The Orphan's Tale

by Pam Jenoff

  “I don’t know,” Astrid says, her face more scared than I have ever seen.

  Berta rushes over. “A fever fit,” she says, then turns to me. “He needs a bath of cool water. Fetch it quickly.” I stand paralyzed, not wanting to leave Theo again, even for a single second. “Hurry!” she barks.

  I run from the train and fill the first bucket I see at the pump. The water splashes out the sides so it is only half-filled by the time I reach the sick car. Astrid takes it from me at the door and pours it into the large porcelain bowl that doubles as a baby bath. “Another!” Berta calls. When I return, I see her putting a cup of clear liquid in the tub. “Vinegar,” she explains.

  I start toward Theo but Astrid holds up her hand, warding me off. “You can’t come in.”

  I try to push past her. “I have to see him. If something should happen...” I can’t finish the thought. Suddenly I am back at the girls’ home, my own child being ripped from my arms.

  Astrid takes Theo from Berta. Seeing the concern on Astrid’s face and the tender way she holds him, I know that she loves him as I do. Still I ache to have him in my arms. Astrid lowers Theo into the bath. I hold my breath, willing him to fuss as he normally would. He remains still, but his body seems to relax in the water. “I remember now,” Astrid says, not taking her eyes off Theo. “They call it a fever seizure. One of the circus children had it a few years back.”

  “A seizure?” I repeat. “It sounds serious.”

  “The fit itself looks much scarier than it is,” Berta interjects. “But the fever is the problem. We must get that down.” Her voice is grim.

  A few minutes later Astrid takes Theo from the tub and dries him, putting him back into his sleeper because we have no other clothes for him here. His eyes are open and he is calmer now. Astrid touches his brow and frowns. “He’s still too hot.”

  Berta pulls a packet from her kit. “I bought this at the Apotheke before we left Darmstadt. They said it would work on a fever.”

  “But is it for an adult or child?” I ask. Too much could be dangerous—or even lethal.

  “Adult,” Berta replies. “But if we give him just a little... We don’t have a choice.” She pours a bit of the powder onto a spoon and mixes it with water, then spoons it into Theo’s mouth. He gags in protest and spits up. Astrid wipes his face and shirt with a rag and I wish that I could do it myself.

  “Should we give him more?” I ask.

  Astrid shakes her head. “There’s no telling how much of it he got. And we won’t know for a few hours if it’s working.”

  “The fortune-teller, Drina, said something about illness,” I suddenly recall. How could she have known?

  I wait for Astrid to ridicule me for listening to her. “I stopped having my fortune read,” she says darkly instead.

  “Because you don’t think it’s true?”

  “Because there are some things you just don’t want to know.”

  Berta comes over and inspects Theo. “He just needs to rest now. Let’s hope the medicine works.” And what, I wonder, if it does not? I don’t dare to ask.

  Berta walks to the berths at the far end of the railcar where two other patients lie. After she has tended to them, she dims the lights and squeezes herself into an empty bed, her thickness spilling over into the aisle.

  Astrid sinks onto one of the berths, rocking Theo. Watching her from the doorway, my arms ache. “He likes to be held up.”

  “I know.” Astrid has been with Theo almost as long as I have. She knows what to do. Not being able to hold him is killing me, though. “I’ll watch him all night, I promise. But you should go to sleep. He’s going to need you when he is better.”

  “You think he’ll be okay?” I ask with hope and relief.

  “I do,” she responds, her voice more certain now.

  I still cannot leave him, though. Instead, I sink down to the cold, filthy floor of the train corridor. “Those are pretty flowers,” Astrid remarks. I had nearly forgotten about the daffodils in my shirt button and hair. “They’re from the mayor’s son, right?” I do not answer. “What did he want anyway?”

  “Just to talk,” I reply.

  “Really?” Astrid’s tone is skeptical.

  “Maybe he just likes me,” I retort, somewhere between hurt and annoyed. “Is that so very hard to believe?”

