Major Steig was in a chair opposite the door, aiming a pistol at Eva who stood in front of him, trembling. As Jake had just predicted, the Major was wearing civilian clothes. His SS uniform was gone but the malevolence in his eyes was still there. “Vivaldi…” he said with a cagey smile. “A little too sublime for my taste but perfect on such a beautiful night. Close the door.”
Jake nodded, and did as instructed.
“I promised I’d let you know when your other Jewish friend had been captured,” Steig said in his sly way. “Little did I know it would be so easy.”
Jake’s eyes flared with anger. “The war’s over, Steig. The Führer’s dead. Himmler’s dead. You and your kind are finished.”
“I beg to differ,” Steig snapped, as he got to his feet, holding the pistol on them. “You think you’re the only one with an escape plan, Hauptman Kleist? Please, let’s not be naive. No SS man worth his salt is just waiting around to be arrested and strung up like a common criminal. Jews aren’t the only ones fleeing from Italian ports!”
“Then flee! What the hell are you doing here?!”
“My sworn duty to carry out the Führer’s vision,” Steig replied as if it were obvious. “We are his acolytes. His holy instruments. His warrior-priests. Centuries after his death, the SS will still carry his banner as the Jesuits still carry Loyola’s. You of all people should know that. It’s what Catholics, doctors and SS men—men who have taken oaths—do, isn’t it?” Steig stepped toward Eva and cocked the pistol. “It’s called God’s work.”
Eva stiffened, her eyes darting to Jake’s.
“Eva Sarah Rosenberg, you will turn and kneel,” Steig commanded and, in an aside to Jake, whispered, “It will be quick and painless as it was for your family.”
“As it was for my sister? You bastard!”
“The spoils of war,” Steig said with an icy sneer. “Both of mine were turned to cinders when your refined British friends firebombed Dresden!”
“That doesn’t make us even,” Jake said, coldly.
A reptilian smile turned the corners of Steig’s mouth. “I must admit there is something strangely exhilarating about fucking a woman before you execute her. An exquisite flower like your sister takes it to a level you can only imagine; as would this one, I’m sure,” the Major said, lasciviously, his eyes drifting to Eva. “But unlike you, I have respect, not disdain, for the Nuremberg Laws.” He aimed the pistol at Eva’s head, and commanded, “Kneel! Kneel at my feet Jewess as you will kneel at the Führer’s in the afterlife!”
Eva raised her chin in defiance and glared at him.
Jake was seething at Steig’s repugnant diatribe. The man was a deranged fanatic well-beyond the reach of any appeal to reason or common decency; and, despite his anger, Jake had kept his eyes focused on the pistol. At the last instant, when Steig’s finger seemed to tighten on the trigger, Jake lunged for the weapon, knocking it off line just as it fired. Eva screamed in fright as the bullet whistled past her and tore into the sofa. The surprising move knocked Steig off balance. He stumbled backwards, tripping over the rug. Jake went after him, grabbing hold of the weapon. The two men were rolling across the floor struggling to gain control of it when Steig drove a fist into the side of Jake’s head, staggering him. The major clambered to his feet, clutching the Luger. Jake shook-off the blow and came at him. Steig whirled and drove the muzzle into his chest, stopping him. Instead of pulling the trigger, he grinned, savoring his triumph. “Step back,” the major ordered, evenly. “I said step back and watch as your Jewess—”
He was interrupted by a ferocious growl as the door burst open, and Kunst came charging through it. The latch hadn’t engaged when Max closed it, earlier, because Steig had jimmied the lock to gain entry, and it had remained retracted. The snarling animal was in mid-leap when Steig fired. The dog yelped as the bullet tore into its chest. The powerful animal’s momentum carried it through the air into the Major, knocking him to the floor. The gun skittered across the carpet. With another ferocious growl, the animal locked its jaws onto Steig’s throat. Its glistening canines ripped a gaping hole in the soft flesh from which shredded viscera erupted. Blood came in crimson spurts. It spattered the dying animal’s coat and formed a widening pool around its victim’s head. Steig thrashed about on the floor as if struck by a seizure, his hands clutching at the carnage that had been his throat, then emitted a chorus of sickening gurgles as the life went out of him.
