I hadn’t quite adjusted to my new surroundings yet. I knew where I was coming from but I was unsure about where I was. I still had so many questions and was in search of answers.
“When you left, Max … when you drove away, you looked so grown up, bigger than any field commander. I miss you a lot.”
“I’m not so big, Poppy.”
“In my eyes you’re big, nearly a man already.” Poppy picked me up and hugged me. “See, I can barely do that anymore.”
Setting me down, he looked around at my new home.
“Tell me, how are you?” he asked.
“I’m pretty good, Poppy. How are things in Berlin?”
“I’d rather be in Prague.”
“Why? Things are not so good there. Has anything changed?”
“A lot of changes, Max, and all very complicated.”
“How? You keep talking about complicated. Too complicated to understand? Too complicated to explain to me?”
“Max, I just can’t …”
“I think you could, Poppy, if you really wanted to. I know so little. What little I know makes me think that I’m still finding my way. But one thing that I do know is that you’re carrying a lot of secrets.”
That brought a broad smile. “Then, Max, you know me pretty well.”
So, I wouldn’t be getting many answers. Instead, Poppy offered up the cakes and fresh fruit he’d brought with some cold cuts and a loaf of black bread from Berlin. Ava prepared dinner, adding her special potato salad.
Sitting at a large table, Poppy asked Ava, “Is Max a good student?”
“Of course.”
“Ava knows a lot about poetry and writing. She even speaks wonderful English. She gave me the American novel Huckleberry Finn. I like it a lot.”
Ava beamed at me.
But as kind as the Brankas were and Freidle seemed to be, I wasn’t going to just pretend that everything was somehow normal. “I can’t wait to see Sophie. You know she’s living here.” I observed my father, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Now, don’t be rushing, Max. Give it time. You never know who else you might meet. You never know what might happen.”
“You told me that when you met Mama you never looked back.”
“One look was all I needed. But she was one of a kind.”
“So is Sophie,” I said frankly.
“Have you seen Hans?”
“At the end of the week. Major Freidle says I need a few days to adjust, and he doesn’t want me to catch the flu that’s going around the camp.”
I watched my father closely.
“And Brundibár ?” Poppy inquired. “I bet Hans is working on a new production.”
“What is this Brundibár ?” Ava asked.
“You’ll see, Mrs. Branka,” I replied. “Look forward to a great evening at the opera! We first performed it in Prague, on a small stage, but it deserves to be in the biggest theater around. It was written by Hans Krása.”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I know his work. It’s very wonderful. He’s here in Terezín?”
My father didn’t comment. I spoke on his behalf: “Hans was my father’s best friend. They composed and worked together. A grand collaboration.”
I faced down a stare. “Hans is my best friend. We’ll work together again someday soon.”
I was glad to hear that. But I was still trying to overcome any doubt.
Poppy rose and began to gather his things. “I’ll come again before you know it, Max. And we will go away for a weekend together.”
“Why do you have to leave so soon, Poppy?”
“Max, sorry but I have commitments and concerts!” He tousled my hair, the way he always did, ever since I was a child. But I didn’t feel like a child any longer. “But don’t worry. I’ll be back before you have time to miss me.”
“Poppy, can you bring some newspapers the next time you come?”
“Foreign papers are banned, and I don’t subscribe to the papers in Berlin.”
“But why?”
“Just doesn’t make great reading.”
I somehow knew not to push it further. “Then can you get me some photographs of movie stars?”
I thought of Poppy’s personal collection and knew that he had contacts at the Ministry of Culture. This could be very useful indeed, I thought.
“Any particular ones?”
“Well, American musicals mostly, Busby Berkeley ones would be ideal.”
He nodded, and I embraced him one last time.
After Poppy left, Freidle showed me a clipping that he had somehow managed to obtain.
The Observer
December 17, 1939
HITLER’S BAND
The relationship between the National Socialists and the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra began in 1933, when the world-renowned orchestra came under the control of Hitler’s Propaganda Minister, Joseph Goebbels. They serve as Germany’s flagship cultural ambassadors, performing at the Nuremberg Rallies, the opening of the 1936 Olympic Games, and on Hitler’s birthday. At the heart of the orchestra is the iconic conductor, Wilhelm Furtwängler, who is enjoying exceptional privileges. Distinguished Jewish musicians no longer play under his baton. Notably missing in the orchestra’s bill is Jewish composer Felix Mendelssohn. Last week, Viktor Mueller arrived on an unseasonably cold day in Berlin to lead the orchestra. He was accompanied by some of Germany’s noted generals. They came to celebrate Remembrance Day, to honor the nation’s fallen in The Great War. A German national living in Prague, he is by all accounts Hitler’s favorite conductor and aide-de-camp to Reinhard Heydrich.
