All That Shines and Whispers

by Jennifer Craven

  “Weiss!” Rubin yelled. In one swift move, he dropped Erich to the couch and pounced toward Gerald. Agile for his age, Gerald swerved, and Rubin stumbled to his knee. He rebounded quickly, ready for another go.

  “Give him to me,” Gerald demanded. He continued to move backward around the open room, as Rubin dove for him again.

  “Never. He’s my son.”

  “Dada!” Erich squealed at the sight of Gerald.

  “What is going on?” the woman shrieked as the men faced each other in a standoff, their hands up, their bodies on guard. “Rubin? What’s happening?”

  Gerald seized the opportunity. “Oh, so she doesn’t know?” he taunted. “How you kidnapped a child from his mother?” Rubin’s face burned and he gnashed his teeth. Gerald continued, assaulting Rubin with his words. “What? Did you just show up one day with a baby and pretend everything was normal? Like you just plucked him from the street? And you were just going to be one happy little family? Everything about you is a disgrace.” Gerald continued to press him, as they circled the room.

  Rubin’s body shook and he bared his teeth like a predator. “You have no right to be here,” he growled. “This child belongs to me. He’s got German blood and he’ll be raised under the eye of the Führer.”

  “Ha! There’s nothing German about him. His parents are Austrian. You’re Austrian, boy! Or have you forgotten?”

  Gerald could see the rage pulsing in Rubin’s neck. His last comment—the power of identity—had been the blow that pushed Rubin over the edge. He clenched his fists and made another lunge toward Gerald, this time getting a chunk of Gerald’s shirt in his grasp. The two men tumbled to the ground, Gerald falling onto his back and Rubin straddling him on top. They wrestled, each taking turns throwing swings—some missing and some making contact. The woman screamed and backed into a corner.

  “Quiet, Hannah!” Rubin snapped at her. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Perched on the edge of the couch, Erich cried, a look of terror on his poor little face.

  “I’m taking him back,” Gerald said through gritted teeth. Rubin’s hands were at his neck, and Gerald swung a punch toward his opponent’s head, landing his fist against the boy’s jaw. A trail of blood ran from the corner of Rubin’s mouth.

  “He’s staying here,” Rubin seethed, releasing a hand to wipe the blood from his face. When he did, Gerald took advantage and flipped Rubin to the ground, taking back the upper hand. He pressed Rubin’s arms into the floor with all of his might and used his knee as a wedge against Rubin’s groin. Rubin grunted, struggling to break free.

  “You should burn alive with all the other vermin at those camps,” Rubin spat. “Traitors are just as filthy as Jews.”

  Gerald resisted the urge to spit in Rubin’s face.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Rubin. Just give me the boy.” His words were sharp against his teeth.

  “Never!”

  Gerald lifted him by the collar and slammed him back down, smacking his head against the ground, hard.

  From the corner, Hannah shrieked. “What should I do, Rubin?”

  “Get my gun!”

  Gun.

  At that, Gerald scrambled off Rubin and stumbled past an overturned chair. He needed to get out of there—fast—before things got any uglier. Coming to his feet, his body surged with adrenaline and his hands shook. Erich sat cross-legged on the couch, whimpering. Snot ran from his nose and his eyes were bloodshot from crying.

  “Dada,” Erich said again, reaching out his pudgy arms as Gerald moved toward him. Scooping the little boy into his arms, he pressed Erich’s head into his body.

  “No!” Rubin yelled, charging Gerald from behind. “He’s mine!” Rubin jumped onto Gerald’s back, forcing Gerald to put Erich back on the couch. The force of the attack knocked the wind from Gerald’s lungs. He managed to turn, facing Rubin, and their arms interlocked. They tussled in a standing position, whipping each other’s upper bodies back and forth, panting and grunting in each other’s ears. Rubin lurched to the right, and the men knocked over a table lamp, the ceramic base shattering against the hardwood floor.

  “I got it!” Hannah’s voice pierced the room as she flew around the corner. She gripped the handle of the pistol with shaking hands, pointing the barrel directly at the rivals.

