Soldier Doll

by Jennifer Gold

  “Is Margaret Merriweather still alive?” Evan asks suddenly, eyes bright.

  “Huh?” Elizabeth is stirred from her reverie. She stares blankly for a moment, then recovers and does some quick math in her head. “I doubt it,” she says finally. She’d have to be at least a hundred.”

  “But it’s possible,” says Evan thoughtfully. He leans his weight against one of the wobblier looking bookcases, jumping back when the books start to sway precariously.

  “I guess. Do you have Internet access on that thing?” She nods at the computer on the desk. It’s clunky and archaic-looking, with one of those giant, boxy monitors that look like the old TVs.

  “Good thinking!” Evan brightens and sits down at the desk. “Wikipedia will know.”

  Evan pulls up the online encyclopedia and types in the author’s name. Elizabeth comes around behind him so she can get a look at the screen. Even Boris seems interested. He is shuffling around their feet, nibbling at the strap of one of Elizabeth’s sandals. “Cut that out, Boris,” she says. “Those are vintage espadrilles.” She scoops up the rabbit and settles him back on the desk. He rediscovers the forgotten lettuce leaf and busies himself, content.

  “She’s still alive!”

  Elizabeth stares at the screen in disbelief, but Evan is right: Margaret Merriweather is still alive and living in London.

  Evan whistles. “Still alive but ancient. Wow!”

  “Yeah.” Elizabeth is looking at the photograph of the author. It’s black-and-white. Her hair is similar to Elizabeth’s own. Unconsciously, Elizabeth reaches up and touches her hair. She wraps a thick lock around her left hand and lets it unravel. It still holds the curl a bit when she lets go.

  “You should get in contact with her.” Evan is excited now. He paces the length of the desk. “She would know whether it’s the real doll or not!”

  “That’s true.” Elizabeth nods. “It’s also hers. I think we’d have to give it back.”

  Evan feigns disappointment. “What about the million dollars?”

  Elizabeth grins. “Maybe she’ll give us a reward!”

  “Yeah, right. I once returned a guy’s laptop. It was a really good one, and he gave me a dollar.” He scowls at the memory.

  “That was generous.” Elizabeth laughs and hoists herself up onto the desk so that she’s facing Evan. Her legs dangle off the edge and she swings them back and forth.

  “Ha. So are you going to get in touch with her, then?” Evan is curious. He clicks on something. “There’s her publisher; she doesn’t have her personal address online, obviously.”

  “Right,” says Elizabeth, grinning. “She needs her privacy from all those wild and crazy Autumn Evening fans.”

  “Actually, more like crazy soldier doll hunters. Of which you are now one.” He taps her leg playfully.

  “True.” Elizabeth smiles again and runs a hand through her hair.

  Evan is tapping away at the keyboard. “Can I send you the link?”

  “Sure, that would be great.” She gives him her e-mail address and watches the back of his head as he types. His hair is still sticking up in a variety of directions. She suppresses an urge to reach over and pat it down.

  “I need to get back,” she says, noting the time on the computer.

  “I’ll send you a message tonight. I’ll look for a bionic turtle.”

  Elizabeth blushes. “I need to change it.”

  “Don’t, it’s weird.” He pauses. “In a good way.” He pauses again. “I like it.”

  “You don’t have to be nice.”

  “I’m not. I like turtles. Maybe I’ll get one for the store. A pet for Boris. Boris, do you want a turtle, my little hare?” Evan chuckles at his own joke.

  Boris eyes him suspiciously, then goes back to the lettuce, turning his considerable backside toward Evan.

  “Right. Maybe not.” He grins again. “I’ll talk to you later. You know, there are some parties and stuff going on. Like, with kids from school. You should come. I could introduce you to people.”

  “Thanks! That’s really nice of you.” Elizabeth is at the door now. The rain has stopped, but the humidity has returned. When she opens the door, a wall of steam envelops her.

  “Bye, Evan.”

  “Later, Turtle Girl.”

  Outside, Elizabeth loses her footing on the wet pavement and slips slightly. She catches herself, but the polish on her right toes is now totally scraped away, too. She barely notices. She plays with a strand of her hair again and wonders with what picture of herself she should replace the turtle.

