A City of Broken Glass (Hannah Vogel)

by Cantrell, Rebecca

  “Nettle,” I said. “I never liked it either.”

  “Should we go ask the neighbors about Ruth?”

  I sat next to him. “I think not yet.”

  He leaned his head against me. “But shouldn’t we find her?”

  “Tomorrow.” I had been thinking about this while waiting for Paul to speak. “If the neighbors were kind enough to rescue her, she is better off there tonight than with her father. And I doubt they would give her up to me if they had her. I am a stranger to them. And an Aryan German to boot. They will view me as the enemy.”

  “Will your friend be all right?”

  He had lost his wife and baby, perhaps his daughter as well. He would never be all right again. “He will manage as best he can.”

  Anton blew shavings off the platypus bill.

  “Let’s see if we can find some nightclothes and a place to sleep,” I said. “But first you must clean up the wood shavings.”

  I found an old straw broom in the corner where Sarah had always kept it and Anton swept the shavings into a pile. He deposited them in the stove in the living room. Although it was cold in the apartment, I hated to light it, worried about using up Paul’s winter coal.

  Anton followed me to Ruth’s bedroom. The corner held old boxes. One contained clothes that once belonged to Sarah’s son, Tobias. I pulled out a nightshirt and handed it to Anton. Last time he wore Tobias’s undershirt, it hung to the floor. I bet now it would fit.

  While he changed, I stripped to my slip and inspected the box. It contained a pair of trousers, a shirt a few sizes too big for Anton, and a single Karl May book from Tobias’s old collection, too dog-eared to sell. The book was Deadly Dust, and it featured Winnetou.

  I bedded down on the sofa and spread blankets for Anton on the floor next to me. I tucked him in and read him stories about Winnetou, the Apache brave, written by a man who had never been to the American West. Anton had surely outgrown it, and probably knew it by heart, but he did not object. The familiar words soothed us both.

  After he fell asleep, I stared at the photograph in my Hannah Schmidt passport, remembering the day that Herr Silbert took it. Not surprisingly, I looked exhausted. The day before, I had been struck by a car, then almost succumbed to Lars’s charms. I should have stayed that course. I closed the passport. Tomorrow the inestimable Herr Silbert would make a new one for Anton, stamp them both, and we could leave. The neighbors must have Ruth, and soon she would be reunited with her father.

  I rolled over on the sofa, trying to wriggle away from a sharp spring. In the days following my fiancé Walter’s death in the War, I had slept here often, but nothing felt the same, except my sense of grief and worries for the future. I fell asleep with my hand dangling over the edge, centimeters above Anton’s head, just to make certain that he could not move without my noticing.

  Much later, bare feet scuffed across the floor. I opened my eyes, my heartbeat pounding in my head. Paul stumbled past into the kitchen, wearing only an undershirt and his pants from yesterday.

  I slid off the sofa, careful not to wake Anton, and went to talk to Paul. The day felt early still, but a hint of gray in the sky told me that it was getting on toward morning.

  Paul busied himself shaking leaves of undrinkable tea into Sarah’s familiar blue and white teapot.

  “Paul?” I asked from the doorway. My head ached, and I rubbed my temple.

  He turned. Red rimmed his eyes. Sorrow rested there, but they were no longer blank. I let out my breath.

  “Thank you, Hannah,” he said. “For coming here to check on my daughter and for not leaving me alone last night.”

  “Of course,” I said. “You would have done the same for me.”

  “I doubt that. I am not you, Hannah. I should not have let you go.”

  Hardly a comment to make mere hours after learning of his wife’s death. “You did not let me go. I left against your advice, remember?”

  His lips twitched in a reflexive smile that did not reach his eyes. “Quite.” He turned to the sink with the kettle in his hand. His shoulders shook.

  I went to him. Whatever he had been doing with Maria, he had lost his wife, his baby, and his daughter. He turned into my arms, and held on to me so tightly, it hurt. I had no words to comfort him. His life was irretrievably damaged.

