Good-bye Marianne

by Irene N. Watts

  “Papa bought me a secondhand bicycle so I can ride to school and save money by not taking the streetcar. The school I go to is on Jodenbreestraat, the Jewish quarter, near the Rembrandthuis. I have lots of homework to do because, of course, I’m behind, not knowing Dutch yet. The kids are really friendly and don’t laugh too much at my efforts to speak. I’m glad we took French and English at school, at least I can keep up in those classes.

  “Marianne, it’s so much better here. I feel free, almost like everyone else. The markets are wonderful. There must be at least a hundred different kinds of cheese. I’d love to send you some. Can’t you just imagine Mrs. Schwartz poking the parcel and telling the mailman, ‘There’s something very funny in here. Sniff, sniff.’?

  “I’m getting writer’s cramp. I want a letter from you very soon, with news about everything you’re doing. Love to Auntie Esther and Uncle David. Mutti is writing to them. A kiss for my little cousin.

  From Ruth”

  “What a lovely letter. I must answer right away,” said Marianne.

  “Yes, she does sound happy. But Marianne, please don’t leave the letter lying around. Put it out of sight. Ruth writes too freely. She’s forgotten so quickly how things are here.”

  “Mutti, no one but us is going to see it – no one ever comes here anymore.” Marianne looked up and saw her mother’s worried expression. She remembered the man in the market last week. “Of course I’ll put the letter away, as soon as I’ve answered it. Thank you for my delicious breakfast. Now, tell me about the meeting – I can’t wait one more minute.”

  Mrs. Kohn said, smiling, “Even ladies of leisure must get dressed. As soon as you’re ready, I’ll tell you. I’m just going to start clearing up the kitchen. Don’t forget it’s my day for volunteering at the orphanage.” She left the room.

  Marianne washed quickly, longing to hear her mother’s news. She put on her favorite red and white wool sweater over a gray pleated skirt.

  “I’m ready.”

  “How nice you look, darling.” Mrs. Kohn put down her coffee cup and said, “It was a long meeting. People are worried and upset. It was mostly mothers there. So many men are in hiding, or…”

  “Mutti, you can say it.”

  “Alright I will – or are in concentration camps. I’m sure they’ll be released soon; it’s just a question of time. Now, about school. The Jewish community is short of teachers, books, and space for all the children who can’t go to German schools anymore. Some of the mothers prefer their children to be taught at home. They feel that’s safer than allowing them to walk to the classes we’ll set up. The Rabbi says room will be found for the rest of you somehow. It will all be sorted out in a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, darling, you have your books here. You must try to carry on by yourself for awhile.

  “Now, I must hurry to the orphanage. Wonderful news. The orphans are to join a group of more than two hundred children who will be allowed to leave Germany. They are being sent to England. Good homes will be found for them there. They’re leaving in a few days, and each child must be packed and ready. Think of all those suitcases! It’s like a miracle that they’ll be sent to safety. The Rabbi hopes many more Jewish children will be taken in by countries wanting to rescue our children.”

  “But, Mutti, having to go so far away, how awful!” said Marianne.

  “I explained to you before, we don’t always know what will happen. The most important thing is for them to be safe.”

  Marianne flung her arms round her mother’s neck. “Thank goodness I’m not an orphan. I’d never leave you and Vati to go so far away. You wouldn’t send me away by myself, would you, Mutti? Promise me you’d never do that.”

  Mrs. Kohn kissed the top of Marianne’s head and said, “When you’ve finished your letter to Ruth, why don’t you come and pick me up at the orphanage, say about one o’clock? I like to walk home with you.”

  “I’d love to. You go now, Mutti, or you’ll be late. I’ll put the dishes away. And be careful.”

  “You’re beginning to sound just like me. Thanks, darling. I’ll see you later.” Mrs. Kohn patted her daughter’s cheek, put on her hat and coat, and closed the front door softly behind her.

  England! Marianne had begun English lessons two years ago. She liked learning languages. She tried to remember what to say when asked, “How do you do?” Was it “very well” or “werry vel”? She could never remember. She tried saying it both ways, speaking aloud to her reflection in the kitchen mirror, “Tank you werry much.”

