“You mean he might be dead?”
“Yes, he might. We don’t know how old he is or if he is in good health. In fact, we know almost nothing about him. There is also the possibility that he might move away without leaving any forwarding address. And if that should happen, we might never find him,” she said. “I realize that you are very young to be faced with all of this. However, you must make this choice. I can’t make it for you, Anatole. Or would you prefer I call you Moishe?”
“Anatole is my name. It’s the only name I know . . .”
“I understand, and I’ll call you Anatole.”
CHAPTER 72
It was not difficult to find the address on Delancey Street. For several moments, both Anatole and Gretchen stood outside staring at the brown bricks of the old tenement. It was dark, and the only light in the starless sky was a full, rounded silver moon.
“Shall we go to the door?” Gretchen took Anatole’s hand.
He didn’t speak, but he began to walk forward slowly like a man on death row.
They silently climbed four flights of rickety, wooden stairs then walked down a dark corridor until they saw Apartment 415.
“This is it,” Gretchen said.
“He might not even be here. He might have moved away,” Anatole said more to himself than to Gretchen.
“I’m going to knock. All right?”
“Yes,” Anatole managed.
She knocked and they waited. A pretty, young woman, with a graying white scarf that almost completely covered her dark hair, answered the door.
“Hello, my name is Gretchen Schmidt. Is this the home of Benjamin Rabinowitz?”
“Yes.” She looked at Gretchen skeptically.
“I think he will want to see me. I have come here all the way from Germany. This is his son, Moishe.”
A veil of shock spread over the face of the pretty woman. Her hands were shaking as she gestured to Gretchen and Anatole. “Please, won’t you come in? Ben is not at home, but I expect him to arrive any minute. He usually comes home at about eight thirty on Tuesday night, and it’s already after eight.”
“You are his wife?” Gretchen asked.
“No.” She shook her head and managed a wry smile. “He is living here with my husband and I and our children. He is a good friend of the family.”
“Oh,” Gretchen said.
“Are you related to Ben?” the pretty woman asked.
“No, I am a woman who has been the guardian of his child. Ben and I have never met. The war made everything very confusing for everyone,” Gretchen offered.
“Won’t you sit down? Can I get you something to drink?”
Gretchen sat on the sofa with Anatole beside her.
“Who’s here?” Levi came into the living room. “I heard a knock at the door.”
“This is Gretchen Schmidt. The little boy is Ben’s son. Gretchen has been caring for him.”
“Oh!” Levi said.
Before Levi could say another word, they all heard a key turn in the lock. Then the door handle turned.
Anatole began biting his nails. He huddled into Gretchen. She could feel him trembling.
The door opened, and there stood the handsome, unassuming, soft-spoken Benjamin Rabinowitz. He glanced around the room, cocking his head with a puzzled look in his eyes. For what seemed like hours but, in fact, were only seconds, no one spoke. Then Gretchen stood up; her legs felt unsteady. “I’m Gretchen Schmidt. This is your son, Moishe. I’ve been taking care of him.”
“Moishe?” Ben said. His voice was hoarse, his eyes shining with disbelief. “Is that really you?” Ben walked closer to the child. “My God, you look just like your mother.” Ben could hardly stand up straight. He practically fell onto the sofa beside Moishe. “How are you? Where is your mother? Oh, dear God, I can’t believe it’s you.”
Ben put his arms around Moishe who tensed up. “I’m sorry,” Ben said. “You don’t know me. Of course you don’t remember anything, and now here I am trying to embrace you, and . . . well . . . what was I thinking?” He was crying and laughing at the same time. Moishe just looked at him wide eyed.
Then there was a knock at the door that quieted the entire room. Everything about this night had a dreamlike quality. “Who could that be?” Suddenly Ben looked around; his voice had a trace of fear. Perhaps it was seeing Moishe again that brought back the memory of the Gestapo coming to his home to arrest him and his entire family.
“I’ll get it,” Levi’s wife said.
