Life’s occurrences … its lessons … and of course its trials and its challenges … had trained her well.
Finally, the money must be secured.
Esther stitched the many bills she had hoarded into the hems and seams of each piece of clothing she and Zami could bring with them. More, of course, was included in the seams, as their stiffness allowed the fabrics to retain their natural movement.
Interwoven between the Reichsmarks in one dress, Esther included a faded black-and-white photograph of her family. Before she closed off the seam, she took one last look at her twelve siblings, standing on both sides of Mama and Tate, enshrined around the dining table of their modest home in Przeworsk. The five boys were all crowded together on one side. Jakob, not surprisingly, had contorted his face like a comedic mask. Lifcha, the eldest and tallest, stood directly behind Mama, with the twins, appearing as though they had just been offered candy, in their matching dresses to her left. Esther found herself at the edge of the table, tightly grasping Tonka’s hand. She sighed. In a mere five-centimeter square, the image conveyed a history and a legacy. Carrying it into the future was more an act of posterity than sentiment; nevertheless, it felt right to do.
The impulse lingers …
Buried in the bottom left corner of a drawer filled with rags was one black-and-white photo of Tadeusz. He was looking straight into the camera, leaning against their tree in the field where—
No! No memories! This must go, she thought. Esther could barely glance at it without the pit inside her core beginning to churn. It was not as though she needed anything to remember his face, for Tadeusz’s image remained a deeply etched chasm not possible to erase—an aide-memoire was not necessary to know she must never weaken, never trust, and never, ever let down her guard.
Esther took the photograph, as well as the few in the apartment of herself and Zami, to the kitchen burner, where she started a fire in the iron skillet with a little kerosene. The flames took to the papers easily. Esther watched impassively as their edges curled and then blackened, the images slowly contracting before they disappeared completely. Thin wisps of smoke swirled upward; gray ash drifted to the floor. She did not bother to clean up the mound that formed.
Ah … the scene … a reflection of what is to come …
On the kitchen table, Esther ordered the elements that would inform, and ideally safeguard, her new self—her new reality: identity papers, birth certificate, baptismal documentation, rosary, and a copy of the New Testament. The Holy Mother on the thin chain would soon rest against her throat for the entire world to see and understand her religious affiliation.
Well, she thought, they won’t know if I’m Protestant or Lutheran or Catholic, but they will know I’m not Jewish. At that, she snorted. Anything but Jewish!
Esther silently recited the catechism once more to ensure it was fixed in her memory.
She studied these items intently, first individually, then collectively, as though learning the lines for the lead role in a play. Esther Klein had never taken hold as a genuine identity; she had adopted her married name for purposes of protocol only, negligible as they were. Losing that name caused not a ripple. The full immersion of Esther Grünspan was what mattered.
Esther was now, and as long as need be, Etta Göttlieb.
Next, she laid out the documentation for Zami’s new identity, as Hannis.
At one year of age, a name change should not be difficult for him to absorb, Esther imagined. I am lucky he is such a placid baby. Not noisy and talkative as Miriam was at his age, or colicky and sickly like Tova. He is so quiet that at times I forget he’s in the room. Ach!
In the midst of her myriad preparations, Esther had to remind herself Zami would accompany her. She understood being unwanted only too profoundly but did not regret how she treated this child or either of the girls.
I have been a responsible mother, she reflected. I have remained conscientious when it came to their health and safety. But the deeper reality of my feelings could not be changed. That must suffice.
Jeopardy and countless unknowns might be lying in wait, for this situation guaranteed challenges and trials. Nevertheless, feelings of liberation began to percolate within her. A healing process of sorts felt underway.
I’ve been stuck these last many years. Marrying Abraham was misguided. The union designed to ease my life’s burdens only brought increased labor, effort, and challenge. But that fault can be attributed to no one but me. What was I thinking? Esther shook her head forcefully. I know I should have some comfort with Zami accompanying me, but I am most concerned he will only complicate my movements. Nevertheless, even with all the nonsense going on, he and I will have a freedom that hasn’t existed for years.
Above all else, for the first time since arriving in Köln, Esther experienced gratitude. She was grateful for the series of happenstance, chance, and circumstance that led to her ability to pursue this path, to flee in a period and a place when most were trapped without option or opportunity. Frau Göttlieb and her network of friends and associates provided invaluable assistance in making her escape and new identity feasible—making survival possible.
Of course … do not forget me … my role to assist … to help … to set all in motion … and most especially … to destroy what obstacles could be … may be … will be … in her path …
On the last day of August, midmorning, a customary hour for Esther to go about the day’s errands, she set her plans in motion. While the heat of the summer cast an oppressive coating of sweat and soot, Esther wore three layers of thin cotton dresses and a light sweater without arousing sideways glances or attracting unwanted attention. She looked natural, if somewhat heftier. It was unlikely anyone would take notice. Her neighbors and the local Polizei regularly saw her carry bundles of clothing in her oversized basket. They understood this was how she transported her customers’ clothes back and forth, and she had been fortunate no effort had been made to stop her comings and goings.
