What Only We Know: A heart-wrenching and unforgettable World War 2 historical novel

by Catherine Hokin

  Margarethe began to shake. Liese instinctively stretched out a calming hand, but Paul was already there.

  Stefan continued, quickening his telling as though he wanted it over with.

  ‘It’s not just the SA thugs out there on their own; the Security Police are on the streets too. There’s rumours of mass arrests, of Jewish houses smashed into and the owners snatched. So, you see, I can’t take you home, even if we could find a way round the broken glass. I don’t think you’d be safe there.’

  ‘We can’t stay here.’

  Paul’s voice was even thinner than Otto’s. He was right: the garage was freezing and too open to the street to feel safe.

  André whispered to Stefan, who reluctantly led him outside. When the two men returned, André was trembling.

  ‘He’s right – the streets are dangerous. You can’t risk it and there’s no point appealing to the hotel again. I have a suite. There is space for all of you in it. If we use the back stairs, no one will bother us.’

  André rallied. Liese could almost see the mental shake he gave himself.

  ‘This must be a misunderstanding. Yes, there is trouble, but I can’t believe it’s as targeted as you think. Things looking brighter in the morning is a cliché for a reason.’

  No one had the energy to argue.

  They trooped after him, grateful to have been spared a treacherous journey home. When they reached André’s rooms, Liese went straight to the window. It was late, long past midnight, but the sky held the orange tinge of a sunset and its blackness had an uneven texture, like dye that had spilled onto bunched fabric and gathered in patches. She pushed open the pane and tasted smoke in the air, wood-filled and musty. A sudden vision caught at her, of Michael up to his neck in the fighting, and she shivered.

  ‘Close it. Come away.’

  André had produced glasses and whisky.

  Liese held the drink but couldn’t swallow it: the oily liquid smelled like the sky.

  André smiled round the room as if he was hosting a cocktail party.

  ‘Well, at least you’re all safe now and can get a good night’s sleep. There’s nothing to be done till tomorrow. There’s a radio in the corner – why don’t I find some music? It might help us all relax.’

  No one spoke as André fiddled with the dial, flipping backwards and forwards between stations offering the same bland diet of folk songs or military marches. No one complained when he gave up.

  The room split itself into camps. Paul and Margarethe, having already claimed the main bedroom for the night, curled onto the largest sofa and began whispering to each other. Stefan, clearly awkward at sharing such an intimate space with his employers, found a chair in one of the shadowy corners. Otto prowled the room, fussing at the window, sitting down and getting up again until Liese began to feel dizzy.

  ‘Come over here.’

  André was sitting in an overstuffed armchair he was pretending was big enough for two. Liese hesitated, glancing first at her parents. They were far too wrapped up in each other to notice anything she might be doing.

  André patted the seat again; she slid in beside him. He smelled of spices and lime. She let him slip his arm round her, let him nuzzle his lips against her hair.

  ‘Tell me about Paris, André.’

  He moved her closer into his side until the length of their legs was touching. She smiled and threaded her fingers through his.

  ‘Please, it would be a distraction. Tell me about the music, and the nightclubs and what the women wear.’

  André was such a skilled storyteller, Liese completely lost track of time, and place. He had her sipping Martinis under dimmed chandeliers, dancing in rooms thick with perfume and red velvet, running barefoot down the Champs-Élysées hand in hand. When she heard raised voices, she presumed it must be a Parisian gendarme.

  ‘Tell me you didn’t! Tell me this is some kind of a joke.’

  Otto was on his feet, looming over Paul, who was slumped on the sofa with his head in his hands.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Otto answered Liese’s confused question but didn’t turn away from Paul.

  ‘I was trying to explain to your father what tonight actually means. That it’s an ending. That we have to stop stalling and get out of Berlin. And he agreed.’

  Liese jumped up, startling André out of the dreamy state he had lulled them both into.

  ‘But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? So why are you cross?’

  ‘Tell her, Paul.’

  Her father’s voice was so small, Liese had to cross the room to hear him.

