Winter of the World (108 page)

When his wrist had been taped up, he said to Erik: ‘Have you heard from Carla?’

Erik knew that his sister and Werner were now a couple. ‘I haven’t had any letters for weeks.’

‘Nor me. I hear things are pretty grim in Berlin. I hope she’s all right.’

‘I worry, too,’ said Erik.

Surprisingly, the Germans held the Seelow Heights for another day and night.

The dressing station got no warning that the line had collapsed. They were triaging a fresh cartload of wounded when seven or eight Soviet soldiers crashed into the church. One fired a
machine-gun burst at the vaulted ceiling and Erik threw himself to the ground, as did everyone else capable of moving.

Seeing that no one was armed, the Russians relaxed. They went around the room taking watches and rings from those who had them. Then they left.

Erik wondered what would happen next. This was the first time he had been trapped behind enemy lines. Should they abandon the field hospital and try to catch up with their retreating army? Or
were their patients safer here?

Dr Weiss was decisive. ‘Carry on with your work, everyone,’ he said.

A few minutes later a Soviet soldier came in with a comrade over his shoulder. Pointing his gun at Weiss, he spoke a rapid stream of Russian. He was in a panic, and his friend was covered in
blood.

Weiss replied calmly. In halting Russian he said: ‘No need for the gun. Put your friend on this table.’

The soldier did so, and the team went to work. The soldier kept his rifle pointed at the doctor.

Later in the day, the German patients were marched or carried out and put into the back of a truck which drove away east. Erik watched Werner Franck disappear, a prisoner of war. As a boy, Erik
had often been told the story of his Uncle Robert, who had been imprisoned by the Russians during the First World War, and had walked home from Siberia, a journey of four thousand miles. Erik
wondered now where Werner would end up.

More wounded Russians were brought in, and the Germans took care of them as they would have of their own men.

Later, as Erik fell into an exhausted sleep, he realized that now he, too, was a prisoner of war.

(iv)

As the Allied armies closed in on Berlin, the victorious countries began squabbling among themselves at the United Nations conference in San Francisco. Woody would have
found it depressing, except that he was more interested in trying to reconnect with Bella Hernandez.

She had been on his mind all through the D-Day invasion and the fighting in France, his time in hospital and his convalescence. A year ago she had been at the end of her period at Oxford
University and planning to do a doctorate at Berkeley, right here in San Francisco. She would probably be living at her parents’ home in Pacific Heights, unless she had an apartment near the
campus.

Unfortunately, he was having trouble getting a message to her.

His letters were not answered. When he called the number listed in the phone book, a middle-aged woman who he suspected was Bella’s mother said with icy courtesy: ‘She’s not at
home right now. May I give her a message?’ Bella never called back.

She probably had a serious boyfriend. If so he wanted her to tell him. But perhaps her mother was intercepting her mail and not passing on messages.

He should probably give up. He might be making a fool of himself. But that was not his way. He recalled his long, stubborn courtship of Joanne. There seems to be a pattern here, he thought; is
it something about me?

Meanwhile, every morning he went with his father to the penthouse at the top of the Fairmont Hotel, where Secretary of State Edward Stettinius held a briefing for the American team at the
conference. Stettinius had taken over from Cordell Hull, who was in hospital. The USA also had a new president, Harry Truman, who had been sworn in on the death of the great Franklin D. Roosevelt.
It was a pity, Gus Dewar observed, that at such a crucial moment in world history the United States should be led by two inexperienced newcomers.

Things had begun badly. President Truman had clumsily offended Soviet foreign minister Molotov at a pre-conference meeting at the White House. Consequently Molotov arrived in San Francisco in a
foul mood. He announced he was going home unless the conference agreed immediately to admit Belorussia, Ukraine, and Poland.

No one wanted the USSR to pull out. Without the Soviets, the United Nations were not the United Nations. Most of the American delegation were in favour of compromising with the Communists, but
the bow-tied Senator Vandenberg prissily insisted that nothing should be done under pressure from Moscow.

One morning when Woody had a couple of hours to spare he went to Bella’s parents’ house.