  “Mingling is forbidden, you know.” You and Peter being together is, too, I want to point out. “And his father is a collaborator, for God’s sake!” Her voice rises now, causing Berta to stir at the far end of the train car.

  “Luc isn’t like that,” I protest.

  “And his father?” she asks pointedly.

  “Luc says he has to cooperate to protect the village.” I hear the weakness in my own words. “To stop the Germans from doing even worse.”

  “Stop?” she spits. “There is no stopping them. Didn’t what happened at the show the other night teach you anything? The mayor is saving his own skin at the expense of his people—nothing more.”

  Several seconds of silence pass between us. “What, do you want to date this boy?” she demands. “Marry him?”

  “No, of course not,” I protest quickly. I had not really thought about Luc beyond the kiss we had shared. But I wonder now, why is it so awful to want the ordinary things? Astrid herself had once done the same; now she sees it as a betrayal. “I know that you like him, Noa,” she continues. “But you musn’t trust too much, or let yourself be fooled.” I can tell from the way she speaks that she thinks I am innocent and naive. “Never assume that you know the mind of another. I don’t.”

  “Even Peter?” I ask.

  “Especially him,” she says sharply. She clears her throat. “This nonsense with you and the boy, it will end of course when we go in a few days.” Luc’s promises to find me in the next village seem too silly to share. “No man is worth the whole world,” she adds.

  “I know,” I say, memories of the German looming large in my mind. He had taken everything from me, my honor, my family. Of course Astrid doesn’t know this. My guilt looms like a shadow. Astrid has given us so much. And still I am living the lie I told when I first arrived and did not know if I could trust her.

  Astrid leans back against the berth, still holding Theo. Neither of us speaks further. The floor of the train grows cold and hard beneath me, but I don’t want to move. The shadows grow long between us. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I dream that I’m outside in the darkness, the same bitter cold as the night I’d taken Theo and left. He is not an infant this time, though, but a toddler of almost two, older and heavier. The ground is icy beneath my feet and the biting wind fights me every step. There is a bundle on the ground, dark amid the whiteness of the earth. I stop to examine it. Another child. I pick it up but as I do, Theo falls from my arms. Desperately I dig through the snow, trying to find him. But he is lost.

  I awake in a sweat, cursing myself for sleeping. Astrid sits awake, staring out the window in the distance. Behind her the sky is a lighter gray, signaling that it is almost dawn. She is still holding Theo, who is completely still. I leap to my feet and wait for Astrid to protest as I move closer, but she does not. “His fever has broken,” she says instead. Theo has a faint rash on his skin, but otherwise he is fine, his skin cool. My eyes burn with relief. The blanket swaddling him is drenched in sweat. He half opens his eyes and smiles faintly at me.

  “You should still be careful not to get sick,” Astrid admonishes and I brace myself for her to make me leave once more. Instead, she walks to the far end of the carriage, still holding Theo. I fight the urge to follow as she confers with Berta, who has risen and is feeding one of the other patients. A moment later she returns with a baby bottle. “Let me see if I can get him to drink a bit.” He sucks weakly at the bottle, then drifts back to sleep.

  Astrid moves to set the bott
le down. The color drains from her face suddenly and she starts to double over, seemingly sickened. “Here,” she says, seeming to forget her own caution as she hands Theo to me. I draw his warmth close gratefully. Astrid sinks limply to one of the berths.

  “Are you feeling sick?” I pray that she has not caught Theo’s virus.

  “No.” Her tone is certain. But her forehead and upper lip are damp with sweat.

  “Then what...?” My concern grows. She has seemed more tired than usual lately, and she has been so very terse. There is something familiar, too, about the grayness of her face. “Astrid, are you...?” I hesitate, not wanting to finish the question for fear of offending her if I am wrong. “Are you expecting?” I ask, but she does not answer. “You are, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes widen as she realizes I have guessed her secret. Her hand rises to her stomach instinctively, a gesture I recognize from my earlier self. “Oh!” I exclaim and suddenly it is a year ago, the realization of my own missed periods and what it all meant coming back like it happened yesterday.

