The Melody of the Soul

by Liz Tolsma

  “What about you? Who knows what is happening with your husband?”

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. “I’m worried about him. What they might be doing to him. It’s hard. Now, I’m alone here. What will become of me? I have to lean on the Lord. Without Him, I won’t be able to get through this.”

  “About that, you are right. Děkuji. What more can we do?”

  Paní Karas returned to the house, her shoulders slumped. All of this wore on her. In rescuing them, she might have lost her husband. What a great price to pay.

  Horst grasped the ax handle. He set the smaller log on top of a larger stump and swung. Thwack. The blade sunk into the wood. Thwack. Thwack. The log split in two.

  For at least thirty minutes, he chopped wood for the fire. He stopped once to take off his jacket. He labored until sweat rolled down his face, his chest, and his back. With one last swing of the axe, he cut the final log into pieces. Paní Karas had enough firewood to last her a good, long while.

  Horst’s muscles ached, but in a refreshing, reviving way. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

  Paní Karas came out with a glass of water. “Do you feel better?”

  “I still need answers. How do I help her? When will all this end?”

  She stroked the hem of her apron for a moment, her forehead furrowed. “Only He knows.”

  Horst threw the ax as far into the field as possible.

  Hauptsturmführer Jaeger held Patricie in the Small Fortress at Terezín. She’d lost track of what day it was, what time of day. She sat alone in a rank, damp cell, a bare bulb her only light. The pungent odors of urine and excrement overwhelmed her senses. The food, what little there was of it, consisted of a thin, watery soup. On a good day, she got a potato. A mealy, rotten one.

  Other prisoners moaned and groaned. All the time.

  She shut her ears and her soul to it.

  In her mind, she played symphonies, loud and swelling, to dim the misery, the melody rising in her chest once more. She rehearsed every note of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Over and over, until she fell asleep.

  But when her dreams came, they consisted of nothing more than Hauptsturmführer Jaeger’s face the moment she’d crawled from underneath the haystack. His lead-colored eyes wide, his jaw gaping, his nostrils flaring. Always, a forked tongue shot from his mouth and wrapped itself around her neck.

  He hissed. “I have you now. You’re mine. You’ll never get free. I’ll eat you and spit out your bones.”

  She jerked awake, bathed in a sweat as cold as the Vltava River.

  A key scraped in the cell’s lock. She hadn’t seen another person since they’d sealed her in here. A guard slid her meals through a slat under the door. She didn’t know whether a man or a woman brought her gruel.

  With a slow creak, the door opened. A large-boned woman, her dirty-blonde hair tucked under her creased cap, motioned to her. “You, come with me.”

  Patricie slid from the bed. Her muscles, weak from disuse, protested the movement. She limped to the doorway. “Where are you taking me?”

  “That is not your concern.”

  Patricie wanted to differ, but didn’t dare. Then again, how much more trouble could she be in? With stiff joints, she followed the woman into the courtyard, blinking in the bright light. Heavy metal doors lined the perimeter. Weeping, whimpering, and lamenting followed her.

  She bit back the thousand questions rolling on her tongue. Simple ones, like the date. Harder ones, like who she was to see and the length of her confinement. Impossible ones, like why God abandoned His people.

  But the guard would never answer.

  Her limbs had loosened by the time the woman brought her to a tiny, square room. Two gray metal chairs occupied the space. Nothing else. She shook from head to toe, much like she did right before the surgeon had removed her appendix.

  “You sit. He’ll be in soon.” The guard shoved her into one of the chairs, then left, the key grating in the lock.

  “Who? Who?” Her cries went unanswered.

  To keep herself from going insane, she examined her broken fingernails. Prior to her incarceration, she’d always kept them neat and trimmed. You couldn’t play the oboe with long nails, not to mention ragged ones. When she was a teenager, some of the other girls in her music classes bemoaned the fact they had to keep their nails short. They wanted long, red-painted ones like movie actresses.