  The sound of a horn blaring sent her rushing to the front door. “Ernest, are you crazy? We’re going to be in big trouble.”

  “I knocked on the door. Were you asleep?”

  One of the Schmidt sisters leaned over the banisters and called out, “What’s happening? Is something wrong?”

  Ernest stuffed his fist in his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Marianne called out politely, “Good morning, Miss Schmidt. It’s nothing. I’m sorry we disturbed you. Someone was showing me how his alarm system works.” Miss Schmidt clucked disapprovingly. A moment later her door shut.

  “Lucky Mum and Aunt Helga are out,” said Ernest.

  “Aunt Helga!” Marianne howled with laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Ernest.

  “I didn’t know Mrs. Schwartz’s name was Helga,” said Marianne, and went on laughing. “I never even thought of her having a first name!”

  “You’ve gone mad. Please excuse my friend, ladies and gentlemen.” Ernest spoke to an imaginary audience.

  “Do you want to come in for a moment?” asked Marianne.

  “Thanks.” Ernest followed Marianne into the kitchen. “I have to do this school project on the Brandenburg Gate. Like to go with me? Then, this afternoon, I’m meeting my mother. She says I need new winter shoes. She’s taking me out for ice cream and pastries afterward, as a reward for good behavior.”

  “I have to pick up my mother as well, but I’ve got a couple of hours. Just wait a minute – I’ll put on my coat. I’ll get your handkerchief too.”

  When Marianne came back into the kitchen, Ernest was holding Ruth’s envelope. “Here’s your handkerchief; it’s quite clean now,” said Marianne. For a moment she remembered her mother’s warning.

  “Thanks. Could I have this Dutch stamp? I’ve already got it, but I could use it for a swap.”

  “Of course. Have the whole envelope. I’ll just take out the letter.” Marianne put Ruth’s letter in a drawer.

  “Thanks a lot. Let’s go.”

  Walking along to the streetcar, Marianne felt completely happy. Ernest had said, “My friend is mad.” ‘My friend.’ Perhaps everything would turn out alright after all. Vati would come home; she’d start school again. Things would get better. Everyone kept saying that.

  “What are you smiling about?” asked Ernest.

  “I’m mad, remember? So of course I smile at nothing at all. I’m really smiling, though, because I get to watch someone else do a school project.”

  “You Berliners have got it good.”

  Ernest made a face at her and they ran for the streetcar.

  “Not in school?” the conductor commented cheerfully.

  “I’m doing a project on the Brandenburg Gate,” said Ernest.

  “Nice-looking helper.” The conductor winked at Ernest, and Marianne blushed. The conductor rang the bell and they got off just before the gate.

  Ernest stood absolutely still. People moved around him. He stared first at the wide sweep of Unter den Linden, the avenue of parades and victory marches, that stretched through the center of the city. Marianne knew he was imagining great armies coming through the Brandenburg Gate. She had never really looked before at the twelve huge stone pillars supporting the gate, or at the Goddess of Victory above, driving her chariot drawn by four stone horses. A sea of red flags hung from the surrounding buildings.

  “It’s sixty-five feet tall,” said Ernest.

  “You tourists know everything.”
All at once it was fun seeing Berlin through a visitor’s eyes.

  The sounds of drumming and marching feet drew near. Led by a drum corps of boys wearing khaki shirts and black shorts and the armbands of the Hitler Youth, a troop of young men in uniform stepped in perfect unison toward Pariser Square. Behind them marched the girls’ corps, in white blouses, blue pleated skirts and brown jackets. They stood at attention facing the small crowd.

  Ernest grabbed Marianne’s hand and pulled her right to the front of the crowd. His arm flew out in salute, and his voice rang out with those of the watching people and of the Hitler Youth, “Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil.” Ernest seemed to grow taller. He was a stranger. It was as if she had never seen him before.

  Marianne stooped to tie her shoelaces. She stayed down, hoping not to be noticed. She’d do anything to get out of hailing the Führer.

