by Jean Little
Some customers who had stopped shopping at Papa’s store had come back when they learned Rudi was in the Navy. But her father had been the same man before Rudi enlisted, a man who so opposed dictatorship that he had emigrated from his homeland to seek freedom for his family. Dr. Schumacher was suffering from persecution too, she was sure.
She could not face up to all the people, most of them strangers, who automatically classed all Germans as Nazi sympathizers. But she could speak to one man and try to make him see. At least, she hoped she could.
The next afternoon, she told the others to go on home without her, saying only that she had something she wanted to do at the school. She stayed occasionally to talk with Miss Sutcliff about some poem she had discovered and she let the gang conclude that she was doing it once again. Maggie looked skeptical but left without asking any pressing questions.
Mr. Lloyd was sitting at his desk with a stack of examination papers in front of him. Anna realized how difficult it must be for him to read all that scrawly handwriting. She almost turned back. Instead, she walked forward and sat down in her usual front seat, facing him. It would be easier to talk if she did not have to stand.
“Yes, Miss Solden?” he said.
She began badly and saw, before she had reached the end of her second laboured sentence, that he was already deeply angry.
“Mr. Lloyd, please,” she said, desperately, abandoning her prepared speech. “I know I sound rude and you want me to go but I have to tell somebody. I have to. So, please, listen.”
He was silent but his eyes stayed cold.
Then she plunged in, saying things all out of order, and told him far more than she had intended. She poured out the story of Aunt Tania, of Gerda Hoffman, even of Herr Keppler.
“You would have been right to hate Herr Keppler,” she finished, positive she had wasted her time and that he had not understood a word she had said. “But don’t you see that Carl and Paula and Fred Weber would all hate him too? I know that you didn’t like my brother Rudi but he’s nicer and anyway, he’s in the Navy now.” She swallowed hard and made herself go on to the end. “Someday he might even be killed, fighting against … against tyranny, just as your brother was.”
“Be silent,” Mr. Lloyd barked.
She sat where she was, not speaking but unable to get up and leave the room at once because she was shaking so. The teacher drew a deep breath. Then he said, “I said before that you have courage. I understand what you have been saying. I have been bitter for so long I doubt that I can change. But I apologize for all that I have done which made it necessary for you to come and say these things to me. I think you had better go now, Miss Solden.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
She managed to stand up and get as far as the door. She almost missed his parting words.
“Give my regards to your brother when you see him next.”
“Yes, sir,” she said again and left.
She felt limp. She understood better Rudi’s need to go to war. She had gone to battle. She was not sure whether she had won a decisive victory but she was glad she had seen it through. Even after she reached home, however, she felt shaken.
Mr. Churchill should have put in, “We shall fight in the schools,” she thought that night before she slept.
When she got her report card, she was delighted to find that she had not failed in a single subject. She had only credits in P.T. and home economics but she topped the class in English and came in fifth in algebra. Much to her secret satisfaction, she beat Suzy by four marks.
Papa went to the school to thank Mr. McNair and the others for the special help they had given her. When he returned, he gave Anna a long thoughtful look.
“What is it? What did they say?” Anna demanded, unnerved by his gaze.
The rest of the family laughed at her. Mama, as anxious as Anna, waited.
“It seems Rudi isn’t the only genius in this house, Klara,” he said. “Both Mr. McNair and Miss Sutcliff insist that Anna should go to university. They just couldn’t agree on which course she should take.”
“Whatever would Frau Schmidt say?” Mama exclaimed. Frau Schmidt had been Anna’s first teacher long ago in Frankfurt and had told the Soldens that Anna was impossible to teach.
“That Mr. Lloyd you have all complained about so much seemed a very good man to me,” Papa went on, looking around at his assembled children. “He too thinks you have promise, Anna. We’ll have to see what we can do, when the time comes.”
The others objected loudly to Mr. Lloyd being praised. Anna said nothing but her spirits soared. She had been right in having faith in Mr. Lloyd.
I guess that was what Mr. Appleby meant, she mused. Something like it anyway.
Then Rudi was shipped to Halifax. He came to say goodbye. This time, it was harder to laugh. Halifax seemed far away. Anna just barely remembered landing there when the ship brought them from Germany. It had been a cold grey place, she thought, or was that the way she first saw Toronto? Rudi, however, refused to let them sit and stare solemnly at him. He had a host of stories. All the injections he had to have! All the floors he had scrubbed! The whole art of folding a sailor collar, he explained to them, and how glad he had been that Mama had made him learn to make his bed.
“Some of the guys never made a bed before!” he said.
“You didn’t make yours all that often,” Gretchen said. “Just pulled it up and that was it. How many hundred times have we done his bed, Frieda?”
“Thousands is more like it,” Frieda said.
Papa told him what the teachers had said about Anna. Rudi looked at her with a pleased, almost smug, look on his face.
“I’ve known that for quite a while, Papa,” he said. “But she needs discipline. Keep after her for me while I’m gone. Mr. McNair will help, I’m sure.”
