Saving Hanno

by Miriam Halahmy

  Papa was an officer in the trenches and he says that Hitler won’t turn against all those brave Jewish German soldiers who fought for the Fatherland in the last war.

  “Of course he won’t,” I say, nodding hard.

  But Lotte gives a rude snort, and then Mutti tuts at her and frowns.

  Papa’s bugle has some dents in it from the war and a Prussian eagle like a crest on it. He says that when the bugle was blown all the soldiers went over the top into battle. But then he goes quiet and his eyes seem to be looking into the distance, as though he is thinking about the war again.

  I pick up a little cloth then and start polishing so that the bugle shines and Papa can see I’m taking care of it.

  “You’re a good boy, Rudi,” he says, and he pats my head.

  But I can’t play my bugle and read my books all day. Time goes so slowly. I wish something exciting would happen.

  I keep hoping Emil will write to me. Hanno waits for letters every single day but nothing comes. Papa lost his job at the newspaper ages ago and he looks bored all the time too. He listens to the radio a lot with a frown on his face. There’s only one station. It plays marching music or Hitler shouting about Jews and war and other crazy stuff.

  I don’t like Hitler’s voice. It sounds like a wolf snarling at my heels, trying to bite me. I cover Hanno’s ears so he doesn’t get scared.

  Lotte spends a lot of time in her room writing in her stupid diary. If I knock on her door and ask if she wants to play cards she shouts, “Go away, pest!”

  She’s always giving big sighs at the dinner table and moaning about her friends. “Can’t I just run around to Anna’s apartment, or even Hans’s? He’s close by,” she says, but Mutti tuts and Papa shakes his head.

  “It’s so unfair,” Lotte says in a sulky voice.

  I don’t say anything. There’s no point.

  Lotte’s very clever. She reads long books and talks about science with Papa. She’s always been at the top of her class and wants to be a doctor when she grows up.

  “If we go to Palestine, I can start medical training as soon as I’m eighteen,” she said to Papa last night, in her best wheedling voice.

  That’s years to go. Lotte’s not sixteen until September.

  Papa just shrugged as usual and Mutti stared down at some socks she was mending.

  “How would we get to Palestine when we can’t even go shopping?” I asked.

  But no one answers my questions anymore.

  When I grow up I want to be an explorer and go to the jungle to see if I can find the real Tarzan. Hanno wants to come too, and he can sniff out the right path. Maybe Emil would fly over from Canada and join us.

  Today’s Friday, and Sabbath starts when it gets dark. I help Mutti make the challah after lunch. Once the dough has risen, I roll out three long pieces and Mutti braids them.

  “This is how we tie everything together at the end of the week, Rudi,” she says as she works. “We put our worries and cares aside until Saturday night.”

  She smiles at me, but she looks even more worried today. I’m not sure whether anyone in our house is putting their worries aside. Even Hanno often gives a worried whine and looks around as if asking, Why don’t we go out anymore?

  As it grows dark, we all gather around the kitchen table. The lights are turned off except for a corner lamp, and Mutti lights the Sabbath candles. As she says the prayer in Hebrew I look over at Lotte, the candlelight gleaming in her eyes. Usually she ignores me but tonight she stares back.

  I give her a little frown as if to say, What’s up?

  She shakes her head slightly, but she doesn’t look away. That is very odd.

  We have a sip of wine and a piece of challah sprinkled with salt and then Mutti dishes up soup. Looks and glances are exchanged over my head.

  I’m about to ask What’s going on? when Papa starts to speak.

  “Germany has changed under the Nazis, and it’s no place for Jewish children anymore,” he says, and takes a mouthful of soup.

  A tear trickles out of Mutti’s eye and rolls down her cheek.

  I stare at Lotte, but she looks down at her plate.

  Hanno stirs in his basket in the corner of the kitchen and gives a little whimper. Usually we laugh and joke when Hanno whimpers, but today no one says anything.

