Forever Fleeting

by Bret Kissinger

  “That should be enough talk of war at the table,” Ida said.

  “Lena tells me you enjoy photography, Hannah,” Jakob said as he precisely cut through his goose.

  “Yes. Very much so. Wilhelm bought me a camera last Christmas,” Hannah replied.

  “For Christmas?” Jakob asked. Hannah nodded. “Lena showed me the photos you had given her. You have quite the eye,” Jakob added.

  “They really are beautiful. Such a thoughtful gift, Hannah,” Ida said.

  When the last scraps of food were eaten off the plates, Ida served the pies and insisted the men eat a second slice even if they were full. “I want everyone to have fun tonight and to be safe. You are all more than welcome to stay here,” she said. Everyone at the table offered to help clean the kitchen, but Ida waved them away. No doubt Ellie would soon appear in the kitchen to do the heavy lifting.

  Lena and the others ascended the circular staircase and went into the card room. They played every card game they knew. Lena made sure the wine kept flowing, and it raised the mood. With each hand and game they played, they forgot about what the next few days, weeks, months and, possibly, years would bring. Eva was the first to pass out in the same chair she played cards in, and Heinrich and Wilhelm were close behind and fell asleep on the couch and Chesterfield chair in the living room. Erich and Lena stumbled out of the card room to the bedroom, kissing as they did.

  Hannah collected the cards and arranged them back into a neat pile and into the case. She tried waking Eva to get her into a more comfortable piece of furniture, but she only groaned. Eva had a glass of water at the table, just inches from where her head rested, and a wastebasket beside her. Hannah shut the light off and walked through the hallway. A lone light shone in the private study. Jakob sat with one foot resting over the other leg, an open book obscuring his face. His back was to her, a cloud of smoke dissipating off the end of his cigarette. He turned to look at her, lowering the open book in his hand. He took another puff from his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling.

  “Hannah. The last survivor. Please come in,” Jakob said.

  Hannah wanted only two things—to go to the bathroom and find a couch or chair to sleep in. But she would have settled for a hundred different things than to sit alone in a room with Jakob Hauser. Her tiredness had little to do with drinking. She was certainly buzzed, but each night after finding the draft card, she had slept only an accumulation of minutes, not hours. But to refuse Jakob’s request, a polite one at that, would have been terribly rude. There was a second black leather chair directly in front of the one Jakob was sitting in with only a circular wooden table between them. Beside both chairs was a lone bookshelf that stretched from the floor to the ceiling and contained what looked to be over a hundred books.

  “Please sit,” Jakob said.

  Hannah took the offered chair and, whether it was sheer exhaustion or something else, the chair was the most comfortable one Hannah had sat on in the Hauser home. Each chair demanded high praise, for they were well cushioned and hugged and massaged every muscle. The chair hoaxed her into comfort, and she struggled to stay awake.

  “I was just looking through some of my favorite books,” Jakob said.

  “You have quite the collection,” Hannah complimented.

  It would have been a blatant lie to say his collection wasn’t impressive, as it no doubt contained first-edition hardbacks. But she knew whatever books were deemed approved by the Nazis were hardly the books she desired to read.

  “Did you like the wine tonight?” Jakob asked.

  “Yes. Mrs. Hauser knows how to pair the perfect wine with the perfect meal,” Hannah said.

  “Yes, she has great taste,” Jakob agreed, taking another long drag from his cigarette and putting it out on the ashtray on the table between them.

  “She has it down to a science,” Hannah said, watching as the red ember of the cigarette died out and the last trail of smoke rose to the ceiling.

  “Was it to your specifications?” Jakob asked, giving the glass of whiskey in his hand a quick swirl before taking a sip.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Hannah said.

  Jakob set the glass of whiskey on the table, closed the book, and slid it back onto the shelf. “I believe the term is kosher.”

  Hannah’s heart jumped into her throat and then plummeted into the pit of her stomach, trying to hide.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  “Please, Hannah, don’t disrespect my intelligence in my own home,” Jakob said. Hannah froze. “You said you like photography. I am a fan of it as well. Photographs are honest. People can lie, deceive, cheat, steal. Words too. But a photograph you can take at face value,” Jakob continued. He slid a black folder with the Nazi swastika embossed on it from the shelf. He opened it and tossed the photographs inside it toward Hannah—photos of Hannah and Wilhelm leaving Holy Cross Church, of her parents’ shop, and her home upstairs.

