by Jana Zinser
The officer slapped him hard on the back of his head. “Good! Jew scum! I’ll give you one minute before I start shooting.”
Hans sprinted down the street and up the steps to the orphanage. He banged on the door, glancing over his shoulder at the Nazi officer, until the door opened a crack. “Please let me in!” he begged. “My family’s been arrested, and I don’t know where to go. The policeman across the street is watching me. In a few seconds he’s going to start shooting!”
A mousy man looked out through the open door. A small boy, about nine years old, with unruly hair and freckles, peered around him.
“Herr Benny, you better let him in, or we’ll have to clean the blood off the steps,” the boy pointed out reasonably.
Herr Benny still hesitated. The boy quickly pointed at the package in Hans’s hands. Hans looked down and then back at the boy, who nodded. Hans held out his food package to the man. “I have sausages, sugar, and butter.”
The man opened the door and beckoned Hans in. Hans nodded and quickly stepped inside. He smiled at the little boy with an aversion to cleaning and a keen sense of bribery. “Thanks for the help.”
“I like sausages,” the boy said. “I’m Noah. Come on, I’ll show you a cot where you can sleep.”
At Stephen’s house, Peter wasn’t feeling well. He lay on his pallet on the floor, next to the bed where Sylvia and Becca slept. A drawer, removed from the dresser, sat on the floor next to Sylvia’s bed. It was lined with Lilly’s pink bunny blanket and used as a bed. A drawer-bed in the Levys’ beautiful house wasn’t bad, compared to where other people were living. Peter had seen many families were homeless and wandering the streets, begging for food and hiding from Hitler’s men.
Still, Peter couldn’t help but wish they were back in their tiny apartment above the butcher shop, and that he could hear the clacking of his father’s cane across the floor. All of that was gone, and now, even this would be gone. Tomorrow, when the Kindertransport left the station, Peter would leave behind everything familiar. The thought made his stomach churn.
Bert, Helga, and Eva made their way to Bert’s tailor shop. It had been boarded up since the attack.
When they got there, they saw that the bottom board had been pried off the door. Bert cautiously looked around, ducked under, and went in, followed by Helga and Eva.
They were startled to find a man asleep on the floor. At the sound of them entering, the man turned over and glared at them for disturbing his trespassing sleep. It was William, Eva’s brother, his shaved hair barely grown in.
Helga ran to him and knelt down beside him, hugging him. “William! Oh, my sweet, sweet boy!”
Bert put his arm around him. “Where have you been, son?”
“They arrested me and sent me to Sothausen,” William said.
Helga grabbed her head. “Oh, dear God!”
“What did they do to you?” Eva asked, giving her brother a hug.
Helga glared at Eva. “Let’s not talk about that now. He’s safe, and that’s all that matters.”
“I’ve got to get out of Germany, now,” William said. “This is my last chance.”
“You can take Eva’s seat on the train tomorrow!” Helga blurted out.
Eva gasped and grabbed her father. “No, Mama!”
“Helga, no! That’s not fair,” Bert stared at his wife. “It’s Eva’s seat!”
“Oh, Bert. They’re not going to hurt a little girl,” Helga said. “William’s the one in real danger. He’s lucky he escaped.”
Eva looked up at Bert. “Papa?”
William hugged his mother and turned his back to Eva and his father. He smiled. “Where’s the train going?”
“England,” Helga replied.
“That’ll do,” William said.
At the German organization office in Berlin, Marla and Jules combed through the piles of paperwork. They had lists, timelines, and documents for each child. Marla yawned and rubbed her red eyes.
“When was the last time you slept?” Jules asked her.
“November,” Marla said. “How about you?”
“Years ago, before Hitler kicked the Jews out of the military,” Jules said.
“You were in the German military?”
“I was a soldier. A good one. I don’t really have any other skills.”
“Yes, you do. Organizing and transporting children.”
“And that’s almost as hazardous,” Jules said, laughing.
The night crept in moonless and cold, with a sharp wind blowing through the streets of Berlin.
Sleeping on the floor of his mother’s room at the Levys’ house, Peter was awakened by Bruno nudging him with his wet nose. “How did you get in here?”
The black dinner-jacket-wearing German Shepherd nudged him again.
“Now? Really? You need to go outside now?”
The dog whined.
Peter sleepily got up and slipped on his shoes. He staggered out the door, thumping his leg for the dog to follow. “Come on, then. Let’s go and get it over with.” He walked to the back door and opened it. Bruno trotted out into the dark night.
“It’s cold out here, Bruno. Hurry up!”
Bruno heard something move in the bushes next door and bounded away. “Come back, Bruno!” Peter called, as he ran after him.
