Serenade for Nadia

by Zülfü Livaneli

  One day Maximilian went to the magnificent building behind Notre Dame de Sion to meet Father Roncalli, whom he found to be a gentle, kindhearted man. Indeed, he found it very easy to talk to him, and was able to tell him the entire story.

  “I’m Catholic, Father,” he said. “My wife is a Jew and is about to give birth any time now. But I don’t know what conditions she’s living under, I don’t even know if she’s alive. In the name of everything sacred, I beg you to help me. I’m about to go out of my mind.”

  Roncalli put his hand on Max’s, looked into his eyes, and said, “I understand, my son. I understand your grief and I’ll do everything I can for you.”

  Then in a low voice he explained that he had given baptismal certificates to Jews through priests, interpreters, and merchants traveling to Europe, and had been able to save thousands of lives.

  Maximilian couldn’t keep still while he was listening to the priest. He got to his feet, paced the room, sat down again, looked entreatingly at the priest, touched his hand, and then got to his feet again—he couldn’t contain himself.

  Father Roncalli said, “What I need from you is to find out where your wife is and to figure out a way to get the certificate to her. And also, of course, you have to be sure she’ll agree.”

  “What do you mean, father? Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Some Jews prefer to die rather than receive a baptismal certificate.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be a problem. She’s a rational person. If you can give me the certificate, I’ll find out where she is and get it to her.”

  In contrast to Maximilian’s restless excitement, the priest was calm and spoke in a measured tone.

  “But I have to swear you to secrecy because thousands of lives are at stake.”

  Max swore that no one would hear of it. Then they went downstairs, where Roncalli told his assistant to get Nadia’s details and fill out her baptismal certificate.

  Before leaving, Max had one more thing to ask.

  “Perhaps I’m asking too much but I wonder, if you asked Papen, would he be able to find out where my wife is?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my son,” said the priest. “May God help you.”

  Max left with a strong sense of gratitude, and also of accomplishment and hope. He now had a baptismal certificate in Deborah’s name, which represented a way to get her out of Germany. If he had to, he’d go back under a false identity to search for her. He couldn’t manage this on his own, but he had many friends among the German professors in Istanbul.

  One afternoon he took a walk with Erich Auerbach through Sultanahmet Square. Erich, who’d been living in Istanbul since 1935, was a quiet, serious person who minded his own business and whom everyone respected. Max trusted him, admired his character and generosity, valued his opinions, and did not hesitate to confide this latest development.

  Erich didn’t say anything right away, and they walked for a while in silence. Then, without turning to Max he said, “Perhaps Schummi can help you.”

  It was clear that he wasn’t sure about this, but because Max knew Erich never said anything he didn’t mean, it was enough to give him hope.

  “How?” he asked. “How can he help, what can he do?”

  “Schummi” was Albert Eckstein, a respected pediatrician who had been hired by the Turkish Ministry of Health in 1935 after he lost his job at Düsseldorf University. He worked at the Numune Hospital in Ankara and was consulted by the most influential politicians and even by Papen and other German diplomats.

  Erich told him that when the minister of agriculture’s five-year-old daughter came down with emphysema and was sent to a hospital in Vienna, Atatürk asked Schummi to go and supervise her treatment. This was after the Anchluss, and Schummi was naturally reluctant to go, but Atatürk gave his personal assurance that a Turkish attaché would stay with him the entire time.

  Schummi went to Budapest by train, and continued from there to Vienna in the company of a Turkish diplomat. At the hospital he found the girl on the verge of death, but the doctors refused to perform surgery because they believed it would be a waste of time. He insisted and, to everyone’s surprise, the surgery was successful and she began to recover.

  Schummi was very depressed by what he’d seen in Vienna and by the racist attitudes of the Austrian doctors, but he did manage to obtain Turkish diplomatic passports for a Jewish doctor and an anti-fascist nurse whose Jewish fiancé had disappeared.

  “Thank you very much, Erich,” he said, “You’ve been a great help.”

  He’d already resolved to go to Ankara and meet Schummi when Erich said, “Wait! I haven’t finished yet. There’s a reason I’m telling you all this.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Schummi has become so popular in Ankara that cabinet ministers, Papen’s wife, and even some leading Nazis have consulted him.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. This will be useful. Schummi was recently consulted by Maitzig, the German trade attaché, who everyone knows is running an extensive network of Nazi agents in the region.”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Schummi went to his house and treated his child, and as he was leaving Maitzig stopped him and said, ‘Thank you very much, Dr. Eckstein. Perhaps there might be something I can do for you. Do you have any relatives in Germany?’ Schummi said, ‘They’re all dead. Thanks to you, they’re all dead.’ He also refused the payment he was offered, saying that Maitzig’s money was filthy.”

  The next day Max got leave from the university and went to Ankara by train. Dr. Eckstein was clearly very busy, but he graciously made time for Max and invited him to his office for coffee. Max told him his story as briefly as possible.

  “I don’t know which concentration camp my wife is in, whether she’s alive or dead, or about to give birth, but here’s the baptismal certificate. Please, doctor, a family’s life is in your hands.”

