It should have come as no surprise. The overcoat man had been patient, finding just the right time and place to strike. And now it was convenient to make sure we would never reach our destination. I hadn’t thought about inspecting the raft—too intent on running from the German staff car.
“You bastard. What do you want?” I shouted.
“Care for a glass of milk from the green box, you little prick? I’ve caught you. You’re a spy, an enemy of the Reich, just like your father.”
Had he been responsible for Poppy’s death? I was consumed with rage.
I diverted his attention, yelling, as David slid to the side of the raft.
“I know who you are and what you do.”
I lunged toward him. But in that instant, David picked up a paddle and slammed it across the man’s back. Craaaaack!
It was stunning.
Then a crashing blow to his head, rendering him senseless.
Blood gushed from his head and with a spilling moan he fell overboard, trying to hold on.
It happened quickly.
David stamped on his hands and kicked him in the face. The man was lost in the water.
“You don’t waste time with the enemy,” David said without looking up. “If you have a weapon, you use it.” I stared at David. He acted fast, so decisively. I never knew he had such strength in him.
The current carried the overcoat man away, floating unconscious some distance behind us.
“We can’t just leave him to drown, David.”
“Oh, I think we can, Max.”
He watched the man drift farther away.
“The Gestapo all carry guns, Max. He was going to kill us.”
“Self-defense?”
“Of course, but more than that, Max, a statement to make up for everyone he murdered. It was the right thing to do, Max. It is tough, but the right thing. I don’t regret it.”
The wind calmed, the raft paused, and a black ledger floated past us. It was as if time were dancing in slow motion. David reached in and retrieved it.
There were hundreds of entries that had been recorded, but they were no longer legible. The river had washed away names that now belonged to the past.
The raft continued along the Ohře another ten kilometers. The skies turned a dark gray, with a flash of lightning signaling a storm. The SS Max rocked as the river became choppy. Steadying the rudder in the rapids, it picked up speed just before the rain came.
“The calm before the storm, Max. I thought we might run into some heavy weather.”
“David, we’ll be all right.”
The water lashed the raft, and soon we were flying downstream with tremendous speed in the pouring rain, the tent catching the wind, propelling us even faster.
“I’ll protect everything,” David said, as he secured our belongings to keep them dry.
“Stay inside!” I shouted to him when he poked his head out for a weather update.
“Do you swim, Max?” His voice was muffled inside the tent.
“Yes, a little.”
“I don’t!”
“Hold on!”
We sped over a whirling, zigzagging current, turning back and forth toward shore, and I hoped David wouldn’t get seasick.
Following the path of a streaming current, I held the rudder and straightened the craft. A cloud opened up and another torrent of rain drenched me. But the raft held up.
“Whoopeeeee!” I yelled, as lashings of rain fell from the sky.
David stuck his head out again; the water was whipping me with pellets. “You’re crazy, Max!”
“So I’ve heard!”
The storm lasted a few hours before the sun finally broke through. The rain subsided, and, reaching calmer waters, the craft approached a lock. The keeper opened the gates, with no hint of concern about an unconventional craft passing through. For a few minutes, the raft was placed between two watertight doors. The lock filled and, when the water level was higher, the steel enclosure opened to a wider expanse of the river. Reaching the Elbe, we stretched out on the small deck, which still smelled like varnish. Dining on bread and cheese, we celebrated the completion of another leg of our journey. The sun warmed us. David turned to me. “That was close, Max, we could have drowned. But I’m impressed with your seamanship. You might want to pursue a career in the navy when all this is over.”
But then, as if on cue, we heard a boat speeding toward us, and as it approached, I saw the colors of the German flag.
“Start paddling, David! They’ve found us!”
“Maybe we should’ve built a submarine!” David tried to settle down.
The powerful gray boat, leaving a rolling wake behind, came slowly alongside the raft. I cringed when I saw the three-man crew on the German gunboat.
Taking a deep breath, I called to the captain in perfect German, “Guten Tag! It’s a nice day and I’d welcome you aboard, but we don’t have much room!”
The captain was puzzled, but in a flash, burst out laughing. “What are you doing out here?”
“On our way to Prague for a spring holiday. How is it down there?”
I knew that the Elbe flowed through Czechoslovakia and Germany. “My uncle is in the navy, Captain Ernst Donitz; do you know him?”
They didn’t, of course; I had made up the most seaworthy name I could think of. “He helped us build the raft.”
“Ach, German ingenuity,” the captain called back.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked.
“Patrolling the waters.”
“For fish?”
That, too, brought a measure of good cheer. “Not for little fishes,” the captain said. “Be safe, boys.”
And with that, they sped away.
David shook his head and stared at the receding boat. “That was the finest bit of acting I’ve ever seen you do. Award-winning. I don’t know how you get away with it, Max.”
I stood tall and lowered my voice. “Trust me, David,” I said, and with a familiar gesture, I imitated the confidence of the Great Viktor Mueller. David recognized it immediately, clapped and called, “Bravo!”
“Did you notice how they kept looking at your shoes?”