  Eventually, he loosened his arms, and I looked up into his familiar brown eyes. It had been a long time since we had stood so. He caressed my cheek. I closed my eyes.

  Behind me someone coughed. We jumped apart as if caught by disapproving parents.

  I turned to face the intruder. Lars. I realized that I wore only my slip. I crossed my arms across my chest.

  “Who are you?” Paul asked with the fear of a Jewish man who had just been caught with an Aryan in arms.

  “A friend of Hannah’s.” Lars looked ready to hit us both. A paper bag in his hand crackled. In spite of his half dozen interchangeable lovers, he was jealous of my standing here with Paul.

  “I was making tea,” Paul forced out. “Please join us.”

  Lars walked past me and sat at Paul’s table. I backstepped away from him.

  “Why did you come here?” I asked through gritted teeth. “We were to meet at noon. Elsewhere.”

  He looked embarrassed. “I—I came to see how you were. To explain a few things, but perhaps outside?” Paul looked from Lars to me.

  I remembered my manners. “Paul, this is Lars.” I did not say his last name, not certain which to use. “Lars, this is Paul Keller. This is his apartment. His wife was Miriam.”

  Lars’s expression softened. “I am sorry to hear of your loss.”

  Paul went very still. Lars was the first one who had offered him condolences, not counting me. I walked over, took the full kettle from him, and placed it on the stove.

  “Paul?” I asked softly.

  “I must go speak with the neighbors.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Enjoy your tea.”

  It was early to be calling on the neighbors, but I did not stop him.

  He walked straight to the front door, still in his socks and undershirt, Paul, the man who was always impeccably dressed. When he came back through it, Ruth would be with him. One of the neighbors must have heard her crying after Miriam’s departure and come in to free her.

  “Excuse me, Lars.” I went to wash and dress.

  As I walked through the living room, Anton sat up, looking sleepy. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “You can go back to sleep.”

  He slumped back down, and I tucked the blanket around his shoulders. He was probably asleep before I reached the bathroom. I felt a strong desire to be thirteen years old.

  I completed my toilet hastily. When I returned to the kitchen, the kettle had begun to whistle. Lars poured steaming water into the teapot and brought it to the table, which he had set with items from his bag: rolls, butter, and jam. He had brought breakfast, either as an apology or a tactic to ensure that I spent time sitting at the table with him while he pumped me for information.

  “Nettle tea?” he asked. “I thought you hated that.”

  I sat and folded my hands in my lap. “Why did you break into Paul’s apartment to meet early?”

  “Where was he when they took his wife and daughter?” he asked.

  “With his mistress.” I clenched my hands together. “A situation I am certain you have faced yourself.”

  Lars checked the tea. It probably needed more time to steep, but then again, I did not want it to have a stronger flavor. I poured myself a cup with my left hand without offering to pour for Lars.

  I spooned in honey awkwardly, cradled the warm cup against my cast and my left hand, and waited, but he stayed silent, so I gave up and asked. “Why are you here now?”

  He lowered his gaze to the table. “My lorry is definitely gone. My apartment is under surveillance by the Gestapo.”

  “I am sorry I landed you in this mess, Lars,” I said. “If you had not come
after me, you would be safe and happy in Poland.”

  “Safe, perhaps,” he said.

  I took a quick sip of too-hot tea. “I have a few questions about Fräulein Ivona.”

  “Have you?” He poured his own tea, looked at it as if it might be poisoned, then grimly took a sip. I hoped he would hate it as much as I did.

  “I want to be certain that she did not turn me in to the Gestapo,” I said. “I have enough enemies already.”

  “If she is your enemy, then she’s my enemy as well, now.” He held up his cup in a mock toast.

  I did not lift mine. “Sun Tzu said to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

  “How fortunate when my enemies are attractive twenty-five-year-olds.” He took a long sip of tea to punctuate his words.

  That hurt. I dropped my gaze to my disgusting tea. His visit changed nothing. I must visit Herr Silbert at nine, the moment his store opened, so we could leave Germany. Still, I was curious. “Did you send her to drive for me, and to spy on me?”

