Listening to air moving in and out of his lungs, he felt exhausted, having fought and lost an endless night of gruesome nightmares, filled with fearful faces, and the sound of screaming. He tried to sort through the onslaught of feelings that assaulted every one of his senses, but the graphic images ran wild and untethered through his thoughts as he tried and failed to file them tidily away in his usually ordered mind.
As he attempted to focus on anything else, he still kept hearing the piercing sound of gunshots. Caught in a manic loop in his memory, it was only intensified by the smell of the vinegar that still clung to his clothes and his hair. Its strong putrid scent pulled him back to the horrors of the day before.
He reassured himself over and over again that he was okay as he tried and failed to make any sense of it all.
He rose from the bed and moved to the bathroom, reassured by the rhythm of his morning routine. He washed and dressed, fed Kat some breakfast, and forced a little food down himself before gathering some supplies. Then he made his way to the attic.
Michael, already awake, sat on a trunk, staring numbly at the cracked window, where weak morning sun managed to force its way through the dusty pane. He looked quite ridiculous in the professor’s clothes. Held was reminded again that, despite his cavalier manner, Michael Blum was still so young.
Held closed the door behind him, but still Michael didn’t move.
“I am going to the university.”
Michael nodded.
On a wooden chest, Held put a jug of water, a few crackers, nuts and an apple. On the floor, he placed a chamber pot.
“Best to stay out of sight just in case.” He nodded toward the supplies. “This should keep you for today.”
Only then did Michael turn to look at him. “Thank you, Professor. I’ll leave tonight just before dark.”
Held nodded. “Yes. That would be best. I will be home later.” Held moved toward the door.
“Professor?” He turned. Michael’s tone was sincere. “I know we’ve never exactly got along that well––”
Held put up a hand before he left. “I will see you this evening.”
Downstairs, the professor put on his overcoat, hat, and scarf, picked up his satchel, and left the house, carefully locking the door.
Trying to find his equilibrium, he followed his impeccable routine and took the usual route to work with his head down. As he concentrated on the hollow, echoing sound of his footsteps, he tried once again to desperately control the memories of the day before, memories that seemingly now sat on the edge of every part of his reality. He felt vulnerable. Years of a carefully constructed wall, trying to feel nothing at all, had been laid to waste in just one day. It took all his strength to stop the overwhelming thoughts taking hold and crushing him.
Arriving at the university early, he attempted to ground himself by paying attention to every detail, craving the comfort of the familiar—the usual creak of his classroom door as he opened it, the smell of wood and dry air mingled with chalk dust. He took off his coat and hung it on a hook with his hat and scarf. As he walked to his desk, he noticed the equation he had placed on the blackboard. Had it only been the evening before? So much had happened.
Anger brimmed inside his heart. Anger at the Germans and anger for the senseless waste of life, but mainly anger toward himself. How could he have been so foolish? Now a woman was dead; a sweet, simple soul who just wanted to bring music to the world. He swallowed down the hot rage and tried to stomach his own bitter guilt.
Unconsciously he walked to his cupboard and unlocked the door. The empty space inside was raw and shocking. He had completely forgotten he no longer had his wireless. His heart ached for the music that could have soothed his spirit and helped with this pain. Replacing the key in his pocket, he left the doors of the cupboard swinging open, not bothering to lock them again.
The day passed excruciatingly slowly as he seesawed between a heightened sense of fear and the weight of crushing pain. He had spells when he would forget the horror, though briefly, moments of disappearing into the refuge of his mathematics. Then he would remember, and his conflicting feelings would slam into him once again like a stone wall. At one point, in a wave of panic, he opened the drawer and pulled out Michael’s assignment and stuffed it into his pocket. He wanted nothing to be there that could link him and that particular student.
Late in the afternoon, Held looked up at the clock and couldn’t believe there was still an hour more of this final class before the end of his day. Outside the high windows, rain had started to fall in long, sleeting sheets, its presence sure to remove any last traces of the lingering ice. For the first time he could ever remember, he couldn’t wait to get out of the classroom after this last class. He had been desperate to escape his home that morning, and now the same desperation compelled him to leave the university.
