The Rabbit Girls(98)

I can smell orange blossom, sweet baby milk, and I can see happiness. Pure joy. I am dying, but I am leaving something good behind. You have all my letters, you have our daughter and you have my love.

Please don’t forget me.

All I have now are stolen images and Emilie’s promise to take care of the baby and to take care of you too.

Emilie returns often without the baby and she holds my hand. She cries. And all I know is that I want you to be with me before I die.

I ask only for you.

Just so I can say goodbye . . .





40





MIRIAM


The air around Miriam seems to vibrate in her ears as if she is surrounded by water. Her feet remain numb, attached to the ground.

‘I don’t understand,’ Miriam says.

‘Turn it over,’ Eva says.

Frieda died 14th February 1945 at 4 a.m. Her baby survives.

‘That’s Mum’s handwriting!’ Miriam looks again. ‘Mum knew?’ Her head is fuzzy and scrambled suddenly. ‘What does this mean?’

‘I think,’ Eva says, reaching her hand across the table. ‘I think this means that you are the baby . . .’

Miriam is silent.

The noise of the café grows around her, but she looks at Eva’s clean, strong face, she holds Eva’s soft, warm hand and she looks at the letter.

‘What?’ She stands abruptly, but the blood rushes to her head and the room seems to spin around her. ‘I mean – no!’ She sits. Waiting for something to make sense.

‘We can’t know that,’ Miriam says. ‘We don’t know if the baby lived, or that Mum even took it.’ Miriam looks at Eva. ‘Is that everything?’

‘Yes, when I took the dress I wanted to check there was nothing else. Anything that may help you,’ Eva says.

‘And . . . ?’

Eva shakes her head.

‘You cannot take her away from me. I mean, this, the letters . . . I’ve already lost her once, Eva. Please. Stop,’ Miriam says and wishes more than anything Mum was alive to put an end to this. She knows it’s not Eva’s fault, but she translated this.

‘You didn’t need to give this one to me. I would have been okay without knowing this,’ Miriam says eventually. ‘Why?’

‘You deserve to know the truth. It’s not my decision to withhold anything from you. I think your parents protected you a lot. It’s not a bad thing, but maybe, maybe you are stronger than you realise,’ Eva says gently.

‘Why didn’t they tell me?’

‘I don’t know. But think about it, Miriam; if this is true, if you are the child of Frieda . . .’

‘If,’ Miriam says. ‘Big if . . . because even if I am, Mum is my mum.’

‘She will always be your mum. But think of the strength you had to survive right from the beginning? If this is you, and this is your story too . . .’ Eva doesn’t finish the sentence. ‘I thought you should know.’

The more Miriam thinks, the more she can understand. Her father is calling for Frieda. Maybe . . . But maybe not because he is searching for Frieda, as she thought, but maybe he is trying to tell her, Miriam, that she came from Frieda. Or . . . her thoughts topple over each other. Or maybe Dad thinks she is Frieda? She has been gone so long . . . did Miriam resemble Frieda?

‘I’ll never know anything for sure, will I?’

‘I’m so sorry, Miriam. If it’s true then you survived so much and have been so loved.’

Miriam shakes her head. ‘Nothing is ever true, is it? The only person who would know what happened is dead. Mum was my best friend. This . . .’ She shakes the letter. ‘Cannot take that from me. I won’t let it.’

‘Nothing will take your memories. Your mother, I’m sure, loved you very much.’

‘And Frieda?’

Eva stands, moves around the table and pulls Miriam to her feet. Embraced in a hug so deep, Miriam sobs something that sounds like a wail. When Miriam pulls away from the hug she sees Eva’s eyes reflecting the sorrow of her own face. The other diners are looking at them.

‘I need to leave,’ Miriam says.

Eva pays the bill and they walk out into the street.

Miriam stops suddenly and pulls out the last letter again; the hurt in the letter from Frieda seems to break through Miriam’s skin and scatter around inside her, as if it were her own. Did Dad go to her?

Did this woman die alone, without him?

Finally, when Miriam feels calmer, she goes to Eva’s side, waiting a little behind her, and holds her hand. And together they walk down the street.

Eva says nothing, allowing Miriam the time to compose herself. The Christmas decorations still hang like jewels from the trees and lamp posts.

They walk until the road becomes blocked with bodies. The air is full of chatter as they get to the other side of Ruhwald Park, close to the hospice. Miriam’s head feels about to shatter with the volume of thoughts: the letters; the lives lost . . .

The chatter dies down as a voice as clear as a bird flies into the sky. People look up, as if they can hear the voice of an angel.

Eva places her hand in the crook of Miriam’s arm. No one speaks. The song seizes time and holds it for all who can hear and Miriam’s mind clears. No accompaniment, just a singular voice, singing to the heavens. Transporting Miriam in both time and place.