by Sara Young
"What do you mean, you're going home?"
"Shhh ... home! Schiedam. It's all arranged. Now you see there's really nothing for us to talk about. You can leave."
Karl didn't, though. He looked at me in a way I didn't like and leaned in. His soap—almonds and pine again.
"Cyrla, when was the last time you spoke to your aunt and uncle?"
"Oh, a day or two ago."
I made a dismissive gesture with my hand and he reached to take it, but I pulled it back.
"Do you even know where they are?" he asked softly.
A scorched scent entered the room, as if the draperies were beginning to burn.
Karl slumped back, the fingertips of one hand pressed to his forehead, studying me. "I have to tell you something. After you told me about Anneke, I wanted to write to your aunt and uncle. But I knew they'd probably throw away a letter, so I called a friend who's still stationed in Schiedam and asked him stop in, in person, to convey my condolences. I just heard from him yesterday."
"What?" The blood rushed in my head so loudly I could hardly hear my word.
"They're gone." Karl saw my face collapse and then hurried to explain. "No. I mean they've left. The house has been requisitioned as an officers' headquarters."
"Where?"
"I don't know. He didn't learn anything except that the house had been taken several months before. And by the way, I never told him your name, so I didn't put you at any risk. You don't have to worry about that."
As if that was my worry. If you leave people, they can die.
"So why don't you tell me what you're really planning? If you had a way out—a way to leave—I think you would have taken it by now. I can help you."
I studied the man in front of me, stared into his eyes for the first time. He was a liar. But he was not lying now.
"Can you find out where they are? If they're safe?" I asked.
"I can try. But what I meant was—"
"That's what you can do to help me."
"All right. Do you have any idea where they might have gone?"
"Tell your friend to ask the Schaaps next door—the house to the right, with the green door and the iron fencing along the walk. They probably won't trust him, but he can try. And see if my uncle's shop is open."
Karl nodded and stood to leave. I felt a surge of hope—this man was allowed to simply walk out of here and, once outside, he could make telephone calls.
And then I suddenly thought of Neve. Carpe diem.
"Wait," I said. "Do you really want to do something for me?"
FORTY-EIGHT
"Take me to dinner. You're allowed to take me out of here, you know."
"I know. 'Outings of no more than four hours, to be completed before eight in the evening, subject to permission from the chief of staff on duty.' "
"That's exactly right," I answered, surprised.
"The rules came with the notification," Karl explained. "I just never expected—" He broke into a smile. "Where would you like to go?"
In the months she was seeing Karl, Anneke used to drift off in the middle of a conversation, her face soft and dreamy. I reminded myself to be careful around this man. Around that smile. "Anywhere," I answered. "But let's go now. I'll just change my clothes."
"Now?"
I tried a helpless shrug and patted my rising waist. "We're hungry now."
"All right, I'll make you a deal. I'll take you anywhere you want to go right now. And you'll wear this coat."
Before he could ask any more questions, I went upstairs. I changed into different clothes so he wouldn't be suspicious, and then I dug to the bottom of my drawer for the money my aunt had packed. I pulled out a few useless guilders and stuffed them into my purse.
Karl was at the front desk, signing a form. I heard him tell Frau Klaus that we would be driving, and this gave me a new hope: If it turned out that I had to leave on my own in the spring, running away from one man on an outing would be a hundred times simpler than running away from an armed Nazi institution. I would make this afternoon enjoyable.
He stopped on the steps and lifted my collar to button it around my neck.
"Thank you for the coat, Karl. Truly. It's very kind of you."
"Are you warm? And see—it's cut so it will still wrap around, all the way through." Karl was still beaming when we got into the car, as if he had made the coat himself. As if he had invented coats. I couldn't help smiling.
"Yes, it's warm. And it fits. You're very thoughtful."
"Well, my sister helped. Actually, she picked it out."
"She's here? I thought Anneke had said your family was from Hamburg."