Only Papa was going to the station. They crowded around Rudi, hugging and kissing him. Rudi leaned down to Anna and whispered in her ear, “Keep it up. I’m counting on you.”
She nodded, clutching at his arm, not wanting to let him go.
“And listen for the singing, Anna,” he said suddenly, with a last grin, “whatever happens.”
It was his private message for her, telling her he remembered all they had talked about.
“I will,” she called after him. “I promise.”
It was a full and happy summer. Then, in August, on a hot sunny afternoon, when Anna was standing out in front of the house, finishing off an ice cream cone, the telegram came.
She was curious. She followed the boy as he left his bike and went to the door. Curious but not afraid. Rudi was safe enough on the H.M.C.S. Cornwallis. He had not had his embarkation leave yet.
Gretchen signed for the wire and then hesitated. It was addressed to Papa.
“I’ll take it over to the store,” Anna offered.
It was a dull afternoon. For once, nobody had been free to do anything and the library was closed. The telegram promised some excitement. She did feel a stir of apprehension. Something could have happened. As she half-hurried along the hot sidewalk, she thought of Aunt Tania. But she dismissed the thought almost immediately. It had been such a long time without word.
Yet suppose it were. Just suppose … She broke into a run. It must be something! People didn’t send telegrams for nothing. And if Aunt Tania had escaped, wouldn’t that be what she would do, send word the fastest way?
She burst into the store.
“A telegram, Papa,” she cried.
Papa, no expectation in his face, came forward and took the envelope from her outstretched hand. Anna opened her mouth to tell them her idea of what it might say. Then she looked down at the yellow paper as Papa unfolded it. She waited for him to tell.
He was silent for what seemed forever.
Then he scrunched the paper up and put it into his pocket. He turned to his wife, ignoring the people in the store and Anna too.
“It is Rudi,” he said. “There has been an accident. He is in
hospital in Halifax.”
“What’s wrong?” Mama almost screamed, although her voice was not really so loud; it was just so filled with fear. “Do they say what is wrong?”
“Klara …” Papa began. He took his glasses off, polished them, and put them back on. “Klara,” he repeated, as though he did not know any other words.
“Ernst, tell me!”
Anna had never heard Mama speak in that voice before. It snapped like a whip. Her father’s head jerked up. He faced his wife across half the store. When he answered, he spoke clearly, but also in a voice Anna had not before heard, a voice she would hear in her memory all her life.
“They say he is blind.”
Chapter 21
Papa did not go to get Rudi until September was half over. Dr. Schumacher made many telephone calls the night the telegram came. Finally, he got in touch with the doctor in charge of Rudi’s case. Afterwards he and Papa came immediately home.
“Dr. Bricker says Rudi is doing well and seems quite cheerful,” he said, “but he is not ready to travel yet and he has said that he does not want any of the family to come. He also told me that Rudi is suffering from profound shock but is being very courageous. He sounded very impressed by him.”
“How did it happen?” Mama asked. “Did he say how long it would be before he is better? He will get better, won’t he?”
“He said it was some freak accident. Cleaning fluid got splashed into his face. Both eyes were badly burned. When the burns heal, there will be scars. He holds out no hope that Rudi will be able to see again. I’m so sorry, Klara.”
“Cleaning fluid,” Mama repeated. “But how …?”
“It was no one’s fault, Dr. Bricker said. He didn’t give me the details. How it happened doesn’t lessen the tragedy.”
Anna heard the words but could not make herself feel they were true. Not about Rudi with his eyes that were bluer than anyone’s. She waited dully for Mama to begin to cry. Mama sat very straight and did not shed a tear.
She doesn’t believe it either, Anna thought.
Later, lying in bed unable to sleep, she suddenly remembered thinking one day that it would be simpler for her if she were blind. Then she had seen something. What? The sunlight turning Maggie’s hair to gold. And she had known what a miracle vision was. Then she thought of Rudi and wept.
But the days that followed were busy ones and she had little time to brood. She set out for school on the first morning of the new term with scarcely a qualm. She would have to explain about her poor eyesight to any new teachers but she was getting used to explaining. She had come to understand and deal with her own limitations in a new way, during the previous year. She had even discovered hitherto hidden abilities. She could serve a volleyball perfectly!
It had been arranged ahead of time that she and Maggie would not be separated. The two of them had gone to see Mr. Appleby about it before school ended. After confronting Mr. Lloyd, Anna no longer found those secretaries formidable.
As it turned out, the whole gang was put into the same class with Miss Sutcliff as their homeroom teacher. This fall, Anna, instead of going on home as she had the year before because she could not see, went with the others to the school football games. She loved wearing the school colours, long white and green ribbons streaming down from a small rosette pinned to her coat. She knew all the cheers. Any friend of Suzy’s could not help learning them. Suzy chanted them whenever there was a moment’s silence. Anna found herself having a wonderful time, even though she had no clear idea of what was happening in the game. She groaned, screamed, and jumped up and down with everyone else. Maggie tried to remember to tell her afterwards what they had been excited about.
