The Runaway Family

by Diney Costeloe

  Back in her room, Eva dumped her shopping onto the table. She filled the kettle from the single, cold-water tap over the basin in the corner and set it to boil on the gas ring that stood beside it. Kicking off her shoes, she flopped into the one easy chair that stood in front of the gas fire. Behind her was an alcove, curtained to conceal her bed. She looked round her, taking in again the dreariness of her accommodation. She had lived here for five years now, ever since her husband, Ernst, had been killed in an accident on the building site where he had worked as a labourer. The chain of a hoist, lifting a pallet of bricks to the first-floor scaffolding, had snapped and the bricks had fallen on Ernst, killing him instantly. An accident, a dreadful accident, the building firm had said. Very sad… their condolences to the grieving widow. Ernst had had no pension, they had had no savings, and despite the whip-round organised by his mates, Eva Shultz had found herself almost destitute. She had to move out of the small apartment they rented, and had found this dismal room only through the good offices of one of Ernst’s workmates, whose sister was married to the tobacconist in the shop below. The whip-round had provided her with the first month’s rent and then she had had to find some work to support herself, and find it quickly. It was a card in the tobacconist’s window that caught her eye. Housekeeper wanted for quiet, single gentleman. Eva applied, got the job and began working for Herbert Friedman.

  As she drank the weak coffee she had made, Eva thought now about the family who had arrived so unexpectedly. Clearly they were in some sort of trouble, or they wouldn’t have descended on Herbert so suddenly. Where was the husband, she wondered, the one who was Herbert’s brother? Little had been said during the phone conversation she had overheard, but it was clear that they had nowhere else to go. The idea that they, too, had been turned out of their home gave Eva a certain satisfaction, and it was that and the conversation she’d had with Frau Schneider in the shop that had given her the glimmerings of an idea. As she sipped her coffee, she wondered if it might work, and then shivered at her own temerity. She would ponder it, she decided, look into how it could be done. The seed was sown, and as she got to her feet to put away her meagre provisions, the last she would buy with Herbert Friedman’s money, she thought about his refrigerator, and smiled.

  *

  Ruth was as good as her word, and when the twins awoke from their nap, she took the children down the stairs and across the road to the gardens opposite. The wrought-iron gates stood wide and welcoming, but the newly painted sign mounted on a pole just inside made her pause.

  No Jews allowed!

  Of the children, only Laura could read the words, and she glanced anxiously at her mother. Ruth gave her a reassuring smile, marched determinedly through the gate and took the path that led to the children’s playground. This was surrounded by a low fence, with another, more succinct sign on its gate. No Jews. Ignoring it, Ruth pushed open the gate and let the children run in. Inge headed straight for the slide, and the twins ran happily across to the sandpit where two small girls were digging a sand castle. Laura followed the boys, while Ruth called to Inge to hold tight as she climbed the steps to the top of the slide.

  A nursemaid, with a pram beside her, was sitting on a bench, uninterestedly watching the little girls in the sandpit. She hardly noticed the twin boys and their elder sister who joined them. The boys had nothing to dig with except their hands, but they set to work piling sand into a heap for their castle, laughing and chatting to each other as they did so. Her charges watched for a moment, pausing in their own efforts.

  “Would you like to help?” Laura asked the little girls. “Hansi and Peter would love you to help them.”

  The elder of the two girls, aged about six, nodded shyly, and they both edged nearer to the twins.

  “What’s your name?” Laura asked the older sister.

  “Angela,” replied the girl. “Come on, Erna, come and help.”

  The five children played together. The boys digging energetically with their hands, the girls filling their bucket, and Laura upending it carefully to make turrets for the castle.

  Inge had moved from the slide to the swings, and Ruth, seeing that Laura was looking after the twins, went across and pushed Inge, so that she squealed with delight as she sailed up into the air. All the children were laughing and shouting with pleasure as they played together in the sunshine. The nursemaid was now dozing on her bench in the heat of the afternoon sun, and the baby lay waving its arms, batting the rattles that were strung across the pram. Having had her fill of swinging, Inge jumped off and ran across to the sandpit to see what the others were doing. Ruth followed her and together they admired the splendid castle that now stood in the middle, a turret on each corner and a feather as a flag.

