A City of Broken Glass (Hannah Vogel)

by Cantrell, Rebecca

  My brother had given me the pen as a gift. I had no idea where he had purchased it, but it seemed a safe way to start a conversation. In addition to his illegal activities, Herr Silbert had sold and repaired fountain pens.

  The man took a pince-nez up out of his pocket and settled it on his round nose. He peered down at the pen in my hand.

  Behind me, the door opened and closed. I hoped for Lars and not someone worse.

  “We don’t repair pens here anymore,” he said. “We only sell books.”

  I stuck the pen back into my satchel. “Do you know where the previous owner has set up shop? He was so meticulous.”

  The man put his palms flat on the counter. “Prison.”

  “Oh, dear.” I sounded like my grandmother.

  He regarded me coldly.

  “I suppose I shall have to find another place to repair my pen. Is there a shop nearby that does that sort of thing?”

  “No,” the man said.

  Lars put a firm hand on my elbow. “There you are, my dear! I’m glad I found you. We are so very late.”

  I looked up at him. “Are we?”

  He led me onto the sidewalk. As we passed the candy store across the street, Lars waved, and Anton came out. As if by some unspoken plan, Anton did not cross the street but kept pace with us on the other side. Lars and I did not speak.

  Anton caught up with us at the station. Lars bought tickets; then we stepped into a crammed subway car. I held on to a leather strap and wondered what to do next. Herr Silbert had been my only hope.

  Anton offered me a mint from a brown paper bag. I shook my head. Lars took one.

  “Did you get what you needed?” Anton asked.

  “No,” I said without explaining. Anton sucked a mint and stared out the window. I looked at Lars. Perhaps he had a useful contact. “Do you have a source?”

  He looked pained. “No.”

  I had not expected him to, but having it confirmed was still a blow. The car carried us forward through a dark tunnel. We stopped at a station, but I did not bother to read the name on the wall. They were all the same to me now. My shoulders sagged as the implications of Herr Silbert’s absence came home to me. I tried to come up with a new strategy, but my head would not comply.

  Anton rose at Alexanderplatz, and I followed, feeling dizzy and nauseated. Lars stuck close by my side, no longer pretending that he was not with us. I felt grateful for his presence. Berlin felt different now that we were trapped here.

  Anton led the way back to Paul’s apartment. We had nowhere else to go. I tried not to notice the graffiti. A nearby shop window had been broken the night before, and our shoe soles crunched on shards of glass.

  Again I had trouble working the key with my left hand. Lars held out his hand for it, but I gave it to Anton instead.

  “You hold on to the key, Anton,” I said when he tried to return it. He dropped it into his pocket.

  We reached Paul’s door without exchanging another word.

  I walked straight to the kitchen and swallowed four bitter aspirin. I did not expect them to help my headache, but I had to try something. Lars watched from the doorway.

  “How much does it hurt?” he asked.

  “More than I want it to.”

  I walked past him into the living room. Paul sat on the sofa with his head in his hands, still wearing only his undershirt and rumpled pants.

  I sat next to him. “News?”

  “No one has her. No one knows where she is, or no one’s telling.” He sounded beaten. Stubble lined his cheeks. He had not bothered to shave or dress.

  “Why not?” I supposed his desertion of his pregnant wife had earned him enemies.

  “I imagine you know,” he said. “But I truly think they do not know where she is.”

  I itched to question the neighbors myself, but they would reveal nothing to me. “Perhaps we could ask Bella to intervene?” And I needed to warn her that someone in her household was an informant.

  “You are losing your touch, Hannah,” he said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Bella left over a month ago. She’s in New York now. Last I heard she was making gloves in a factory.”

  “Bella, working in a factory?” It saddened me to think of aristocratic Bella laboring in an American factory. She must have been forced to flee without her assets. She deserved better. “I left a message for her when I was in Poland.”

  “That was foolish,” Paul said. “They’ve been rounding up her friends.”