  “We have made a decision,” Papa goes on.

  He looks straight at me, and a shiver goes down my spine. I want to go and pick Hanno up and feel his warm body against my chest, but I don’t dare move; Papa looks so serious.

  “We have decided to send you, Rudi, with your sister to England,” Papa continues. “You have places on a train next Tuesday morning.”

  “But…but…” I don’t know what to say. Go away from home? Are they crazy? “What about you and Mutti? I don’t want to leave home,” I blurt out. “I don’t speak any English and Lotte will be mean to me—”

  Papa puts his hand up, and his face is so stern that I stop.

  “Listen, Rudi,” he says. “You have to do what I say. Mutti and I know what is best for you right now. All the Jewish children are being sent away. You’re not the only one. Lotte will be very kind and helpful to you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll look after you,” mutters Lotte.

  Well, that’ll be a first, I think. She never has any time for me.

  No one says anything. They’re all looking down at their plates. They must have talked about this behind my back, I decide. They’re always hiding stuff from me.

  I need Hanno, I think. Getting down, I pick up my little dog and sit at my place again, clutching him to me, staring around at everyone. Hanno is never ever allowed at the table but no one says anything, which is even more scary, to be honest.

  “Hanno and I will have to think about it,” I say in a growly voice, stroking Hanno’s silky ears.

  Papa and Mutti exchange looks and Lotte stares at me, her eyes wide as if she wants me to read her mind or something.

  Then Papa says the most awful words in the world. “No, Rudi, I’m sorry, you can’t take Hanno on the train.”

  “What!” I almost scream out. “I’m not going away from home without Hanno, not ever, absolutely not!”

  “My darling Rudi,” says Mutti, her bottom lip trembling. “We have to put you children first. It would just be too dangerous. The soldiers might…they might be very unkind to you with a dog.”

  I open my mouth to talk back, but Papa puts up his hand and with another very stern look says, “These are terrible times. Hanno stays here.”

  Tears start to trickle down my face and so Papa says in a nicer voice, “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of Hanno. He’ll be quite safe.”

  “Listen to Papa,” says Lotte. “Everyone I know says the same now. We have to leave Germany.” Her voice drops away, and tears well in her eyes too.

  Mutti’s eyes are streaming and she keeps wiping them on her apron.

  Then Papa says in a brighter voice, “Look, Rudi, you’re always saying how bored you are stuck at home now. This will be a great adventure.”

  “Huge adventure,” puts in Mutti in a shaky voice.

  “You’re going to be our pioneers, going ahead and finding out everything about England before we arrive,” says Papa.

  “Pioneers,” repeats Mutti, with a nod.

  “Who will I live with?” I ask in a small voice, although I have to admit I rather like the idea of being a pioneer.

  “Good people,” says Papa. “We’ve been in touch with them by letter. Their names are Herr and Frau Evans. They live in London and they have offered to look after you until we arrive. They know how badly Hitler and the Nazis are treating the Jews. They want to help us, and we are very grateful.”

  “But they’re strangers,” I say. “Do they speak German? What if their children don’t like me?” A millio
n questions go through my head. At the bottom of it I feel so scared.

  Mutti wipes her eyes again and says, “They don’t have children, Rudi, so they’ll spoil you. I’m sure you’ll feel at home quite quickly.”

  I bury my face in Hanno’s fur, and then I look up and say, “What about Lotte? Will she live with me, too?” Even though Lotte can be a bit mean as a big sister, I don’t want to go and live with strangers without her.

  “We’ll see when you get there,” says Papa. Then he wags a finger at me. “We expect you to behave like a good Jewish boy, so we can be proud of you. Mutti and I have to sort out our papers. Then we’ll come over very quickly.”

