He awoke to the sensation of being lifted from the only solid thing in the universe.
“Aagh!” he screamed, kicking over the only solid thing in the universe—which turned out to be a chair.
“It’s okay!” yelled Stefan, fending off Adolf’s fist. “It’s just us!”
“I told you we shouldn’t have tried to carry him to bed without waking him up!” said Anna.
“I tried waking him up!”
“Sorry,” Adolf muttered, standing and working the kinks out of his back.
“Come on upstairs,” said Anna. “I’ll show you a more comfortable bed. Slightly more comfortable, anyway.”
Adolf stumbled after her as she led him up creaking stairs, devoid of carpet. The second floor contained several closed doors on either side of a hallway. Anna opened the last one on the left. The room was small and musty smelling. A small bed--the only furniture in the room--was covered with only a sheet. At least it was clean. Adolf took off his shoes and shirt, then stretched out, delighted to discover Anna was wrong. The bed was much more comfortable than the table.
The last thing he recalled was Anna dropping a blanket over him.
When Adolf awoke, he was alone in the dark. He sat up feeling stiff and hungry. His head ached fiercely, but at least, for once, he was well rested. He left the bed, feeling for a light switch along the wall. He found one, but nothing happened when he flipped it. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Adolf began to search for a bathroom. Stymied once again, he was about to get dressed when the door opened.
“Oh, good,” said Anna. “You’re awake.”
“How long--?”
“Almost fourteen hours. It’s just after five,”
“Morning or evening?”
Anna laughed. “The sun’s just coming up.” She set a bundle of clothes on the bed. “These are Stefan’s. They should fit you all right, except for the pants being too short, but no one will see you except us.”
“Are you sure? I’d think the appearance of a stranger among pariahs would attract a lot of attention.”
“They’ll just assume you’re another dispossessed wanderer looking for work and a meal. There’s an awful lot of them around these days. But if anyone does come by, don’t say anything. That cultured speech of yours would be a dead giveaway.” She gazed thoughtfully at Adolf. “We should give you a scar on your throat. You can pretend you’re mute.”
Adolf nodded absently, his attention focused on more pressing matters. “Is there a bathroom here?” he asked.
“Of course. In the yard out back. It’s the little building with the half moon on the door.”
Adolf laughed, embarrassed. Of course he should have realized that no family out of favor with the State would have running water. Still, he wasn’t used to thinking in those terms.
“Uh, how about aspirin?”
“I’ll make you some willow bark tea.” Anna left, and Adolf hurried downstairs and out the back door.
Returning to the farmhouse--at a much more relaxed pace--Adolf found Stefan sitting on the floor by the fireplace with Adolf’s valise laying open beside him, and the contents spread neatly before him.
“Can I help you find anything?” Adolf asked, trying not to sound angry.
Stefan looked like a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “Uh--sorry. I didn’t know how long you’d be asleep, and it’s been so long since I’ve had anything new to read--” He gestured helplessly at the papers on the floor.
“That’s all right,” said Adolf sitting beside Stefan. “After all, I brought them to share.”
“This is incredible!” Stefan held a stained and torn book of seventeenth century rabbinical teaching as if it were made of gold. He put it down carefully and picked up a fragment of someone’s diary. “I’ve never seen such a wealth of knowledge in one place; not even the Judenmuseum! You’ve got--what? At least three scholarly texts--”
“With pages missing,” Adolf pointed out.
“And a Torah--”
“Several of them. I think if you put the various pieces of them together, you get one complete one. I haven’t had time to try it yet.”
“And what are these?” Stefan reverently spread out notebooks with missing covers, and loose papers with writing in various languages scrawled across it. “Medical research notes; personal journals; plans for some kind of resistance movement--” He stared at Adolf as if he were an alchemist. “Your curator must think very highly of you, to trust you with treasure like this.”
“And here I just thought she wanted me to have something to read when I got bored,” Adolf said, scratching his neck where the course homespun shirt chaffed his skin.