At all times … I watched her activities closely and secured her movements. On occasion I distracted an officer … or encouraged a Braunhemd … a Brownshirt … to turn left at a corner … instead of right. This day was no exception.
Esther, holding Zami in her right arm and balancing the basket and his cumbersome stroller in her left, climbed down the three flights of stairs to Kämmergasse. At the base, she put Zami in the conveyance and turned right. She did not go into Abraham’s shop or glance inside the glass window as they passed.
No goodbyes.
The full transformation took place hidden inside Frau Göttlieb’s home, in the storage room without windows or outside light. The steps were orderly and accomplished in silence. The yellow Stars of David were taken off their clothing for the final time, and Esther fastened the gold chain around her neck. From this day forward, the delicate Holy Mother would rest against her throat.
Esther emptied the basket and in each of the two suitcases placed the sewing materials first, neatly layered. Every article of clothing was then tightly folded or scrunched like tissue paper to fit inside. Even with Esther’s severe editing, two of Zami’s shirts did not fit and would have to be left behind.
No matter, Esther thought, I will make him others when we are settled. No doubt he would outgrow these quickly anyway.
They used the side door that led directly into the garage and the Göttliebs’s waiting car. The train station was three kilometers away, and they arrived ten minutes before the three o’clock scheduled departure. A lone officer walked the length of the waiting area and back again without paying their small party undue attention.
No goodbyes or hugs passed between Esther and Frau Göttlieb. No words of thanks. Before embarking, Esther turned halfway around to look at Frau Göttlieb once more and extended a nod and slight smile. A connection of understanding.
The forty-six-kilometer trip took one hour and eight minutes. In their second-class car, Esther chose an aisle seat, indifferent to the passing topograp
hy and the transition from one chapter of life into another. Too small to sit in a separate seat without sliding off, Zami sat on Esther’s lap with one of her arms secured around him. Although it was his first train trip, Zami did not exhibit a curiosity about these new surroundings, only an interest in playing with the buttons on his recently sewn gray-and-white-striped shirt.
They were to be met at their destination by a young woman in a light checkered dress. She would be wearing a straw cloche hat with a braided black-and-gray band tied around its circumference. Esther found her standing in the north corner of the station as arranged. After the customary welcome and basic pleasantries, she drove them to their new home: a one-room flat on the fourth floor of an old apartment building in the western part of the city not far from the zoo. A key was exchanged, her leave-taking perfunctory.
Esther and Zami, now Etta and Hannis, arrived in Wuppertal without incident.
The incident … commenced the next day …
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In—va—sion!
On a …
beautiful fall day.
One country,
brazen … domineering … potent,
desirous of controlling …
another,
previously scarred, already beleaguered.
This, merely the first phase …
on the path …
to possessing all.
The same young woman who had met them at the train station came by the flat late the next morning. This day her dress was of dark blue cotton, although she did wear the same straw cloche hat with the braided band. Word had traveled swiftly through the community of those active in the underground Resistance, and in a soft, matter-of-fact voice she informed Esther of the dramatically changed circumstances in which they all now lived.
“Sie haben den Krieg erklärt. War has been declared,” this woman said.
Esther did not register one ounce of surprise. Everyone had long anticipated these events. It was only now formally a war, as declared by the government officials. Esther had been at war for years.
The young woman carried a cloth-covered wicker basket filled with a loaf of pumpernickel bread, a half loaf of Roggenbrot, a few hard cheeses, and a small portion of salted meat. There was also a freshly baked Apfelstrudel.
How did she know? Esther wondered as this favorite treat was handed to her.
My whispers … my suggestions … can be heard by anyone. This would be Esther’s last semblance of an indulgence for some time to come.
A map of the city and a dozen tram tickets made up the rest of the basket’s contents. The woman opened the map, circled the apartment’s location with a pen pulled from her handbag, and pointed out a couple of nearby sights, including the zoo.
“I believe your son will enjoy visiting here. It’s a short walk away, and it is a very nice zoo.” She smiled at Zami sitting on the bed, but he did not notice. He was occupied with pulling and twisting his pajama shirt buttons one by one. He started with the top button by the collar and headed downward. When he got to the bottom of the shirt, his hands moved back to the top and he began the process over again.
The young woman turned her attention back to Esther. Handing her a piece of paper, she said, “Here is the name and address of the person you must contact who has a tailoring assignment for you. She will refer you to others. Her shop is near this corner,” indicating its location on the map.
Her eyes darted first to the room’s one small window and then the closed door. “This must be my final visit,” she continued, without looking at Esther. “It will not be safe for me to return. Not safe for you and your son. Es darf kein Verdacht—No suspicion must be aroused. I am confident you will be fine.”
Esther listened intently. “Ja, ja, I understand everything you are saying.”
The young woman then rose abruptly, turned, and left. Almost vanished, as though never present. She had not offered her name, and within minutes, her visual identity and any distinguishing features were lost to time and history.