  “I really want to help you, but it would be humiliating for me to ask Maitzig for any favors.”

  “It’s a matter of life and death. Help me, I beg you.”

  Maximilian closed his eyes and waited for a while. Then he continued, “Give me a letter and I’ll speak to Maitzig.”

  “No!” said Dr. Eckstein. “That would amount to the same thing.” Then he looked at Maximilian. “I can’t promise, but perhaps there’s a solution.”

  Professor Wagner held his breath and waited.

  “Mrs. Papen will be coming here in a little while,” continued Eckstein. “Perhaps I can take the opportunity to ask her a favor.”

  “You are a remarkable person, doctor,” Maximilian said. “I’ll never forget this.”

  “Well, we don’t know yet if anything will come of it.”

  Professor Wagner handed him the baptismal certificate and stood up.

  “I’ll wait in the garden. I’d be grateful if you could spare me a few minutes after you’ve seen Mrs. Papen.”

  Maximilian wandered in the garden among the crowds of desperate Anatolian villagers. Soon a black car arrived with a police escort. Mrs. Papen got out, and the director of the hospital came rushing out to greet her.

  Max waited, and waited…He tried to squat like the Anatolian villagers but within a few minutes his legs were aching. He couldn’t understand how they were able to sit like that for hours on end.

  After a while Mrs. Papen was escorted to her car by the director, and Max made his way anxiously to Schummi’s office.

  They looked at each other for a while without speaking. Eckstein seemed quite tired and he didn’t look well. Max was afraid to ask him anything because he didn’t know if he could cope with the disappointment if it hadn’t gone well.

  “Professor Wagner,” said Eckstein. “I’ve done my part. I gave your wife’s baptismal certificate to Mrs. Papen and ask
ed her to look into it. She promised she’d do what she could. All we can do now is pray that it works.”

  They looked at each other in silence a little longer. After taking a breath, Eckstein continued: “I wish from the bottom of my heart that you and your wife will be reunited.”

  Maximilian didn’t know how he could ever thank him. He shook Eckstein’s hand, and then left the room without saying another word.

  That evening he boarded the train and returned to Istanbul. He went straight to Erich and told him what had happened. Now he could do nothing more but wait.

  He felt extremely grateful to Auerbach, to Eckstein, and to the other Jews who’d supported him. Germany had destroyed their lives and killed their relatives; but even so they didn’t hesitate to help him.

  The days dragged past as he tried by various means to get whatever information he could. He did learn that Nadia’s parents had been killed in Romania. They’d been in a large group that had been herded into a building. Later people were released a few at a time. But in fact they weren’t being released, and they were hung on metal hooks as soon as they came out.

  Then, about three weeks after his return from Ankara, he finally got news of Nadia. She’d been sent to Dachau, where she’d lost her baby. With Papen’s help she’d been released from the camp, given her baptismal certificate, and sent back to Romania.

  That was all he’d been able to find out, but he was overjoyed to know she was alive and out of the camp. Now all he had to do was find out where in Romania she was and get her to Istanbul, which seemed easy compared to what he’d already done.

  He wanted to set off for Romania at once, but he couldn’t because Romania was allied with Germany and he faced arrest there, which wouldn’t do Nadia any good. But everything was on track, and soon he’d be able to get Nadia to Istanbul and help her forget what she’d been through. That evening he was in such good spirits that he took out his violin and played the Serenade for the first time since he’d left Germany.

  He was interrupted by his downstairs neighbors, the Arditis, Sephardic Jews whose ancestors had come to Istanbul five hundred years before. They said they’d heard him playing, and asked if he wouldn’t mind them coming in and listening to him. Maximilian bowed respectfully and invited them in. He waited for them to settle in their chairs and then picked up his violin and played the Serenade.

  Then he told them the story of how he had composed the piece and what had happened to Nadia. Unable to speak, Rober Arditi signaled to the professor to play the piece again. As they listened to the Serenade for the second time, tears poured from their eyes.

  When Maximilian put his violin down on the table, Mr. Arditi slowly got up and left the room. His wife, however, began to talk warmly. She said that when Nadia arrived, she would help her, show her Istanbul, and make sure that she didn’t feel out of place.

  Her husband returned a few minutes later with a bottle of red wine. They drank to Nadia. They were upset that Nadia had lost her baby, but they all decided that this was not the time to think about that. After all, the Wagners would have more children.

  The Arditis were very hopeful about finding Nadia in Romania. Rober Arditi had business connections in Romania, and they might be able to help get Nadia out. But where should they look for her?

  Max shared the scraps of information he’d managed to gather, and Mr. Arditi wrote down the names of Nadia’s parents, where they were from, and the names of former acquaintances he might be able to contact.

  From then on he began to spend more time with the Arditis. Rober kept him informed of everything he was doing to find Nadia, and did whatever he could to keep Max’s spirits up.