  “I have been taking note of what you eat at our table, what you drink. We’ve been watching the priest for months. You see, I differ in my approach to catching rats. Most want to stomp on the first one they see. But not me. I feed the rat. I let it come closer and closer. You lull the rat into a sense of safety and then rats you didn’t know existed crawl out of the gutters and alleyways. And that’s when you get them.”

  A lone tear cascaded down her cheek, one she did not know if from sadness or absolute terror.

  “Hannah Goldschmidt. Hannah Schreiber. Sara Hannah Goldschmidt. Daughter of Emma and Josef Goldschmidt. It does not matter what name you go by. You are Jewish,” Jakob stated.

  “What will you do?” Hannah asked.

  “Your time will come soon enough, Hannah,” Jakob warned.

  “What of Wilhelm?”

  “Wilhelm will serve the Reich.”

  “And Father Declan?”

  “Boarded a train.”

  Hannah did not dare mention her parents.

  “Does Lena know?”

  Had she been nothing more than a dedicated actress serving the Reich?

  “No. She does not.”

  “Can I be the one to tell her?”

  Lena was her best friend. The two shared things about Erich and Wilhelm. Hannah owed her the truth, no matter what it cost her. She owed Lena that much.

  “You may,” Jakob said.

  The chair that had been a soothing comfort now held her down like a vice. She struggled to her feet.

  “You know, I strongly support Minster Goebbels’ agenda, but the problem with profiling Jews in one light is that it allows the ones like you to stay in the shadows and unseen. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. The perfect German. A sheep in wolf’s clothing,” Jakob said.

  He rose to his feet, stepped toward the door, and gestured Hannah to leave.

  “I would not try to leave the country, Hannah,” Jakob warned.

  Hannah lumbered through the opening. She checked behind her before descending the spiraling staircase. She had to keep a secure grip on the railing to counter her trembling legs. Wilhelm and Heinrich were both asleep. She walked toward the lone light shining from the kitchen. Lena was at the black kitchen island, taking sobering sips from the glass of water in her hands.

  “I think Erich will miss Christmas,” Lena said, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. She set it down on the island counter next to Hannah.

  “I need to talk to you, Lena,” Hannah said.

  “Is something wrong?” Lena asked.

  It was something Hannah had wanted Lena to know but under different circumstances and under the rule of a different leader.

  “I have wanted to tell you. I didn’t miss your wedding because Wilhelm’s father was ill. I missed it because I couldn’t be in a room with so many Nazis. Lena, I am Jewish,” Hannah said.

  Lena stared hard into Hannah’s eyes, and even though none of her telltale signs betrayed Hannah as joking, Lena laughed.

  “I a
m too tired and drunk for such a joke, Hannah,” Lena said, then brought her glass of water to her lips and gulped it. But no smile came to Hannah’s face nor any of the dozens of signs, both subtle and blatant. “What?” Lena asked.

  “I’m Jewish,” Hannah repeated.

  Lena’s confused smile changed. Contempt, even hate, sobered her up like a pot of coffee.

  “You are a fucking Jew? You, my friend? A girl who slept in my family’s home, drank from our glasses, ate from our plates?”

  Hannah’s first instinct was to apologize, yet being a Jew was nothing she had to be sorry for. What she was sorry for was keeping it from her best friend. But Lena’s reaction completely warranted her secrecy.

  “Lena…” Hannah began, but Lena cut her off.

  “Get out of my house, you fucking rat,” she ordered.

  Hannah wanted to say more, even if it was best she didn’t.

  “Get the fuck out of my house!” Lena repeated, this time yelling. She pointed to the door, her face maroon with rage, and spit on Hannah.

  Hannah wiped the spit from her face, pleaded silently one last time and hurried to wake Wilhelm. He awoke to the quick tapping, like the peck of a woodpecker, of Hannah’s hand.

  “We have to go,” Hannah said.

  “Okay,” Wilhelm said.

