T4 Read online

  I would get Father Michael

  To go back for them

  In his car.

  It was foolish

  To head for the big city

  If we could do good nearby.

  I walked up a hill

  In the evening.

  I could see only

  Four feet ahead of me.

  I turned a corner

  In an icy hedgerow

  And there he was—

  A moose.

  He was very tall

  And strong.

  I looked up

  At his antlers

  And dark muzzle.

  His eyes

  Were clear,

  Like stars.

  He could

  Have killed me.

  But he didn't.

  I stayed calm

  And he walked

  Around me.

  I felt safe with him,

  As in my father's arms.

  Poor Kurt's knees

  Kept knocking

  And his teeth

  Chattered

  For hours

  After.

  I tried not to laugh,

  But I felt light and happy.

  We should have left bread crumbs

  To find our way back. I think we

  Walked in the same circle twice

  Before we found the shelter.

  I was scolded

  For leaving the shelter,

  But I could tell

  Father Michael

  Was relieved

  To see me.

  Father Josef

  Was there too.

  He gave me a big hug.

  I was so excited.

  They didn't understand

  When I said they must go back

  To save the Lindenbaums.

  Poor Kurt

  Related the story

  As best he could.

  Father Josef and Father Michael

  Sat on a bench at the other side of the shelter.

  I could see their lips moving.

  They came back over to me and Poor Kurt.

  Father Michael was wringing his hands.

  Father Josef put his hand on my shoulder.

  Poor Kurt listened to them with a frown.

  When they moved away, he told me

  With the signs I taught him that they would

  Not be going back. I was shocked!

  They thought we would all be in danger

  Hiding Jews in our midst. I said, "But they are

  Keeping me secret. What will happen to Nelly

  And the baby, Paul?" Poor Kurt held on to me

  And we both sobbed. Would anybody take

  Pity on them? Not even God?

  1941

  Germany

  Was caught up

  In the Russian Campaign.

  Hitler

  Wanted to avoid

  Public unrest at home.

  He gave the order

  To end T4.

  But the killings didn't stop

  I learned much later that individual physicians

  Were making the choices themselves as to whether

  Or not their patients were

  "Fit for life."

  As German cities were being bombed,

  Inmates in institutions were being moved.

  Many of them wound up dead.

  Disabled adults were killed in gas chambers.

  For decades after, they tried to hide the numbers.

  It is estimated that 275,000 Disable people

  Were "euthanized" by the Nazis.

  Another 400,000 were sterilized

  So they couldn't

  Bear children like themselves.

  When the American GIs

  Occupied Germany

  And World War II

  Was finally over,

  A handful of doctors

  Who had worked

  For Action T4

  Were brought to justice.

  Not Dr. Bouhler;

  He committed suicide.

  But Dr. Brandt was tried

  And executed in a place

  Called Nuremberg.

  Some of the others continued

  To practice medicine.

  T4 became something people

  Weren't willing to talk about

  And remember.

  But now I could go home

  To my little house

  On a street

  With tall poplar trees

  And bluish hills

  In the distance.

  Though

  The war

  Still

  Raged on.

  Poor Kurt had nowhere to go

  I didn't want to leave him behind.

  He had become my closest friend.

  The road we had traveled together

  Couldn't be understood by another.

  There are times in life when everything

  Seems to stretch ahead of us and time

  Slows down, almost like a dream. We

  Had been caught under the same spell.

  I asked Kurt if he'd like to go back

  To my town with me and Father Josef.

  He was surprised, and sat in the corner

  Of the shelter to think it over for a while.

  Father Josef said to me, "Perhaps your

  Parents won't want to feed and board him."

  I said, "He can live and work on a farm."

  Poor Kurt decided to come along.

  My family was reunited

  Mother and Father took turns

  Holding on to me and

  Standing back to look at me

  To see how much I'd grown.

  My grandparents pinched

  My cheeks and shed tears.

