Levi hesitated and then seemed to gain the confidence to speak.
“Papa, I was thinking. After everything that has happened, should we not store some of our precious things? We could put them in the bank vault until—”
“No!”
It was Elizabeth who reacted, and they all turned to look at her.
“I will not give in to them. Our treasures belong with us.”
Benjamin took her hand and squeezed it, then turned to his eldest son.
“Don’t think I haven’t considered it. Mordecai moved some of his art and instruments into the vault last month. We have many friends in the government and I’ve been assured that, provided we obey the rules, we will remain exempt. And now, we have some news. Some months ago we applied for an exit visa for you, Levi. In case things got worse, we wanted to give you the opportunity to choose whether you go or stay.”
Levi was staring at his father, openmouthed, and Simon watched his mother blinking back tears. His father’s words seemed distant as he tried to grasp the concept of his life, a difficult and dangerous life, without Levi.
“You’re the only one old enough—allowed to go on your own, I mean—and it would take years for visas for the whole family to come through. We were told that you’d stand a very good chance of being granted a visa. And so it has proved.”
“You mean—”
“I was advised two days ago that, if you wish to leave, there is a visa available for you now. From a good friend of mine in the government.”
“And go where?”
“London. It’s closer than New York, your English is good, and I have friends who will take care of you. When everything settles down, you can come back,” his father said firmly.
Levi was digesting the news and shaking his head with obvious amazement. Simon looked into his father’s face; his expression was very serious, with new lines of worry and stress and no laughter in the black eyes. So he didn’t believe that everything would be fine anymore; in fact, he was so concerned he was prepared to place the life of his eldest son in the hands of a Gentile friend.
“I can’t believe it, Papa! London! When do I go?”
“We were going to talk to you about it over the weekend, but after last night . . . ” His mother’s soft voice trailed off.
Benjamin covered her hand with his and addressed Levi, his voice calm and measured. “I’ve already been on the telephone this morning. You should go tonight. You’re allowed one suitcase and a coat. I will help you pack. There are one or two things I will help you to hide. A letter of introduction to a good friend of mine and a little family treasure. To help you along your way.”
Late that afternoon Simon watched as his father used an old cloth bandage to strap a packet to Levi’s chest. It contained a letter to Mr. Peter Dickenson of London’s Marylebone Bank, a complete list of all the family’s possessions, and a letter to Avrum in New York. He also carried a small leather pouch that slid over his shoulder and hung in his armpit, taped against his side. It held several rings and brooches, two solid silver snuffboxes, two miniature portraits of Benjamin and Elizabeth, and a tiny black box with ten loose diamonds in it. Levi knew that he was to deposit them all in Mr. Dickenson’s bank for safekeeping and bring them back with him, but if the worst happened, they would give him a good start in life. Simon helped Levi struggle into as many clothes as he could wear, and they packed the rest into a brown leather suitcase. Their conversation was stilted, neither of them knowing what to say and yet both wanting to say all the important things. Over the top of the pile of clothes Levi laid a photo of his family and one of him and Simon holding the two precious violins. Then, as he closed the lid, there was a light knock on the door.
“Levi?”
It was Rachel. The twins had turned thirteen a month before, and she was on the verge of puberty, small for her age, olive skinned and elfin, with glossy dark ringlets and huge, startled brown eyes.
“I wrote a poem about us. I want you to take it with you. I drew you a picture on the back.”
She held it out to him, her face solemn. He opened his arms and she ran into them. Simon watched them and wondered how he would comfort her after Levi was gone.
“I don’t want you to go; I’m scared,” she whispered into his jersey. He stroked her hair.
“Shhh, don’t worry, little bird, it won’t be for long. I’m just going on a bit of an adventure and then I’ll come back and we’ll sing prayers again together, I promise. And Simon will take care of you while I’m not here. You must promise me that you’ll take care of David.”
She pulled back and held the piece of paper up to him. He opened it and read the poem, then turned it over and looked at the drawing of a tall man seated at the piano.
“Thank you, sweetheart, it’s beautiful. I shall treasure it forever.”
They ate beef and cabbage almost in silence. Elizabeth looked pale, and her eyes were red rimmed but she maintained her composure. David reacted to the tension by telling them a story about a cat his friend had rescued the night before and his parents said he could keep it, because having a pet was a very good thing for a child when everything was so uncertain. At six sharp there was a knock at the front door. Benjamin opened it to a close friend, a Gentile who worked in the government. He was nervous and glanced up and down the street repeatedly.
“Is he ready?”
“He is.”
Levi struggled into Papa’s best woolen coat and then they all hugged him hard. Elizabeth ran her hand down his clean-shaven cheek.
“God will take care of you, my precious firstborn boy,” she said in a small voice.
“I’ll be back for Pesach, Mama, Pesach 1939.”