Bruno was buried deep in the bushes, hunting some rodent, by the time Peter got to him. He grabbed Bruno’s collar and tugged, but Bruno was a determined hunter. “Bruno!” Peter pulled again, trying to make the big dog come out.
A gunshot rang out, cutting the cold brisk air. Bruno no longer tugged. The friendly German Shepherd slumped to the ground. Blood seeped out of a small hole ripped in his side. Bruno was dead.
Peter fell to the ground, terrified. He moved backward on his hands and feet, away from the unseen, cowardly dog murderer. Who would do such a thing? Bruno didn’t do anything.
A deep man’s voice spoke from the darkness. “I know you, Jew boy. Go home or you’re next.”
Peter’s eviction from school, the arrest and death of his father, the destruction of his apartment and butcher shop, and the frightening, cheering Nazi crowds, all came together in his mind for one confusing, angry moment. The injustice welled up inside him.
“Why did you do that? My dog’s not a Jew!” he shouted at the hidden killer.
Another shot rang out, barely missing Peter. He jumped to his feet and tore down the block. He quickly climbed the nearest tree and hid in its dark branches, as the footsteps stomped by looking for him.
He stayed, shivering in the tree all night, silently crying for the dog inherited from a Nazi man, who had killed himself in shame.
CHAPTER 13
BOARDING THE TRAIN
(January 1939)
Peter waited through the dark night, cold and scared. When at last the sun rose over Berlin, he climbed down from the tree and struggled to pick up the lifeless Bruno. Bent over, he dragged the heavy dog, weighing nearly as much as he did, back to Stephen’s house.
He gently laid the best dog in the world under the large rosebush and covered him with leaves. This was an unfitting burial for such a loyal friend, but it was the best Peter could do. He would just tell them that he had found a new home for Bruno, and in a way, that was true.
All Peter could think about was Bruno and his cruel murder. Nothing was the same in Germany. When cowardly hidden assassins could gun down dogs and shoot at eleven-year-old boys, it was time to go, he thought.
The train would leave that day. There was no avoiding it. At least now he had something to do: leave Germany.
He was washed, dressed, and ready to leave by the time everyone else awoke.
Hans stepped outside the Jewish Children’s Orphanage, carrying the rucksack his mother had so carefully packed for him to take to England. He ran down the steps, headed for the train station.
Noah slipped out the door behind him, following him.
The train station was overflowing with children carrying suitcases and parents saying their last goodbyes, words a parent should never have to say. The parents sent their children on a train to strangers with the faith they would see them again, a faith that got thinner with each passing day.
Marla and Jules checked the children in at the station as their breath steamed in the frigid Berlin air. Marla rubbed her hands together, trying to keep them warm. “I can’t believe they won’t let the parents on the platform,” she said. “Kept behind a gate? Not only are they giving up their children, they are not even allowed proper goodbyes.”
“The Nazis don’t like displays of affection. They have no hearts,” Jules said. “It’s a scientific fact.”
Mothers sobbed and clung to their husbands, who gritted their teeth trying to keep the tears back themselves as the children were sent to the platform alone to board the train. Many of the smaller children struggled to reach the step onto the train car. The children wore numbered cardboard tags on strings around their necks. An identical numbered tag was tied to their suitcases.
As Hans waited in the check-in line with his rucksack, Noah from the orphanage edged past him and mingled with the crowd watching the children entering the train. Noah’s parents had once taken him by train to Amsterdam on holiday, but now they were dead.
Noah stood listening to the sound of the powerful train that would command the right-of-way as it barreled across Germany. He would bide his time for the right moment. Life was all about timing, and Noah’s time was running out.
Marla checked off Eva’s name and put a cardboard number on a string around Eva’s neck.
Helga shook her finger. “No, there’s been a change. William is going to take Eva’s place.” She pulled the grinning William up beside her.
Marla looked down at Eva, who held her father’s arm tightly. “You don’t want to go?” Marla asked the pretty girl.
Eva’s eyes filled with tears. “I do.” She clutched the number hanging around her neck. Marla looked at William, standing beside Eva with a smirk on his handsome face. He wore a hat to hide his shaved head from the concentration camp.
“I think Eva should go, because it’s her name on the list,” Marla said.
“No, it’s been decided. I am their mother.” Helga scowled.
“He must be under seventeen,” Marla said firmly, eyeing William’s thick, manly build.
“He’s still sixteen. I should know, I gave him birth,” Helga said.
Eva opened her mouth, but her mother pinched her. Eva gasped. She looked at her father, whose face was one of stony shock.