“Hello.” A very pretty, petite woman stood in the doorway. “I am Atara Herskowitz, Benjamin’s friend. He left his glasses at my apartment. I know he will need them for work tomorrow. Can you give them to him for me, please?”
Ben heard Atara’s voice and said, “Come in. I have some wonderful and exciting news to share with you.”
Atara walked inside.
“This is my girlfriend, Atara Herskowitz,” Ben said.
Gretchen’s mouth fell open. But she was not the first person to speak. The first person to say a word was Moishe. “Auntie Ilsa? Is that you?”
“Ilsa Guhr, how dare you come into this home? How dare you pose as a friend to Benjamin Rabinowitz when it was you who murdered Lila, his wife . . . Moishe’s mother. I know you. I know all about you. A little hair dye isn’t going to be enough of a disguise for you,” Gretchen said as she was pointing directly at Ilsa. She had been so shocked to see Ilsa that she had spoken without thinking. She’d forgotten that Moishe was sitting beside her, listening. She looked over at the child whose face had turned gray as a mourning dove, and she immediately realized that this moment would change the boy forever. This was a terrible way for him to learn the truth. But it was too late. Several seconds passed and no one spoke.
“Ilsa Guhr?” Ben said in disbelief. “Who is Ilsa Guhr? Lila? You know Lila, Atara? There must be some mistake.”
“There is no mistake, Ben. Atara’s real name is Ilsa Guhr. She worked as a guard at Ravensbrück. She helped a married couple, who were also Nazi guards at Ravensbrück, steal Moishe. They took him because he looks so Aryan, and they were unable to have children. In order to bury this secret, Ilsa murdered Moishe’s mother.” Gretchen had to tell him the entire truth.
“Liar,” Ilsa said.
“Am I? I have an old photograph of you with Hilde. I carry it in my wallet. Here, look . . .” Gretchen pulled out the picture of a smiling Ilsa with her arm around Hilde’s shoulder. Both women wore the gray-skirted uniform of the Ravensbrück guards.
“Oh my God,” Ben said. “What did I do tonight? How could I have done what I did with you,” he said.
“You are a stupid, foolish Jew, Benjamin. And you, Gretchen, you were always a Jew lover. And I always laughed at your friendship with Hilde. She was nothing but a mental deficient. She should have been done away with when the party was ridding itself of such scum.”
“Let me get this straight,” Ben said, his eyes blazing. “You killed Moishe’s mother? You murdered my wife?”
“Don’t make more of this than it is, Ben. It was something that had to be done, that’s all.” Ilsa turned to walk out the door, but Ben ran over to her and grabbed her from behind before she could leave. He spun her around like a dreidel on Hanukkah and then began choking her. Levi’s wife let out a scream. Ilsa’s eyes were bulging, her throat was turning red, which became a deep bruised purple.
Gretchen ran over and tried to pull Ben off Ilsa. “Stop, you’re going to kill her,” he screamed, but Ben would not stop. He was raging, and he pushed Gretchen away. She ran back and shook his shoulder trying to shake sense into him. “Let’s call the police,” Gretchen begged. “Don’t kill her. Please, Ben, it will be murder. You’ll go to jail or worse. And she isn’t worth it!”
Moishe started crying and rolled himself into a fetal position in the corner of the sofa. Levi, too, tried to pull Ben off Ilsa but he was unstoppable. And by the time Ben’s rage was spent, Ilsa was dead.
Levi double-checked Ilsa’s
arm for a pulse. There was none. He shook his head. “She’s dead.”
Ben hung his head, his anger was gone. “Call the police,” he said in a soft voice. “Tell them what happened. Tell them to come and get me.”
As they waited for the police, Ben turned to Gretchen. “Take my son back home with you. Please, will you raise him? Do you love him?”
“Yes, I will raise him. And I do love him very much.”
“I know what I did was wrong tonight. I lost control. I wish Moishe had not seen this.”
“Yes, the poor child has seen far too much.”
“Please, before you go, leave me a phone number and an address where I can reach you. I don’t know what is in store for me, but maybe sometime, who knows, we will meet again,” Ben said, then he gave Gretchen a sad smile.
