Chasing Shadows

by Lynn Austin

  Miriam didn’t recognize anyone among the one thousand people standing out in the square this morning, most with their heads bowed and shoulders hunched against the icy rain. She moved away from the door as the guards herded the deportees to the train so she wouldn’t hear the wooden doors slam shut or the iron bar lock into place to seal them inside. The ground rumbled as the train steamed away.

  Later, Miriam thought of Mrs. Spielman again as she peeled potatoes in the kitchen, remembering how the kind woman had taught her to cook and bake. Miriam was grateful for the simple skills she’d learned from her, but it pained her to imagine her landlady and Abba hearing their names called, climbing into the boxcars.

  The potatoes were small and soft and shriveled, making them difficult to peel. Miriam didn’t want to waste any bits of potato by paring off peels that were too thick, yet she’d learned that all the peels and scraps would be boiled for broth. Her workday at Westerbork lasted from seven in the morning until noon, and then from two until seven, with evenings and Sundays free. Except on Tuesdays, of course. On that day, all the prisoners remained in their barracks until after the train departed. Working in the camp kitchen was tedious and meant standing for much of the day, but the other prisoners had assured Miriam that the assignment was easy compared to working in the shoe factory or scrapyard.

  That evening, Miriam rehearsed with the camp musicians for the concert on Sunday, her first. Performing with them was like nothing she’d ever experienced. Many orchestra members were seasoned professionals, and it was a privilege and a challenge to work with them. She thought it a terrible waste of talent to ban musicians from the great concert halls of Europe because they were Jewish.

  The sheet music was another challenge, copied by hand and cobbled together, often arranged by the musicians themselves from memory. Some pieces were new works, composed in the camp. Many people shared the same part, with extra sections written on scraps of paper. In places where the notation thinned or parts were missing, the conductor told the players what he wanted and relied on them to fill it in. Miriam felt lost at first and afraid to play by ear without music. The other violinists encouraged her to try, “for our audience’s sake.”

  On the day of the performance, Miriam vibrated with nerves and excitement as she took her place on stage to warm up. The audience was enormous, as if every prisoner in camp had come. Minutes before the concert began, the front row filled with Nazi soldiers, including an official in the uniform of the dreaded SS. “Who is that man?” Miriam whispered to the violinist beside her.

  “That’s Obersturmführer Gemmeker, the camp Kommandant.” Miriam’s lungs squeezed like a fist. “Are you all right?” the violinist asked.

  “No . . . I can’t . . .” Miriam rose and staggered off the stage, nearly bowling into the conductor. He grabbed her to steady her, halting her flight.

  “Miriam, what’s wrong? Is it stage fright? Listen, you don’t need to—”

  “It isn’t that,” she said, her lungs wheezing. “The Kommandant . . . and the Nazis . . . I didn’t know they would be here! I can’t play for them!”

  He led her to a chair and made her sit. She was afraid he would be angry with her, but he seemed more worried than angry. “If you don’t perform, they’ll call your name on Tuesday.”

  Her stomach rolled. She drew a few breaths, still struggling for air. “My music comes from my soul. I can’t . . . I can’t bare my soul to them. They’ve already taken every other part of me. This is all I have left!”

  He looked at her for a long moment, pity and sorrow in his dark eyes. “You’re not performing for them. You’re offering your talent as a gift to your fellow prisoners. This camp is such a dark, despairing place. Our music helps restore memories of happier times and brings an hour or two of joy, a smile, hope.”

  “But it’s false hope. The Nazis’ presence reminds us that we’re prisoners and that there is no hope!”

  He crouched in front of her. “You’re wrong, Miriam. You’ve seen the propaganda that the Nazis spew out about us, saying that we’re an inferior race, portraying us as less than human. When faced with their cruel treatment here day after day, we begin to believe those lies and lose our dignity as human beings. But each time our orchestra performs, each time beautiful, glorious music flows from our instruments and from our God-given abilities, we’re slapping the Nazis in the face, proving that they’re wrong about us. They may treat us like animals, but animals don’t work together the way an orchestra does to create sound and beauty. The beaten-down souls in our audience sit up a little straighter when they hear us perform, because they are reminded of the beauty that’s inside each of them. You’re baring your soul, Miriam, to help restore their dignity.”

