The Watcher by Joan Hiatt Harlow Page A

never seen so many babies at once. The changing table was huge and covered with thick leather padding and filled with dozens of wiggling babies. Nursemaids in uniforms stuffed bottles and pacifiers into their mouths; others changed diapers, rocked, walked, soothed screams, sang songs . . . The sounds, noises, and commotion reminded me of a zoo rather than a nursery.
    Suddenly nurses shoved two babies each into our arms and gave orders in German.
    â€œThey’ve been fed and now they want us to rock them to sleep,” Johanna explained.
    â€œWhere are their mothers?”
    â€œSome are upstairs getting well after the births—others are gone now.”
    â€œWill they be back? Don’t they want their babies?”
    â€œSome work here so they can be near their babies. However, the babies are no longer theirs. These babies belong to the SS and are under its protection.”
    The babies howled and wiggled, and I held on to them tightly for fear they would squirm right out of my arms. “They’ll never go to sleep with so much noise in here.”
    â€œThey’re used to noise.” Johanna pointed to rocking chairs near the windows. Then we both sat and rocked as we held the babies close. Johanna sang a lullaby. She had a sweet voice, and the babies quieted down with her song. It was nice and comfortable holding them. They were softand warm, newly bathed, and smelled of fresh soap and baby powder. It wasn’t long before all four of them were asleep.
    â€œHow long have you been volunteering here?” I asked Johanna as we tucked the babies into bassinets.
    â€œFor over a year now.” Johanna looked at me with a sad smile. “I’m really not a volunteer. I’m here for the same reason as little Hunfrid out there in the other room. They are trying to make me become one of them too—a loyal Nazi.”
    â€œI . . . don’t understand. You aren’t Polish like Hunfrid, are you?”
    â€œNo, I’m German,” Johanna said softly as she smoothed the babies’ blankets. “They . . . the Reich  . . . the government wants to change my thinking—things I’ve been brought up to believe that make me who I am. We no longer have freedom of religion. Because I speak German, French, and English, they feel I would be valuable to them. So they put me here instead of the camps. All the while, they try to convince me to give up my beliefs. But my parents and my brother are already in the camps because they would never disown our God.” Before she looked away, I could see her eyes brighten with tears. “I miss them, and I worry so much about them.”
    â€œThe camps don’t seem so bad,” I said, trying to make her feel better. “I’ve seen newsreels where detainees were having a nice time dancing and playing musical instruments. They’re being treated well, aren’t they?”
    Johanna leaned close to me and whispered. “What yousee in the newsreels is not what is really happening in the camps. It is not true.”
    â€œI don’t understand. . . .”
    â€œYou will—eventually.”
    â€œWhy is your family in concentration camps, Johanna? They’re not criminals—and they’re German, aren’t they?”
    Johanna frowned. “We will not ‘Heil Hitler,’ for one thing.”
    â€œWhy not?” I asked.
    â€œMaybe you don’t realize it, but the word Heil in German means . . . um . . . ‘salvation’ in English. I cannot salute Hitler as if he is God. All we Bible Students live good lives and obey the law. All we ask for is freedom to practice and live our religion. But they—the Nazis—are determined that Bibelforscher should renounce our religion or we will be put in the camps—even put to death.”
    â€œWhat? Put to death?” I could not imagine such a thing. “You must be