The swanky neighbourhood where they lived was not far from the Fairmont Hotel on Nob Hill, but Woody was still walking with a cane, so he took a taxi. Their home was a yellow-painted Victorian
mansion on Gough Street. The woman who came to the door was too well dressed to be a maid. She gave him a lopsided smile just like Bella’s: she had to be the mother. He said politely:
‘Good morning, ma’am. I’m Woody Dewar. I met Bella Hernandez in London last year and I’d sure like to see her again, if I may.’

The smile disappeared. She gave him a long look and said: ‘So you’re him.’

Woody had no idea what she was talking about.

‘I’m Caroline Hernandez, Isabel’s mother,’ she said. ‘You’d better come in.’

‘Thank you.’

She did not offer to shake hands, and she was clearly hostile, though there was no clue as to why. However, he was inside the house.

Mrs Hernandez led Woody into a large, pleasant parlour with a breathtaking ocean view. She pointed to a chair, indicating that he should sit down with a gesture that was barely polite. She sat
opposite him and gave him another hard look. ‘How much time did you spend with Bella in England?’ she asked.

‘Just a few hours. But I’ve been thinking about her ever since.’

There was another pregnant pause, then she said: ‘When she went to Oxford, Bella was engaged to be married to Victor Rolandson, a splendid young man she has known most of her life. The
Rolandsons are old friends of my husband’s and mine – or, at least, they were, until Bella came home and broke off the engagement abruptly.’

Woody’s heart leaped with hope.

‘She would only say she had realized she did not love Victor. I guessed she’d met someone else, and now I know who.’

Woody said: ‘I had no idea she was engaged.’

‘She was wearing a diamond ring that was pretty hard to miss. Your poor powers of observation have caused a tragedy.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ Woody said. Then he told himself to stop being a pussy. ‘Or rather, I’m not,’ he said. ‘I’m very glad she’s broken off her
engagement, because I think she’s absolutely wonderful and I want her for myself.’

Mrs Hernandez did not like that. ‘You’re mighty fresh, young man.’

Woody suddenly felt resentful of her condescension. ‘Mrs Hernandez, you used the word “tragedy” just now. My fiancée, Joanne, died in my arms at Pearl Harbor. My
brother, Chuck, was killed by machine-gun fire on the beach at Bougainville. On D-Day I sent Ace Webber and four other young Americans to their deaths for the sake of a bridge in a one-horse town
called Eglise-des-Soeurs. I know what tragedy is, ma’am, and it’s not a broken engagement.’

She was taken aback. He guessed young people did not often stand up to her. She did not reply, but looked a little pale. After a moment she got up and left the room without explanation. Woody
was not sure what she expected him to do, but he had not yet seen Bella so he sat tight.

Five minutes later, Bella came in.

Woody stood up, his pulse quickening. Just the sight of her made him smile. She wore a plain pale-yellow dress that set off her lustrous dark hair and coffee skin. She would always look good in
dramatically simple clothing, he guessed; just like Joanne. He wanted to put his arms around her and crush her soft body to his own, but he waited for a sign from her.

She looked anxious and uncomfortable. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

‘I came looking for you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I can’t get you out of my mind.’

‘We don’t even know each other.’

‘Let’s put that right, starting today. Will you have dinner with me?’

‘I don’t know.’

He crossed the room to where she stood.

She was startled to see him using a walking stick. ‘What happened to you?’

‘My knee got shot up in France. It’s getting better, slowly.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Bella. I think you’re wonderful. I believe you like me. We’re both free of commitments. What’s worrying you?’

She gave that lopsided grin that he liked so much. ‘I guess I’m embarrassed. About what I did, that night in London.’

‘Is that all?’

‘It was a lot, for a first date.’

‘That kind of thing went on all the time. Not to me, necessarily, but I heard about it. You thought I was going to die.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve never done anything like that, not even with Victor. I don’t know what came over me. And in a public park! I feel like a whore.’

‘I know exactly what you are,’ Woody said. ‘You’re a smart, beautiful woman with a big heart. So why don’t we forget that mad moment in London, and start getting to
know one another like the respectable well-brought-up young people that we are?’

