A View Across the Rooftops: An epic, heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel

by Suzanne Kelman

  The banging continued, then a frantic hushed voice came through the woodwork. “Michael, hurry! It’s me, David!”

  Relief swept over Michael as he recognized the voice of his childhood friend from synagogue. A panicked Elke rushed into the galley, pulling a sweater frantically over her head, her legs still bare.

  “Who is it?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s David.”

  Michael pulled his clothes from the bedroom and threw the rest of Elke’s clothes at her as they both started dressing hurriedly in the kitchen.

  The urgent voice came again. “Michael, are you there?”

  Michael hissed back, “Yeah, hold on.” He buckled his trousers and then turned to make sure Elke was covered before he opened the door.

  David practically fell in, terror evident in his eyes. “They are coming for you, Michael. You have to go. My father overheard Mr. Kratz from the bakery telling the Gestapo about you staying here, unregistered. I ran here as soon as I could, but soldiers watching the curfew saw me and chased me. We have to go. Now!” David started to cough.

  For a wild second everything in the room froze.

  As Michael threw on the rest of his clothes and shoes, a look passed between him and Elke. They knew this was it. The war had finally found its way to their precious houseboat, and this was just the beginning. The running, the hiding, the constant fear. It was as if, in that instant, he knew—and by the look in her eyes, so did she—that once they left the houseboat, the whole world as they knew it would change.

  As Michael pulled on his jacket, he did something he would question for years to come. Why he did it, he wasn’t sure. Instinct, some higher sense, or maybe God. Like a person running from a burning building able to snatch up just one last thing, he grabbed Professor Held’s book of Rilke’s poetry from the table and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket.

  Elke was putting on her jacket too, and the pain of seeing her dragged into this was overwhelming. “You don’t have to come. You’d be safe. You’re pure Dutch.”

  She snapped back at him, “Who’s in love with a Jew!”

  It landed hard in his soul; he had caused this. In his selfish need to have her, be with her, he had put in danger the one thing that made life worth living for him. His sweet, wonderful Elke.

  She appeared to read it in his eyes as they moved toward the door. She practically pushed him through it. “Don’t worry about me. I will go to my sister’s place for a while. I will be fine, but you have to go.”

  They moved out into the night. Farther up the towpath, two German soldiers were searching some bushes a little way off. As all three of them started to run, one of the soldiers spotted them and shouted, “Halt!”

  Sprinting along Oudezijds Voorburgwal, they didn’t look back but could hear the soldiers giving chase. The clatter of their hobnailed boots followed closely behind.

  Cutting away from the towpath, they raced over the Armbrug bridge heading toward the residential part of town, where it would be harder for them to be followed. The snap of bushes breaking behind them and then the cracking of a gun kept them running. As they arrived on the main street, the group raced down a dark passageway hidden from the road. It was a shortcut for Dutch schoolchildren. Stopping halfway down the alley overshadowed by a row of houses, they flattened themselves against the damp wall. They waited with their breath coming thick and fast as the clash of the metal-studded boots grew louder and then slowed to a clip behind them. They heard the soldiers searching gardens and thrashing at bushes with the barrels of their rifles near the alley’s entrance.

  All three of them continued to remain still, their bodies close to the wall. Michael knew that as they came out the far end of the passageway, they would be in the street again and able to be easily spotted, but he had to make sure Elke was safe.

  He whispered to her, “Stay here. David and I will run out the other end. They will see us and follow, and once they are chasing us, slip out of the opening and go to your sister’s.”

  Elke became frantic, and he could hear the panic even in her whisper. “Michael, I don’t want to lose you. I want to go with you.”

  He grabbed her ice-cold hand and pulled her face close. “You have to do this, Elke. You have to be brave. I will find you, I promise. Meet me in our special place, tomorrow, right before curfew, okay?”

  Elke squeezed his hand so hard it was as if she was somehow trying to take the last of what they had between them with her.