  The talk turns to packing and I go off to my room with Hanno. My heart feels as heavy as a stone as I watch him turn around and around on my bed like he always does, making himself comfortable. He finally settles down, curled up, nose on his legs as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. At least my little dog doesn’t know what’s coming, I think, but I don’t feel even a tiny bit better.

  What’s the point of being a pioneer without Hanno? But then I spot a notebook and pencil I’ve been saving on my bedside table for writing to Emil if he ever sends me his address.

  “I suppose we could make some notes,” I say to Hanno. I bend my head down so that Hanno and I are touching noses. “A pioneer should write down everything useful to help Mutti and Papa when they arrive in England.”

  Hanno gives a little bark and puts his paw on the clean page. It leaves a gray print.

  “Great start,” I say, and I write:

  Hanno’s paw print today.

  We are pioneers.

  No more Hitler Youth.

  It’s been awful since last Friday night. Every day I beg Papa to let me bring Hanno to England. I have all sorts of really good suggestions, like making a false bottom in my suitcase and hiding him there, or an extra pocket on the inside of my coat.

  “He’s only a little dog. I promise he’ll be absolutely silent,” I keep saying.

  But everyone just says no.

  On Saturday morning I jammed my bedroom door with a chair and refused to come out until they let me take Hanno. But Papa managed to push the door open and ordered me down to lunch.

  “I’m on hunger strike,” I told them.

  “Well, that’s no problem,” snapped Lotte. “There’s not much to eat these days.”

  She’s right, of course, as usual. Mutti still manages to make delicious food but it’s mainly soup with a slice or two of bread.

  I glared back at Lotte and pressed my lips together, folding my arms tightly across my chest.

  Only, when Mutti’s soup came I couldn’t keep it up. I was so hungry. I ate everything, but I was very rude, making loud slurping sounds and spitting out green beans, which I hate. I didn’t seem to get into any trouble, which felt so strange.

  When I wake up in the morning it’s as if some great black cloud is hanging over my room. Hanno’s nose is on my legs. I just can’t believe that in a few hours I’ll be on a train to England without him.

  Then I hear someone banging on the front door and voices in the hall downstairs.

  “Rudi! Come down, quick!” Mutti calls up.

  Why should I? I think, pulling Hanno under the covers with me.

  “Come on, Rudi!” It’s Lotte, leaning in my doorway, with a grin on her face. “Good news for you.”

  I’ll bet, I think, but I have to admit I’m curious now.

  I pick Hanno up and we go downstairs.

  Papa is beaming at me and patting a youngish-looking man on the back.

  “This is Dieter, a friend of a friend from my old job. He’s offered to take Hanno to England for you,” says Papa. “Dieter’s not Jewish.” He gives Dieter a kind smile. “So the soldiers won’t stop him. Hanno will go into quarantine for six months to make sure he doesn’t have any diseases, and then he’ll come out and live with you again.”

  I stare and stare at Dieter, who has very short blond hair and gray eyes that sort of twinkle at me.

  “You can trust me, Rudi. I love dogs,” says Dieter. “But I have to take him right now.”

  And that’s it. In a second, with hardly time for a kiss goodbye, my little dog has disappeared. I’ll be nearly ten when I see him again, if I ever do. What if he forgets me?

  After that there’s no time to think about anything. We have to get to the train and Mutti makes us wear everything we can put on. Soon I’m weighed down with three sweaters and a coat two sizes too big. Mutti says I’ll grow into it.

  Don’t they have clothes in England?

  At least I can hide things under all those layers. I stuff my notebook up the sleeve of one of my sweaters and at the last minute I grab Papa’s bugle. I really need something special from home. You can’t see it under this stupid coat. I wish I could have hidden Hanno there too.

  When will I see home again, and how will Hanno find where I’m living in England? I wonder as Lotte and I walk with Mutti and Papa to the station. It’s a sunny morning and the leaves on the linden trees are beginning to bud. Normally I’d run down the street, but today I have far too many clothes on. I can hardly walk.

