Sadly, as the blossoms appeared on the trees in May and the sun finally came out, the euphoria in the city proved to be short-lived.
Pip had been working all the God-given hours in his practice room at the Conservatory. Karine sought him out with the latest news. ‘Word has come from Munich – the statue won’t be rebuilt,’ she said breathlessly.
‘That is terrible news, but please, my love, try not to worry. We have only a short time left until the end of term and then we can take stock of the situation and make a plan.’
‘But Pip, what if things deteriorate more quickly than that?’
‘I’m sure they won’t. Now, go home and I will see you this evening.’
But Karine had been right and Goerdeler resigned a few days later. Once again, the city was thrown into chaos.
Pip was busy preparing for his formal examinations, as well as perfecting his very first opus, which was to be performed at a graduation concert just before the end of term. Staying up late into the night to complete the orchestrations, he struggled to come up for air to comfort a despairing Karine.
‘Elle says that she and Bo will leave Leipzig immediately at the end of term in two weeks’ time and will not return. They say it is too dangerous to be here now, with the National Socialists free to demand the sanctions against Jews that other cities are enforcing.’
‘Where will they go?’
‘They don’t know. France perhaps, but Bo is worried the trouble will follow them there. The Reich has supporters all across Europe. I will write to my parents for advice. But if Elle leaves, so will I.’
This news grabbed Pip’s full attention.
‘But I thought your parents were in America?’
‘They are. My father is thinking of staying there whilst the anti-Semitic storm in Europe continues.’
‘And you would follow them?’ Pip felt a surge of panic twist his guts.
‘If my parents think it is wise, then yes, I will go.’
‘But . . . what about us? What will I do without you?’ he said, hearing the selfish whine in his voice.
‘You could come with me.’
‘Karine, you know that I do not have the money to make the journey to America. And how would I earn a living there if I don’t graduate from the Conservatory and get some experience before I go?’
‘Chérie, I do not think you understand the gravity of the situation. German-born Jews who have lived here for generations have already had their citizenship taken away. My people are not permitted to marry Aryans, or join the army, and are forbidden from flying the German flag. I’ve even heard talk that in some regions they are rounding up whole neighbourhoods of Jews and deporting them. If all this has already been allowed to happen, who can say how much further it may go?’ She squared her chin in defiance.
‘So you would sail to America alone and leave me here?’
‘If it will save my life, then yes, of course. For God’s sake, Pip, I know that you are involved with your opus, but I assume you would rather have me alive than dead?’
‘Of course! How can you even suggest I would think otherwise?’ he said, anger rising in his voice.
‘Because you refuse to take this seriously. In your safe Norwegian world, there has never been danger. Whereas we Jews understand that we will always be open to persecution, just as we have been throughout history. And now is no different. We feel it, all of us. Perhaps it is simply a tribal thing, but we know when there is imminent danger.’
‘I can’t believe you’d go without me.’
‘Pip! Please, grow up! You know I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but this . . . situation is not new to me. Even before the Reich made our persecution legal, we have always been disliked. In Paris, my father had eggs thrown at him at one of his sculpture exhibitions years ago. Anti-Semitic feelings have existed for thousands of years. You must understand this.’
‘But why is it so?’
Karine gave him a small shrug. ‘Because, chérie, history has made us a scapegoat. People always fear those who are different, and over centuries we have been forced to leave one home for the next. And wherever we arrive, we settle and become successful. We stick together, for it is what we have been taught. It is how we have survived.’
Pip lowered his eyes in embarrassment. Karine was quite right. Having spent most of his life tucked away safely in his small town at the top of the world, what Karine was telling him was akin to a fictional story of another universe. And even though he’d seen with his own eyes the rubble of the torn-down Mendelssohn statue, he had somehow justified it in his mind that it was only a random group of young men making a protest, as the fishermen sometimes did when the price of fuel for their boats rose, but the fish merchants refused to increase the price per kilo.
‘You are right,’ he agreed. ‘Forgive me, Karine. I am a naive idiot.’
‘I think it is more to do with you not wanting to see the truth. You do not wish for the big, wide world to disrupt your dreams and plans for the future. None of us do. But yet here we are,’ she sighed. ‘And the simple truth is, I no longer feel safe in Germany. So I must leave.’ She stood up. ‘I’m meeting Elle and Bo in Coffe Baum in half an hour to discuss the situation. I will see you later.’ Karine kissed the top of Pip’s head and walked away.
When she’d left, Pip looked down at the music spread across the desk in front of him. The performance of his composition was scheduled to take place in under two weeks. Whilst he berated himself for his selfishness, he couldn’t help wondering now if it would ever happen.
Karine was calmer when they met again later that day.
‘I have written to my parents for advice and, in the meantime, I have no choice but to wait until I receive a reply. So, I may be able to hear you play your masterpiece after all.’
Pip reached for her hand across the table. ‘Can you forgive me for being selfish?’
‘Of course I can. I understand the timing could not be worse.’
‘I’ve been thinking . . .’
‘About what?’
‘That perhaps the best answer would be for you to come with me to Norway for the summer. You would not have to worry for your safety there.’
