Masters of Silence

by Kathy Kacer

  For Aura, Mannie, Raefie, Viv, Sandy, and Allan— my wonderful in-laws!

  —K.K.

  CHAPTER 1

  April 1940

  Helen

  The heavy convent door closed behind her with an echoing thud, and Helen found herself standing in a cavernous hall as cold and nearly as dark as the streets outside. She could hear the steeple bell ringing, and she counted twelve loud clangs—midnight. Three nuns stood before her, moving their eyes slowly from her head down to her feet and back again. Helen coughed nervously and placed her small brown suitcase on the floor beside her. Then she removed her hat, smoothing down her short curls.

  “How old is she?” the tallest of the three asked, leaning forward. She had a long, narrow face with dark eyes that Helen felt were staring right through her. She shrank back from her gaze.

  “Fourteen,” Helen’s mother replied softly. “And very mature for her age.”

  “And the boy?” The nun stood back up and pointed in the direction of Helen’s brother.

  “Henry is ten.” Maman stroked his head as she said this. Henry had begun to cry, his sobs echoing noisily off the stone walls of the convent. It was as if he knew what was coming and was dreading it all at once. “He’s small for his age, but very smart, and also very responsible,” she added. “It’s just that he’s tired. We all are.”

  Helen shuddered. Everyone was so somber. It made her feel even more afraid than she already was. The journey from Germany to here in southern France had taken days—Helen had lost count of how many. And they had barely seen sunlight in all that time; Maman had insisted that they travel mainly at night, walking long hours, and had only accepted a ride once, in a truck with the kind farmer whose wife had clucked sympathetically when she had seen Helen and her younger brother.

  “It’s good that they both have blond hair,” the nun continued, studying the children with pursed lips and crossed arms. “It will make it easier if there are ever any questions.”

  Helen knew what that meant—the part about being blond. It meant that she and her brother didn’t look too Jewish, like some of her friends who had dark hair, dark eyes, and prominent noses. These days, looking Jewish was not a good thing.

  “And it’s good that they both speak French,” the nun continued.

  Maman had been born in France and spoke only French to Helen and Henry. They had grown up listening to her stories about her childhood in Paris. Papa had spoken German to them, and Helen could move between the two languages as easily as she could switch from walking to running.

  At the thought of her father, Helen shuddered again and squeezed her eyes tightly so that she wouldn’t start to cry. How long had it been since she’d seen Papa? Perhaps more than a year! She could never forget the day he had been arrested and taken from their home in Frankfurt. It was seared into her memory like a deep scar. Nazi soldiers had run through the streets, smashing the windows of stores and synagogues, setting fires and attacking Jewish men and women who were walking outside, just minding their own business. There had been sounds of gunfire on the streets and people screaming. Papa had locked the door to their home and the four of them had stood together in a corner, clutching one another desperately, as if standing together could keep them safe. But a locked door meant nothing to the soldiers, who had smashed through it like it was paper, barged in, grabbed Papa, and took him away. It had happened in a moment—right before Helen’s eyes—and she’d had no chance to say good-bye.

  “He won’t be any trouble, will he?” the nun asked. Henry was continuing to cry, his echoing wails growing louder.

  “He’ll be fine,” Maman said. Her voice sounded strained and not at all convincing, at least not to Helen’s ears. “It may take some time, but he’ll settle,” Maman added. She looked pleadingly at Helen, who moved over to put her arm around her brother. He looked so small and helpless, she thought. But even though she was trying to act like a helpful older sister, she felt just as defenseless.

  “If he can’t adjust, he may have to go somewhere else,” the nun said.

  Maman’s eyes grew round with fear. “But there is nowhere else,” she whispered.