  ‘We don’t have passports. Not ones we can use. When we were meant to surrender them last month and get the new ones stamped with a J, I didn’t do it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Paul shrank further into himself. Liese could feel her heart hammering.

  ‘Father, I don’t understand. The Nazis were very clear it had to be done. I saw the order. It was on your desk. You must have known.’

  Paul continued to stare at his hands. ‘I did. But I thought I could find a way round it. I didn’t see why we should be labelled. And then, yesterday, another letter came. If I don’t turn them in, I’ll be arrested. If I’d been at home when this started—’

  Paul broke off as Margarethe cried out.

  ‘Even if I could find a sponsor somewhere in America or Europe to vouch for us, I don’t think they’ll let me leave the country now, or at least not with the money we’d need…’ He tailed off, turned to comfort Margarethe.

  His arrogance will ruin us.

  ‘What’s wrong, Liese? What has Paul done, or not done? What is this problem with passports?’

  Liese didn’t know where to begin to explain the humiliations that were becoming a part of their everyday life, that were so alien to the elegant world André inhabited. She was grateful that Otto answered him before she could try.

  ‘We need to leave Germany and start the business again somewhere safer and for that we need paperwork, which Paul now doesn’t have.’

  He turned his attention back to Paul.

  ‘Listen to me. This has made our situation harder, but not impossible – not if we’re clever enough. Tomorrow, when things have calmed down, you will go and surrender the passports. You’ll tell them it was all a mistake and that you’re sorry. That will buy us some time to make plans, to decide where to go. Not America – that’s too complicated. Somewhere closer. I just need to think.’

  ‘Well, if you want somewhere close, that’s easily done.’

  André was on his feet, pushing his way into the conversation.

  ‘Paris. You must go to Paris. Isn’t that obvious? I’ve just been telling Liese how wonderful it is, and, if you really think it’s time to go, what better place to restart the salon than Paris?’

  Otto finally gave André his full attention. ‘And you’d help with that?’

  André beamed at Otto and bowed to Liese. ‘Of course. I would be charmed to show Liese my city. I would have asked her to visit whether you needed to leave Berlin or not.’ He caught up Liese’s hand and kissed it. ‘But you knew that anyway.’

  She didn’t. She thought they were simply weaving stories. Then he kissed her hand again and stroked her cheek and perhaps she had known after all.

  Otto, at least, was all certainties.

  ‘It’s a solution – a good one! We will need fake passports, of course; surrendering the old ones is a ruse and we can’t trust that the Nazis will issue new ones. But I can find people to do that, I’m sure.’

  Liese pulled her hand back from André’s caresses. She wanted to embrace Otto’s excitement, to see André’s declaration as wonderfully romantic, but it all felt too rushed to be real.

  ‘Otto, slow down. How can fake passports be a sensible idea? How often have Mother and Father been photographed, and me as well, at the shows, and goodness knows where else? How many officials know us?’ Her spine started to prickle as the reality of Otto’s plan hit her. �
��We’ll be recognised – you know we will. And if we’re caught with false papers, or you’re caught trying to buy them—’

  ‘There’ll be a way; just give me a minute.’

  Liese continued to protest, but Otto wasn’t listening and André was trying to pull her back into his arms. She wriggled free, uncomfortable with the rescued-damsel role André seemed to have cast her in. Otto was still talking; he sounded as if he was ticking off a list.

  ‘We have to get out, that’s the main thing. This is the crackdown I’ve been afraid of. The Party have set out their stall now. They’ll sweep up the last Jewish businesses; confiscate the money and houses they haven’t already seized. Securing a passage outside Europe might not be possible and moving together might be dangerous, but, if we don’t go far and we split up, there might be a way. If you aren’t with your parents, fewer people might make the connection, and no one will know Michael.’ His smile was so wide he looked crazed. ‘Then that’s it.’

  He grabbed André’s hand; André jumped.