  Should I offer congratulations? I proceed carefully, as though approaching a snake. There was a time not so very long ago when a child had not been happy news for me—it had been pure dread. I don’t know how Astrid feels. Watching her with Theo, I’ve long suspected how very much she wanted a child. She is older, though, and a Jew... Does she want one now? I search her face for cues as to how I should react.

  It is racked with self-doubt. There is so much I want to say to comfort her. I move closer, put my arm around her. “You will be a wonderful mother. A child is a blessing.”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” she replies. “Having a child now is just so hard.”

  “I understand,” I say too quickly.

  Her brow wrinkles. “How can you possibly? I mean, I know you care for Theo, but that is hardly the same.”

  No, it isn’t, I agree silently. I love Theo as my own, but having him can never replace that feeling of holding my child in my arms for the first time. But she doesn’t know this. And she cannot really know me or understand what I am saying because of my secret. I should tell her. How can I possibly, though? The one thing that makes me who I am will surely make Astrid hate me—and want to be done with me for good.

  The need to tell her wells up in me once more, too powerful to ignore. I can’t hold back any longer. “Astrid, I need to tell you something. Remember when I told you about my working at the train station?”

  She nods. “Yes, after you left your family.”

  “I didn’t really explain why I had to leave.”

  “You said your father was unkind.” Her voice is uneasy.

  “It was more than that.” I tell her then in my own words everything about the soldier and the baby whom I bore by him without trying to justify what I had done, the way I should have months earlier.

  When I finish, I hold my breath, waiting for Astrid to tell me it is all right. But she does not. Her face is a thundercloud.

  “You slept with a Nazi,” she says darkly. Though it had all happened so long before I had met her, my actions still seem a betrayal. It hadn’t been like that, though. To me, love had been love (or what I supposed love felt like) and I hadn’t understood that there were other things. I wait for her to scream at me, ask how I could have done it. Looking back, I’m not sure myself—but it had felt so natural at the time.

  “I did,” I say finally. “Erich was a Nazi, too,” I add. Even as the words come out, I know I have overstepped.

  “That was different.” Her eyes blaze. “He was my husband. And it was before.” Before the war had changed everyone, and forced us to choose sides. “You got pregnant. That’s why your family kicked you out.”

  “Yes, I had no choice but to go to the girls’ home in Bensheim. I thought they would help me. Instead they took my child.” My voice breaks as I say this last bit—the first time I have spoken it aloud to anyone.

  Her brows draw close. “Who did?”

  “The doctor and nurse at the girls’ home. At first they told me that he would be placed with the Lebensborn program, but his hair and eyes were so dark...” I trail off. “I don’t know where they took him. I wanted to keep him, but they wouldn’t let me. Someday I will find him,” I vow. I expect her to laugh or mock my dream, or at least tell me it is impossible.

  But she nods grimly. “You mustn’t lose hope. There could well be records.”

  “I wanted to tell you.” Instead, I had been too cowardly.

  “And the mayor’s son, does he know?”

  I shake my head. “No one else knows. Only you.”

  She stares at me. Several seconds of silence pass between us. Will she order me to leave the circus? It is the worst possible timing, of course; Theo is too sick to travel and I won’t go without him. “Are you mad?” I ask finally.

  “I want to be. But it isn’t my place. You made a mistake, as we all do. And you paid dearly for it.” My shoulders slump with relief. She has forgiven me.

  My worries bubble up again. “Just one more thing,” I say, and she braces, as though I’m about to reveal another secret, even worse. “You won’t tell the others, will you?”

  “No. They cannot know,” she agrees. “Others might not be so understanding. No more secrets, though.”

  I nod gratefully. “Agreed.”