  His hand stung with her grip and the cold. He gathered a handful of her brown hair and pulled her in for an intense kiss. “You have to do this, Elke. You have to be strong and remember what you promised me.”

  The footsteps approached the end of the alley. As torch light probed the dripping walls, they all automatically dropped to a squat. The flicker of frantic torchlight illuminated the wild fear in her eyes. Michael shook his head, reminding her to not give up. Grabbing David’s arm, he signaled that they should run out the other end of the alley. David nodded. Michael turned to Elke, gesturing her to stay put.

  He sprang to his feet and raced to the end of the alley, his steps echoing as he exited into full view farther up the road. The soldiers spotted him with David following close at his heels. As Michael had hoped, the soldiers gave chase along the roadway, trying to head them off as they exited the passageway.

  One soldier’s voice echoed through the night, “Halt.” Then in crude Dutch, “Or we will shoot.”

  Chapter 9

  That same evening Josef stood in his dimly lit kitchen, bent over the sink, sleeves rolled up, arms turning red in the scalding water. He couldn’t believe so much had happened in one day. He scrubbed at the spots of Mrs. Epstein’s blood on his shirtsleeve with a kind of desperation. It was very late and the whole house was silent, as if holding its breath, waiting to see if Held could remove the gruesome memories of the day by frantically scraping blood off the stiff fabric. As the water in the sink turned a faint pink, Held fought to keep at bay the one vision that kept wanting to haunt him. Ever since the incident with his neighbor, it had resurfaced. He had not thought about his beloved Sarah for so long, managing to keep it locked away in a dark place. Never to be revisited. He had packed away the memory as he had packed away her clothes. But since that afternoon, and Mrs. Epstein’s death, reminiscence of her hovered dangerously at the threshold of his thoughts, ready to break in and devour him.

  As if his thoughts had come to life, there was an urgent knocking at his kitchen door. For a minute Held thought it was his imagination, but the rapping came again in quick succession. Dropping the sleeve into the sink, he turned off the kitchen lamp, fearful that light had leaked out into the night and he was about to get another visit from the enemy. He just couldn’t face dealing with one more soldier this evening.

  As the frantic knocking continued, he took a deep breath and opened the back door. Like a fox with a pack of hounds on its tail, Michael Blum bolted past him into the kitchen. He wrenched the door from Held’s hand and slammed it shut behind him.

  Flicking on the light, Held struggled to put all the pieces together. This was one of his students, the Jewish boy. Why was one of his pupils here at his house? As he tried to make sense of this highly unconventional situation, he looked questioningly at Michael, who stared back, silent, but with frantic eyes.

  Finally, between gasping breaths, Michael spoke with a bravado he clearly did not feel. “Well, hello, Professor!”

  “Mr. Blum.”

  Michael continued in his cavalier way. “Would you believe that I thought you might have missed me?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I… wanted… to… return your book.”

  Held was confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Rilke poems,” Michael said as he paced the room, eyes darting about, his breathing still frantic. He looked as if he were making this up as he went along. Held knew the look; he had seen it on m
any students’ faces over the years when they were fearful of getting a low grade for not turning in a paper on time.

  Held shook his head. “How did you find me?”

  Michael opened his jacket and held up the book. “Your address was inside.”

  “What?”

  “Inside the front cover.”

  “What?”

  “Your address. In the book.”

  “That still doesn’t explain…”

  A reddish-brown smear across the front of the book caught Held’s eye. He noticed a similar smear on Michael’s hand and arm. And in that instant, Held knew. Once, he’d had the same dark smears on his own body. As his eyes took in the young man’s clothes, he noted the dark sticky red patches on his shirt were also clinging in maroon-tufted clumps to his thick woolen jacket. Blood.

  Everything around Held stopped, and that one memory, the one he had been fighting to suppress all night, the one from so long ago, came back with such force, it was as if he had been hit in the face with a hammer. It split his mind, gripped his heart, took his breath. Sarah’s face, blood everywhere, her emerald eyes cold and still, as if somewhere behind them the light had just been snuffed out.

