by Liz Tolsma
Stefan made his way down the walk, a spring in his step. Gone was the hard, dark man of yesterday, replaced with an exuberant child. Horst trudged behind him.
“We’re almost there now. Are you ready? It is time to prove yourself.” They stopped in front of a nondescript home. Chunks of the faded, yellow paint were missing. Curtains covered the cracked window. A flowerpot sporting dead roses sat on the front stoop.
“Do you have your weapon?”
Horst nodded. He couldn’t speak. Stefan’s plan came into focus.
“We have reason to believe there are Jews hiding in this house. A truck is waiting for us around the corner. The driver will be here in a moment. We are going to break into the home and search it for Jews. Any we find, we must arrest. Do not be afraid to use force. In fact, it would impress Oberleutnant Meier even more if you did. Are my instructions clear?”
A chill raced through Horst. His stomach tightened. How could he rip people from their homes? He couldn’t do this. He’d already done it to the family who’d occupied his flat before him. He closed his eyes. His mother’s face the morning after Kristallnacht floated before him. Her pain. Her disappointment.
There is neither Jew nor Greek.
Stefan waited for acknowledgment.
What would Anna think if she found out?
What would God think?
Horst shoved those musings aside. He nodded.
Stefan led the way to the entry. He pounded and shouted. “Open up. Open up.” Without giving the occupants time to respond, he kicked in the door.
Horst followed. “Papers. Let me see everyone’s papers.” A stall tactic. A chance for any Jews here to get into hiding.
What would he do if the Gestapo broke into his flat this way? Anna and her grandmother would never get into their tucked-away spot in time. They’d made it before with not a second to spare.
He came upon a middle-aged woman in the front room. Fine lines etched the areas around her eyes and mouth, her face calm and serene. She nodded at his command, opened a drawer in an old rolltop desk, and produced what he demanded.
Horst took his time examining the identification booklet, pretending to go over every detail. Her credentials were impeccable. He handed them back to her.
Stefan stood behind him. “Never mind about those. We’re looking for the Jews.” The hardness returned to his voice. “I can smell them. I know they are here. It’s up to you, Hauptmann Engel, to find them.”
He balled his fists to keep his fingers from trembling. “Everything appears to be in order.”
“Search the house.” Stefan’s booming command gave Horst a jump start. He had to comply with the demand.
If anyone’s here, keep them well hidden, Lord.
He rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and the wardrobes. He got down on his knees and peered under the beds. He tapped on walls and listened for any points that might be hollow.
“Nein, nein, that’s not the way to investigate.” Stefan pulled a bookcase from the wall in the living room. “They build secret rooms and hide the entrances behind furniture.”
“Ja, I see.” Horst didn’t want Stefan to do any more searching. To keep him from looking, Horst climbed the stairs and moved the bureau in the bedroom. He gasped, then covered his mouth to keep his comrade from hearing.
In the wall, a door. He had stumbled upon just what Stefan hunted for.
“Get me a glass of water.” Stefan ordered the woman about. Good. He was distracted downstairs.
Horst pushed the door opened. Five wide-eyed Jews huddled together in a corner of the tiny room. One of the women held a baby to her breast, rocking as much as she could in the crowded space. A gray-haired woman clasped her husband’s hand.
Here was his chance to prove himself. To raise himself in Oberleutnant Meier’s esteem. To earn the respect of his superiors. To demonstrate that he was a good officer.
There is neither Jew nor Greek.
The echoes of Mutti’s voice rang in his head. “You know what’s right, Horst.”
Oh, God, do I know? How do I choose?
“Engel, what are you doing up there? Find those Jews and bring them to me.”
Before he could answer, the infant ceased nursing and let out a mighty wail.
Nein, God, nein!
“Hush it.” Horst spat the words at the Jewish woman holding the baby.
She stared at him with stricken eyes as she covered her child’s mouth. The group closed ranks, their faces pale.
A moment later, boots sounded on the stairs.
A noose-like tightness gripped Horst’s throat. He shut the door and shoved the wardrobe into position.
“What do we have here?”
He turned as Stefan strode across the room. A half-grin brightened his face. “Good work, Engel. I think you found them.”
Not good work at all. The worst work he could have done. He struggled to take a breath.
While Horst stood still, unable to do anything to stop him, Stefan pushed the piece of furniture away and exposed the door. Jaeger rubbed his hands together as if he were about to eat a plate of beef rouladen. “Open it.” He barked the command, a wolf who had found his prey.
Heaven forgive him.
Horst pulled open the door and exposed its terrified residents. The infant screamed as his mother squeezed him.
Stefan slapped Horst on the back. “Well done. I didn’t think you had it in you, but you proved yourself. Fine job.” He brandished his weapon and pulled out the old couple, the woman with the child, and a young man, probably no more than eighteen. “Bring them downstairs.”
Though he had no intention of using it, Horst pulled his revolver from its holster and herded the people out of the bedroom. His hand sweated so much, the weapon almost slipped from his grasp.
His actions just condemned five people to very uncertain fates. The only one the camps had use for was the teenager. The rest didn’t stand a chance.
