by Jana Zinser
Wilbur kicked her and turned back around, as if he assaulted young girls every day.
Wolfgang’s mother looked back with concern at Eva sprawled on the sidewalk, but Wilbur jerked her back around. “Pay attention! The Fuhrer is here!” he ordered.
“Heil Hitler!” the crowd shouted in political unison.
The motorcade passed by Peter, who saw the Fuhrer from between the surging bodies. Adolf Hitler, the great leader of Germany, was not a cartoon after all; he was real. Peter pulled back his violin to protect it, then vomited on the ground. No one noticed.
After Hitler passed, the crowd dispersed, stepping around Eva lying dazed on the sidewalk. She reached up, touched her head, and groaned. Her school knapsack lay beside her.
Peter wiped his mouth on his sleeve and watched, as Olga knelt beside Eva and looked up at the hurriedly passing people. Tears ran down her face. Then she stood up and ran into the crowd, leaving Eva on the ground.
Peter crept up cautiously to Eva, reached out his hand, and pulled her up. He had missed his chance to save her, and he saw in her eyes that she knew it.
CHAPTER 3
TIMES HAVE CHANGED
(November 1938)
Eva lived several blocks from Peter in a well-kept house with a manicured yard. Olga’s family rented the tiny house next door. Later that day, Olga peeked out of her modest bedroom. Her breath misted the window as she watched the white lace curtains being closed in Eva’s bedroom across the yard. She absently dragged her finger against the pane of glass, bowed her head, and disappeared from the window, leaving the outline of an X over Eva’s house on the windowpane.
Dr. Jacob Levy stood beside Eva’s lacy bed. Though her head was bandaged with gauze, she was awake.
Eva’s mother Helga wore a dark drab dress despite the fact that she was a seamstress. With her hair severely pulled back in a bun, she watched them from across the room, her arms crossed against her heavy chest. Eva’s father Bert, a well-dressed, slightly pudgy man, sat on the bed and patted Eva’s hand.
Peter stood in the doorway and peered in tentatively. Bert motioned to him. “Peter, come in.”
“I’m late for music lessons.” Peter hesitated. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”
Bert nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Peter.”
Dr. Levy looked at Peter. “I was just with your mother and sister.” He turned to Bert. “Two patients in one day is unusual, since Hitler won’t let me practice on non-Jews.”
“I know. Hitler’s boys still sneak in the back door of my shop to get their clothes, but soon they’ll be too scared to do even that,” Bert said.
The doctor patted Eva’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Eva. You’re going to be fine.”
“What about next time?” Bert frowned. “No one’s safe anymore. Thirty-two countries met in France to discuss Jewish refugee policies, and almost all of them just gave excuses why they can’t take any Jews.”
“There’s no place for us anymore,” Jacob said.
Bert patted Eva. “And now our children. Is there nothing left for us? Will no one stand up for a young girl?”
Peter hung his head and slipped out of the room.
He walked slowly down the sidewalk, carrying his violin by its handle. His feet dragged, as if he struggled against extraordinarily heavy shoes.
As he approached the entrance to Edelweiss Park, he spotted Hans and Stephen near the indoor pool building next door, chasing each other around. “Do you think the girls are there yet?” he heard Hans ask Stephen.
“Yes, they will be waiting for us, the true German heroes,” Stephen said. He flexed his muscles, dancing backward.
Hans stopped chasing him and stared at the door to the pool.
“What?” Stephen asked.
Hans pointed. Stephen turned around to see a sign on the door to the indoor pool reading: “JEWS NOT WANTED IN THIS PLACE.”
“I don’t understand how we would hurt the water,” Hans said, sighing.
“We would just show them up anyway,” Stephen said.
“But I like to swim.”
Peter walked up to them. “The girls won’t be coming today. Something . . . came up.”
Before Hans and Stephen could say anything, Peter turned away. Clutching his violin, he ran up the impressive flight of stairs of the large stone building across the street, at the German Music Academy.
Adeline, a slender woman with braided blonde hair, quickly ushered Peter into her music room. He set his violin case down gently and opened it.
Adeline reached out and slowly closed the lid. As it snapped shut, she sighed and smiled, the kind of smile that is forced and fades quickly. “Not now, Peter.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit down. I have something to tell you.”
Peter picked up his violin and held it to his small, heaving chest, but didn’t sit. He stared at her.
Adeline took a deep breath, looking down at the floor as she did. When she looked up at Peter, her eyes brimmed with tears. Peter had never seen an adult cry before. Seeing her so distraught was frightening.
“I’m afraid your lessons here must end. I’m very sorry, Peter.”