  He rose from the couch and struggled to keep up with Hannah. She had both of their coats in her hand before Wilhelm even made it to the bench. She opened the door before Wilhelm had a chance to put his coat on and defend himself against the brutal cold. It was nearly midnight, and it was so cold and dark that it was hard to believe the sun had risen in years. A permanent frost was in the air, and after mere seconds, the lining of their nostrils froze.

  “Why did we leave?” Wilhelm asked.

  “I felt like sleeping in our bed,” Hannah lied.

  Wilhelm did not need to worry about one more thing. She did her best to discretely wipe the tears from her eyes.

  “You’re shivering,” Wilhelm said.

  “It is freezing,” Hannah replied.

  But her shivering had nothing to do with the howling, biting wind or the frozen air. It had everything to do with Jakob and the horrible way Lena had reacted. When they arrived back at their apartment, neither could feel their feet, hands or ears. Even with the apartment well heated, neither wanted to remove their jacket and change into their pajamas. But they both did change, in near record time, and crawled into bed. They wrapped the blankets around them and covered every possible crevice where the cold could sneak in. They laid on their sides, not a space between them, rubbing their feet together to warm themselves.

  When his shivering subsided, Wilhelm drifted off to sleep, but while Hannah’s shivering stopped, her goosebumps stayed. Her thoughts shifted from Wilhelm’s deployment to her parents, her own fate, and to Father Declan, a kind and good man whose life had drastically changed because of the generosity he had shown to her and Wilhelm.

  The next morning took an eternity to arrive and Hannah, once again, had only been able to get two or three hours of intermittent sleep. They had a quick breakfast of toast and eggs, bathed, and walked to Hannah’s parents. It was a Herculean effort to finish her toast, for her stomach was turning with too many knots to desire food. Her face was pale, something she blamed on the cold weather when Wilhelm took notice. Had Jakob Hauser had her parents taken?

  When her hand trembled too much for her to put the key into the lock of her parents’ shop, she again blamed it on the cold. She gave the key to Wilhelm, and he unlocked the door. The shop showed no sign of forced entry, and the fact the door was locked was of vital importance. It was highly unlikely the Gestapo or Nazis would lock the door on their way out. On her second step up the stairs, she could smell her mother’s cooking wafting down.

  Emma was at the sink, finishing washing the dishes of that morning’s breakfast. Josef was playing a hand of solitaire, switching from a three-card draw to a one-card draw when a desired card came about. Hannah rushed forward and wrapped her mother in a hug. Emma tried to dry off her hands and hug Hannah at the same time.

  “Merry Christmas, Wilhelm,” Josef said.

  “We will pray for you every day, Wilhelm,” Emma added.

  “I suppose my uniform will not be as well made as your tuxes,” Wilhelm said.

  “Sadly, it will not have our initials,” Emma said.

  Emma had sewn an E and J with a G overlapping the two into every suit, coat, and jacket they had made and sold. Gold was reserved for clothing for either herself, Hannah or Josef. The rest were in a deep ruby red. But after further review of his wedding tux, Wilhelm had seen his too was stitched in gold fabric.

  Emma crocheted a black and white blanket while Hannah did her best to paint the Brandenburg Gate by memory. The hanging Nazi flags were left out. Josef challenged Wilhelm to finish their last hand of chess from a previous visit, a checkmate Josef would not accept, and only after twenty minutes of moving his King every legal move, they started a new game. When Wilhelm was two moves away from losing, Josef put a soft hand on Wilhelm’s before Wilhelm moved his rook.

  “We will finish it next time,” Josef said.

  Hannah and Emma joined them in playing cards, and it was a nice change of pace to play without the penalty of getting drunk. Josef had kept his record player on, but their laughter and talking nearly drowned out the festive music. The lunch Emma made was hardly enough to satisfy an appetite, but they had not sold anything for months. Josef had been pawning things off before the Nazis could take them. It was better to get something out of their valuable and invaluable items than nothing at all. It was obvious both had lost weight, but Josef shrugged it off when Hannah mentioned it.

  “I’m simply losing my winter weight early,” he had said.

