Levi's War

by Julie Thomas

  DEDICATION

  To my beautiful Georgios and Victoria — you

  brought such joyful noise and wonderful imagery

  into our lives and you died the way you lived,

  gently, with grace and dignity. And I hope that

  you both know how deeply you are mourned.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  List of Characters

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  A Grain of Truth

  Book Club Questions

  About the Author

  Praise

  Also by Julie Thomas

  Copyright

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are fictitious. Other names, characters, places and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  I come from a people who gave the Ten Commandments to the world. Time has come to strengthen them by three additional ones, which we ought to adopt and commit ourselves to: thou shall not be a perpetrator; thou shall not be a victim; and thou shall never, but never, be a bystander.

  Yehuda Bauer, Professor of Holocaust Studies at the Avraham Harman Institute of Contemporary Jewry at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, in a speech to the German Bundestag, 27 January 1998

  LIST OF CHARACTERS

  The Horowitzs

  Levi HorowitzThe eldest Horowitz

  Simon HorowitzLevi’s younger brother

  David HorowitzSimon’s son

  Cindy HorowitzDavid’s wife

  Daniel HorowitzDavid and Cindy’s son, Simon’s grandson

  Dr Jacob (Kobi) VoightLevi’s great-nephew

  Others

  Major Richard StrattonArmy major

  Lieutenant David ConnorArmy lieutenant

  Teyve LiebermannLevi’s saviour

  Peter DickensonLondon bank manager

  Margot & FredLevi’s first landlords

  Galina SlatkinLevi’s second landlord

  PierreLevi’s friend on the Isle of Man

  George RossJacob’s lover

  In Germany

  Reich Minister Joseph GoebbelsHead of Propaganda

  Count & Countess von EngelNazi party stalwarts

  Reichsführer Heinrich HimmlerHead of the SS

  Führer Adolf HitlerFührer of Nazi Germany

  SS-Hauptsturmführer Erik von EngelLevi’s friend

  Karl & Elsa von EngelErik’s parents

  Eva BraunHitler’s mistress

  In Italy

  PeterLiberistas leader

  Maria & MarcinPartisans & Roza’s parents

  Roza (Elzbieta Krawczyk/Liswski)Partisan

  Fr Don Aldo BrunacciAssisi network

  Bishop Placido NicoliniAssisi network

  Colonel Valentin MüllerGerman Commander of Assisi

  PROLOGUE

  The National Archives

  Kew, London

  June 2017

  ‘Prepare to meet a genuine hero,’ Lieutenant David Connor said quietly. Then he went to the laptop and hit some buttons. After a few seconds’ delay, the screen was filled with a black-and-white image of Levi Horowitz, a man of about twenty-eight. He was perched on a high stool and wore black shoes, dark-coloured pants and a white shirt. His hair was wavy and full around his head. He looked at the ground for a full minute, and then raised his eyes to stare into the camera. His awkward body was painfully thin and his face was gaunt, the skin stretched over bones that would have sliced through butter. His eyes were surrounded by a ring of darkness, the sign of extreme fatigue. He looked haunted, wary, as if he was longing to be anywhere but where he was.

  ‘Good God,’ Major Richard Stratton muttered. ‘The man looks like a walking corpse.’

  On screen the image moved and gave a dry cough, his hand to his mouth.

  ‘May I smoke?’ he asked in a thick Germanic accent.

  Off-screen someone answered. ‘Certainly, sir.’

  A uniformed arm offered him a cigarette, which he put between his lips, then the arm leaned in again with a lighter. Levi nodded his thanks and took a deep pull on the cigarette. Smoke billowed out through his nose.

  ‘My real name is Levi Horowitz and this is the story of my war. I shall recount it once, here, and then I don’t want to speak about it ever again.’

  Slowly Stratton pulled himself to his feet. He was tall, just into his fifth decade, with close-cropped red hair and a neatly trimmed beard, green eyes and a military bearing. His body was beginning to show the effects of his sedentary occupation as his muscles softened and his waistline expanded.

  ‘Tell me again, who is this and when was it recorded?’ he asked, signalling for the lieutenant to pause the video.

  ‘A Jew, a refugee, called Levi Horowitz. It was recorded on his return to England in 1945,’ Connor replied.

  ‘And he spied, behind enemy lines?’

  ‘Oh, he most certainly did. I think it might be better if Levi explains it for himself. He is fluent in English and he is honest, brutally honest.’

  The major nodded. Stratton was in charge of the section of the military archive where the lieutenant had found a digitised and re-archived World War II interview. The decision to use the material, or not, would be his.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Sir, it appears that he sent information back from Germany which was ignored, dismissed, by his commanding officers. It doesn’t reflect well.’

  The major raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Should we be concerned?’

  ‘Judge for yourself.’

  CHAPTER ONE

  Berlin to London

  11 November 1938

  Levi Horowitz wasn’t a natural soldier. He had never considered spending one second of the twenty-one years of his life in any of the armed forces. As the black Mercedes drew away from his family home and the forlorn group on the doorstep continued to wave goodbye, he was busy imagining a new life working in a bank in London.