  “But Noa,” Astrid says, “you need to stop seeing him. I understand the mistake you made in the past. You were young and you could not help it. This thing with the mayor’s son is different, though. Surely you can see the danger you are bringing to Theo and to all of us.”

  I open my mouth to protest. I want to tell her again that Luc is nothing at all like his father. But outsiders spell danger for Astrid and the others at the circus. She has forgiven my awful truth about the German. Giving up Luc is the price I am to pay in exchange.

  Astrid is watching me closely, waiting for my answer. “All right,” I manage at last. I scarcely know Luc, but the notion of giving him up hurts more than it should.

  “Promise?” she presses, still not satisfied.

  “I swear it,” I say solemnly, though the idea of never seeing Luc again makes my insides ache.

  “Good,” she says, seeming satisfied. “We should head back to the sleeper.”

  “What about Theo?”

  She looks toward Berta, who nods. “Now that his fever has broken, he’s well enough to go back.” Astrid stands and starts in the direction of the sleeper car. Then she stops and turns back, her face falling. “My body...” she frets, referring once more to her pregnancy. “If I can no longer fly...” It is not vanity. Performing is her means of survival and she worries that the baby will change all that.

  “My body bounced right back after I had the baby.” How strange it feels to be able to say that openly, at least to her. “Yours will, too.” I take her arm. “Come, you must be exhausted. How long have you known, anyway?” I ask in a low voice as we move through the dark, still corridor.

  “Just a few days. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” she adds. I nod, trying not to feel hurt. “It was just hard to accept myself, much less tell anyone else.”

  “I understand,” I reply, meaning it. “Does Peter know?”

  She nods. “Only him. Please, you mustn’t tell anyone,” she begs, trusting me now to keep her secret where before I had not. I nod. I would sooner die than tell.

  “Having a child,” she says, “it’s terrifying.”

  “How far along are you?” I fear I am asking her too many questions, but I cannot help it.

  “About two months.”

  I count on my fingers. “We will be back in the winter quarters with plenty of time.” She is silent, and a puzzled look crosses her face. “You are going back, aren’t you?” I ask.

  “Peter doesn’t want
us to,” she replies. I am surprised. It is hard to imagine Astrid and Peter anywhere but the circus. Luc had spoken of leaving, too, but of course the notion of going with a boy I had just met was a fantasy. “I’ll go back, though. What other choice do I have? Darmstadt has been my family’s home for centuries.” Other than Berlin, it was all she had known. “But you could leave, you know. Get out before we go back.”

  I am unsure how to respond. I had never planned to belong to this misfit group with their odd life. Leaving the circus and fleeing with Theo had always been my goal. I did not have to stay—I was not a prisoner or fugitive. I could thank Herr Neuhoff and pick up Theo and go.

  But it is more than just the shelter that keeps me here. Astrid cares for us. She is more family than my own parents had ever been. And I feel part of the circus, as surely as if I had been born here. I am not ready to go—not yet.

  “No,” I reply. “Whatever happens now, I am with you.”

  At least for now.

  16

  Astrid

  A buzz runs through the train car late Sunday afternoon as we wash our costumes and prepare for the following day. Herr Neuhoff has called a meeting in thirty minutes. The girls around me whisper nervously. What could he possibly want or have to tell us? Though I do not join in their chatter, my stomach tingles with unease. Herr Neuhoff is not one for large gatherings, preferring instead to speak with each performer or laborer individually as needed. These days, the unexpected can only mean trouble.

  Noa picks up Theo from the berth and studies his face uneasily. It has been a week since the night he fell ill. The fever had not come back and he looks so healthy I sometimes wonder if the whole thing was a bad dream.

  I start to walk from the train car, avoiding the sight of myself in the mirror as I pass. They say there are women who look beautiful in pregnancy and perhaps that is true. I’ve never seen one. The circus women grow fat like cows, sitting around, unable to perform. Their bodies do not quite come back to what they had been. My figure is only slightly changed, the faintest of bumps if one looks closely. But it is just a matter of time.