  Abruptly, Held was shaken from his waking nightmare by more pounding on his front door. Both men were startled. As Held took in Michael’s fearful stare, he suddenly seemed very young.

  Wordlessly, he pointed to the closet in the hallway as Michael ran in and crouched down inside. Held grabbed a red plaid blanket from the shelf and covered him.

  Taking a minute to steady himself, Held picked up Kat and, with a long, slow breath to calm himself, opened the door.

  On his doorstep stood the same German officer from earlier that day. But gone was the polite familiarity. Instead, his tone was clipped and professional. “Professor Held. Sorry to disturb you at this late hour.”

  Held forced himself to sound nonchalant. “Good evening. What can I do for you?”

  Without being invited, the officer stepped inside. “We are having trouble with some runaways, whom we believe to be Jewish. We dealt with one of them.”

  Held’s breath caught in his throat and a knot tightened his stomach, the experience of just what that phrase could mean still a little too raw in his memory.

  “Two of our patrol officers tracked the last one down to this neighborhood. We have soldiers blocking the roads, which means he must be hiding somewhere very near here.”

  He forced himself to remain calm as Kat squirmed in his arms, apparently annoyed at being held for so long. “I do not understand how I can help.”

  The officer looked around the hallway. “Have you seen or heard anything this evening?”

  Kat finally had his way and jumped down from Held’s arms and approached the closet sniffing, obviously intrigued by the fresh scent of blood.

  The professor shook his head with conviction. Hoping that would be the end of it. “No. Not at all.”

  The soldier nodded, looking concerned. “We would like to search your house, to make sure you are safe.”

  Held wanted to stop him but was at a loss for words. Before he could say any more, the officer motioned to four soldiers standing in the shadows. He shouted gruff commands in German.

  Held finally found words. “I don’t think—”

  The soldier reassured him. “It won’t take long. We are under strict orders from Major von Strauss to make sure you are kept safe.”

  The soldiers rushed past him and into the hallway. They moved quickly upstairs and could be heard searching efficiently, relentlessly.

  In the hallway, the German soldier took out a cigarette. “May I?”

  Held was flustered. “Of course.”

  Mechanically, he moved to the kitchen to retrieve an ashtray he kept in the cupboard, making sure to pick up Kat on the way, who still had his nose pressed against the hall closet. He reached for the ashtray on its shelf but turned back toward the hallway when he noticed long blood smears leading to the closet from the kitchen. Probably from Michael’s shoes. Thinking quickly, he snatched up a bottle of dark vinegar from the open cupboard and smashed it on the floor, covering the stain. Kat leaped from the professor’s arms in terror as the soldier approached the kitchen.

  “Professor Held?”

  “I am so sorry!” muttered the professor. “I knocked it from the shelf while getting you an ashtray.”

  The soldier surveyed the pool of dark liquid and broken glass and shrugged.

  On his hands and knees, Held mopped up the spill as the other soldiers came downstairs and started to search the ground floor, moving around him in the kitchen. One soldier reached for the handle of the hall closet door.

  Held stood silently with the dripping cloth in his hand, the stench of vinegar hanging heavy in the air. The soldier pulled open the door and pushed the plaid blanket aside with a gun. Held girded himself, trying to think of what he would say. He prepared for the worst. But after a minute, the German stepped back into the hallway and closed the closet door.

  As the rest of the soldiers filed back outside, the young officer nodded at Held. “Sorry to have bothered you, Professor.”

  Held dropped the cloth in the sink and followed them to the front door. He was trembling so hard he had to grab the edges of his trousers to hide it, though he somehow found an easy tone to reply, “That’s all right.”

  As the officer descended the front steps, he shouted back toward Held, “Be sure to lock your door.”

  The professor waved stiffly and nodded. “Yes, yes, of course.”

