Ruth nodded and, dashing back to her bedroom, hustled the children into the girls’ room. “Look after the twins,” she instructed the girls as she grabbed the sheet from Laura’s bed. Tearing at it, she tried to rip it in half, but the quality was too good, the hems too strong to be torn. With a bellow of frustration, she ran into her bedroom and grabbed the manicure set off her dressing table. The nail scissors were small, but they cut enough to start the tear.
Smoke was pouring along the landing now, and, choking, Ruth slammed the bedroom door closed. She concentrated on ripping the sheet into two strips to tie together for a makeshift rope. Dragging the bedstead to the window, she made one end fast to the metal frame and dropped the other out of the window. It was too short. There were still at least six feet to drop to the ground. Grasping the quilt from the bed, she tossed it out of the window. Willing hands below grabbed it and held it taut, to make a makeshift landing place.
“You first, Laura,” Ruth said. “Remember, grip the rope with your feet as well as your hands so you don’t go too fast.” She gave her daughter a hug. “Come on, darling, be brave, I need you down there to catch the twins.”
The smoke was pouring under the door now and the other children began to cough, their eyes streaming as it coiled round them, hiding them from their mother. Laura sat on the windowsill, and with a terrified glance at her mother, slid down the rope, the taut linen ripping at her hands, so that she screamed with pain and fear as she reached the end and landed in a crumpled heap in the middle of the quilt. The moment the rope was free, Ruth hauled it up and knotted it tightly round Peter’s waist, then even as he screamed and clung to her in terror she edged him off the sill and lowered him down to the waiting arms reaching up from below.
The flames were crackling outside the bedroom door now, and it was buckling under the increasing heat. Frantically Ruth knotted the rope round Hans’s waist and slipped him over the sill, lowering him to the safety of the ground below. All this was done to the accompanying screams of Inge, who lay on the floor, drumming her heels in fear and rage. As Ruth hauled the rope up again, the door finally gave way and the fire exploded into the room, the flames spreading and feeding on the furnishings. With one backward glance, Ruth gathered up the bellowing Inge in her arms and dragged her to the window. There was no time to tie her safely into the rope of sheets, so with a warning cry to those gathered below, she tipped the little girl out of the window onto the quilt that was spread ready to catch her. Even as the child landed and was gathered into waiting arms, Ruth felt the heat on her back as her clothes began to smoke and smoulder. With another warning cry, she jumped.
Laura watched in horror as her mother fell from the bedroom window, arms flailing as she tried to grasp the linen rope to slow her fall. Her fall was broken by Rabbi Rosner as he reached up his arms to try and catch her. They collapsed together in a heap on the ground, their arms and legs entwined as if in some passionate embrace, the wind knocked out of the old man as Ruth landed heavily on his chest.
Forgetting the pain in her hands, Laura rushed over to her mother, crying out as she saw her lying on the ground. “Mutti! Are you all right? Mutti!”
Her mother lay still, and Laura thought she was dead until she heard a faint moan and saw her legs twitch. Ruth, winded by her fall, couldn’t answer for a moment, and in truth she didn’t know the answer. Every inch of her felt bruised, she could still feel the heat on her back, and her ankle felt as if it had been pierced by a red-hot needle. Underneath her Rabbi Rosner groaned, and Ruth tried to disentangle herself so that he could get up. Frau Rosner hurried up, and, pulling Laura out of the way, knelt beside her husband. The twins, being looked after by Frau Meyer, began to whimper and Inge, who had never ceased wailing, increased the volume of her crying to maximum. The savage roar of the mob surged back through the darkness as it circled round to continue its way along a parallel street.
There was an anguished cry. “They’re coming back. They’re coming back!”
The few people gathered in the street melted away into the darkness, scurrying for the illusory safety of their homes as they heard the monstrous crowd baying for its prey.
“We must get away from here,” Frau Rosner urged. “Come on, Samuel! You must get up.” She pulled at Ruth’s arm to try and move her out of the way so that the rabbi could get to his feet. “They’re coming back!” she cried, terrified by the sound of the shouting. “We must get off the street! Samuel!”
