For several days she trod the streets looking for work, and because the shops were busy just before Christmas, she managed to get a job in a small haberdashery. The pay was poor and the hours were long, but Ruth, running her own shop for most of her married life, wasn’t afraid of hard work, and it meant she could provide food for the table, and save enough for each week’s rent. She enjoyed working in the little shop; it was interesting as always she enjoyed meeting the customers and helping them to find what they needed. Frau Merkle, the proprietor, soon realised that Ruth was an excellent sales assistant, and that the customers liked her. So, after the Christmas season was over, she decided to keep her on and offered her a full-time job. The rise in pay made all the difference, and before long the children each had a new set of warm clothes. Ruth treated herself to a new coat and skirt, even though it meant the repayment of a loan from Edith had to be delayed.
The girls had settled well into a small Jewish school not far from the flat, and Helga took on the care of the twins and the running of the household. Everything gradually returned to a sort of normality. All they needed now was for Kurt to join them and life would be tolerable.
10
Kurt got off the train in Munich. When Franz Beider had dropped him outside Dost, Kurt followed his advice and made straight for the railway station. He would get on the first train that came along, he decided, wherever it was going. It was going to Munich, so that was where he went.
When he arrived, Kurt left the station quickly, moving out onto the street amid the crowd of disembarking passengers, and headed back to the house where he had rented the room before. Walking quietly up to the front door, he knocked. No one came to the door, but there was a slight movement at the window beside him. He turned to see who was there, but the curtains were still and there was no sign of anybody. Yet Kurt was sure that he hadn’t imagined it; there had definitely been someone peeping from the window to see who was outside.
And now they know, Kurt thought ruefully, they aren’t going to open the door. He would have to find somewhere else to stay. He could, he supposed, go back to the station, but it was the kind of place the Gestapo made regular sweeps, picking up undesirables… like him.
He found a small café and bought himself a plate of stew. He had long since given up worrying about the dietary rules he had followed all his life. There was no question of kosher food in Dachau. You ate whatever you could get hold of, and were grateful.
Feeling better for the hot food, Kurt considered what he should do next. Get out of Munich, he decided. Time was running out, he had only another four days in which to produce the deeds to his home at the Jewish Emigration Office, and to get his family out of the country… or he would be back in Dachau. He broke out into a cold sweat at the thought of the camp. Whatever happened, he was not going back there.
If I can’t find Ruth and the children in the next couple of days, then I have to disappear myself, he thought. I’ve nowhere to hide, so I’ll have to keep moving. Try and keep one step ahead of the SS who will be looking for me.
He had no doubt that if he did not turn up with the documents as arranged, Oberführer Loritz would have his hounds out on the trail to bring him back. Defying an SS officer was an extremely dangerous thing to do, and although Kurt had no alternative unless he found Ruth and the title deeds, there would be no explaining that to Oberführer Loritz… and he would take delight in exacting his revenge.
There’s only one thing to do, Kurt thought as he drained the last of his coffee, I must try and get out of the country myself. I’ll never find them while I’m on the run in Germany.
The waitress was beginning to eye him suspiciously, and not wishing to draw further attention to himself, Kurt got to his feet, paid his bill with some of his fast dwindling cash and went out into the street. It was bitterly cold and he drew his thin overcoat around him, but the biting wind drilled through its fabric as if it wasn’t there. He set off at a brisk pace, not because he was in any hurry, but simply to try and keep warm. Also important, he thought, to look purposeful, as if I’ve got somewhere to go, something pressing to do.
As he strode along the street he continued to consider his options. Ruth and Helga must have taken the children to Edith, he thought. That’s the obvious place for them all to go. Franz said that Helga Heber was with them now. Surely they would head for the only safe place where they had family. Vienna.