  Not her. She wore her short nails as a badge of honor. She would do whatever it took to excel. Including cutting her nails short.

  Pan Svoboda would look at her hands today and scold her.

  She sat on them.

  The door opened. “Ah, my little bird.”

  She stiffened and held her breath.

  Hauptsturmführer Jaeger walked around to face her. “So, we meet again.”

  To avoid answering him, she pursed her lips.

  “What, so quiet? And nervous as always around me. Now I know why.”

  She resisted the urge to spit in his face.

  He sat down and leaned forward. “Tell me, how are you liking your accommodations?”

  She refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

  “No matter. You won’t be here long.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Ah, you speak at last. Good to see you haven’t lost your voice. Now that I know you aren’t mute, you can tell me where you stashed the others in your group. That traitorous, Jew-loving German, his filthy, little whore, and your boyfriend.”

  An involuntary sucking in of her breath.

  “Ja, I know about Georg Klima. How do you think I found you? He’s an excellent record keeper. The rest of the resistance may have fallen apart after Reinhard Heydrich’s assassination, but his little cell flourished. I traced his list of houses. Someone at the last one thought you might have gone to that farm.”

  “I have no idea where Georg is. I haven’t spoken to him in months.” The truth, much as it pained her.

  He stood, knocking over his chair in the process. “You lie. Nothing but black lies from your lips.” He slapped her hard across the mouth. The metallic flavor of blood coated her tongue.

  “You have to believe me. I’m telling you the truth.” She left her seat and stood toe-to-toe with him.

  He choked her, shook her. “More lies. So false. So impure.”

  He released his grip, and she toppled backward. “I told you, I sent the others over the border. They’re in Palestine now.” A place he would never dare to set foot.

  “Lies. Lies. Lies.” With each word came a new, forceful strike to her cheek.

  The room spun. She stumbled. Tripped over the chair. Fell to the cold, hard, concrete floor. “The truth. Don’t you recognize it anymore?” She covered her mouth at her bold words.

  He kicked her in the stomach, his jackboot connecting with the softest, most vulnerable part of her body. “You are incapable of telling it. I’m warning you, Patricie. You’d do well to listen to me. This isn’t the end. Nein, it’s only the beginning. Every day, you will come here. Piece by piece, I will break you until you spew out the truth.”

  “I’ve told you, more than once. I can’t give you anything more.” She scooted to the corner as he came for her once again.

  Another kick to the gut. She vomited her small lunch, along with a good deal of blood.

  “You’re as vile as the rest of them. Get up. I’m done with you today.”

  She crawled up the wall until she stood, bent over from the pain.

  “Tell me one thing, Patricie. Was it all worth it?”

  For David, the days melded into each other. Time blurred. People came and went from his room. Memories bombarded him. He couldn’t distinguish the past from the present. Anna and Babička were there, but so were Máma and Táta.

  Máma smoothed his fevered forehead, her hand cool, soft, gentle. “My boy, so sick. I’m praying for you. And I’ll be here for you. Everything will be all right. You�
��ll see. Don’t worry. Just sleep.”

  And he did. He dreamed of playing with his friends in Prague’s narrow, ancient streets. They ran after each other, free, unfettered. Their lungs drew in air. They never tired. They ran over the bridges, up the castle steps, into the countryside. He never stopped.

  And then he woke, coughing, gasping for oxygen. The pain, the blood, the horrible strangulation came. “Water.”

  Anna was at his bedside, smiling, her heart-shaped face so beautiful. With Táta gone, he would have to make sure no man took advantage of her. If only he could stay.

  “Let me help you sit and take a drink.” She lifted him from the pillows and placed the glass to his lips, tipping it so the water dribbled into his mouth.

  He lapped a little, then pushed the cup away. “Enough.”

  “How about some broth? I slaughtered one of the chickens and made a little stock. You need to keep up your strength.”

  “Ne. I’m not hungry.”

  “For me. Please?” She pouted like when she was five.

  He couldn’t resist her then. He couldn’t resist her now. “Fine. A little.”