‘Me? Go to the land of reindeer and Christmas trees and snow?’ Karine teased him.
‘Really, it doesn’t always snow there. I think you’ll find it’s rather beautiful in summer,’ Pip said, immediately defensive. ‘We have a small Jewish population who are treated just the same as any other Norwegian citizens. You’ll be safe. And if war does break out in Europe, it will not come to Norway, and neither will the Nazis. Everyone at home says that we are far too small and irrelevant a country for them to notice us. There’s also a very good orchestra in Bergen – it’s one of the oldest in the world. My father is a cellist there.’
Karine’s dark, liquid eyes studied him intently. ‘You would take me home with you?’
‘Of course! My parents have heard all about you and my intention for us to be married.’
‘They know that I’m Jewish?’
‘No.’ Pip felt the colour rising to his cheeks and then felt angry for letting it. ‘But not because I didn’t want them to know. Simply because your religion is irrelevant. They are educated people, Karine, not peasants from the hills. Remember, my father was born in Leipzig. He studied music in Paris and is forever telling us of the Bohemian life on the streets of Montparnasse during the Belle Époque.’
It was Karine’s turn to apologise. ‘You’re right, I’m being patronising. And perhaps’ – she put an index finger to the spot between her eyes just above her nose and rubbed it as she always did when she was thinking – ‘maybe that is the answer if I cannot get to America. Thank you, chérie. It helps me to think there is a place of sanctuary if things here get worse in future.’ She leant across the table and kissed him.
As Pip climbed into his bed later that evening, he only prayed that ‘the future’ could wait until after the performance of his
opus.
Even though they read in the newspapers of Jews being pelted with stones as they walked out of a synagogue, and many other deeply worrying incidents, Karine seemed less anxious, perhaps because she now knew there was an alternative plan. So, for the following two weeks, Pip put his head down and concentrated on his music. He dared not look beyond the moment when term ended, and waited with baited breath for Karine to receive a reply from her parents that would possibly direct her to travel to America. The thought sent shudders through him because he knew that he did not have the money to follow her until he started earning as a musician.
At lunchtime on the day of the graduation concert, at which six new short works by students would be performed, Karine sought him out.
‘Bonne chance, chérie,’ she said. ‘Elle and I will be there to cheer you on tonight. Bo says he thinks that yours is the best of all the compositions.’
‘That is very kind of him. And he contributes wonderfully to my opus with his cello playing in the orchestra. Now, I must attend my last rehearsal.’ Pip kissed Karine on her nose and walked along the long, draughty corridor to his practice room.
At seven thirty on the dot, Pip sat in his tails in the front row of the Großer Saal, along with the five other young composers. Walther Davisson, the principal of the Conservatory, introduced them all to the audience and the first composer took to the platform. Pip was up last and he knew that he would always remember waiting for the agonising hour and a half to pass before his turn. But pass it did, and with a small prayer sent upwards, he walked up the steps, hoping he wouldn’t trip as his legs were shaking so. He gave a brief bow to the audience and took his seat at the piano.
Afterwards, he couldn’t remember much at all about the applause or the cheers that went up as the other composers joined him for a communal bow. All he knew was that he’d been the best he could be on the night and that was all that mattered.
Later, he was surrounded by fellow students and professors, all slapping him on the back and telling him they predicted great things for him. A newspaper journalist also asked him for an interview.
‘My very own Grieg,’ Karine said with a giggle after she’d managed to fight through the crowds to embrace him. ‘Chérie, your glittering career has just begun.’
Having had far too much champagne after the performance, Pip was irritated to be woken early the next morning at his lodging house by someone knocking on his door. He stumbled out of bed to open it, and found his landlady still in her nightgown, looking vexed and disapproving.
‘Herr Halvorsen, there is a young lady who says she wishes to see you urgently waiting downstairs.’
‘Danke, Frau Priewe,’ he said, before closing the door and throwing on the first shirt and pair of trousers he could find.
A white-faced Karine was waiting for him outside on the doorstep. Even in an emergency, it seemed that Frau Priewe’s ‘no young ladies in the house’ rule still stood.
‘What is it? What’s happened?’
‘Last night, three houses in Leipzig were set on fire – Jews were living in all of them. And Bo’s lodging house was one of them.’
‘Oh dear Lord! Is he . . . ?’
‘He’s alive. He managed to escape. He climbed out of his first-floor window and then jumped. With his precious cello bow, of course.’ Karine managed a sad, ironic smile. ‘Pip, he and Elle are leaving Leipzig immediately. And I really feel that I must go too. Come, I need some coffee, and from the looks of things, so do you.’
The small coffee house close to the Conservatory had only just opened its doors and was deserted as they sat down at a table by the window and ordered. Pip rubbed his face to try and recover his senses. He had a serious hangover.
‘Have you heard from your parents?’ he asked her.
‘You know that as of yesterday, I had not. And today, it’s too early for the postman,’ Karine replied irritably. ‘It’s less than two weeks since I wrote to them.’
‘What are Elle and Bo going to do?’
