In The Silence in Between, Lisette wakes up to a nightmare: the Berlin
Wall has divided the city, trapping her in the East while her newborn
son is in the West. Separated by armed guards and chaos, Lisette's
situation is desperate. Her teenage daughter, Elly, who has always
struggled to connect with her mother, hatches a daring plan to reunite
their family. Driven by love and courage, Elly seeks to bridge the
physical and emotional gaps that divide them. Based on true stories,
this emotional epic captures the harrowing reality of a city—and a
family—torn apart.
Lisette
Now –Berlin, 12 August 1961
Any parent who says they don’t have a favourite child is a liar. As Axel finally falls asleep in my arms, a bubble of milk resting on his upper lip, a tidal wave of love washes over me. I never had this with Elly. Not on the day she was born or on any day in the fifteen years since. Yet even the crippling guilt I feel at this fact is insignificant in comparison to this sensation swelling in my chest. What I feel for Axel is bigger than me, bigger than all of us. For a moment I let myself believe it is so big it will eclipse everything else, including the past and all that I’ve done.
I kiss his soft, feathery hair and stroke the red pinpricks in the crook of his arm where they’ve taken blood. He’s so little; he shouldn’t have already experienced pain. I clutch him a little closer and I vow to take care of him, to love him, to be better. I can’t fail at this again.
A man pushes the door open with his shoulder, his arms full of folders, a stethoscope around his neck. The rim of a Styrofoam cup is gripped between his teeth. He drops the folders on the cluttered desk and drains the last of his coffee before sitting down opposite me.
‘I’m sorry you’ve had to wait for so long,’ he says, opening one of the files and sifting through the papers. A single sheet escapes and flutters to the floor. He reaches down to grab it with a liver-speckled hand and bumps his head in the process.
‘Right, right, where were we?’ he says, rubbing his bald patch where I imagine a weal is already forming. ‘Yes, Frau Hartmann and Frank.’
‘Lange.’
‘What?’
‘Frau Lange. And Axel.’ I keep my voice to a whisper but the man doesn’t seem to notice that Axel is asleep in my arms, doesn’t understand it’s taken me hours to get him to stop crying.
‘Right, right. Let me just . . . yes, here they are.’ He extracts a page from one of the folders and holds it under the desk lamp, squinting at the handwriting.
Gently I shift Axel’s weight from one arm to the other and rub my gritty eyes. The room is blurry and the lamp seems to sway as if we’re on a ship. I can feel a dampness between my legs, the blood leaking out of me staining my skirt.
‘I’m afraid we’re going to need to run a few more tests,’ he says.
‘But we’ve been here for . . .’ I have no idea how long we’ve been here. From the fading light outside the window, I know the day is already dying, but I don’t know what time it is, or even what day.
‘We’ve a backlog, I’m afraid. But it doesn’t look as though we need to be too worried. I just want to do a few extra tests. Just to be sure.’
‘To be sure of what?’
‘That it’s not something more serious. Your baby’s oxygen level isn’t quite what we’d like it to be. You were right to bring him in. I suspect it might be to do with his heart.’
‘His heart?’
A sob heaves in my chest, taking us both by surprise. Axel stirs in his sleep and I jump to my feet so I can rock him once more.
‘Is he going to be OK?’ I can hear my voice crack. I clear my throat and try again. ‘He’s going to be OK, isn’t he?’
‘Oh, yes. I have no doubt. He’s – how old? Three weeks?’
‘Five.’
‘Well, there you go. If it were something more serious, he wouldn’t have made it this far.’
I ignore the urge to push this man’s folders to the floor and stamp on them. Instead I start pacing in front of the window, rocking and jiggling, rocking and jiggling. The movement like a physical mantra.
‘Right,’ he says, shuffling his papers. ‘A nurse will collect Axel shortly. And perhaps you should go home and have a rest.’
I stop rocking. ‘And leave Axel here?’