They filed down the stairs into the living room. The old man limped, his legs stiff, and he had a difficult time keeping up with the rest of the group. Stefan turned, his eyebrows crunched together. “Get him moving.”
“Schnell, schnell.” Horst gave the man a small push to speed him on his way. Not a big thrust, nothing hard, simply a nudge.
But the aging man tottered, stumbled, and fell. Horst bent down and grasped the man by his hand.
Stefan shoved his way around the group and back to Horst. “What are you doing? You don’t help people like him.”
Jaeger raised his pistol and shot. The man crumpled. His wife screamed.
Horst went numb. His nightmare came to life.
Stefan snickered. “Get in the truck. Engel, do your job.”
He nodded. Like a wooden soldier, he moved his charges along, out into the warm, bright light, into the truck spitting diesel fumes. The teen helped the two women aboard.
Stefan brought the woman of the house out at gunpoint and dumped her into the vehicle as well. “We’ll send someone to arrest her husband at his office.” He went around to speak to the driver.
Horst stared unblinking at the group of people huddled together on one bench, tears streaming down the women’s faces, the baby inconsolable. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed. And he was sorrier than he had ever been in his entire life.
He had turned into his father.
Patricie wasn’t at all surprised to open the door and find Hauptsturmführer Jaeger on the other side. He waltzed over the threshold, never waiting for her to invite him, never removing his shoes. She steeled herself as he placed a peck on her cheek.
He thrust out a package. “For you. I want you to get dolled up because we are going out on the town tonight. The woman at the shop said this was all the fashion and assured me it would fit. Go put it on. Schnell. I don’t want to wait too long.”
She didn’t have a chance to say a word. Though she suffered a low-grade headache, she couldn’t refuse him. Instead, she headed to her bedroom and opened t
he box.
Despite herself, she gasped when she pulled away the tissue paper. Inside lay a silky yellow dress, tucked and fitted in all the right places. She was almost afraid to touch it. When she did, it was like butter under her fingers, so smooth it was.
She undressed, then slipped the new creation over her head. It fit to perfection, the hem brushing her knees, the neckline gracing her collarbone. She gave herself a second look in the mirror and spun around. Could she be gorgeous, even?
Only an important man could get such a garment. Where had the silk come from? What had he done to procure it?
“Are you ready yet?”
“You have to give a woman a few minutes.” She fixed her hair, applied a bit of make-up, her lipstick tube almost empty, and slid on her best, but still scuffed, black peep-toe shoes.
When she emerged, he raked his gaze over her. “The saleslady was right. It’s like it was made for you. You look lovely.”
Her headache disappeared. She flashed him a genuine smile before floating down the stairs and into the car. “Where are we going?”
“There is a reception for German diplomats this evening. When I first received the invitation, I didn’t think I would attend. But I’m in the mood for celebrating tonight.”
They merged onto the almost-deserted street. Between the black-outs and gas rationing, very few drove their cars anymore. “Why are you in such high spirits?”
“A good day at the office, you might say.”
“And what constitutes a good day at the office?”
“The streets are safer for you now, my little bird, the city cleaner than this morning. Doing my job and doing it well makes me happy. And seeing other people prove their worth.”
She forced herself to close her mind to what he did. Otherwise, she would go crazy. “I’ve never been to an elegant occasion like this.”
“Then you are in for a treat.”
Darkness bathed the residence as they pulled up to it. No lights shone from the windows, the black-out curtains drawn. But once she stepped inside, another world emerged. Chandeliers blazed and gilded mirror frames and wall sconces gleamed.
Waiters in tails and white gloves passed hors d’oeuvres while waitresses in white caps and black dresses presented silver trays loaded with champagne glasses. Hauptsturmführer Jaeger took two and offered her one.
“I don’t drink, remember?
“But this is a special occasion. I insist. Have just a little bit.”
She accepted the glass but didn’t sip from it.
An orchestra struck up a waltz and couples twirled around the floor. “Do you dance?”
“I have no objection to it, but I don’t do it very well.” She shifted her weight.
He downed his bubbly, drank her glass too, then led her onto the ballroom floor. He gripped her around the waist a bit harder than she liked and held her closer than she was comfortable with.
He spun her around until the room swayed as if she had consumed the drink. “You never told me just what we are celebrating.”
“My triumph.”
“Triumph?”
“Well, perhaps triumph is a bit too strong of a word. How about my success?”
“What were you successful at?”
“Do you remember that night at the symphony, when I spoke to that young officer? I told you he was a disgrace to the Fatherland?”
She nodded. What had Hauptsturmführer Jaeger done?
“Well, I had a tip on the location of some Jews.”
Patricie sucked in her breath. Which ones? Dear God, let them not have found any.
“I took Hauptmann Engel with me. I wanted to test his mettle. If he were working against us, he wouldn’t have been able to do what I asked of him.”
Her queasy stomach churned. She was glad she hadn’t imbibed. “What was that?”
“I told him to find the Jews and arrest them. He located them and did just as I instructed. I will admit that I misjudged him. I had to shoot the old man, but all in all, Engel did a fine job.”