  That confirmed what Lars had told me. My call to Bella had landed us here.

  Anton peeked out the window. “May I go out? They are playing football down there.”

  I peered over his shoulder. A group of children around his age kicked a raggedy brown ball around the back courtyard. My every instinct screamed to keep Anton where I could touch him.

  “Please,” he begged. “I can’t sit around all day.”

  “I could come and watch you,” I began.

  “You will cause me trouble.” He crossed his arms. “I bet some of their parents know you. They know you’re not Jewish.”

  “You are not Jewish either,” I said.

  “I’ve decided on a story to tell.” Anton was full of stories. And the telling often ended with problems for me. “I’m a Jewish boy from Switzerland. I was sent here to visit my uncle Paul with my mother. I need a good Jewish boy name.”

  “Aaron,” Paul said woodenly. “Aaron Baumgartner.”

  I glared at Paul. Lars stifled a smile, probably grateful to see someone else in disfavor.

  “I have a cousin named Aaron,” Paul said.

  “Aaron,” Anton said. “That will do. Please?”

  His pleading blue eyes softened my heart, as he knew they would. What was the sense in keeping him inside worrying with me? If we were trapped here, who knew how long it would be before he got to play again?

  “Be careful,” I said. “Stick to your story. And stay in the courtyard. I will be watching from up here.”

  He was halfway to the front door before I finished my admonitions.

  “Your coat!” I called.

  He snagged it from the hook by the door and dashed out without a second glance.

  “You cannot wrap him up in cotton wool,” Lars said.

  “Thank you for that bit of wisdom from your vast treasury of child-rearing experience,” I snapped. Lars smiled, but I ignored him.

  I fetched a chair from the kitchen. I sat it next to the window, where I waited with held breath until Anton appeared in the courtyard below. He ran to join the group and in less than a minute was part of the game. How would I safely get him out of here? I rested my forehead against the glass, hoping that the cool would soothe my head.

  “Do you have a picture of your daughter?” Lars asked Paul.

  I turned to see. Paul took down a picture of a blond girl with light-colored eyes and handed it to Lars. It was the same as the picture in the locket. “It’s only a few months old. We had a devil of a time getting her to be still during the sitting. Ruth is a feisty girl. She knows her own mind.”

  Lars looked sidelong at me. “That can be a challenge.”

  Paul stared at the picture. “She’s a tough one. Smart, too.”

  Lars drew the corner of his mouth down slightly. A small change of expression, but it usually meant that something did not make sense. “She does not resemble you. Does she favor her mother?”

  I thought of Miriam’s dark eyes and hair and the man in the locket. I glanced back out the window without saying anything. Anton ran with the ball across the courtyard.

  Paul took the photograph from Lars. “She looks like my father’s side of the family. The Aryans.”

  I winced at the pain and bitterness there. I stood and gestured to my chair. Lars sat in it and stared down at the courtyard while I took his place on the sofa, next to Paul.

  Paul stroked the glass with one fingertip, eyes far away. I took his free hand and waited. Lars kept his head po
inted toward the window, his back rapier straight. I wished for words to comfort Paul.

  “We will find her,” I said.

  “There’s not much point to anything otherwise,” Paul said.

  “Don’t talk like that.” I stroked the back of his hand. Lars twitched but did not turn his head. “We have uncovered many things over the years, Paul. We are reporters, remember?”

  “I was a reporter,” Paul said. “I was many things. But now…”

  “What now?”

  “I don’t know.” He stared at the floor. “I don’t know if I can be anything now.”

  “You can. You will.”

  Paul was silent for a long time.

  “Thank you for those years after the war,” he said finally. “They were good years.”

  “I like to think I was at least better for you than Maria,” I said. “I mean, honestly, whatever possessed you?”

  His surprised brown eyes met mine. “The challenge.”

  “Like Russian roulette,” I said.