  “As I said earlier, no,” he said. I wondered how true that might be. “But she is a very jealous woman, so I’m not surprised that she sought you out to make a scene after she saw you on the station platform.”

  I toyed with my spoon. I longed to ask him what he had been doing on the station platform watching me arrive in Poland after abandoning me for two years, but I did not want to give him another chance to say something hurtful. “How do you know that she is not a danger to us?”

  He pressed his lips together in irritation. “I investigated her, of course. A colleague in Berlin checked out her file. She worked as a secretary in some minor department having to do with road building and then came to Poland to study engineering. She is unmarried. She has never been under investigation for anything. None of her associates are suspicious either.”

  Lars had been, as usual, thorough. So Fräulein Ivona posed no official threat, although perhaps a personal one. “Do you think she turned me in to the Gestapo in Poland?”

  “I checked with my contacts this morning before I came here. According to the file, you were arrested based on a phone call to a Bella Fromm, whose telephone was answered by an informant. I am under suspicion because I crossed the border so soon after you were arrested and taken across. The detectives investigating the disappearance of the Gestapo agents feel that, based on our previous engagement, I might have been tempted to help you.”

  So, we were both wanted, and all because of my indiscreet telephone call. I should have been more careful. “I am sorry that you are under investigation. I should have—”

  He sipped his tea. “Do not concern yourself overly. It’s not the first time.”

  “How did you find us here? Were you followed?” I itched to peer out the closed kitchen curtains and into the street. But then if someone was down there, they would know that I was looking for them.

  “Don’t insult my intelligence, Spatz. I knew you would not trust my assessment, that you would let no time elapse before coming to check on the girl yourself.”

  I hated being predictable, especially to him. My head throbbed. “Clever, Herr Kommissar.”

  “You looked pale when we parted, so I assumed that you might have to spend the night. Are you feeling better this morning?”

  “Much,” I lied. I took my gold pocket watch from my pocket. Still too early for Herr Silbert.

  “Do you have an appointment?” he asked testily. “Or have I overstayed my already tenuous welcome?”

  “Lars,” I said. “I appreciate all you have done for us. I am certain it has been a burden—”

  “Not at all.” He set his cup on the table and sat up.

  “How gallant of you to say.”

  “I did it for quite selfish reasons.” He gave me a flirtatious smile. “I can assure you of that.”

  Looking at him, I lost my train of thought. I well remembered where that smile led. I forged on. “Be that as it may, it was very kind—”

  He smiled with half his mouth. “I sense a but coming.”

  He had always known me too well. I twisted my hands in my lap. “But I think it might be best if you and I have no further contact.”

  “Where will you stay?” he asked. “I could—”

  “I believe where I sleep is as much my affair as where you sleep is yours.” My head spun, and I swallowed. I would not get upset and throw up on the table.

  “I’m sorry about this, Spatz,” he said. “I am not without resources, perhaps I—”

  “You are too kind,” I said. “But I believe we are safer without you, thank you.”

  “Will you stay here? With a Jewish man?” He stood. “You will be charged with race defilement. It’s not safe.” He paced around the kitchen, trying, I knew, to think of an argument to change my mind.

  “Lars.” In spite of myself, I spoke too loudly. “Even though you have apparently been thriving here for the past two years, Anton and I cannot call anywhere in Germany safe.”

  “As for the matter of the last two years. I hardly think that you—”

  Anton appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with his fists. “Mother?”

  “Good morning, Anton,” I said.

  Anton pulled out a chair and sat. He looked greedily at the food, probably hungry after last night’s pitiful dinner. “May I start breakfast?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I must pack.”

  Lars sat across from him and picked up a roll. He handed the basket of rolls to Anton. “Did you sleep well?”

  I left them sitting at the kitchen table and walked to Paul’s empty bedroom. I found a box in the corner with Sarah’s things. They were out of fashion, but many women in Germany these days could not afford to keep up with the latest fashions. I packed dresses and underthings for me and Tobias’s hand-me-downs for Anton into an oversized bag I found in the closet. Sarah would not care if we took them, and we would look less suspicious on the train if we had luggage.