  “What’s the matter?” said Ernest. “You’ll miss everything.” Marianne stood up. The words of the “Horst Wessel” song echoed over the square:

  We raise our flag, our ranks in tight formation

  Our troopers march, with firm and even tread

  The spirit of our fallen comrades…

  Marianne did not hear another word because at that moment, she looked straight into the shining eyes of the girl she had met in the park. It was Inge. She wasn’t imagining it. She’d never forget Inge Bauer. Inge’s eyes glittered. She seemed under a spell.

  “I feel a bit dizzy,” Marianne whispered to Ernest. She excused herself politely till she got through the rows of people, and then walked back toward her tram stop.

  Ernest caught up with her. “What a shame to miss the concert. My mother doesn’t like crowds either. Shall we find a bench and sit down a minute?”

  “No, I’m fine, really. I have to meet my mother soon anyway. Please go back. You still have to do your project. There’s my streetcar now.”

  “Good-bye then. See you later.” Ernest raised his hand in a half wave and hurried back into the throng of Nazi worshippers.

  ’That was really nice of him, leaving the parade to make sure I’m alright.’

  On the way home, Marianne sat hunched and small in her seat, trying not to be noticed, thinking about the way her life had changed so abruptly.

  Every single day since she’d been forbidden to attend school, Marianne had forced herself to go for a brisk walk round the neighborhood. She was afraid that if she missed even once, she’d never leave the safety of her apartment again. She walked with her head up, but avoided the eyes of anyone in uniform. It wasn’t easy because there were so many soldiers and police everywhere – marching, saluting, often dragging passersby into trucks and cars.

  One afternoon, she joined a small group of people who were good-naturedly watching two boys fighting. Their local policeman, whom everyone knew, separated them. He was in a good mood, smiling and greeting some of the women by name.

  The younger boy said to the policeman, “Please, sir, I left my bicycle leaning against this lamppost, and I was gone only for a minute to post a letter for my mother. Then when I came back, he’d taken my bicycle and he won’t give it back.”

  The other boy, who was bigger, said, mimicking the younger one’s voice, “Please, sir, this boy is a Jew. That’s not stealing, is it?”

  The policeman’s mood changed abruptly. He cuffed the Jewish boy so hard, he hit his head against the lamppost. “You’re getting off lightly,” he said. “Next time you make a complaint against a citizen of the Reich, I’ll take you into custody.” The boy ran off, holding the side of his head.

  As Marianne turned to go home, she heard the policeman chuckle and say, “You’ve got yourself a fine bicycle there. You tell your mother I gave it to you – confiscated goods from Jewish vermin.”

  The red and white flags with their ominous black swastikas, which hung from every building, waved in the wind with more menace than usual that day. They signalled a very clear message to Marianne – YOU AND YOUR KIND ARE THE ENEMY IN THIS LAND.

  One dreadful morning a few days later, a woman whom Marianne knew slightly because she worked part-time in Otto’s Cigar Store, saw her in the street and said, “Turn around and go the other way; go by the back lane. There’s been a bad accident. A woman got killed when the Gestapo came and took her son away. Her body is still on the street.” She’d taken Marianne gently by the shoulders and pushed her in the opposite direction because Marianne had been too shocked to move. That day, Marianne ran all the way home. She had quite forgotten she was not supposed to draw attention to herself.

  How could the grown-ups say, “Things will get better”?

  Late one morning, Marianne came back to the apartment. As usual, Mrs. Schwartz was on her knees polishing the entrance hall. It seemed to be her favorite place to keep an eye on the house’s inhabitants. Marianne was sure she reported everything to her husband, who had recently been made block warden.

  “Excuse me, please,” said Marianne politely.

  “Up and down, back and forth – you should be in school. How am I supposed to get my work finished? Don’t put your fingers on the banisters; I’ve just waxed them.” Mrs. Schwartz reluctantly made room for Marianne to get by.

  Marianne managed to get inside her door with just a few dramatic sighs from Mrs. Schwartz. The telephone rang. Marianne hung up her coat. The telephone went on ringing.

  “Yes?”

  “Marianne, I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Is something wrong?”

  “Sorry, I went out for my morning exercise. Sound like a dog, don’t I?”

