Saving Hanno

by Miriam Halahmy

  Copyright © 2019 by Miriam Halahmy

  All Rights Reserved

  HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  Printed and bound in February 2019 at Maple Press, York, PA, USA.

  www.holidayhouse.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Halahmy, Miriam, author.

  Title: Saving Hanno / Miriam Halahmy.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Holiday House, [2019] | Summary: Nine-year-old Rudi and his beloved daschhund, Hanno, face peril as they are being sent from Nazi Germany to England on the special trains called Kindertransports during World War II. Includes historical note.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018023303 | ISBN 9780823441655 (hardcover)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Refugees—Fiction. | Dachshunds—Fiction. | Dogs—Fiction. Kindertransports (Rescue operations)—Fiction. | Jews—Germany—

  History—1933–1945—Fiction. | World War, 1939–1945—Refugees—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.H12825 Sav 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018023303

  Ebook ISBN 9780823442188

  v5.4

  a

  For Samuel

  with love

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1. A New Teacher

  2. No More School

  3. Pioneers

  4. The Journey to England

  5. My First Week

  6. My New School

  7. Hanno Comes Home

  8. Sausages and Campfires

  9. A Deep, Dark Hole

  10. Saving Hanno Again

  11. A Silver Shilling

  12. Leaving Home Again

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  “I wish school would burn down. Don’t you, Rudi?” says Emil, my best friend, his leather bag bumping on his back. “Why didn’t that mob set fire to it when they burned the synagogue?”

  It’s more than a week since anyone went to school. This has been so boring for a boy like me.

  Eleven days ago, Nazi gangs ran down our street and all over town, smashing windows and setting fires and other bad stuff. It was very scary even though I wasn’t allowed to look through the curtains and see anything.

  Mutti wouldn’t let me go out for days. My older sister, Lotte, was allowed out a bit, of course; she’s fifteen. No one told me anything about what had happened.

  They just kept saying, “Don’t worry, Rudi, it’s all fine.”

  But Mutti has two deep lines across her forehead now, and she looks nervous all the time. She watches the clock all day when Papa’s out at work.

  Papa is a newspaper journalist and Mutti told him, “Be careful what you write; don’t give them any reason.”

  When I asked, “Any reason for what?” no one answered me.

  It’s not fair.

  It’s been horrible being stuck at home for so long.

  We have a second-floor apartment with three bedrooms and a big living room facing the street. Papa has a little study next to the bathroom, and the kitchen looks out over the back and more apartment buildings. My bedroom faces the street too and I like playing with my toys in there. But when you’re indoors all the time, you feel sort of squashed up and everyone gets bad-tempered.

  At least I had Hanno to play with. He’s my little dachshund, and he’s the best dog in the whole wide world. I’ve had him since he was a puppy. He’s two years and one month old now. He goes everywhere with me, except school, of course.

  Hanno’s coat is very smooth and a sort of chocolate brown. His ears feel like the velvet on Mutti’s best dress. His legs are quite short, but he can walk and run long distances—all the way to the park and even as far as Emil’s apartment, which is near the main square.

  Hanno is very clever. I’ve been training him to do tricks. He can almost count to three now, I think. His best trick is collecting the letters. He sits on the mat at the front door and as soon as a letter drops through, he picks it up in his mouth and carries it to me. He hardly ever gets it wet or chews up the corners.

  When I stare into Hanno’s brown eyes he stares back without blinking, and I’m pretty sure he can read my mind. Emil and I tried an experiment once.

  I thought and thought about cinnamon cookies—Hanno’s favorite, Mutti makes a ton every week—and Hanno ran into the kitchen and pointed his long brown nose up toward the cookie tin, barking like a lunatic.

  “See?” I said to Emil.

  “Amazing,” said Emil, with his wide grin.

  “If school burned down, what would we do all day?” I say now as we walk on the road that runs by the river.

  Our city’s called Frankfurt am Main because it’s on the River Main. It’s quite a lot to spell out. I could do it by the time I was five, but Emil still can’t even spell Frankfurt and we’re nearly nine now. That’s why Emil hates school.

  “’S’easy,” he declares. “We’d play all day in the park with Hanno. Race you!”

  Emil’s taller than me and he can run like the wind. I follow, my schoolbag bumping on my back, and arrive puffing behind him at the school gates.

  But then my stomach does a flip. Konrad Müller is there with his gang. They’re much bigger than us, and they’re all Hitler Youth. Jews can’t join the Hitler Youth, which is a bit unfair because they have a uniform and go camping and everything. They bully Emil and me and the other Jewish kids.

  “Germany has changed,” Papa says every day, tapping the newspaper, his hand running back through his dark, wavy hair. “Hitler’s made this country stink.”

  “Then let’s go to Palestine!” cries out Lotte, her brown eyes flashing.

  We all have brown eyes and olive skin that tans deep brown in summer. My dark brown hair is wavy like Papa’s, but Lotte and Mutti have straight brown hair. We’re all quite short, not like Emil’s family.