  Silently, he closed and bolted it. Placing both palms against the panel of the door to ground himself, he shut his eyes and took a moment to breathe. Held steadied himself and moved to the closet. Opening the door, he drew aside the coats and then picked up the red plaid blanket. Michael wasn’t there. Following him into the closet, Kat started to paw at the red wool. The professor looked through the coats in the dark cupboard. From above his head, a large box began to move, then dropped to the floor. Somehow Michael had managed to cram himself up behind three boxes on the high shelf, which couldn’t be more than three feet wide.

  Held shook his head in disbelief. “How…?”

  He helped Michael extract himself, and they both moved into the kitchen, the smell of vinegar still heavy in the air.

  He looked again at Michael’s bloodstained shirt. “Where are you hurt?”

  Michael’s eyes revealed an overwhelming pain. “It’s not mine.”

  They both took a moment.

  Held moved toward the kitchen door. “You need to change your clothes.”

  Michael started to protest.

  “I’ll get some,” Held continued. “Throw those on the fire.”

  He went to his bedroom and brought down clean clothes. When he came back, he found Michael, who had moved into the sitting room, staring blankly at the fire. Held handed a pair of trousers and a shirt to him, and Michael nodded his thanks.

  “Do you need anything else?”

  “I could use a drink.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Thank you, Professor, thank you so much.” Michael sounded exhausted.

  Held went to the kitchen, where the sleeve of his own bloodstained shirt still sat in the pink water. He snatched it up and, taking out all of his own frustration, squeezed out every last drop of the water. Pouring two large glasses of brandy, which he kept for medicinal purposes, he returned to Michael and handed him a drink. Then he tossed his own damp, soiled shirt onto the fire with Michael’s clothes. The fire hissed and smoldered for a minute before erupting back into a blaze once more.

  Held picked up his own glass of brandy and joined Michael, who now sat buttoning up the shirt Held had given him. They drank in silence.

  Staring numbly at the fire as it hungrily licked yellow flames around the fresh kindling, Michael quietly asked a question. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

  Held was silent for a moment, overcome with the exhausting emotions of the d
ay.

  Michael looked across at him. “You could have.”

  “No. I couldn’t. I have seen enough blood today.”

  Michael nodded, his eyes showing fresh pain. “Me too.”

  After they both had finished another glass of brandy, Held got up and fetched a neat pile of folded blankets. “Come.”

  Held showed him to the bathroom, where Michael cleaned himself, then had the young man follow him up a flight of stairs to a door on the first-floor landing. Held opened it and revealed another steep, thin wooden staircase. At the top of that was another door into an attic.

  “You should be safe up here, even if they come back to search, this room is often overlooked.”

  The door looked more like a closet, and was tucked out of sight from the staircase meaning they both had to duck their heads to enter. The professor turned the key and opened the door into an airless, dusty space. At one end was a small window with a cracked pane, where a sliver of moonlight shimmered through, illuminating a tiny patch on the wooden floor. There were boxes stacked at the back and against the other walls and a gray camp bed folded neatly away, a relic from the professor’s childhood when he would camp with his father. Held handed the blankets to Michael, who stood despondently watching him put the bed together. Once he was finished, he nodded and moved toward the door.

  Michael’s voice reached out to him through the darkness. “Professor?”

  He stopped and turned. “Yes?”

  “Thank you. I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

  Held nodded. “Goodnight.”

  Closing the attic door, he moved back down the stairs, realizing how ridiculous his parting word had sounded. What could be good about this night? Once again in his kitchen, he sat in a chair and put his head in his hands.

  Chapter 10

  After a night of troubled sleep, Held lay staring at the stark white ceiling, thinking about both Michael and Mrs. Epstein. As he focused on the tiny crack that snaked its way across the plaster, her terrified face swam into his consciousness once again. He attempted to calm his rapidly beating heart by taking long, slow, deep breaths and squeezing his eyes shut once more.