  After lunch, they played more cards and exchanged gifts. Emma’s present to Hannah and Wilhelm was the blanket she had finished crocheting earlier that morning. Josef’s gift, sewn by Emma, was a warm woolen sweater, off-white in color, and a thick pair of wool socks. Wilhelm had given Josef another box of chocolates and a new chessboard made of glass with black marble and white crystal pieces, and he made sure it included an instructional manual on how to play as a way to tease Josef.

  “Oh, good, kindling!” Josef joked.

  Wilhelm and Hannah had gotten Emma a new casserole dish, pine-scented candles, and three framed photos, one of Hannah and Wilhelm, one of Emma and Josef, and one of only the Goldschmidts. Hannah’s gifts included a new knitted hat, gray winter coat, and a new blood-red dress she couldn’t wait to go dancing in. As the sun set and darkness descended, Josef gathered them close and prayed.

  “Dear God, please keep us strong and resolute. Do not let us turn from you or each other. Let us stay true. We ask you to look upon us kindly,” he recited.

  Hannah had awoken from her nightmare. She loved each of her gifts, but celebrating the holiday with her parents and Wilhelm was the greatest gift she could receive or ask for.

  “Wilhelm, there’s something I need to tell you,” Josef said, placing both hands on Wilhelm’s shoulders. “You are an awful chess player,” he teased. Emma gasped and slapped his chest. “I’m only kidding,” Josef said. His joking demeanor shifted. “Wilhelm, my good young Sir, how I thank God you needed a tux.”

  He didn’t have to say more. He hugged Wilhelm, and Wilhelm hugged him back. Josef had been the opposite of his own father—Petyr was unable to speak the language of affection while Josef was fluent. Emma squeezed Wilhelm tight in her hug and kissed his forehead. “Come back to us,” she whispered.

  Hannah and Wilhelm smiled and left. The walk back to their apartment was filled with silence. Wilhelm had not given Hannah her gift yet, but Hannah’s thoughts were elsewhere. How lonely the next few months would be. Wilhelm had saved up a nice bit of money, but Hannah would be living alone for the first time in her life. Her parents had told her to limit her visits, but it did not matter. Jakob Hauser and the Nazis knew she was Jewish. It did n
ot matter what name she went by. But Untersturmführer Hauser would soon be leaving for war. Perhaps his secret would travel with him to Poland or Belgium or wherever the war brought him.

  “Hannah,” Wilhelm said.

  Snowflakes danced to the ground and took forever to fall from the black canvas sky.

  “So many people gone,” Hannah said in response to the empty homes and businesses. She stopped as she finally noticed he was not beside her. “What’s wrong?” she asked, turning back to face him.

  Wilhelm removed a sterling silver round charm necklace from his coat.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said.

  Hannah held it in her mitten-covered hand and read the inscription: “I am yours. Now and always.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Hannah said.

  “I wanted you to know. In case…”

  “I am yours. Now and always,” Hannah said before he could speak the awful words the end of his sentence would surely bring.

  She removed a gift of her own. It too was a necklace, a rectangular bar of white gold. Inscribed on it were coordinates: 52.5214 N, 13.454 E.

  “It’s our address. So you can find your way home,” Hannah said, “even if I don’t know where you are.”

  Worrying was never enjoyable, but when narrowed down to a smaller scale, it was easier to remove unlikely possibilities. But she had a scale the size of Europe to worry about.

  Wilhelm pulled her close to him. “Look up,” he said. Hannah did, snowflakes falling slowly onto her face. The blue and white-speckled black sky was as frozen as the air. “Whenever you look up at them, know that I will be too. And, at that moment, we will be right next to each other,” Wilhelm said.

  Hannah smiled. Wilhelm dipped her so low that her back almost touched the sidewalk. He pulled her back up and gently kissed her. Their lips were cold but radiated heat.

  “Dance with me?” Hannah asked.

  “Always,” Wilhelm replied.

  When they entered their apartment, they tossed their hats, mittens, and coats to the floor, leaving a trail of clothing from the door to the bathroom. They bumped against the wall, their lips never separating as their passion consumed them. The rest of their clothes formed a mound in front of the bathroom door. Their skin erupted in shivers, both from the cold and each other’s touch. Wilhelm swung his arm backward and shut the door. They stepped into the tub. The blood in their feet froze the moment it touched the cold porcelain surface.