  After Papa had been taken, Maman knew they weren’t going to be safe staying in their home. The soldiers had arrested only Jewish men, but Maman had said, “Families like ours may be next.” And so they had packed a few things and left for the town of Kronberg, not far from Frankfurt. Maman knew a Catholic family who lived there, the Webers. Frau Weber had once worked for Papa, and she and her husband were willing to take them in. And there they waited for things to get better. But instead, everything had gotten worse. Adolf Hitler, “the evil one,” as Maman called him, declared more restrictions against Jewish citizens. Orders, proclamations, rules, laws; they all meant the same thing—Jews couldn’t do anything that others could do. And they could even be arrested if they were discovered, especially if they were found to be hiding with a Christian family.

  After a while, Frau Weber spoke to Maman. “We’re willing to let you stay, Frau Rosenthal,” she had said. “We can say you are a servant here in the house. But the children …” She glanced at Helen and Henry as she spoke, lowering her voice and moving closer to Maman. “If our home were searched, it would be impossible to explain why they’re here. It’s not that we wouldn’t like to help. We would. What Hitler is doing to the Jews … it’s dreadful. But you must understand that it’s terribly dangerous for us to protect all of you.” That part was true. Christian citizens were in danger of being punished if they helped their Jewish friends and neighbors.

  It was actually Frau Weber who had told Maman about the convent in southern France—a place that took in Jewish children without asking many questions. The next thing Helen knew, Maman was packing a few things for her and her brother, and they were on their way.

  Helen looked over at the three nuns. The tall one who had done the talking was clearly in charge. The one on her left had a kind face that reminded Helen of Frau Becker, her teacher back in Frankfurt when she and her Jewish friends had still been allowed to attend school. When Helen looked at her, the nun smiled, and her eyes lit up and crinkled in the corners like a fan being folded up. But the nun on the right looked as if she already hated Helen, even though she didn’t even know her. Her nose was scrunched up, and she pressed a tissue against it as if there were a bad smell in the room.

  The tall nun was saying something else. “Do they have documents?” she asked. That’s when Maman reached under her blouse and into the waistband of her skirt, pulling some papers out and handing them over to the nun.

  “I didn’t want anyone to find these,” she said. “These are their identity documents.” As she handed the papers over to the tall nun, Helen could just make out the red letter J that was stamped on each of their papers—the letter that meant that they were Jewish, the letter that had forced them to be on the run.

  It was still so confusing to Helen: Why was being Jewish was such a terrible thing? Why had people gone from being kind to being cruel? Why had Papa been taken, along with so many others? Why? Why? Why? None of it made any sense.

  “It’s time to say your good-byes.” The tall nun was talking once more. “We will take over from here.”

  Good-bye? Helen’s heart began to beat hard in her chest and she suddenly felt light-headed, like the time she had almost passed out after cutting her knee on some glass and seeing the blood. She bit her lower lip and swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. Then she watched as her mother first bent to talk to Henry.

  “You must be very brave,” Maman said. She reached out to hug him. He clung to her so hard that the tall nun had to untangle his arms from around
Maman’s neck. That made Henry cry louder. He screamed out for her to stay and struggled to pull free of the nun, who continued to hold his arms. And then suddenly, he fell silent and went limp as a rag doll. His chin fell to his chest, and his shoulders slumped forward. Helen thought it was almost worse to see him this way. Shouting and begging had meant that he was fighting. Now he looked like a broken animal.

  Maman’s face was grayer than ash by the time she came to Helen and placed both hands gently on her shoulders. “Take care of your brother,” she said. “You’ll need to rely on one another from now on.”

  At first, all Helen could do was nod. She was afraid that if she said anything, she would break down. Instead, she reached up and placed her hand against Maman’s cheek. Her mother pressed her own hand over Helen’s and closed her eyes. “Where are you going to go?” Helen finally croaked out.

  “Back to Kronberg,” Maman said. “I’ll wait there for news of your father.”

  “Why can’t we wait with you?” Helen knew the answer even before she asked.

  Maman sighed; she had answered this question many times on their journey here. “You know I can’t protect you out there,” she replied.