  “No Jews allowed!”

  The harsh voice behind them made her jump and Ruth spun round to see a uniformed park keeper, accompanied by Frau Schultz.

  “I beg your pardon?” Ruth replied.

  “No Jews allowed. Can’t you read?”

  “The notice is on both gates,” Frau Schultz put in sweetly. “I’d have thought you’d have seen it,” adding with venom, “or are you blind… as well?”

  The nursemaid started up from the bench, one hand grasping the pram as if it might escape her, the other beckoning frantically to the two little girls in the sandpit.

  “Angela, Erna, come away at once!” As the surprised girls moved towards her, she grabbed Erna by the hand, and called Angela again. “Come away, Angela. Come away from those dirty children. Whatever would your mother say?”

  She pulled the children away, and, pushing the pram, hurried off down the path. As she went, Ruth heard the younger girl pipe, “Nanny, what’s a Jew?” If she gave one, the nursemaid’s answer was lost as she sped her charges away.

  “Out!” The park keeper was pointing at the gate. “Out of here, out of the gardens, and don’t come back or I’ll call the law.”

  “Come along, children,” Ruth said quietly. “We must go home now.” She took the twins by the hand, and, edging the girls in front of her, made her way to the gate.

  “Trouble is,” she heard the park keeper saying, “you wouldn’t know they was Jews, would you? Not from the look of them.”

  “That’s why you have to be so vigilant,” replied Frau Schultz. “But don’t worry, Herr Maus, I won’t report you… this time.”

  “Vile woman,” murmured Ruth under her breath. “Vile and evil woman!”

  “What did you say, Mutti?” asked Inge.

  “Vile and evil woman! Vile and evil woman!” chanted the twins, delighted with the words.

  Ruth jerked them to a halt, so roughly that they cried out. “Be quiet!” she admonished. “Be quiet and don’t speak again until we get home, or I’ll take a wooden spoon to you!”

  As they crossed the road to the apartment block, Ruth risked a glance back over her shoulder. The park keeper had moved away, but Frau Schultz still stood by the sandpit, watching them leave. She was too far away to see the expression on her face, but the set of her head and shoulders shouted “triumph” as loudly as if she had actually called after them.

  She must have heard me say that I’d take the children there, thought Ruth, as she hurried them up the stairs to Herbert’s apartment. She must have been watching, so that she could report us.

  Herbert listened in horror to the events of the day when Ruth related them to him that evening.

  “How could you have been so stupid?” he raged at her. “How could you have drawn such attention to yourselves? Can’t you read, you stupid woman? Didn’t you see the sign that says ‘No Jews’?”

  “I saw it,” Ruth replied, trying to keep her own anger in check. “I saw it, but who was to know round here that we are Jews?”

  “Frau Schultz!” Herbert almost shrieked. “As you discovered.”

  “Well, we won’t go again,” sighed Ruth.

  “You’d better not!” Herbert snapped. “You’ll be watched now,” he went on bitterly. “You’
ll be watched, I’ll be watched, we’ll all be watched from now on. You should have gone to your mother, that’s where you should have gone. You should have gone to your mother, not come here with your brood.”

  “I came here, because Kurt… your brother, Kurt… told me to,” hissed Ruth. “It is here he will come looking for us. Here he will come looking for his brood. They’re your brother’s children, Herbert. Your nieces and nephews. They’re family. I am his wife. We’re family.”

  “Yes, yes,” Herbert replied testily, “but family is no protection these days.”

  “You mean we’ve put you in danger, Herbert, by coming here. Is that what you mean?”

  “No, no.” Herbert waved a placatory hand. “But all Jews are in some sort of danger these days, especially…” he paused, trying to choose the right words, “…especially practising Jews. They are noted. I haven’t been to the synagogue for years. I no longer follow the dietary requirements. I am not a Jew in any real sense. I’m German through and through, the fact that I had Jewish parents is beyond my control.”

