The Sound of Freedom

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The Sound of Freedom Page 4

by Kathy Kacer


  “There’s Renata.” Stefan broke into Anna’s thoughts.

  But why was she standing off by herself, across the

  schoolyard? Didn’t she see them? “Renata!” Stefan

  shouted. When Renata still did not move, Anna and

  Stefan walked across the field to join her. “Didn’t you hear me?” Stefan asked when they got close.

  Renata looked up, her eyes puffy and red. She

  had been crying. Was that why she hadn’t waited

  for Anna that morning? Was she avoiding her? This

  time, even Stefan could see that something was

  terribly wrong.

  “What’s happened?” he exclaimed. “You don’t look

  very good.”

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  41

  Renata shook her head and didn’t say a word.

  “Are you sick?” he persisted. “Did Sabina say

  something to you again?”

  “No,” replied Renata hesitantly. “I’m not sick.”

  “Renata, you have to talk to us.” Anna knew that

  she had promised Renata not to betray her secret—

  whatever it was. But enough was enough. “You can’t

  keep acting as if something terrible has happened,

  and then say nothing.”

  Another moment passed before Renata finally

  spoke, and when she did, her voice was so soft Anna

  had to lean forward to hear her. “We’re leaving.”

  Anna shook her head. “You’re what?”

  “We’re going away.”

  “Going where? Are you going on a holiday?” Even

  as Stefan asked the question, Anna knew that wasn’t

  possible. There were no school vacations coming up.

  And no one missed school unless they were sick.

  “We’re leaving for Denmark. We’re getting out of

  here while we still can.”

  And with that, the gears finally clicked into place

  for Anna. Renata and her family were escaping, fleeing from signs that told Jews to stay away and from thugs on the street who might hurt them, and from whatever else was going to happen in Poland. That was the secret that Renata had been keeping to herself.

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  K A T H Y K A C E R

  “I’ve been telling you that my parents are afraid

  things are going to get worse,” Renata said. “They

  want to get out before that happens.”

  Anna stood mutely. Even Stefan said nothing.

  “It’s so complicated,” Renata said, squeezing her

  eyes shut. “And it’s not easy to leave. It’s almost impossible these days for Jews to go anywhere in the

  world.” She explained that without special papers, no one could leave their home country. “And there aren’t many countries in the world that want to let Jews

  in. Did you even know that?” She stared deeply into

  Anna’s eyes. Anna shook her head. Were they becom-

  ing stuck here in Poland?

  “My father thinks we should just stay put,” Stefan

  jumped in. “He says the trouble will pass.”

  Stefan was repeating himself. But this time, Anna

  didn’t think he sounded convincing when he said the

  last part. And she wasn’t convinced, either.

  “I’m not sure how my parents got all the travel

  documents. They’ve been keeping all of that from me, and they made me swear not to say a word to anyone.” She turned once more to Anna. “That’s why I

  couldn’t say anything to you.” She stared deeply into Anna’s eyes as she said this.

  “When are you leaving?” Anna croaked out this

  question.

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  43

  “In a week.”

  So soon!

  “We’re only taking a few suitcases with us. I’ve

  barely had any time to go through my things.”

  Anna wondered how you could possibly pack

  your whole life up and leave on a week’s notice. “I …

  I don’t know what to say, Renata. You’re my best

  friend.” Anna felt completely helpless in the face of Renata’s announcement.

  “I’ll miss you so much, Anna,” Renata whispered.

  “And you, Stefan.”

  “I hope everything goes well for you, Renata,”

  Stefan replied.

  Anna was still searching for something to say. A

  part of her wanted to beg Renata to stay. But another part wondered if Renata’s family was doing what they all should be doing—leaving while they could. “This

  isn’t good-bye, Renata,” she finally blurted. “Not

  yet.” Then, blinking back tears, she reached over and gave her friend a hug, not trusting herself to say

  another word.

  Chapter

  7

  When Anna arrived home from school, Baba was

  putting groceries away in the kitchen. Anna slumped

  down at the kitchen table and laid her head in her

  arms. Baba was by her side in an instant.

  “What’s wrong, Annichka? Are you not feeling

  well?” Baba pressed her hand to Anna’s forehead.

  “I’m fine, Baba.” Anna looked up at her grand-

  mother. It was true that she never wanted to worry

  Baba. She was wonderful, but mostly she just hovered in the background, ready to pop a bite of cake into

  Anna’s mouth. Or ready to move in if Papa became

  too strict with Anna about her prac ticing. It was

  difficult to really talk to her. Still, Baba was like their guard dog, always on the lookout for trouble. She

  may have been the quiet one, but she would know if

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  45

  something was up. She might be the one to make

  sense of this.

  “I heard some bad news today,” Anna began.

  Baba looked alarmed. “What news? Is someone

  else sick?”

