The Copper Series

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  The private parked the jeep in front of a makeshift Red Cross facility. The woman at the front desk took my information, then told me to sit and wait while she went to get Elisabeth’s case worker. The private remained in the jeep, wanting to give me privacy with Elisabeth. I couldn’t sit still. An eternity later, I heard my name called. I was led down the hall to another office and was given paperwork to fill out to prove that I was a relative to Elisabeth so that she could be released into my care. The Germans loved paperwork.

  I was hurrying through the documents when someone entered the small office, turned and closed the door. I glanced up distractedly, then back down to shuffle through the papers. Suddenly, I felt a shock, as if an electric current passed through me. I put the pen down and looked up slowly. In front of me was the one man on this earth whom I could never forgive.

  A man whom I once loved.

  And now hated.

  Chapter Four

  “Hello, Annika,” the man said, his voice gentle as he met my stunned gaze.

  My chin snapped up, defiant. “Louisa,” I corrected, feigning boldness. “Louisa Gordon.” I hardly recognized my voice. It wobbled. I wanted it to sound strong. I wanted to appear unmoved by the sight of this man. Instead, my body betrayed me. My palms started sweating and my heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Despite the summer heat, I suddenly felt very, very cold.

  He nodded as if he understood. “Yes, I know. I was the one who discovered Elisabeth and recognized her. I was the one who traced you in the United States.”

  My mind raced with memories. Karl Schneider and I had been music students together at the University of Berlin. More than that. We had planned a future together, dreaming of sharing the concert stage, playing to audiences around the world.

  Until that one night.

  * * * *

  It started out a day like any other. My father came downstairs, heading straight for the flour jar. He slipped off his wedding ring and buried it deep down in the flour.

  “One of these days I am going to forget about that ring and bake it in a cake.” I smiled, handing him a cup of hot tea.

  “Dearest, the way that last cake turned out, I’d just as soon you quit baking altogether and concentrate on the piano,” he said, giving me a wink.

  I pretended to be insulted as I picked up the satchel that held my music scores. “Don’t wait up for me tonight. I’ll be practicing late. Mr. Bach and I still are arguing about his fugue.”

  He put down his tea cup and looked straight at me. “How will you get home? You don’t have Ausweis.” Authorization.

  “Karl does. He’ll walk me home if he’s finished.”

  “He won’t be,” he said under his breath.

  I put down my satchel. “Vati, please. This is a very important competition. If I win, it will provide scholarship money so I can stay in university.” We desperately needed that money. Work for my father was growing scarce as the Nazi noose tightened around the Jews.

  “Then why is Karl competing against you?” he asked. “His parents can afford to pay for his schooling.”

  “You know why. Tomorrow’s competition could open important doors.”

  My father’s brows lifted. “I still don’t know why he chose to compete against you. There are other competitions.”

  “He didn’t choose it. We were both invited to compete.” I took one last sip of tea from my cup and put it in the sink, avoiding my father’s eyes. “I don’t understand why you dislike Karl. You need to give him a chance. I think he’s going to be around for a while. A long while.” I picked up my satchel and hurried out the door.

  “Wait, Annika! I’ll be outside of your practice room at 7 o’clock.”

  I froze, my hand on the door. My father and I both knew he shouldn’t be out after dark. It was past the curfew imposed on Jews. My father refused to wear a Star of David and it made me frantic with worry when he was out, especially in the evening. But I had to practice; I wasn’t as polished as I hoped to be for the competition. The weight of my father’s eyes on me made me acquiesce. “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Remember, tomorrow is in God’s hands.”

  I turned to him and smiled. “As always.” I gave him a wave, and left.

  Later that day, Karl met me for a quick shared lunch before my practice room was available. “How’s it going?” he asked, offering me half of his sandwich.

  “Not so well. I’m struggling with that one section in Bach’s Fugue.”

  “You’ll do fine,” he said, reaching over to kiss my forehead. “Eat. You need your energy.”

  Gratefully, I took his sandwich and ate it quickly. “I’d better get back. I need to leave by seven. My father is coming to get me.”

