Free Winter of the World by Ken Follett

‘Fetch me a newspaper.’
    Erik said: ‘Which one?’ His parents took all the main papers every day.
    ‘Any one, lad,’ said Rothmann gently. ‘I don’t want to read it.’
    Erik ran upstairs and found yesterday’s
Vossische Zeitung.
When he returned, the doctor wrapped the meaty thing in the paper and put it on the floor. ‘It’s what we call
the afterbirth,’ he said to Carla. ‘Best to burn it, later.’
    Then he sat on the edge of the bed again. ‘Ada, my dear girl, you must be very brave,’ he said. ‘Your baby is alive, but there may be something wrong with him. We’re
going to wash him and wrap him up warmly, then we must take him to the hospital.’
    Ada looked frightened. ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘I don’t know. We need to have him checked.’
    ‘Will he be all right?’
    ‘The hospital doctors will do everything they can. The rest we must leave to God.’
    Erik remembered that Jews worshipped the same God as Christians. It was easy to forget that.
    Rothmann said: ‘Do you think you could get up and come to the hospital with me, Ada? Baby needs you to feed him.’
    ‘I’m so tired,’ she said again.
    ‘Take a minute or two to rest, then. But not much more, because Baby needs to be looked at soon. Carla will help you get dressed. I’ll wait upstairs.’ He addressed Erik with
gentle irony. ‘Come with me, little Nazi.’
    Erik wanted to squirm. Dr Rothmann’s forbearance was even worse than Frau Rothmann’s scorn.
    As they were leaving, Ada said: ‘Doctor?’
    ‘Yes, my dear.’
    ‘His name is Kurt.’
    ‘A very good name,’ said Dr Rothmann. He went out, and Erik followed.
    (vi)
    Lloyd Williams’s first day working as assistant to Walter von Ulrich was also the first day of the new parliament.
    Walter and Maud were struggling frantically to save Germany’s fragile democracy. Lloyd shared their desperation, partly because they were good people whom he had known on and off all his
life, and partly because he feared that Britain could follow Germany down the road to hell.
    The election had resolved nothing. The Nazis got 44 per cent, an increase but still short of the 51 per cent they craved.
    Walter saw hope. Driving to the opening of the parliament, he said: ‘Even with massive intimidation, they failed to win the votes of most Germans.’ He banged his fist on the steering
wheel. ‘Despite everything they say, they are
not
popular. And the longer they stay in government, the better people will get to know their wickedness.’
    Lloyd was not so sure. ‘They’ve closed opposition newspapers, thrown Reichstag deputies in jail, and corrupted the police,’ he said. ‘And yet forty-four per cent of
Germans approve? I don’t find that reassuring.’
    The Reichstag building was badly fire-damaged and quite unusable, so the parliament assembled in the Kroll Opera House, on the opposite side of the Königs Platz. It was a vast complex with
three concert halls and fourteen smaller auditoria, plus restaurants and bars.
    When they arrived, they had a shock. The place was surrounded by Brownshirts. Deputies and their aides crowded around the entrances, trying to get in. Walter said furiously: ‘Is this how
Hitler plans to get his way – by preventing us from entering the chamber?’
    Lloyd saw that the doors were barred by Brownshirts. They admitted those in Nazi uniform without question, but everyone else had to produce credentials. A boy younger than Lloyd looked him up
and down contemptuously before grudgingly letting him in. This was intimidation, pure and simple.
    Lloyd felt his temper beginning to simmer. He hated to be bullied. He knew he could knock the Brownshirt boy down with one good left hook. He forced himself to remain calm, turn away, and walk
through the door.
    After the fight in the People’s Theatre, his mother had examined the egg-shaped lump on his head and ordered him to go home to England. He had talked her round, but it had been a close
thing.
    She