Patricie’s knees went weak, and she clung to him to keep from falling.
Just more evidence that she held a hand stained with innocent blood.
David paced the tiny Terezín flat, coughing up blood from time to time. He’d burned the paper the German officer had given him within minutes of returning to his room, but the words seared onto his brain. Be prepared. Zacchaeus.
That was months ago. Hauptmann Engel hadn’t come again, hadn’t brought him any more news. What did the strange message mean? Be prepared, he understood. Something was going to happen. But what? And when?
And Zacchaeus? That was the strangest part. What did the Bible story have to do with anything?
The aroma of boiled cabbage mingled with the smell of rotting flesh. All that faded into the background as the story of Zacchaeus flooded him.
He had sat at his grandmother’s feet, his legs folded underneath him. He recalled her as a beautiful woman, even though gray hair crowned her head. Her green eyes shone. “What Bible lesson shall we have today?”
“Zacchaeus, please, Babička. That’s my favorite.” He loved the rhythm of her voice, like music, as she spun the tales.
She reached down and pulled him to her lap. “That’s the story you want every day. Don’t you want to hear about Joseph or Paul or Jonah?”
“Anna likes Jonah the best, but I like Zacchaeus.”
Babička laughed, the pitch a pure E. “Then Zacchaeus it will be.” And she told him about the little man who climbed a tree to see Jesus walk by. Who scrambled down to prepare a feast for the teacher. Who gave his dirty profits back to those from whom he’d stolen them.
“David, are you listening?” Babička spoke to get his attention.
“David, are you listening?”
He snapped to reality, the stench of unwashed bodies gagging him. Jan, one of his six roommates, stood in front of him.
“What is it you want?”
“You’re mumbling to yourself, calling for your grandmother. Sit down and stop pacing.”
“We’re caged tigers, made to perform at the whim of our captors.”
“Ah, the philosopher speaks.” Jan brought him a dipper of dirty water. “I thought you were a musician.”
“None of us are anything right now.” David sipped the offering.
“True enough. But what were you dreaming about? Or were you hallucinating?”
“Zacchaeus.”
“Who?” Jan slapped away the fleas that covered his scrawny body with red bites.
“A Bible story my grandmother told me when I was a child. My favorite.”
“Why would she tell you that?”
“She was a Christian.”
“Then why doesn’t she get you out of this mess?”
“She was also a Jew.”
“I’m sorry.”
But David wasn’t. The memory sparked a tiny flicker inside him. A hunger for all the days his parents and grandparents had spent teaching him about the Lord. His throat swelled, cutting off what little air he could draw into his lungs. If only he could sink to the floor and sob. But here, you couldn’t show any sign of weakness. In a life and death struggle such as this, weakness could be your undoing.
“Don’t let that mess you up. There is nothing beyond the here and now.”
For years, that philosophy had infiltrated David’s mind. Wove a web through him. That way of thinking appealed to a young man. Gratify the flesh now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. There is nothing beyond this life, so enjoy what you have.
The lines etched in his parents’ faces had deepened when he’d announced he wouldn’t go to church with them anymore, and again when he’d told them he planned to live with Jakub and his friends. All young men who believed what he believed.
Coughs racked David’s body, which grew frailer with each passing day. Each miserable, horrible, unbearable day. “What hope is there, then?”
“Only the hope we make ourselves.”<
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“Not much hope at all.”
“We’d take you with us if we could, but you’d impede our progress and give us away with your coughing.”
David scrunched his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”
“Gustav, Artur, and I are making plans to get out of here.”
“The only way out of here is on a train or in a coffin.”
Jan leaned in. “We’ll make it. You’ll see. I’m sorry to leave you behind.”
“You’ll never taste freedom. Even if you get out of these gates, what waits for you out there? Nothing better, that’s for sure.”
“You’re a pessimist.”
“Ne, a realist. What good does deluding ourselves do?”
Shots rang out on the street below. Not an unusual sound. If a prisoner got out of line or couldn’t work, the Nazis drew their pistols and rid themselves of the problem. Tonight, though, the sound resonated hollower than ever. Such finality.
“We can’t wait for salvation to come from Moses or Jesus or even the Americans. We have to make our own salvation. I’m trusting you with this information, even though you’ve spoken with that Nazi. I like you. If you betray us, I’ll beat you to a pulp myself.”
“Your secret is safe with me. That man wanted to help.”
“Bah, what help do we want from him? Those pigs are all the same.”
David held his tongue. He had no idea what the scrawled message Hauptmann Engel had given him meant. If only he could remember more about Zacchaeus’s story. But maybe it meant nothing more than to be prepared to be deported. Like Táta and Máma and his little sisters. Was there a heaven where they were now? If only he could be sure. If only he could speak to them one more time.
As the weeks and months passed, the memory of their voices dimmed. But he heard Táta as clearly as if he stood beside him. You know. David shivered.
“When is this escape going to happen?” David held up his hand to stop Jan. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me any details. If I know nothing, they can’t force me to give up anything.”