David was wearing the official military issue ones acquired for the Red Cross visit. They were probably made for the German navy.
“You must be our lucky charm, Max, you jumped over the cracks on that one.”
“We don’t need luck. We’re the Czech All Stars, David!”
David laughed.
The river was unpredictable, always changing. One moment, the tidal current ran fast. In another, we floundered and flopped around a bend, decorous and stately. The afternoon brought calmer waters and we had to paddle, which was more strenuous than I had anticipated. Soon we were caught in the current once again, and sailed easily, skimming along in our craft. We cut through fast-moving water, bouncing over the whitecaps.
“We should announce Norbert Troller as the best naval architect in the world,” David said. “He’s an admiral! Give that man a gold star! I don’t think even the German navy could sink us.”
Along a deserted pier, we lit our lanterns, setting up camp for the night.
Early the next morning, flat barges were chugging down the Elbe.
“Give me a few loaves of bread and a wedge of cheese,” said David.
I wasn’t sure what he was up to. “Do you need a few crowns?”
I had my secret supply stashed away in a can of baby powder that had been with me for years now.
“Not a problem. But I’ll need plenty of rope.”
One of the smaller barges was nearby and David flagged it down. I wondered what he was up to. I watched as he negotiated with the captain, gesturing with his hands. A few minutes later, we were following in the wake of the Maria Victory, a small postal
boat headed toward Prague and calmer waters. We were secured by a rope that stretched fifty feet or so, pulling us along.
“Traditionally, we Jews are not very good sailors, Max; we’re better traders. What’s that biblical saying?” In his best German, David proudly quoted, “Wirf dein Brot hin auf die Fläche der Wasser. Cast thy bread upon the waters.” He stretched out his full frame and sunbathed for the rest of the morning.
The Elbe suddenly calmed into the Vltava and I heard Smetana’s classic melody echoing in my mind. The same melody that would someday become the anthem of Israel. It was soft at first, then slowly it became louder and bolder, as the river opened to Prague. It was such a haunting tune. I hummed it for the next few miles.
Reaching the sunlit distance, the raft rounded another turn, and there was the Charles Bridge and the red roofs of Malá Strana. Clustered carriage houses sloped down the hills nearby, their images stirring colors on the river. They were landscapes of sorrowful beauty, nowhere lovelier. Off the river’s edge, a few small boats with white hulls and flapping pastel-tinted sails caught the afternoon wind. With the singing spirit of the Vltava, we were home.
JUDITH LANDING
There we were, in familiar surroundings. But David and I didn’t need to exchange a look, let alone a word, to express what we both understood at once. We were passing through and this was no longer home. The Prague that we had known was gone forever, in the same way that our childhood, so much of it shared, was gone. And with it, our innocence. I recognized so much of the place, but it was changed in ways I couldn’t quite understand and perhaps never would. What I knew almost at once was that it was no longer the city of my parents. It was no longer my Prague. And I knew that it could never again be home.
But we were there for a time and we owed so much then and always would, to our host, our friend. Pierre Burger’s name was really Petr, but he had worked for Frau Schmidt, and liked his job so much, he decided to study at a school in France to be a hotelier. Like a tenor learning a new part, he adapted to his role so well that he now appeared authentically French. He affected a slight accent and, just as Frau Schmidt promised, he was waiting for us in an old broken-down car at Judith Landing.
“This is some raft,” he said and whistled, admiring the detail and craftsmanship. He greeted us with joy, surprise, and the warmest of welcomes. “Viktor would have enjoyed this adventure, Max.” Just being close to someone else who knew my father—who could say his name to me—gave me a sense of peace.
“Let’s go, boys,” he said, and began to dismantle the craft. I had formed a sentimental attachment to it, but Pierre said it was necessary, just in case, not to leave evidence. As we took it apart I saw stenciled on the side of each flotation drum, a black swastika. I’d bet the officers on the patrol boat had also noticed them. Ironic that the hated symbol would have protected us.
We transferred our clothing and removed the box containing my hurdy-gurdy to Pierre’s old automobile, one of the few private cars left in Prague. It wasn’t in great shape, but it was able to carry us across the bridge, coughing puffs of white smoke all the way. Driving up the hills, it was clear that Prague hadn’t changed, except that it was mostly populated by German uniforms. Every building was waving multiple red-and-black German flags. But for how much longer?
Pierre’s pension was a small bed-and-breakfast inn on a cobblestone street just above an area called the Castle Steps. It was an attractive three-story house, with dark green flower boxes under the windows planted with tulips in a flow of pink.
Was it a symbol, a sign, a statement? David said he was sure that the pink tulips were flowers to celebrate every member of the Resistance.
A large living room had light cream walls and a pale green molding bordering the ceiling. An antique, petite-point rug with a quiet flower pattern gave warmth, along with a few nicely placed botanical prints on the walls.
There were certain formalities after we arrived. I opened my secret can of powder, giving all my banknotes to Pierre. After counting the large bills, Pierre said, “Max, you have given me enough for six months’ stay.” I had no idea of the amount Poppy had deposited but I was sure it was a hefty portion of his savings.
