by Robert Elmer
Henrik didn’t say anything but looked out himself. Finally, he let Peter gently pull him back from the doorway. Then he turned around, groaned, and sank to his knees. “How could they have left without me? How? I promised my dad I would leave on time with the third car, and they just drove off without me!” His shoulders shook, and Elise and Peter held on to him once more. They let him cry.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” said Peter, explaining how the last passenger had shown up unexpectedly at the door. “I guess Mr. Lumby must have told him he could come along. I thought for sure they saw you come back into the house, but they must not have, so he probably thought you were still...”
“Still in the trunk of the car.” Henrik finished the sentence. He was sniffling now as they walked back up the stairs. “I closed it after me real quietly so no one would see a car sitting out there in the alley with its trunk open. And the people waiting in the car were all hunched down, so no one would see them either.”
The three of them just looked at one another. No one had a clue what to do next.
“It’s my fault,” said Peter. “I should have told Lumby right away.”
“No, it’s not your fault,” said Henrik, holding on to Peter’s shoulder. “It was my fault for coming back in. It all happened so fast, and Lumby didn’t even say goodbye or anything.”
“Well, while you boys are trying to figure out who to blame, let’s go up to the window to see if we can still see them,” Elise finally suggested. “Maybe someone will notice you’re gone, and they’ll come back for you.”
Henrik frowned. “I’d rather run after them.”
“We’ll figure something out,” said Elise.
Peter didn’t say anything else. But he kept expecting a soldier to come busting through the door any minute after the scene they had made, and after all the noise and yelling. We could have given away a whole carload of people if we had started running down the street after them.
But nothing happened, so they went back to Peter’s bedroom window. From there, they could see down the street, almost five blocks to Star Street. Two blocks down was the large old Mercedes Benz, the one with the trunk Henrik was supposed to be in, but it wasn’t moving. They all strained their eyes in the half light to see three German soldiers, with rifles drawn, surrounding the car. As the three friends stared, horrified, two of the soldiers grabbed a door and yanked it open. In a moment, people were spilling out into the street: two from the front, four more who had been hiding in the back. No one, of course, came out of the trunk, which didn’t surprise anyone looking from Peter’s room, but Mr. Lumby was probably mystified. Before long, everyone had been hauled up and lined against the car by the gun pointing soldiers, even the Lumbys’ young niece.
Elise turned away from the window. “Even the little girl,” she whispered in shock.
All Peter heard for the longest time was the ticking of the wall clock out in the living room. None of them could cry.
Finally, Elise looked at Henrik. “Listen, Henrik, I know what you’re thinking, and it wasn’t your fault.”
“How do you know? Didn’t the soldiers just come out of the shadows and stop the car? Maybe they heard us.”
“That’s silly,” said Peter. “If anybody had heard us, we wouldn’t still be here.” He wasn’t so sure, but that sounded right to him. Peter was afraid to look out the window anymore, afraid to see something else horrible happen. But in a few more minutes he did, and the car was still there, pulled to the curb. No one else was in sight, though—no Danes, no Jews, no German soldiers. Peter’s stomach felt tight and his hands sweaty. Maybe the soldiers are waiting for more people to drive down the street, and they’ll just step out of the shadows...
“This isn’t turning out to be much of a rescue for you,” Peter finally said to Henrik, who by now was just sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.
Elise didn’t say a word but sat on the bed, staring vacantly across the room. Suddenly her eyes lit up. “Hey, wait a minute,” she said. “Maybe there’s a chance Uncle Morten hasn’t left the harbor yet. It’s just about dark now, and if we keep to the alleys, and stay behind things and look out for anybody coming, we can probably make it down to the harbor without the Germans bothering us.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Henrik.
“Come on,” she said, bravely now. “We’re just three kids, remember? One with a broken arm even. What would they care? You have any better ideas?”
Peter wasn’t so sure either, but if there was a chance that his uncle was still around...
Henrik looked like he was thinking it over. Then he stood up.
“Okay,” he said, sounding more sure of himself. “But only if you stay here, Elise. I don’t want you getting into more trouble for me. It would only be—"
“Absolutely not!” said Elise, the color rising in her face. She sounded the same way she did when she was in the school auditorium that day, scolding the local bullies. “First of all, it was my idea. And second of all, I’m not staying here alone!”
“But your mom told you two to stay here, didn’t she?” Henrik was giving it one last try, but he was going to lose this argument.
“Just like your dad told you to get in the last car, right?” Peter said. “We’re going with you, and that’s that. Besides, we’ll be back way before anyone else.”
Just in case their mom or dad got home before they did, though, Peter scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen table: “Mom/Dad: Elise and I had to go with Henrik down to the boat to catch Uncle Morten. Henrik missed the car. Back soon. Sorry, emergency! P & E.”
Peter knew they would have a lot of explaining to do when they got home, especially if his parents got home before they did. But yes, this was a life or death emergency if he ever saw one. What choice do we have? We have to get Henrik down to the boat. Still, he was afraid his loudly beating heart would give them away as they crouched in the alley.