“What do you say when you’re searched on the road?” asked Stefan. “Doesn’t it look rather odd for a penniless wanderer to be carrying this much reading material?”
“Not anymore,” said Adolf. “Paper’s in short supply. Recyclers are paying a penny a pound for any kind. I just tell the soldiers I’m on my way to sell it.”
“I didn’t know about the paper shortage,” said Stefan. Then, glancing worriedly at Adolf, “You wouldn’t really sell this for recycling, would you?”
Adolf sighed. “No. I--” He faltered, wanting to say that sometimes he blamed those books and stories for ruining his life. But how could he tell that to someone like Stefan? Someone who had lost as much as Adolf, yet still found the energy for enthusiasm and faith? “I wouldn’t. I just hope someday, these pages will mean something to more than just us.”
“They will,” said Stefan with a certainty Adolf envied.
“Speaking of earning your keep, you two--” They looked up to see Anna in the kitchen doorway. “Time’s a wasting. Get some food in ya’ and get to work. Adolf, you ready to learn to be a farmer?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” They went into the kitchen, and sat down at the table Adolf had fallen asleep on the day before.
Anna brought them plates of bread along with eggs scrambled with some of the excellent cheese she made.
“Drink this,” she said, handing Adolf a cup of steaming liquid. He took a careful sip, and nearly choked. It tasted awful. “Drink it,” she insisted. “It will help your headache. This is all you’ll be seeing in the way of medicine from now on. We don’t have Medical Priority Points, or a pharmacy down the street.”
Adolf shuddered, but drank the tea, trying not to think about what getting a serious illness would mean out here.
His mouth was full when he noticed Anna and Stefan’s mother--with clothes on, this time--peering at him from the doorway. He swallowed and tried to make some kind of polite greeting. The woman turned and ran, disappearing up the stairs.
“I’m sorry,” said Adolf. “I didn’t mean to scare her--”
“It’s not you,” said Stefan.
“She’s been like this since they took Father away,” said Anna.
“That must be difficult,” said Adolf, wiping up the last of the egg with his bread.
“Usually, it’s not a problem. She only has violent episodes about--”
“She’s not ever violent!” said Anna.
“All right: energetic episodes, like yesterday, every couple of months. The rest of the time, she just sits in her old rocking chair.”
“Or stays in bed.”
They were silent for a moment. Then, Stefan clapped Adolf on the shoulder. “Come on!” he said. “Let’s make a farmer out of you!”
Over the next twelve hours, Adolf learned more than he ever wanted to know about farming. He helped Stefan plow a field with an ill tempered ox, repaired a fence, weeded a garden patch that was mostly weeds to begin with and unsuccessfully chased after a chicken that escaped while Adolf was learning how to spread feed.
He returned to the house tired, sore, filthy, and dismayed by his performance.
“Don’t take it so hard,” Stefan said, clapping Adolf on the shoulder. He nearly collapsed from the pain. “Sorry. What I meant was: you did well for a first day. And we c
aught the chicken eventually, so no harm done.”
The aroma coming from the kitchen almost made Adolf forget how horrible he felt. Food, thought Adolf. Food and then sleep.
“Hold it right there!” said Anna, looking like a hallway monitor from back in primary school. “You’re not coming into my kitchen looking and smelling like that. Wash up first.”
“Come on,” said Stefan, steering Adolf towards the pump.
“Actually, being clean sounds wonderful,” said Adolf. “I don’t suppose a hot shower is a possibility?”
“Shower, no,” said Stefan, stripping off his shirt, and pouring a bucket of water over himself. “But you can have a hot bath after supper, if you’re willing to carry water from the stove to the tub upstairs.”
Adolf hefted the bucket Stefan held out to him, and tried to calculate how many trips up and down stairs filling that tub would mean. Forget it, he thought, as his overworked muscles screamed in protest just holding the one bucket, half filled.