When the police arrived, Ben did not fight. He went with them . . . willingly.
CHAPTER 73
It was almost two full weeks before Gretchen was able to secure passage back to Germany on an ocean liner. During those two weeks, Anatole hardly spoke. He’d wet his bed in the hotel twice, but he’d been too embarrassed to tell Gretchen. However, the hotel staff came to the room to complain about the bed-wetting. They insisted that Gretchen find a way to make this stop. Gretchen felt so badly for Anatole. She blamed herself for bringing him to America. She explained to the hotel manager that she could not promise that the bed-wetting would stop, but she agreed to pay extra to have the sheets double washed and the mattress cleaned. That seemed to satisfy him.
Gretchen tried to talk to Anatole; she wanted him to open up to her. Even if he yelled at her or wept, it would be better than this terrifying silence. But he refused. She was quickly running out of money. Rebecca had given her what she could, but Gretchen had never spent so much money before in her life. So because Anatole hardly ate, they began splitting a bowl of soup each night. He was awakened by terrible nightmares almost every night, but he wouldn’t tell Gretchen what he’d dreamed. Instead, he just sat on the chair curled up in a ball waiting for the light of dawn. She was miserable with guilt. I tried to do what was right for Anatole, and I ended up hurting him. I don’t know if he’ll ever recover.
Gretchen called Rebecca. It was an expensive indulgence to call Poland, but she needed to talk to someone. The cost prohibited them from speaking for very long, but hearing Rebecca’s voice gave her some small comfort.
Finally, the day arrived, and Gretchen and Anatole boarded the ship. Nothing changed for Anatole during the voyage. He remained withdrawn and anxious. There was another boy close to Anatole’s age on board, and Gretchen tried to encourage Anatole to make friends, but he had no interest.
When they arrived back at their apartment in Berlin, Anatole went right to his room and closed the door. He’d been begging Gretchen for a dog for several months, and she was seriously considering adopting one. It would be another expense she didn’t need, but the child was a mess, and she owed it to him. So she decided she would look into it.
The day after their return, Gretchen returned to work, and Anatole went back to school. Two days later, he came home with a black eye and blood crusting around his nose.
“What happened to you?” Gretchen said when she arrived home from work.
“Nothing.” He shrugged.
“Yes, something did. You’ve been fighting.”
He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said again.
“Please talk to me, Anatole. I need for you to talk to me so I can help you.” Gretchen was desperate, almost in tears. But Anatole just walked away and went into his room.
Gretchen sat on the sofa in the living room, an unopened novel on her lap and a cold cup of tea on the coffee table. She was thinking about the dog. It would be difficult for her to afford to feed a pet, but it might be worth it to help the child.
There was a knock on the door. Gretchen looked at the clock and trembled. It was 9 p.m. Who would be coming here at this time of night?
She got up from the sofa and walked to the door. She glanced through the peephole, but one of the lights in the hallway had burned out, and it was too dark to see anything. Taking a breath, she opened the door.
Her hands flew to her throat. She could hardly speak. “Eli.”
He nodded. Tears ran down his cheeks, then they ran down hers as well. He took her into his arms and held her tightly, both of them still in the doorway. “I thought you were dead,” she said.
“I almost died in an uprising. I was left for dead then rescued by a band of Gypsies.” He was squeezing her, taking her in, breathing in her hair, the scent of her skin.
“Oh Eli, how I’ve missed you.” She pulled him inside the apartment and closed the door. Pulling him close to her she whispered, “I missed you so much . . .” She was weeping and laughing at the same time.
“I love you, Gretchen. My love for you was the only thing that kept me alive.” He kissed her all over her face.
“Auntie Gretchen?” It was Anatole. “Who is that?”
“Anatole.” Gretchen looked at the child who was staring at her. “This is Eli. You’ve heard me talk about him. Do you remember Rebecca spoke of him too when she came?”
Anatole nodded. “You both said you thought he was dead.”