  Her mother seemed in a hurry, and did not give Marianne her usual warning about not going too far away from home. “It’s better if you don’t meet me at the orphanage today. We’re all behind. I may be later than usual. Would you start getting supper, darling? Thank you. See you as soon as I can get away.”

  Marianne replaced the receiver. It was a relief not to have to go out again. Facing hostile streets more than once a day was becoming very hard, even though she loved meeting her mother who was now working almost daily at the orphanage.

  Marianne made herself a cheese sandwich, and that reminded her that she hadn’t replied to Ruth’s letter. She got paper and an envelope from her father’s rosewood desk, and settled down in the armchair to write to Ruth. There was lots to tell her…

  “Apartment 2,

  Richard Wagnerstrasse 3

  Berlin, Charlottenburg

  November 28th, 1938

  “Dear Ruth,

  “It was lovely to get your letter. Thank you. Sorry I haven’t answered before this.

  “Your new home sounds so quaint, (I’ve been dying to use that word). I expect you’ll all be skating along the canals. Wish I could join you. Did you get new skates?

  “I’m happy you’ve got your bicycle at last. I’ve decided not to save up for one just now.

  “I have to change schools too. But I don’t know where I’m going yet. I expect you heard what happened. Meanwhile, I’m not bored at all. There’s lots to do.

  “I met a very nice boy from Freibourg. Unfortunately, he’s only here for a couple of weeks, but we’re becoming good friends. His name is Ernest and he’s thirteen. He and his mother are staying downstairs with Mrs. Schwartz (that’s how we met). I found out old Schwartz’s name is Helga.”

  Marianne smiled. The doorbell rang. She put down her pen and went to answer it.

  “Who is it?”

  “Me, Ernest.”

  Marianne opened the door. “Come i…” She did not finish the sentence. She felt sick and cold at the sight of Ernest in the full uniform of the Jung Volk – the boys’ branch of the Hitler Youth – shirt with epaulets, black tie, brown leather belt and shining brass buckle embossed with victory wands. He wore the Nazi party armband.

  “This is from Aunt Helga,” said Ernest, handing Marianne an envelope addressed to Apartment 2. Marianne took it without saying anything.

  “What’s the matter? Are you in a trance or so
mething? It’s me, Ernest Bock, your friendly house detective.”

  “I didn’t expect to see anyone in uniform,” said Marianne in a voice not even she recognized.

  “My mother’s taking me out to tea. I told you before, remember? She likes me to look smart when we go out. I brought my uniform to Berlin especially. Next year I’ll be promoted from the young people’s group to the proper Hitler Youth. I can hardly wait.”

  Marianne spoke slowly and clearly so there could be no mistake. She did not lower her voice at all. “I’m Jewish,” she said. She drew out her gold Star of David which she generally wore hidden under her sweater. The Star, on its delicate chain, shimmered as brightly under the hall light as did Ernest’s belt buckle.

  “I’m tired of hiding this.”

  Ernest said, “I’ve never met a Jew before. I mean, I never spoke to one before. I didn’t know. Wait till I tell my brother…maybe I’d better not…he’d have to tell his group leader. Martin’s sixteen; he’s in the Hitler Youth.”

  “So!”

  “Martin went to a rally in Munich last September. He shook hands with the Führer. Can you imagine? Shaking hands with the country’s leader?”

  “I suppose he’s never going to wash that hand again,” said Marianne bitterly.

  “What’s the matter with you? Of course Martin’s proud of that. It was a great honor. Why are you so mad?”

  Marianne said, “Why am I so mad? What’s the matter with me? You come in here, dressed in uniform, showing off about your precious brother and your precious Führer. Don’t you know what Hitler’s done? He’s stopped me going to school.”

  Ernest said, “Lucky you, that’s nothing to complain about!”

  Marianne said, “You don’t understand. You don’t understand anything. This isn’t just missing a few days – it’s never, ever going back. I’m eleven years old. I haven’t finished learning everything. I’ll be a person who left school after five years. When people ask me, ‘And what are you going to be when you leave school?’, what’ll I say? That I’ve left already?”