Emmanuelle had lost much less materially. Her father had died when she was a small child. Her mother had been a seamstress in an important fashion house in Paris and took in sewing on the side, which Emmanuelle often helped her with. Her mother had lost her job shortly before they were deported, and one by one, her private clients had stopped coming to her. They were too afraid to give her any business because she was Jewish. Their neighbors, who had been lifelong friends, had turned them in. Emmanuelle never wanted to see any of them again. The neighbors had taken over the Bergers’ apartment, with the permission of the prefecture of police. Emmanuelle had nowhere to go, and no home to return to, and she didn’t want to see Paris ever again. But they couldn’t stay in the army facility forever. They’d have to go somewhere eventually.
“You don’t want to go back to Paris?” Jakob asked her as they sat in the sunshine, while he smoked a cigarette the soldiers had given him. The Americans had been very generous with them, with food and chocolates. She was wrapped in a wool shawl from the Red Cross. She was so thin she was always freezing. She shook her head.
“For what? Our neighbors took our apartment because it was bigger than theirs. I think that’s why they reported us.” He nodded. Many Austrians had done the same thing, turned on Jews whom they had known all their lives, Jews who were often pillars of the community, like his family had been. Suddenly greed and jealousy had created a mob mentality that no one had thought possible in civilized communities and sophisticated cities. Being Jewish had become a death sentence overnight. His family had never been religious, nor had Emmanuelle’s mother, but they were Jews nonetheless.
“Maybe going to America would be a good thing,” Jakob said cautiously in French and she shook her head again with a terrified expression.
“What would I do there? I don’t know anyone, and I don’t speak English. I couldn’t get a job.”
“The Red Cross workers are saying that the sponsors will help people find housing and work and be responsible for them until they can take care of themselves.”
“I want to stay in France, just not Paris. Are you going to America?” She was sad as she asked him, since he was her only friend and had taken good care of her in the past month. They were always together and the American soldiers respected him. He had been helpful whenever he could, and he could speak to them in English, which she couldn’t.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t have anyone there either. But I have even less here. I don’t know what kind of job I could get. I was going to work at our bank after university. I’m not sure what I could do now. I didn’t finish my studies.”
“I stopped going to classes after the lycée. I wasn’t very good in school,” she said shyly. “All I know how to do is sew.”
“You can get a job doing that,” he reassured her. “And you don’t need to speak English to be a seamstress.” She nodded agreement, but America seemed frightening and too far away. She had never dreamed of going there, and it sounded like a nightmare to her now, although the soldiers had all been very nice and very respectful of her. And Jakob liked them too.
In the past month, they had both gotten stronger and healthier. She had gained a few pounds with wholesome regular meals, although her stomach had revolted at first. She was no longer used to eating normally, and she frequently had stomach pains and so did he. But his body craved the food they were given and he devoured it. He was tall and thin normally, so you couldn’t see much weight gain yet, but his face looked less skeletal, and his eyes less sunken. His hair had grown out a little and was very dark.
She now had soft blond baby curls instead of her shaved head, but they both looked like people who had been to hell and back, even if they were on the road to recovery now. Jakob had trouble with his feet from the chilblains he had gotten every winter, with boots that had been falling off his feet, and had open toes and holes in the soles. Both the Red Cross and the army had provided clothes for the prisoners too. Some of it was a little odd, and none of it fit well, but they now had warm, clean clothes. All their prison garb had had to be burned. It was filled with lice and the stench was overwhelming. Jakob knew he would never forget the smell of the barracks, their bodies and their clothes, and the corpses left in mountainous piles outside, until they were buried.
Emmanuelle said she still had nightmares every night. He was the only one who understood what she’d been through. Despite what they’d seen when they arrived, the soldiers had no idea what it had been like when the Nazis were there and the camp was fully functioning. It had been hell on earth and there had been many times when she had hoped she’d die rather than have to live another day. And yet they had gotten through it, she for two years, and Jakob for five. There had been no predicting who would survive and who wouldn’t. They had found dead prisoners in their bunks every morning, sometimes lying side by side with them, with dead, unseeing eyes.
Jakob went with her to talk to one of the Red Cross workers again about the possibilities open to them. They could choose to repatriate to their own countries, but both of them had nothing but bad memories of their last days there. Emmanuelle and her mother and sister had spent three months in a stadium after they were taken from their home, before leaving for Buchenwald. And the Steins had lingered for months in a holding facility outside Vienna.
“We have sponsors for both of you, if you want them, through the American relief organization I mentioned to you before. And the War Refugee Board is doing all they can for displaced persons. We have one sponsor in Chicago, and another one in New York,” the Red Cross worker said kindly. She didn’t add that they had to be well-connected people to get through the red tape and quotas.