“You don’t owe me anything. But I’ll hold this for you,” Pierre told me, removing the rug and hiding the currency in a little safe under the flooring. Then Pierre showed us to a small room on the top floor.
“We only have fourteen rooms, but we’re rarely full, not like the old days,” Pierre explained. “Mostly people from Berlin. And please, not too much conversation with the guests. You never know who they are. Right now, we just have a Mr. Hoff, who appears to be a businessman.
“You and David will live in these servants’ quarters; they’re comfortable, quite suitable, and I will ask you to wear blue aprons. You’ll be expected to change linen, sweep the floors, and do light cleaning. If you have time, straighten the drawing room. Be earnest and occupied as you work. If you want to clean the brass from time to time, fine, but not essential. It should take you no more than a few hours a day, but it’s a good cover. The rest of the time, you are on your own; but be careful, stay in the neighborhood, and don’t do anything suspicious. If anyone should inquire who you are, I’ll mention we’re related—my sister is working in a porcelain factory near Prague, and you’re helping me out with the family business.
“You will be safe here. But you mustn’t be noticed, Max. I cannot emphasize that enough. You’ll not find the Prague you knew. Do you have papers?”
“My passport won’t be much good.”
“And David?”
David shook his head.
“Not to worry. We’ll get papers for you. You’ll need them, not for long, but just until the war is over, and a new identity too.”
Pierre had a well-thought-out plan, and David and I would do everything to handle our end expertly.
I had been quiet for almost the entire afternoon, but now I had to ask: “Pierre, have you heard from Frau Schmidt?”
“Max, she and your friend Hans were on transports with the children after you left. I’m just learning the details, but I know they’ve been sent to the family camp next to Auschwitz.”
David gasped, and I felt the room spinning around me.
Sophie. I pushed the terror down. Fear was not an option. Sophie was alive. Sophie had to be alive. I must have looked like I was about to faint because I felt Pierre’s hand on my shoulder. “Steady, Max. Trust me, if anyone knows how to deal with the Germans, it’s Frau Schmidt. And the children will be all right. The Germans are fleeing; the war is almost over. It’s only a matter of a few weeks.”
David put his arm around my shoulders, as if to say he understood my anguish. I knew he was feeling the same thing.
I held my breath, hoping he was right.
“She’s a formidable woman, indeed,” Pierre continued. “And by the way, she gave Rahm the biggest bath of his life.”
“She didn’t!”
I thought back to the explosion we’d heard after our launch.
“I suspect there was some unfinished business to attend to, and she took care of it.”
It confirmed my suspicion that Frau Schmidt kept tabs on everything.
“She blew him up?”
“To the moon!”
I couldn’t find the words to express my admiration.
“Don’t worry, she’ll be back running a boarding house one of these days.”
“When you least expect it, something happens,” David said, trying to sound lighthearted.
“Please, come sit down,” Pierre said, pointing to a small wooden bench in the alcove.
“There’s much you need to know. Things that your father couldn’t tell you.”
Finally, some answers.
“Frau Schmidt is one of us,” said Pierre.
“One of who?” I asked.
“
A member of Pink Tulip, the underground Resistance. We’re determined to wipe out the Nazis using any means necessary. Your father and Frau Schmidt …”
Everything began to fall into place.
“Poppy was working undercover? With you?”
“I recruited him through Sam Raggle. Max, your father was—a great man. We were going to blow up the State Opera House at a Remembrance Day Concert in Berlin when he conducted Brahms’s Ein Deutsches Requiem. Fate intervened.”
David didn’t bat an eye.
“You do know that Viktor was Hitler’s favorite conductor, right?”
I nodded. Poppy was everyone’s favorite conductor.
Pierre continued, “This killing business was part of the job. A necessary part of the job, do you understand?”
“Wasn’t Poppy with Heydrich when he was killed?” I asked. “He wasn’t involved?”
“Winston Churchill was running that operation and he gave direct orders to keep Viktor in the dark about that plan, especially considering he was the only one who could lead us to Heydrich. And after that failed bombing at the opera house, Churchill didn’t think Viktor had what it took to kill.”
Churchill?
I had another burning question.
“What happened after the Red Cross visit?”
“Viktor went to Hungary. We had work to do there with Raoul Wallenberg. You’ll learn the details in time, but the simple fact is that by our estimates, Raoul Wallenberg and Viktor saved over one hundred thousand Jews in Hungary.
“You have to know that there was one decision that Viktor struggled with every single day. If he had removed you from the camp, it would have aroused suspicion. And he was engaged in such a delicate game with Heydrich and others. You understand this, Max? Keeping you at Terezín would reinforce his dedication to the regime. It was a charade that had to be maintained for the success of the operation. After Budapest, he finally faced what he had to do and blew up those Nazi bastards on the train and destroyed the tracks—the transports leading in and out of Terezín. He was coming to get you, Max, and he was a good man, and he loved you more than anything. He was part of the Resistance, and what he did took courage and strength. That was your father.”
While the Music Played Page 39