“Let me see his papers,” Marla said. Helga handed them over. Marla looked at the hastily faked documents, but could not detect the forgery. “Okay, then, if you’re sure.”
Helga nodded vigorously. “Yes, I am.”
As Marla quickly moved on to another child, Helga reached down and grabbed Eva’s number.
“No, Mutti!” Eva held the cardboard identification number tightly. “It’s mine!”
“You selfish girl! It’s your brother’s now.” Helga roughly pulled Eva’s number off her head and placed it around William’s neck.
William smiled broadly. “Sorry, Eva,” he said flippantly. “Trains make you sick. I’m doing you a favor.”
Eva looked away.
William, with his escape assured, walked toward the train with a short dismissive wave at his parents and his little sister, whose seat he had stolen.
The train waited on the track, chugging gently. Some children waved out the windows to their families, still behind the fence several feet away.
Peter and Becca hugged Sylvia. She grabbed Peter’s shoulders. “Peter, remember valuable things are not allowed, so don’t put your violin in the luggage compartment where they can see it. Don’t give them a reason to kick you off the train. I want you to take care of your sister. Be obedient to your new family, and write to me. Remember, no matter what, don’t ever let go of who you are. Now, promise me you’ll stay together.” Peter nodded. “I will come to you soon.”
Peter and Becca hugged Baby Lilly, kissing her face.
“Be a good girl, my Baby Lilly,” Becca cooed. She kissed her sister, and tears ran down her face. “I love you very, very much. More than the moon and stars.”
Peter rubbed Lilly’s chubby cheeks, but he could not say anything. His throat was choked with despair and the fear that he might vomit. Finally, he swallowed, and a space opened up. He looked up at his mother. “I don’t really want to go.”
Sylvia shook her head. “You will be in my heart when you are in England, and I will come and find you as soon as I can. I will tell Baby Lilly every day about her wonderful brother and sister. Now, go, before the train leaves without you. I love you forever, no matter what.”
Becca gripped her mother. “I love you. You are the best mother.”
Peter pulled Becca away and fulfilled his older brother duties of getting her on the train bound for England.
Jacob and Nora hugged and kissed Stephen, who shrugged them off. “We will see you shortly. Things will improve,” Jacob said, encouragingly.
“Don’t have such an attitude with your new family. Be grateful, be good.” Nora’s voice was shaky.
“Of course. Goodbye!” Stephen said, as he quickly hugged them and turned away. He lumbered off toward the train and an unknown future in England.
As he approached the train, Hans strode quickly past him. Stephen reached out and grabbed him. “Hans, finally! You are here!”
They walked together to the train platform. “I thought I was going to have to go to England by myself,” Stephen said. “Where have you been?”
“I’ve been hiding at the orphanage down the street. They destroyed my house and arrested my family,” Hans said.
“Even Eddie?” Stephen asked.
Hans nodded. “I was headed to your house when the Nazis caught me.”
“Somebody needs to kill Hitler,” Stephen said. “It’s the only way to stop him.”
Peter, carrying a suitcase and his violin case, and Becca, with the other suitcase and the bundle tied with a rope, walked to the train.
Ha
ns turned around. “Peter! You and Becca stay with us, okay?”
Peter nodded.
Becca cried, and Peter put his arm around her.
“I don’t want to go,” Becca said. “I don’t want to be one of the lucky ones.”
“I don’t either,” Peter said, “but I don’t want to stay here. Do you remember what Papa looked like when he came back?”
Becca nodded and sniffled.
“I don’t want that to happen to us,” Peter said.
“What about Mutti and Baby Lilly?”
“Time to get on the train,” Peter said, avoiding answering the same question he was thinking. “Just follow me.”
Hans, Stephen, Becca, and Peter boarded the train. As they walked down the aisle, a pair of eyes looked out from amongst the cases and bundles in the luggage rack. It was little Noah, from the orphanage, hiding in a small cramped space among the luggage. Noah pressed his finger to his lips and smiled. Hans gave a short nod and moved on.
Peter looked back and pointed. “Was that—”
“Shhh. He’s from the orphanage,” Hans whispered.
“Oh,” Peter said. He thought, The orphanage? How would Hans know that? What would it be like to have no one left?
The train was packed with almost one hundred children, ages sixteen and younger, plus one lying eighteen-year-old, and one hidden, resourceful orphan boy.
Some children were quiet, showing no emotion. Some chattered happily, as if the journey was an adventure. Others wept quietly, staring out the window with the grief only a child separated from a parent can know. They were filled with both the joy of a train ride and the hollow knowledge that the world was an empty place, and nothing would ever make it right again, but most believed their parents would soon follow them to England.