  She moved from the room. Such a weight she carried on her shoulders. He was glad she had Babička, but for how long? Anna would soon be alone in the world. The Germans had taken so much from them. So very, very much.

  She returned with a bowl and set it on the small, unsteady bedside table. The fragrance of chicken and onions wafted his way. It was probably tasty, but it didn’t entice him. She lifted the spoon for him. Most of it dribbled down his chin. After three or four mouthfuls, he turned his head away. “That’s all.”

  “You didn’t eat much.”

  “Are you ever afraid?”

  “All the time. I’m trying, really trying, to trust God. But it’s hard. How can losing my family be best for me? Is He really taking care of me, or am I on my own?”

  “Do you believe in heaven?”

  “You know I do.”

  “When you are young and invincible, you don’t think about things like dying. But then comes a point in your life when this world fades and you have to face it. For years, I’ve thought there is nothing but the present. Nothing but what I can see and touch and taste.”

  “Then dying is the end. Where do you go? To utter blackness? We came from somewhere. We must go somewhere.”

  “God moved my heart.”

  She rubbed the top of his hand. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I don’t want death to be final. I want more. Eternity. Everlasting life. I’m not ready to be done. My life has been brief.”

  “Like Babička said, you know the truth. I don’t have to preach to you. Do you believe in Jesus?”

  “I did once.”

  “That’s not good enough. Do you believe now?”

  Did he? God, are You there? Do You hear? Do You even exist?

  “Call to Him, David. He hears you. He knows you by name.” Anna’s soft voice cut through his fog

  David had to see Him, to feel Him.

  He had sat in his uncle’s kitchen. His feet didn’t even reach the floor when he perched on the chair. “Jesus loves you, Uncle Petr. I wish you loved him, too, so we could live in heaven together.”

  His big, burly uncle’s laugh had filled the room. “If I go to church with you, will you stop pestering me?”

  “Sure.”

  Uncle Petr was as good as his word. He went to church. David sat on the pew beside him. He didn’t understand much of what the preacher spoke about, but he studied the beautiful stained-glass windows. One depicted Jesus gathering the little children on his lap. Oh, to be one of those children, safe and secure in the Lord’s embrace.

  Anna stroked his cheek. The memory dissipated. He clutched at her. “Is this why this is happening to me? Do you think God is trying to get my attention?”

  “He very well might be. Listen to Him. He loves you, David. He is our rock, our shelter in the time of storm, our only hope of salvation.”

  “And you believe that?”

  Her brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I forget it too often, but yes, deep down, I believe that.”

  “I rejected Him.”

  “That doesn’t matter. He forgives. Over and over again, if need be.”

  Forgiveness. Washing. Cleansing. The missing part of the equation. He couldn’t come to the Lord without repentance, seeking God’s mercy to cover his many sins.

  Lord, I come in Jesus’ name, and ask You to forgive me for His sake. It’s His sacrifice I plead.

  Like Patricie’s sacrifice for them. She took their place. She didn’t deserve the punishment the Nazis must be meting out to her. But because she gave herself up, they were safe and alive.

  And that’s what Jesus had done for him on the cross.

  I don’t deserve Your loving kindness, but I beg You for it.

  At long last, he came home.

  The melody of a simple hymn he’d learned as a child washed over him. He hummed, then sang, breathless, his voice cracking.

  Once He came in blessing,

  All our ills redressing;

  Came in likeness lowly,

  Son of God most holy;

  Bore the cross to save us,

  Hope and freedom gave us.

  Thus, if thou hast known Him,

  Not ashamed to own Him,

  But wilt trust Him boldly

  Nor dost love Him coldly,

  He will then receive thee,

  Heal thee, and forgive thee.

  “I believe, Anna. I believe.”

  A week later, they buried David on a hill overlooking the Czech countryside. Afraid of being seen by the people of the hamlet, they held the funeral at night. No marker indicated his burial spot. No one in generations to come would know his body lay in that place.