Paralyzed with fear, staggered by the sudden violence, and stunned by massive surges of adrenalin Jake and Eva stood unmoving for what seemed like an eternity. She was still trembling when Jake wrapped his arms around her and took her aside. They held each other, tightly, ignoring the bloody aftermath. After they had settled and Jake had collected his thoughts, he noticed the fugitive alert still clutched in Eva’s fist. “You won’t be needing that…”
“No. No partisans necessary,” Eva said, staring numbly at her image on the flyer.
Jake lit a cigarette, then touched the match to one of the corners. “And no police.”
“No police,” Eva echoed.
“Unless someone heard the shots and notified them.”
“I doubt it,” Eva said as the flame crept across the paper, turning her image to particles of fiery ash that rose into the air. “Gunfire’s become part of life. Nobody pays attention to it, anymore.” She took a few steps and dropped what was left of the flaming page into the sink.
Jake nodded in relief, exhaling a stream of smoke. His expression saddened as he crouched to the dog and removed its collar, then went about wrapping the animal in a large towel Eva had fetched from the bathroom. When finished, he went through Steig’s pockets, took the cash from his wallet and, with Eva’s help, rolled him up in the carpet on which he’d fallen. Several hours had passed by the time they had cleaned the place up, and it was well after midnight when Jake, shouldering Steig’s rug-entombed corpse, carried it from the apartment and down the stairs to the darkened street.
Though gregarious by day, Venetians turned into privacy-obsessed cave-dwellers at night. Just after sundown, regardless of the forecast, they battened their storm shutters as if expecting one of the Adriatic’s violent squalls to come raging across the Laguna Veneta at any moment. This peculiar habit plunged the streets into impenetrable darkness, giving them an air of medieval mystery that lasted until morning. Indeed, those sequestered behind the shutters could hear, but could not see, what was going on just outside their windows; and vice-versa for those on the street, adding to the city’s nocturnal intrigue.
Jake was approaching the canal at the end of the street when the soft throb of an engine rose in the darkness. Bent beneath Steig’s weight, he took cover in a doorway as the prow of a small boat emerged from behind the buildings. The weathered skiff motored slowly past the opening between them, its dim running light sending shadows stretching across the cracked stucco. Jake waited until the sound had faded before proceeding to the narrow fondamenta that bordered the canal. He lowered his cargo to the pavement and wasted no time rolling it into the placid waters. It sank quickly beneath the brackish surface, emitting a stream of bubbles. Jake tossed the pistol in after it and returned to the apartment for the dog.
The thought of disposing of the animal as they had Steig brought both Jake and Eva to tears. It was a short walk through the desolate, darkened streets to the Public Gardens where they had attended the concert earlier. Jake concealed the towel-shrouded animal in an out of the way thicket of boxwoods, concealing it with stones that he and Eva gathered. He remained on one knee for a long moment, reflecting on his parents and sister. He had done for the dog what he hadn’t been able to do for them; and hoped the Professor had been able to arrange for their proper internment.
The following morning after a few hours of fitful sleep, Jake and Eva walked to the Lagoon and sat on the seawall, looking across to San Giorgio Maggiore, the Lido and the Venetian Gulf beyond. Seagulls soared overhead in sweeping arcs, piercing the misty silence wi
th their plaintive screaks. Jake took a deep breath of the sea air, and let it out slowly, savoring its briny freshness, then lit a cigarette and watched the smoke taken off in long thin streams by the wind.
“You know,” Eva said, more chilled by a thought than the dampness and rolling fog. “Steig was right. Just because the Nazis are on the run; doesn’t mean they’ll all be caught, let alone cured of this madness.”
“Not in a million years,” Jake said, shaken by her insight. “It was insane to equate the SS with Jesuits and doctors. Steig was so deranged, he couldn’t see that neither we, nor the priests, are sworn to evil as he was; but he was right about blindly obedient men, blindly loyal to an oath, being driven to fulfill the Führer’s vision long after his death.”