Simon stood on the front step and watched Levi climb into the back of the big black Mercedes. It was his papa’s car. Suddenly he understood the price his father had paid to his Gentile friend to get Levi away to safety, and he felt the first real stab of fear about the future, a sense of vulnerability and danger.
Then, with a final confident wave, his brother was gone. But not forever, for somewhere deep inside he knew he’d see Levi again. Not a hunch, a deep, simple knowledge. He glanced at his mother, intending to share this happy thought, but Elizabeth was staring down the street at the disappearing car and her desolate expression told Simon that she believed she’d held her beloved eldest son for the last time.
Chapter 21
Berlin
November 1939
Benjamin Horowitz?”
Benjamin looked up from his stack of papers and his smile died. A tall, gaunt SS captain stood in the doorway, carrying a black truncheon in one hand.
“Yes, I’m Benjamin Horowitz.”
Something tightened in his stomach.
“You run this establishment?”
“I own it, yes.”
“Stand up. You will address me as ‘sir.’ ”
Slowly Benjamin rose to his feet.
“How can I help you, sir? Would you like to open—”
“Your bank is closed. My men have escorted all the customers out and locked the doors. You will now collect all your workers and bring them to the main area on the ground floor. Immediately.”
“But wh—”
“Don’t argue with me, Jew! Do it now!”
The order was barked at him and, as if to emphasize the point, the man tapped the end of the truncheon on his gloved palm. Benjamin moved quickly from behind the massive wooden desk and hurried into the teller area. The women looked frightened. Money was scattered on the desktops, and some had fallen to the floor. He smiled reassuringly and ushered them all around the barrier to the main customer area. Mordecai came through a side door from the stairwell, with terrified men and women trailing after him. In a few moments all the employees were huddled together. Armed soldiers watched them from positions around the walls. Benjamin approached the cap
tain, and instinct told him to veil the anger he was feeling.
“They’re all here now, sir.”
“Good. Two of my men are checking the building; when they return, I will address your workers.”
As he spoke two guards came through the back door, dragging a young man between them. Benjamin recognized him as Moses Guttmann, a clerk. One of the guards pushed him into the crowd, then turned and saluted his superior.
“All accounted for, Hauptsturmführer.”
“Good.” He returned the salute and then turned to the assembled.
“I want you to divide into two. All the Jews over here to the left and all the others to the right. Do it, now.”
There was some confusion and chatter as they moved around the room until two distinct groups emerged. The captain watched them impatiently.
“Come on, come on, hurry up! This bank is the property of the Third Reich. It will be closed until we decide what to do with it. All of you on the right-hand side will go home now. You will not come back here again. Go, now!”
Two soldiers opened the front doors, and the people on the right began to reluctantly move toward them. Some were waiting for a sign from Benjamin or Mordecai, and they both gestured toward the doors, encouraging the Gentiles to leave.
“Good. There are two trucks outside on the street. You, Jews, will all file out and climb onto these trucks. Go, now!”
“Excuse me, but where are you taking us?” Mordecai asked.
“To be processed. Do as you’re told and no harm will come to—”
“But this is our bank; we have a special exemption. You can’t just come in here and take over. Tell him, Benjamin!”
The captain stepped very close to Mordecai and raised the truncheon.
“I can do whatever I like. This is not your bank. It is the property of the Third Reich. And you have no exemption from me. Now go outside and get into that truck, before I split your head open like a ripe melon, do you understand?”
Benjamin took his brother’s arm. “Come, let’s do what he says. When they’ve finished with us, we’ll go down to city hall and see our friends. All this will be sorted out, you’ll see. For now, we must set a good example, so people don’t get hurt.”
They walked out the door and into the freezing cold air. Two large army trucks were parked in the middle of the street and the men climbed onto the back, then turned to help their employees up. As the trucks rattled off over the cobbles, Benjamin blinked back tears and squeezed his brother’s arm.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be back in business tomorrow. No one will take our bank away; it’s just a mistake.”
It was nearly sundown on a Friday afternoon and Benjamin still wasn’t home. Elizabeth had everything ready for the Shabbat observation, and she and her children waited in the music room. Simon played the piano and they all sang. He could see that her anxiety level was rising with every minute that ticked by, and he didn’t know what to say to comfort her. She’d phoned the bank and got no answer; then when she’d rung her sister-in-law, Sarah, she’d learned that Mordecai wasn’t home either. This was what they’d all dreaded for a year, ever since that terrible night when so many of their friends had been rounded up and arrested for no reason.
Suddenly the music was overridden by a loud banging on the front door. The twins instinctively went to their mother’s side.
“Open up, Jews!”
It was muffled but quite easy to understand. Someone was standing on the doorstep, knocking and yelling insistently.
“Who on earth? Simon, be careful.”
Simon had rushed out of the room toward the door.
“Open up, Jews! Open up, Jews!”
Elizabeth and the twins followed him into the entrance hall. The banging was constant; it sounded like a fist. Simon stood behind the door.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he called loudly.
“Open this door. By order of the Third Reich, open up now, Jew.”
