“Of course I’m sure. Everyone knew he couldn’t win, and he didn’t. Where did you go that you didn’t hear the news?”
And what could he tell her? She would never believe him if he told her the truth. He barely believed it himself. Whatever he had seen, whatever danger Hanna was in, was not here, not now. It was in another time. And as long as he could be with her, he would keep her safe, protect her from it. “Never mind,” he said.
Hanna squeezed his hand. “Promise me you’ll never leave me like that again,” she implored him. She squeezed tighter. “Promise.”
“I promise,” he said. And right then, it was an easy promise to make. His head throbbed; his body felt so sore and weak. What he had seen had terrified him, and how did he know it was even real? He had no desire to ever go back inside the closet. Ever.
Max walked Hanna as far as Maulbeerstrasse, then kissed her good-bye. It felt so good to kiss her, to hold her. He didn’t want to let her go. But she pulled away, insisted that she had to get home and get preparations for the Sabbath dinner under way. She promised that she would come to his shop tomorrow night, after sundown.
“What about your mother?” he asked her.
“I’ll think of something,” Hanna said and kissed him one last quick time. He watched her walk away; the butterfly clip she always wore in her hair caught the sunlight just so and glinted. He suddenly saw a flash: men dragging her on Hauptstrasse, her screaming, the butterfly clip flying from her hair as if it were a real butterfly, suspended in the air for a moment, before crashing into the street and breaking.
But that hadn’t happened. Not yet. And now it wouldn’t. He would make sure of it.
He got off the train back on Hauptstrasse and decided to stop by Elsa and Johann’s on the way home. Realizing it was Friday, and not Sunday, he knew he should be at the store, that he should have it open. But he doubted anyone would notice the difference. Or if they did, surely they would return tomorrow. If he had been missing for two weeks, Johann had probably gotten worried too.
“Max,” Elsa whispered when she opened the door, then stepped out onto the porch and shut the screen behind her. “What are you doing here in the middle of the day?” She still spoke in a low tone. “Emilia is sleeping,” she explained.
“I just . . . I wanted to let Jo know I was back.”
“Where’d you go this time?” She sat down on the porch step, and he sat next to her. “Tell me it was somewhere warm, and beautiful. That you swam in the sea.” She smiled a little, and he noticed the big black circles under her eyes. There was no way he was going to tell her the truth.
“Emilia still not sleeping through the night?” he asked instead.
She shook her head. “Everyone says it’ll get easier, but it’s getting harder to believe it.”
“It will get easier,” Max said, though he had no bearing, no experience of his own with babies or children. Elsa, understanding that, just laughed and shook her head a little. “Els, can I ask you a question? What happened with the election?”
“The election? Oh, Max, do you think I’ve had the energy to follow politics?” She had probably been the wrong person to ask, but she was also too tired to question him too much, as Hanna had. “Hindenburg won like everyone knew he would, I know that much. But, oh . . .” She stood up. “I do have all the papers still from the past week. I haven’t had a chance to read them yet. Do you want to take them?”
“If you don’t mind?” he said.
“No, hold on, I’ll get them.” She returned a few minutes later with a stack of newspapers and placed them into his arms. “I hate to cut our visit short, but I need to try to nap while Em is sleeping.”
“Of course.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Tell Jo I’m back and that I stopped by, would you?”
Back at the bookshop he pored over the papers Elsa had given him, catching up on what he missed. Hindenburg had won, but Hitler had also increased his popular vote to almost 37 percent. That felt like an impossibly large percentage of Germany, of his country. How long until it reached 50 percent or more?
How long until what he’d seen would not be out of the realm of possibility at all?
Not long enough. He knew it; he could feel time spooling out in front of him. And though it was warm inside the shop now, his head still ached something awful, and he began to shiver.
