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

by Suzanne Kelman

  He was silent for a moment, seemingly lost in that thought. Then, barely above a whisper, he responded, “In many ways, Michael saved me.”

  Chapter 40

  The next day, Hannah didn’t arrive as usual, and Josef found he was disappointed. He had been working on the right words to say to her about his feelings, practicing them in his mind. Nothing too sentimental, just something that would open the door up to a conversation, so he could see if she shared any of the same feelings. So, when she didn’t come, he wondered if even the few words he had managed to say in that direction had frightened her off. If she had only taken care of him out of kindness, maybe even him taking her hand had been too forward. He felt sadness as the day wore on without her light and presence to illuminate it. He had started to enjoy seeing her each day and looked forward to it. But when she hadn’t arrived by three o’clock, he reminded himself she also had her own life with her mother.

  Not wanting to wallow, and after checking on Michael, Josef made the decision that it was time for him to get some fresh air today, just a short walk up and down the street and back. He had been inside for so long. So, with much effort, he dressed, put on his overcoat, hat, and scarf, and, taking his time, made his way out into the early afternoon light.

  It was the perfect winter’s day, not too cold, but crisp, and the sky was blue. As he hobbled down the street, he stopped outside Mrs. Epstein’s house with dismay. Her beautiful brown mahogany piano was out on her pathway.

  Running his fingers across the lid, he noticed that, though dusty, it had been well cared for. He could just imagine the studious little woman humming to herself as she buffed it to a shine with an ample amount of beeswax.

  He wondered why it had not been taken when the house had been emptied after she had been murdered. Probably too heavy for the Nazis to move. But now it appeared they were using her house for storage, and clearly it had got in the way.

  He closed his eyes and took a moment to remember all the music he’d heard on this piano and all the joy it had brought him.

  Moving past it down the street, he was filled with sadness. Sadness at the length of the war, the sadness of the many years of Amsterdam’s captivity, and the pain of Mrs. Epstein’s loss, still so raw to him even after all this time. As he sauntered slowly on his way, he longed for the day when they would all be free.

  With his newly regained strength, Josef made his way up to the attic and was heartened to see Michael moving around the room. Still painfully thin, his body was a jumble of bones, his skin a sickly yellow, and even though Michael was still in his twenties, he looked far older, with gray hair already starting to appear at his temples. This war had aged them all. He watched Michael shuffle across the room to the box in the corner in which he’d placed all of his things before he had left. Evidently he was slowly unpacking his books and poems that he’d hidden among a pile of Josef’s old clothes.

  “I didn’t think I’d be back here again,” he whispered.

  Josef came across to join him and seated himself at the desk as he watched him unpack. “I am glad you’re back—and safe. Even though I know that you desperately want to be free.”

  Balancing a pile of books, Michael got to his feet and walked toward the desk, stacking them similarly to how they’d been before he left. “Freedom wasn’t quite what I expected,” he said as he flicked through one of the editions.

  “Did you find Elke?”

  Her name was enough to create a pained reaction, which told Josef that it hadn’t been the reunion Michael had hoped for.

  “She is a woman who keeps her promises. I asked her to find love and she did. I thought I’d felt the deepest loss being separated from her, but it was nothing compared to knowing she didn’t love me anymore.”

  “Did you speak to her?”

  Michael shook his head and continued back to the box to unload some more of his poems. “There was no need. I watched her from a distance and I know what I saw.”

  “So, she still doesn’t know you’re alive? Maybe things would be different if she did.”

  Michael continued to unpack as he shook his head. “I’m not alive anymore. Not inside. My heart might still be beating, but there’s nothing left of me. Amsterdam, out there, is a hollow shell of what it was, it was shocking to me after being in here for so long. I walked past Jodenbuurt, it was like a ghost town and I wondered about all the people I knew from there. But there was no one left, not one person. It has made me question everything again. How can a loving God allow all this? I sometimes think that if it wasn’t for the kindness I see in you, I would find no goodness to dwell on in this life. The world is a cold, harsh place, especially now without even the hope of love from the only woman I will ever care about.”

  Josef understood the pain. His thoughts went to when he had lost Sarah; he hadn’t wanted to go on living either. He’d felt that hollow, aching emptiness of being. He didn’t want to share with Michael that it could last a very long time. “I think I’ll get us some tea,” he said, getting to his feet. “For some reason, Mrs. Pender didn’t come today. I’m thinking maybe she has other fires she is fighting in her own life.”

  Michael nodded. “Tea sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to see what you make it out of.”

  “Ah, I will surprise you,” said Josef as he shuffled toward the door. “It’ll at least be warming.”

  Josef closed the door behind him. He stood for a minute listening to Michael as he moved around the attic, feeling his pain and wanting to help him in any way he could. He may have saved his life, but saving him from his heartache was beyond him.

  Chapter 41

  When Hannah walked home on the last afternoon she’d visited Josef’s, her spirit had been buoyant. Not only due to the attraction that was growing in her toward Josef, but also thinking about the courage he had shown, in such an unassuming way. However, when she would look back on this day in the many months to come, she’d remember that afternoon as the last day that she’d genuinely felt happy for a long time.