Where had Freidle gotten this clipping? Poppy had told me about Wilhelm Furtwängler when we were in Berlin. My father didn’t discriminate. That much I knew, and yet what he said and what he did were different. Who he was and what he was, all of this, was still a puzzle and the task was to put the pieces together. That was how I had to see this whole experience, everything was part of a puzzle and everything must fit there somewhere. I had to discover where I belonged, where Poppy fit in and if we were still together. I just couldn’t think about Poppy excluding anyone from his orchestra or not playing compositions by Jewish composers. But how much did I understand about what my father was up to now? How much did any of it make sense? There was one thing I couldn’t ignore and that was the fact that Poppy hadn’t shown me the article. Was he embarrassed? Had he changed? He wanted Freidle to see this, but not me. In time, I needed to complete this jigsaw puzzle.
Lessons with Ava were in the kitchen at a round table, with blue-lined pads and Eberhard Faber no. 2 pencils, the same as I had at school.
“I have ideas for class,” Ava said. “You are liking Mr. Huckleberry Finn?”
“I am, a lot.” I had been carrying the book around with me everywhere, reading and rereading various passages. I had only gotten through the first few chapters, but I was hooked.
“I hoped you would,” Ava said, arranging her notes neatly on her desk.
“We’ll have a fine class. This Sophie is the girl your father mentioned?”
“Yes, Ava, and I’m going to see her soon. Well, I think I might have seen her already actually, through the gates, and if that was her, I suspect she might need a few things.”
“A new dress, you are looking, and clean clothes, some colognes.”
“How did you know?”
“Max. I’m not falling off truck, and I am happy to do such a thing. My niece left grown-up. Yes, we will fix something nice for visit. Tomorrow, I will wash and make clean dress for Sophie.”
The following morning a large packet marked for me came by special courier at the post office.
It was marked in bold lettering that read: confidential.
Inside, I was relieved to find black-and-white glossy production stills; photographs of m
ovie stars dancing through fountains, dressed in sweeping silk evening gowns and smart black ties and tails. They were from some of the great Hollywood musicals. Top Hat and 42nd Street. Poppy had come up with a few hits. I told myself that I mustn’t lose confidence in the Great Viktor Mueller. I showed them to Fritz and we came up with an idea. It was a way to make sure we stayed on Freidle’s good side. I asked him to help me autograph them, but Ava had better handwriting. We dictated what she should write, and she inscribed each one in her very best script.
Fritz and I waited for the right moment to slip into Freidle’s office. A photograph mysteriously appeared on his desk.
For Siegfried Freidle,
Dancing with you,
Busby
HAMBURG BARRACKS
Finally, in February, an all-clear to explore Terezín—the flu epidemic was over.
Past the gates, a building with tiled roofs housed the officers’ quarters. Each group of the other buildings had a park, a quadrangle, and green lawns, and in the center a large square for parades.
From a bird’s-eye view, the camp was an eight-pointed star. Double-brick walls surrounded the place. At one end, there was an abandoned church, and at the other a coffeehouse and a few stores. Some buildings had been converted into a hospital, library, and a Jewish administration building. Czech guards, wearing green uniforms and tan boots, were posted at every corner. Along the way was a private sidewalk used only by German officers and officials.
I could hardly keep up with my footsteps.
“You can go that way,” the guard pointed.
The private sidewalk?
“Can you direct me to Hamburg Barracks?”
A guard with steel-gray eyes shifting abruptly from side to side pointed the way across the square.
A note on the door said, In the library.
Towers of books stood precariously on tables and in pine bookcases. Spotting Hans at one of the tables, I held the moment for a while before I raced over and embraced him.
“Max, Max, what are you doing here?” Hans leapt to his feet.
His smile failed to hide the sadness in his eyes. He looked older, tired.
“These books,” he said, “every one of them, has had readers who have resided between their pages. I’ve become a guardian of literature, and that’s not a bad thing. But there are no books by Jews. Heinrich Heine, Zweig, Proust … all banned. Strange that a great writer can no longer be a great writer because he’s Jewish. This is the world now, it seems. But, I’m pleased to see you. Shocked, but pleased. Tell me, Max, why are you here?”
“Because I couldn’t wait to be with you. I thought you might need a piano tuner?”
We stepped into an outer reception room. A few threads trailed from his tweed jacket. He moved quietly as if not to disturb any objects around the room.
I punctured our silence: “Are you feeling okay?”
“I keep busy,” Hans replied, his hand over his jacket, shaking off the dust, “stacking books in the library. Someone has to organize them.”
“And you got a fresh delivery last week?”
Hans stared at me and smiled. “Ah, so it was you? Well done! As soon as I unpacked the top layer, I sent the medicines over to the infirmary.”
“Are you teaching? Maybe we can get a production of Brundibár going.”
Hans looked away from me. “Things aren’t so easy here. Most of the cast left Prague on a Kindertransport and we have no piano.”
“How can you be without a piano?”
“I compose in my head, when I’m alone. I suppose I’m lucky. I could have been assigned to a detail in the carpentry shop or the laundry.”
“Detail?”
“Work details. It’s a way of life here, Max. Things are as they are.”
“Where’s the spa?”
“Some spa. Come, Max. I’ll show you my studio. You can tell me how you came to be here.”