  The pain in Miriam’s chest began to ease. She remembered how her music had encouraged Avi when they’d been in this place together. Abba said that Mother’s music had drawn him closer to God.

  The conductor helped Miriam to her feet. “Play for our fellow Jews, Miriam. Our lives may be ending soon, but let’s pour out the last of our strength in praise and music, not in tears.”

  She was able to draw a deep breath as she walked onto the stage and sat down. The conductor raised his baton. Miriam began to play, imagining that Avi was sitting in the audience with Elisheva on his lap, finding hope in each note she played. She imagined Abba and Mrs. Spielman sitting beside him, along with Mother and her aunts and uncles and her cousin Saul. She imagined Lies, Julie, Betsie, and Alie sitting with Klara and Tina. And with Miss Hannie, Miss Willy and Rietje and Frits—all the residents of Meijers House, who’d been declared inferior. As the music soared, they could all escape the indignities of living in chicken coops and attics and prison barracks and reclaim their humanity. She played for them and for the sorrowful souls who would be forced to climb into the boxcars in a few days. You were created in God’s image, she told them with every note she played. And so was I.

  On the following Tuesday morning, the head of Miriam’s barracks called for everyone’s attention. A wave of anxiety spread through the barracks. The matron cleared her throat. “There will be no deportations this week. Report to your work assignments immediately.”

  Above the buzz of astonished murmurs, someone dared to ask, “Why? Why were they canceled?”

  The faintest hint of a smile brightened the matron’s face. She was a prisoner like the rest of them. “There are rumors that all the railroad workers in the nation have gone on strike.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Lena endured another long month without her husband, without her father, trying to scale the great mountain of her grief, slipping back into the valley of death’s shadow continually. Sunday church services were no longer the same, the memory of the Nazis’ violence still fresh and raw on everyone’s hearts. But the congregation continued to meet, offering strength to one another. Lena picked up Wim’s and Maaike’s school lessons each Sunday, unwilling to allow Maaike to go into town alone to attend school, terrified to let Wim be seen. Lena could tell he was growing restless, tired of living in the shadows. She’d heard of other mothers who’d disguised their sons in women’s clothing, but Wim had laughed at the idea, then shook his head firmly when she suggested it. They both wondered how much longer they’d be forced to live this way.

  “I’m taking the cows out to graze in the pasture today,” Wim told Lena at breakfast one morning. “There’s still a little grass out there, and we need to save the feed for winter.” He was taller than Pieter now, with Pieter’s large, strong hands.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” Lena asked. “The cows are terrified of the low-flying planes. And I heard that cows have been killed by falling shrapnel.”

  “They need to eat or their milk will dry up.”

  “I can take the herd out.”

  “I need to get out and walk, Mama. Please.”

  She couldn’t deny him such a simple thing. Lena guessed that he wanted to feel the fall sunshine on his head more than he wanted the cows to find g
rass. Ever since Wim was a child, the sun would bleach his thick blond hair nearly white during the summer months. Now it was the color of ashes after hiding indoors for so long. Lena stood in the open barn door with the milk cans, watching Wim stride across the field with the cows. “Not too far,” she whispered. “That’s far enough . . .” Wim kept going.

  When she heard engines approaching, Lena looked up. The sky was clear. The vehicle was speeding closer. “Wim!” she screamed. “Wim, come back!” He didn’t seem to hear her. She started to run toward the pasture, calling his name. Then she remembered that Maaike and Bep were inside the house alone. If this was a Nazi vehicle—and who else had gasoline these days?—she couldn’t leave her girls here by themselves. “Wim!” she screamed again. “Wim, hide!”