  Lotte’s in her own youth group. They used to go camping too. They want to build a Jewish homeland but they had to stop meeting ages ago. Lotte came home in an awful temper one day and yelled, “We’re banned! Can you believe it?”

  She still sees some of her friends from the group, and when she comes home she talks nonstop about going to Palestine.

  Papa says, “Be quiet, please, Lotte. Germany is our homeland and that’s that.”

  “Push off, Jewboy!” snarls Konrad now, and punches Emil in the stomach.

  Emil doubles over, groaning.

  The gang crowds around and starts to chant, “Fight! Fight!”

  I open my mouth to stick up for Emil but nothing comes out.

  Emil straightens and puts up his fists, but his face, usually dark like mine, has gone as white as the ice on the river.

  Konrad lets out a nasty laugh and his gang shouts even louder.

  Then a whistle goes and I see our teacher, Fräulein Becker, striding across the playground, blond hair in two braids swinging around her face, cheeks red from blowing so hard on her whistle.

  My legs go weak with relief.

  “Time for class. Go inside, please, boys. Emil, Rudi.” Fräulein Becker points to us. “Walk beside me. I need you to carry some books from the office.”

  Phew! Saved from the Hitler gang again.

  Emil gives me a grin behind Fräulein Becker’s back, but I frown at him.

  Why can’t he keep clear of trouble, like Hanno and I? If I see Hitl
er Youth I duck down a street or hide behind the garbage cans until they’ve gone. Hanno knows when to keep quiet, but he’s really brave. He’d never run off and leave me, no matter how scary things were. Hanno and I are a team and we look out for each other.

  Fräulein Becker piles our arms with books, and we follow her into class.

  It’s silent in the room, which is strange because usually everyone’s calling out and tossing things to each other. Even stranger, Konrad and his gang are sitting in the front row, arms folded neatly on their desks, looking up at a teacher I don’t recognize. The teacher has very pale skin, a bit like Konrad and his gang, and he’s wearing an armband with a swastika on it.

  Uh-oh! I think. He’s a Nazi.

  Emil and I dump the books onto the teacher’s desk, and then the man with the swastika swipes at our bare legs with a ruler. We yelp—it really hurts—and Konrad lets out a snort of laughter.

  “You Jewish boys!” shouts the teacher.

  He points to the yellow stars sewn on our jackets. All Jews have to wear them now—Lotte says it’s utterly despicable.

  “Get to the back row and I don’t want to hear or smell you again today.”

  I look over my shoulder at Fräulein Becker. Her face has gone very white. I can see she’s feeling upset too. Fräulein Becker doesn’t mind that we’re Jewish.

  Emil tugs my arm and pulls me to the back row. When we sit down I throw him a worried glance. But nothing gets Emil down for long. He gives me a long, slow wink.

  Great! Emil always has a plan. I can’t wait for recess.

  It’s the worst morning in class ever. I put my hand up to answer every single question, and the Nazi teacher never asks me once. Fräulein Becker is called away, otherwise I’m sure she would have said something. Emil keeps shaking his head at me and yawning as if to say, Why bother?

  But I always put my hand up!

  The teacher keeps asking Konrad and his gang, but they don’t get one single answer right. The questions aren’t even that hard.

  What year did Hitler come to power?

  1933. Easy.

  What is the capital of Poland?

  Warsaw! I want to shout, but Emil frowns at me and mouths, Keep your head down.

  Finally, it’s lunchtime, and everyone goes out. Emil holds me back so we won’t get trampled on. Then we run out the door while the Nazi teacher is cleaning the board.

  “Let’s go!” hisses Emil, pushing me toward the school gate.

  “What? Skip school?” I hiss back, eyes wide with horror.

  “Call this school?” sneers Emil, waving his arm around. “This is a Hitler Youth camp now, and they don’t want boys like us.”

  Across the playground I can see Jewish kids huddled together, trying to look invisible. The other kids are roaring around, kicking balls, and yelling rude things like “Stupid Jews!”

  “But Papa would be furious if—”

  “Don’t tell him,” says Emil.

  And suddenly I think, Why not? I can’t stand the thought of afternoon class after this horrible morning.

  “Where will we go?”

  “The park!” shouts Emil. “Race you!”

  He shoots off through the gates, and I run after him, terrified of being left alone in the Nazi school. We run all the way to the park by the river. The linden trees that line the bank are stripped of their leaves now that it’s November. They look very solemn, their branches reaching up to the cloudy sky.

  Will I get into trouble? I wonder. But if Fräulein Becker isn’t going to teach us anymore and the Nazis have taken over, school will never be the same for Emil and I again, will it?

  Then I trip over a root and scrape my knee.

  “Come on, let’s get you up,” comes Emil’s cheery voice as he helps me over to a bench.

  We sit down, and I look at my watch. It’s after two and everyone else will be back in class.

  Monday afternoon. Usually we do painting, and then Fräulein Becker reads to us. We’re halfway through Peter Pan, and I’ve been looking forward to the next chapter.

  “Do you think the new teacher will read to the class?” I ask Emil.

  “No chance,” he says. Then he sticks his arm in the air like a Nazi and squawks, “You will copy out Hitler’s speeches all afternoon!”