  When Hannah arrived home, she realized something was wrong. Clara wasn’t sitting in her usual chair by the fire, and the house was so still and quiet. Removing her hat and coat, she moved into her front room, calling out to her mama. She called out over and over again, but no response came back. She searched from room to room before finding Clara lying in bed. The room was dark, and a heavy oppression seemed to seep from the walls themselves.

  Moving quickly to her mother’s side, she took her hand. “Mama, are you okay?” she asked, unable to keep the fearful tone from her voice.

  Clara’s eyes drifted open, and Hannah could see that she was seriously unwell. Clara had suffered from a dry cough for a while, but now her chest rattled as she breathed in and out. Hannah felt her forehead and realized that her mother had a temperature.

  With her body shaking, Hannah called for the doctor. He arrived promptly.

  “I’m not happy with the sound of her chest,” he informed Hannah as he stood in their little front parlor talking in hushed tones. “She has a severe chest infection and will need a long recovery time. With her age and her already depressive condition, I’m not sure she has much fight in her for this illness, and if we are not careful, it could turn into pneumonia.”

  Hannah nodded, but she was adamant she would do all she could to keep Clara alive.

  She nursed her mother day and night, hardly sleeping, barely even leaving the house, willing her mama to survive. Mrs. Oberon came by each day with supplies and to talk to her old friend. Hannah and Oma took turns reading to Clara, doing jigsaws, and telling her stories about what they would do when the war was over. But no matter what she did or said, Clara would look at her daughter, her runny eyes signifying her desire to pass to a better place.

  In late February, Clara took a turn for the worse. With so little food for anyone to eat and the fact that the Germans gave the Dutch such meager rations, Hannah didn’t even have the ingredients to make a warming soup for her mother. It wa
s also so cold, people were chopping down trees and burning their own furniture just to keep warm. As well as being ill, Clara started to lose weight rapidly. Hannah tried everything to coax her, to encourage her, but deep down she knew her mother’s will was strong. If she did not want to be part of this world anymore, there was nothing Hannah could do to stop her.

  It was on a bright day in early spring that Hannah arrived home and knew that something was very wrong. She’d been out all morning serving at one of the many soup kitchens. So many people were starving in Holland; eating tulip bulbs and even the wallpaper off the walls. Hannah heard the stories and wondered how long they could go on like this. Taking care of Clara and surviving was all she had the energy for each day. She now only went to the university a few hours a week. Many of the professors were still not back, including Professor Held, as the university was barely open due to lack of power. There was virtually no gas or electricity getting through, and they didn’t even have hot water. Hannah did like to go to work a couple of times a week just to keep on top of the mail. That day, when she walked into her home, it seemed quieter than ever before. Almost as though the very walls themselves were waiting for her return, waiting quietly for Hannah to see what had been happening in the house while she was gone.

  She called to her mama, “It’s me. I’m back.”

  The silence from the darkened bedroom was deafening. She made her way quickly to her mother’s bedside. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she noticed something was odd. Instead of lying under the covers, her mother lay out on top of the bed, and instead of being in her nightgown, somehow she had managed to dress in her traditional Dutch dress, which Hannah remembered from her childhood. Clara had been saving it for Eva when she grew up. No one had worn such outfits since before the war, but Clara had been fiercely proud to be Dutch and had been married in hers. Beside her on the bedside table, the music box had been playing. Hannah ran to the bed and grabbed Clara’s cold hand. She felt urgently for a pulse, but she knew it was too late. Clara had slipped quietly from this world.

  Sobbing into the pillow, she whispered, “Why, Mama, why?” over and over again. Clara had been weak that morning, but no better or worse than the day before. What had turned her mother’s condition downhill so rapidly? Then she saw the sleeping tablets the doctor had prescribed to help ease Clara’s nights. They had been high out of the way in a kitchen cupboard. Clara must have somehow made her way in there to find them.

  On the bedside table there was an envelope addressed to Hannah in Clara’s shaky hand. Hannah refused to accept that her mother was gone and quickly called the doctor, but there was nothing he could do. Many older people were dying from hunger, he informed her with sadness, reminding Hannah how grim his job was right now.

  After he left, Hannah sat by the fire, drinking a stiff brandy. She opened the letter that her mother had left her, hoping for any kind of answer to why Clara had taken her life.

  The note was short and must have taken great effort. Hannah then realized that in order for all of this to take place in one morning, Clara must have been preparing for days. In the note, Clara talked about how she wanted to save the food for Hannah and that without the will to live there was nothing left for her to fight for; that Hannah would have to fight for both of them now.

  Hannah went to bed that night sobbing, knowing that nothing would ever be quite the same again.

  Chapter 42

  Spring 1945

  Over the weeks, as they continued to recover, Josef often sat by Michael’s bed and was relieved that they both continued to get well. With the lingering illness and the lack of food, they had both lost a great deal of weight; though now and again, Ingrid did give Josef extra food, as the Germans received more rations. There was no more talk from Michael of leaving, especially as stories of the concentration camps became more widely known, though they still felt the risk of their situation, particularly since Ingrid had told Josef the story of how the Gestapo had found two entire Jewish families in an attic hidden behind a bookcase in an office building the previous summer.