  Chapter 7

  Terezín, Czechoslovakia

  1944

  Eva awoke with a start. It took her a moment to puzzle out what was wrong. Then she realized what it was: she was freezing. Shivering, she struggled to wrap the thin gray cotton blanket around her more tightly. It was cold for June. She wondered what it must have been like here in the winter and shuddered, feeling thankful that her family at least had the good fortune to have been deported here in the spring.

  It was still dark, but a very thin stream of light came in through a little hole in the roof. It must be almost dawn, she thought to herself, though it was difficult to tell. There were no windows in the barracks, and the walls were made of a thick concrete that was always cold to the touch. The floors were concrete too. Eva thought of how they felt beneath her bare feet and winced. She sat up carefully in her bed. When she’d first arrived, she’d often hit her head on the bunk above her by sitting up too quickly, but she was more cautious now. The beds were small, cramped, and stacked, and the mattresses were very thin, but Eva didn’t complain. She’d heard there were barracks where people shared mattresses on the floor, piled on top of one another like cats in a barn. She thought again of the cold cement and shivered.

  Eva looked around her; everyone else was still asleep. She wondered if they had nightmares too. At bedtime, you could usually hear someone crying into a pillow. As a rule, Eva tried not to cry. She had been luckier than most; she still had her parents. She wished she could stay with them, sleep in the same place, but that wasn’t permitted here at Terezín. Even her mother and father had to live apart in separate men’s and women’s barracks. Eva waited all day for evening, when she was allowed to see them briefly. Closing her eyes, Eva pictured her mother as she had looked before, in their Prague apartment, on the settee in their parlor, mending Papa’s shirts or knitting Eva a new sweater. Her mother’s hair had been long and dark and curly then. And unlike the other mothers, she’d often worn it loose about her shoulders. If she concentrated hard, Eva could even smell her: a faint scent of lavender and clean laundry. Eva suddenly felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Don’t cry. She hugged herself tightly around the knees. You have to be brave.

  Eva looked around furtively. No one else was awake. Carefully, she reached into a hidden skirt pocket and retrieved a little wooden figure. “The soldier doll,” she had called it when first presented with the toy. It was a great comfort to her during moments like these, when she remembered her life before. Eva had since named the little fellow Piotr, after her best friend at school. Piotr had continued to come and visit her, even after the Nazis said she couldn’t go to classes anymore. “You’re so lucky, Eva!” he would exclaim. “No math work. No long list of dates to memorize.” He didn’t look directly at her when he said these things; he’d play with his cap or fidget with his pocketknife. Eva had missed school terribly, but never complained to Piotr; she didn’t want him to stop coming by.

  Piotr didn’t care that she was Jewish; and his parents didn’t agree with the Nazis and talked often of escaping to Russia. Piotr wanted to be a Russian soldier. She wondered if the war would go on long enough for him to be able to enlist, and then she felt depressed.

  The doll was a curious thing: it had a face like a baby’s,
but it was painted to look like a soldier. Eva held it tightly to her chest. She knew that at twelve she was almost too old for dolls, but Piotr was all she had. Stroking his head, she thought of the day she had been given the doll; it was during her first week at Terezín, and she had been lost and scared. She’d wandered accidentally from the children’s barracks and found herself on the main road, alone. She was huddled near a broken lamppost when an old, disheveled-looking man with worn-out shoes and missing teeth had approached her.

  “Hanna, my daughter!” He spoke in German. “I thought I would never see you again!” He grasped her shoulders and drew her to him.

  Eva stiffened, but didn’t pull away. He wasn’t scary, somehow, and his eyes were sad.

  “No, no, sir.” She replied carefully, in her best German. “I am sorry, but I am Eva, not Hanna.” Her tone was gentle, polite.

  Startled, the man pulled back and studied her, his hand still on her arm. “Of course you are not Hanna,” he said after a moment. “My Hanna would be almost twenty-one now! A young woman. Not a little girl.” His shoulders sagged as he released her, and his eyes glanced at the ground, downcast.

  Eva’s chest puffed out, her pride wounded. “I am not a little girl,” she had replied, indignant. “I am twelve!”