  ‘You are right: Paris it is. We can make that happen immediately. I’ll drive Paul and Margarethe out through Switzerland – crossing the border will be safer that way for them. Michael and Liese can travel by train with you. Liese’s French is good, and we can use Ettinger, her grandparents’ surname, as a cover. She could be your assistant. And then we’ll all meet up in Paris. It’s not just a good solution, it’s perfect.’

  ‘Slow down. Who is Michael?’ André’s smile had disappeared.

  Otto grimaced at the interruption, as if André should know.

  ‘He’s my son. He’s a couple of years older than Liese. He’s a good boy – he’ll stay quiet, do what you tell him. You could say he’s another buyer, a trainee. There’s money in the salon, plenty of it. You can take it and keep it safe until we’re all reunited. When are you meant to be leaving?’

  André blinked and stepped back. He no longer looked quite as thrilled.

  ‘Next week, on Tuesday. I’ve other clients to see and plans for the weekend. But, Otto, wait a minute. Liese coming with me is one thing, but I’ve never met your son. And I didn’t realise you meant right away. Why is there such urgency? Liese, help me out here.’

  She wanted to, but she was waiting for Paul and Margarethe to protest. At the plan’s danger; at the separation from their only child. They were folded into each other, not looking at her, barely listening to Otto.

  André nudged at her arm.

  ‘Liese, I will happily take you to Paris. But does it have to be like this? In such a rush? Using fake papers like a smuggler, taking a boy I’ve never met…’

  Liese pulled herself away from any hope of Paul and Margarethe thinking beyond themselves and tried to focus on what André was asking, what Otto was demanding. The prospect of Paris, and of André, was certainly enticing, it was something she’d dreamed of in what felt like a different life, but how could she make such a huge decision so quickly? It would be like cutting out a dress without a pattern.

  She tried to think clearly.

  ‘Otto, listen to me: this is too fast and too dangerous. Even if you do find the people to do the job and manage to secure the passports, we could get caught at the station buying the tickets. And if Michael gets questioned, do you honestly think he could keep his mouth shut, or pass convincingly as French? There’s too many holes in this plan.’

  ‘It’s my only chance.’

  Otto was staring at her as if there was no one else in the room.

  ‘I have to get him out – you know that. I should have acted months ago. Using Bardou for cover gets Michael to safety, as well as you. Look at them.’

  He nodded at Margarethe curled on Paul’s lap.

  ‘They’ll never make any kind of decision, and they’ll never consider you. Do this for me, and for Michael: he’ll go if you do. We’ll be all back together in no time, I promise. You won’t lose your family: you’ll help make sure it’s safe. Will you help me? Will you do this?’

  They’ll never consider you. It was true and it stung.

  Otto wanted her safe.

  She felt André’s arm slip back round her shoulders. He cared for her; that was obvious – he had said he had intended to take her to Paris; he must want her safe too. And how could she bear anything happening to Michael if she could stop it?

  She nodded; Otto beamed. Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t steady them.

  ‘It’s all right; don’t get upset.’

  She wasn’t upset. She was aware how many dangers this decision exposed them to, but André had her fingers cupped in his, patting them as gently as if he held a fluttering bird, and the sensation was too nice to spoil with a rebuttal. She stayed silent.

  He dropped his voice so Otto couldn’t hear him.

  ‘He’s afraid, Liese. I won’t pretend to know what’s going on with his son, but, if this helps Otto feel better, where’s the harm in it? It’s plans, nothing more; we won’t need to act on them. Tomorrow, you’ll see this business outside is all nothing, a band of thugs and a pack of rumours spiralled out of control. You won’t have to do anything you don’t choose to do. But if you decide to come…’ He smiled his soft smile and traced a finger round her wrist. ‘Then I’ll take care of you, I promise.’

  No one had ever promised her that. Despite her worries about where this road might take them, she wanted to believe that he meant it.

  ‘What are you whispering about? You haven’t changed your mind? You’ll get them both out?’

  Otto’s eyes were too bright; his jaw clenched so tight, his neck had set solid.

  André nodded.

  Otto retired to an armchair, pulled out a notebook and started scribbling.