  Karl gave me a sharp glance. “Why is he coming here?”

  “He doesn’t want me on the streets at night.” I stood up and stretched.

  Karl gazed at me with such sorrow that it melted my heart. I bent over to kiss him once, then twice. “Karl, it doesn’t matter who wins tomorrow. We both win.” I kissed him gently one last time before pulling myself away to get to the practice room.

  Right before seven, I closed up the piano and went outside to wait for my father. Though it was spring, a chill had set in after sunset. I waited as long as I could bear the cold, stomping my feet to stay warm. Then I went back inside and knocked on Karl’s practice door. Karl seemed agitated by the interruption. Trying to reassure me, he said, “Maybe a piano tuning job came up. Or perhaps he just forgot.”

  “That’s not like him.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly eight. It was much too late for my father to be on the streets. “Would you mind walking with me? Maybe we’ll meet him on the way.”

  Karl looked nervously at the piano, then turned back to me. “I wish I could, but I need to practice. You understand, darling.” His brow was sweating despite the evening chill.

  I did understand. I was frustrated that I had lost valuable time practicing, too. But now I felt so anxious about my father that I knew I couldn’t concentrate.

  I said goodbye to Karl and hurried through the deserted streets, hoping to find my father along the way. As I turned the corner to my street, I passed two young men laughing as they joked with each other.

  When I reached my house, I found the front door wide open. Cautiously, I entered the threshold, listening carefully. The only sound I heard was my heart pounding in my ears. The house was eerily silent. Panicking now, I called out for my father. I searched through every room downstairs, then raced up the stairs. Pushing open my father’s bedroom door, I stopped abruptly at the sight on the floor.

  It was my father’s body. A cloth Star of David was pinned to his chest.

  * * * *

  Snapping to the present, I tried to harness my spinning thoughts. “I came to get Elisabeth. That’s the only reason I’m here, Karl.”

  “Yes, I know.” His face looked pained.

  “As soon as I am reunited with her, she and I are returning immediately to the United States. To be with my husband and son.”

  He gave a brief nod. “I understand.”

  “So would you please go get my cousin?”

  “Yes, of course. But…Annika—”

  “Louisa.”

  “Louisa,” he said, his voice full of broken glass. “Please let me explain.” He held his hands in front of me, palms up, as if offering me something.

  How dare he! I narrowed my eyes. “Explain how you arranged my father’s death?”

  He looked as if I slapped him. “No, wait, please. I never intended for things to go so far. I only meant to distract you from the competition,” he admitted flatly. “I never dreamed…I never imagined that… If I could only take back that day.” He covered his hands with his face.

  It’s a curious thing to watch a strong man crumble. With his head bowed, I eyed him more closely. Karl was an attractive man, even more handsome than I remembered. Too handsome, my friend Deidre had often pointed out. His face an
d shoulders had filled out over the years and he looked mature, seasoned. Humble, even. Karl had never been humble. “What do you want from me, Karl?”

  He cleared his throat as if afraid to trust it. “I want…I need…to have you forgive me.”

  I turned back to the paperwork and continued to fill it out. “You’re overestimating me. I don’t think that’s something I can ever give to you.” It would be easier for me to forgive Hitler.

  “I did a terrible thing. I know that. As soon as I did it, I regretted it. I just never dreamed it would end like that.” He winced, pleading. “Winning the competition was so important, Annika.”

  “Louisa.”

  “Louisa,” he shook his head as if trying to cement that name in his mind. “It was my future. Our future. At least what I had hoped for us. Please try and understand.”

  I gave him an icy stare. “I’d like to see my cousin now.”

  He exhaled, resigned. “She’s at the children’s facility across town for processing. I can take you there if you’re finished with the paperwork.”

  “Then I’ll finish it and we can be on our way.” My heart felt no softening towards this man. Not only did I lose my father, but I was betrayed by the man I thought I loved, all in one swift act. I’m sorry, God, but this is beyond my ability to forgive. I had tried, many times before, I really had, but I could still feel the bile stir within me. I had withdrawn from University abruptly after discovering Karl was responsible for turning in my father. I never saw Karl after that.

