Chapter One

31 January, 1933

The grand city of Berlin lies milky in the morning light. Amid the avenues and alleyways, tram stops and department stores, a little girl by the name of Rosa Klein hurries through the freezing air to buy some rolls for breakfast. Along the broad pavements she runs, her footsteps resounding on the flat-faced buildings. She turns onto the Wilhelmstraße, giving a wide berth to a man crumpled drunkenly in a doorway, a trail of vapour from her mouth lingering in the air beneath a canopy of tram cables. A little breathless, she reaches the Konditorei and heaves at the heavy door; a little bell chimes, and a cloud of delicious, moist scent blossoms into the street, floating like a blessing towards the dogs that are scrounging in the gutters. Rosa enters the bakery, a Reichsmark note clenched in her fist like an autumn leaf, brimming with pride; she is not usually allowed out alone, after all she’s only nine, but there is not a crumb of bread in the entire apartment, and she was awake anyway, and Mama decided that it’s time for her to spread her wings, or at least start to unfurl them.

In the Aladdin’s cave of browns and golds, with mirrors multiplying her every move, Rosa approaches the counter. The steely-eyed Fräulein in a black-and-white uniform cocks her head curiously, twisting a paper bag in pink, chapped fingers. Rosa smiles politely but no such smile is returned; instead the Fräulein rearranges the Mandeltorte, shuffles the Apfelkuchen and wipes down the surfaces, which are already spotless; only then does she acknowledge the girl in the blue felt hat, raising her eyebrows the tiniest of fractions. Rosa smiles understandingly, for the Fräulein is clearly a very busy lady, asks for a dozen Schrippen rolls and presents her Reichsmark note. The Fräulein speaks not a word as she slots the rolls into a bag, places them on the counter and activates an ornate cash register, which rattles, whirrs, and produces a single ring. Then suddenly she says, wait a moment, and reaches for her lapel where there glints a small golden pin. A deft movement of her fingers brings it away from the fabric, and she places it on the counter, gesturing for the girl to take it – Rosa, confused, accepts the gift, enacts an awkward bow and makes her way to the door. She heaves it open, the bell chimes again, and a bracing gust of air freshens her face; she responds to the Fraulein’s salute by mumbling Heil Hintern, as her big brother Heinrich taught her, then hurries from the Konditorei, brandishing the Schrippen, into the wintry watery light.

© Jake Wallis Simons 2010. All rights reserved.