Esther moved into action. After indulging in a few bites of the strudel—such a surprising treat!—and feeding Zami a slice of bread and cheese, she put on their most presentable clothes and headed out into the day’s thick, repressive heat. In search of this contact and—survival.
Forward motion. Always forward motion. Regardless of what else the conditions demanded, including contending with those who singled out, hunted down, and persecuted human beings merely because they were followers of the Jewish faith or carried the genetic code of a Semitic heritage. Esther had no doubt she could, and would, persevere.
For her real mission was clear. It had not shifted since the day she left Przeworsk and arrived in Köln.
Esther was resolute she would ultimately defy—no, prevail over—Tadeusz, his memory, his deliberate heartrending rejection, and his utter disregard for the truth of who they were to one another. She would endure, and she would triumph over the devastation and pain his actions had inflicted on her.
To what end, of this—truly—she was not clear. Only that she must not succumb. Not ever. Her indomitable spirit and relentless will would not abide this.
I … of course … would remain by her side.
Swiftly, without drama or uncertainty, a glance or consideration backward, Esther established a rhythm, a routine, and she and Zami settled into their new life. An existence that, despite rations and limitations and the haze of peril in the air, held few risks to overcome and little stress. Just as before, since first she fled Przeworsk and escaped to Köln, days lost their distinction. Each mirrored the actions, movements, and schedule of the one before.
Monotonous perhaps, but it was the monotony necessity demanded.
The flat, in a neglected five-story brick building constructed in the early teens, served her needs: twin-sized beds, a plain rectangular-shaped pine table, two simple chairs—one a makeshift version of a high chair—a compact stove with a single burner, and the sewing machine. Peeling paint speckled the walls like polka dots, and the floorboards creaked in a couple of areas. Otherwise the room was in decent condition. No closet, but a three-drawer dresser sufficed for holding their few pieces of clothing with room to store pantry items like flour, sugar, and beans.
The features that most relieved Esther were its toilet and sink. Situated in a corner, these essential fixtures were separated from the rest of the room by a thick dark green curtain. They could wash up here and not use the large shared bath down the hall. No neighbor would accidentally walk in on her and Zami when his pants were down with circumcised genitals exposed. Frau Göttlieb had made this arrangement. Frau Göttlieb had thought everything through.
And me of course … another potential obstacle I could help her overcome.
Esther’s lone contact in Wuppertal, her anchor, was a Frau Weir—at least that is the name this woman used for herself. All Esther really knew for sure was that this Frau was stout and businesslike with graying curly hair worn too long, for it got into her eyes as she spoke, her head continuously moving more rapidly than her mouth. Not out of nervousness, Esther decided, for her new employer embraced assuredness in her actions. Most likely it was nothing more than a facial twitch the woman had had since childhood.
As it turned out, there would be no need for other contacts or connections. Frau Weir arranged all of Esther’s tailoring and furrier assignments and kept her busy. Esther met her once weekly, every Thursday at precisely twelve thirty, at an overstocked shop on Eddastrasse, nestled between a cobbler and Wuppertal’s one milliner. Esther never learned if the Frau was the proprietor or merely an aide. There were no opportunities for questions and, if there had been, Esther would not have inquired. Just as the store brimmed over with fabrics and notions, pattern books, and quilting supplies, with barely enough room for Esther and Zami to stand, the situation was filled with the consciousness that no questions would be asked, by either party. So their conversations were no-nonsense and efficient.
“Hier ist die Jacke—Here is the jacket and the three pairs of pants, four dresses, four shirts, and two skirts I repaired,” Esther explained. “Und, ach! das Taufkleid. The baptismal gown. The lace was torn in six places, but I was able to re-stitch the pieces. Look. You can’t see where the tears were. And I have reconstructed the hem and overcast the seams. It looks brand new. No one will be able to tell it was worn four times before.”
Frau Weir fingered each item of clothing. She put her glasses on and inspected the stitches, inseams, button coverings, and linings to make certain that each had been finished to her detailed specifications.
“Ah” and “Hmm,” she murmured throughout the review.
While the clothes were neatly presented, they were not ironed. Esther did not have the equipment to accomplish that task. But it never seemed to pose a problem. No doubt Frau Weir had other workers to handle that part of the process before the items were returned to the client. Whether or not they, too, were part of the untergetauchte Juden—submerged Jews—those who, during this terror-filled and unsettling period, had successfully faded into the background of daily life, Esther would never know.
Money would be exchanged for the clothes. Not an abundance, but given that Frau Weir could have easily taken advantage of the situation, she paid a fair price for the required work.
“And what do you have for me this week?”
Esther never met a client. Never had to take measurements. Never discussed fabrics or quality or particulars such as button type or zipper length or stitch preference. All specifications were negotiated in advance of these Thursday meetings where Frau Weir reviewed each item of clothing in detail and the assignments to be accomplished.
In response to every tailoring need presented, Esther would say, “Ja, ja, natürlich. Of course. I can do that. Not a problem.”
Guesthouse for Ganesha Page 11