  Berlin had become an increasingly dangerous place for a Jew. The restrictions imposed by their Nazi rulers continued to pile up, new ones almost every day, and the night before his departure he’d witnessed the biggest pogrom for a hundred years. He and his younger brother, Simon, had been caught up in the midst of the shattering glass, the acrid smoke and the vicious batons of the storm troopers, and had found refuge with a gentile woman.

  In the morning they’d taken their leave and made their way home. Simon had led Levi to the music shop of Amos Wiggenstein, a local luthier. He’d seen the violins burning in a pile on the cobbled street and Amos’s assistant, Jacob, being beaten, and now he wanted to see what was left. They salvaged seven complete violins, carried them home in a wooden box and hid them in the attic of their house.

  Violins were an integral part of their lives. Their papa and mama owned two, a 1742 Guarneri del Gesú and a 1640 Amati.
Both Papa and Simon played the Guarneri and Levi played the huge Steinway grand piano.

  And now he was being driven away from terror and towards safety. Did he feel guilty? Perhaps, a little. He had some of his family treasures hidden in a leather pouch in his armpit and some documents in a package strapped to his chest. He had layers of clothing on under the coat, and bending in the middle was difficult, nevertheless it felt like he was the guardian of centuries of family possessions. If those at home were forced to surrender their belongings, he carried a complete inventory and some of the most precious pieces of jewellery with him to sanctuary.

  Not that that was probable. Papa was adamant that the people would throw out this little Austrian-born dictator at the next election and normality would be restored. Once again their lives would be full of music, dancing, tennis parties, shopping at the grand stores and having picnics in the Tiergarten. Levi couldn’t help wondering whether if he was living a wonderful life in London he would want to return to his parents’ home.

  He looked like his mother rather than his short, round, ever-happy father. He was over six foot and lean, with a very straight back, long limbs and surprisingly elongated and delicate fingers. His hair was a rich auburn colour, cut close to his head so the curls were not so apparent. His skin was pale, but dusted with freckles, and his eyes were a light moss green, unlike his three siblings who all had their father’s dark eyes, dark hair and swarthy complexion. At rest, his face wore a serious expression, thoughtful and reflective of his introverted personality.

  He had been under the impression that he would be taken south to the Swiss border but the driver informed him that they were travelling north to the Danish border. Once into Denmark he would be met by a contact who would take him north to the coast and put him on a fishing boat for Sweden. From Stockholm he would fly to London. It all sounded very exciting. The miles were gobbled up by the quiet, comfortable car, and after a while he fell asleep.

  ‘We’ve come to a checkpoint, Herr Horowitz.’

  The voice roused him and he sat up. There were very bright lights ahead and a barrier across the road.

  ‘They’ll need your papers, sir,’ the driver added.

  He fumbled inside the pocket of his papa’s woollen coat and pulled out the folded exit visa Papa’s friend had given him.

  ‘I have them here,’ he said.

  He rolled down the window and put the paper into a gloved hand that was thrust into the car. There was a full moment of silence. All he felt was impatience at the delay.

  ‘Get out of the car please, sir.’

  The voice was firm but neutral. Levi hesitated and then did as he was asked. His suitcase was on the seat beside him. The speaker was a soldier in uniform.

  ‘Bring your case and follow me.’

  ‘But why? My papers are correct —’

  ‘Just follow my orders, sir!’

  The man looked angry. Levi shrugged, bent inside the car and picked up his suitcase.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ he said to the driver.

  As he followed the soldier across the stony ground towards a hut, he heard the car engine fire. He spun around and watched the Mercedes make a wide U-turn and disappear into the blackness.

  ‘Hey! Come back!’ It was a cry of shock and anger.

  ‘There are plenty more cars coming. This way.’

  With reluctance, Levi did as the soldier said.

  The wooden building was cold and draughty. The soldier pointed to a chair behind a table. ‘Sit there, please.’

  Levi put his suitcase on the ground beside the chair and sat down. The soldier picked up the case and put it on the table.

  ‘Is it locked?’ he asked.

  Levi blinked. What was all this about?

  ‘Yes, of course it is,’ he said, trying not to let his impatience show.

  ‘Do you have the key?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Then unlock it, now!’

  He took the key from his trouser pocket and unlocked the two keyholes in the case. The soldier picked it up and took it with him. Levi heard a key turn on the other side of the door. The room was lit by a bright bulb hanging in the centre of the ceiling. Over to one side was a bench with a kettle and two cups and a bottle of milk. He got up and walked around. Behind the blind the one window was crossed with iron bars in a grid pattern. The door handle turned, but the door was locked.

  He returned to the seat and slumped down. He hadn’t anticipated this. The car was gone, his exit visa and suitcase were in the hands of a soldier and he was locked inside a hut on the German side of the Danish border. The one good thing about his situation was that the valuables were hidden on his person. Still, it felt like an opportune time to pray, so he bowed his head and asked G-d to intervene and set him back on his road to London. A few minutes passed, the key turned in the lock and the door opened.

