The Red Thread
Page 7
There was no doubt Mira understood the power she wielded over me. She rose and took my hand, and we kissed every few steps as she led me across the garden to her back door. But when she stepped over the threshold, I stayed on the porch, seeing not the woman, but remembering the little girl who had tearily looked to me to fix what she had broken.
“Aren’t you coming inside?” She kept hold of my hand.
“Maybe this is happening too fast.”
“Are you afraid of me?”
“No.”
“Then what’s stopping you? My mother and father aren’t here. There’s no one to see or to judge us.”
“I know. But shouldn’t we get to know each other better first?”
She laughed. “You don’t need to get to know me, Peter. You always knew me better than anyone.”
It was like being in an argument with myself. “That may be, but I’d like to take you out for an evening. Just as if this were—” I didn’t say real, but she understood.
“If that’s what you want.” She gave a little shrug as she let her fingers slip through mine. “Gute Nacht, Peter.”
“Gute Nacht.” After she shut the door, I waited on the porch. “Aren’t you going to lock the door?”
I heard her laugh again. “And lock you out? I’d rather not.”
The darkness, expansive and foreboding, enveloped me as I stood on the porch until I wished I had followed her inside. When at last I heard the click of the lock, I vaulted the stone wall and hurried to my own house, where I secured the doors and windows and inspected every room, even under the beds. I hadn’t been aware of the silence when I was with Mira, but alone, it pressed on my eardrums again.
Maybe I was a fool not to stay with her. But the thoughts that had flooded my mind when we’d kissed weren’t all happy ones. I couldn’t forget the time long ago when my affection for her had devastating consequences.
8
My family and the Schlosses had had plenty of personal space when we’d been next-door neighbors. But in our cramped, dingy two-bedroom flat with the bathroom down the hall, the tension and discord festered.
My mother tried to smooth over little hurts and make light of our privations, but Mrs. Schloss rejected my mother’s well-intentioned good cheer. Her fear and depression left her unable to offer comfort or accept it from anyone. She isolated herself until she did not seem to be a part of our household, leaving my mother as the functioning adult in charge.
Our fathers, my two closest male role models, were both barred from their professions and stripped of their dignity. Mr. Schloss fared better socially than my father, but they were both frustrated, distracted, and exhausted. I stepped up to fill a role in the household that neither had the energy to take on. I became Mira’s protector.
Though we learned to live with the tension, we were like a bundle of sticks held in someone’s hands, bending under the forces we could not control, until finally, one by one, we would snap. Mrs. Schloss broke first.
Besides the two bedrooms, our flat in the Judenhaus had only a sitting room with an alcove and a kitchen. None of the rooms were spacious. Our parents, still clinging to the vestiges of privacy, decided that we children would sleep in the sitting room, where no one would trip over us in the night. Mrs. Schloss hung a curtain across the arched doorway to the alcove and made up a pallet for Mira on the window seat. I slept on the sofa and rolled up my bedding every morning and put it in my parents’ room. I tried to be a good sport when my mother insisted it was like camping, but the novelty soon wore off. I longed for my own bed in my room at home.
The Judenhaus was never quiet. Even late at night, there was always a baby crying or people arguing. Often, it was Mr. and Mrs. Schloss. It felt awkward, pretending I hadn’t overheard.
One night, when their bickering was worse than usual, Mira crept out of her bed and gently shook my shoulder. I could see the tears on her cheeks as she held out her hand, and I let her lead me behind the curtain. She moved her pallet to the floor, and we huddled there in the darkness, swathed in her blankets with our backs against the window seat.
Her parents’ room was just a thin wall away, and we heard every word.
“The money is gone? All of it?” Mrs. Schloss was angry. “I thought you said you trusted him.”
“I did.” Mr. Schloss sounded miserable.
“Then where are the papers you paid him for?”
“They would do us no good. His work has been spotted as forgery.”
“Then get the money back.”
“I cannot get it back. My contact has been arrested. He has not been at work for the past few days.”
“Fool! Avram, now we have nothing. We cannot get by on just the ration cards. What will we do?”
“Hush! Everyone in the building will hear you.”
Mira shuddered. I put my arm around her, and she whispered, “I don’t want to run away. I’m glad we’re not going.”
“Where do you think you would go if you did?”
“I don’t know. But it would be someplace far from here.”
“The farther the better. You’d have to get out of Europe. Maybe you could go to China—or Australia.”
“Maybe I’d go to that island in the Caribbean. But I don’t want to be anywhere unless you’re there, too.” She took her locket off over her head and leaned close, trying to hang it around both our necks, but the red silk cord wasn’t long enough.
“Here.” I took the necklace from her gently and pulled it back down over her hair, smoothing it as I did so. Then I drew her down beside me and pulled the blanket over us, spooning her back against me. She took my hand and laid it over the locket. I let my fingers tangle in the cord, and my thumb stroked her delicate collarbone. She shuddered again and put her hand over mine. Soon the tension ebbed out of her body, and her regular breathing told me she’d fallen asleep.