  Paul gave me a ghost of a smile. I viewed it as a victory. He could not slide into despair. I had to do something.

  Lars coughed.

  “Did Miriam have any enemies?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of.” Paul’s left eyebrow raised a millimeter. He was lying.

  “When I spoke to her in Poland, she seemed concerned that she was not safe, and I wondered if that is why she did not take Ruth with her when she left.”

  “Things happened to Miriam in Poland.” Paul ran his hands along his face. “She was terrified about going back.”

  Lars spoke without turning his head. “And you just left her?”

  Paul dropped his head into his hands.

  “You are a fine one to talk,” I said to Lars.

  “I hardly think a privileged life in Switzerland can compare to a stable in Poland,” Lars said.

  I stood up from the sofa and went to the window. Anton ran back and forth as lightly as if we were in Switzerland and not in the Jewish quarter of an anti-Semitic country with no identity papers. He seemed to fit in with the group, but I wished that he were with me instead.

  “You have clearly not seen my life in Switzerland,” I said quietly.

  “Haven’t I?”

  I peeked at Lars out of the corner of my eye. He looked tired and surprisingly handsome. I quickly looked back into the courtyard so that he could not see my expression.

  Paul came to stand behind me. “I think I’ll fetch Anton.”

  Relief shot through me. “Thank you, Uncle Paul.”

  He touched my nose with one finger. “You’re welcome.”

  Seconds later the front door closed.

  “Did you pry open the cupboard doors?” I asked Lars.

  He looked as if he were about to say something, but changed his mind. “They were like that when I arrived. Both cupboard doors were off their hinges and on the floor. The front door was locked. No sign of forced entry.”

  “So whoever took Ruth had a key to the front door?” I wondered who had a key. That might narrow it down.

  “It seems that way. But it may have been left open. If I were Miriam, I would have left it open.”

  The boys below stopped playing and lay in a circle in the dirt. I could not tell, but it looked as if they played marbles. Anton’s confident head turned from side to side, probably telling them Indian stories. Unlike me, he had always been accepted by his peers.

  Lars leaned close to me. The scent of starch rose out of his warm shirt. Obviously the woman who washed them for him did exemplary work. “What will you do now, Spatz?”

  I leaned away. “Same as before. Flee Germany as soon as we can.” I had no idea how. “If Herr Silbert had been able to provide us papers, we would already be on a train to Switzerland.”

  “What about your friend?” He lingered over the last word.

  “Why is Paul your concern?” I glared at him.

  “Because,” he said. “I suspect you will look for that little girl and try to fix her father’s broken heart.”

  “And why is that your concern?” I clipped off each word.

  He sighed. “We are linked. In the eyes of the Gestapo if nothing else. I intend to get you out of Germany without your implicating me.”

  “I have yet to betray you.” I could not help where the emphasis fell on that sentence. “My decisions are my own. You have no claim on me.”

  He looked down at Anton’s figure far below. “There are those who do.”

  “You will not tell me how to raise my son, either.”

  “Spatz, I—”

  A woman called down into the courtyard. A boy stood and raced toward the building. Another woman called and another boy left. The others stood and moved as a pack toward the door.

  Paul appeared below and beckoned to Anton. Anton waved at the window where he must know I sat vigil before trotting over to Paul.

  “I have no intention of implicating you,” I said to Lars. “As you well know, I have had many opportunities to do so in the past, and I have not succumbed to the temptation. Although perhaps it was not so great then as it is now.”

  His lips twitched. “I appreciate the restraint.”

  “You should.” Once again, my tone was more bitter than I would have liked. I clamped my mouth shut.

  We stared down at the empty courtyard in stony silence.

  “Perhaps you should exercise the same restraint regarding your friend Paul?” Lars said.

  “What, exactly, do you mean by that?” My uncasted hand clenched into a fist.

  “Only to ask if you are free to make those kinds of decisions.” Lars enunciated each word carefully, as he always did when he was pretending that he was not angry.