"Outside Hamburg. But no, she's here now." Karl's face clouded and warned me not to ask anything more. It had begun to snow—fat, soft flakes that glowed against the darkening afternoon sky—and we talked about the weather in the mountains as we drove toward the town. Then he asked where I wanted to eat.
"I don't care. No—I do. Someplace small. For the past five months I've eaten every meal in a big dining hall."
"Someplace small, then."
"And someplace where they have soft white bread!" I laughed. "And food that's been cooked for hours! Nothing raw!"
"I noticed a guesthouse at the edge of the main village. Let's try that."
I suddenly felt disoriented. Of course—I hadn't been in an automobile for five months, or been alone with a man, or even left the grounds of the home. Still, it wasn't the unfamiliarity of these things that made me anxious—it was their very normalcy. It was the freedom after so long; I remembered reading about animals in the zoo who tried to run back into their cages when they were released. The baby moved, swimming like a little otter—he, at least, was nothing but happy about it all.
At the guesthouse, the manager greeted us as if we were only a young couple who had come in for a meal. When he saw I was pregnant, he made a fuss about seating us near the fire—asking me if I were warm enough or too warm, pointing out the antique beer steins on a shelf above us, the paintings of the Alps lining the dark-beamed walls. We ordered Jägerschnitzel and salad, and while we were waiting, we each had a beer, dark and cool. I told Karl more about my days at the home. I began to relax. Perhaps the beer and the fire relaxed Karl, too, because he told me more about his sister.
"Her name is Erika. We're twins."
"Are you close?"
Karl nodded. He had lit a cigarette, but he now put it out, picking shreds of tobacco from his tongue and then leaning back before he answered me. "We were the only ones, so we were always together. She was a lot smaller, so people thought I was the older brother, and that infuriated her. She insisted on doing everything I did, which was fine until we were eight and I started spending time in the boatyard."
"She didn't want to do that?"
"Oh, no. She did." He smiled to himself at the memory. "But my grandfather and my uncles were old-fashioned. They didn't want a girl there. I took her side and made a big show of letting her come with me, as if I were the indulgent brother. But the truth was I wanted her there. She's funny and smart, and when she was young she was absolutely fearless. It's hard to explain, but when she wasn't with me, I never felt completely whole. Because we were twins, I guess."
"Anneke told me you had a niece. Erika's daughter?"
Karl smiled. "Lina."
"So she's married."
His smile disappeared. "Was." He looked away and studied a hunting trophy on the wall beside us, then turned back. "Six weeks after their wedding, Bengt was sent to the Russian front. Erika was pregnant. Two weeks before Lina was born, he was killed."
"I'm sorry. How awful—to be alone. And with a new baby." Karl looked up at me and I raised my chin—I was not alone. Or I wouldn't be, soon.
"It is awful. The worst thing for Erika is that Bengt never saw the baby. He never knew it was a girl. He wanted a little girl. Erika manages, but just barely."
"And she's here in Munich now? So you see her?"
"She took a
flat here when I was transferred. My mother came to live with her. She helps take care of the baby—she's a year old. Oh ... I have a picture."
The baby sat on Karl's sister's lap, smiling up coyly at the photographer from behind her mother's protective arm, one hand thrown back for a reassuring touch to her mother's neck. Erika was looking away from the camera slightly, as if searching for someone behind the photographer. I wondered—if I didn't know what she had lost, would this woman still look so sad to me? I thought so.
"They're beautiful." I passed the photograph back. "They both look like you."
Karl nodded, pleased. He studied the photo for a moment before sliding it back into his wallet. "She was studying to be a teacher, but now she works in a butcher shop. And that's good, because at least they have meat. Milk is always a problem, though. I send them my paycheck—without that..."
Karl looked around the dining room as if he were suddenly worried about being overheard. It was too early for dinner, and only one elderly couple sat drinking tea in little glass cups across the room.