She began to soften. ‘Can we, really?’

‘You bet.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’ll pick you up at seven?’

‘Okay.’

That was an exit line, but he hesitated. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am that I found you again,’ he said.

She looked him in the eye for the first time. ‘Oh, Woody, so am I,’ she said. ‘So glad!’ Then she put her arms around his waist and hugged him.

It was what he had been longing for. He embraced her and put his face into her wonderful hair. They stayed like that for a long minute.

At last she pulled away. ‘I’ll see you at seven,’ she said.

‘You bet.’

He left the house in a cloud of happiness.

He went from there straight to a meeting of the steering committee in the Veterans Building next to the opera house. There were forty-six members around the long table, with aides such as Gus
Dewar sitting behind them. Woody was an aide to an aide, and sat up against the wall.

The Soviet foreign minister, Molotov, made the first speech. He was not impressive to look at, Woody reflected. With his receding hair, neat moustache, and glasses, he looked like a store clerk,
which was what his father had been. But he had survived a long time in Bolshevik politics. A friend of Stalin’s since before the revolution, he was the architect of the Nazi–Soviet pact
of 1939. He was a hard worker, and was nicknamed Stone-Arse because of the long hours he spent at his desk.

He proposed that Belorussia and Ukraine be admitted as original members of the United Nations. These two Soviet republics had borne the brunt of the Nazi invasion, he pointed out, and each had
contributed more than a million men to the Red Army. It had been argued that they were not fully independent of Moscow, but the same argument could be applied to Canada and Australia, dominions of
the British Empire that had each been given separate membership.

The vote was unanimous. It had all been fixed up in advance, Woody knew. The Latin American countries had threatened to dissent unless Hitler-supporting Argentina was admitted, and that
concession had been granted to secure their votes.

Then came a bombshell. The Czech foreign minister, Jan Masaryk, stood up. He was a famous liberal and anti-Nazi who had been on the cover of
Time
magazine in 1944. He proposed that Poland
should also be admitted to the UN.

The Americans were refusing to admit Poland until Stalin permitted elections there, and Masaryk as a democrat should have supported that stand, especially as he, too, was trying to create a
democracy with Stalin looking over his shoulder. Molotov must have put terrific pressure on Masaryk to get him to betray his ideals in this way. And, indeed, when Masaryk sat down he wore the
expression of one who has eaten something disgusting.

Gus Dewar also looked grim. The prearranged compromises over Belorussia, Ukraine and Argentina should have ensured that this session went smoothly. But now Molotov had thrown them a low
ball.

Senator Vandenberg, sitting with the American contingent, was outraged. He took out a pen and notepad and began writing furiously. After a minute he tore the sheet off, beckoned Woody, gave him
the note, and said: ‘Take that to the Secretary of State.’

Woody went to the table, leaned over Stettinius’s shoulder, put the note in front of him, and said: ‘From Senator Vandenberg, sir.’

‘Thank you.’

Woody returned to his chair up against the wall. My part in history, he thought. He had glanced at the note as he handed it over. Vandenberg had drafted a short, passionate speech rejecting the
Czech proposal. Would Stettinius follow the senator’s lead?

If Molotov got his way over Poland, then Vandenberg might sabotage the United Nations in the Senate. But if Stettinius took Vandenberg’s line now, Molotov might walk out and go home, which
would kill off the UN just as effectively.

Woody held his breath.

Stettinius stood up with Vandenberg’s note in his hand. ‘We’ve just honoured our Yalta engagements on behalf of Russia,’ he said. He meant the commitment made by the USA
to support Belorussia and Ukraine. ‘There are other Yalta obligations which equally require allegiance.’ He was using the words Vandenberg had written. ‘One calls for a new and
representative Polish Provisional Government.’

There was a murmur of shock around the room. Stettinius was going up against Molotov. Woody glanced at Vandenberg. He was purring.

‘Until that happens,’ Stettinius went on, ‘the Conference cannot, in good conscience, recognize the Lublin government.’ He looked directly at Molotov and quoted
Vandenberg’s exact words. ‘It would be a sordid exhibition of bad faith.’

Molotov looked incandescent.