Hiding Places

by Shannon Heuston

  I stared at him in disbelief as the full implication of his words hit me. The government didn’t care what I did to the participants of this program. They could either put up with it or leave.

  Dr. Heinrich had briefed me on the type of people I could expect to participate in the program. Desperate people, war criminals facing certain death in their home countries. Parents being ripped away from their children, who were citizens, and would do anything to stay with them.

  I could kill them, and the government wouldn’t object.

  They were completely in my power.

  Of course, I would never abuse them. I was not one of the monsters who continued to torture Papa in his nightmares. I could never physically harm anyone.

  But there were so many things I could do, order my staff of enlightened, bright-eyed red-blooded American college students to do, that straddled the line between negative reinforcement and abuse. The participants of this questionable program couldn’t complain. They were voiceless.

  “I don’t understand,” Maggie said again.

  We were in the kitchen. Maggie was cooking. I was starting to put on weight from the girl’s elaborate meals. Even Papa was looking a bit more rotund these days.

  Tonight, she’d made lasagna, supplemented by a side salad and fresh garlic bread dripping with butter. Tomorrow Maggie would hand me an insulated lunch bag containing a neat square of lasagna, a portion of salad, and a piece of bread. I was being spoiled. Gone were the days when the only thing that passed my lips all day was black coffee.

  I took a deep breath and launched into my explanation again. “I need trustworthy students to assist me with a program this summer,” I said. “It’s sort of a re-education program.”

  Maggie frowned. “Isn’t that something they do in Communist countries?” she asked. “Like the former Soviet Union? I saw something like that in the movie Red Dawn.”

  “Well, I’ll be the director, so it won’t be anything like that,” I assured her. “We’ll be assigned a group of illegal immigrants facing deportation, and our task is to Americanize them, so they’ll fit into our society.”

  “You expect to accomplish that in six weeks?” Maggie asked. “What happens if it doesn’t work?”

  “They get deported.”

  Maggie shook her head. “I don’t want to be a part of something like that. Why do you want me to be involved? I already have a job. How am I going to take care of your father if I’m working on campus?”

  I was prepared for this argument. “I’ll have plenty of help, so I won’t need to be away from home as much,” I explained. “And it’s a lot of money. More than I’m paying you, or you’d make being an ordinary camp counselor. And it’ll look great on your resume.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes at that. “Are you trying to break up with me?” she asked, hands on her hips. She seemed angry.

  “No! Not at all,” I assured her. “And if I was, do you think I’d still want you working for me?”

  Somewhat mollified, Maggie said, “I thought I would live here for the summer.”

  Had I not been named director of that blasted program, I would have had no objection to that idea. I was used to sleeping with her nestled in my arms. Maggie had been right, I was just paranoid about people finding out. It was unbelievable that an austere, sexless woman like myself would be involved in a torrid love affair with a lovely young coed. No one had ever guessed.

  If anything, people thought we had a mother-daughter relationship.

  “You can sleep here on your nights off,” I said. “And the camp is only for six weeks. Summer break is three months. Think of all the money you could make in such a short period of time.”

  Maggie was weakening. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea, after all,” she said.

  I pounced on the chink in her resistance. “You’re the only person in Baylor I trust,” I entreated. “This program is a delicate operation, in the experimental phase, and I need to assemble a dream team. I can’t imagine it without you.”

  Maggie brightened at my words. I breathed an inner sigh of relief. I’d convinced her. I knew it would be a hard sell. The girl enjoyed our peaceful life together. She had everything she wanted. Even the high pay wasn’t tempting.

  Maggie dried her hands on a towel and went into the sitting room to call Papa to dinner. My shoulders sagged. Why was I doing this?

  I knew why. I had just lied to the girl. I didn’t trust her at all. If I did, I wouldn’t be testing her.

  What was that Nietsche had said about not looking too long into the abyss?

  Perhaps I’d been looking into it too long, endlessly turning over the horrors of the Holocaust in my mind, seeing cruelty even in the eyes of the pure and innocent.

  The truth was, I believed in evil. I didn’t believe in good.

  Maggie was snoring softly when I crept out of bed, pulling on my robe and slippers and tiptoeing through the halls of my own house like a wraith. I was always restless at night. Maybe it was a side effect of menopause.

  My office looked harsh and clinical in the glare of the overheard lights. In the middle of the night, with the icy wind howling outside, the house seemed a living, breathing organism. I half expected to turn my head and see the tail end of a skirt, or a ragged trouser hem, as runaway slaves scrambled to hide.

  I shivered. Other than the fact that the house was once a way station, I didn’t know anything more about its history. Were the hidden slaves betrayed by the accusing finger of a neighbor? Was blood soaked into the floorboards?

  Sometimes the silence seemed to ring with the sounds of choked off screams.

  This was nothing new. I felt that way in the city too.

  Papa didn’t hide much anymore. He was closer to the man I remembered growing up, not quite all there, but present enough to be a father.

  I flipped my laptop open, planning to watch the grainy footage of the Milgraum experiment yet again. The details of my own experiment were starting to flower in my mind. A more complete experiment, one that used flesh and blood people. Innocent people, not paid actors.