  Clara pulled me into

  The house to see her new doll

  And books. Schatze was

  Probably the happiest to see me.

  She licked my hands and face

  And jumped on my back

  When I bent down.

  It was funny

  To see my house

  And family

  Since I had

  Gone out in the world.

  I used to think it was all there was.

  I had tucked my teddy bear

  Into Paul's baby blanket

  Before I left the cabin.

  I always felt glad

  About that later on.

  The fairy tale book

  I left with Nelly.

  I wondered if she

  Could still believe in

  Happily ever after?

  Poor Kurt's Surprise

  My family looked at this strange person.

  He would have to take a bath if he was

  To come into the house and eat at the table.

  I got in the large tub first and turned on

  The faucet. Warm water tickled my body.

  Usually more than one person shared the

  Same water, but it was so dirty when I was

  Finished, I unstopped the drain. And Mother

  Filled it again. I was sitting at the kitchen

  Table, eating a piece of apple strudel as

  Poor Kurt washed then shaved. When

  He came out of the bathroom I could

  Hardly believe it! He was a young man,

  Maybe eighteen years old,

  With fine black hair and dreamy eyes.

  Poor Kurt's Story

  "The name my

  People gave me is

  Walthar Bihani.

  I lived in Hadamar.

  I saw the Disabled

  Children arrive in buses.

  Afterward the sky

  Smelled of that

  Terrible smoke.

  I was afraid

  They would come

  For me too.

  I wasn't Disabled.

  I was part Gypsy,

  Or Romani.

  I was surprised

  I coul
d grow

  A full beard.

  I smeared it

  With gray

  Ashes.

  I thought no one

  Would ask questions

  If I were an old beggar

  I traveled alone

  For weeks

  Out of loneliness

  And hunger.

  When I arrived

  At the shelter

  They called me

  Poor Kurt.

  The Church

  Had not expressed

  Sympathy for

  Persecuted Gypsies.

  So I didn't reveal

  My true identity

  To Father Michael.

  I lived in fear of

  Being discovered.

  Then I met Paula."

  We looked at

  Each other

  And smiled.

  Old Marthe was willing

  To give Walthar a chance. She hired

  Him to tend to her land and animals.

  It turned out he had real skill in training

  Horses. Once I saw him ride a mare

  Standing on her back with his eyes

  Closed and arms crossed. It must

  Have been a kind of Gypsy magic.

  He lived in the attic of Marthe's house.

  If someone asked about him,

  She threatened to punish them with

  A hex. I enjoyed going to visit him.

  I had romantic ideas about Walthar

  He was three years

  Older than I,

  But that didn't matter.

  I would grow up.

  It was better

  To be friends

  Before husband

  And wife.

  His hair was like

  The wing of a blackbird.

  His long arms reached up

  To the higher branches of a tree.

  He could ride a bicycle

  Backwards in the rain,

  Singing, "I will steal

  A little horse and our

  Fortunes make thereby..."

  My family seemed to approve

  Walthar used Sign

  With me

  And soon my parents

  And Clara and some

  Of our neighbors

  Understood too.

  Father said

  After the war

  I could go to

  A special school

  In another town

  For Deaf teenagers,

  If it was still standing.

  In truth,

  It had to be rebuilt.

  Germany's Deaf

  Community

  Never completely

  Recovered

  From the public

  And personal

  Destruction.

  Father said

  He was sorry

  He hadn't thought

  Of getting me

  The best education

  Before the war.

  In 1943, the spring thawed

  Our land, but our country was fighting

  With the whole world, it seemed.

  My experience had taught me

  That Germany's cause was wrong. I was lucky

  To have parents who were kind and taught

  Us not to hate anybody. Could I make a

  Difference, like Father Michael?

  I thought of the future world—if Jews,

  Gypsies, and the Disabled would have an

  Equal part in it? Meanwhile, the sweet

  Brook flowed and I slept on the hammock.