“Yes,” Eva said, shuddering. “His prediction is so chilling because it’s so eerily astute. There must be thousands of those death warrants with my name on them; and a month from now, or a year, or even twenty years for that matter, one of these obsessed monsters will find one, and come looking for me.”
“For Eva Sarah Rosenberg,” Jake said, pointedly.
Eva’s eyes narrowed in uncertainty. “What are you suggesting?”
“Well, I have a new identity; maybe you should have one too. Do you still have the papers? The ones my parents got for you?”
Eva shook her head no. “Lisl Hausmann is long gone. The Gestapo was after one of the Jewish nurses at the hospital. The partisans were hiding her. I gave them my papers. They changed the picture, bleached out the signature…I don’t know what happened to her.”
“Do you know who altered them?”
“I’ve no idea; but I could find out. Why?”
“Well, our dear Jake fell in love with a woman he met at Auschwitz. I was thinking…”
“Really?” Eva said, her expression brightening. “How wonderful for him. If even for a short time.”
“And for her as well,” Jake added. “She was quite lovely, intelligent and courageous. A fine physician, too. Reminded me of someone I know,” he concluded with a sideways glance.
“I see…” Eva said, playing along.
“The camp was overrun with typhus,” Jake went on. “It was inevitable she caught it.” He paused and took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette. “I promised her if I survived, I’d live my life in Jake’s memory. All things considered, I was thinking, it might be appropriate for you to…” He let it trail off, implying the rest was obvious.
“…to live my life in hers,” Eva said, slowly, taking a moment to contemplate the idea. “Yes, all things considered, I suppose it would, wouldn’t it?”
Jake nodded, solemnly.
“So…So, then, who am I?”
“Her name was Hannah. Hannah Friedman.”
“Hannah Friedman,” Eva echoed, trying it out. “I never thought of myself as a Hannah, but it’s a nice enough name. I guess I could get used to it.”
“Me too,” Jake said with an endearing smile. “And as soon as we can get papers forged, it will be yours.”
“And then what? Everyone knows me as Eva Rosenberg. It might be possible to stay here with a new identity; but it would be complicated…”
“…and dangerous,” Jake added, his eyes narrowing in concern. “We can’t go back to Munich. I don’t dare come forward and announce I’m Max Kleist, heir to the metal works fortune.”
“No you don’t dare,” Eva said with a spirited toss of her head. “Both our families are gone. There’s nothing holding us here. I’ve heard about a hospital in New York. A Jewish hospital. Since the mid-’30s they’ve had a special program to hire doctors fleeing the Nazis.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it, too. Mount Sinai as I recall.”
Eva nodded. “I was thinking maybe they could use a top-notch team of orthopedic surgeons.” She grinned, and added, “Jewish orthopedic surgeons.”
“And if they can’t, I have a way to convince them they should.”
Eva looked puzzled.
“The prosthetics. The ones we were developing at school. I have all the drawings with me.”
Eva’s eyes filled with hope. “Well, they’d convince me,” she said, smiling at a thought. “Though if you’re going to be working in a Jewish hospital, Dr. Epstein, there is one thing you might not want to have with you any longer; one little detail that could reveal you aren’t Jewish.”
“I’ve noticed it,” Jake said with a little wince. “I came within a hare’s breath of compulsory showers and physicals at a Displaced Persons Camp.”
“Well, as you may recall, I’m pretty good with a scalpel,” Eva said with a mischievous grin. “I might even reduce my fee; after all, I have a vested interest in seeing the procedure done properly.”
Later that day, after fetching a few items from the hospital, Eva employed the most basic of her vaunted surgical skills, and removed the last bit of evidence that could reveal Jacob Epstein wasn’t a Jew. That evening, while Jake was recovering on the sofa, Eva settled next to him with her sewing box and went about mending the bullet-torn bolster.