  We’re laughing so much we nearly fall off the bench, so we don’t see an old man coming up to us.

  “You Jews!” he barks. “Get off this bench. Only Germans sit on the benches.”

  The man’s face is red with fury, and he’s pointing at the yellow stars on our jackets.

  I start to apologize but Emil pulls me to my feet, pokes out his tongue, and yells, “Can’t catch us, stupid old man! Come on, Rudi!”

  We run and run until I can’t catch my breath anymore.

  Then we slow down and walk to my apartment building.

  I’m about to say goodbye when Emil grabs my arm, and looking straight into my eyes, he says, “Whatever happens in Germany, Rudi, you will always be my absolute best friend.”

  His face, usually grinning or screwed up to make us all laugh, is more serious than I’ve ever seen it before.

  “Of course,” I say.

  Emil gives me a nod and then his face relaxes into his wide grin. “See you!” he says.

  As he races off, I call out, “Not if I see you first!”

  I go down the path, in through the main door, and run up two flights of stairs to our apartment. Then I open the front door with my key. I can hear Papa, Mutti, and Lotte arguing in the kitchen.

  Hanno comes down the corridor and throws himself at me. As I pick him up I whisper, “Why is everyone home in the afternoon?”

  Hanno gives my cheek a thoughtful lick as if to say, No idea, Rudi.

  I carry him down the hallway and into the kitchen.

  Everyone stops talking midsentence and then Papa says, “Why aren’t you at school, Rudi?”

  I don’t say anything for a minute, and we all stare at each other.

  But I can read their minds, can’t I?

  They’re thinking what I’m thinking.

  Everything’s changing for the Jews, and what on earth are we going to do?

  “Rudi?” says Papa.

  Then I tell him about the Nazi teacher and how school is all Hitler Youth now, and Emil and I ran away.

  All Papa does is nod and ruffle my hair.

  So, no more school.

  Is that forever?

  It’s my birthday in three weeks and four days. Emil’s one week older than me, and we’ll be nine.

  All our friends came to my party last year and Papa showed a film because Jews aren’t allowed to go to the cinema anymore in Germany. The film was Tarzan Escapes, and it was great. My Zayde Karl was still alive then and he loved the film too. But then he died and now me and Lotte don’t have any grandparents anymore. Not like Emil, who still has two zaydes and they both give him extra pocket money every week.

  After the party, Emil and I played Tarzan all the time. We’d go down to the river and try to swing through the trees, hollering away like Tarzan. We pretended Hanno was Tarzan’s chimpanzee friend. He was quite good at joining in, scrabbling up at the trunks of trees and barking.

  Tarzan isn’t afraid of anything. He’s a superhero and that’s exactly what we need in Germany, isn’t it? Of course, the Nazis think that Hitler is their superhero, but he’s more like the archvillain to us Jews.

  Things are getting worse. I haven’t been back to school since Emil and I ran away from the Nazi teacher last November. Lotte doesn’t go to school anymore either, so we’re both at home all day. She studies every morning and Papa keeps telling her how well she’s doing. But I find it so boring doing math and other lessons by myself, and there’s no one to play with anymore.

  Emil disappeared ju
st before the end of December. Papa said he and his family have emigrated to Canada. So we’ve all lost our friends. Mutti and Papa used to see Emil’s parents all the time.

  Lots of Jews we know are leaving Germany. Mutti’s two cousins and their families went to America last year. Their kids always came to my birthday parties. Papa had an older brother, my Uncle Siggi, but he was killed in the Great War. So our family is just us four these days and now with Emil gone too, who will be left to come to my party? If I’m even allowed to have one this year.

  Jews aren’t allowed to do anything anymore. We can’t go to school or the swimming pool. Jews are only allowed to go to the shops for one hour each evening, so the lines are really long. By the time Mutti gets to the counter all the good stuff has gone. I miss chocolate and fresh bread and butter and I can’t have my usual big pile of potatoes at dinnertime. Mutti never makes cinnamon cookies anymore. She can’t get butter and eggs. My stomach rumbles and so does Hanno’s. He’s on short rations too.

  Lotte’s in a rotten mood almost all the time. I have to stay out of her way, which is quite difficult in our apartment. I wish we lived in a castle with battlements and a dungeon. Then Hanno and I would have loads of places to disappear to when everyone’s in a bad mood.

  I don’t dare even take Hanno out for walks in case someone snatches him. Jews get all sorts of things taken away now. I don’t know what I’d do if someone stole my little dog.

  I miss Emil and all my friends at school, and Fräulein Becker. One good thing, Mutti managed to borrow a copy of Peter Pan from the neighbor, so at least I know how it ends. If Emil was here we could pretend to be Lost Boys and Hanno would be Nana, the dog who looks after Wendy and her brothers.

  Every day I practice on Papa’s bugle. He brought it home from the Great War and he’s teaching me how to play. Bugles only have six notes, so you can’t do lots of tunes. I’m learning the call to charge, which is really exciting but very fast. Papa can play it really well. I need loads of practice but Lotte screams at me after just a few minutes. She’s so annoying.