Hanna, 1948
Wednesday nights with Stuart quickly became my favorite moments of the week. I looked forward to them with fervor, and I practiced the lessons he had for me each day after I picked the boys up from school and before Julia got home. Had I been paying more attention, I might have wondered where Julia went each afternoon between three and five. She did not have a job, after all. Friedrich was still at work, and she had hired a girl, Betsy, to clean and cook dinner for us each weeknight. But selfishly, I only cared that she was gone, that I could have the two hours to practice. I swore the boys to secrecy, and Lev and Moritz would listen to me play while they did their schoolwork, clapping once I perfected an exercise.
Each Wednesday night, Stuart had another book of scales or technical exercises or a piece he would pick out to challenge me. And each week, at my lesson, we would play what he had chosen together, side by side, me with my eyes wide open, him with his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
I still went to talk to Henry sometimes before work. But I went with less urgency, not every week, more like every other week now. Not because I’d forgotten about Max, or wanted to know what happened to him—or me—any less, but because talking to Henry truly wasn’t working. It made me feel stuck in the past. And when I played violin with Stuart, I started thinking about the future. Wherever Max was, I knew he would be happy I was playing again. Happy I was alive again. My violin began to consume me, as it once had, and for a little while, the nightmares ceased, and I even began sleeping through the night.
One Wednesday that spring, I arrived at Stuart’s and found he didn’t have his violin or music out for us like he usually did. “Oh, I’m quite sorry,” he said, sounding and looking flustered when he opened the door, as if he’d forgotten all about our lesson.
He let me in and then continued what he’d been doing before I’d knocked, rushing around the apartment, gathering things to put into a suitcase that was sitting on the coffee table.
“You’re going on a trip?” I asked, surprised he hadn’t mentioned it last week.
“My mum is sick, and I have to get back to Wales straightaway.”
“Oh, Stuart.” I touched his arm lightly. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
He stopped moving for a second and looked at me. Stuart had dark hair, nearly the color of the ripe mulberries that used to fall from the trees that lined Maulbeerstrasse, but now standing closer than I usually did, I noticed how peppered it was with silver. It was the first time it occurred to me that Stuart was older than me, probably more like Henry’s age, which made sense, as Henry had mentioned once he’d been just a bit too old to be conscripted in the war, and Stuart must’ve been too. “Actually, there is something . . .” he was saying now.
“What?” I asked. Stuart had quickly become my favorite person in London, after my nephews, and I would do anything to help him.
“Well, we have a performance on Saturday and I won’t be back in time. Sit in for me?”
“Sit in for you?” I repeated the words back, and they didn’t even sound real as I said them. Play? In a real orchestra. In front of an audience? It had been my dream for so long, and I had been so close before. And yet, it had never happened for me. I had come to believe it probably never would. “But Maestro Philip won’t—”
“I’ll ring him,” Stuart said. “He’ll be lucky to have you. You play with such passion.” He reached for a folder of music on the coffee table and handed it to me. “Here’s what we’re playing. Just learn the pieces and he’ll be thrilled.”
I took the music and thumbed through: it was a concert for springtime, “Spring” from The Four Seasons by Viv
aldi, and Vårsång by Sibelius, both of which I’d played before. Appalachian Spring by a composer named Copland whom I’d never heard of, the music completely new to me. Could I learn it in just a few days? I swallowed hard.
“You can do it, Hanna,” Stuart said to me, as if he could see doubt written across my face. “Just close your eyes.” He smiled, and I noticed how blue his eyes looked, reflecting off the overhead light in his flat.
I put my hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about me. Just go be with your mother.”
He moved his hand and impulsively swept away the curl that had fallen in front of my right eye. For a moment I thought he might lean down and hug me. But then he stepped back. “Leave me your sister’s number. I’ll ring you as soon as I’m back. Rehearsal starts tomorrow morning promptly at nine a.m. Don’t be late. Maestro despises it when people are late.”
“I won’t be late,” I said. “Promise.”
