by Steven Uhly
“Who are you?” the voice asked again, but this time he sensed that two eyes were staring at him from the heart of the blackness, from where he could see nothing, nothing at all, two searching, anxious, frightened, reproachful eyes.
“Who are you?” He felt as if all this blackness surrounding him was the face to which these eyes belonged, a countenance of darkness which spoke with a child’s voice and which was addressing him, yes, him. But who was he in that moment? He felt alone, scrutinized from every direction, lonely and abandoned and encircled by . . .
62
Whenever Lisa recalled that visit to the Jewish cemetery, what stood out in her mind was that she had never imagined her grandmother might be able to surprise her again. But then they had stood by the grave and the old woman had started to cry. She had walked up to the grave, paying no attention to her granddaughter’s bewilderment, and started to weed the plot.
“I should have come here much earlier,” she said to herself. “Just look at it!” Lisa stared at Frau Kramer for a while, incapable of moving or forming a clear thought in her head. But then she snapped out of it.
“Grandma, who is buried here? Grandma?” Frau Kramer, who was crouched at the side of the grave, supporting herself with one hand, which allowed her to get at the rampant weeds more easily, stopped and looked up at Lisa as if she felt she had been interrupted.
“You were at the funeral, Lisa,” she said reluctantly. “You won’t remember because you were too small. But the corrugated iron sheds we slept in weren’t adapted for winter, they weren’t even fit for autumn! The condensation used to drip down and either you froze or you were too hot. My God!”
She sank to her knees, making hollows in the damp earth of the grave. It was still raining. Lisa was wide-eyed, she did not understand this grave and she understood even less her grandmother’s behavior.
“My God!” Frau Kramer said again. “The children were hardest hit. So many of them died!” She looked at her granddaughter. “You were luckier than you think, Lisa. Look! She wasn’t so lucky.”
63
When the pioneers arrived in their lorries a crowd of people gathered, What’s going on here? the passengers thought, and then they saw this was no usual crowd of people. It was children and adolescents, streaming out of a number of houses. There were so many of them that the buildings looked like barrels that had sprung leaks. We’re the children of Hamelin, they cried, waving their forged visas, The Pied Piper led us here and then he simply disappeared, now we don’t know how we’re going to get home! Do you lot know? No, we don’t, but we’ll take a few of you in each lorry, that’s what the shlichim agreed, so the average age is right. That’s good, the children of Hamelin said, But tell us, what about our parents, do they miss us terribly? Children of Hamelin, your parents are dead, didn’t you know? They died of grief, they were only too aware of their responsibility for your disappearance, and day after day they thought, If only we had given the Pied Piper all our gold, he would have spared us.
No, Anna thought, looking at all the Jewish orphans, No more fairy tales.
64
Heinrich resisted for precisely two weeks and three days. Then he hatched a plan and put it into effect. On Monday after school he crept into the study. His mother was getting lunch ready, Gudrun was sitting in the kitchen with her. Heinrich lied to his mother for the first time in his life, he said, I don’t have any homework because the teacher was ill and someone else stood in. He was astonished to find it so easy. As if he were making a discovery even prior to his discovery.
His mother believed him, I’m going to my room, Heinrich said casually, and in fact he did, but only to open the door and shut it again. Then he stood as quiet as a mouse in the hall and waited. When he heard no change in the sounds coming from the kitchen—his mother clattering around, the impatience in his sister’s voice at not being able to understand her math homework—he tiptoed softly across the parquet floor of the hallway to the study. Heinrich knew exactly which boards creaked, he took big steps over these, taking great care not to fall.
Now he was outside the study, its door ajar as ever. As he pushed it open it occurred to him that this was the only one in the apartment which didn’t squeak. Did Father oil it so he could slip in here secretly himself? he wondered. He would if he were in his father’s shoes. His heart pounding, Heinrich crossed the study and approached the window. The flowerpot. He lifted it. For a moment he expected to find nothing. But there it was: the small, golden key, slightly dirty from the earth that had trickled out of the drainage hole in the bottom of the pot. Heinrich took the key and carefully replaced the pot. Suddenly he gave a start, because he thought that his father was standing behind the curtain, just to his right, exactly where he used to hide. But no one was there and Heinrich almost laughed. As if his father would behave like a little boy! He turned and went to the desk. He sat on Father’s leather chair. On either side were three narrow drawers, one on top of the other, and above his legs sat a broad, flat one. The key went in here.
Heinrich hesitated. He was incapable of thinking clearly. He was too frightened. He could not even say what he was afraid of. Was it Father? Or was it his secret? He wanted nothing better than to get up again, return the key to its place and pretend that nothing had happened.