  When I returned to the kitchen, Lars and Anton chatted companionably. I made myself a roll while standing. “Has Paul returned?”

  “No.” Lars gestured to the satchel on my shoulder and the bag in my hand. “Where are you off to?”

  I hesitated. “Shopping.”

  “I shall accompany you.”

  “No.”

  He gave me a long-suffering look. “I can walk with you, or tail you from a distance, but I am not letting you out of my protection until you are safe on Swiss soil.”

  I bit back a sarcastic comment about the value of his protection. I wanted nothing more to do with him, but it might not be a bad idea to keep him where I could see him. Just as Sun Tzu said, friends close, and enemies closer.

  I finished my roll. We left the table set for Paul and, hopefully, Ruth.

  I wrote a note for Paul, thanking him for the use of his house and saying that we most likely would not be returning. I gave him my number in Switzerland, although I suspected that he would not call it. I would try to check in on him again before we left Germany, to make sure that he and Ruth were all right, but I could do little else.

  I turned to Anton. “Let’s go.”

  He rose and shrugged apologetically to Lars. Apparently they had moved past the groin-punching incident. As I had told Fräulein Ivona, I did not understand men.

  Before we got to the door, Anton tapped my cast and reached for the bag. “It’s my job to carry the heavy things.”

  I gave him the bag, and kept the heaviest burden for myself.

  11

  We rode to Kreuzberg in the same subway car. Lars sat at a bench opposite and did a credible job of pretending we did not exist by reading the Völkischer Beobachter. I tried my best to ignore him and his Nazi newspaper. Anton looked at the two of us as if we were insane, probably grasping the subtleties of the situation better than we did.

  I had thought of trying to evade Lars, but Anton’s presence complicated the situation. In any case, yesterday’s chase after Anton had proved that I
was not up to running. Lars probably already assumed that Herr Silbert’s store was my first stop, and he had been there before, so I revealed nothing by taking him there.

  Besides, he might need Herr Silbert’s services to get out of Germany. No matter how angry I was at Lars, I owed him. He would not be stuck here if I had not been arrested, and he had not followed to help me.

  The subway stopped, and we bustled up the stairs with a crowd of workers starting their day. The men wore suits and hats, but few women joined them on their way to work. The Nazis’ efforts to force women back into the kitchen seemed to be working. I turned up my collar, wishing I did not stick out against this background of men, and wondering how I would have survived here had I stayed. How I might have to survive if we could not leave.

  Outside, the streetlights’ glow fought against the cold gray sky. Anton stayed close. I did not see Lars, but he was there. I did not have the luck for him to have lost interest.

  My steps quickened when I spotted the familiar cobalt blue storefront. When I stopped in front of the door, I paused. GERMAN BOOKSTORE flowed in gold Gothic-style letters across the plate glass front window, not SILBERT AND SONS. Panic fluttered in my stomach. Perhaps he used such nationalistic language only to keep the Nazis at bay.

  I glanced up as I stepped across the threshold. The brass bell that Herr Silbert usually hung over the door was gone. I took a step into the store, then turned to Anton.

  “Could you please wait for me at the candy shop across the street?” I pressed coins into his palm. “I would like a packet of mints.”

  He wanted to come in with me, but he understood my tone and left for the candy store.

  I walked past a giant exhibit of Mein Kampf topped by a black-and-white glamour photo of Hitler staring pensively out a window.

  A stranger stood behind the counter. His white shirtsleeves gleamed, and his green eyes had a questioning look.

  “Excuse me.” I mustered a polite smile.

  “Good morning, madam,” he said. “How may I be of service to you on this fine German morning?”

  So the Nazis now used their nationalistic terminology on even the weather.

  I pulled my jade green fountain pen out of my satchel. “I bought this here years ago. Lately, it keeps getting clogged. Can you fix it?”