  Karl’s family was well connected with the German government. He was able to avoid active military duty because he performed piano concerts for Hitler’s visiting dignitaries. Part of me wanted to ask him why he was here, volunteering for the Red Cross, but I thought better of it. I didn’t want to reveal any interest in him, nor prolong any conversation between us. I wanted to get my cousin and leave München as quickly as I could.

  Karl climbed in the back of the jeep. “Is everything in order?” the private asked, seeing the stricken look on my face.

  I nodded, but remained silent. As we drove north to the facility, I saw a road sign for Dachau. I turned my head slightly back toward Karl. Without making eye contact I asked, “Do we pass by the camp?”

  “Yes,” Karl answered. “But I really don’t think you should—”

  “Private?” I cut Karl off. “Would you mind turning into the camp? I need to see it. I need to see what Elisabeth has endured these last few years.”

  Even the private cast me a sideways glance, as if he wanted to ask if I was really certain I wanted to go in there. I was dead certain.

  He drove the jeep up to the gates. There in looming iron work were the words of the first great lie of these labor camps: Arbeit Macht Frei. Work Makes You Free.

  Dachau was the first concentration camp built by the Nazis in 1933, the year when Hitler became chancellor of Germany, built to house political prisoners. In late 1938, large numbers of Jews, Gypsies, Jehovah's Witnesses, homosexuals, and other supposed enemies of the state were also sent there. Nazi doctors used many prisoners at Dachau for scientific experiments. If one could call torture and mutilation science.

  Allied soldiers with stoic faces didn’t stop us as we drove into the camp. Private Wheeler’s uniform provided enough credentials. Karl chose to remain in the jeep. Barbed wire curled viciously on top of the fences, with guard towers positioned strategically so there could be no escapes. The structure of the camp was very orderly, very well planned. Very German. Private Wheeler and I walked toward the row of barracks, one of which I assumed had housed Elisabeth. The barracks were filthy, reeking of human waste, screaming of suffering.

  We walked toward a low building around the bend, where large outdoor ovens were placed with long chimney pipes. I had heard stories of those ovens, now verified by Allied reports. I could sense, deep in my spirit, the evil residing here. It was palpable. Had my own aunt, Elisabeth’s mother, been cremated in those ovens? I squeezed my eyes shut; I could almost hear her cries.

  Suddenly, my stomach twisted and I vomited, right in front of the private. Private Wheeler held my head and gave me his handkerchief to wipe my mouth, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, afterwards, tears streaming down my face.

  “Don’t be.”

  “They must have known.”

  “Ma’am? Who? Who must have known?”

  “The villagers. How could they not have known? The railroad tracks go right through the town. They must have known. And they did nothing.” Dachau was a medieval village, a tiny suburb of München.

  I suddenly felt compelled to pull out William’s Mickey Mouse camera and take pictures. I didn’t take the pictures for Elisabeth’s sake; I doubted I would ever show them to her. But I felt it was important to document this horrible place. I took pictures of the trenches of mass graves, the blood stained walls where executions had taken place, the crematorium, the gas chambers, the mounds of empty clothing and shoes. Of the silent barracks, the guard towers, the barbed wire.

  As I finished, the sun broke through leaden clouds, washing over my skin. I looked up at the sky. At least they couldn’t take that from them, Lord, I prayed silently. At least they still had the sun.

  We went back to the jeep where Karl waited, an uncomfortable look stretched on his face. We drove a short distance and arrived at a school that had been temporarily converted into a children’s facility.

  Private Wheeler stayed behind. Karl took the forest of documents I had filled out and handed it to a woman at the desk, asking her to get Elisabeth. Then he sat down next to me, handing me Elisabeth’s release papers and travel documents and visa. He described Elisabeth’s history, at least what he knew of it, that she was severely malnourished but didn’t seem to have any diseases. “Many of the children have typhoid or diphtheria. Elisabeth has been fortunate.”

  Fortunate? After being imprisoned in Dachau? But I kept my face void of expression. “Did her mother die there?”