  He finally turned to her. But the truck was close now. Lena could see it. Wim wouldn’t have time to run all the way back to the barn. Whoever was in the truck would surely see him standing in the middle of the flat field. He might be able to make it to one of the irrigation ditches in time if he crouched low. Oh, God, please! she begged. Please don’t let them see Wim! She had prayed for her father, too, and God hadn’t listened. But He had to answer her prayer this time—He had to! Swastikas fluttered from the truck’s antennae. Lena turned away from the field and moved into the barn so they would have to follow her there to speak with her.

  The truck pulled to a halt and the soldier in the passenger seat jumped down, armed with a rifle and bayonet. He would use it to stab all the haystacks, searching for men in hiding. A second soldier jumped out of the back, also armed. Then a third.

  “Where is your son?” the soldier asked in German. “We know you have a son.”

  Oh, God . . .

  Lena set down the milk cans so they wouldn’t slip from her shaking hands. Which of her neighbors had told them about Wim? She held her palms out, shaking her head, pretending not to understand. “Your son!” he said in Dutch. One of the soldiers went into the barn. The second one started to follow him, then something caught his eye in the distant pasture.

  “Over there!” he shouted. He pointed to Wim, who was trying to crawl toward the ditch. “Halt! Halt right there or I’ll shoot!”

  Lena closed her eyes. Oh, God . . . oh, God . . . oh, God . . . She heard the door to the kitchen open and saw Maaike and Bep peeking out. She shook her head at them and they disappeared inside.

  It seemed to take forever for the soldiers to cross the field and haul Wim back with them. And yet it took only an instant. “No! You can’t take him!” Lena screamed. “He’s only sixteen!” One of the soldiers blocked Lena’s path to keep her from going to him. “Please! No!” she begged.

  They parted the canvas flap and Lena saw that the back of the truck was filled with young men Wim’s age. “Get in,” they told him. He looked at Lena, his face white with fear.

  “No!” she screamed. Everything in Lena wanted to run forward and save her son. But she couldn’t. The soldier pushed Wim’s shoulder, and he climbed on board.

  A moment later, the truck was gone. They had taken her son! Why hadn’t Wim stayed inside where it was safe? They’d been so careful all these months. Why hadn’t she walked the cows out to the pasture instead of him?

  Lena sank down in the doorway of the barn, rocking in place, screaming and wailing with grief. “God, why? How could You let this happen?” There was no answer.

  Lena hadn’t slept well in days, waiting for her contact to come, hoping and praying that he would know what had happened to Wim. She was sitting with Ina at the kitchen table after midnight when Wolf slipped through the door from the barn to join them.

  “Do you have any news of my son?” she asked, rising from her chair.

  “Your son?” He glanced around the darkened kitchen as if Wim were playing a game and might leap out of the shadows.

  “The Nazis took him away.”

  “I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry . . .” He sank onto a chair as if burdened by the news.

  “They put him in a truck full of young men. Do you know where they were taking them? To a factory in the East, do you think? The Allies are bombing those Nazi factories, and . . .” She couldn’t finish.

  “I don’t think so. We’ve heard that they’re pulling men off the streets, even men with work exemptions, to help dig anti-tank trenches and build bunkers. The work is hard, but it’s in the Nazis’ best interests to keep their laborers fed and healthy.”

  “Will you please try to find out for me?” Before Wolf could reply, Max crept up the stairs from the root cellar with the newest batch of forged ID cards. He exchanged them for the stolen cards and photographs that Wolf had brought, and the men talked about their work for a few minutes. Lena gave Wolf a bowl of the soup she’d made for dinner, then got out a stack of bowls and spoons so he could distribute the rest to the shadow people. When he finished speaking with Max, Wolf turned to Lena again.

  “I can’t promise that I’ll be able to find your son. The Nazis have been on high alert as the Allies make progress toward Germany. They make sure no one gets too close. Besides, the Nazis have abducted so many men, it’ll be difficult to find your son among them. I’m sorry.”

  “He’s just a boy!”