  If Maman was trying to protect her, then why did this feel like a punishment? Helen wondered. And for what? She had done nothing wrong. She glanced over again at the tall nun, still holding Henry by the arms. She, too, wanted to scream and beg Maman not to leave them behind. But she knew it would do no good. Instead, she asked, “When will you come back?”

  Maman shook her head.

  That’s when the tall nun cleared her throat. “It’s best that you go, Madam Rosenthal,” she said. “Lingering only makes it harder.”

  Maman sighed again. Helen stared intently at her mother’s face, trying to memorize every detail: the brown freckle close to the side of her mouth; her cheekbones, so high and round that they looked like small apples; her one eyebrow that always lifted higher than the other; her full, red lips. She knew she would need this mental image to draw on in the days to come. Maman stared back, first at Helen and then at Henry, as if she, too, were memorizing her children’s faces.

  “I love you both very much,” Maman said. “Never forget that.”

  Finally, she opened the convent door and stepped outside. She looked to the left and to the right. And then, with one last backward glance at Helen, she disappeared into the darkness, and the convent door once again closed with a thud.

  CHAPTER 2

  Henry

  Henry and his sister followed one of the nuns down a long hallway. Her black shoes peeked out from under her long black robe, and her steps sounded like steady drumbeats on the shiny wooden floor. She had introduced herself as Sister Cecile. She had a kind face, Henry thought, not like the tall nun who had done all the talking when they had first arrived—the one who seemed to be in charge. That one had a face like the crow that used to sit on the high wire next to their house in Frankfurt: a long, pointy nose and dark, sharp eyes that sat deep in their sockets. Her eyebrows were so thick and bushy that there was barely any space between them—like a mustache had been glued to her forehead. He might have laughed out loud if he wasn’t so scared.

  He kept seeing Maman’s face, so pale and upset. It had terrified him to see her so worried, especially when he knew that it was all his crying and yelling that made her look that way. Her lips quivered as if she might cry. In his whole life, Henry had only seen her do that once before—the night Papa was taken. But Henry couldn’t stop himself. He had thought that maybe, if he screamed long enough and loud enough, she would take him from this strange and spooky place. She would say, “Henry, my love, it’s all a mistake. You’re staying with me.”

  But instead, Maman had bent over him to say good-bye. She told him to be strong like Papa, and brave. He didn’t feel strong and he certainly didn’t feel very courageous.

  “I have to stay in Kronberg to wait for news of Papa,” Maman had said, but Henry didn’t want to hear her say those things. Why did she get to leave this place while he had to stay behind? He struggled to cover his ears with his hands. Oh, if only the nun with the crow’s face had let him go. But she had held his arms tight as he twisted first to the left and then to the right.

  Papa would never have left him behind like this. He would have found a way to keep everyone together. His father was the strongest and smartest person that Henry knew. He remembered the times his father had lifted him high into the air and set him on his shoulders, carrying him around as easily as if he were a bag of feathers, saying, “One day, you’ll be this tall, my boy!” Henry dreamed of growing as tall as his father—or taller. Up on Papa’s shoulders, he felt as if he could see the whole world. Now, it felt as if every part of his world was disappearing faster than it took for snow to melt in his hand.

  Papa would have fixed everything, Henry thought. He could do that—at least, that was what he had always done in the past. But Papa hadn’t been able to fix the laws that said Henry couldn’t go to the park, or ride his bicycle, or go to school. No one could change that, no matter how strong or smart or tall they were. And then, Papa had been arrested by those soldiers who wore dark uniforms and shiny black boots. They had armbands with that ugly black and red badge, the same sign that he’d seen on the flags that were everywhere in Frankfurt. These soldiers had grabbed Papa right in front of his eyes, and marched him away. And everything had gotten even worse.

  Sister Cecile interrupted his thoughts. “All the children sleep in these rooms,” she said, pointing to the big wooden doors that they passed on the left and right. Helen tried to put her arm around his shoulders, like she had done before Maman left. Normally, that would have been fine, but not this time. Henry yanked his body away from her and watched her face fall. He didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, and he didn’t really know why he had pulled away from her. All he knew was that he wanted Maman, not his sister!