Though the house was quiet and dark when I got back to Julia’s, I knew I had to practice. I couldn’t show up at Maestro Philip’s rehearsal tomorrow without having ever played through Appalachian Spring. I turned on the light in my bedroom, took my violin out, and fingered through the piece. But it wasn’t enough. I moved the bow across the strings ever so lightly, hoping the noise wouldn’t wake Julia or the boys, and not a moment later Moritz wandered into my room. “What are you playing, Tante?”
“Did I wake you?” I asked. He jumped up on my bed, lay down, and yawned. “I’m sorry, meine Liebling. I’m going to play in a real live orchestra this weekend,” I told him. “And I need to practice.”
“Can I come watch you?” he asked.
“We’ll have to ask your mother, but yes, I’m hoping you’ll all come.” Julia had never come to recitals or concerts when I was at the Lyceum. She’d been dragged by our mother when we were younger, and by the time I was serious, she was already dating Friedrich, and neither of them had any interest in music. I doubted they would feel any differently now, but I didn’t want to disappoint Moritz.
The next morning I was groggy, having only gotten a few hours of sleep, tucked into bed next to a snoring Moritz. Still, I woke up with the sun, the way I always have, and I tiptoed downstairs, hoping I’d be the first one awake. I needed to call the hospital and let them know I would be taking the rest of the week off so I could attend the rehearsals in Stuart’s place. The telephone was in the kitchen, and I didn’t want Julia or Friedrich to criticize. Luckily I was the first one down, and I placed the call before even making a cup of tea, asking the operator to connect me to the third floor. Mary, my shift supervisor, came in at seven each day, and she was the one who picked up the call. I quickly identified myself and told her I’d have to be out the rest of this week, and maybe some of next, not sure how long Stuart would be gone.
“Out?” Mary laughed. She had a thick Irish accent, and that coupled with her disbelief made it sound more like Ooot? “Unless yer dying I expect you at work. Yer not dying, are ya?”
I considered just lying and saying that I was to get myself off the hook, but I couldn’t do that. “No,” I said. “I just have a . . . something personal to take care of.”
“Look, if yer not gonna come in this week, don’t bother coming back. I’ll have another girl doing yer work by week’s end, I will.”
“Please, I hope you’ll reconsider,” I said. I didn’t want to lose my job. Or, rather, I didn’t want Julia and Friedrich to get upset with me if I lost my job, and I didn’t want to have to rely on them for money again, either. I didn’t care one bit about the stupid typing and I dreaded every minute I spent in the hot windowless room on the third floor of the hospital.
“Get into work on time today and we won’t have any problem,” Mary said. She hung up the telephone, and I still held on to my end, waiting for something other than the static.
I’d promised Stuart I would not be late for rehearsal this morning. And that was a promise I intended to keep. But not only that, if ever in my life there had been a competition between my violin and something else, my violin had always won. That had been true all my life in Gutenstat, even with Max. And it was not any less true now.
It was such a strange feeling to have lost so many years, to not remember where I’d been, what had happened. But I was still the same person, no matter what I had been through. And I didn’t care who was mad at me—Mary, Julia, Friedrich—I was going to rehearsal this morning.
I arrived at the auditorium at a quarter till nine, and when I walked in, most of the rest of the orchestra—all men, of course—were already there. Everyone stopped what they were doing—tuning, fiddling with music—to stare at me. I heard a few snickers. Maestro Philip caught my eye and nodded a little. So Stuart had telephoned him as promised.
“All right, everyone.” Maestro raised his arms to quiet them. “Stuart had an emergency and Hanna will be filling in this weekend.” The snickers stopped and I felt everyone’s eyes on me. I held my head up, jutted out my chin, as if all the confidence in the world were mine. But inwardly I felt like I might throw up. The room was silent, and I imagined they could all hear my heart pounding in my chest the way I could.
“Over here, Hanna,” the second chair violinist called out. I didn’t know his name, but he moved into Stuart’s empty seat, and then pointed that I should sit second, next to him. I gave Maestro a little nod back and walked over there. The tuning noises started again, the eyes off me, and I exhaled as I sat in the empty chair and opened my violin case.