“But he isn’t. We were wrong. He’s right here.”
Anatole looked from Gretchen to Eli. “I have to go pee,” he said and ran out of the room in the direction of the bathroom.
“Who is he?” Eli asked in a gentle voice when the child was gone.
Quickly, and in whispers, Gretchen explained the situation with Anatole including that his real name was Moishe. “I don’t know what I am going to do. He is traumatized by what happened with his father and rightfully so. I feel like it’s all my fault . . .”
“Don’t worry, my love. I am your partner in all things. I am here to share in your life if you will have me. I will help you with this boy. We will raise him together. I don’t know how we will help him, but we will. You’ll see; it will be all right. Together we will ask God for his help. And God will show us the way. He will give us the right words. I am here now, and you are here in my arms. This is what is most important. God brought me back to you. And I have never been so filled with joy in my life.”
“I am so happy, Eli. I am so happy to feel you here close to me. It’s like a dream,” she said, touching his face. “You can’t know how much I love you.”
“I know how much I love you, and if it’s even half as much, then it is a lot.” He kissed her again. “I heard you mention that you have been in contact with Rebecca?”
“Yes, she is married.”
“We are blessed. I give thanks to Hashem; may his name be blessed. We have all survived. In the morning we should contact Rebecca. I would like to tell her that I am alive, and that I am glad she has found her bashert and she is happy. I will ask her for a get, a Jewish divorce, so I can marry you. I am sure she will comply. Will you marry me?”
“Oh yes. Oh yes,” she said. They kissed again, and when they opened their eyes, Anatole had returned. He was standing there in his pajamas watching them.
“Anatole,” Eli said. “Hello, my name is Eli.”
Anatole stared at him, cautiously backing away until he was huddled into the wall.
“You know what?” Eli said in an upbeat tone of voice. “I heard that there is something very special about you. Would you like to know what it is?”
“Special? About me?” Anatole asked with a child’s curiosity. “What is it?”
“I heard your real name is Moishe.”
“It’s not. It’s Anatole.”
“Very well, Anatole. But I would like to tell you a story. Would you like to hear a story?”
“What kind of story?”
“A story about another man whose name was Moishe.”
“Yes, I guess I would like to hear the story,” Anatole said.
“Come, we’ll both sit down here on the sofa, and I’ll tell you all about this man.”
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Anatole nodded in agreement and sat down, but he crouched into the side of the sofa as far away from Eli as possible and watched Eli skeptically. Eli smiled at him warmly.
“This is the story of Moses. Moishe is the Yiddish name for Moses.” Eli looked at Anatole, his eyes warm, inviting, and tender. “Have you ever heard this story?”
“No,” Anatole said. He shrugged, trying to look as if he were not interested, but Eli could see the inquisitiveness shining from his eyes.
“This is a very important story. It comes from the Bible,” Eli said, then he continued, “Moses, or Moishe, was born a Jewish boy. He lived during a time in history when Egypt had enslaved the Jewish people. And the Jewish people were being worked to death and starved. When little Moses was born, his mother wrapped him in a Hebrew blanket and then put him in a basket. Then do you know what she did?”
“No,” Moishe said, “what did she do?”
“She took the basket and put it in the Nile River then allowed the basket to float down the river. She had to do this. It was the only way to save his life. You see, the Egyptians were killing all the Jewish baby boys. And if they would have found Moses they would have killed him too. Can you imagine the trust his mother had to put in God to send her son away in a basket on the river? Anything could have happened to him. He could have drowned or been eaten by crocodiles—but he wasn’t. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“I’ll tell you. It was because God had bigger plans for Moses.”
“Crocodiles? What are crocodiles?”
“They are long, dangerous lizards bigger than any man.”
“And they live in that river where Moses' mother put him?”
“Yes, they do. But even though there were dangers, Moses’ mother trusted that God would protect her child."
“God?” Moishe asked.
“God. Hashem, our Creator. May his name be blessed. He watches over all of us.”
Millions of Pebbles Page 24