  As Rubin turned, Gerald reached around and squeezed his arm across Rubin’s neck, locking him in a chokehold. He could feel Rubin’s Adam’s apple thumping against the crook of his elbow. Both men faced Hannah, only now, it was Rubin whose body was in the direct line of fire.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this, Rubin,” Gerald wheezed into Rubin’s ear. “Give me the boy, and no one needs to get hurt.”

  “He’s. My. Son.” Rubin could barely muster the chopped words through his constricted airway. He gripped Gerald’s forearm, pulling down to release pressure.

  “I’m not leaving here without him.”

  “Over. My. Dead. Body.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Rubin. Just give up!”

  “No!”

  Gerald squeezed his throat tighter, and Rubin gagged, his hands frantically tearing at Gerald’s sleeve.

  “Don’t you remember what I told you that last time we were face to face? You’ll never be one of them.”

  Rage flowed through Rubin like lava.

  “Shoot. Him.” His wild eyes focused on Hannah.

  “What?” she cried. “I can’t!”

  “Do. It!”

  Gerald fumbled his free hand to the waistband of his pants and unclipped his handgun. He didn’t want to do this. He just wanted his grandson.

  Raising the gun, he aimed. A deafening shot rang through the apartment.

  Thirty

  Aman lay dead on the floor. A pool of blood, so dark it was almost black, spread around his torso and filled in the grooves of the boards. Lifeless eyes gaped wide at the ceiling. His mouth hung open in a limp oval.

  “Oh my God!” Hannah screamed. Her face completely drained of color. She dropped the gun and it hit the floor with a clang. Flying onto hands and knees, she crawled to the body in the middle of the living room.

  “Rubin! Rubin!” she sobbed loudly. She shook his shoulders and his head bobbed from side to side. The hem of her dress soaked up the blood like a sponge, turning the blue fabric a grisly shade of purple.

  Gerald was alive.

  He patted his chest, feeling around for signs of injury. There was blood on his hands, but it didn’t belong to him.

  Gerald, whose lower half had landed underneath Rubin after the gunfire, pushed himself away in shock. He kicked Rubin’s body off his legs and scooted back against the floor, smearing a red trail. Shock set in. As his senses came back, the woman’s wails, deep and guttural like a wild animal’s, filled his ears. She bent over the body, her head on Rubin’s chest.

  Then, a new sound: the high shrill of a child. Gerald swiveled toward it. Erich, who had tumbled from the couch, now sat clutching onto its skirt, which brushed the floor. He trembled with fear.

  Erich.

  Without another thought, Gerald fumbled toward the boy and grabbed him. Standing, he realized his legs were like that of a newborn, wobbling unsteadily with each step. They needed to get out of there—fast. Hannah’s cries would draw attention at any moment. Should he do something? Stay and explain what happened? It was his word against hers. Who would they believe: a traumatized young woman, or a well-known fugitive?

  The answer was simple. He had to go.

  Gerald hurriedly stepped over Rubin’s body and rushed toward the door, Erich holding on for dear life.

  “He’s dead! You killed him!” Hannah shrieked, as Gerald’s hand gripped the knob. He turned to face her.

  “No, you killed him.”

  “I panicked! I was trying to shoot you!”

  Gerald glared at Hannah for a fleeting moment, feeling sorry for her, before whisking through the door with Erich. He ran down the hall, clutching the baby to his chest. Hannah’s voice fo
llowed him: “I’m calling the police!”

  He leapt down the stairs, one foot barely touching the step before hurdling over a handful more. Erich’s little body bounced along for the ride. He’d stopped crying, but the look of horror hadn’t left his face, and his tiny fingers clutched Gerald’s collar.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Gerald soothed. “Shhhh…it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  As they descended, Gerald glanced behind him and listened for Hannah’s cries. They could no longer be heard from the ground level, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. The police would arrive at any moment, but his car was right there—he was so close! Bursting through the exit of the apartment complex, Gerald rounded the corner and flung open the car door. Scooting Erich toward the middle of the seat, he climbed in behind the wheel. Bile burned his throat.

  “It’s alright, Erich,” Gerald said, out of breath. “We’re going home. Home to Mama.” The boy just stared, confused, his bottom lip quivering.