"I've been watching them," I said, knowing he wanted to change the subject. "See how he nods all the time, how he's agreeing with everything, yet it seems he's trying to calm her. She keeps getting agitated and picking at the buttons of her sweater. It's nice to see—just an ordinary couple. I haven't seen an ordinary couple in five months."
The meal came, and while we ate we talked of nothing dangerous. Every few moments, my fingers found my purse, squeezed the clasp.
"What are you smiling about?" Karl asked.
"Oh, nothing." I placed my hands on the table, like a schoolgirl caught passing a note. "It's just so nice to be out. I haven't been off the grounds since I came."
"Why not?"
I explained about the regulations. "They don't feel we're safe outside alone. We have to be accompanied by a guard. Or ... the father of the baby."
Karl took my bait. "Well, I can take you out whenever you want."
"How is that possible? All the German girls are complaining—some of their boyfriends haven't had leave in a year or more!"
Karl nodded. "I've been promoted." He tapped the insignia on his arm. "I have duties, but I'm not restricted."
"What do you do?"
He hesitated. "I build things."
I waited for him to explain, but he didn't.
Suddenly I wanted to know something. "Do you think Germany will win the war?"
No one else had come in and the elderly couple couldn't possibly hear us, but Karl leaned in and spoke in a low voice, curt. "This isn't the place." He picked up his fork, but he only pushed his salad around his plate, then looked out at the falling snow and drank some beer. "Yes. I think so," he said quietly. It was impossible to tell what was in his voice, but it was not happiness. We had come to the end of another conversation, and we finished our meal in quiet.
I forced myself to wait a little longer.
"Karl," I said, as if it had just occurred to me. "I saw a bakery around the corner when we drove in. I'd like to get some rolls like these for my friends—we don't get anything like them in the home." I opened my purse, withdrew my Dutch money, and frowned. "But all I have is this. Could you exchange it?"
Karl seemed pleased. "We'll stop on our way out. But I'll buy them. I want to." He pushed my hand back across the table. "Let's order dessert first. They have a Linzer torte. Then we'll get the bill and go to the bakery."
"No, really," I insisted. "You have dessert—I'm too full. I'll run over and take care of it now."
Karl studied me for a moment but then he pulled out a five-mark note. "Fine. But keep your money. I insist on that."
I took the money and stood up from the table, trying not to seem too eager. I smiled at him brightly and told him again I'd be right back, then walked away without turning around, afraid that if he saw my guilty face he would leap up and follow me. I left the guesthouse and headed to the right, away from the windows, until I was certain there was no way Karl could still see me.
A minute later, I doubled back and slipped behind the inn and walked to the post office I had seen. Long columns of swastika bunting hung beside the entrance—red and black snakes rustling patiently.
"I'd like to make a telephone call, long distance," I told the clerk at the desk. More bunting was draped across the windows. "The Netherlands. Schiedam."
She took out a booklet and calculated the charge. I paid her and she counted out my change; then I hurried into the booth to wait for the connection to go through. It took forever. A man came in and stood a polite distance behind me, waiting for his turn.
Finally I heard the ringing at the other end. The meter above the telephone began to tick as a woman's voice picked up.
"Isaak Meier," I said. "Please hurry."
"What is your business?"
"I need to speak to him right now. It's an emergency."
There was silence for a moment.
"Please get him!"
"I'm sorry, he's no longer here. Is this Council business? Because the Amsterdam Council—"
"What do you mean, he's no longer there? Where is he?"
"I'm really not allowed—"
"Never mind!" I forced my voice to be calm, but thirty seconds had gone by. "Please let me speak to Rabbi Geron. Now."
The woman left. A full minute passed. I turned my back to the meter. In front of me now was a portrait of Adolf Hitler, his arm raised toward my face. I closed my eyes. Finally, finally, Rabbi Geron picked up the telephone.
"This is Cyrla Van der Berg, Isaak's friend. I need to speak to him."
"Cyrla? But—"
"Please. Where is he?"
"He's ... you don't know this? He's at Westerbork."