  I was almost happy when summer's bees

  And dandelions were replaced with a hard

  Freeze and dark winter days. It had

  Seemed wrong to feel so safe and alive.

  Christmas Eve, 1943

  The Christkind

  Brought us a tree

  And presents.

  Walthar gave me

  A boy and girl

  He carved

  Out of wood.

  The next day

  We had a roast

  Goose lunch.

  Outside

  Snow fell

  On my house

  And other parts

  Of Europe,

  Lightly

  Covering

  The mass graves

  Of the Nazis' victims,

  And our fallen soldiers,

  Young German

  Boys who had

  Given their lives

  To an unjust cause.

  I held on to Mother

  As she and everybody else sang—

  I had started to speak, but mostly

  Croaked like a frog—

  A song by our countrymen,

  Father Josef Mohr and Franz Gruber.

  Silent night, Holy night

  All is calm, all is bright

  'Round yon virgin Mother and Child

  Holy infant so tender and mild.

  Sleep in heavenly peace

  Sleep in heavenly peace.

  It was a prayer that year, not just a carol.

  Our Savior's birth was tinged with sorrow.

  I never saw

  Stephanie Holderlin

  Again.

  But she was

  In my heart.

  Father Josef

  Remained

  A family friend.

  Father Michael

  Was killed

  By an Allied bomb.

  Later we learned

  That six million

  Jews

  Had been

  Murdered.

  But I always

  Thought

  Of those seven

  In the cabin.

  The End

  In May of 1945,

  Germany

  Surrendered.

  The United States,

  Russia, and England

  Were victorious.

  Japan and Italy

  Fell with us.

  Our crimes

  Would live in

  Infamy.

  Forty-eight million

  People had died

  Fighting

  Across the globe.

  Grandmother said,

  "All the suffering,

  All the casualties.

  This is the worst

  War the world

  Will ever know."

  I prayed to God, our

  Lantern in the dark,

  That it would be so.

  In 1947

  Father Josef married me and Walthar

  In a country church ceremony. I wore

  A long white gown and satin slippers.

  I braided my hair and pinned it around

  My head, like a crown. I proudly wore

  A necklace of gold coins Walthar had

  Given me when he proposed. It was

  A Romani tradition. My groom had no

  Family left after the war, so he decided

  To join my world. Still, on our wedding

  Night, we shared some salted bread before

  Going to bed, another Gypsy custom. We

  Had a son and daughter: one with dark,

  Faraway eyes, the other with hair like spun

  Gold. I was a farmer's wife. We visited

  Father and Mother until they died, four months

  Apart, in the same bed. Clara married too,

  And became an actress in Berlin. Whatever

  Season, whatever weather, we were glad we

  Had survived the worst, but we also felt guilty.

  That feeling—that we had escaped when others equally

  Important had died—would never subside.

  Postscript

  A plaque

  commemorating

  The victims

  of Action T4

  Was set in

  the pavement

  Where the offices

  once stood.

  The original

  building

&n
bsp; Had been destroyed

  in the war.

  Educating

  people is

  The best tool

  we have

  Against

  forgetting.

  We must

  make sure

  Nothing

  like T4

  Ever

  happens

  Again.

  And so

  My story

  told in

  Poetry

  ends.

  * * *

  Notes from the Author

  Paula Becker is named after the German painter Paula Modersohn-Becker (1876-1907). The Nazis labeled her art, mainly portraits of peasant girls and women, "degenerate." She was a close friend of the great German poet Rainier Maria Rilke (1875-1926). Rilke's wife, the sculptor Clara Westhoff (1878-1954), was Paula's closest friend.

  "Hear the Voice of the Poet" was inspired by the English poet William Blake's "Introduction," the first poem in his book Songs of Experience (1794).

  Unfortunately, the practice of pouring hot wax into a person's ears to cure deafness was more common than it should have been into the twentieth century.