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

by Suzanne Kelman

  “I’m not going to give up on the idea, not until I see you happy with another woman,” she sang after him as he made his way back into the hallway.

  He moved into the bathroom and shut the door, splashing water on his face.

  As he did his thoughts returned to Hannah Pender. Over the past few years, seeing her had become something he looked forward to. It sometimes felt as if he couldn’t wait to pick up his mail and so he would also invent excuses to drop by her desk to ask questions. Maybe because she was married and so off limits, but listening to her laugh or watch her face light up with a smile as she told him a story was often the highlight of his day. He could still never imagine being with anyone else but Sarah. But it was good to talk to someone kind, thoughtful, and generous, nevertheless.

  He waited for several minutes, hoping that by the time he returned Ingrid would have forgotten the conversation and returned to her decorating. When he finally exited the bathroom, she was talking on the telephone in the hallway. Even at a distance, he could tell that she was agitated. Putting down the telephone, she strode back toward him.

  “Uncle, I have bad news. I have to leave. Once again, they have a problem at work, and Heinrich needs me to sort it out. I don’t know what they would do in the office without me.”

  Josef nodded, pleased for any reason to be able to leave. Before she even spoke another word, the maid appeared in the hallway with his coat. Putting it on, he nodded at Ingrid as she walked him to the door.

  “I’m so sorry, Uncle Josef. Maybe we can spend more time together next week. Are you sure you don’t want me to invite my friend Ursula over?”

  Josef shook his head a little too vigorously. Following it up with, “I’m very happy on my own. There will be nobody else for me in this world.”

  She gave him her usual tart smile. “We will talk more about a special friend for you at another time,” she stated, opening the door.

  He left without responding and made his way down the corridor.

  Once he heard the door close behind him, he took in a deep breath and descended the stairs. This weekly event for him was such a trial, but he reminded himself he was doing it to keep her from his home, to keep Michael safe.

  Chapter 19

  The following Monday, Michael stood and stretched, then made his way to the tiny cracked window in the attic. Carefully standing to the side, he pressed his face flat against the wall. His gaze stretched across the red-tiled rooftops that ran all the way to Munttoren, the medieval clock tower that chimed every fifteen minutes. Whenever he stared toward the yellow-colored numbers he would often wonder about the people who lived in the brown-and-cream buildings with their stepped gabled facades that sat in tall regimented rows between him and the tower that seemed to mock his captivity every quarter of an hour. Were other people marking time with him? he wondered. He would pay particular attention to the other attic windows—did they too hide secrets of their own? From his position he could also just about see the flowers starting to bloom in one of the neighbor’s hanging baskets, gorgeous yellow tulips. He had written a poem about them the day before, and now he closed his eyes, trying to imagine how they might smell.

  Before the war, having the time and space to hide away in a small room to write poetry would have been intriguing. But now, two years of doing just that had become confining and demoralizing. His whole world began and ended in this room. How he wished he could walk outdoors, smell flowers, stare at a tree, watch a bird. Surely the war will end soon, he thought to himself.

  Pacing the attic, as he so often did, he sat down on one of the trunks. “Dantes,” he said to his companion, “we need an adventure. We could end up dying of boredom in this room.”

  He threw a crumpled ball of paper toward Dantes and watched his cat bat it around before it ended up among some boxes. Michael bent down to retrieve it. As he did, his attention was drawn to a trunk tucked away in the corner of the attic. He had seen it many times before and knew that Held kept it locked, but he had never seen the professor venture into it. Feeling a little mischievous, he started to pull out the boxes that surrounded the chest so he could get a better look.

  “Look, Dantes. Shall we finally see if there’s treasure in it?”

  He knew he shouldn’t be going through the professor’s things, but he was craving something, anything, to stimulate him, and it was like a sort of madness. He wanted to write a poem about something new, something not from memory. Something that he could touch and feel, look at.

  He wished he could join the Resistance. He wanted to fight, but being Jewish and maybe bringing unwanted attention to the movement meant that was out of the question. He also still loved Elke and had promised her he would come back. He had to stay hidden and be strong for her. He had to stay alive so he could one day marry her. Hell, he had to stay alive just to repopulate the Jewish people. He knew that Elke had talked about converting if their relationship continued and increasingly he hoped she had really meant it. They would need to have many children if the rumors were true.

  “You’re not very talkative today,” he informed Dantes, who promptly turned over and went to sleep.

  He managed to free the trunk from its space in the far corner. It felt heavy as he slid it along the wooden floorboards. He was disappointed to find it was indeed locked firmly.

  Back at his desk, dejected, he turned on the wireless so quietly it was barely audible, allowing delicate strains of Brahms to dance through the dusty room. He would just have to wait, see if he could write a poem about a locked trunk. But as he wrote, he became more and more frustrated with not knowing its contents. Unwinding a piece of wire from one of his spiral notebooks, he decided to try picking the lock. It took him a while, but eventually, the lock flipped open.

  At the grinding sound of the metal hook freeing itself, Dantes jumped down from the bed and came to investigate. As Michael pushed open the lid and peered inside, the cat sprawled himself across his lap and began to purr.