  I planned to mount cameras in the hallways of the residential hall where they were going to live, the Student Union, the dining hall, every place the aliens might congregate. I wanted to watch the “counselors” interact with the participants when they thought they were unobserved. Unlike Milgraum, I was going to be watching the teachers without their knowledge.

  Dr. Heinrich completely approved, of course. He was practically salivating.

  Instead of plotting, I found myself typing “Helmut Reiter,” into a search engine.

  There were a few hits, mainly public records referencing me as his next-of-kin. They still listed him as a New York City resident. I tapped my fingernails on my teeth, a nervous tic that drove Maggie nuts.

  I turned over Papa’s words in my mind, recited to me so often I knew them by heart. “They drilled my name into me,” he said, “so that I would be able to identify myself and find my family after the war. But no one ever came for me.”

  Over the years, I occasionally dropped in on Holocaust bulletin boards, reading the messages that attempted to bridge the gap of passing years, calling out for long-dead relatives.

  His family had to be dead. They never searched for him.

  Although I couldn’t help wondering, what if Reiter wasn’t Papa’s surname? What if his name wasn’t Helmut Reiter? What if Reiter had been the name of the family who’d hidden him? Wouldn’t they attempt to claim he belonged to them if the Gestapo stormed their house?

  There was no way to know, not now.

  I was tired. I should probably try to sleep. There was nothing to be gained by revisiting the ghosts of my father’s past. There was nothing new there. I had already researched every angle.

  Nothing would bring the lost pieces of my father back or restore his sense of safety in the world. Mine, though, was another matter. That’s what this experiment was all about, and that’s why Maggie had to participate. I needed to be convin
ced that good existed.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maggie

  A wave of misery washed over me as I hesitated in the doorway. This was what I hated most in the world. Walking into a room filled with strangers who all seemed to know each other.

  Damn Ursula, forcing me to be a “counselor” for this blasted re-education program.

  The spring semester ended a week ago. I commandeered one of the grey plastic bins used by the janitorial staff to haul my possessions across campus to Clayton Hall, the only residence hall open during the summer. During the year it was closed for a renovation for which Baylor had never received funding, so it was the perfect building to use in between semesters, as there was no hurry to clean it before the students returned in the fall.

  I lived there last summer and hated it. Although the cleaning staff kept it spic and span, it was hopelessly infested with spiders. Sitting empty most of the year made it a haven for a variety of creepy crawlies, and no amount of sweeping or vacuuming solved the problem.

  Packing my belongings into a bin normally used to haul garbage, and dragging them to my summer quarters was all the more irritating because I didn’t think I’d be doing it this year. I had planned on spending my summer in the lofty Reiter mansion. Best laid plans and all that.

  It took me most of the day to move everything I owned. I was too proud to beg for help, although the move could have been accomplished in an hour using Ursula’s SUV.

  The sun was already setting when I finished. I sat on the sagging bed contemplating the room, cluttered with boxes and junk, nothing unpacked yet. I was exhausted. I just wanted to lie down and close my eyes. But the striped ticking of the mattress had a suspicious yellow stain in the center. Gross.

  Most of the mattresses in the dorms were piss stained, the logical result of too much alcohol and a bathroom down the hall.

  I had planned to walk over to Ursula’s house and spend the night, but my feet hurt. The thought of walking another mile made me weary. The brutal hunger pains I was experiencing wasn’t even enough to rouse me. I ate watery ramen noodles nuked in the dusty microwave squatting in the corner of the spider infested lounge.

  Thirty minutes later, I flipped over the disgusting mattress and curled up with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. The heat wasn’t on and although it was the end of May, it was still quite chilly. Soon summer would descend upon the North Country with a vengeance, turning these rooms into ovens. I wasn’t looking forward to the prospect.

  I wondered what our “campers” would think of the accommodations.

  As I drifted into sleep, I confessed the truth to myself. I was punishing Ursula for convincing me to do this lame job, for not offering to help me move and not texting me even once the whole goddamn day. Not once!

  She could have at least offered to pick me up, so I wouldn’t have to walk all the way over there, I thought resentfully. In the next thought, I dismissed my own resentment. I knew Ursula was a captain trying to navigate a ship without a compass. If I wanted help moving, I should have asked. If I wanted her to drive over and pick me up, I should have told her so. She was virtually unable to anticipate my needs. Other than her father, she’d never had to do that for anyone in her entire life.

  Thinking those thoughts, I drifted off to sleep. The sun had barely dipped below the horizon.

  Now here it was, the first day of counselor orientation. Ha, counselors. That was the name they’d chosen to call us. I guess jailer gave the wrong impression.

  I had been dreading this all month. The thought of being in a room filled with strangers and having to pretend not to know Ursula was crushing. And she’d see how I was with the other counselors and realize I was a total social dud. Of course, I’d told her that a million times, but seeing and hearing were two different things. I never stopped wanting her to see me in the best possible light.