  Hannah tried to visit Josef, but her priority had been her mother while she was ill, and then since her death Josef understood she was grieving. And, really, everyone was preoccupied with surviving. Since the start of winter, the Germans had ordered the blocking of food supplies designed for the civilian population in retaliation to a Dutch rail-workers strike the year before, and it had caused a famine across the country.

  Josef eyed his cat. Dantes was the only one who seemed to fare well through the time, converting back to his natural instincts and hunting rats and mice. Josef was always wary of letting him outdoors now, though; people were becoming so desperate that they had stooped to eating cats and dogs.

  By the late winter, he had no longer attended the university, which had been closed because of the war. Each day he tried to find food and conserve his energy, and every evening he and Michael sat huddled around the wireless, desperate to follow all the advances of the Allies. This night was no different.

  “Not long now, I hope,” Michael stated after a very encouraging message. “Then I will be able to leave this attic.”

  “Yes,” stated Josef, then adding dryly, “and you can go back to university and finish your advanced mathematics course.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “What about you, Professor? What do you plan to do?”

  Josef shook his head. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

  “Maybe take out the lovely Mrs. Pender,” Michael teased.

  Josef choked on his bitter chicory coffee, spluttering out, “What?”

  “Well, she likes you.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Not in so many words, but I can tell.”

  Josef, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken and not wanting to expose his own feelings, became embarrassed, and tried to brush him off. “I can assure you I haven’t even considered such things. In times like these, that is a very frivolous occupation.”

  Michael just beamed. “Why can’t we think of these things? One day the war will be over and you can go out drinking and dancing again.”

  Josef glared at him sternly, hopefully conveying that he had never taken on such endeavors even before the war.

  “Why not ask her out?” Michael persisted.

  “You forget that I am not the dashing Mr. Blum. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  “It’s not hard. You just ask her to go for a walk, or you could ask her to join you for dinner.”

  Josef chuckled to himself as he gathered their empty cups. “To dinner? If we ever have any food again, maybe I will do that.” He wandered out of the attic, shaking his head, but felt renewed optimism with Michael’s words. Since his health had improved, he had not seen much of Hannah, and had convinced himself that what she felt for him was simply friendship. But maybe when they weren’t all so busy surviving there would be more time to explore these emotions.

  As the war continued its forward thrust through 1945, Josef and Michael listened with great interest to their little wireless, wondering if there would ever be an end. They took in every detail of the battle being waged on all fronts around Holland. As the Nazis tried desperately to keep a stranglehold on Amsterdam, the Allies fought back on both sides, continuing a vigorous bombing campaign.

  During the raids, Josef would go to a shelter. He had created as safe a hiding place as he could in the attic for Michael, a place he could crawl into that’d be safe from shattering glass or explosions. It was just too dangerous to bring him outside.

  One particularly perilous night in the midst of an extensive campaign, a stray bomb dropped on the street right outside Josef’s house.

  The professor had just returned from the shelter and thought that the bombing had stopped when the sheer force of the blast from an explosion shook the whole of the house.

  As Josef’s ears rang with the percussion, he was flattened first against the wall then thrown to the floor. He
scrambled under the table for cover, attempting to get back his breath as he looked around the kitchen to survey the damage. His wooden shutters had been blown wide open, and shattered glass covered the floor and counters. His back door hung limply on its hinges, and pots and pans were splayed across the floor having been blasted out of their cupboards.

  Michael. He had to get up and check on Michael. Finding new strength from his aching body, he made his way quickly to the attic through the household debris scattered around the floor and stairs. It was as though everything in the whole house had been thrown every which way. Moving up the attic stairs, he got to the door and pushed it open. The room itself showed hallmarks of the blast; plaster, stonemasonry, and dust scattered the attic, and splintered wood formed a mosaic of shrapnel on the floor. Fortunately, Michael was still in his safe space and crawled out from below the hardened structure that Josef had created for him under the eaves.

  All the lights were out in the house, but fires that raged close by illuminated the room, which now sat in an eerie silence.

  “Are you okay?” asked Josef, helping Michael out of his shelter. Michael nodded and then moved to the far end of the attic, away from the window. From a distance, they could hear the sound of ambulance bells and firefighters on their way.

  Suddenly, another bomb exploded in mid-air above them, lighting up the room as if it were a firework, and the two men dove onto the floor again. They lay there, very still, until finally the all-clear siren screeched its assurance.

  While Michael recovered on his bed, breathing heavily, Josef went down to find a candle. Upstairs swirls of brick dust still circled, and one end of the attic was mangled where a beam from the ceiling had given way and fallen.

  As they surveyed the damage together, Josef’s breath caught in his throat when he noticed Sarah’s trunk. The wood was splintered in two, and the trunk was broken open. Quickly the two men pulled it away from the crumbling walls and dragged it farther down the attic to Michael’s bed, which was relatively debris-free.