The next day I felt strong and powerful because I’d been able to comfort her. Every night after that, she beckoned me back to her pallet. We were still children, and despite everything that was going on around us, I was an innocent. I didn’t know anything about touching her in a sexual way. Sometimes the sounds we heard coming from our parents’ bedrooms made us giggle softly, and even though I didn’t understand what was going on, I knew it had something to do with being married. I also had a vague sense that our parents wouldn’t approve of Mira and me sleeping in the same bed, but I couldn’t refuse her. I always crept back to my blankets on the sofa before the adults were awake—until one morning when I overslept.
Mira’s mother found us curled up together on the pallet and grabbed Mira by the arm, pulling her away from me so forcefully that I awoke in a full-out panic. I watched in horror as she dragged Mira to her feet and dealt her a resounding slap. Mira’s cry of shock and fear brought my parents and her father running to see what was wrong.
“You took him to your bed? Little hur!” Mrs. Schloss clutched Mira by the shoulders, shaking her until her head lolled. My parents hustled me away and sequestered me in their bedroom.
“Stay here and don’t worry. Everything will be all right.” My mother put a reassuring hand on my shoulder for a moment before she closed the door. She and my father went back to speak with the Schlosses, and I pressed my ear to the door. Mira and her mother were both crying, and there was so much shouting that I had trouble following what was said. We were in a lot of trouble.
Soon my father came back. “Go get ready for school or you’ll be late.”
I grabbed my clothes and toothbrush and ran past the Schlosses to the bathroom at the end of the hall. On my way back, Mira passed me, face blotchy from crying, her gaze fixed on the worn carpet. I could hear Mrs. Schloss railing at my mother before I got back to our flat.
“Shanda. He must be punished for what he’s done, or else he’ll do it again.”
“Sylvia, you’re bl
owing this out of proportion. They’re children. Do you really think they—”
“Who knows what they’ve been doing right under our noses? The last thing we need is that kind of trouble. You must cut Peter’s rations to punish him. That will teach him a lesson.”
“I’ll do no such thing!”
At breakfast, Mutti set a bowl of oatmeal before me and glowered at Mrs. Schloss as though daring her to take it away. I shoveled in huge spoonfuls until my mother put a hand on my shoulder. “Geyn slouli, Peter.” After that, I took the time to swallow between mouthfuls.
Mutti and Mrs. Schloss were too busy glaring at each other to say goodbye when Mira and I followed our fathers out the door. We did not dare speak on the way to school, and even though our fathers did not seem angry, they offered us no words of comfort. Perhaps they were as shaken by Mrs. Schloss’s reaction as we were.
After school, Mira went to her violin lesson, and when I returned home alone, the smoldering silence between Mutti and Mrs. Schloss confirmed that they had not yet resolved the issue. When Mira came in, she kept her eyes cast down and did not speak to anyone, cowering in her mother’s presence like a dog beaten by a once-trusted master. I tried to catch her eye, but she would not look in my direction.
That night, my mother served herself deliberately small portions at dinner and put the extra on my plate.
Mrs. Schloss moved Mira’s pallet into their bedroom, and after that, I occupied the alcove alone. From the next morning on, Mrs. Schloss walked us to the ghetto school and back to assure we would not speak to each other on the way.
***
After a week of searing silences and suspicious glances from Mrs. Schloss, my mother called me into her bedroom when I returned from school. As soon as the door closed behind us, I asked in a furious whisper, “Why is Mrs. Schloss still treating Mira and me like we’ve done something horrible? We just fell asleep.”
“I know. I think Mrs. Schloss is being too harsh in her efforts to protect Mira.”
“But Mutti, that’s all I’m trying to do, too. It upsets Mira when her parents fight. She was frightened and sad, so I stayed with her.”
My mother kissed my forehead. “You are a good friend, Peter, but you and Mira aren’t children anymore. That kind of close contact isn’t appropriate. She’s becoming a young woman, and you’ll soon be a man.”
I looked away. “What does that have to do with anything?” Now I was sure Mrs. Schloss’s reaction had something to do with the noises we’d heard coming from our parents’ bedrooms. My cheeks grew hot as I wondered what I’d have to do to Mira to make her sound like that.
The whole thing should’ve blown over quickly. When it did not, Mira let her violin express the sadness and confusion she could not voice.
***
Mira had never minded me being around while she practiced, but since any sign of my presence upset Mrs. Schloss, I retreated behind the curtain in the alcove to listen. The window faced the courtyard, and I could see people in flats on the other side of the building.
As Mira played, a number of women paused in their tasks and leaned on their windowsills, wiping away tears as they listened to the plaintive tunes drifting through the dingy courtyard.
When the final note was stilled, I parted the curtain to make sure the coast was clear. Our mothers were preparing dinner in the kitchen. “Mira,” I whispered, and when she turned, I beckoned to her, opening the curtain so she could see too. “Look.”