  Wolf closed his eyes for a long moment as if searching for words to console her. He always came at night, and Lena wondered what he looked like in daylight. He opened his eyes again and met her gaze. “Lena, I’ve gotten to know you and your husband well these past few years. I’ve seen your strength and your faith, and I know that your son has learned to be strong from the two of you. He’ll be able to endure whatever he has to.”

  “It’s the worst feeling in the world not to know where he is or what’s happening to him. I’d rather learn the truth so I can begin to accept it—like I’ve had to do with my father.”

  “I was very sorry to hear about your father. He was a brave man, and he helped us a great deal.”

  Lena pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. “And my daughter Ans? Do you know anything about her? Max and Ina told me she had to go into hiding the same time they did.”

  Wolf concentrated on his soup as if he hadn’t heard her.

  Fear slithered through Lena. He knew something. “Ans works with your Resistance cell, Wolf. Someone along your chain of contacts must know where she is and what’s happened to her.”

  Wolf still didn’t speak.

  She gripped his arm, stopping him from eating. “If you know something, please tell me. Don’t imagine that you’re sparing me by holding back.”

  “I understand.” He laid down his spoon, then paused for such a long time that Lena wanted to scream. At last he sighed and looked up at her. “Ans is one of our best couriers. But she was late for curfew after her bicycle was stolen, and she was arrested. Nothing incriminating was found on her, and she didn’t give away any of her contacts. But she was sent to the Nazi prison in Vught.”

  Lena leaned against Wolf’s chair as she tried to absorb this information. Her beautiful, vibrant daughter—a prisoner.

  “Your family has paid a huge price for your country’s sake.”

  “We’re not doing it out of patriotism,” Lena said sharply. “It’s because of our faith in Christ. Are you a Christian, Wolf?”

  He gave a humorless laugh. “I may be before the war is over. So many people I work with have told me the same thing—that they’re risking their lives because of their faith.” He slowly rose to his feet. He was so thin his clothes might have belonged to someone else. “I need to go. I’m sorry I haven’t been much help to you. If it’s any consolation, the Allies are winning the war.” He took the food Lena had prepared for the shadow people and left.

  Lena said good night to Max and Ina and went upstairs to bed. She already knew she wouldn’t sleep. The news that Ans was in a Nazi prison had shattered her. Two of her children were in the enemy’s hands, and she worried that her husband might be too. It was hard not to imagine the worst for all of them. In the past
, she would have gone to the manse in the morning and asked her father to pray for Ans and Wim and Pieter, but he was gone. Lena remembered his words quite clearly: “I may not always be here.” It was as if he’d known what was coming. Before the war, Lena’s life had been full and rich and complete. Now she was being slowly emptied out.

  CHAPTER 55

  Guards stood outside Ans’s long wooden barracks. The only windows were up near the rafters where no one could see out. Rows and rows of metal bunks, stacked three high, filled most of the building. A few wooden tables and benches for meals stood along one side, although there weren’t nearly enough for all 175 women who lived in Ans’s barracks. The bathroom had only ten toilets, with no doors or partitions between them for privacy. With so many women sick with diarrhea, including Ans at times, the latrine was not only humiliating but revolting.

  Each day was numbingly the same. Guards woke them at 5:45 a.m. for roll call. After a breakfast of bread and margarine, most of the women were sent to work in the rope factory. Lunch consisted of thin, watery soup with an occasional vegetable floating in it. Supper was bread and margarine again. Every once in a while, the Red Cross arrived to serve a hearty soup. Ans looked forward to it as if it were a feast. She soon lost weight on the meager diet, becoming so thin her underwear wouldn’t stay up. She could count all of her ribs. Several other women in her barracks grew ill and died.

  Ans scrubbed the floor of the latrine on her hands and knees every morning, the stench making her gag. Then she reported to the laundry, where she soaped and scrubbed and rinsed and wrung the guards’ heavy clothing until the skin on her hands cracked and bled. Day after weary day, her hope drained away like the gray wash water swirling down the drain. At night, shivering on her bunk, despair seeped through to her soul like the cold wind that leaked through the cracks in the barracks walls and around the windows.