She felt guilty having fun when she thought of Rudi. Yet she knew that sitting alone and sorrowing over his tragedy would help neither him nor her. Mama, this time, did nothing dramatic like refusing to eat. She too realized that the only way to hold onto her sanity and help her family through this dark time was to behave as normally as possible. Anna understood her mother better than ever before.
A letter arrived before Rudi came home. He had dictated it to someone. It sent everyone individual greetings. The others looked relieved because his words sounded so normal. But Anna heard the words meant for her without any response except uneasiness. “Hi, Anna. Keep smiling.” He had never told her to keep smiling before. Why hadn’t he said something with meaning?
He asked only one thing, that they somehow manage to give him a room to himself.
“I know this will make a problem,” he said, “but if Anna could move in with the other girls, I’d be glad to have her corner.”
They moved Fritz down to the couch in the living room instead. He didn’t care. Anna sighed with relief and she was sure her two sisters did too. There just was not room for the three of them, each so different, in that one bedroom.
Gretchen and Frieda had over the years worked out an arrangement by which they managed to keep the peace, but with Anna added it would never have worked.
Then Papa went to get Rudi. The house seemed extra quiet, waiting. Mama baked Rudi’s favourite cookies. Nobody talked about it much. Nobody knew what to say. But everyone was nervous.
Before they felt ready, the two were home. Papa, looking older than Anna had ever seen him, and Rudi with dark glasses on and a cane in his hand, smiling, saying the right things.
“He’s so normal,” Gretchen half-whispered when Papa had taken him up the stairs, away from them, “but …”
But he isn’t normal at all, Anna thought, not saying the words aloud. And it’s not just that he’s blind. He’s gone away from us inside. His feelings are blind too.
In the following week, a routine was set up. Rudi ate alone in his room. He came downstairs in the evenings, when the whole family was home, and sat in the living room with them. He listened to the news with Papa. He told Mama how good her torte was. He insisted that she not stay at home with him, that he just wanted to rest by himself. He never mentioned his blindness. When he needed help, he asked for it directly, in as few words as possible. It was only then that the studied cheer went out of his voice and they could hear the hurt.
“But what can we do?” Frieda said desperately, one evening, when Rudi had already gone up to his room.
“Give him time,” Papa said tiredly. “That’s what Dr. Bricker told me. He said he is wounded in spirit as well as in his eyes. Just leave him to get over it, he said.”
“He won’t let us do anything else,” Mama said. Now tears did come. “Yet he does seem cheerful. He eats well. I think … I’m sure he is getting better.”
Anna knew he was not. She could hear him in the night when he thought everyone was sleeping. Often he paced back and forth, back and forth in his room, with no light on. Anna knew he did not need light but still it made it all the more terrible somehow. Then she heard him crying. She knew how he must look. She had seen him the day the news came about Aunt Tania. She had reached out to him then. Maybe now she could do it again.
She lay still, listening.
What could she say?
He did not know anyone heard him. He never let them see him cry.
She stayed where she was.
The next afternoon, she went up to him and asked him about a problem she was having with geometry.
“I can’t help you, Anna,” he said, quite calmly. “Ask Mr. McNair.”
“But, Rudi,” she started, forcing herself to go on in spite of his indifference, “if you could just explain …”
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” he said. “You’re too clever for me now, Anna.”
She retreated and sat by herself, thinking hard.
The girls at school were fascinated by Rudi. To them, he seemed a wounded war hero. In a way he was, Anna knew. But she did not want to talk about him.
Finally a night came when she could no longer lie still and listen. She got up and went to his door.
“Rudi,” she said softly, to the pacing in the darkness. �
�Rudi, can I do anything for you?”
There was a silence in the room, a silence so complete it was frightening. She waited.
Then a rasping voice said, “Leave me alone, Anna. I’m sorry I wakened you.”
She stood still, not sure what to do.
“Please,” he said, his voice a whisper now, “just leave me alone.”
She turned and was halfway out the door when he asked abruptly, “Have I ever wakened you before?”
Anna swallowed. She must make him believe her.
“No,” she said steadily, “I just happened to wake up.”
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night,” she returned, yawning what she hoped sounded like a normal, sleepy yawn.
She had not talked with Rudi; she had talked to a stranger. When she reached her bed, she had to bury her face in the pillow or he would have heard her cry.
The next afternoon, after school, she went to Mrs. Schumacher. She phoned first from the office at school. She let the secretary assume she was phoning her parents. Although nobody seemed to be listening, she kept her voice low.
Mrs. Schumacher did not ask her to speak more clearly. She simply said, “Of course, you may come. As soon as you can get here is fine.”
As Anna neared the Schumachers’ house, she felt apprehensive. What if she could not make Mrs. Schumacher understand? Yet she was the most understanding person, except for Papa, that Anna knew. She had, after all, understood Anna herself when nobody else could get past the sullen, stubborn, uncaring face she had turned toward the world, the wall of pride she had built around herself. Now, she was sure Rudi was behind a wall, too. And Anna longed to find a way to get him out.
Mrs. Schumacher opened the door before Anna had time to ring the bell.
“Elizabeth’s sleeping,” she said. “She’s a very considerate child really. She won’t wake up for a couple of hours.”