“Charles Wentworth.” The second chair violinist held out his hand. I shook it. “Stuart said you were . . .”
“What?” I was surprised Stuart had spoken to Charles about me at all, but I hoped it was to compliment my playing.
But Charles just shook his head and didn’t finish the thought. “Maestro is a terrible conductor,” he said instead. “We always follow Stuart instead. So you’ll have to follow me now.”
“Got it,” I said softly, trying to breathe as I raised my violin to my chin and tuned. I closed my eyes and listened to the cacophony of the instruments noodling. I could do this. It was what I’d wanted my entire life, and no matter what else had happened, what I’d lost, I had this.
Walking back toward Julia’s after an eight-hour rehearsal day, every part of my body was sore, and I was breathless, as if I’d just run for hours. My fingers and my shoulders ached, but it was a glorious feeling.
“Hanna!” Julia yelled at me the second I walked in the door. Had Mary telephoned her? That seemed like too much effort for her, and the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until now. “Where were you?”
“I was—”
But she didn’t give me a chance to answer before she ripped into me. “You didn’t pick up the boys. They walked all the way home by themselves. And then I was so worried—I called the hospital to see what happened to you but they said you’d quit.”
Oh no. The boys! I’d completely forgotten about our daily 3 p.m. routine. “I’m sorry, I just was . . .” I searched my brain for a suitable lie, and then I just told her the truth, all of it. My Wednesday nights with Stuart, how Henry said to immerse myself in violin again, and how the only thing that would ever make me happy was going to be to play, and not just as a hobby but as if my life depended on it. It did.
“So, what?” Julia threw her hands up in the air. “You quit your job for some silly orchestra that isn’t even going to pay you?”
“Yes,” I said. “You know if it hadn’t been for Hitler, I would’ve been in the symphony in Berlin. This would be my life.”
“If it hadn’t been for Hitler . . . a lot of things,” Julia said, exasperated. I thought of her very short wedding, but then she said, lowering her voice so the boys wouldn’t hear, “Friedrich’s sisters would still be alive. They were both murdered in a camp, Hanna.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. I hadn’t known Friedrich’s sisters well. They were twins, only two years older than me, and the three of us had been bridesmaids togethe
r in Julia and Friedrich’s wedding. Genevie and Aliza. Thinking of them again now, murdered, I felt like I was going to be sick. And I didn’t want to argue with Julia. Despite our differences, I was grateful to her for giving me a home here in London, grateful that we were both still here. “I have to play in the concert on Saturday,” I said. “It might be the only concert I ever play in.” Though even as I said it, I hoped that wasn’t true. “And I’d really, really like you all to come hear me.”
Julia put her head in her hands and sighed. “Oh, Hanna. Of course, we’ll come hear you. We’re your family.” I blinked back tears—it might’ve been the kindest thing my sister had ever said to me. “But on Monday morning you’re going back to the hospital and begging Mary for your job back.”
Max, 1932
For a few months, everything felt perfect. It was as if Hanna had never told him she wanted a break or admitted that she would never be able to marry him because of her religion. Deep down, he knew that might probably still be true. Nothing had changed, not really. Hanna still kept the Sabbath with her mother and sister each Friday and Saturday. And Max still wasn’t Jewish. But they didn’t talk about it.
Hanna started taking the train to his shop a few nights a week, not just Saturdays. She told her mother and Julia she was attending practice for a small, made-up string quartet, and that since practice was over late, she was sleeping at the made-up cellist’s house, and riding the train with her to school in the morning. Max guessed her mother and Julia likely knew the truth. But Hanna said if no one spoke it aloud, then it wasn’t happening. That’s just the way my family works, she said with a nonchalant shrug. And Max let it all go, happy that Hanna was here, with him.
Each time Hanna walked into his shop, it was like a light came with her. The bell chimed over the door when she walked in, and without even looking up, he would know immediately, it was her. He could feel her energy from across the room.
In Another Time Page 10