He looked back and could see his fear mirrored on their faces. “We must open the door to them. Be strong. Papa will be home soon.”
Simon slipped the chain and started to open the door. Before he had it a quarter of the way ajar, it was pushed from the outside and a horde of uniformed men swarmed in. They fanned out into all the rooms. A large army officer, wearing the insignia of a major, thrust a piece of paper at Elizabeth.
“This residence has been commandeered,” he shouted at her. “Jews will no longer live in such houses. You have fifteen minutes to pack one suitcase each, clothes and photographs only. No valuables. Go!”
He screamed the last word in her face.
Simon ran into the hall in time to see a soldier lifting the Dürer portrait off the wall. He hesitated for a second then kept moving. In the drawing room, men were putting their possessions into boxes—candlesticks and vases, figurines and bowls. Some were taking the paintings off the walls and carrying them outside while others were lifting up chairs and tables. Understanding hit him with a blinding clarity, followed immediately by fury. They were stripping his house. Looting it. Taking everything. Where was Papa? What was he supposed to do without Papa?
In the music room a slight man in a black leather coat was leaning over the glass cases. He had close-cropped blond hair and very fair skin. As Simon ran in, he straightened up.
“You, over here,” he ordered.
Simon felt a rush of relief as he saw that the violins were untouched.
“What are these? What year?”
“This . . . um, this is a 1545 tenor recorder. That’s a 1788 wood-and-ivory serpent, very rare. And that’s, um, that’s a lute from Bologna.”
“What year?”
“1535.”
The man held out his gloved hand.
“Keys,” he ordered.
“I . . . I don’t have them. My father has them and he’s not here.”
“No matter.”
He took out a small flashlight and carefully smashed the side of the glass case containing the recorder. Gently he lifted it out and turned it over in his gloved hands. Then he bent down and put it into a box at his feet.
“You can’t just—”
“Shut up, boy! I can do what I like. You, out there!”
He called to two SS guards who had run past the door. They stopped, came in, clicked their heels together, and saluted him.
“Stabsmusikmeister,” they answered in unison.
“Take that double virginal away.”
They looked at him blankly, and he pointed at the virginal.
“There. And be very careful with it. It’s Flemish, around 1580 . . . am I right?”
He turned to Simon, who nodded with a sinking heart. The man was a captain and a director of music. He watched as the man systematically broke the cases, lifted out the instruments, inspected them, and put them in his box. At one point the captain looked at him.
“Shouldn’t you be upstairs packing some possessions?”
“These are my possessions.”
“Not anymore,” the captain muttered.
When he got to the Amati, he plucked the strings and looked at Simon questioningly.
“Nicolo Amati, 1640,” he replied, his voice dull.
The man’s bright blue eyes gleamed at him.
“Very good.”
He laid it in the box and turned to the other case. Simon couldn’t contain the cry of rage that rose in his throat.
“No!”
The man ignored him and carefully broke the glass. Simon was there before the captain’s gloved hands could reach inside. The glass was jagged and sharp.
“Careful, boy. Don’t be stupid, you’ll cut your hands to ribbons. Let me do it.”
Reluctantly Simon pulled back. He felt his heart would literally break in two as he watched the man. With infinite ca
re the captain lifted it out and held it up to the last rays of weak autumn light.
“Oh my God, look at this,” he whispered.
“It’s a 1729 Guarneri del Gesú.” The words burned in Simon’s throat. “I want to tell you it’s something else, but you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Quite right, I wouldn’t. In every house like this, there’s a priceless jewel. Do you play it?”
“Yes. It’s very unforgiving. The master himself described the sound as the tears of an angel.”
The captain picked up the bow and put the violin to his chin. He tightened the screw on the heel of the bow and played a long note. Simon’s temper flared.
“My papa will kill you when he hears you’ve done that.”
The man stopped and laughed. It was a cruel, humorless bark. Simon could feel a red mist descending over his brain.
“Your father is probably dead by now. Say good-bye to your violin; it’s now my violin. You shouldn’t own such a thing anyway.”
He bent down and gently put the violin into the box, beside the Amati. Simon waited until he’d straightened up again and then he punched him in the face as hard as he could. The blow was completely unexpected and stunningly effective. The captain reeled backward into the wall and let out a ferocious roar. His hand came up to his nose as blood spurted out.
“You dirty Jew bastard! You’ll pay for this, my God you will.”
Two guards came running in.
“Take him! And take this box.”
Two guards grabbed Simon by the arms and dragged him toward the hall. Other soldiers were pulling Elizabeth, David, and Rachel down the wide staircase. Rachael was sobbing, but David was struggling against his captors. The major was standing in front of the Botticelli portrait, held between two soldiers. He addressed Elizabeth directly.
“This is a religious subject. For Jews to own such a work is sacrilegious, a profanity before God. If the Reich had known you had it in your possession . . . were you not told to register all your important assets?”
She faced him defiantly.
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