While the Music Played

by Nathaniel Lande

  After school, on my way to an assignment, I found my bicycle smashed, the wheels buckled, the frame bent beyond fixing. I confronted a gang of classmates standing nearby, wearing Hitler Youth uniforms with red-and-black bands around their arms.

  “You did this to my bike?” I asked, pointing to the damaged wreck.

  “Why would we do that?”

  “I don’t know. Only you know that, but I’m on my way to work and I need my bike.”

  One of the younger boys, from the year below, mocked me, “Dad de dah de boom, the piano tuner is on his way to work.”

  One of the bigger boys tried to snatch my black tool kit, but I was determined to save my red ribbons with my life.

  “You don’t need that, it’s only my lunch.” I diverted their attention with my subterfuge.

  “You won’t be eating lunch anymore if you continue to hang out with Jews.”

  “Do you guys like doing this, hurting people? Does it make you feel good?”

  The ringleader stepped forward. “Yes, it does. We’re a new world order.”

  “A new world order? Can you even hear your own words? Do you understand them? It’s your world, not mine.”

  “Max, you’re German, and you’d be better off if you didn’t associate with our enemies.”

  “Enemies? You call my friends enemies? I can be friends with anyone I like.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Max. Not here, not now,” their leader spat, and they ran away, leaving a yellow star on my broken bicycle.

  If I hadn’t known it before then, I knew in that instant that I didn’t belong there any longer. Nothing and no one was safe anymore. There was some tiny consolation in the fact that I had saved my tools. But a much bigger question remained: Where did I belong? Where could I be safe? I didn’t want to hide; every part of me wanted to do something, to stand up to them, to fight. I couldn’t take them on, they would kill me. Who could I reach out to? Who could I speak to? My father was away. I rushed over to find Hans just as he was setting out for a walk. We strolled together, but soon I wondered if skipping over the cracks in the sidewalk could bring better luck.

  “I’m worried, worried about everything, Hans—about my father, my friends, about you.”

  “I’ll be okay, Max. Where’s your bike?”

  “I’d rather walk with you, Hans.”

  “Why do you do so much skipping?”

  “Because I’m good at it. I learned it from David. It’s just a superstition, avoiding cracks in the pavement. Keeps you safe. Lucky.”

  “Is that true?”

  “They say it is.”

  “Well, does it work?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  We went to Mrs. Blomberg’s to look for David. He would understand, he would help. He always did. Because of all the commotion, many of the streets were blocked off and I hadn’t been able to get there in days. Posted on the door was a notice marked with a black German eagle. The place was empty except for Mrs. Blomberg herself. She looked distraught, deeply depressed.

  “The Germans were here. They’ve all been taken. David’s gone. The word is that the children have been shipped to Terezín.”

  It was the first time I heard Hans raise his voice. “Bastards!”

  I was confused. Why was Hans so upset if they had they gone to Terezín? I reasoned that if any place was safe, it would be there. But was any place safe? I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  Mrs. Blomberg did her best not to convey her anxiety, but I could sense her unease in every word, every gesture.

  Hans was stunned, his face pale and drawn. Finally he said, “At least we managed to secure passage for many of the younger kids on the Kindertransport program.”

  I was deflated. “David has got to be okay.”

  “It’s difficult, Max, but we must have faith,” Hans said. “Try not to worry. We’re here for each other and who knows—if they are in Terezín, that might actually be a lot better off than living in Prague right now.”

  Back at his place, Hans packed a bag. “I’ll be back in a few days, Max. I’m going to make sure everyone is okay.”

  He collected a few things: mementos, photographs, and clothes. I knew that Hans was trying to protect me as best he could, but I wasn’t stupid, and I could see that something else was going on. This was not going to be a weekend in the country. I was consumed with worry for David. And Sophie.

  As he prepared to leave, he turned to Lucie, taking her plump hand in his: “Stay with Max, at least until I return.”

  I was struggling to hold back the tears: “Hans, take me with you.”

  “For now, this is the best place for you. Trust me.” He kissed me on the forehead, shut the gate, and was gone.

  Hours passed and Lucie had fallen asleep on the couch. The only sound in the house was from the blades of a fan overhead whispering panic. The Great Viktor Mueller appeared in the doorway. Finally, he had come home.

  “They’re gone, Poppy!”

  “I know, Max. Lucie sent me a wire.”

  Poppy extended his arms and I ran to him. He held me tight until I stopped crying.

  COME TO TEREZÍN!

  Come to Terezín! Apartments, attractive facilities with excellent cuisine, concerts, and a spa. Would you like your accommodation riverside or on the square? Bring casual dress to be sure, and walking shoes, tennis racquets. Bring the children along for the parks, schools, and playgrounds.