  “No, no one is sick. It’s Renata. She told me that

  she’s leaving Poland.”

  “Leaving?”

  Anna nodded. “For good. Her parents want to get

  out before things get worse for Jews. They think that’s going to happen.”

  Baba sucked in her breath and looked away.

  “Baba, what do you think about the things that

  have been happening lately?”

  “Hmm?” Baba left Anna’s side and began mov-

  ing around the kitchen, pulling out pots that she was going to use for that evening’s supper. “What things?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. You know

  what’s going on in the world. You heard Hitler on the radio the other night. Those things.” Baba may not

  have been one for long conversations, but Anna knew

  that she kept up with events in Poland and in neigh-

  boring Germany. Sometimes Anna caught her reading

  the newspaper late at night.

  Baba glanced over at her. “There’s no reason to

  worry,” she said. “Everything will be fine.” And then

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  K A T H Y K A C E R

  she brought the back of her right hand up to her

  mouth and pretended to spit onto her fingers three

  times, making a little popping sound: “Puh, puh,

  puh.” Spitting three times was a Jewish superstition that was meant to prevent anything bad from happening. Baba did it all the time, whenever she men-

  tioned anything good or bad. No matter what, you

  didn’t want to encourage the evil spirits to appear.

  “But what do you really think? Aren’t you afraid?”

  Baba hesitated before speaking. That alone made />
  Anna nervous. She would have felt better if Baba had shouted “No!”

  “I trust your father,” Baba finally said. “He will not let anything happen to us.”

  Anna trusted him too. But she worried that even

  Papa, with all his wisdom, was not seeing everything that was happening under their noses—or at least not admitting it.

  “Baba,” she began, “I need to ask you about some-

  thing, something that I saw a couple of weeks ago

  when I went to the academy to meet Papa.”

  Baba’s eyes grew fearful, as if she knew what was

  coming. There was no stopping Anna now. She began

  to tell her grandmother about her father’s extended

  rehearsal that she had stumbled into. She told Baba

  about Papa and the other Jewish musicians who had

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  47

  been relegated to a separate section of the orchestra.

  “Only the Jewish musicians, Baba—no one else was

  moved like that. Why would that happen?”

  Baba looked away again.

  “Did you even know about it?”

  “Perhaps you should ask your father about this,”

  Baba said, sighing deeply.

  Anna would not be deterred. “No! I’m asking you.

  Tell me what’s going on. Please!”

  Baba sighed again. “Yes,” she finally said. “Your

  father told me about this several weeks ago.”

  Several weeks! Maybe even before what happened

  at Mr. Kaplansky’s.

  “They are calling them ghetto chairs,” Baba

  continued.

  Anna knew a little bit—not a lot—about ghettos.

  Papa had once told her about a place in Italy where

  Jews were kept in separate areas, apart from others, as if they weren’t good enough to be together. The

  ghetto in Italy had been established hundreds of years earlier, but it sounded just like what had happened to Papa and the other Jewish musicians.

  “It’s terrible that they should treat your father,

  such a respected musician, in this way! It’s an insult to him—to all of us.” Baba moaned and looked up to

  the skies as if she were begging for someone to help.

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  K A T H Y K A C E R

  “Why didn’t someone tell me?”

  “A young person shouldn’t have to worry about

  these things,” Baba replied.

  “But I’m not a baby. And do you think if you don’t

  say anything, then I won’t see what’s happening? I

  see it, Baba. I listen to the radio. I read the newspaper.

  I hear things at school.” Anna didn’t want to tell

  her grandmother about Sabina’s warning. She had

  said enough and heard enough, for now. “Sorry,

  Baba,” she added, noting the distress on Baba’s face. “I don’t mean to shout. But I need to understand what’s going on.”

  At that, Baba walked over to Anna and sat heavily

  into a chair next to her. She reached over to pull her granddaughter in for a long hug. “You are so much

  like your mother,” she said, whispering into Anna’s

  ear. “You are smart, as she was, and you have a big

  heart. She would be so proud of you.” Anna loved

  hearing this. She loved it when anyone compared her

  to her mother, whom she missed more than she could

  say. Like her mother, Anna had thick curly hair that was framed against porcelain skin and eyes as big

  and round as full moons. Sometimes Papa told her

  that she was looking more and more like her mother

  with each passing day.

  Baba released Anna and stood up, returning to

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  49

  her pots and food preparation. “As long as we stay

  together as a family, then nothing bad will happen

  to us,” she said. Then she spit three more times onto her fingers. Anna stood up from the kitchen table

  and headed for her bedroom. She wasn’t sure if Baba

  could really keep the evil spirits away. They felt closer than ever.