Ruth dragged herself clear and Laura and Inge rushed to her side. “Mutti!” Laura clutched at her hand: “Are you all right?”
This time Ruth did manage to answer. “Yes, darlings, I’m all right. Just a bit bruised. I think I may have sprained my ankle.”
“They’re coming back!” Leah Meyer shouted, her voice cracking with fear. “We must get off the street.” She took the twins firmly by the hand and dragged them back towards her own home, above her husband’s shop.
“We must call the fire brigade,” cried Ruth as she looked up and saw the flames devouring the curtains at the window of the bedroom, reaching out to lick at the overhanging wooden eaves.
“They won’t come!” snapped Frau Rosner as she pushed her still-wheezing husband ahead of her. But she was wrong. Within a few minutes a fire engine was racing down the street and the powerful hoses were trained on what was left of the Friedmans’ home. Ruth had not had to call them, they had come at the summons of another neighbour whose home backed onto the Friedmans’; a neighbour who was not Jewish and so didn’t deserve to have his house burned down.
The Friedman family were taken in and given refuge by the Meyers. Although their shop had been damaged and daubed with paint, the brick through the first-floor window was the only damage to their living quarters above. With infinite care, Frau Meyer, who had no children of her own, bathed Laura’s rope burns in cold water and bandaged her hands with clean strips of linen. She warmed some milk for the younger children, and then took the twins into the tiny spare bedroom and placed them top to toe under the quilt on its single bed, crooning to them softly as they fell into exhausted sleep.
Ruth sat in an armchair, her injured foot up on a footstool. It was so swollen that when they had taken off her shoe she could hardly see her toes. Leah had put on a cold compress.
“Tomorrow we will try and get Dr Kohn to have a look,” she said.
“It’ll be much better in the morning,” Ruth assured her, her face pale and pinched with the pain that shot through her ankle if she so much as moved it an inch. “I don’t need a doctor.”
“We’ll see in the morning,” Leah insisted. “It may be broken.”
Laura, her hands a little less painful now, looked anxiously across at her mother. Inge had finally stopped crying and was curled beside her, her fair hair hiding her face as she buried her head in Mutti’s shoulder.
Laura saw Mutti wince with pain as Inge shifted to get more comfortable, and she said sharply, “Inge! Sit still, you’re hurting Mutti!”
Inge ignored her, snuggling closer, and Mutti said, “It’s all right, darling. I’m all right.” She smiled weakly across at Laura and added, “How are your hands?”
Laura looked down at the bandages and said, “Frau Meyer says she’ll get Dr Kohn to look if he comes to see you.”
At last Inge had drifted into an uneasy sleep against her mother’s shoulder. Leo Meyer lifted her gently and placed her in the big double bed in his own room.
“She’ll sleep now, poor little thing,” he said. He added, as Laura went over to sit by her mother, “Be careful now, Laura. Your mother is very bruised. It is a miracle she wasn’t killed!”
“It’s a miracle that we weren’t all killed,” Frau Meyer was saying as Laura thought, it’s always Inge. She’s allowed to sit with Mutti.
“Now then, Laura, time you got some sleep as well,” said the old lady. “You can go in the bed next to Inge, all right?”
“I can’t sleep,” Laura insisted, her voice trembling, on the verge
of tears. “How can I sleep? Where’s Papa?”
But sleep she did. When Frau Meyer had tucked her into the bed beside the sleeping Inge, Laura had buried her face in the pillow, and with muffled sobs cried herself to sleep; she didn’t wake until several hours later, needing the bathroom. Inge was no longer in the bed beside her, just a damp patch across the sheet. Inge had also needed the bathroom, but she hadn’t been able to wait. Laura screwed up her nose at the sour smell of the damp sheet, and felt scarlet with embarrassment that her sister should have done such a thing in someone else’s bed.
A wet bed, however, was the least of the household’s worries that morning. Leo Meyer went out to find out what was happening and to try and discover what had happened to Kurt Friedman, but no one knew. So many of their friends’ homes had been damaged; other men had been dragged off as Kurt had been. As he learned more of what had happened to so many Jewish families that night, Leo could hardly believe he had not been arrested too.