‘Just for the night. Get some sleep, bathe, collect some things. Let your family know what’s going on.’
I turn and look him in the eye. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘You’ve been here for over forty-eight hours and your body is still recovering from childbirth.’ He looks pointedly at my skirt and my cheeks burn. ‘Axel will be absolutely fine.’
‘But I’m breastfeeding.’
‘We have formula. You’re an educated woman, Frau Lange. Very few women breastfeed these days.’
I clutch Axel tighter to my chest. ‘I just . . . I don’t think I can leave him.’
He glances at his watch and stifles a yawn. ‘It will only be a few hours. As I said, we need to check a few things, keep him in for observation. You can’t be with him until the morning anyway, as we don’t have a room free. And your son needs clean clothes. Nappies, too.’ He sniffs and raises one eyebrow. ‘He can’t very well wear that outfit another day.’
I finger the stained lapel of Axel’s blue pyjamas. It releases a faint sour smell of curdled milk. In my hurry to get him here, I hadn’t thought to bring an extra set of clothes. Heat rises up my neck in small, itchy welts. I’m failing again.
‘I’m not sure. It feels . . .’ I look down at Axel, his button nose, the frown that creases his forehead when he sleeps. His little fist is wrapped around my finger, his pink fingernails so delicate and small. I don’t want to be separated from him, but if we’re to be here for several more days, I will need to let my family know. My husband will be worried. Elly, too. And I should check on Mother. Not for the first time, frustration over the city’s severed phone lines boils inside me. There is no logic to it. Why have an open border but forbid us from speaking on the phone?
He sighs. ‘I’m a doctor, Frau Lange. I can guarantee Axel will be fine.’
I nuzzle my baby boy’s perfect little squashed face and feel the heat of his small body. ‘I live in the East . . .’ I begin.
‘As do I.’
‘What if I can’t get back?’
He waves a hand as if I’m a fly that needs swatting. ‘Of course you’ll be able to get back.’
He stands up and gathers his folders. I remind myself that this man is supposed to be the best. Better than any paediatrician in East Berlin, at least.
‘I’ll see you again tomorrow.’ His voice is firm. ‘We should know more by then.’ He turns to go but then stops. ‘He’ll be fine, your son. There really isn’t anything to worry about.’
And then he’s gone.
“What I need is a piano so I can fold myself into its music,
forget just for a moment that my baby is sick.”
Outside, the sky has turned a deep purple and the day’s heat has retreated. Descending the hospital steps, I’m painfully conscious of my empty arms. Nothing about this feels right.
I look at my watch. I can be home in thirty minutes, back here in two hours. My thoughts are a blur and I almost collide with a man bleeding from a deep cut on his forehead. His white fringe is stained red, and the left side of his face seems to be drooping as if it’s made of melted wax. He clings to a small, pale woman with fleshy lips and oversized teeth.
I sidestep out of the way and steady myself on the banister. As I slide my hand down it, I feel the sudden sharp stab of a splinter embedding itself in the soft flesh of my palm. On the bottom step, I pause and turn back to face the entrance. The couple has disappeared inside.
‘I’ll be quick,’ I whisper, as if Axel can hear me. ‘I’ll be back before you wake.’
I walk to the S-Bahn, stumbling a little on the badly lit pavement. With each step I take, I can feel the distance between Axel and me stretching like a taut rubber band.
I take a seat by the window in an empty carriage. Usually I love taking the S-Bahn across the city. Travelling from West to East Berlin is like moving back in time. Everything is more colourful in the West, the buildings are newer, the people happier. The moment the train crosses the border into the East, it’s as if a light has gone off. The buildings are drab and pockmarked with bullet holes from the war; people walk cautiously in their broken-soled shoes and unfashionable clothes. Even the smell is different: cheap coffee and cigarettes.