  Chapter

  8

  In her room, Anna flopped down on her bed

  and gazed at the wall where a number of pressed

  and framed flowers were hanging. After her clarinet, these pressed flowers were Anna’s most important

  treasure. She had been collecting flowers for years, pressing them between her father’s big music text-books and mounting them on heavy paper. Papa had

  framed the ones on her wall. He called them little

  works of art. Anna wasn’t sure about that, but she did think they were beautiful. Each flower had come from a special place: a pink carnation that her father had given her when she turned twelve, a lily from Renata’s garden when they used to play there after school,

  and a rose she had taken, with Baba’s permission,

  from the pots of flowers that she grew in front of the 50

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  51

  house. But her favorite flowers in the collection were two red poppies. Their color was so vibrant that they practically glowed on her wall. She had found these

  during a family holiday to the mountains when her

  mother was still alive. Usually, when Anna focused

  on her flower collection, she could lose herself in the memory of those happy times. But this afternoon,

  the sight of her flowers did nothing to ease her

  troubled mind.

  Mr. Kaplansky’s store, Papa and his ghetto chairs,

  Sabina’s threat. And now Renata! Could things get

  any worse? Or, like a passing storm, would all of

  this blow over and life return to normal? Stefan

  had said that his family believed that the trouble in Poland would pass. Renata’s family thought things

  were so bad they should leave. Who was right?

  And what did all of this mean for Anna? And then

  another thought hit her. Even if they did leave, where would they go? Renata had said it was difficult to get the papers needed to get out of Poland. But she also said that few countries anywhere were willing to take in Jews. Oh, if only Anna had a crystal ball that could show her the future, show her what they should do.

  That evening, the family sat together in the sit-

  ting room after dinner. Music from the phonograph

  played softly in the background. It was a lullaby by

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  K A T H Y K A C E R

  Chopin, or maybe Mozart; Anna wasn’t sure which.

  Papa was drinking some tea and reading the news-

  paper. Baba was stitching together some pieces of

  fabric for a tablecloth she was making. And Anna

  was doing her homework. The truth was she was not

  getting very far in the book she had been assigned to read. She had been staring at the very same page for nearly half an hour. She really didn’t want to think about homework and school. Thinking about school

  reminded her too much of the fact that Renata was

  going to be leaving in a few days. Anna hadn’t told

  her father about Renata yet. It was something she

  could barely face herself.

  “Here’s something that you might be interested

  in,” Papa said, breaking into Anna’s thoughts. He

  lowered his glass of tea and leaned forward. “Do you remember that concert we were starting to listen to on the radio a few weeks ago? We never got to hear the

  whole thing.”

  Remember? How could I forget? That was the night the horrible news announcement had come on the

  air, the one with Adolf Hitler screaming those hateful messages
to the world.

  “I started to tell you that the violinist was a

  famous musician named Bronislaw Huberman. Well,

  you’ll never guess, but I just read that he is coming to Poland.”

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  53

  “What a coincidence,” said Baba. “Is he coming to

  Krakow? I would love to hear him play.”

  “So would I,” Papa replied. “But he’s not here to

  give a concert. He’s actually coming to recruit musicians for a new orchestra that he is putting together.”

  “A new orchestra in Poland?” Practically every

  major city in their country had an orchestra. Anna

  couldn’t understand why they would need another

  one.

  “Actually, this orchestra is being formed in the

  British Mandate of Palestine.”

  Anna knew little about Palestine except that it was

  very far away.

  “Mr. Huberman is holding auditions for the

  orchestra.”

  The news of a new orchestra and these auditions

  didn’t interest Anna very much until Papa said, “He’s inviting Jewish musicians to try out.”

  At that, Anna sat up in her chair. “I don’t under-

  stand. Why only Jewish musicians, Papa?”

  Her father knit his brow together. “I’m not sure.

  I imagine that these musicians will accompany Mr.

  Huberman to Palestine.”

  At first, Anna wasn’t sure she had heard right.

  Had Papa actually said that Jewish musicians were

  being given the chance to leave Poland for this far-

  away place called Palestine? All they had to do was

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  K A T H Y K A C E R

  audition for this Mr. Huberman and get into his or-

  chestra? Anna sat farther up in her chair, her mind

  going a mile a minute. An idea was taking shape, the pieces coming together like a jigsaw puzzle. Perhaps this was the sign she had been searching for. And it had been handed to her like a gift on her birthday.

  She didn’t have a crystal ball to look into the future.

  But maybe, just maybe, this new orchestra in this faraway Palestine was an opportunity that her family

  could not pass up, a signal that they should also pack up and get out, just like Renata.

  Papa needed to audition for this orchestra. And if

  he got in, and Anna was certain he would, then her

  family would have a chance to leave. And it would all be thanks to this musician named Mr. Huberman.

  “You’re going to audition, aren’t you, Papa?” Anna

 

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