  Outside, the sky’s black had dissolved into a sulphurous yellow and clouds had settled over the city, obscuring the streets. Liese felt like a castaway caught on an island. She leaned into André and let his strong arms enfold her.

  Silence fell.

  Paul and Margarethe got up, went into the bedroom and closed the door. Otto’s head was lolling; Stefan was already fast asleep. Liese imagined the heat from the fires rising, the windows melting. André’s grip on her tightened.

  ‘Let me help you forget all of this.’

  His breath shivered like silk round her neck. There was no mistaking his meaning. Liese shuddered as his lips followed his breath. She slipped round to face him.

  ‘I’ve never done this before.’

  If he was thrown by her directness, he didn’t show it.

  ‘Do you want to tonight?’

  She watched his smile, watched his eyes darken. The models in the salon were perfectly open about sex – most of them had rich boyfriends whose attentions they seemed to adore. ‘Do it right and do it often and they’re all yours, honey’ was a sentiment Liese had heard from more than one laughing girl. She would like to have someone who was all hers. She would like that someone to be André.

  She smiled back at him. ‘Yes, I would.’

  There was another door, with a dressing room behind it. There was a sofa to welcome them.

  He led enough; he let her find her own pace enough. Mouths met; bodies connected. Liese stared into eyes that looked only at her, and the riots and the smashed windows and the burning buildings slipped away under one simple thought: I want this.

  Kristallnacht. Crystal Night. A beautiful name to blanket the orgy of violence the ninth of November had turned into. Liese shivered when she heard how the Party had christened it.

  Three days had passed since the night in the Adlon, but the memory of Berlin’s shattered streets still broke up her nights. The hours in André’s arms had been timeless and far too short. He had been gentle and slow until she had needed him not to be and the only thing she had regretted was the need to stay silent.

  When morning came, bringing with it a smoke-smudged sky, André had slipped out before the others were awake. He came back subdued, his hair dark with dust. The news was no more cheerful than it had
been the night before, but they couldn’t risk hiding in the hotel any longer.

  Liese had roused Otto and her parents. There wasn’t a moment to pick up the previous evening’s discussions. There wasn’t a moment for a farewell between her and André beyond a lingering look and a promise that he would call her later that day. The Elfmanns had flown down the corridors behind Otto, to the sound of maids approaching inside the hotel and an ominous silence outside.

  The scenes that greeted them when they finally pulled out of the garage were worse than Liese expected, the destruction greater than Stefan had warned them. All the streets from the Unter den Linden to Friedrichstraβe were choked with the debris of ruined businesses. The pavements were littered with smashed lamps and display cases and splintered filing cabinets whose contents blew around like snowdrifts. Every window they could see was shattered, the innards of the looted shops and offices spilling out like the entrails of a butchered animal. Road after road was closed, packs of thugs still prowling.

  Stefan was forced to ease the car round the edges of the Tiergarten and over the Spree, before taking them in a wide arc that circled the city. The detour he took them on led down through the wide square and elegant shops of the Molkenmarkt. It was as if they followed in the tracks of an invading army. Everywhere was ransacked, the towering Nathan Israel department store ripped open and gutted. Mannequins sprawled out of the gaping windows like crumpled bodies, clothes spilled across the street like dropped washing. Smoke pooled in the air, knitted into grey clouds heady with petrol. The Elfmanns passed the rest of the journey crouched down, without speaking.

  Despite the surrounding chaos, Bergmannkiez’s tree-lined avenues were quiet and the Elfmann home was intact. The servants, however, were gone. Paul and Margarethe took refuge in the chilly sitting room while Liese ran around, organising a fire, finding tea and biscuits. Stefan and Otto left again, on foot and in old coats. They stumbled back quicker than Liese expected, grey-faced and shaken. Beyond a mess of graffiti, Haus Elfmann had escaped, but hundreds of Jewish shops and offices were destroyed, dozens of synagogues burned. Rumour had it that every city across Germany could tell the same story. As for the arrests: the numbers the two men had heard whispered were terrifying.