Peter put his head down to the street before looking out around the corner of the building. It was a trick he’d read about in his Boy Scout handbook on tracking animals. “If you put your head way down to the forest floor before looking out behind a tree,” he whispered, “the animal will be less likely to notice you.”
“What animal are you talking about?” Elise whispered back. He just shook his head.
They decided that if anyone chased them, they would lead the chaser on for a minute, then split directions, and then meet at the boathouse. All Peter could think of as they tiptoed out across the street was the picture of that carload of Jews, stopped and dragged out like animals. Henrik looked down the street in the direction of where it happened.
“I’m glad you weren’t in the trunk,” Peter whispered at Henrik.
“Shh...”
They paused at the next corner, avoiding the busier streets, even though there was hardly anyone out at this time. When it got close to being dark, people in Helsingor pretty much stayed inside, especially lately. Peter looked up at the second floor windows, all of them dark with blackout blinds. Everyone else was probably sitting in their living rooms, reading a book or something. So what are we doing out here?
Down Stone Street, Peter could see a few dim lights coming out of a pub. Local people mostly stayed away from it because it had become a hangout for German soldiers. If they didn’t go past it, though, they would lose precious time going all the way around the block.
“Come on!” Henrik surprised Peter and Elise by ungluing his feet first. They all knew the way. As they shuffled closer, Peter tried to melt into the sides of the buildings and shops. Olsen’s Bakery. He and Elise took turns fetching their fresh morning bread there, even though their dad grumbled that there weren’t any pastries anymore, not since the war had started. Kastrup’s Women’s Clothing. Mrs. Andersen was getting to be an expert at mending things lately, and nowadays she only stopped at the window for a quick look. Stone Street Apotek—the pharmacy. Mr. Andersen was good friends with Mr. Parsl
ov, the pharmacist. Elise and Peter had to run down there to pick up medicine for their mom every once in a while. Now the German pub was only two doors away, and Peter could almost feel the eyes, looking out the door, looking for Henrik.
Even though it was on the opposite side of the street, they could hear the Germans laughing and chattering as if they were in the same room with them. Peter couldn’t understand much—just a word here and there—which was probably a good thing.
Just then the pub door banged open hard, and a young soldier marched out into the middle of the deserted street. Peter looked over. Not again! Like a flock of birds changing direction all at once, the three of them ducked into a door well, a little covered doorway spot in front of the pharmacy, and hugged the shadows tightly.
It was dark in the entry, but there were a few small night lights on inside the store. Their light just made it out to the street. Right about then, Peter was wishing he could trade spots with his pigeon. Any pigeon. I’d settle for being that size right now.
For what seemed like forever, they froze like mannequins in the dark doorway. During that same forever the soldier crossed the street, paused and sniffed, looked both directions, then bent over and held his knees. The soldier was only a few feet away now. He looked through his pockets for something, then he teetered a little as he brought out a cigarette and tried to light it. It took him three matches to find his mouth, and Peter was surprised he didn’t burn his nose.
Peter could feel Henrik’s ankle twitching like crazy, and he knew his friend had stopped breathing a long time ago. Elise was behind them, silent. Peter didn’t dare look. Leave, leave, leave—Go away! Finally the soldier got his cigarette lighted, then followed the orange glow uncertainly out into the middle of the street. If he turned just a little to the right, he would be staring straight at the three mannequins in the doorway. He took another step closer.
“Run!” Henrik grabbed Peter’s shoulder, trying to drag him out of the doorway, and started sprinting down the street. Peter grabbed Elise’s hand. Then he took one look at the surprised, drunk soldier and forced his feet to move.
“Can’t chat, sorry,” Henrik called back as they ran down the street past the startled soldier. “Past my bedtime.”
If the man was going to shoot, thought Peter, he wouldn’t be able to hit the side of City Hall, even if he were standing next to it. Crazy Henrik.
Peter forced his legs to move faster and faster, and Elise seemed to match him footstep for footstep. All they heard was the pounding of their feet and the soggy soldier cursing in the darkness behind them. They were too scared to split up as they had planned. Two blocks later, Henrik slowed to a trot and looked over his shoulder. Elise and Peter puffed up behind him.
“One down, how many to go?” he asked as they stopped in another dark entryway.
“No joke, Henrik,” puffed Peter. “That was pretty close.” In the back of his mind, it seemed to Peter that they had once had the same conversation. They kept walking, even more carefully now, and he remembered the close call with the lost German soldier at the hotel. But there was no more time to think back. Two more blocks of shadow to shadow walking, and they made it to the harbor.
“I hope he’s still here,” Elise said quietly.
The first thing they saw was the boathouse, and of course there was no light on inside. Below the shack the walkway sloped down to a floating dock, which by now—at low tide—was way down. This was the same spot where Henrik had broken his arm just a few days ago. Would the boat still be there? Elise was the first one there, but she just stopped at the top of the ramp, saying nothing.
“Well,” Henrik said finally, looking out at the empty dock where the boat should have been. “I guess we ran all the way over here for nothing.”