Peter stepped back, feeling cold with shock. “I’ll practice harder. I really will. Please, Frau Adeline, don’t—”
Adeline placed her hand on his shaking shoulder. “Peter, it’s not your practicing. You’re very good, really quite extraordinary, but times have changed.” She cleared her throat. “Someone has reported that I was teaching Jews.”
“Why? Music can’t hurt anyone.”
“You’re right. Many of us wish we could change things, but—”
“Then, why can’t you?” Peter asked.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I could lose my job.” Adeline sighed. “This is Hitler’s Germany. There’s nothing I can do.”
Peter carefully snapped the latch on his violin case. “Yes, I understand.”
But he didn’t.
CHAPTER 4
THE WORLD TURNED OUT ITS LIGHT
(November 1938)
A few days later, Eva played checkers with Olga on the floor of her room. Her bandage was gone, the wound was healing, but the damage to her soul felt unfixable. Eva’s fluffy white cat, Snowflake, watched them, rubbing against Eva.
The cat meowed. Eva laughed. “Snowflake wants to play checkers.”
Olga laughed. She looked around Eva’s beautiful room with the big lacy bed. “I wish I had a room like this.”
Eva’s brother William burst into her room. He was eighteen, a handsome boy with a confident swagger and the twinkle of a daredevil in his eyes.
“Hey, ugly sister, I need money.” He ran his hand through his hair.
“No, you never paid me back last time,” Eva said. “Get a job.”
“I don’t have time to work.” He tossed his head, jerked open the drawer to her bedside table, and grabbed a few reichsmarks. “This is all you have?”
Eva nodded.
“It’s not enough. I need more,” William said, as he tucked the stolen mon
ey into his pocket. As he walked by the girls, he kicked their checkerboard. The checkers flew, and Olga glared at him.
“Get out of here, William!” Eva threw her shoe at him, hitting him in the back before he slammed the door.
“I wish I had a bigger shoe.” Eva shrugged at Olga. Then she put her finger to her mouth and motioned Olga over to her dresser drawer. She pulled out a fat sock, reached into it, and pulled out a small roll of reichsmarks. She smiled slyly. “He’s not as smart as he thinks. Hey, let’s go to the candy store.”
Olga nodded and followed Eva out of the house. They skipped, linking arms, as they approached the candy store. They sang a children’s chant:
Best friends, best friends
The best days are when we’re together.
Best friends, best friends
Best friends forever and ever.
Peter walked back from delivering a beef loin roast to Herr Frank, who hadn’t been back to the shop since he had left in such a hurry during Peter’s last serenade. Instead, he had called to have his meat delivered to 435 Edelweiss Street, a few blocks away. Peter didn’t mind. Herr Frank usually let him take Bruno for a walk after he delivered the meat. Bruno loved to scamper up the steps to the bandstand at the edge of the park, as Peter pretended he was playing his violin to a crowd, waiting anxiously to hear him. He dreamed that he would be the talk of Berlin someday: Peter Weinberg, the famous musician.
That day, Herr Frank had said both he and Bruno were sick, and asked Peter to leave the meat on the table. Peter had done what he was asked, but neither one had looked sick to him.
Outside, Peter walked slowly with his head down until he was almost in front of the candy store. He heard Eva and Olga’s voices and looked up.
“Let’s get chocolate-covered cherries,” Eva was saying to Olga.
“Yes, lots,” Olga said.
Then Eva and Olga stopped suddenly. Painted in yellow and black across the candy store window were six-pointed stars of David and the words: “DON’T SELL TO JEWS. THE JEWS ARE OUR MISFORTUNE.”
A Nazi officer stood outside with his arms crossed. He looked at Olga, and then nodded sideways at Eva. “What are you doing with that girl?” he asked.
“She’s my friend,” Olga said, but she let go of Eva and backed up.
The officer shook his head. “Is she a Jew? Didn’t you see the sign? The Jews are our misfortune. Jews cannot be our friends.”
Peter peered out from behind a tree. His heart pounded. His feet felt like they were made of lead, and he couldn’t run away. He was too scared to do anything but watch.
Another Nazi officer down the street whistled loudly and motioned. “Come on, Boris.”
“All right, Thomas.” Boris waved his hand. “Be a good German girl and leave the Jews alone.” He turned away from the girls and headed toward the other officer.
As the Nazis headed off down the street, Eva hesitated, and then ran to the candy store steps. She motioned for Olga to come with her.
Olga shook her head. “I don’t think they’ll let you in.”
“Come on. They won’t know I’m Jewish.”
Eva paused on the candy store steps as movement and raised voices from down the sidewalk reached her ears. The girls turned to see Boris and Thomas harassing Rabbi Mosel, who nervously stroked his gray-streaked beard.
“Step off the sidewalk when you see us coming!” Thomas shouted at the old man.
Peter watched the confrontation unfold from behind his tree bunker.