Ruth managed to convince Leah that she didn’t need Dr Kohn to come to see her. She had no money, and she hated to become even more indebted to the Meyers. The old lady replaced the compress, and as they could both see that the swelling had lessened a little, she said no more about the doctor.
“I think you should be keeping it up though,” she said.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Ruth agreed, “but I can’t sit here and do nothing. I have to go over to the shop and see what can be salvaged before anyone else does.” Very gingerly she lowered her foot to the floor. Leah understood. She found an old walking stick and helped Ruth get to her feet.
“I’ll mind the little ones,” she said. “You take Laura with you and go and have a look.”
Using Laura’s shoulder and Leah’s stick for support, Ruth emerged from the bakery. Outside she paused, looking along Gerbergasse, the street where she had lived all her married life. A narrow twisting street that wound its way through a largely Jewish neighbourhood, and dominated by the synagogue at one end, it had been the centre of her community life; doors left open, children running in an out of each other’s homes, neighbours gossiping on the pavement, a street vibrant with life. Now, not a soul was abroad; Gerbergasse was deserted. Several of the buildings showed superficial damage, caused in the riot, but it was when Ruth turned her eyes to her shop, her home, that despair flooded through her. Leaning heavily on Laura and the stick, she hobbled across the road to contemplate what was left of it. The shop window was a smoke-blackened gaping hole and the remains of the charred front door hung from one hinge. As Laura pushed against the hanging door, the single hinge creaked ominously before the weight of the door was too much and it crashed inwards, allowing Ruth and Laura to see what was left of the family business. There was nothing. The shop had been completely destroyed. An acrid pall still hung in the air. They gazed in despair at the blackened shell. Only a few tins lay on the floor. Gone were the counter and the shelves, gone the staircase leading to the apartment above.
Ruth fought back the tears that sprang to her eyes. Everything they had in the world was gone, and she had to face it all alone. They had taken Kurt, and now it was she who would have to find somewhere for herself and the children to live. How were they going to survive? What were they going to live on? They couldn’t stay with the Meyers more than another couple of days, they had problems of their own. Ruth felt a wave of panic rising within her, black fear filling her head and threatening to engulf her. Everything they had possessed had gone and she couldn’t even stand on her own feet.
“Mutti!” Laura’s small voice brought her back and she realised that she had been gripping her daughter’s arm so tightly that it hurt.
Forcing herself to relax her grip she said, “Sorry, darling. Come on, let’s go. There’s nothing for us here.”
“Shouldn’t we get the box from the garden?” asked Laura. For a moment her mother looked at her blankly and Laura said again, “You know, Papa’s box. The one he buried?”
The deed box. For a moment Ruth looked stunned. She had forgotten all about the deed box. Kurt, no longer trusting the bank to deal fairly with its Jewish customers, had put all their important documents into a strong metal box and had buried it in the garden beneath one of the paving slabs outside the back door. How could she have forgotten?
“Good girl! Come on!” With new purpose, Ruth hobbled through the burnt-out shop and down the steps into the tiny yard below at the back. She remembered which stone Kurt had raised, but it seemed as firmly embedded as those around it.
“We need something to lever up the stone slab,” she said, looking round to see what they might use.
“I’ll look in the shed,” Laura said, and crossed to the lean-to shed that stood against the back wall. Inside she found the coal shovel and returned to the yard. “This should do.” She put the blade of the shovel under the edge of the paving stone and leaned hard on the handle. She felt a little movement, but wasn’t strong enough to lift the slab. For a moment or two she heaved in vain.
“I can’t shift it, Mutti!” she said despairingly. “It’s too heavy! Shall I run and get Herr Meyer?”
“No.” Her mother’s reply was sharp. “No, this is private family business. Here, hold this stick and let me have a go.” Ruth handed the walking stick to Laura, and balancing awkwardly on one leg tried to lever the stone. “Here, Laura, put your weight on it too.”
Time and again they leaned on the shovel, and gradually they felt the stone loosening.