Supper consisted of cooked turnips, fresh baked bread, and chicken stuffed with onions and rutabagas. Anna insisted on giving Adolf the largest portion of everything, which he protested in earnest, once he discovered how tough and stringy the chicken was. Still, considering how rarely these people probably ate meat of any kind, and what an honor it bestowed on a guest, Adolf ate it all, lavishly complimenting Anna’s cooking.
After supper, while Anna cleared the table, and Adolf tried to muster the energy to climb the stairs to bed, Stefan bounced to his feet and announced, “I’ll help you with the dishes, Anna.”
“Does he do that often?” Adolf asked her.
“No. But he’s so anxious to start the reading and discussion, he’ll do anything to hurry it along.”
“Reading? Discussion?” said Adolf. “I was thinking more along the lines of sleeping.”
“Oh, Adolf, please,” said Stefan, almost dropping a stack of plates. “Those books and papers you brought...It’s been so long since...couldn’t we--?”
“You’re welcomed to do all the reading you like,” said Adolf. “But--”
“I know we don’t have a minyan,” said Stefan. “But still, just having four people present would be something.”
“And mother loves being read to,” said Anna. “That and having her hair combed. Those are about the only things that get her to smile these days.”
Adolf could only stare. “I didn’t realize how seriously you were taking Judaism,” he said.
Stefan smiled bleakly. “We’ve got to have something to make sense of all this shit, don’t we?”
“Stefan,” said Anna. “Adolf’s probably read most of this, but it’s still new to us. Why don’t we let him get some sleep while we do some reading. Maybe he’ll be up for a discussion tomorrow night.”
“You’re right,” said Stefan. “That would probably be better.”
Adolf glanced at the old woman in the corner, then at his benefactors. “No, that’s all right. There’s plenty here that I haven’t read, and I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Anna and Stefan cleaned, while Adolf rummaged through the books. Soon after, they all gathered around the hearth, and despite the balmy April evening and the enormous cost of fuel, lit a fire, and by its light, read from the book of Daniel. Adolf and Stefan took turns reading, while Anna combed her mother’s long gray hair.
“Don’t you want to read?” Adolf asked her at one point.
Anna smiled dreamily. “I’d rather listen to you, Adolf. There’s such power in your voice.”
“Yes,” said Stefan. “I feel it too.”
Adolf yawned. He certainly didn’t feel powerful. Yet he could admit to feeling less lost and less helpless than he had since fleeing Berlin. Whether it was the fellowship or the ancient words, he did not know.
But for now, he was content to remain that way.
CHAPTER 12
Adolf stayed two weeks with Stefan and Anna. After that, they filled his knapsack with food and gave him directions to his next contact: a former Judenmuseum curator who now traveled the countryside as a tinker and storyteller.
“I wish you could stay longer,” said Anna, as they walked toward the gate at the end of the lane.
“So do I,” said Adolf. “But Stefan is right: wandering laborers don’t stay this long. And you don’t need the extra trouble suspicious neighbors can bring.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done,” said Anna.
Adolf laughed. “All I’ve done? You’re the ones who fed, clothed and sheltered me! Not to mention teaching me enough about my new life to give me a shot at survival.”
“You gave us plenty in return and you know it. We’ll be discussing your ideas for days. Not to mention all those books you’re leaving behind. Won’t you take something more in trade besides that book of Hebrew folktales?”
Adolf shook his head. “I’m grateful to you for lightening my load.” He paused, uncertain of what Anna expected. Finally, he kissed her hand, and then started down the road.
“Hey!” she called. He turned. “Remember us!”
“I’ll do more than that!” he called. “I’ll see you again someday!” Adolf had no idea why he made her such a promise, but he sensed he had just made Anna and Stefan both very happy.
Late that afternoon, Adolf sat beside a handsome Aryan man just a few years older than himself. They rode in a rickety cart, pulled by a half lame horse. Adolf’s companion seemed to find the jolting and bouncing relaxing.