He knew Ruth had her passport, with the girls on it. Had she managed to get the twins put on as well? She also had his passport, or he assumed she did, as it, too, had been hidden in the deed box. But much good did that do him. He tried once again to put himself in Ruth’s shoes. He knew she had left nothing with the Meyers when she’d left Gerbergasse, but then she had thought she was going to safety with Herbert in Munich. If she’d had to leave the country she’d know he couldn’t follow unless he had his passport.
If only I could get in touch with her somehow, he thought, and cursed himself that he did not know the address or telephone number of his sister-in-law, and had no way of discovering it. Even if David Bernstein’s number was listed in the Vienna telephone book, where was Kurt going to find one? He knew David was a surgeon, but he had no idea in which hospital he worked. Kurt didn’t know the names of any hospitals in Vienna. There was no way at the present time that Kurt could get in touch with Ruth or her sister.
She must have my passport, Kurt decided. What would she do with it? What would I do with it if it were me? I’d try and get it to her; try and think of somewhere where she might think to look for it. “There’s only one place,” he said aloud, “and that’s the Meyers’. So I must go back to Kirnheim.”
Once that decision was made Kurt felt better. He now had a purpose, but before he could put it into action, he had another problem to solve… where to sleep the night. It was far too cold… and far too dangerous… to spend the night out on the streets. He had to find somewhere to stay and quickly. It was already beginning to get dark and he could feel the first spatter of rain on the wind.
Who would help a Jew? Other Jews… maybe. Almost certainly no one else. Kurt remembered the rabbi who had helped Ruth and the children, and had passed on the message to him when he traced them there. Rabbi Rahmer.
He let the family sleep in the meeting room behind the synagogue, Kurt thought, perhaps he’ll let me do the same.
Grasping his small suitcase firmly, he set off in the direction of the synagogue. He had only a vague recollection of exactly where it was and the rain was turning to sleet before he finally presented himself at the door of the rabbi’s house. Frau Rahmer opened the door, and confronted by a strange man in a soaking wet overcoat with water streaming off his hat, began to close the door again.
“Frau Rahmer?” Kurt placed an involuntary hand on the door to stop it closing. “Is the rabbi at home?”
Frau Rahmer did not open the door again, but neither did she continue to close it. She regarded the stranger through the gap and said, “Who wants him?”
“My name is Kurt Friedman, you were kind enough to give my wife and children shelter some weeks ago.”
Frau Rahmer peered at Kurt more closely, opening the door a little more to do so. It was against her nature to turn away anyone who was in need of help, but in these increasingly difficult and dangerous times one had to be unusually careful. Still she didn’t want him to be seen standing on her doorstep either; reported in the wrong quarter, that too could be dangerous.
“You’d better come in,” she said, pulling the door wider to let him enter, and closing it swiftly behind him. “Wait there. I’ll call my husband.”
Kurt waited, dripping on the hall mat, as she moved away and called down a passageway behind her, “Manny, there’s someone to see you.”
A door opened and the rabbi whom Kurt had met the previous week emerged. Rabbi Rahmer took one look at him and said, “You’d better come into my study.” Turning to his wife he said, “I think our friend would welcome a hot drink, Ruth.”
Frau Rahmer nodded and disappeared through another door. The rabbi led Kurt into his study.
“Ruth is my wife’s name, too,” Kurt said as he followed the rabbi into the room.
“I know,” the rabbi replied. He waved Kurt to a chair. “Please take off your wet coat.” And as Kurt did as he was bid he went on, “So you didn’t find her.”
“No,” Kurt replied. “She… they had to move on. And now I am in trouble, it’s a long story…”
The rabbi raised his hand and said abruptly, “Stop! I don’t want to hear of your trouble. We all have enough of our own. So, no long story, just tell me why you have come here, now.”
“Simply to ask if I may sleep in the meeting room at the back of your synagogue… just for one night.”
“You ask a good deal from someone you don’t know,” the rabbi said sharply.