As he scuttled down the cold hallway toward the main door, a familiar voice called after him, “Professor Held! Your mail.”
Held turned. Hannah Pender’s attractive, worried face looked across at him from her desk.
“Yes. Of course, Mrs. Pender.” He approached her.
Hannah observed him carefully, her tone more concerned than friendly. “How are you, Professor?”
He nodded.
“I am sorry about yesterday.”
Held was taken back by how she had found out what had happened to him, before realizing she was talking about the wireless, nothing else. Afraid of the weight of emotions brimming just under the surface, he fought his feelings down by striking a serious tone. “My mail, please.”
As he watched her retrieve his letters, he wanted to tell her that his inability to meet her eye wasn’t about a wireless, but because he was afraid if he started to speak he would break down right in front of her. He also wished he could share the burden he was carrying with someone, especially a person with such kind eyes. But how could he trust her? His thoughts flashed back to before when he had seen her speaking in German so comfortably with the Major. Telling anyone was too dangerous. He couldn’t risk putting Michael in jeopardy.
Sheepishly, she handed letters across the desk, speaking in rapid sentences. “I really am sorry about your wireless. If I could have stopped them taking it, I would have, believe me. I felt awful asking you for it. I know it means a great deal to you. I can’t understand what on earth they would want with them…”
As she rattled on, Held looked into her lovely face and was struck by the ridiculousness of it all. She was talking about the wireless. Just twenty-four hours before, he had been so upset by an object, and now… His thoughtful silence provoked Hannah to reach forward and cover his hand with her own to comfort him. Her eyes were filled with warmth.
Shocked by the sudden effect of her touch, he withdrew his hand quickly and collected his letters. “Yes, well then. Good day, Mrs. Pender.” He moved hastily toward the university doors before Hannah could say another word. Looking back swiftly over his shoulder, he noticed she was watching him intently as he exited the university.
Striding into the street, he pulled his scarf tightly around his neck to protect himself from the pelting rain pouring down with a vengeance. The sheer deluge, coupled with the bleak temperatures, lashed down on him in long, wet, icy streaks, slicing into his body and thoroughly soaking every piece of clothing. It matched his mood exactly.
Gripping his hat and the lapels of his coat, he put his head down and steered a course toward home. His nightly journey felt endless as he put one foot in front of the other. Not unlike the torrential rain that, even in his heavy overcoat and clothes, seemed to seep right down into his bones, so too the shock of the evening before sank in ever more deeply. The true weight of the injustice felt as if it would devour him from the inside out.
As he passed two Nazi-uniformed patrol officers, vehement anger coursed up his spine and vibrated through his whole body. Every soldier was now a representation of the one who had taken Mrs. Epstein’s life. He wondered how he’d man
aged to avoid seeing it before. How he’d not been aware of the blatant evil living alongside him in the city.
Preoccupied with his new emotions, he crossed the street and a blaring horn shook him to the core. He realized he’d walked right in front of a Nazi officer’s car. Through water cascading across a windscreen and manic black wipers, the uniformed driver glared at him before swerving and pulling away at speed. Held stepped back onto the curb and waved his apologies. Dazed and exhausted, he leaned against a lamppost to recover.
As he stood, rigidly waiting for the strength to move, he couldn’t fight the frigid rain that rolled in a steady stream from the brim of his hat, down his nose, and off the end of his chin. Through the icy shroud, he saw his world with newly opened eyes, and it was raw and rancid. The boarded-up butcher’s with the anti-Jewish slur painted across its door was highly offensive. The hopelessness in the eyes of two pale, thin Jewish men, sheltering in a doorway, gut-wrenching. The gray uniforms and rifles on every corner, truly terrorizing. And in the distance, rain-soaked swastikas flapping manically over their town hall, utterly suffocating.
Why had he not felt the true weight of what was happening around him? As he stumbled along the rest of his journey home, he was obsessed with just one thought. When had all of this become normal?