But he could not. Heinrich slowly pushed the key into the hole and turned it. The lock sprang open with a soft click. Heinrich needed to grab the drawer with both hands to pull it out. It was empty, no, at the very back on the right was the book. A leather cover with no writing on it. Heinrich took out the book and leafed through it. He recognized his father’s handwriting, he saw details of places and dates. A diary. Heinrich was disappointed. He had been expecting something more exciting. He knew all about diaries, he kept one himself, but he would never read the thing, he had already written it down. Heinrich skimmed his father’s diary at random and without any interest. How neat it was! No blotches, no crossings out, no writing that went above or below the line. And how beautiful Father’s handwriting was! Heinrich could make sense of everything. He would love to be able to write so legibly! Heinrich read a sentence or two to memorize his father’s handwriting, he read, For this reason I was compelled to put my life at risk and give everything I had, for the situation demanded rapid action and courageous engagement. He turned a few pages and read, I was now faced with the question of how I should proceed, given the superior power of the enemy. He jumped to a few pages before the end and read, If only I weren’t imprisoned in this disguise! I would abandon everything and embark on a search for her. Everything!
Heinrich ran the nail of his forefinger along the last word.
Everything!
He did it again and again. He was lost in thought when the gong sounded and his mother’s voice wrenched him from his reflections. He hastily returned the book to the drawer, locked it, hid the key and left the room.
After lunch Heinrich slipped back into the study and put the book in the correct place in the drawer. Because if he had been his father he would have taken great care to remember where he had left the book the last time.
That night Heinrich lay awake for hours. Those words from Father’s diary had seeped into his consciousness. They felt like magic words, words that opened up a new world. But he had no clear view of this world, it was merely a feeling to which he was unable to put a name.
65
Shimon was delighted by the new children in the lorry. Some were barely older than he, How on earth did they survive? the eyes of the grown-ups asked. Shimon asked no questions, he did not speak at all. He crawled through the cargo area, he had to clamber over legs and laps, he slid between bodies and bumped into backs, but he made his way over to the new children and sat down close by so he could watch them.
The new children had brought their games with them, cards and Nine Men’s Morris and chess and Ludo, presents from the citizens of Lindenfels, who had set their minds to mothering the orphans. They played, they were loud, the others
noticed that they had learned to get by without adults. Anna was pleased to see Shimon preoccupied. She was heavy and immobile, she felt imprisoned inside her body and could do nothing about it. Her gaze roamed the people’s faces, she saw Aaron chatting to Mr. Abramowicz and Ruth to Mrs. Abramowicz, she noticed that old François was telling stories to the older orphans. But their voices drifted over to her ears, all entangled like uncombed hair:
“It’s almost one year now” “We shall have to reclaim the desert”
“Since the Irgun blew up” “The Rabbi asks the wife, ‘Do you wish”
“the King David Hotel” “if we want to survive there.” “to divorce your husband?’”
“and since then” “It’s not going to be a cakewalk.” “‘Yes, Rabbi, I do.’”
“things with the British” “‘And husband, do you wish to divorce your wife?’”
“Oh no, it most certainly won’t be! What’s more, we’ll wish”
“have got even more difficult.”
“But the world has woken up to it, Aaron!” “we’d never gone in the first place.”
“At what price, I ask you?” “‘Yes, Rabbi, I do.’ And so”
“Everything has its price, Aaron. Now” “But we don’t have any choice.”
“You said it, Ruth, my child;” “the Rabbi said to the two of them, ‘If that is so”
“at least Haganah knows that” “then the two of you are agreed.”
“our people has so rarely had a choice!”
“Menachem Begin is serious” “It’s verging on a miracle” “Now continue to live”
“if we’re able to return together”
“in what he says.”
“He’s damaged” “to the Promised Land.” “together in peace!’”
“Zionism.”
“I say Zionism is stronger than the British, the Arabs and the radicals combined!”
Anna did not notice Emil’s coy glances at Sarah, who did not notice either. Sarah was watching Shimon, hoping that the new children did not hurt him.
All the while the convoy drove toward the zonal border. It was Saturday afternoon, the French soldiers were waiting to be discharged for the weekend, the next act of the farce could begin.
Peretz had arranged his papers meticulously. He was more nervous than usual. He kept glancing at Avi, though Avi looked as he always did, he focused on the road as if nothing else in the world existed.
66
Dana the doll peered around the corner with her blind eyes. Past the lorry’s tarpaulin she saw the red-and-white barrier, interrupted by the French soldier in his blue uniform and a tall peaked cap on his head. Around his torso was a gray river running from left to right. Dana let her gaze wander. On the higher riverbank, cut in two by the French soldier’s head, she saw a large, broad tower with a pointed roof. Opening its gate wide and yawning at the river, it appeared tired from being on its feet for so long. It looked as if, having hiked from afar to get here, it would not be able to cross over to the east and was now staring at the metal supports rising from the torrent. Poor tower, Dana thought, It’s much too heavy for the floating bridge right next to it. That was only made for lorries and people, and the tower must know this or it wouldn’t be gazing at the water, sad and tired, hoping that the sunken bridge might somehow rise up again.
At that moment the French border guard approved the forged visa that Peretz had handed him, together with his forged U.N.R.R.A. worker’s I.D., and gestured behind him to where another soldier was standing, who now lifted the barrier, as light as a feather, and allowed the Jews passage over to the west bank of the river and into the ancient Burgundian city of Worms.