  “Oh, Dantes, this really is treasure.”

  On top lay a pair of laced gloves, carefully folded into tissue paper with a dried bridal bouquet. He lifted out items one at a time and placed them around him on the floor in amazement. Bundles of classical sheet music, letters wrapped in ribbons, a veil made of delicate cream lace, and a framed photo of a couple on their wedding day.

  “Look at this,” he said as he unwrapped the veil, placing it on his head and throwing the train over his shoulder. “What do you think, Dantes? Does it suit me?”

  Dantes responded by stabbing a paw at the end of the gauzy fabric, catching it in a claw and flicking it up for his own entertainment.

  As they continued this adventure, the delicate piano music from the wireless moved the musty air. He continued to search through the trunk, wondering what it all meant. He shuffled through a stack of photographs and scrutinized a picture of a young couple. He was shocked to recognize Professor Held.

  Michael hadn’t realized. Josef, young Josef, looked so vibrant and alive. Such a difference from the man that he knew now, but it was definitely him. Same eyes, same dark hair, but with a smile that permeated his whole face. Michael stopped and thought for a moment. Had he ever seen Josef truly happy?

  Seeing the professor’s arms wrapped around a beautiful woman’s waist was a shock. Jarring somehow. Reminding Michael he was intruding, doing something wrong.

  Moving closer to the window, he looked intently at the sepia photograph. The tiny woman was beautiful. She had long ringlets and vibrant eyes. Michael turned over the photograph. Written on the back in a delicate script, were the words “Josef and Sarah.”

  “Sarah,” he said, rolling the name across his tongue for the first time. Who was Sarah? He and Josef had lived together for all this time, and he’d never mentioned that he’d been married.

  If that’s what it was, he thought, looking at the happy couple who stared back at him again. That was definitely what it looked like. He continued to shuffle through the photogra
phs and found another one. This time Josef’s hands were poised on piano keys and Sarah was lifted high on top, where she beamed, a violin snug under her chin.

  “Josef played the piano.” Shock traveled through Michael’s body. His friend that had saved him from the Nazis whom he spoke to every single day, had not mentioned any of these things. It was unnerving.

  There would be a lot of food for thought for his poetry in this trunk.

  Wanting to unravel all the mysteries, Michael continued to pull out things. The rest was mainly women’s clothes and a few trinkets. But at the bottom lay a violin case. Taking it carefully out of the chest, he opened it up.

  Chapter 20

  That same day, Josef left the secure warmth of his classroom and walked down the hallway. As he approached Hannah Pender’s desk though, he was stopped short. In front of him, in the familiar gray uniform, a German soldier was chatting in a very animated fashion with Hannah. Josef’s instinct was to feel angry. Was it because she was talking so lightly to the enemy? Or was it, he realized with some surprise, that he felt jealous? He had got used to their friendly interaction, and looked forward to stopping by her desk each day. But as she threw her head back and laughed at something the soldier had said he realized again how much he had grown to like her. Even if he still wasn’t sure he could trust her.

  He stayed back. Not wanting to approach. What if he asked her about the books he’d ordered for Michael, and there were questions from the soldier? He decided to wait. He turned and moved back down the hallway at a slow, metered pace, hoping it would appear he’d forgotten something.

  Back in the safety of his classroom, he stood by the tall windows and took a minute to appreciate the view of the red-brick courtyard. Plants bobbed and weaved in a gentle breeze under the warmth of a late spring sun; the trees were lush, laden with an abundance of new green foliage. Sarah had loved this time of year. His chest tightened as he thought of her face, her emerald-green eyes alive with the joy of the new season. He squeezed his eyes shut, not sure if by doing so he would bring the memory of her closer or push it farther away.

  Since the death of his neighbor, he had found himself unable to keep thoughts of Sarah from bubbling up to the surface. He had no choice but to live with the intense reflections of their few short years together. Initially, memories that he had repressed for over two decades seemed to burn through him like a raging wildfire. But they had, over the past two years, been tamed to glowing coals; no less hot or painful but somehow more manageable and predictable. He sometimes wished that he could move on and then would instantly feel waves of guilt. The love he still felt for her was as intense as ever. How could it have been so many years ago, yet still feel like yesterday?

  As he waited, he watched a mother bird encouraging a fledgling out of a nest that was tucked high in the campus eaves. The space between the warm, wiry nest and the ground must have felt insurmountable to her tiny protégé. As he watched her coax her offspring, he reasoned that not one thing enjoyed the kind of change that challenged them out into the unknown.

  After what felt like a safe amount of time, he slowly paced to the door, shut it behind him, and locked it. At an even slower rate, he turned the corner and looked to see if Hannah was alone. The Nazi was still there, but he could tell by their body language that the conversation was coming to an end.

  As he approached the desk, the soldier nearly collided with him and then straightened, bobbing his head. “Professor Held.”

  Josef recognized him as one of the patrolling soldiers who now worked permanently on the campus. He nodded his acknowledgment.

  Hannah was still smiling as he reached the desk. It made him apprehensive, as did many things these days. She spoke excellent German, and she seemed to get on well with the enemy. But her eyes brightened as she saw him approach.