“I ask you as a pastor who looks after his congregation,” replied Kurt. “I have nowhere else to turn. If I sleep out tonight, I shall die of cold. If I am picked up, I will be arrested. All I ask of you is a safe haven for one night. Tomorrow I leave Munich, and you’ll never see me again.”
“You ask me something that may bring danger to my family and to my congregation,” the rabbi pointed out, “if you are a wanted man.”
“I’m not a wanted man,” Kurt replied firmly. “Not for another four days,” he added silently. “I am still searching for my wife and children. All I need is a place to stay for tonight before I move on after them.”
There was a tap on the door and Frau Rahmer appeared carrying a tray. On it were two cups of coffee. She put it on the rabbi’s desk and disappeared again without a word.
Rabbi Rahmer gestured to the cups. “Take one,” he said, “it’s all I can offer you.” He reached for a cup himself, and Kurt took the other.
“Please, Rabbi, in the name of charity, let me sleep in the meeting room.”
“The synagogue is already locked for the night. I’m afraid I have to lock up as soon as it gets dark these days,” said the rabbi. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I think, when you’ve drunk your coffee, you should leave.”
Kurt downed the coffee, almost scalding his mouth as he did so. It wasn’t coffee at all, just hot brown liquid, but at least it was hot.
He got to his feet and pulled the damp coat round his shoulders. “Thank you, Rabbi,” he said. “ I quite understand your reluctance. You have to protect your own.”
The rabbi stood as well, and calling to his wife said, “Herr Friedman is leaving now, Ruth. Please see him out.” He didn’t extend his hand, merely nodded to Kurt and sat back down behind his desk. Kurt was dismissed, and Rabbi Rahmer gave his attention to the papers in front of him.
Kurt turned and left the room, following Frau Rahmer to the front door. As she opened it she said softly, “The meeting room has a broken window. Smashed by the Hitler Youth. If my husband doesn’t get it mended soon, anyone will be able to get in.” She held out her hand. “Goodbye, Herr Friedman, I hope you find your family soon.”
The door closed behind him and Kurt found himself back in the biting March wind. He walked away from the house and on up the street without so much as a glance at the synagogue opposite, not slowing his pace until he had rounded the corner and was out of sight of the rabbi’s house. Then he drew into the shadow of an alleyway and considered what to do.
Had he understood Frau Rahmer’s words aright? Was she telling him how to get into the back of the meeting room? Suggesting that he might rest there for the night after all? But would the rabbi think of that, too? Would he come out and check that his visitor hadn’t tried to break in? Kurt decided that he had to take the risk. Better to be caught by an angry rabbi when camping in his meeting room than by a Gestapo patrol out in the street at night. He would wait for a quarter of an hour and then he would try and get into the meeting room through the window. He walked back a little way until, from the shadow of a tree, he could see the rabbi’s front door. The minutes ticked by and it remained shut. There was no sign of the rabbi or his wife.
Kurt was chilled to the bone now, the wind knifing through his wet overcoat as he stood and waited. Frost was forming on the road and on the trunk of the tree that sheltered him. The sky was beginning to clear, and a half-moon sailed into the sky, lightening the street and deepening the shadows. At last Kurt thought it must be safe to try his luck. He looked at the outside of the synagogue and realised that the meeting room could not be seen from where he was. The alley he’d sheltered in earlier must run round the back of the building, so he would not be visible to any casual passer-by.