When Peretz opened the passenger door of the lorry and looked behind to where the other lorries were waiting for the signal, he saw the doll, he knew its name and to whom the hand belonged clutching onto it. He gave the signal by raising his arm, then climbed back up, took his seat, closed the door, and Avi beeped the horn, it sounded as dark as a ship’s siren and so loud that the French soldiers jumped. The Jewish drivers copied him. What a racket! As if an army were advancing on Worms, What sort of an army? Crusaders, perhaps, on their way into the Promised Land? Well, the stones littered about the place knew this, it had happened before, eight hundred years ago, back then it had been fanfares and horses with carriages bearing bishops, and Jerusalem had been occupied by Muslims, Not much has changed, the stones thought, Only we’re no longer walls, houses, towers, just rubble.
Before Avi engaged the clutch, Mrs. Abramowicz grabbed hold of her daughter with both hands and pulled her safely inside the lorry to prevent the little girl from being flung out when the vehicle accelerated.
67
Watching Father, at every turn. Watching him at breakfast, his gestures, how he picked up the salt cellar, his mouth when he spoke, his eyes when he smiled, his whole body when he kissed Mother on the cheek.
Watching Father on the Sunday outing into the countryside, at every turn. Sitting in the back of the black company car and staring at the back of his head, stretching up to catch Father’s eyes in the rearview mirror. On arrival in the car park, when Father got out and rubbed his hands with excitement, his voice when he told them, Come on children, let’s go! Watching Father watching Mother when she attended to Gudrun, who did not want to walk, his eyes, his lip movements when something displeased him but he said nothing.
Watching Father on the walk, at every turn, his encouragement, Back then we used to march one hundred kilometers a day, left, two, three, four, left, two, three, four, come on little soldier, off to the front with you, ho ho. A stick isn’t a stick, it’s a rifle handed down from father to son, Preseeeeeent arms! Ho ho, I’m going to appoint you standard bearer immediately! Atteeeeention!
Watching Father when suddenly he fell silent, when suddenly he left everything up to Mother, Come on, children, it’s not much further! Watching Father when Mother carried Gudrun on her shoulders, watching Father when it was no longer possible to catch his attention, Preseeeeent arms, left, two, three, four, left, two, three, four, all in vain. Watching Mother watching Father, standing in for him, looking out for him, making sure that Gudrun was not noisy, one eye permanently on Father.
Watching Father when Mother failed to keep Gudrun quiet, the corners of his mouth, his eyes that were watching Mother, how she understood Father and doubled her efforts, watching Father vanish again in front of everyone’s eyes, remaining merely present, merely present somehow, no more. Watching the pain that this caused.
68
Did Sarah with the golden hair really have to comb it now, just as the convoy was slithering like a serpent across the pontoon bridge? She was sitting by the ramp, looking out at the Rhine, it was already getting dark, the evening sun glistened on the water. Emil sat beside her, paying no attention to the rapids, he watched her, to him it felt as if she were sitting on the highest mountain in the world, as if he must capsize if he dared turn toward her, as if calling himself Zwi had been pointless, given that he was still struck by this heartache every time. Sarah did not notice the young Haganah soldier, she had no idea that he knew her face better than anybody, nobody carried it as far and wide as he did. She ran through her hair with a simple comb while humming a tune.
69
Now the Jews with their army would go ashore, now German crusaders would flock from across the entire land, summoned by their young emperor, now they would all rest in the venerable city, now some would come up with the idea of giving the Jews who lived here a bit of a fright, Look, this street is perfect, over there, that shop, there’s Dulcina, Eleazar ben Judah’s wife, sitting with her daughters Belat and Hannah in the front where they sell their wares, in the back valiant Jacob is working, liming the hides to soften them, next the daughters use sharp knives to shave off the remaining hair roots and flesh, then the mother stretches the skins over a frame, and once they’re dry she smooths them with pumice and finally rolls them up on wooden rods. Jews and Christians, magistra
tes and guild masters, all of them have to write, Dulcina demands the same price from each one for her parchment. Is that fair? Let’s butcher them like swine, let’s fight for glory here and now against the betrayers of Jesus, the distant war begins in our own land, the enemy is among us.
Now the Jews, having eaten, would be reboarding their lorries to head on southward, now Eleazar ben Judah, the scholar, would come home to find death, death perching on the bloody bodies of his loved ones, death baring its teeth at him. Now Eleazar returns to the synagogue and weeps and weeps, stopping only when it is time to do something else. Taking all the parchment his family has made, he writes a book about life and death, thereby preparing a soothing ointment for himself, for in his book Eleazar can work magic, heal every wound, redress every injustice, punish every crime. In his book is Gilgul Neshamot, the souls of the dead pass through the bodies of the living, and thus in his book Eleazar knows that his loved ones will return to earth, that death does not endure for an insufferably long time. In his book people are good.
And meanwhile the convoy of Jews passes his house and the engines drone and Dana peers out with her dead eyes and sees him sitting and writing in two dimensions.