  The tires peeled against the pavement as Gerald pressed hard on the gas. He circled the block, taking the turn so fast that the momentum made Erich fall into Gerald’s side. Another right, then a left, and they were headed toward the westbound highway. Gerald’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.

  Relax, he thought. We did it. We’re going to make it.

  His heartbeat sounded as thick and loud as a bass drum at the rear of a parade. Rubin was dead. Was it his fault? He dismissed the feeling of culpability.

  As the car merged onto the single lane road that would lead them toward the border, Gerald’s pulse slowed. He took a deep breath and shook the numbness from his hands. They had a ways to go, but each kilometer that passed felt like a hundred closer to home.

  The Austrian countryside opened up to fields and trees, sprinkled with small towns where women hung clothes on lines in their front yards. The beauty of his homeland astounded him. He missed it—that is, missed the Austria that once was. Now, this land that was occupied by leaders of hate and ugliness, felt like a strange place, one he did not want any part of.

  Gerald was thankful they wouldn’t have to pass through many populated areas before reaching the border. Innsbruck was the largest city they’d encounter before the final stretch of Austrian territory. Had word reached the local law enforcement there? Would officials be on the lookout for him?

  He repeatedly checked the rear-view mirror to make sure they weren’t being followed. As they passed other drivers—unsuspecting bystanders out for Saturday drive—Gerald feigned anonymity. He pulled his hat low and stared straight ahead. Nothing to see here! Inconspicuous as possible, he pressed the gas and sped past.

  Erich sat on the vinyl seat, his head drooped to the side, his eyes struggling to stay open. A few minutes later, the rhythm of the car’s movement lulled him to sleep. Gerald shifted Erich with one arm so that he was nestled, his little feet, covered with blue fuzzy socks, against Gerald’s thigh. So peaceful, so innocent.

  Gerald was struck by the lengths one would take for someone they love.

  Is this how Lara felt when she made her choice?

  A sign stood erect on the side of the road. Forty kilometers. With luck, they’d be across the border and nearing Zürich within two hours. Gerald let his mind wander to their reunion, waiting for them back at home. He imagined the chorus of cries, the happy tears, and Lara—his darling Lara—reunited with her son. The thought turned his eyes into hot, salty pools.

  He’d only been gone three days, but he physically ached for Marlene—her touch, her smell, and the security he felt in her arms. They were two halves of a whole.

  Gerald was lost in the heartwarming daydream when the sound of a shrill siren in the distance brought him back to present. Barely audible at first, it grew louder, and he again glanced in the mirror to find its source.

  His insides clenched.

  Two police vehicles approached at great speed from behind, red flashing lights swirling on the hoods of their cars. The patrols weaved around the other drivers on the road, and continued in a direct line toward Gerald’s black car.

  Damnit.

  Easing off the accelerator, Gerald brought it to a more permissible speed, and again gripped the steering wheel with both hands. His heart beat in his throat.

  “How did they find us?” Gerald muttered. No one—aside from Markus and maybe the Sisters at the abbey—knew what car he was driving. Had Hannah followed him and seen him drive away? She couldn’t have. He’d been so fast, and when he’d left the apartment, she was still in such a state of shock.

  The police were closing the gap. They showed no signs of slowing down. The sirens blared, and Gerald noticed several cars pulling off to the side of the road to allow more room for the authorities who were clearly in a hurry.

  “Damnit. We’re so close.”

  His foot remained steady on the gas. Curious, his eyes darted around the car’s interior. Could he hide Erich? Put him down on the floor and cover him from view? Where was his gun?

  Get real, Gerald, he thought. You don’t stand a chance against four armed policemen. His thoughts quickly turned from determined to defeat.

  This is it. It’s over.

  Marlene’s face flashed through his mind. He would never see his beautiful wife or loving children again. Would she ever find out what happened to him? And what about Erich? Where would he be taken? What would become of his grandson?

  Gerald’s throat constricted and a wave of nausea rose from his stomach. Everything inside him tensed.