‘They will leave Germany as soon as they can, that’s for sure. But neither of them has the money to travel far. Besides, none of us know where it is safe to go. As for me, my family’s apartment in Paris has been rented out while my parents are in America. I have no home to go to,’ she said with a shrug.
‘Then . . . ?’ Pip second-guessed what she was saying.
‘Yes, Pip, if you are still offering it, I will come with you to Norway, at least until I hear from my parents. It is all I can do. The end of term is only a few days away and your composition has been performed, so I see no reason to delay. When I saw Elle and Bo this morning, they said that after the fires last night, the exodus of Jews from Leipzig will begin in earnest, so we must leave while we still have the chance.’
‘Yes,’ Pip agreed. ‘Of course.’
‘And . . . I have something else to ask you.’
‘What is that?’
‘You know that since I arrived in Leipzig, Elle has become like my sister. Her parents are dead – killed in the Great War – and she and her brother were put into an orphanage. He was adopted as a small baby and she has not seen him since. Elle was not so lucky, and it is only because her music teacher spotted her talent on the flute and viola and put her forward for a scholarship here that she even has a future.’
‘So she has no home?’
‘Other than the orphanage, her home is here in Leipzig, in the room she shares with me. Bo and I are the only family she has. Pip, can they come to Norway with us? Even if it’s just for a few weeks. From a place of safety, they can see how the situation develops in Europe, and decide what to do. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I simply cannot leave Elle behind. And as she will not leave Bo, he must come too.’
Pip looked at her desperate expression, contemplating how his parents would feel if he turned up on their doorstep and announced that he’d brought three friends home to Norway for the holidays. He knew that they would be generous and welcoming, especially as all three were musicians.
‘Yes, of course they can. If this is what you think is best, my love.’
‘Can we leave as soon as possible? The sooner we’re gone from here, the better. Please? You will miss your official graduation ceremony but . . .’
Pip knew that every day that Karine stayed in Leipzig was not only dangerous, but another day closer to a reply from her parents suggesting she join them in America. ‘Of course. We can all go together.’
‘Thank you!’ Karine threw her arms around Pip’s shoulders and he saw the relief in her eyes. ‘Come on, let’s go and tell Elle and Bo they are to come with us.’
39
Two days later, Pip led his exhausted friends down the steamer gangplank in Bergen harbour. A brief phone call made from the principal’s office at the Conservatory was all the warning his parents had received of their surprise guests. A hurried series of goodbyes and thank yous had ensued with all his friends and tutors and the principal had given him a special slap on the back, praising Pip’s generosity in taking his friends back to Norway.
‘I am sad not to stay until the end of term,’ Pip had said as he’d shaken Walther Davisson’s hand.
‘I think you are sensible to leave now. Who knows? Soon it may not be so easy,’ he had sighed sadly. ‘God speed, my boy. Write to me when you arrive.’
Pip turned to his friends, who were staring wearily at the line of candy-coloured wooden houses on the harbour front, trying to adjust to their surroundings. Bo could hardly walk. His face was bruised from where he’d fallen to the ground after he’d jumped out of the window and Pip suspected that he’d fractured his elbow. Elle had secured his right arm to his chest with her scarf, and he had uttered not one word of complaint during the long journey, despite the barely disguised agony on his face.
Spotting Horst, his father, standing on the dock, Pip walked towards him with a broad smile. ‘Far!’ he said, as his father placed his arms around his son’s shoulders and they embraced. ‘How are you?�
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‘I am very well indeed, thank you. And your mother is in good health too,’ said Horst, smiling warmly at all of them. ‘Now, introduce me to your friends.’
Pip did so and each of them shook his father’s hand gratefully.
‘Welcome to Norway,’ Horst said. ‘We are happy to have you here with us.’
‘Far,’ Pip reminded him, ‘remember, none of my friends can speak Norwegian.’
‘Of course! My apologies. German? French?’
‘French is our mother tongue,’ said Karine, ‘but we speak German too.’
‘Then French it shall be!’ Horst clapped his hands together like an excited child. ‘I never get a chance to show off my excellent accent,’ he said with a grin, and proceeded to chatter away to them in the language as they walked towards his car.
The conversation continued all the way up the winding road into the hills beyond the town of Bergen to Froskehuset, their home, with Pip now feeling like the odd one out, as he knew very little French. Sitting in the front passenger seat, he glanced across at his father; his receding fair hair was swept back and his features were lined by years of his constantly happy demeanour – Pip could hardly remember him without a smile on his face. Horst had grown a small goatee beard, and together with his moustache, he now reminded Pip of pictures he’d seen of French impressionist painters. As predicted, Horst had seemed delighted to meet his friends, and he’d never loved his father more for his generous welcome.
Up at the house, his mother, Astrid – looking as pretty as ever – opened the door and extended the same warm welcome, albeit in Norwegian. Her glance immediately fell on Bo, who by now was so exhausted and in pain that he was hanging onto Elle for support.
Astrid clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘What happened to him?’
‘He jumped out of a window when his lodging house was set on fire,’ Pip explained.
The Storm Sister Page 44