“Could we go to the same place, or have the same sponsor?” Jakob asked cautiously, feeling suddenly shy with Emmanuelle. He didn’t want to seem presumptuous, but he knew she’d be too afraid to go to America alone. For a brave girl who had been through the worst experience imaginable, she was fearful now about crossing the Atlantic to a new home.
“Are you married?” the Red Cross worker asked Jakob, and he shook his head.
“No, we’re friends.”
“The sponsors won’t do that. Couples have to be married, or else sign up singly and be placed with whoever is able and willing to take them. We have to submit their profiles to the people offering to be responsible for them, and they choose who they want. The rules are strict about all of it. Most of these people have volunteered to help through their temples,” she explained. “We have sponsors in other cities too. We have a number of participating organizations in Chicago, Los Angeles, and Boston. Do you have relatives in any of those places?” They both shook their heads.
“We have no one except each other.” They didn’t even have passports, and their citizenship in their respective countries had been canceled because they were Jews, but the United States had offered to give them passports as displaced persons, if American citizens were taking responsibility for them. She gave them each a sheet of information and they went back outside to talk about it some more. “We can’t stay here forever,” Jakob reminded her. Sooner or later they had to make a decision about where to go. He didn’t know why but he felt a strong pull to a new life in New York. He talked about it to one of the soldiers later, when he offered Jakob a cigarette.
“What’s it like there?” Jakob asked the private he was smoking with. He had chatted with him before.
“America is a land of opportunity. I’m from Brooklyn. My uncle is a butcher, I was working for him before the war. But I think I want to move out West when I go back. There are good jobs there.”
“Where’s Brooklyn?” Jakob had never heard of it.
“It’s part of New York City. You’d like it, it’s nice. Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan, Staten Island, the Bronx, it’s all part of New York City. Man, what I wouldn’t give right now for a hot dog and a beer in Times Square, and a night on the town.�
� He smiled knowingly at Jakob, who laughed. They were the same age.
“I’m thinking about signing up for one of the sponsors who are offering to find us jobs and lodgings through Jewish relief groups.”
“Can your girlfriend go with you?” he asked sympathetically.
“I don’t think so, unless we’re married. She can sign up too, but she might go to another city. Boston, Chicago, or Los Angeles. I don’t think she wants to go. She’s afraid to be so far away from where she grew up, but it can’t be worse than here.” He glanced around them as he said it, and the soldier felt sorry for him. Jakob still looked ravaged and old before his time. He had trouble walking and had been beaten with sticks so often that he was bent over despite his youth. But at least he was alive. So many more had died in the last month, from typhoid, typhus, tuberculosis, yellow fever, dysentery, and starvation. And many were suffering from depression and delusional disorders too from what they’d been through.
“Maybe you two should get married,” his American friend suggested and Jakob nodded. He had thought of it himself, but had no idea what Emmanuelle would think of the idea. He hadn’t dared suggest it to her. He liked it, but it seemed too soon to offer that as a solution. It seemed extreme to him too, but leaving her in Germany would be hard. There were also some complicated opportunities to go to Palestine, but he had no desire to go there. New York sounded better to him, if they could get housing and a job from benefactors.
He ate with Emmanuelle in the mess hall that night, as they did each evening. He saw that she looked tired and worried. Most of the other women didn’t know where they were going either, and many of them were trying to get news of their relatives in other camps. All they had to go on were rumors they had heard about where they were, or clues from someone who had seen them several years before. There was still chaos in every camp once they were liberated, and most of the freed prisoners had nowhere to go.
He waited a few more days to talk to her, and finally dared to broach the subject. “I was thinking, if we get married, the same sponsor will have to take us both, as a couple. And I could take care of you once we get to New York. That way you wouldn’t be alone.” She looked at him in surprise.
“What if we hate it there? How would we get back to Europe?”
“We’d have to save our money,” he said, “but what do we have to come back to? I have nothing left in Vienna, and how do we know our own countries would take us back? Our fellow countrymen were happy to turn us in and get rid of us. The French as much as the Austrians. Our countries were occupied, but many of our friends seemed to be willing to cooperate with the Germans. It might not be easy for us here,” he said, and she nodded. She had thought of that as well.
“Do you want to get married?” she asked him so softly he almost didn’t hear her. He nodded and took her hand in his.
“You saved my life, you stole food for me, Emma. You could have died for it. Your doing that gave me hope when I had none left.” She smiled at what he said.
“Is that enough reason to get married?” But they both knew that if they didn’t, they might never see each other again. He was the only familiar face now in a sea of strangers, except for the women she knew from her barracks, and they would be gone soon too.
“People have married for less,” he said sensibly. “And I promise I will protect you.” He could say that now, whereas a month before he couldn’t have. He could be gallant now, which for an instant reminded him of his old life, where men took care of women, and shielded them. All they had been able to do in the camp was survive, if that.
“What if you don’t want to be married to me once we get to New York? You might meet an American girl and fall in love.” She looked worried and he smiled and held her hand tighter.