  “My life and my freedom are my own,” I said. “You forfeited any right to be involved in either when you chose not to come back from Russia.”

  “Did I choose that?” he asked.

  “You tell me.”

  Anton saved him from answering by bursting through the front door. “Hello!”

  His eyes shone, and his cheeks were flushed from exercise. He looked better than he had since we left Poland. I was glad that I had let him play.

  “I have news!” Anton sang out.

  He reminded me of my old mentor, Peter Weill. He, too, always had news and announced it just so. Anton had never met him, so he must have heard the expression from me. What else slipped out when I was not thinking?

  I looked at Lars. I did not trust him, but he probably knew more about how to find a missing person in Berlin than anyone else. “What news do you have?”

  Anton shifted on the balls of his feet. Paul walked into the living room and stood behind him, arms loose by his sides as if he did not know what else to do.

  “I asked them about my uncle Paul and my cousin Ruth.”

  Color drained from Paul’s face at the sound of Ruth’s name. I ached for him.

  “And?” Lars leaned forward like a Bavarian mountain hound on a scent. “What did they say?”

  “You should not have done that, Anton,” I said at the same time. “We are not here for you to play detective.”

  Anton smiled his pirate smile. “But I did, and now I know something you don’t.”

  “This is no game.” I scolded. “We must be careful here, Anton.”

  “Aaron,” he corrected. “And I was.”

  “Hannah.” Paul raised a hand as if I were a teacher. “Please, could you chastise him after we find out his news about my daughter?”

  For Paul’s sake, I turned back to Anton. “Well, then, out with it.”

  “Say please.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

  I drew in a breath to admonish him. This was no time for games.

  “Please,” Lars said. “Tell us.”

  “Reuben said that an Aryan man always used to visit Miriam,” Anton said.

  “What did the man look like?” Lars asked. “How did they know that he was Aryan?”

  Anton
grimaced in self-reproach. “I didn’t ask.”

  “Did the man take Ruth?” Paul asked.

  “Nobody saw him on the day of the deportations,” Anton said. “But still.”

  “Do you know who the man is?” I asked Paul.

  He shook his head.

  “Yet he came often.” Lars had a challenge in his voice.

  Pain lingered in Paul’s eyes. He lowered his head.

  “Not everyone compiles a dossier on their friends, Lars.” I glared at him. “And I rather suspect this man’s visits were timed to match Paul’s absences.”

  “Is it really so easy for a woman to betray her husband?” Lars asked sharply.

  Paul looked at me, clearly waiting for a response. I did not answer. I had never betrayed any man, including the ones in this room. Not that it had done me any good.

  12

  I frowned at Paul and Lars. Neither of them had any right to speak of betrayal.

  Anton rocked back on his heels and raised an eyebrow questioningly at me. I forced out a smile.

  “I’m hungry,” Anton said.

  “As am I.” I was grateful for the change of subject.

  “I would be honored to invite all of you to a meal,” Lars put in quickly.

  “Because it was such a delightful experience last time.” I thought of Gretl. “I think perhaps—”

  “We don’t have much money,” Anton pointed out helpfully. “There’s practically no food in the house.”

  I said, “I will remedy—”

  Lars slipped my new coat onto my arms, gently moving it up over my cast. “I think it might be good to leave the apartment for a while. To help us all think. Will you join us, Paul?”

  “No, thank you,” Paul said.

  “Please,” Anton wheedled. “Mother won’t go without you, and we’ll all starve.”

  Paul looked at me uncertainly.

  “Do come,” I said. “There is nothing you can do here right now.”

  Paul glanced around the apartment as if realizing that there was, in fact, little he could do. “Very well.”

  We waited for Paul to shave and dress. When he rejoined us, he looked more like his old self.

  I gathered up my satchel. Paul locked the door and took my arm. We followed Lars and Anton down the stairs.