  “Oh, twelve!” The man looked at her gravely, eyes twinkling. “Well that’s different, Fräulein. I didn’t realize. You are a young lady now.” He laughed, and when he did so, Eva realized he was much younger than she had first thought. What happened to him, to make him look so old and broken? Eva wondered. And who is Hanna?

  As if reading her mind, he smiled at her again. “Miss Eva, you look very much like my own dear Hanna.” He extended his hand. “My name is Franz.”

  Pleased at the grown-up gesture, Eva grasped his hand and shook it firmly. “A pleasure to meet you, Franz.”

  “And you, Eva!” He studied her. “You’re new here, I gather?”

  Eva’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yes, we just arrived. From Prague. But how did you know?”

  Franz coughed. His whole body shook with the effort, and Eva pulled back slightly, afraid. “Because you are not starving, my dear. Because you are not yet coughing.”

  “We did not have much to eat in Prague, either.” It was true. It felt like years since her belly had been full.

  “Of course you didn’t, child. These are terrible times.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a stale bread crust. “Take this.” He pressed it into her hand.

  “Oh no, Franz. I couldn’t take your ration.” She tried to give it back to him, but he refused.

  “I am an old man,” he said. “You take the bread. I would hope someone would do the same for Hanna.”

  Eva thanked him and ate it ravenously. She knew she should have pocketed it for later, but it was hard, being so hungry all the time. She looked up at Franz, ashamed, but he was nodding approvingly. “Good girl,” he said, patting her head. “You need your strength.”

  Eva looked at him. “Your daughter…Hanna…” Her voice was tentative. “What happened to her?”

  Franz sighed. His face sagged again. “I don’t know.” He put his face in his hands. He was quiet for a moment. “Not everyone is lucky enough to end up at Terezín.” He sounded bitter.

  “Lucky?” Eva looked around. How could anyone feel lucky to be here?

  “Yes, lucky, Eva,” said Franz. He gave her a twisted smile. “This is the luxury camp, don’t you know? I was a war hero. I won a medal of bravery in the Great War, fighting for Germany. They had to find a place for me and others like me; they couldn’t just deport us. So the war heroes, the artists, the musicians—we were sent here.” He started coughing again. “You think this is bad, Eva? There are worse camps.”

  At the time, Eva had been sure he was exaggerating. Worse than Terezín? When they arrived she had heard her mother describe the place as hell. She’d never heard her mother curse before. Of course, she knew better now. She had heard rumors. There were places worse than Terezín—much more hellish.

  “Eva.” Franz’s face softened. “I want you to have something.”

  Crouching down, he lifted his pant leg to reveal a small pocket. He reached in and carefully pulled out a little wooden object.

  “What’s that?” Eva was curious. She hadn’t seen a toy in so long.

  “It’s a little soldier doll.” He sounded wistful. “Maybe I’ll tell you the whole story another time. But my Hanna, she insisted I take it that night. To protect me.” He paused, remembering. “When I was arrested, I thought it might be bad luck after all, but here I am, still alive.” His voice was now full of grief, his eyes downcast. “I wish I’d known it was lucky. I would have insisted she keep it.” He reached out to hand Eva the doll. “Now, my dear, I’m giving it to you. May it protect you as it has protected me.”

  Eva took the doll from Franz and gazed at it tenderly. She touched its pink cheek and looked up at the strange man. “Thank you.” She said, grateful. “Thank you, Franz.” For the first time in days, Eva felt something close to happiness. She had brought several treasured possessions with her to Terezín, but the guards had confiscated all of them. Having something of her own made her feel hopeful again.

  “Please keep it safe,” Franz said in a soft tone. He touched her cheek gently and smiled.

  “Of course.” Eva patted the doll’s head and tucked it into her inside skirt pocket. “I’ll take very good care of him.”

  Franz reached out and touched Eva’s cheek. “You should be heading back to the children’s house now, Eva,” he said. Seeing her lost expression, he smiled gently and pointed her in the right direction.

  “Will I see you again soon?” Eva paused to turn back and look at Franz, but he had already gone. She hadn’t seen him again, not since that first week. If she hadn’t had the doll, she might have thought she’d dreamed him up in a fit of loneliness and hunger.