  “Professor,” she said in her upbeat way. “You are here for your mail, no doubt. And I have a surprise for you.” She leant forward and covered his hand with hers, causing him to swallow hard at her touch.Then she moved to another room and came back through the door with a heavy parcel. Putting it on the desk, she smiled, a quizzical look on her face. “Here are the books you ordered.” The parcel had been opened so the Nazis could inspect it.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Pender,” he acknowledged, trying to keep his voice on an even keel. The soldier, who had moved farther down the desk, was still in earshot of their conversation.

  Hannah playfully held onto it and appearing to want to prolong their interaction studied the pile in front of her. “Literature,” she stated in an accusatory tone. “I had no idea you had an interest.”

  Josef froze. He was not good at lying, but he did not want her to guess the truth, so he just nodded.

  But Hannah wasn’t giving up. “And science,” she said. “You obviously like mathematics, but I’ve never known you to order science books before.” Her eyebrows rose. “And here’s the most surprising of all,” she added, picking up a smaller, thicker book. Her eyes flashed mischievously, “A book of poetry? Professor Held, it’s as if I don’t know you.”

  Josef stared at her numbly, not knowing what else to do. He felt caught. They had all become wary of any conversation that delved too deep, questioned too deliberately. Was she just being friendly or was it more? The Germans had made them all paranoid.

  “My mail,” he said, a little more harshly than he had intended, inadvertently forcing her to give up her game and push the books toward him. The look of disappointment that crossed her face wounded him because he realized she was only being playful, just wanting to connect. He regretted not responding in a similar vein.

  Her cheeks flushed pink and she answered him in a much quieter tone. “I will get it for you, Professor.”

  He hadn’t meant to hurt her with his brusqueness, but the reality was he had Michael to think of, and Michael’s safety never left his thoughts. As she sorted through the pile of letters, he took a minute to look at her once again, dressed in a black A-line skirt and a soft cream blouse. He wondered about Mr. Pender and if he realized how fortunate he was to have such a beautiful and vivacious wife. Then he tried to recall if he had ever met him and he was sure he hadn’t.

  Josef swallowed hard as he felt something swell in his heart, a desire for closeness again, and with someone just like Hannah. For the briefest of moments he imagined himself kissing her and he shook the thought away, embarrassed. Surely it was just awkward nostalgia—because he had just been thinking of Sarah, missing her so much.

  All at once, the soldier was by his side again, asking Hannah another question in rapid German. Josef felt the blood drain from him with the man’s proximity. A gray-uniformed arm lay across the desk, inches from the bundle of books, the Wordsworth poetry book on the top. Held quickly gathered the bundle and the pile of mail together. Not even bothering to sort the stack, he turned toward the door.

  It was only when he’d actually arrived at the doorway that he took a moment to look back. Hannah and the soldier were chatting and nodding once again; they didn’t seem to suspect anything untoward was going on. He took a deep breath and hurried out into the late afternoon, where the spring sun warmed the ground of the courtyard.

  He hurried straight home in excitement to get his gifts to his young friend. Books in hand, he forgot to tap the code and rushed up to the attic.

  Chapter 21

  Michael was startled when the door opened. Still engrossed in the trunk and listening to the wireless, he hadn’t heard Professor Held climbing the attic stairs. “Professor, what is all—?”

  But he never managed to finish his sentence before Held took in the scene and looked horrified. Lunging at Michael, he spat out, “How dare you!?”

  He seized the violin and its case from Michael’s lap, snatched up all the items scattered across the floor and reverently placed them back in the trunk. “Take that off!” he raged at Michael, who was wearing the wedding veil in a comedic fashion.

  Michael sheepishly removed it and lo
oked at Josef. He attempted to ask again, “What is all this?”

  Professor Held stopped him short. “This is none of your business, that’s what it is.” For the first time, Michael heard pain underlying his friend’s voice. The anguish was palpable.

  “I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t think. I didn’t know.”

  “No, you didn’t,” responded Held as he firmly shut the lid on the trunk and reset the lock. “You just assumed you could break into my locked trunk?”

  Michael felt awful. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know.”

  “These are her—” Held stopped, then corrected himself. “My private things.” He was shaking now with white rage.

  Michael responded quietly, “I didn’t know you were married.”

  Held glared at him. “My life is none of your concern.”

  In spite of feeling guilty about breaking into Held’s trunk, with these words from him Michael felt slapped, betrayed even. They had spoken every day for over two years, and he assumed Held had always been single. “Why did you never tell me?”

  “You do not have the right to my life! You do not have the right to—”

  All at once there was a loud knock at the front door. They were both startled, and Held immediately exited the attic. Michael quietly turned off his light and the wireless, and shut the attic door, left alone in the dark with his turbulent feelings and Held’s past.

  Josef raced down the attic stairs, placing the pile of books he had for Michael on one of the steps on the way down. On the ground floor, he took two deep breaths and opened the door. Waiting on the doorstep were Ingrid and Heinrich. Held tried to take a hold of himself, his emotions, heart, and thoughts still caught up in the past. Trapped in the attic. Seeing her things. Her violin had been too much for him.