“Now, all we have to do is get to New York City,” Jake said, squirming in discomfort.
Eva paused in mid-stitch and raised a concerned brow. “Easier said than done. Everyone wants to go to America now. Berths have become quite expensive. It’ll be a while before we can save enough to replace that rug, let alone buy passage to New York.”
Jake looked off in thought. “Maybe not.” He walked across the room, gingerly, fetched the suitcase from a closet, and set it on the rug in the sleeping alcove.
“Ah, the proverbial suitcase full of money…”
“Not exactly.” Jake slipped the key from around his neck and showed it to Eva. “Traded my St. Thomas More medal for it,” he said with a wistful smile; then he unlocked the suitcase and raised the lid. The striped uniform had been thrown atop the other contents. Eva watched curiously as Jake reached beneath them, found what he wanted, and with a magician’s flourish, removed the protective pillowcase, revealing the Kandinsky. “Murnau With Church,” he announced holding it up. “It should fetch enough for a couple of tickets.”
“And a rug,” Eva said with a laugh, her eyes brightening at the sight of it. “It’s beautiful. I remember it from your room.”
Jake nodded, almost sadly.
“It’s my favorite, Jake. Don’t you even think of selling it. I’ll…I’ll…I’ll sell my body first.”
“You’ll have no shortage of buyers,” Jake said, pulling her into an embrace and nuzzling her.
Eva wiggled her brows, fetchingly, and slipped from his grasp, her hair sweeping across her shoulders as she spun away from him. “As your surgeon,” she said with a giggle, “I don’t think your little buddy there is up to what you’re contemplating.”
Jake winced. “How could I forget?”
“…and stop trying to change the subject,” Eva went on. “The painting goes back in the suitcase. I mean it. Put it back in there. Now.”
Jake nodded like a chastised child. He slipped the Kandinsky back into the pillowcase and did as instructed.
“Take good care of that,” Eva cautioned as Jake closed it and snapped the latches.
“I know, Eva, I know, it’s your favorite.”
Eva smiled, charmed by his naïveté. “I was referring to the suitcase. It’s your Jewish passport, Jake. That, and the number on your arm, are irrefutable, empirical, historical proof of who you are.”
Jake nodded, taken with her prescience.” I know, they’ve already served me well.”
“You might want to do something about that,” Eva said, pointing to the double-K monogram near the handle.
Jake nodded again, then fetched a kitchen knife and began scraping-off the tiny letters. The bits of hot-stamped gold fell onto the rug making the pile sparkle. When finished, Jake stared at the battered, whip-scarred suitcase for a long moment then, with a gentle touch of reassurance, ran his fingertips over the thickly-painted lettering that spelled out Jacob Epstein. “In y
our memory,” he said softly.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
After getting her marching orders from Tannen, Steinbach and Gunther, Stacey closed the door and crossed the office to where Adam was sitting. She came up behind his chair, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and, in a soft voice, said, “Between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you, Clive?”
Adam swiveled around to face her and nodded glumly.
“Well, welcome to the club.” There was nothing sassy in Stacey’s tone, now, just heartfelt empathy. “What are you going to do?”
Adam shrugged, then pushed up out of the chair and crossed to one of the tall, bronze-tinted windows that looked out across the city. The late afternoon sun was sitting above the Palisades, sending magenta rays streaming down the crosstown streets and across the avenues where vehicles were crawling in Manhattan’s rush hour gridlock. Thousands of workers were hurrying from office buildings and shops in the direction of Grand Central, streaming into subway entrances, hailing taxis, and heading for local watering holes while thumbing their cell phones and Blackberrys. Adam was watching them dragging long shadows across the pavement, their minds focused on their families, their lives, their friendships and love affairs, their newspapers and novels, the coming weekend, the state of the economy, of the Yankees and the Mets, when Stacey appeared beside him. She stood in silence for a moment, looking down at the street.
“Well?”
Adam turned to face her, and let out an uncertain breath. “I don’t know, Stace. Do me a favor, will you?”
“If I can…”
The German Suitcase Page 34