  Travel bureaus were offered commissions to promote the plan with color brochures. Living conditions, especially in the Reich, were becoming intolerable; for some time there had been rumors of deportations to “work camps” in the east. Many Jews had emigrated; most wanted to go to Palestine. The only agency left in Prague allowing a limited number of permits had closed. Quotas to other countries, like the ten thousand allowed by the United States, had long been filled. In occupied countries, borders closed, and for the hopeful who remained behind, a temporary home in Terezín sounded promising. Apartments would not be as spacious, but the facilities were attractive, offering good food, staff physicians, nurses, and spa specialists. Making deposits, future occupants filled out questionnaires. It all sounded so persuasive, so appealing. They arrived with their parasols, in their summer dresses, winter capes, top hats, and frock coats to their new home. Plans and provisions were underway, so why not bring the children along for the parks, schools, and playgrounds?

  Meeting the requirements were partners from mixed marriages. Because of the “racial laws,” a few were considered non-Aryan if one grandparent was Jewish. At the top of the list were Jews who had distinguished themselves in their professions, including the army; they were called Prominenten. Many were diplomats who were given favored treatment, including the prime minister of the State of Saxony, the mayor of Le Havre, the president of the Dutch Red Cross, the surgeon general of the Austrian Imperial Army, and a French minister of justice. Added to the impressive list were scholars and academics, artists, actors and singers who had performed for the Kaiser in better days, and even Viktor’s great friend, the concertmaster of the Czech Philharmonic.

  The brochures advertised that the Germans were offering Terezín as a unique place for special Jews; the rich, the powerful, the brightest, and most talented. In exchange, they had to turn over every asset for “safekeeping.” Until the conflict was over. Many families felt a sense of relief. The cream of European Jewish aristocracy were signing up.

  I thought it might be a good time to speak to my father.

  “This place, Terezín, what is it really like?”

  “It’s called ‘Hitler’s Gift to the Jews.’”

  “Why a gift?”

  “There are Jewish people—musicians, artists, soldiers, people from all professions—who fought in World War, and they need a place to live.”

  “A place to live? But don�
�t they have homes? Sophie did.”

  “It’s a political thing—some people are considered enemies.”

  “Surely David and Sophie are not enemies,” I said, “and if they were, why would Hitler give them a gift?”

  “Max, it’s complicated.”

  “Too complicated for me to understand?”

  “Maybe too complicated for anyone to understand.”

  “Why hasn’t Hans come back?”

  Poppy shrugged. He had no answers.

  “Is it a nice place, this village?”

  Still no answers. One thing I knew for certain: I was going to find out the answers to all my questions.

  October 19, 1939

  Dear Max,

  I would have written sooner, but Mama has been ill and we don’t have enough medicine for the sick. I spend a lot of time at the hospital and try to keep busy. Please think of her, Max.

  Love,

  Sophie

  So much had been on my mind since my father began wearing a German uniform, so many questions inside my head like balls in a bagatelle. I had received so few replies to my letters, leaving me lost, unmoored, looking for direction, sailing to nowhere. On one of our now infrequent Sunday walks, we stopped in the middle of a dirt path and I turned to Poppy, taking a deep breath.

  Okay, here goes nothing, I thought.

  “I don’t know what you’re doing in the army, Poppy.” I spoke with as much courage as I could muster up. “You told me you had to do things your way, but I’m not sure I feel right about your way. Things are different, Poppy. The Germans have taken over Czechoslovakia. You’ve told me that and I understand that. Prague is occupied. I’ve heard all the stories about protesters and dissenters just disappearing. Hans and David are gone now. People are getting killed in the streets. My papers and my notebooks and the occasional letter from Sophie are the only companions I have left. Where is Hans? What is happening to all the Jews? How can I make sense of it all? And how are you making it better?”

  Poppy sighed and sat down on a nearby bench. He patted the seat next to him, putting his arm around me. “There are all kinds of people. But we come from a long tradition; our country has produced some of the best artists and musicians in the world. I took you to Berlin because I wanted you to see where you came from, and I think you know it’s a beautiful city. “

  “Prague used to be beautiful too.” I was as angry as I had ever been in my life as I uttered those words. What good was a city to me or for any of the people that we loved?

  “Max, it will be magical again. Sure, we have different points of view, and friends can disagree. That doesn’t make them bad. You’ve met Heydrich. He’s an okay fellow. I know how much he likes you. We should remember that he helped David’s parents. I’ve been thinking about the best thing to do until this thing blows over. What worries me is that I’ll be traveling a lot more. Hans is not around, and I need someone to care for you. I think I can work with the general to bring about better things, to change things, to reshape things, to change the course at least a little bit. Perhaps a lot. I really believe that, Max. You might think about being with your friends, David and Sophie. I want someone to keep you company when I’m away, Max.”

  “Can’t I be with you? I’m not much trouble.”

  “Of course, you can. You and I belong together like Armand and White Dog. I’m just thinking of the short term.”

  I was torn. The telegraph keys in Old Town were sending me a message. I shifted a decision back and forth. One word said it all. Sophie! And I could bring medicine. Terezín was just an hour’s drive away. I wanted to be with my friends. Anna had said, “Best to be comfortable.” And if Hans was planning a production of Brundibár, I didn’t want anyone else playing my role. But there was one essential thing that was more important. I didn’t want to be just a bystander in this world. If I was going to be a journalist, I needed to know more. I needed to know what was going on, and to find out if I could make a difference. What was happening to my friends, and the Jews? Poppy had his plan which I didn’t understand, and maybe never would. But I had mine too. We were two different people. We were also very much alike. I had to determine facts for myself. Besides, I wouldn’t be gone for long. The decision had been made.