  “Beyond your control,” agreed Ruth, “but true none the less. As far as the authorities are concerned you’re a Jew. The new laws apply to you as they do to the rest of us.”

  Ruth could see Herbert was about to argue, and she was too tired. “Never mind,” she sighed, “let’s not argue now. Come to the table, I’ve made dinner for you.”

  Herbert was happy enough to do as he was bid. The food, though plain, was a great improvement on what Frau Schultz had been in the habit of leaving him, and he found himself looking forward to the meal that would be waiting for him when he got home.

  Laura’s Diary

  24th July 1937

  We have come to stay with Uncle Herbert in Munich. He wasn’t very pleased to see us and I don’t like it here. We are all sleeping in one room, except for Mutti and she’s got to sleep on the sofa in the living room. I wish we could go home again, but I know we can’t. I wish Papa was here. Uncle Herbert is his brother, but he’s not like him. Papa is always kind, but Uncle Herbert is always cross. He has a cross voice and a cross face and it’s nice when he goes to his office.

  Laura paused, chewing her pencil thoughtfully, and then wrote,

  25th July 1937

  We can’t go out like we did at home, there is nowhere to play. Mutti took us to the park. Hansi and Peter played in the sandpit. I helped them. We made a castle with two girls. A man came and told us to leave. He said Jews weren’t allowed to play in the park. The nasty lady who was here when we got here was with him. She was smiling, but she was horrible.

  Laura stopped writing and looked at what she had written in the notebook Mutti had found for her. Mutti had suggested she write a story. Laura had always loved writing stories and had done so as long as she could remember. At school the teachers used to encourage her, especially Fräulein Lederman, but that was until everything changed, when Fräulein Lederman had to leave and Fräulein Karhausen took her place. From then on Laura was left out. Oh, not from the actual classroom, just from the activities that went on inside it. She and two other Jewish children, Olga and Elfriede, were made to sit at the back… where they were ignored. Fräulein Karhausen never asked them to provide answers in class, even when nobody else could; she never looked at the work they produced, never corrected it, no stars were given, indeed their names weren’t even on the star chart. But Laura had continued writing. She began to keep a diary, which she wrote every evening when she had finished her homework, homework that was required but never looked at. Papa had given her a beautiful notebook in which to write her diary, but that, like everything else she owned, had been destroyed in the fire. All her thoughts and ideas had vanished in the smoke that billowed from the window into the night sky.

  Ruth had not suggested that Laura start her diary again, she thought it would be unhealthy to keep a record of the dreadful things that had happened. They were best forgotten as soon as possible, so that the slithering skein of life could be grasped once more, and some sort of normality could be re-established.

  “Why don’t you write a story?” she suggested. “One you could read to the twins. They always love your stories.” It was true, Hansi and Peter did always love her stories, begging her for new ones, but today there were no stories in her head, only the events of the last few days, churning and bubbling like an over-boiling saucepan. The men coming to the apartment. Papa being arrested. The fire. Staying with the Meyers. Finding the box. Suddenly their lives had been turned upside down, and Laura felt that if she didn’t write it all down, set it in some sort of order in her mind, it would overwhelm her and she would sink under its weight. Mutti needed her help. She, Laura, was almost eleven, after all. She must be strong and help Mutti, especially with the twins. They had always been her beloved brothers. She loved Inge, of course she did, but Peter and Hansi… she would be strong for them. They were too young to understand what was happening.

  “When’s Papa coming?” Hansi had suddenly asked as he was being got ready for bed.

  “Will he be here soon?” Peter had chimed in, finishing as he so often did his twin’s thought.

  “Soon,” his mother had soothed, but Laura knew that she had lied. She didn’t know when and was only trying to comfort the little boys.

  I should start this diary from the night of the fire, Laura thought now, and crossing out what she had written, began again.