“We’re getting there,” Ruth said breathlessly. “At least Papa didn’t cement it back down. One more go!”
This time the stone shifted enough to allow the edge of the shovel to slide right in underneath it.
“Now we need something to wedge it open,” puffed Ruth, and then gave a little cry as she stepped back onto her sprained ankle, and sat down hard on the ground.
“Mutti! Are you all right?” cried Laura.
The stab of pain had taken her breath away, but she managed to say, “Yes, Laura, I’m fine. See what you can find to hold the stone up, so we can get at the box.”
Laura went back into the shed and came out moments later carrying a brick. “There are more of these in there,” she said. “We can put them under the edge of the stone.”
At last it was done. The heavy paving stone was resting on bricks and Laura was able to reach in underneath and pull out the strongbox her father had hidden there.
“Well done,” said her mother. “Let’s put the stone back, and then we’ll go.” It was a struggle to put the slab back in place, but Ruth was determined that there should be as little evidence of the hiding place as possible. Who knew when they might need it again? Once the stone was flat, she instructed Laura to push the loose dust back round it, pressing it down into the cracks, so that at a casual glance anyway there was nothing to see. Laura put the shovel and the bricks back into the shed. They, too, might serve again another day. She helped Ruth to her feet, handed her the stick and then picked up the box.
“We don’t want anyone to see this,” Ruth said. “I’ll go to the front door, and if there’s no one about, you carry it quickly to the Meyers’.”
“What about you?” asked Laura anxiously.
“I can’t move fast enough,” Ruth replied. “You take the box to safety, I can manage on my own. Try not to let anyone see what you’ve got. Hide it under the bed for now.”
“Not even Frau Meyer?”
“Better not,” answered her mother. “If she does, never mind, but better if she doesn’t. Come on.” Ruth was anxious to get their valuable box to safety. She couldn’t remember all it contained, but, apart from the clothes they stood up in, it was all they had left in the world, and she wanted to take no risks. “Wait, while I have a look outside.” She edged past the broken front door and looked along the narrow street. There were a few people still moving in and out of the synagogue, but no one seemed to be coming in their direction.
“Go! Fast!” Ruth stood back to let her
daughter slip out of the door and dart across the road to the comparative safety of the Meyers’ home. Once she saw that Laura was safely inside, Ruth set out to hobble the thirty yards or so to join her. As she negotiated the uneven cobbles of the street, two boys wearing the uniform of the Hitler Youth came round the corner, carrying a bucket of red paint.
“Here’s one,” cried the first. “Give me the brush!” He snatched a large paintbrush from his companion and dipping it in the bucket daubed two words in red paint on the remains of the Friedmans’ shop window. Jüden Raus! Jews Out!
Unable to stop herself, Ruth turned round, as he laughed and began chanting “Jews out! Jews out!”
His friend took up the chant, and then seeing Ruth standing unsteadily in the middle of the street, he pointed a finger. “Poor old Jew!” he jeered. “Poor old Jew! She’s got a bad leg.”
Before she realised what he was going to do, the boy came up behind Ruth and kicked her savagely in the back of the leg, so that her knees buckled and she fell to the ground with a cry.
“Jew! Jew! Dirty Jew!” chorused the boys, as they pranced round her. The one with the paintbrush still in his hand slashed it across her face, the red paint running into her eyes, and as she reached up to dash it away, the other gave her a brutal kick, his boot ramming into her side. Ruth curled up in the road, sobbing as he aimed one last kick at her head before they marched on down the street chanting, “Jews out! Heil Hitler! Jews out!” and daubing other shop windows as they went.
Ruth pulled herself up onto her hands and knees, and began to crawl the last few yards to the Meyers’ shop door. It, too, had received the red-paint treatment, but the youths were too keen to daub as many doors as possible to bother breaking in again. As she reached it, the door opened and Laura erupted into the street.
“Mutti! Mutti! Are you all right? Oh Mutti!” Laura was sobbing as she tried to help her mother to her feet. Leah Meyer came out behind her and together they eased Ruth into the shop and onto a chair. “Frau Meyer wouldn’t let me come to you!”
The Runaway Family Page 2