  ‘Get up!’

  This man was in plainclothes, a tight-fitting black leather coat and polished jackboots. He held the suitcase and a piece of paper in one hand. Levi rose to his feet.

  ‘Where are you going, Jew?’ The man snarling up at him was at least four inches shorter than himself.

  Levi felt himself rise up to accentuate the height difference. He swallowed hard against his fear. As Jews, they’d been reviled in public for years and he had learned to show nothing.

  ‘London. My papa got my exit visa from a friend in the government, he paid for it, and it’s genuine.’

  The man dropped the case to the ground and drew a pistol from his pocket. He was Gestapo.

  ‘Genuine?’ It was a sneer.

  ‘Yes. My papa is an influential banker —’

  The Gestapo agent gave a humourless bark of laughter.

  ‘Your papa is a filthy Jew. And so are you, and you are trying to leave illegally. That is a crime. A crime against the Fatherland and against the Führer. Punishable by death.’

  The pistol was levelled at Levi’s stomach. So this was going to be the end of his journey, in a dismal hut in the middle of nowhere. No wonderful life in London, no keeping the family treasure safe. Where was his G-d? The G-d of Abraham and Moses and David. The G-d he worshipped every Saturday in the synagogue. His papa had taught him he was a child of this G-d, one of the blessed people.

  Dissent seemed worthless, but Levi felt he had to try. ‘It is not illegal! I have a government exit visa and a job in a bank in Lon —’

  The Gestapo agent’s face was puce with rage.

  ‘Quiet! I don’t want to hear your pitiful excuses. Take your clothes off.’

  ‘What?’ Levi was astonished.

  ‘You heard me: take your clothing off.’

  He hesitated a moment longer and the Gestapo agent cocked the pistol.

  ‘Do I have to shoot you first?’

  ‘No.’

  Levi struggled out of his papa’s coat and then the other layers of clothes he had put on. He was very aware that when he took off his woollen singlet the agent would see the pouch in his armpit.

  ‘What is this?’ The agent’s eyes gleamed as he stepped forward. ‘Take it off and hand it to me.’

  Levi pulled the bag free and handed it over. The agent opened it and peered inside.

  ‘As I thought, you are smuggling goods you are not entitled to.’

  ‘Those are my —’

  Levi’s protest was cut off by the hollow click of the trigger. Nothing happened, the Luger jammed.

  ‘Fuck!’

  The Gestapo agent shook the gun and peered down the barrel. This gave Levi the seconds he needed. He reacted from pure instinct, springing across the dirt floor. His rising left arm blocked the gun as it hurtled towards his head and his right fist punched the agent square on the chin. His height advantage increased the power behind the blow and the other man staggered backwards.

  ‘Filthy Jew!’ he screamed and pointed the gun again. It clicked uselessly. This emboldened Levi and he charged at the agent, who was still reeling. Levi raised hi
s knee and aimed for the man’s groin, then caught him again with a right-left combination. The agent dropped to the ground like a dead weight. Levi knelt and felt for a pulse. The man was alive, just knocked out cold.

  Levi scooped up the gun, the pouch, the piece of paper, his clothing and the suitcase. With a cat-like fluidity he ran for the door. It was unlocked, but as he closed it behind him he noticed the key in the outside lock. He turned the key, heard the satisfying click and threw the key into the forest. He hung the treasure back in his armpit and pulled his clothes back on, his numb fingers fumbling with the buttons, finally wrapping himself in the warmth of the coat. The other soldier was standing with his back to the hut, smoking a cigarette. Keeping to the shadows cast by tall trees, Levi ran past the guard-rail and into Denmark.

  About half an hour later a car turned the corner and came sweeping down the middle of the deserted road. Its powerful headlights illuminated the path before it. Levi dropped his suitcase and waved his arms. Maybe it was a dangerous thing to do, but he’d never make the coastline in time to catch the boat to Sweden on foot. The vehicle slowed and came to a stop just ahead of him. He said a silent prayer and jogged to the car. The back door opened and he leaned inside.

  ‘Hello. What are you doing out here on your own?’

  It was a man, about the same age as his papa, in a black woollen coat with a fur collar. His dark eyes were kind and a smile played at the corner of his lips. Something about his face, the nose, the chin, was familiar.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m going to the coast. I have an exit visa. I’m going to Stockholm and then to London.’

  Levi thrust the paper towards the man, who took it, unfolded it and glanced down. Then he looked up.

  ‘Are you Benjamin Horowitz’s son?’

  Levi nodded. He didn’t know if the fact this man appeared to know Papa was a good thing or a bad thing. He was pretty sure the traveller was a Jew, but he could also have been a Nazi sympathiser. Levi could feel his heart pounding with fear. The man indicated for him to get in.

  ‘Climb in, young Mr Horowitz.’

  Levi hesitated. What the hell, this was why he had waved the car down.