“I don’t need an American girl, I’m already in love,” he said and she blushed and looked very young, despite her still too thin face and the dark circles under her eyes.
“I love you too,” she said quietly. “I just thought you only considered us friends.”
“We will grow to love each other more when we know each other better. We can have a new life in a new place where they want to help us. It’s a good beginning.” She nodded agreement. They walked in silence for a while, and then she stopped and looked up at him.
“Yes,” she said simply, but he hadn’t spoken. He was thinking about her, and the opportunities they could share.
“Yes, what?” His mind had been a thousand miles away.
“To what you said…what you asked me a little while ago.” She didn’t want to say the words herself, and he smiled as he understood.
“Emmanuelle Berger, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he asked her formally and dropped to one knee on the dusty path as he said it. She smiled down at him and nodded.
“Yes,” she said in a whisper, “I will.” He stood up and kissed her gently then. She was so frail he was afraid to break her if he took her in his arms. He was no sturdier than she was, but he was young and strong, and her injuries had been more severe than his from the beatings she’d been given when she didn’t work fast enough. She’d been on a burial detail before she worked in the garden.
He put an arm around her shoulders and walked her slowly back to her barracks, which was not far from his own in the army camp. “We’ll go back to the Red Cross tomorrow and see what they have to offer us. Then we’ll go to the chaplain, and ask him to find us a rabbi.” There had been several rabbis wandering around the camp, to talk to Jewish prisoners. “Good night, Emmanuelle,” he said and kissed her lightly again. “Thank you.” She smiled shyly at him, and then slipped into the barracks to join the other women, as Jakob smiled, put his hands in his pockets, and walked back to his own.
Chapter 2
Three weeks later, when the Red Cross and the American relief organization in New York had processed their papers, Emmanuelle and Jakob were put on a train to Calais. From there they would take a ferry to England and then another train to Southampton to board the RMS Queen Mary to make the crossing to New York. There were to be fourteen thousand troops on board returning to New York, in cabins fitted for three soldiers in each. And fifty-eight civilian passengers had been allowed to book passage, Emmanuelle and Jakob among them, thanks to the Jewish relief organization and their sponsors’ connections.
They had been free for seven weeks by then. Emmanuelle still had short blond curly hair, and Jakob had what looked like a military crew cut, and was surprised to see that there was gray in his hair now. He looked more than two years older than she, and they both thanked the people at the Red Cross for their help when they left. All their documents were in order, they had identity papers to travel with through France and England, provided by the army. The paperwork they had was in lieu of passports and identified them as displaced victims of war, seeking asylum in the United States. They had affidavits from their sponsors, Rachel and Harry Rosen in New York. A small studio apartment had been rented for them, and they both had jobs working in Mr. Rosen’s factory. He was in the garment business and made women’s dresses. Jakob had no idea what he was going to do there, maybe something in finance, since he had written his CV, which mentioned his studies of both business and finance in Vienna, and he had listed his family’s bank for work experience. But he couldn’t worry about that now.
From Southampton, they would be setting sail to New York on the Queen Mary, a ship that had been used to carry troops during the war. She had been recently repainted from military gray during her wartime service, although there was still a six-inch gun attached on deck.
Despite the removal of the silver, china, and art from her peacetime decor as a passenger vessel, she was an elegant ship, one of the fastest on the seas during the war. There was still an aura of grandeur about her, which reminded Jakob of his trips with his parents as a child. He had traveled on the Normandie once with his parents. It was an exquisite s
hip and had been a lot of fun. And he imagined this time the voyage would be simple and rugged, and the cabin they were assigned very small. The relief organization had booked their passage, which the Rosens were paying, in steerage. It was the first of June, and they had been married by a rabbi the week before. He was an army chaplain and had wished them luck, and reminded them that they deserved a good life after all they’d suffered.
“The crossing will be our honeymoon,” Jakob said grandly.
With fourteen thousand troops on board and only fifty-eight civilian passengers, they felt lucky to be on board. When they reached the ship and boarded it, holding their small cardboard suitcases with their few belongings, they found that they were sharing the cabin with another couple. It was barely big enough to move around in, so they left their valises on their bunks, and went up on deck to watch the ship set sail. They had been warned that there were still mines in the water, and the crew would have to be vigilant. There was still a sunken U-boat in the mouth of the harbor and they would have to maneuver around it. Jakob sighed as they headed out to sea and he took his wife’s hand.
“I think we’re going to like New York,” he said confidently, and she smiled up at him. She worried more than he did, and liked how positive he was. They still barely knew each other, and had had no opportunity to consummate their marriage. It wouldn’t be possible to do so sharing the cabin with another couple. Jakob was disappointed by that. But they had survived the war and were sailing to freedom. That was enough. They had time to discover each other more intimately when they got to New York.
In His Father's Footsteps Page 2