  Suddenly, Sister Cecile came to a stop before one of the doors. It creaked loudly as she pushed it open and turned to face Henry. “This is where you will be sleeping, young man.”

  Henry slunk down into his shoes and moved to hide behind Helen, forgetting that a moment earlier, he hadn’t wanted her to touch him. The small suitcase he was carrying thumped across his legs.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the nun continued. She smiled as she said this, but that didn’t make Henry feel better.

  “Your sister will be sleeping nearby—just down the hallway and around the corner,” Sister Cecile added.

  Her voice was soft, like she was trying to calm him down, but his mind was tumbling even more. When they had been living with the Weber family in Kronberg, after Papa was taken, he and Helen had shared a room with Maman. Even though it was tiny and cramped, he liked that they had all been together. Now, Papa was gone, Maman had left, and his sister would not be with him. He remained hidden behind her.

  “Can’t we stay together?” Helen asked the nun, as if she had read his mind. “We don’t mind if we have to share a room.”

  But Sister Cecile shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Girls with girls and boys with boys.” She bent toward Henry. “There are boys your age in this room. Perhaps you’ll make some new friends. Wouldn’t that be nice?” she asked. “To make friends?”

  Henry shrunk back even farther. He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. He had tried begging Maman to stay, but that hadn’t worked. He had screamed for Papa, but his father had not come back. There was no use yelling anymore, he thought. It was better to say nothing, not even to this kind nun.

  Sister Cecile sighed and stood up. “You won’t be far from your sister,” she added. “Just a few rooms away.” She pointed down the hall into the darkness.

  That’s when Helen bent down to him and brushed the curly bangs off his forehead. This time he didn’t pull away. He didn’t move at all. At first his chin stayed glued to his chest. Finally, he raised his head to st
are at her.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “You’re going to be okay. We both will.”

  Please stay with me, Henry’s eyes begged her.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” Helen continued. Henry knew she was trying her best to sound cheerful and positive. She looked to Sister Cecile and the kind nun nodded.

  “Yes, you’ll see each other tomorrow,” the nun said.

  Helen turned back to Henry. “I promise.”

  As she stood up, Henry grabbed her hand and squeezed, hard.

  “Say something, Henry,” Helen pleaded. “Please talk to me.” But instead, he hung his head again and let go of her hand. It felt as if something inside of him had died, dried up like a plant that had been yanked from the soil. Helen sighed deeply. Sister Cecile picked up Henry’s suitcase, and then took him by the shoulder and guided him into the dark room.

  CHAPTER 3

  Helen

  Helen awoke almost more tired than when she had put her head down on the pillow. She had barely slept the entire night, tossing and turning in a waking dream of Maman and Papa, of the home she remembered in the good times. On most mornings, Maman would be making breakfast by now—eggs for Helen and Henry, and for Papa, salted herring and cheese that smelled so strong it would make Helen’s eyes water. But maybe, if Helen was lucky, Maman would also bake fresh croissants, the kind she remembered from her own childhood in France. She would serve those warm, with butter that melted the second it touched the flaky pastry. Papa would be getting ready to go to his office. Even though, like other Jewish professionals, he was forbidden from working, he still offered his services to Jewish friends and neighbors. Any minute now, Maman would call up to Helen and Henry to get up and get ready for school. It usually took two calls before Helen would roll out of bed and get dressed.

  Those memories were fresh in Helen’s mind, even though it had been such a long time since she had shared mornings with her entire family. Now her father was gone—who knew where. There was talk of enormous prisons, some the size of villages, terrible places far away where Jews were being tortured. Maman refused to say much when Helen asked. All she said was that they must hope for Papa’s safe return. But that hadn’t happened. And now Maman, too, had disappeared in the night. Tears pooled in Helen’s eyes and she wiped at them furiously. She didn’t want to cry. She had to be strong for whatever she was facing here.