“Poppy wanted me some place safe while he was traveling.”
Hans frowned and shook his head. “Somewhere safe? And of all the ones available he chose this place?”
“No, I did. I convinced Poppy, and he agreed. I’m not sure if Poppy understands what is happening to the Jews. Surely, he knows the situation in Prague, and for you, David, and Sophie. The way he is, working with them, working with the orchestra, working with the restrictions … that’s not Poppy, Hans. At least not the Poppy we know. I don’t know what’s happened to him. But what I do know is that while I am here I have work to do. I need to find out all I can, and I hope you’ll help me. And I need to be with you and David and Sophie. I want to see you every day. And I want to play Brundibár. I want to do a lot of things.”
I finally saw a smile come to Hans’s face. “It’s good to see you, Max. A part of me wishes you were somewhere, almost anywhere else. But another part of me is glad that you’ve arrived, that we’re together again. I can look after you, we can look after each other. We’ll go about this together.”
With that, I felt better again, better than I had for a while. We really could make it work? Hans had a modest flat: two rooms where he’d arranged a few photographs of his friends; there was a picture of Hans, Poppy, and me—the three of us crowded around a piano. There were the same things he had packed when he’d first left for Terezín. It made sense to me now; he knew he would be away for a while. Pages of sheet music—Chopin, Mozart, Strauss—these had been keeping him company. These were his treasures. A paperweight from Paris was on a corner table.
Taking a moment to freshen up, a familiar Hans appeared with his silk robe draped around his shoulders, with a touch of citrus following him. I guessed it was a way of reminding himself of who he was. I saw the Hans I’d always known.
I couldn’t wait any longer to ask. “Have you seen Sophie Mahler?”
“Oh, yes, your girlfriend. She’ll be delighted you’re here.”
Wow, news travels fast.
“I’m working at the post office.”
“Post office?” Hans asked. “There now, you’ve taken a detail.” He placed his hands across his chest. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine postman.”
“How’s David? Is he writing? Playing his violin?”
“David has found his place. It’s not the same, but it’s something.”
“We’re together, all of us. Poppy asked about you.”
Hans looked away and said nothing.
VEDEM
Wasting not another minute, I made my way up to the third floor. Entering a large room, I found him working at a wooden desk, wearing his green eyeshade, sporting his long maroon scarf. He jumped up from his chair when I entered. His grin matched my own.
“Max! I don’t believe it!”
“Well, I made it.”
“How did you get here? Where are you staying? How is Poppy?”
“A car brought me here. I’m living right outside camp, and Poppy, well, I don’t exactly know. But I’m here. That’s the most important thing for now. We’re together again, me and the Topper.”
“Well, this is great news, Max. It’s simply great. But I’m … I just don’t know what to say.”
“Hey, you’re my best friend, and I want to know how you’re doing.”
“Max, for now I just couldn’t be happier. My best friend in the world …”
“Now, I’m at a loss for words. But we’ll find the words together.”
David seemed taller, thinner, older. Much older. He was still sharp in gray flannel shorts, a white-collared shirt, navy sweater, and vest. But he was wearing something new: a yellow star on his chest.
David caught me staring. “I hate it.”
“I don’t know, David. This may sound stupid, but I’d be proud to wear one.”
“Well, it does sound kind of stupid, and you really should know that wearing a star is not some badge
of courage.”
“But I’d be more like you.”
“Are you sure of that, Max?”
I noted something across the room. “Is that your violin in the corner?”
He forced a smile. “My other constant companion.” Taking it out of its case, David played a plaintive tune to welcome me. Even at Terezín, David was the Topper.
“Poppy says you play better than anyone he knows. Now I know why.”
“Well, Max? How are you finding this place?”
“I haven’t seen the spa yet.”
David let out a whoop: “Spa? Forget all the promotion, Max. It’s pure propaganda. None of it is true.”
“None of it? What do you mean? What do you do here?”
David shrugged. “What do we do? What we do here is we manage. We do what we must do. No options. We get through one day at a time. There are rations, not much to eat. Things here are not getting any better. But we get up. We get dressed.” His voice broke off. “A lot of the kids paint. That helps … a little.”
He pointed to an art gallery of crayon drawings, houses and families in oranges and blues, yellows, and purples, jumbled together around the walls.
“There is a school, then. That’s something, isn’t it?”
“You’re looking for the silver lining in the clouds, Max. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. But you’re going to have to look hard. There’s no real school here, just a few improvised classes for the youngest. Max, there are a lot of regulations for everyone here. What we can do, who we can see, even attempts to control how we think and feel. And that’s hard to regulate. Terezín was supposed to be Hitler’s gift to the Jews. Well, there are some gifts you really don’t want to receive. This is a place where it’s hard to live. That’s the truth. But, Max, as I said, we get up, we go on, we manage, we hope, we pray, and even find a smile occasionally. But there’s contrast. There’s a counterpoint.”
“Tell me.”
While the Music Played Page 20