Stiff with cold, his teeth beginning to chatter, Kurt made his way back to the alley, and felt his way along it. It was almost pitch dark in here as there were no streetlamps and the moonlight did not penetrate between the high walls that enclosed it. The building on the opposite side had no windows, but halfway along there was a gate in the wall, which Kurt assumed led directly into someone’s garden. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Kurt found that he could see more than he’d at first thought. Running his hands along the brickwork, he found a window, and sure enough the glass had been smashed, leaving jagged shards jutting from the frame. Pulling his hand up inside his coat sleeve, Kurt carefully pushed his arm through the frame and reached inside. The window was a casement, and it was not long before he had found the catch to release it. The catch was stiff, but, by shaking it up and down, he gradually loosened it until he was at last able to open the window. The rusty hinges screeched in protest as he pulled it open and he froze. Had anyone heard? The people who lived in the next house? Again Kurt waited, poised for flight if there should be a shout, a light, or the sound of investigating footsteps. But the night remained silent around him and he eased the window again. The hinges creaked again, but this time he was ready for the sound and it didn’t seem quite so loud. It was enough, the gap was now wide enough for him to slide inside. One of the shards caught his coat and tore the sleeve, but apart from that he found himself inside, undamaged. Very gently he eased the window almost closed again. He didn’t want anyone passing down the alley to notice that it had been opened.
He had no torch, and wouldn’t have used it if he had, but a shaft of moonlight pierced the darkness through a window on the opposite side of the room, so he had enough light to make out his surroundings. The room was quite large, with chairs and tables stacked round the walls, ready for use. Several old armchairs stood in a group in front of a large iron stove at one end, and there were two large cupboards at the other end. The stove was quite cold, all the previous ashes swept away. No fuel was piled beside it, and Kurt could see nothing with which he could light a fire even if he dared. He had no idea who would be able to see lights in these windows. It was nearly as cold as the street outside, except there was no wind, and Kurt wondered, if he allowed himself to go to sleep, whether he would ever wake up again.
Still, he thought, at least I am off the streets. I should be safe here until the morning. He took off his wet coat and hung it over a chair in the vain hope that it might dry a little by the morning. Then he investigated the cupboards at the end of the room. They were locked, and unwilling to damage anything that might reveal he had been there, he didn’t try and force them open. He was still shivering and so he began to do physical jerks. He thought back to his days at primary school when they had been made to do exercises before class every day. He swung his arms, raised his feet high, running on the spot, jumped, feet together, hopped round the room first on one leg and then on the other. As the blood began to flow more quickly through his veins, he began to feel a little warmer. He opened his suitcase and got out the few clothes that were inside it. He pulled them all on over what he was already wearing in an effort to retain the heat he had just generated.
I must try and get some sleep, he thought, and make an early start in the morning. He pulled two of the old armchairs together to make him a short bed. It was not long enough for him to lie straight, bu
t if he curled himself into the foetal position, he could just about fit, and the sheltering arms of the chairs gave an illusion of warmth.
Kurt awoke several hours later, cold and stiff. His neck ached and one of his arms had gone to sleep. It was still dark outside, but it was, Kurt decided, a lightening darkness. It must be almost morning. He got out of the makeshift bed and stretched before going through the routine of physical jerks he had done the night before. Gradually warmth began to creep back into his body, but his stomach rumbled for lack of food. Kurt took out his money and counted it. He had enough for a cheap meal or a ticket back to Kirnheim… not both.
Time was not on his side, Kurt knew, so he would have to go hungry. He needed to get to Kirnheim, to the Meyers, before the last three days of his deadline ran out. As soon as the sky lightened to grey daylight, Kurt checked that there was no sign that he had used the room, put on his still-damp overcoat and picked up his now empty suitcase. He would still carry it, he thought, it gave him an air of respectability. He dropped the case out of the window and then climbed out into the alley. When he emerged at the far end he turned in the opposite direction from the rabbi’s house. No point in risking being seen again now. He walked briskly back to the centre of the city, and when he reached the early bustle of the station bought himself a ticket to Kirnheim.
It was mid-morning before Kurt found himself at the end of Gerbergasse. The shops were all open and people were going about their business. Further down the street he could see the Meyers’ bakery, and beyond it on the opposite side the ruined shell of his own grocery. At least that is what he thought he saw until, as he walked slowly down the street, he realised that things had changed. Work on restoring the building had begun. A new, sturdy door stood open, with workmen going in and out from a van parked in the street outside.
The Runaway Family Page 17