  “I won’t be making any deliveries for a while, Mr. Raggle.”

  “You’re leaving for Terezín, but why? You’re not a Jew.”

  “It’s not so far away and Poppy feels I’ll be better off, because he won’t be around a lot of the time. I have lots of friends there.”

  “I’ll miss you, Max, you’re a young man I can trust.”

  “Mr. Raggle, you already knew I was leaving?”

  “I hear things. I am in the news business. Will you write, let me know how you are doing? It’s important.”

  “Sure. Will you send me the papers from time to time?”

  “That might be difficult, too dangerous, but I have a favor to ask.” Mr. Raggle invited me inside the stand, speaking quietly. “You can be helpful.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “When you get the chance, when you have something to say, whatever it is, write a short note letting me know how you are and about life in Terezín.”

  “Why should that be so secret?”

  “We don’t know too much about the place. We certainly don’t know enough, and I don’t think things in Prague are going to get better for a while. Life should be better up there, so that might be good news for you and your friends, for everyone there, the good Lord willing. But in the meantime, as much information as I can gather will be useful.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “Well, always be careful. You’ll be sending me information. Address anything you can report, send to Sunshine. And don’t tell anyone.”

  “Sunshine?”

  “There’s a green box with a white crest where the milkman collects and leaves milk three times a week. Be sure you mark the envelopes Sunshine and place them inside the box, they’ll get to me. Sign them PT.”

  “What does PT stand for?”

  “It’s just a secret code, Pink Tulip.”

  I hesitated for a moment but then the opportunity of becoming part of a news team came to mind, an investigative reporter, a journalist. The stakes were high. With my accounting, a plus outweighed a minus. Another turning point.

  “I’ll do it for you, Mr. Raggle, but I also have a favor to ask.”

  “How can I help?”

  “I need to take some medicine, boxes and boxes, they don’t have enough up there.”

  “I’ll see to it. But be careful, the Germans wouldn’t be too keen on all this.”

  I wondered what I was now: a journalist, a smuggler, or a secret agent?

  I had to acknowledge I was moving into dangerous territory. Could I do it? I had no reason not to trust Sam Raggle. And, besides, if I didn’t, what kind of person had I become?

  PART II

  TEREZÍN

  AN UNCERTAIN

  JOURNEY

  November 14, 1939

  I settled into the tan leather seats of the general’s open-top Mercedes, acting as if nothing at all was bothering me. I carried my most treasured possessions as if they were secrets locked up in a hidden, secure vault. My watch, my hurdy-gurdy, notebooks, red felt ribbons, and my black tool kit. Surely there would be some pianos at Terezín I could tune and earn a few crowns.

  I thought that I just might see things that I’d never seen, and experience life that I’d never dared imagine. I can’t say I wasn’t scared. But I had become good at pretending.

  Poppy told me there were funds, should they be needed. He gave me rolled-up banknotes inserted into an empty fountain pen and a can of baby powder, which I hid in a pocket. I sat in the backseat. He spoke to the driver before turning his attention to me. Our eyes met through the glass. I willed myse
lf not to feel so alone.

  “Poppy, I … I’ll miss you.”

  “I love you, Max. I’ll always be beside you wherever you are. Always. I’ll see you soon, or my name isn’t the Great Viktor Mueller!” He used the over-the-top voice of a circus ringmaster, the way he’d always done to entertain me. He smiled, but his smile had sadness etched into the edges. “And tell Hans … well, tell Hans to take care of you.”

  My father leaned forward. I had the sense that he wanted to tell me something else, something more, but before he could speak the driver started up the car. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Poppy, waving at me through tears, blowing kisses, and forcing a smile until the car was out of sight.

  Next to me was my hurdy-gurdy. There were four large boxes marked books for the library, a consignment that Mr. Raggle had arranged for me. Inside the boxes was a supply of medicines. I didn’t know how he had procured all these, but despite my curiosity, I knew I was better off not knowing.

  I wiped my eyes and began to think about where I was going. General Max Mueller felt the wind brush his face as the open car reached a rolling green landscape. I couldn’t help waving to the farmers we passed. I thought of something I had recently read: On the other side of chance is discovery and if you don’t go there, you’ll never find what you’re looking for.

  Eventually, the whistling air and the hum of the Mercedes lulled me to sleep and I didn’t wake up until the car came to a stop.

  The Mercedes arrived at a small village of neat gingerbread houses with slate roofs, lining narrow cobblestone streets. Many had flower boxes, which added a homelike touch that one might see in any small town in Europe. An inn, a church, a café, and a converted bakery, which served as the administrative office of the man I had come to see.

  I had traveled thirty miles south of Prague to Terezín. The town was originally a resort reserved for Czech nobility. Next to the village were the forbidding walls of the famed fortress. It was called Theresienstadt then, created by Emperor Joseph II of Austria in the late eighteenth century and named in honor of his mother.