After the initial shock of Occupation nearly a year before, there had been a cowering; a nation victimized, a collective holding of their breath, their only hope a stoic wait-and-see attitude. But the daily erosion of their way of life had been constant, like drops of acid rain, each small but adding up to something deadly. For him, the changes had been minor enough that he had learned to sidestep each new reality, readjust, then find his new set point. But now, as he passed each corrupted building and each familiar, yet barely recognizable street, he realized how the German occupiers had devoured the city.
A group of rowdy Nazi soldiers in a Kübelwagen passed by him, laughing and joking with each other. Their frivolity sickened him. He increased his pace and focused on the forced breath that disappeared in chilly, damp clouds in front of him, knowing one thing: He needed to get home.
The storm finally eased as he reached his street, and the sweet smell of the smoky earth after the rain rose heavily in the air. Soaking wet and bone-weary, he stepped into his tiny front garden, averting his eyes from the darkened stain of the wine he had been unable to remove completely still visible on his step. As he placed his key in the lock, he vaguely became aware of a car drawing up behind him. Two car doors slammed, and a familiar voice rang out, “Uncle Josef!”
Rapidly, he turned around. Ingrid so rarely visited him at his home that he was disoriented, but he was sure it was her voice. As he looked toward the road, he saw a long, black sedan parked in front of his house. He was confused. Ingrid didn’t own a car. Then, he saw who she was with. A tall, broad, impeccably dressed Nazi was walking toward him. For one second, Held thought this was a nightmare, some wild flashback from the day before, but that illusion was shattered when he saw the smiling face of his niece by the Nazi’s side.
Warily, Held watched them march through the puddles on his path to greet him. Ingrid clipped along in a pair of glossy, red high-heeled shoes, her partner striding confidently by her side in black jackboots. Reaching the door, she greeted her uncle exuberantly, giving the appearance that they were being reunited after a long absence. “Uncle, darling, I’m so glad to see you.”
Held was only barely aware of her gushing because all his animal instinct was heightened, focused on the tall, fair-haired man standing by her side.
Ingrid introduced her companion. “This is Major Heinrich von Strauss.”
Held shivered and continued to stare, focused on only one thought: Why is there a Nazi at my front door?
Embarrassed by the silence, Ingrid continued, “Remember I told you about him?”
The officer extended his hand, crushing Held’s own. “How do you do, Professor Held?”
Held removed his hand as he continued to drip, looking up at the man who towered above him. Under his officer’s cap, he had neat blond hair, his eyes close and shrewd. He was almost painfully well-groomed, making it apparent this was a vain man who took a great deal of care in his appearance. As he spoke, he had a deep, forceful resonance. The voice of someone in charge.
Held answered automatically, “How do you do?”
They all stood for a moment, then Ingrid looked embarrassed again. “Aren’t you going to ask us in?”
Held froze. He had utterly forgotten about Michael Blum for a moment. What was he to do? The two expectant faces before him gave Held no choice. If he appeared reluctant, that would surely throw suspicion on what he might be hiding.
He found himself saying, “Of course, forgive me.”
Praying Michael was still in the attic, he took a deep breath and opened the door. Ingrid stepped inside and looked about her, clearly embarrassed by what she saw. “Oh, you really need to redecorate, Uncle. I could help.” Turning to her companion she added, “Uncle Josef’s wife Sarah died nearly twenty years ago. I’m afraid he’s turned into a terrible bachelor.”
Held was only half-listening as he removed his sodden coat, hat, and scarf. He craved to start a fire to warm the chill threatening to set in his bones, but the awareness of Michael’s presence somewhere in his home overpowered any thought for comfort. His eyes darted around the hallway. Was anything out of place? Anything that would reveal who was just a few feet above their heads?
Heinrich stooped to enter the house, responding to Ingrid in his booming tone, “Ah, a man doesn’t have time for decorating! Right, Professor?”