“Did you have any better ideas?” Peter thought he had asked that question already. But now they were really out of ideas. They stood there, and Peter wished there could have been some kind of mistake, and the boat would suddenly reappear.
It was Elise who finally broke the silence. “Let’s not stand out here,” she whispered. “Someone is going to come along.”
“Right,” Peter agreed. “Let’s go in the shed to think for a minute.”
Henrik startled the pigeons a little when he walked in; they had already roosted for the night. The faded light from the moon, a tiny little moon, slipped in behind Peter as he and Elise tripped in through the door. For a second, Peter saw Number One. The bird moved his head and stared at them, as if he was upset at the intrusion. But that was it. Once pigeons decide to go to bed, nothing gets them very excited.
Peter and Elise sat down on two dusty stools next to the coop, not daring to turn on the light. The pigeons didn’t move a feather. Henrik kicked something in the dark and grunted. Gradually, their eyes got used to the shadows inside. A little bit of light got in through the cracks in the siding, even through the single, dirty little window. On the other side of the small shed, several projects were piled high around the workbench. There were a couple of oars, half varnished, rolls of net and twine, stacks of boards, buckets of paint.
Peter couldn’t quite see it, but he knew that on the wooden floor there was still a big paint splotch, a reminder of the time Henrik had dumped paint on his head while they were painting the little—rowboat. What an idea!
He tiptoed over to the pile of nets his uncle had thrown over the little yellow boat, and felt his way through the tangle.
Elise followed, pulling off nets from the other side of the pile. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.
Peter couldn’t tell her expression in the mostly dark shed, but he suspected she was frowning. “I think so,” said her brother.
They were two very different people, but there were those rare times when their minds seemed to work in exactly the same way. This was one of those times.
“Assuming we could get this thing out of here without being seen...”
“Which is highly unlikely,” she put in.
“And assuming then that we could just row right out of the harbor, right under the noses of the German guards,” he said.
“Which also is unlikely.”
“Then we’d have to row straight across the Sound,” continued Peter.
“Which is pretty far,” said his sister.
“Then keep heading for the lights...”
“Two miles away.”
“And keep this thing floating all the way over,” finished Peter.
Henrik had been listening, but now he spoke up. “It was leaking pretty bad the last time we had it out in the harbor,” he said, sounding very worried about the idea.
“But we might just make it,” said Peter. “Does anybody have any better ideas?”
“Well, yeah, wait a minute,” said Elise. “Remember the note we left for Mom and Dad only said we were going down to catch Uncle Morten. They’re going to flip when they read the note as it is.”
Peter knew. And his parents would know at the beach—right about then—that something had gone wrong.
“Well, what if we just try to get back to the apartment?” asked Henrik. “We could get caught, right?”
That was bad enough trouble for Peter and Elise, but unthinkable for Henrik. Now all three had seen Jews being caught and rounded up. It was getting more and more impossible to just walk around, especially at night.
“This is crazy,” Peter said for all of them. They stood still for a moment to think some more. Peter thought of the little boat he and Henrik had worked on and the “Dead Lily” paint. It just might work.
“But I think we have a chance at making it over,” Peter said again after a minute.
“Yeah, if it were a calm, sunny day, and there were no German patrol boats out there ready to grab us,” grumbled Henrik, who had not warmed up to this idea yet.
Peter thought of his parents again. Then he saw the picture in his mind once more, replaying the terrible scene of the Jews in the car, being stopped, pulled out, li
ned up.
“But hey,” he added, “what else can we do?” Now that he had thought it through a little, he tried to sound like it was going to be no big deal.
“I don’t know, Peter,” Henrik said, his voice quivering. “My parents will think I was captured for sure in that car. Do you think they would have come back for me?”
“And just who do you think they would have explained it to, huh?” asked Peter. “They’re Jewish, remember?”
As soon as he said that, Peter bit his tongue. “I’m sorry, Henrik,” said Peter, feeling awful. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I just meant that—"
“That’s okay,” said Henrik, sounding like he was trying hard not to cry. “It’s true.”
“Look,” said Elise. “Maybe they figured that the only thing they could do would be to escape the way they planned and hope that my dad or someone could do something to get you back. The only thing I know is that we can’t go back to the apartment now. We just need to get you out of here somehow.”
Peter thought hard. Maybe she’s wrong for once. But then he sighed. Not likely. Not Elise. “Or how about this?” he suggested. “If we hide here, my uncle could come back and take Henrik over with the next bunch of Jews.”
“Maybe,” said Henrik. “But I think the only thing for me to do now is row over alone. You guys shouldn’t get in trouble, too.”
They were quiet for a minute while Elise kept watch out the window.
“Henrik,” said Elise, glancing over in the darkness, “think about what you just said.”
“Huh? What do you mean?” he asked.
Peter reached over and knocked on his cast.
“Oh, yeah,” said Henrik.
Just then Elise tugged at her brother’s shoulder. Peter was about to protest, but Elise cut him short.