Her audience was still there, waiting expectantly, hoping for another song. Someone blew their nose, and Mira bit her lip as she saw the melancholy on their faces. Then she set the violin back under her chin and it was like she had stepped onto a stage. I retreated out of the way.
She struck the bow across the strings with a verve that I hadn’t seen since before her mother had chastised her so harshly. She launched into a sprightly folk tune—a complete change from her last selection. The children down in the courtyard began to dance and clap in time, and right away the women at their windows joined in. Long after her practice time was up, Mira stood at the window and played. She reluctantly put the violin away when we were called to the table for dinner.
After that, Mira spent the afternoons sharing her gift with the inhabitants of our Judenhaus, giving of herself to heal their hurts. My pride swelled every time I listened to her play.
***
Though I’d barely spoken to Mira since the trouble started, Mrs. Schloss continued to watch me, trying to catch us doing something we shouldn’t. But she never thought to examine our homework.
Like any boy my age, I enjoyed reading stories about spies and secret agents, and for my last birthday, my parents had given me a book on ciphers and codes. Though I’d been unable to bring the book with me, I remembered some of the simpler ones and decided to use one to communicate with Mira.
I practiced a transposition code until I could read it without having to unscramble the message with a pencil and paper. Each pair of letters was reversed, so the word “four” appeared as “ofru.” I wrote in the code: “My mother says everything comes out in the wash.” I included the key to decipher it and slipped the sheet of paper into the top book on the stack Mira had brought home from school. It was a storybook of Chinese folk tales she’d borrowed from the school’s library.
Since she played every afternoon until dinner, she did her homework at the kitchen table in the evenings while her father sewed alongside her. Mr. Schloss had never chastised Mira or me, but neither had he spoken to his wife in our defense. I did not consider him an ally.
I usually spent the evenings playing checkers with my father in the sitting room. He worked long hours in the factory, and without enough to eat, he tired easily and went to bed early. That night, his hand shook as he moved the pieces, and after I had beat him three times in a row, I stood and stretched. “I’m tired, Vati. Is it okay if we stop for tonight?”
He smiled, not fooled. The strain he was feeling showed in the worry lines on his face, but his voice was both kind and teasing, just as it had always been. “You played well, son, but you’d best be on your game. I’ll beat you next time.”
“Yes, Vati. I wish . . .”
“What, Peter?”
“I wish you still had your camera.”
“Someday I shall have another. Perhaps it is best not to record this chapter in our lives, eh?” He stood and kissed my forehead, tousling my hair as he walked past me. The bedroom door opened and closed, and a few moments later, the bedsprings squeaked.
A kitchen chair scraped the linoleum, and when I heard Mira bid goodnight to her father, I retreated to my alcove. The next morning, my arithmetic book lay on the floor just outside the curtain. I opened it and found my note. She’d written her reply in code: “Then hand me the soap.”
With our line of communication reestablished, Mira pretended complete obedience to her mother while slipping coded notes into my arithmetic book every evening. Most were short and concerned with her resentment of her mother, who, she said, could not really understand what Mira was going through, because her own growing up years had been so very different. How could her mother deny her daughter happiness, since who knew when things would grow worse for us all? When she had children someday, she’d be a mother more like mine. Worst of all, her mother had bullied and broken her dear father until he had no pride left.
***
In the months after the incident, I noticed my mother had been right. Mira was becoming a young woman. I was changing, too, and my feelings for her ripened into something I couldn’t explore in my waking hours. In my dreams, Mira came to lie with me on my pallet. I could smell the fragrance of her hair and feel the warmth of her skin. She felt and tasted so real that when I woke up, pajamas and sheets wet, I wondered how in the world we had known how to do what we’d done. With no one to talk to, I faced the agony and the embarrassment alone.
***
Now, I tossed and turned in my childhood bed alone. Though Mrs. Schloss had once terrified me, she was not here, and she had never been able to control my thoughts or my dreams. Was it irrational to deny myself this specter of a physical relationship with Mira? It was true that nothing stood between us now, but I’d still be alone in the morning, just as I had been when I’d had dreams about her before. And I hated to admit it, but in this fake-perfect alternate reality, where neither of us could fully be ourselves, I felt lonely even when I was with her.
9
Late in 1941, Nazi authorities began deporting Jews from Bohemia and Moravia, and transport trains full of the exiled came through Leipzig’s central station. As the trains arrived more frequently and our neighbors began to receive notices to report for deportation, my parents and the Schlosses should have set aside their quarrels and grown closer, but they never truly reconciled.
One by one, the flats in the Judenhaus emptied. No new families arrived to take their places, and our footsteps echoed in the empty halls. In September 1943, my father’s position on the Judenrat was no longer enough to keep us from being deported. We received six pink slips giving us three days’ notice to report to the Leipzig train station. We were allowed to bring one suitcase each weighing fewer than fifty kilograms. As we left our flat for the last time, Mira carried her suitcase in one hand and her violin case in the other.
Crowds thronged the Leipzig station. To my surprise, other Jews supervised us while we waited to board the transport train. I whispered to my father, “How can our neighbors help the Nazis send us away?”