Boris pushed Mosel’s shoulder. “Show respect, old man.” He pulled a standard issue Nazi dagger from his belt with one hand, and knocked Mosel’s kippah off his head.
Mosel looked down at the ground. The children could hear him praying in Yiddish: “God, look down on me now.”
“Shut up, old Jew man!” Boris swung the dagger close to Mosel’s neck, then roughly grabbed Mosel’s beard and cut it off. Blood oozed from the old man’s injured face. As the whiskers fell to the ground, Boris and Thomas laughed and pushed the rabbi.
Peter’s eyes grew big and his mouth hung open. Rabbi Mosel was a powerful man of God, but the soldiers were controlling him.
“Next time, step off the sidewalk when you see a German officer coming, or you’ll end up like your beard,” Boris said. The two Nazis turned on their heels and continued down the street.
Peter looked over to where Olga had been standing, but she was no longer there. He could see her running down the street toward her home. Eva stood still, as if frozen, on the candy store steps.
Mosel picked up his kippah and walked away. Eva shook herself a little, and then ran after him. “Rabbi Mosel! Are you all right?”
“They’re robbing our souls, and the world has turned out its light and gone to sleep,” Mosel said sadly.
Eva looked up at the wise man. “The world can’t sleep forever.”
“This I hope and this I pray. Go home where it is safe, Eva.” Mosel hobbled down the sidewalk, cloaked in humiliation, his beard cut, and his spirit crushed but not broken.
Peter warbled his usual three shrill whistles to get Eva’s attention, then stepped out from behind the tree and ran to her. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Eva ran over to him. “They cut Rabbi Mosel’s beard,” she said, still in shock.
“I know. Come with me, I want to show you something.” Peter thought that maybe he could distract her from the rabbi’s attack.
Eva followed more from numbing shock than really wanting to go.
Peter led her down the block to a fleet of red-and-green garbage trucks parked in neat rows, waiting their turn to negotiate the city streets and pick up the remnants of trash no one wanted.
“This? This is it?” Eva asked, when she saw the tidy line of garbage trucks.
Peter nodded, as he climbed into the cab of a truck and motioned Eva to follow. He reached out his hand and helped her up. Her hand was smooth, soft, and warm.
She sat beside him, as he pretended to drive the powerful truck. Then she pointed to the ignition. “There’s no key.”
“I wasn’t really going to—”
“It’s no good without the key,” Eva said seriously, suddenly very interested.
“I know where the keys are.” Peter smiled. “Wait here.”
Peter jumped down from the cab and walked over to the tiny building that served as the office. He knew the schedule of the trucks and that no one would be in the office for a little while. He carefully pried open the office window and reached in to the board of hooks that held each truck’s key on its painted number. He counted down three from the front, matching the position of the truck in the parking lot, and pulled the key off the pegboard.
Peter smiled and warbled three short, shrill whistles as he walked back to the truck, holding his prized key aloft like a trophy for Eva to admire. He climbed back into the cab, reached down, and put the key in the ignition. He had often driven his father’s meat truck on their delivery route, while sitting on his father’s lap, substituting for his father’s legs.
He turned the key. As the garbage truck started u
p, he hollered like he had seen his father do at a football game. Eva clapped.
Peter felt powerful. “Look at this.” He leaned out the window and pretended to steer the wheel with his feet. “Don’t worry, I’m a good driver. I don’t even need my hands.” Someday, he would be a remarkable driver. People would stare as he drove by with a beautiful girl, hopefully Eva, he thought. “Someday, I’ll take you for a real ride in one of these,” he promised.
“Okay, but don’t drive with your feet,” she said. They both laughed, the constricting fear from watching the rabbi’s humiliation temporarily forgotten.
Peter knew the drivers would be arriving soon, so he turned off the motor. They both jumped down, before the fleet of trucks took off on their bold journeys across the city, seeking the perpetual rubbish. He put the key back on the pegboard. “I’d better get back to the shop. My father has some lamb chops and a roast for me to take to the Vogners.”
“Okay.”
Eva followed Peter back toward their block. Peter turned toward the shop to get the meat packages for his next delivery, and Eva headed toward home.
Eva turned back. “Peter?” she called.
Peter stopped and turned around.
“Someday, you will drive that truck.”
“And you will ride with me.” Peter smiled. “I’m a good driver.”
Eva laughed and waved. “Tell my favorite little spitfire ‘hello’!”
Peter ran down the street toward his father’s shop, jubilant that he had sat so close to Eva and that she thought him capable of driving the massive truck.
As he turned the corner, he saw William, Eva’s brother, opening up his father’s tailor shop that was closed for the day. Bert was a tailor, and Helga was a seamstress. William let a well-dressed man, with a scar across his eye, slip inside.