“So then, about twelve years ago, the scientists came up with a way to test for late stage multiple sclerosis. Now, of course, they test in utero; anyone with the defective gene just isn’t born. But back then...well, you know how excited the Third Führer was about new scientific techniques.”
Adolf nodded. “And then, when they found they had whole cartloads of attractive, pure blooded Aryans with hidden defects--”
“Yes. It was either kill them all--and many were children--or find some sort of quiet ‘retirement’. After sterilization, of course.”
“How old were you then?” asked Adolf.
“Fifteen. When my school was called out for testing, I hardly gave it a thought. Then the results come in and: surprise! They tell me I’m a carrier. Suddenly, everything changes. I can’t get married or father children--”
“--Which translates into no longer being part of the Body of the Reich.” Adolf sighed.
“They were very nice; very sympathetic, all those nurses and technicians and councilors. But in the end it was the same for me as everyone else: my family disowned me, and the other two members who turned out to have the same gene. Actually, I was luckier than either of them. I’d been at the top of my class at school. Education plus good looks got me a job as museum curator once my ‘retraining’ was completed. It could have been worse.”
“And now you don’t even have that. I’m sorry, Markus.”
“I’m not. I’ve always wanted to travel. And thanks to all those books I read—torah, numerology, the kabbalah—my new career was ready the day the museum closed.”
“And people actually pay you for storytelling?”
“Not in money. Some places, I can get a meal and a night in a barn in exchange for telling stories. It’s the fortune telling that’s really lucrative.”
Adolf laughed. “But anyone wanting a horoscope or psychic reading just has to go to an official Party Soothsayer! Why risk their life and coin with some roving wanderer? A missgeburt, no less? Uh, no offense.”
“None taken,” said Markus. “But, see? You’ve hit the nail on the head. No one believes official Party anything, anymore. Especially in personal matters. But a wanderer, with claims to ancient knowledge? People desperate enough will believe. Will pay to believe, as a matter of fact. Being an outcast makes me even more credible--and less of a risk, since I stand more to lose than my customers if we’re caught.”
Markus turned the horse down a nearly invisible track. The forest darkened around them. “You know,
” he continued, “Jews weren’t the only race to be eradicated by our grandparents. There were people called Gypsies. From what I can tell, most of our popular conception of fortune telling and influencing Fate comes from them.”
“Is that why they were wiped out?” asked Adolf. “Competition with the New Order?”
“Don’t know. I found scraps of tantalizing information, but so much more was missing. One thing I have learned, though: when a society is undergoing great stress, fortune tellers thrive.”
“I suppose people see it as a last resort; a way to exert at least the illusion of control over their lives and fears.”
Markus nodded. “And, at the moment, ancient Judaism is selling really well. Ah, here we are!”
They stopped in front of a burned out farm. It was very old, and far enough away from the nearest village to have been isolated even in better times. Now, the forest had reclaimed field and garden, and only the foundations poked out from the trees.
Markus stood with his hands in plain sight, and whistled three shrill notes.
“Let’s see your friend’s hands,” came a gruff voice from the tree behind them.
Adolf tucked the valise under his arm and held out his hands without turning around. The owner of the voice, a middle aged man wearing the remnants of a military uniform and carrying a rusty Luger, came into view. “Drop the bag,” he said.
Adolf dropped the valise, then slid his knapsack from his shoulders and let it fall. A boy of about ten darted out from the bushes and took them both, searching them quickly and efficiently.
“What are all these books and papers?” asked the boy.
The man with the gun looked interested. “Who is he and why did you bring him?” he asked Markus.
“A onetime rich boy who had to disappear,” said Markus. “He and I have several...associates...in common. I can vouch for him.”
“He looks like a rich boy,” growled the older man. “Still, we need all the help we can get.” He looked Adolf up and down. “So what’d you do? Seduce your father’s mistress? See something you weren’t supposed to? Join the wrong side of a coup?”
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