  Now, Eva held the doll close to her and crooned to it, the way her mother used to do for her when she was afraid. “Don’t be frightened, little Piotr,” she whispered. “Papa says the war is going to end soon, that the Americans are coming, and the Russians too, and they will save us.” Eva hoped this was true, but she knew from the maps at school that America was very far away. How would the Americans find her here?

  “Who are you talking to, Eva?” Ilona, who slept on the upper bunk, peered down at Eva curiously. Ilona had very pretty gold, curly hair that bounced when she walked. It now tumbled in the air between the two beds as Ilona looked at Eva upside-down.

  “Just to myself.” Hastily, Eva shoved the doll back into her pocket. “I had a nightmare.”

  “Oh.” Ilona was sympathetic. She swung down from her bed and hopped into Eva’s like the monkeys Eva used to watch at the Prague Zoo. “Don’t fret, Eva,” she said, hugging her around the middle. “It was just a dream.” She sprang back up. “Did you hear about the Red Cross? They’re coming here, to visit. My cousin Felix said so, and he’s older; he’s with the men.” She paused to take a breath. Ilona liked to talk and tended to do so at a rapid pace. “They’re cleaning up Terezín for the visit. Everything is going to be nice, and we’re going to get clothes and food and books…” Her excited voice trailed off.

  “The Red Cross? Really?” Eva was surprised. “I haven’t heard anything about it from Mama or Papa.”

  Ilona nodded enthusiastically, her curls bobbing up and down. “It’s still a secret,” she said, lowering her voice. “Felix is going to be on the beautification committee, so he knows things others don’t yet. He’s going to be planting grass and trees. Can you imagine?” She motioned around her. “It’s going to be green here!”

  Eva nodded at Ilona and tried to look excited, but didn’t say anything. She was skeptical; it sounded to her like what Papa called “propaganda.” When the Nazis first came to Prague, they
had been shown a film in school about the Nazi government in Germany. In the film, they were portrayed as saviors and heroes who had brought food, clothing, and prosperity to their country. When Eva had mentioned the film to her parents, her father had disgustedly dismissed it as “Nazi propaganda.” He explained to her that the Nazis wanted to win the hearts and minds of the Czech people, and so they presented them with a false, embellished version of what life was like with the Nazis in charge. “They only show the good things, what suits them,” Papa had said. “They don’t show you the Jews and the Gypsies being tortured and rounded up in the streets like cattle.”

  Eva had understood immediately what he meant. Now, she listened to Ilona’s well-intentioned prattle with a mindful ear. Dressing up the ghetto for the Red Cross would almost certainly qualify as propaganda. She wondered, skeptically, if Ilona’s information was even true. It seemed odd, far-fetched, that the Nazis would let anyone in, let alone the Red Cross, and that the camp would be cleaned up. Certainly nothing she’d seen here since her arrival suggested it was true. Just yesterday, she’d watched a pair of guards kick an old, sick man in the street. Over and over again they had kicked him, for no reason at all. When they’d finally stopped kicking, the man had been still, blood trickling from his left ear. Eva had been too afraid to go over and see if he was alive. Like everyone else present, she had turned away, afraid of provoking the guards into choosing their next victim. Later, Eva had heard someone say he was a Rabbi, and she felt ill.

  But Ilona looked happy and hopeful, and so Eva said nothing. She wished she were more like Ilona. “That’s wonderful news,” she said instead, with forced sincerity. She hugged her friend and hoped she was right.

  . . .

  To Eva’s surprise, Ilona proved to be correct. By the end of that week, everyone was talking about the upcoming Red Cross visit. Committees of all kinds were created. The goal, people said, was to transform the filthy concentration camp into a quaint-looking town in record time. Even the children were put to work. Eva and Ilona were to perform in the children’s opera Brundibár with the famous Jewish composer Hans Krása. Eva thought it was a good play. It was about a sister and brother whose mother needs milk to recover from illness. To raise money to buy her the milk, they decide to sing in the market, but the organ grinder, Brundibár, keeps chasing them away. However, with the help of a sparrow, cat, and dog, as well as the children of the town, they succeed in chasing away the evil organ grinder and are able to sing in the town square.