  One day Mr. Arditi came running up the stairs in a state of excitement. He’d located Nadia. She’d gone back to her hometown and begun to work with a Romanian tailor her father had known. But she wasn’t safe. More and more Jews were being killed in Romania, and they had to get her out as soon as they could.

  Max wrote a letter to Nadia, put it in an envelope with all the dollars he’d been able to save, and gave it to Arditi, who said he’d make sure it got to Nadia, together with the names of a few people who could help her get to Istanbul.

  A month later they received news from a merchant in Romania. Nadia had received the money and letter and was coming to Istanbul on a ship that was to sail from Constanţa.

  The ship was to sail in five days. If the trip lasted two days, Nadia would be in Istanbul, in her home, beside Max in their bed, in a week at most.

  Mrs. Arditi suggested decorating the house in honor of her arrival and arranging a welcoming ceremony. She would do all the cooking herself. Max was so overjoyed that he kept kissing the Arditis.

  The next day he told his Turkish and German friends at the university. When Nadia arrived they would go see Father Angelo Roncalli and Schummi together. Every day Max had the house cleaned all over again, and he filled it with flowers.

  He began counting the hours until the nightmare he’d been living would be over, but his excitement and anticipation were so strong that each hour was an eternity. When there were 74 hours left, he felt as if he couldn’t stand it anymore, and when there were 17 hours left, it was simply impossible to sit still. Of course his estimation of the time passing was based solely on guesswork, and optimistic guesswork at that.

  When he thought that there were 12 hours left, he hired a taxi and headed up the Bosporus as far as he could go, to a place called Telli Baba, from which he could see the confluence of the Bosporus and the Black Sea. It was a beautiful spot, with steep, wooded hills running down to the sea, but he was in no mood to enjoy the view and could think only of the ship. The taxi driver smoked one cigarette after another while Max scanned the horizon with his binoculars. At one point a squad of soldiers patrolling the area became suspicions and approached to warn them off, but when they heard Max’s story they allowed him to stay.

  Then, finally, he made out the silhouette of a ship approaching the Bosporus. Its approach was maddeningly slow. Much slower, in fact, than normal. A long time later, when he could make it out more clearly, he saw that it was a very old and dilapidated ship. It also appeared to have broken down, because a tugboat was towing it. Later, he could see that the deck was crowded with people, and then at last he was able to make out the name: Struma.

  At last Nadia was in Turkish waters. The ship passed quite close, and at one point it was just below him. The people on the deck were tightly packed together, but try as he might he couldn’t see Nadia.

  Max had the taxi keep pace with the boat along the shore road. Then, when the ship dropped anchor off Tophane, Max went down to the shore with the taxi driver to see about hiring a motorboat to take them out to the ship and get Nadia. The taxi driver reached an agreement with one of the boatmen, and they jumped into one of the boats and sped off toward the ship.

  The ship was listing, and looked as if it was about to sink. All Max could think of was getting Nadia off the ship and bringing her home. But the coast guard boats would not let them draw alongside the ship. They waved, blew whistles, and yelled, “Quarantine, quarantine!” They had no choice but to go back to the shore.

  Max had assumed that there was a delay because of passport control and health inspections. Hours passed, and when nothing happened Max went to the port authorities. The director informed him that the Struma’s actual destination was Palestine, but because the engine had failed, it had stopped at the port in Istanbul.

  “My wife was going to disembark in Istanbul, she wasn’t going to Palestine. Can I just bring her ashore?”

  “No,” the director shook his head. “We’ve been ordered not to allow a single passenger to land or anyone to draw alongside the ship.”

  After so many days spent counting the hours this was almost too much for Max, but he pulled himself together quickly. The important thing was that Nadia was in Istanb
ul. He would do everything in his power to get her ashore, and he was confident he would succeed. He thought it would take him two days at most.

  But days passed and no one was allowed off the ship. In the meantime passengers had hung up cloth banners with phrases in French such as “Sauver Nous” and “Immigrants Juifs.” Something very strange was going on. Max felt as if he were about to lose his mind. Nadia was so near but he couldn’t see her. He just couldn’t grasp what was going on.

  The next day he went to the university rector, explained the situation, and asked him for help. The rector suggested he speak to Sadık Bey, who held a senior position in the port authority. He even helped him get an appointment.

  Sadık Bey welcomed him, offered him coffee, and told him the story of the Struma.

  The Struma had been built in Newcastle in 1867 and was registered in Panama. It belonged to the Compania Mediterranea de Vapores Limitada, which was owned by a Greek called Pandelis and operated by a Bulgarian named Baruh Konfino.

  In 1941, when 4,000 Jews were killed in Iaşi in Romania, Jews began to look for ways to escape the country. At that point, illustrated advertisements appeared in the newspapers. The “luxury ship Struma” that was to sail from Constanţa to Palestine. The advertisements contained illustrations of the luxurious saloons and cabins of the Queen Mary. The fare was exorbitant, $1,000 per person, but 769 passengers were able to buy tickets. Because some families had only been able to collect $1,000, they had had to make a choice amongst their children and decide which of them would be saved.