  “I don’t know. We have no knowledge of her mother. Elisabeth doesn’t seem to know what happened to her, either. They were in hiding at a farm not too far from here, and one day, they were discovered.”

  “Discovered?”

  Karl held up a hand to ward off my next question. “The farmer’s wife turned them in.” He glanced at the reception area, then back at me. “Please. Please. Is there anything I can do to make up for what I did to you?”

  His eyes pleaded that he wanted things to be right between us. But why?

  I felt a dull sense of loss and failure. And hatred, too. Oh God, I just can’t do it. I can’t offer him forgiveness that I don’t have.

  All of a sudden, a response slipped through the tunnel of my throat. There was one thing. I met Karl’s eyes with a level stare. “Find Friedrich Mueller and bring him to justice.”

  With unmasked interest, Karl asked who he was and what I knew of him. I told him everything, without emotion, as if I were reading a newspaper.

  Then a door squeaked open and a nurse brought my cousin Elisabeth to me. I barely swallowed down a gasp as I took in her tragic face, small and thin and white. Elisabeth’s large brown eyes were huge and shiny in her face. She was so tiny, just skin and bones. Her hair was cut short, wispy and thin.

  “Kannst du mich erinnert?” I asked her. Do you remember me?

  “Nein,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly bold. Loud, too. “Warum sind Sie hier?” she asked me. Why are you here?

  I reached for her hand, as tiny and fine-boned as a bird. “Ich wollte, dass Du weisst, dass Du nicht alleine bist.” I wanted you to know that you weren’t alone. I pulled her close to me to hug her, feeling her sharp shoulder bones protrude through her thin dress. Her body stiffened under my embrace.

  She stepped away and fixed her eyes on me thoughtfully. She studied me over the next few moments of silence. It was evident some kind of calculation was being made. Then, she asked, “Wohin gehen
wir?” Where are we going?

  “Nach Hause.” Home.

  She nearly spat at me. “Ich habe kein Zuhause.” I have no home.

  Surprised at her sharp tone, I released her hand.

  She turned to Karl and asked him, “Darf ich Danny mit bringen?” Can Danny come with us?

  “Nein, Elisabeth. Danny hat seiner familie. Ich muss sie finden, damit sie wieder vereint sind.” No, Elisabeth. Danny has a family of his own. I must find them so he can be reunited.

  She stared at Karl for a long moment, then finally turned to me, shrugged and said, “So, lass uns gehen.” So, let’s go.

  I turned back to Karl for one agonizing moment. He met my eyes steadily. In his eyes lay the detritus of our painful history.

  But I climbed into the jeep and never looked back.

  Dusk was fading into full darkness as we reached the highway. I sat next to Elisabeth, hoping to ask her questions. Soon, it was clear she wasn’t interested in answering questions. Only asking them.

  “Ich kann ein bisschen Englisch sprechen,” she said. “Danny brachte es mir bei.” I know a little English. Danny taught me. “Dannys Vater war ein Professor. Er konnte viele Sprachen sprechen.” Danny’s father was a professor. He knows many languages.

  I nodded. “Ist Danny Dein Freund?” Is Danny your friend?

  “Ja. Sprechen Sie Englisch?” Yes. Do you speak English?

  “Ja, ich ganz es fliessend.” Yes, I’m fluent in English.

  For the first time, she looked at me with a tiny flicker of interest in her eyes. “Dann, werde ich nur noch Englisch sprechen.” Then I will only speak English. She narrowed her eyes. “Kein Deutsch mehr,” she ordered. No more German.

  “All right,” I said, wondering why she wanted to give up German. A little disappointed, too. I was looking forward to having conversations with her in my native language.

  Taking pains to enunciate clearly, she asked, “Vhere go ve?”

  “We’re going to Berlin, and tomorrow—”

  “Langsamer!” she interrupted crossly. Slower!

  “We’re going to Berlin. Tomorrow, we’re going to start on our journey to America,” I said slowly, enunciating carefully, just as I did with William. Karl must have told her some information because she didn’t seem surprised.