Held continued to move through the house, acutely aware, observing every corner as rapidly and as thoroughly as he could, muttering behind him, “I work at the university.”
Ingrid removed her own coat and hung it in the closet, adding, “All the time!”
Heinrich nodded his approval. “Yes, we know. We need good teachers like you!”
As Held dropped his satchel on the table, he heard a soft noise above him. He started and then caught his breath. Glancing toward the ceiling, he hoped it was just Kat.
Ingrid came into the kitchen with Heinrich proclaiming, “We brought you some presents!”
Heinrich opened a large bag he was carrying. It was filled with wine, meats, and cheese. A bounty!
Held stared at the food in disbelief. “I don’t know what to say. How is all this possible?”
Throwing the bag on the table, Heinrich slammed a heavy hand on Held’s shoulder and drew him closer. “Your little niece worries about you.”
Ingrid moved about the kitchen, opening drawers until she found a corkscrew. She handed it and the bottle of wine to Heinrich, who popped it open easily and poured glasses that Ingrid placed on the table. Gathering plates and cutlery, Ingrid began to lay out the food while exchanging intimate glances with Heinrich. As the two of them moved around him, Held felt like a stranger in his own home.
Ingrid continued to prattle on. “Actually, Uncle Josef worries about me and always has.”
Heinrich sat down at the table, making himself at home. “Tell me more.”
Held sat down in a chair and tried to engage. He couldn’t think of one thing to say. Ingrid joined them at the table and filled in the aching silence.
“My parents died when I was young, as I told you already, Heinrich.” He nodded as she continued. “And after a lot of moving about, I came back here to settle in Amsterdam, the city of my birth. I have no real family left here though, except my Uncle Josef.” She planted a kiss on Held’s cheek.
Heinrich recoiled, half in jest. “Do I have something to worry about here?”
Ingrid flashed her eyes playfully at him and hugged her uncle. “Don’t be silly, Heinrich. He’s my wonderful uncle, that is all, and he watches out for me.”
Heinrich reached forward and slapped Held on the back. “Good man!” Heinrich continued the conversation as Ingrid started to nibble on a piece of chees
e. “You should be very proud of her. She’s a great help to the Third Reich and me. She is well-liked at our offices.”
Held nodded absently. “Ah.”
While they both ate heartily around him, Held hadn’t touch the food and Heinrich noticed. “Eat up, Professor.”
He forced himself to eat a little and drank the wine swiftly then responded with a forced, unconvincing, “Thank you. This is very… kind.”
As Ingrid gathered their plates in the sink, Heinrich put an arm around Held, lowering his voice, speaking man to man. “I heard about last night, and I wanted to let you know how much we appreciate your help.”
Held tried to swallow a piece of cheese that stuck in his throat.
As Ingrid returned to the table, a noise came from down the hall. Heinrich looked over Held’s shoulder, and his face became grave. “I thought Ingrid told me you lived alone.”
Paralyzing fear gripped him as he stalled for time. “I beg your pardon?”
Heinrich continued to look at him sternly with questioning eyes. “You don’t live alone at all, do you?”
All the air left the room.
Heinrich stood up and strode into the hallway. “What a nice cat.” He brought Kat into the kitchen and placed him in his large lap, stroking him.
Held managed to splutter out, “Oh. No. Not quite alone.”
Kat meowed as Ingrid and Heinrich laughed. Held mopped his brow and thrust his spectacles into the bridge of his nose.
“Well, meine geliebte,” Heinrich finally said, throwing down his napkin on the table and standing up, “we have to go.”
Ingrid nodded. As she clipped into the hallway to retrieve her coat, Heinrich pulled Held aside. “A word of caution, my friend.” Held looked up at the officer. “There are some scheduled… events over the next few weeks, mainly at night. Best to stay off the streets, inside, with the doors locked.”
Held nodded thoughtfully. “Ah.”
As Ingrid re-joined them, Heinrich put his arm around her. “We don’t want little Ingrid to worry about you.”
A View Across the Rooftops: An epic, heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel Page 7