  Anna would never be able to visit any of her family’s graves. She doubted the Nazis had marked her parents’ and sisters’ final resting places with headstones.

  She had no family other than Babička.

  Somehow, she gathered the strength to get out of bed the morning after David’s funeral and fry potatoes for breakfast so Paní Karas could sleep. She stared at the always-drawn blackout shades and dreamed of the world beyond. What did America look like? Wide and open like the Czech countryside? Crowded, dirty cities, much different from Prague?

  And would she ever play again? Would the music return? How could it? Everything else was gone.

  Horst wandered downstairs first. She poured him a cup of dandelion tea that Paní Karas had made, and a cup for herself. He sat across the table from her. For a long moment, they sipped in silence.

  Finally, Horst spoke. “How are you? I’m worried about you.”

  “Sad. Lonely.”

  “You are in mourning.”

  She bit back tears. “And in rejoicing, in a way. Babička told me that. We don’t understand the Lord’s ways. I don’t know why He took my family from me. But David went home to be with Him. I will miss him very much. He would have been a great uncle. Someone to share stories from the past. But he’s at peace. God saved him. That’s enough right now. It’s hard.”

  Horst kissed the back of her hand. “I love you more than you know.”

  She slid to the edge of her chair. “Our love is a problem.”

  He stroked his square chin. “I know. I have to face reality. The Allies are ever advancing. The Soviets are in Slovakia. The Americans are in Austria. They have forced the Germans into this little pocket in Bohemia. There is no more room for me to run and hide.”

  “What will you do?”

  “We can’t stay here. We have no idea where the Soviets and the Americans will meet. I want to surrender to the American forces. I believe they will be kind to me. The Soviets won’t be so forgiving.”

  She didn’t want to say the words, but the reality hung over their heads. “What about us, Horst? Our relationship?”

  “More than anything, I want to promise you a future. But I’m afrai
d I can’t.”

  “I know.” It was the reason she’d held back from telling him she loved him.

  “After the war, I will do everything in my power to find you again. I don’t want to lose you, Anna. You’re everything to me. If you’ll have a German officer, that is.”

  She came around the table and sat on his knee, wrapping him in a hug. “When I look at you, I don’t see German or Nazi or enemy. Do you know what I see?” Her heart flip-flopped in her chest. She could forgive him for what he’d done on Kristallnacht.

  “Ne. What do you see?”

  “A kind, gentle man, one who is loving, sensitive, caring. A man any woman would be proud to be with. When you put aside the façade of German officer, I got to know the man behind it. That’s who you truly are. Please, find me again.”

  He nestled against her shoulder. “I will do whatever I have to in order to make that happen. But I can’t ask you to wait for me. If you find someone—”

  “Ahem. Am I interrupting something?” Georg stood in the kitchen doorway in Pan Karas’s baggy work clothes.

  Anna shot to her feet. “Ne. Sit down. I forgot about the potatoes.” The smell of burning food registered. She grabbed the pan from the fire. “I am sorry.”

  “Never mind. A cup of tea will do me.”

  “Let me cut off the black part. The rest should still be good.” She grabbed a knife and, holding the hot potato between her fingers, worked on making it edible.

  “We have important business to discuss.” Georg pulled out a chair and sat.

  Horst scratched his cheek. “I know what it is. We have to leave.”

  “I’m surprised Hauptsturmführer Jaeger has left us in peace this long. He will be back. The noose is tightening. Nothing is more dangerous than a wounded animal. That is what he is. He has nothing to lose.”

  “But where will we go?”

  Anna plated what little potato she managed to save, setting aside a few slices for Babička and Paní Karas when they awoke. “Surely not back to Prague.” Nothing would give her more joy than to see the city of her birth, but it was too dangerous.

  Georg leaned back. “Of course not. As we said before, we cannot allow Horst to fall into Russian hands. The Soviets will liberate Prague, but we won’t be there. I refuse to sign anyone’s death warrant.”