She could hear the cries of the baby and the murmurs of the two girls and as she raised herself on the pillows, she found herself wanting to see. ‘What is it?’ she managed to gasp. ‘Can I see?’

‘Are you really sure?’

‘Yes. I have to.’

So Brigitte leant over her with the little bundle wrapped in a towel and Eva took it from her.

‘It’s a girl,’ Sally said. ‘She’s beautiful.’

‘She is, isn’t she?’ Eva said, peeling back the wrapping. As she did so, a little fist grasped her finger. ‘Oh, she’s so strong.’

‘She’s a very healthy baby,’ Brigitte said. ‘She’ll thrive. We’ll sort out a bottle for her as soon as we can.’

Eva continued staring at the new being in her arms. She didn’t look like him. She was not a figure to hate. She was newly made, innocent of all sin, deserving of love. There was a smear of blood on her head, which had a dark slick of wet hair. Eva stroked her cheek and the baby turned towards her, mouth open like an eager fledgling. And instinctively, Eva bared her breast and allowed the baby to begin suckling.

‘Are you really sure you should be doing that?’ said Sally. ‘It will make it much harder for you to part from her.’