  The cruisers were nearly upon him. He looked in the rear-view mirror and watched as they passed the last vehicle between them. Through the windshield he saw two men in the front seats, wearing the telltale gray uniform of the Schutzstaffel, their visor caps wrapped with silver cording and marked with a skull. Heated conviction on their faces.

  Gerald closed his eyes, resigned. Any second the cars would be on his back bumper, forcing him off the road.

  But then the sound of the sirens began to shift, growing louder in his right ear. And when he opened his eyes again, he was shocked to see both police vehicles passing him. They whizzed by in a flash, never even glancing in his direction.

  Gerald let out a powerful exhale, as he realized he’d been holding his breath. Like the fading music at the end of a song, the sirens waned as the patrols sped forward and out of sight.

  How was it possible? He looked to Erich, still asleep on the seat, unfazed by the squeal of the sirens. Bringing a hand to his chest, Gerald felt his heart through his skin.

  They weren’t after him—or at least, they hadn’t located him yet. Gerald had no doubt Hannah had phoned the police the minute he’d fled. They were probably scouring the countryside for him, deciding which route he’d take to freedom.

  The car passed a distance marker. Only five kilometers to the border.

  “We’re almost there,” he said to his sleeping grandson. “We’re almost there.” If only he could will the car to go any faster. Still rattled from the near disaster, he couldn’t shake the sound of swirling alarms from his mind. His brow furled. Were they getting louder? Gerald checked the mirror and saw another military vehicle with a spinning red light coming up behind him.

  Not again. He gripped the wheel. But just as before, the jeep zoomed past at double his speed.

  “Where are they going?” he wondered aloud. “There’s nothing ahead but the—”

  His heart dropped. The border. That’s what was ahead.

  Of course, he realized, feeling foolish he hadn’t thought of it sooner. They’re blocking the border. It didn't matter if they caught him en route. As long as they sealed the border, he’d be trapped.

  They were only a few miles out. What could he do aside from run straight into an ambush?

  His mind swirled. There had to be another way. Suddenly, the light bulb went off. He knew what to do.

  Gerald slammed his foot on the brake and made a wide U-turn in the middle of the r
oad. Dust flew up behind the car into a light brown cloud. Beside him, Erich stirred. The boy stared at his grandfather from where he lay.

  “Hello, darling,” he said. “We’re getting closer, okay? It’s alright. We’ll be home soon.” He patted Erich’s soft belly.

  Speeding in the opposite direction, Gerald retraced his route for several kilometers until he came to a crossroad that would take him south. He navigated off the highway and onto a maze of back roads covered in loose gravel. The cliffs of the Swiss Alps followed in his wake.

  At once, a keen sense of familiarity flooded him. I’ve been here before. Pulling down a narrow dirt road, he came to a farm at the base of the mountains. A large wheat field was the only thing separating them from the towering ridges above.

  Shifting the car into park, Gerald slung his pack over his shoulder and tucked the gun into his waistband. He turned to Erich and took a cleansing breath. This little boy for whom he’d risked his life—and for whom he’d do it a thousand times more.

  “I’ve taken this journey before,” he said, hoisting Erich to his hip. “And now we’ll do it again.”

  Thirty-One

  It was the fifth day. The fifth day since Gerald left to search for Erich. The collective sense of trepidation grew with each passing hour. Lara thought surely it would consume her entirely if it lasted any longer.

  There’d been no contact; not a word from her father. No reassurance that he’d found her son. Nor news of the contrary—that he’d been arrested. She wondered if he’d even made it into Salzburg without being detained. Did his lack of communication mean he was sitting alone in a cold jail cell? No, she reassured herself. Surely if her father had been arrested, they would have heard. Still, their policy—no news is good news—only offered so much comfort. Her mind swirled with scenarios, each one more dire than the last.

  Lara hadn’t slept well in over a week, and her already thin frame had shriveled to nearly skin and bones. Marlene tried to get her to eat, offering to make her favorite meals. She pushed food in front of the girl, and even suggested sugary treats, which were usually limited, to pump up her daughter’s calorie intake. But Lara refused. A creamy cake on the counter did nothing. Her appetite was lower than low; it was non-existent.