  19th July 1937

  They took Papa away and we haven’t seen him since…

  On the first Friday evening after their arrival at Herbert’s, Ruth had set the table for the Sabbath evening meal, carefully ironing the only white linen tablecloth she could find, before washing and laying out the silver and china she had discovered packed away in the sideboard. She polished two rather tarnished candlesticks, which still had the remnants of candles stuck into them, and set them in the middle of the table. Murmuring the familiar prayers, she lit them, and waited for Herbert to come home. As the children waited for him, seated round the table, they too seemed to be soothed by the familiar ritual of Friday evening. The meal would start when the man of the house, normally Kurt, but in this case Herbert, came home, but this evening Herbert did not come home. Kurt would have been to the synagogue, but Ruth knew that was the last place Herbert would be. She knew there was a synagogue not that far away, for she had discussed it with her brother-in-law. But when she had suggested she might take the children there on Saturday morning he had been adamant.

  “It would be madness to go,” Herbert had stated. “I forbid you to go! Do you want to draw even more attention to your children? I forbid you to go.”

  No, wherever Herbert was, he would not be at the synagogue this evening. Eventually she said the prayers herself and served the meal.

  When the children were safely in bed Ruth sat in the living room, the table uncleared, and waited. At last she heard Herbert’s key in the lock, and as she turned to greet him saw the shock at what he saw before him register on his face.

  “What’s all this mess?” he demanded, looking at the remains of the meal on the table.

  “It’s your supper, Herbert,” she replied quietly. “It’s the Sabbath.”

  “Well, I don’t want it!” he snapped. “You can clear it away.” When she hesitated he rounded on her. “You may not work on the Sabbath in your own home, Ruth,” he growled, “but you do in mine. I have no intention of sitting looking at this stuff. Put it in the kitchen. I don’t want it. I’ve eaten.”

  “If you’d said you were going out, I wouldn’t have cooked dinner for you.” Ruth forced herself to speak mildly, though she could feel the anger welling up inside her.

  “Oh? So now I have to account to you for my movements, do I?”

  “Of course not,” Ruth replied, “but it seems a pity to waste food when we have so little of it.”

  Herbert suddenly seemed to sag, and dropping into his chair said, “Just put it in the kitchen, Ruth, you can leave the washing-up until tomorr
ow evening if you must.”

  Accepting this compromise, Ruth got up. After all, with the changed state of things, there was no way she could do no work on the Sabbath. She cleared the table, stacking the dishes neatly beside the kitchen sink, which was where Frau Schultz saw them the next morning when she called to demand her money.

  “And she had the audacity to call my kitchen dirty,” she said to Frau Schneider, as she recounted her visit. “Dirty crockery and cutlery, in heaps by the sink. Nasty Jewish food. Beginning to smell in this heat, I can tell you.” She sniffed as if the smell was still in her nostrils. “No German would live in a pigsty like that.”

  “No, indeed.” Frau Schneider nodded judiciously, even as she thought of the squalid state of her own kitchen upstairs where no one had washed a plate for days. “Just the Jews.”

  Over the next few days Ruth slipped into a routine of cooking and cleaning for Herbert, for Frau Schultz, true to her word, and much to Ruth’s relief, did not reappear. Ruth spent time with her children, making them do some lessons every day, before taking them out for some fresh air in the afternoon. Not to the gardens, though. She dared not venture there again. She knew she had been stupid to ignore the notice and take the children there in the first place. She had put them at risk, and she was determined not to do so again.

  Nor did she return to Frau Schneider’s shop, but walked the children further afield, to shops where they were not known, buying her groceries in different places, so that they were not recognised as “locals”. Herbert had given her some money, and so she managed to buy them all another set of clothes, pinafores and blouses for the girls, shorts and shirts for the twins. There was no money for shoes. Once she thought she saw Frau Schultz walking along the street behind them, but when she looked back a second time there was no sign of the woman, and she decided she must have been mistaken. Surely not even Frau Schultz would bother to trail them round the area to warn the shopkeepers that they were dealing with Jews. Surely not.