Today I don’t bother to look out of the window, I just rest my head on the vibrating glass and will my eyes to stay open. What I need is a piano so I can fold myself into its music, forget just for a moment that my baby is sick. But the music that once sat inside me was taken from me long ago and I will never get it back.
There are no spot checks on the train tonight – there usually aren’t on the way into East Berlin, just on the way out, when VoPos sift through passengers’ luggage to determine who’s planning on ‘fleeing the Republic’. There has been more of this lately, a steady trickle that has turned into a flood. Perhaps it’s time to try again to persuade Mother to leave. For now, though, I just need to focus on Axel and getting him healthy.
As the train approaches my stop, the lights flicker and the engine groans. A group of teenage boys get on, their eyes glassy, a hint of whiskey on their breath. They don’t wait for me to get off first and I resist the urge to shoulder them out of the way.
“I know something is wrong just from the way he says my name.”
When I get home the apartment is dark and the smell of bleach hangs in the air; Mother must have been on one of her cleaning binges. Her thunderous snores are now reverberating around the apartment. I can hear the sharp notes of Elly’s electronic keyboard, too, and if I had the energy I’d cross the hallway and tell her to have a bit more respect for the rest of the household.
I touch my breasts; they are already hot and heavy. I know the hospital has formula, that it’s supposedly superior to what I have to offer, but if I hurry I can be back before Axel’s next feed. I find my husband asleep in our bed. When he’s not plagued by nightmares, he sleeps as Elly does, deeply and silently. I climb in beside him. He stirs but doesn’t wake. Beside me, the curtain flutters in the breeze, but the air is stagnant in here and our sheets are damp with sweat. He would want me to wake him, to let him know what’s going on, but I will write him a note instead. I don’t want to disturb him, not when he’s sleeping so soundly. Instead, I curl myself around him and press my face into his warm back. The earthy scent of his soap makes me feel at home.
I close my eyes. Just for a moment.
***
I wake to threads of morning light seeping in through the crack between the curtains. My breasts feel like hot bags of sand crushing my ribs. Instinctively I reach out to touch Axel’s back, to feel his chest’s slow rise and fall, but he’s not here. I kick off the sheets and look down at my deflated stomach as if I’ll find him still in there.
Axel. He’s in the hospital.
I look at my watch. It’s almost six a.m. I’ve slept for hours, not minutes.
‘Wake up,’ I say, shaking my husband’s shoulder.
‘Hmm?’ His eyes are still closed and he turns his back to me as if that will be enough to stop the conversation.
I start stuffing clothes into a holdall. ‘I had to leave Axel at the hospital.’ The moment I say the words, my throat burns. I didn’t have to do anything.
My husband sits up, rubbing his eyes and propping his pillow up behind him.
‘Is he OK? I’ve been so worried.’
‘He’s fine. They think. They just want to keep him under observation for a few more days. I came home last night to pack some things and then I was going to go back. I must have fallen asleep . . .’
‘You look tired. Why don’t you sleep some more and I can go to the hospital?’
‘No, I’ve slept now. Didn’t you hear me? He’s alone in the hospital.’ I pull a dress over my head. My hair snags in the zip but I yank it down, ripping several strands from my scalp. ‘I need to get back there.’
‘Lisette, breathe. You just said he’s fine. Let me get dressed, have some coffee and then we can go together.’
He untangles himself from the sheets, stretches, then ambles out of the room. He can never do anything quickly and I don’t want to wait for him to get ready. I rush to the bathroom and splash a handful of cold water on my face. I give my teeth a quick brush and then scan Axel’s cot for his teddy. He hasn’t taken to it yet but maybe it will make the hospital feel more like home.
‘Lisette.’
I know something is wrong just from the way he says my name.
I find him in the living room, his face pale, his hand on the radio as if he’s trying to push the presenter’s voice back inside. He looks at me, and his eyes seem to be drowning.
‘The border,’ he says, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him. ‘They’ve closed the border.’
The Silence in Between by Josie Ferguson is out now.
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