  The training session was being held in the Fireside Lounge on the second floor of the Union, so named because it contained a fireplace that was never lit. It was a cozy room with couches and armchairs facing the front of the room, where Ursula was sitting on a desk.

  I was on time, but everyone else was already there, chatting like they’d known each other forever. This is how I always felt, no matter where I went. I didn’t know how to walk up to strangers and exchange pleasantries. All my attempts to socialize were awkward and forced.

  A woman around my age with bleached blonde hair and dark roots threw back her head and laughed at something the man sitting beside her said. He was handsome, with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes radiating confidence.

  I was shrinking into myself.

  I glanced up. Ursula was watching me squirm. I pressed my lips together and sat down in an ugly yellow armchair. This was going to be torture. The next month and a half stretched ahead of me like a prison sentence. I wished it was over.

  “Welcome to training!” Ursula cried, unfolding her gaunt form from the table. She picked up a stack of papers. “I will be handing out employee handbooks. Please read at your leisure. I expect you to know the contents.”

  The man I noticed earlier whispered something to the blonde. She tittered shrilly in response. I had a feeling it was some insulting observation about Ursula. The way they were snickering together reminded me of middle school students seated in the back of a classroom.

  “Given our purpose this summer, it’s only appropriate that we open with the Pledge of Allegiance,” Ursula instructed.

  Who was this person? She seemed nothing like the reticent woman I knew.

  Everyone stood, placed their hands over their hearts and recited the words in unison. Except me. I clenched my hands into fists at my side. I didn’t know why I was being defiant. I loved the United States. It was the circumstances that were bugging me.

  After we sat down, I did a quick head count. There were five counselors including myself.

  Ursula said, “We all need to reflect on the words of the pledge and consider their meaning. What does allegiance mean to you? It’s important that you figure this out, because your mission is to infect your wards with the same fervor. Your job is to teach them to be loyal to the United States.”

  There was a long silence. Everyone just stared at her. I felt a wave of sympathy. I was so concerned with myself, so certain that Ursula was judging me, that I never considered that she was probably uncomfortable too. Having to interact with people, train them, talk to them, had to be torturous for her. She was used to instructing from behind a lectern.

  Ursula cleared her throat. “So, ugh, what does being loyal to this great nation of ours mean to you?”

  “Being loyal to the president!” the handsome man called.

  “Standing for the national anthem,” the bleached blonde added, flashing him a smile.

  Ursula nodded, smiling sickly. “How about you?” she asked, pointing to a man in the front.

  “Trusting in God,” he declared.

  I shivered. The air conditioner worked a little too well up here, where the doors leading outside were not constantly opening and shutting, like on the lower level.

  “What about you?” Ursula asked me, averting her eyes.

  I licked my lips. “Appreciating our differences, because that’s what true freedom is all about, being free to be yourself.”

  The handsome man twisted his head around to stare at me. “Isn’t that the exact opposite of what we’re trying to do here? We’re not appreciating differences. We’re trying to help these people become more American.”

  “We’re trying to help them adjust,” I insisted. “Not mold them into a stereotypical American.”

  He turned to Ursula for appeal. “Dr. Reiter, aren’t we supposed to be re-educating illegal aliens into following our ways?” he whined, like a little kid complaining to a teacher. “We want them to be Americans, not different.”

  “Yes, that is correct,” she said.

  I felt a surge of humiliation, like she just slapped m
e. I lowered my head, staring at my hands, to avoid making eye contact with anyone in the room. My fingernails were ragged and chewed.

  I should have kept my mouth shut. Damn Ursula for calling on me. I survived by flying under the radar. This is the wrong job for me. All I wanted to do was keep Helmut company and make Ursula dinner. How did I end up here?

  The rest of the morning passed quickly. We went around the room to introduce ourselves in turn. The handsome man’s name was William, but he preferred to be called Will. He was a graduate student enrolled in the masters-of-teaching program.

  “I’m excited for the opportunity to give back to America,” he stated.

  Ariana was the bleached blonde woman who kept snickering with him.

  “Yeah, so, like, I’m an Elementary Ed major?” she said, giggling. “I’m up here for the summer because I just became president of my sorority and I need to get the house ready for the fall?”

  Ursula’s lips tightened imperceptibly. I felt a rush of pleasure. We were still in sync, despite the differences in our station.

  I waited for my turn in agony. I hated public speaking. I went last. “I’m Maggie,” I said. “I’m an RA during the year,” I announced. “Since I stay up here during the summers, I needed a job.” Ugh.

  Ariana nudged Will and the two of them snickered. I flushed. What was so funny? I said the same thing as everyone else. I hadn’t realized I was staring at them until Ariana’s eyes met mine. They reflected pure malice. I resisted the urge to ask her what her fucking problem was. I had dealt with bitches like her all my life, and I was sick of them.

  Damn Ursula to hell.

  After introductions, the good doctor checked her watch and announced, “Break time. Let’s meet back here in fifteen minutes.”

  I lagged behind a bit, hoping to have a word with her, but she walked briskly out of the room without looking at me. The other counselors were standing outside in a group. I started to walk up to them, but I didn’t know what to say. I decided to get a soda from the market downstairs instead.