  The station is crazy; hundreds of families are crying and hugging each other. The parents aren’t allowed onto the platform, so we have to say our goodbyes at the barrier. Mutti and Papa kiss me and Lotte, and then we walk away, holding hands.

  “Goodbye, my darlings, goodbye,” I hear Mutti call over and over until her voice is swallowed by the noise.

  My eyes fill with tears, but Lotte squeezes my hand and whispers, “Think about seeing Hanno.”

  That helps a bit.

  We get into a carriage near the front. It’s so crammed with kids I have to sit on Lotte’s lap, which makes me feel really babyish.

  It takes ages before the train leaves, and Lotte whispers, “What if they don’t let us leave?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” I whisper back.

  Lotte is staring out the window at a Nazi soldier with a rifle. He catches her eye and suddenly he points the barrel straight at our window and pretends to pull the trigger.

  Lotte’s mouth falls open into a big round O and the soldier throws his head back, laughing.

  “I hate the Nazis,” I whisper. “I hope they all drown like the Egyptians in the Red Sea.”

  That makes Lotte grin and I feel better. At least when I get to England I’ll be in the same country as Hanno again, I think. I still can hardly believe I won’t see my darling dog for six whole months.

  Finally, the train pulls out, but no one cheers because Nazi soldiers are patrolling the train. They come into our carriage and grab a suitcase and tip everything out onto the floor.

  There’s a tin whistle caught in a sock and a soldier grabs it and yells, “Everyone knows the rules! You were told to bring nothing except clothes. Who’s stealing from the Fatherland?”

  It’s only a whistle. I don’t think the Germans will starve without it.

  A boy in a brown jacket stands up and says, “Sorry, sir, it was a mistake.” He’s shaking like the branches on the linden trees in a storm.

  “You’re the mistake, Jewboy!” blasts the soldier. Then he picks up the boy’s things and throws them out the window.

  I can feel the bugle pressing onto my chest and my heart is thumping like a drum. If he searches me he might be so angry he’ll throw me out of the window, I think.

  But the soldier goes away.

  Imagine if I had brought Hanno, and he’d been discovered.

  My chest feels as though a tight band is wound around it, stopping me from breathing.

  Everyone in our car goes silent and pale with fear as we rattle on through wet fields.

  I think about seeing Hanno again. What if he only understands English when we get back together? He’ll probabl
y forget all the tricks I taught him.

  Lotte stares out of the window, and she looks very sad.

  I want to cheer her up so I whisper, “Pioneers, right?”

  She squeezes my knee, but she doesn’t smile.

  The train chugs on mile after mile, and I begin to feel hungry. But Lotte won’t let me eat the sandwiches Mutti made in case there’s no more food today. It’s so hot under all my layers of clothes, and my stomach won’t stop rumbling.

  Last night when we sat down to our very last dinner together, Papa said, “Remember you are Jewish, wherever you live or go to school—”

  “And don’t eat any sausages,” put in Mutti.

  “Why not?” I said.

  “In England all the sausages are pork,” muttered Lotte. “At least we don’t keep kosher.”

  Which is true. Papa always has black coffee after dinner because he doesn’t want to mix milk and meat, and Mutti never buys pork. But we’re not exactly religious Jews. Emil’s papa went to synagogue every Saturday morning. We only go on the High Holy Days: New Year and the Day of Atonement.

  But we all love Friday nights. Mutti lights the candles and says the Hebrew prayer. Then Papa chants the prayers over the bread and wine. We love hearing him sing. His voice is sort of quiet and deep at the same time.

  Papa went over all the prayers with us again last night.

  “So that you never forget them,” he said, with a stern look on his face.

  But what if I do forget? I couldn’t help thinking. Who will I ask in England? Mutti said Mr. and Mrs. Evans aren’t Jewish, so I can’t ask them, and what should I do if they make me eat pork? I could ask Lotte but she’d probably snap at me and call me a pest.