For a second, I couldn't remember how to breathe. "Westerbork?" I managed.
"The roundup in October, of all non-Dutch Jews. You must have heard."
"No ... that's impossible. Isaak's Dutch, and—"
"He volunteered to accompany them—he thought he could help, as a lawyer."
"No!"
"I couldn't keep him here." Rabbi Geron had read my mind. "I didn't agree with his decision, but it was his decision. We pray every day that he will return to us soon. That all of them—"
"Is he all right? What have you heard?"
"We think—"
And then the meter rang and the line went dead.
"No, no ... wait! Connect me again! It's an emergency!" I stood holding the telephone because if I put it down, Isaak would fall even further away. The man behind me shifted and coughed. The black receiver suddenly weighed a hundred kilos—I dropped it into the cradle and stumbled out onto the street. The bunting tongues flapped beside me in a rising gust.
Isaak was gone.
I walked across the street to the bakery; I didn't feel my steps or the snow on my face. Isaak was gone. Karl was already there, talking to the girl behind the counter. He spun around at the sound of the door's bell, and suddenly I was reminded of the first time we'd met, in Anneke's bakery—the same scents of warm sugar and vanilla. But this time Karl's eyes didn't slip over me. He ran to me and took hold of my shoulders. I saw his hands, but I didn't feel them.
"Where were you? I was worried!"
"I was ... I had to use the washroom. What's wrong?"
Karl looked around the shop, then put his hand to the small of my back and guided me out the door. "Cyrla, I thought you had run away. I just had a feeling in the guesthouse, and when I got to the bakery and you weren't there ... I was worried." His face grew angry, but it was the anger mothers allow themselves at their children after they've given them a fright. "Don't do that again. It's dangerous."
"Karl." I laughed, trying to sound light. "I just went to the washroom, that's all."
He studied me and I had to look away. "All right. But tell me where you're going next time. I'm responsible for you. Now let's go in and buy those rolls."
Stupidly, I agreed. We went back inside and I chose a dozen little seeded
rolls and watched the Fräulein tie them up in a paper box. All the while my mind raced—was he all right? What did that mean, he had volunteered? Why?
"Sixty pfennigs," the young woman said, and without thinking I reached into my pocket and pulled out some coins.
Coins. Karl looked at them in my hand and then looked at my face. I felt it drain of blood.
FORTY-NINE
Karl paid for the rolls, his face a gathering storm. Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me out onto the street.
"You're hurting me!"
He pushed me into the car and then got in. "Do you need money, Cyrla?" He shifted in his seat and pulled his wallet from a pocket, yanked the bills out, and threw them onto my lap. "Here. You can have money. Just ask!"
I scowled and pushed the bills off my lap, but I was more afraid than angry.
"You've been lying to me since I met you. Here and now, tell me the truth."
Karl leaned across me and locked the door and suddenly I was in the alley beside my uncle's shop, my head scraping the gravel and there was no air anymore. I cried out and struggled to unlock the door.
Karl pulled back and let me, staring. "What's wrong? I'm not going to hurt you, Cyrla. But I want you to tell me what's going on."
I kept a grip on the door handle. "And I'm your prisoner now? Are you going to turn me in if I don't answer?"
Karl spread his hands. "If that's what you need to believe, then yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes. I will turn you in. I'll drive you right now to my headquarters in Munich. If you try to run, I'll issue a warrant for you."
"You wouldn't do that."
"You're right, I wouldn't. Cyrla, I am not a Nazi. I will never raise my right hand in their salute. But if you need to feel that threat, I'll play the game. Now tell me what just happened."
"Why? Why do you care?"
Karl threw his hands up and then slammed them down on the steering wheel. "Right now, I'm not sure I do." He glared his anger at me for a moment, then let it go. I'd never seen a man do this. My uncle cherished his anger, fed it. Isaak smoldered. My father never got angry, he grew morose. Only Anneke's anger had burst and cleared like this.