The Locket

by Evans, Mike

  “Yes, of course he’s all right.” She looked troubled, as if I had stumbled on to a secret she wanted no one to know. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “I wasn’t sure,” I began. “After what happened and—”

  “What are you talking about? Nothing happened.” Her countenance turned cold and she pushed me away. “I’ve heard quite enough from you. You must go now.”

  Just then Ilsa, Adolf ’s sister, appeared beside Maria. “What do you care what’s happened to him?” She glared at me. “You think he’s interested in you?”

  “I was just wondering if he is okay.”

  “His condition is none of your business,” Maria snapped. “You must leave.”

  She stepped back to close the door, but Ilsa didn’t move. “First you kill your grandmother,” Ilsa snarled, “and now you want to kill my brother? Is that it? You want to kill my brother like you killed your grandmother?”

  “Ilsa,” Maria sighed in a parental tone. “Is that really necessary?” Ilsa’s words cut me deeply, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes but I was determined not to cry. “Why do you say such things to me? You know they aren’t true.”

  “Stop coming around our house, you filthy swine. No one here wants to see you.” Ilsa stepped aside, grasped the door with her right hand, and slammed it closed. Dazed by the sudden outburst, I turned away from the door and slowly made my way back to the sidewalk. Tears

  I’d kept in check so valiantly now rolled down my cheeks.

  As I reached our house I thought of going inside, but if Mama saw I’d been crying she’d want to know why and she wouldn’t give up until I told her. Then I’d be in trouble and Papa would learn about all that had transpired since Grandma’s death. So I continued past the house and walked a few blocks farther to clear my mind and regain my composure. Then I saw Adolf coming down the street and I ran to meet him.

  Instead of books and a notepad, he was carrying a lunch pail and was dressed in work clothes that were dirty and grimy. “Where have you been?” I asked.

  “At work.”

  “Work? What about school?”

  “I don’t attend school anymore.” He looked neither happy nor sad about it.

  “Why not? Why aren’t you in school? Is it math? I’ll help you.” “Father said if I wasn’t going to study, I might as well get a job. He found one for me at a machine shop across town.” “Math isn’t always about how much you study.” “Where’d you hear that?”

  “My mother. She says some people just have trouble with it. Her brother had trouble with math when he was in school, and he’s a lawyer now.”

  “I don’t want to be a lawyer.”

  “Well, I was worried about you. I didn’t see you on the way home all week. And after what happened before, I wanted to know if you were all right.”

  “After what happened? What do you mean?”

  “I saw you through the window in the back room of your house.” “Oh. That. You saw that?”

  “Yes. I was on my way home from the store and I came up the alley. I saw through the window of your house.”

  “Well, everything’s better now.”

  “No one would tell me where you were.”

  Suddenly he looked worried. “You’ve been to my house?” “Yes.”

  He stopped and turned to me. Then he stooped over with both hands on his knees and his face inches from mine. “I want you to listen to me. You must never go there again. Do you understand?”

  “But I was worried.”

  “Never mind about that.” He spoke with the kindest voice I’d ever heard. “Did they hurt you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Not really?” He looked alarmed. “What happened? What did they do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Sarah, tell me what they did.”

  My eyes darted away. “They just said mean things to me, but I don’t mind.” I looked him in the eye and smiled. “Especially now that I know you’re okay.”

  “You must never go there again. Never!” “But I can help you with school.”

  He raised himself up and began to walk again. “Why would you help me?”

  “You’re my friend,” I insisted as I tagged along beside him. He reached over and tousled my hair. I can still feel the touch of his hand on my head.

  In the middle of the block, Stephan Rovina joined us. Adolf seemed less than happy to see him, as if Stephan was intruding on our conversation. I didn’t think much of it then but later I would wonder about it again.

  The three of us walked together, me chattering on about nothing, Adolf nodding and laughing, and Stephan just being there. Two blocks from our street, Adolf stopped and turned to us. “I must go the rest of the way alone. If my father sees you with me, it will only make things worse.” He gave me a knowing look and for the first time I felt the pleasure of secret knowledge that comes from a relationship. I knew what he meant, just from the way he looked at me. “You two wait here until I reach the next corner. Got it?”

  “Okay,” I nodded, eager to please him. “We’ll wait.” Then he stepped off the curb and started across the street.

  Stephan and I stood together watching as Adolf made his way to the next corner. I was hoping he would look back with a wave or a smile, but his head never turned left or right. When he reached the next cross street, Stephan took my hand.

  “Come on,” he tugged. “We can go now.”

  On Monday, Papa was waiting for me when I came home from school. He was sitting at the table in the dining room as I came through the house and he called me aside. I took a seat across from him and when he looked me in the eye I knew things were serious. “Sarah, have you been in your grandmother’s jewelry box?”

  Panic seized me and I struggled to find an answer. To be caught by Mama was one thing, but to be confronted by Papa, in such a formal manner, was quite different. I didn’t want to tell him the truth and I didn’t want to lie. “Why do you ask?” My eyes darted away, avoiding his gaze as I tried to avoid the question.

  “Everyone is saying you wore it to school.”

  My face was warm with embarrassment and I was unable to speak. Then Mama came into the room. She glanced around, first at me, then at Papa. “Moshe, what is this about?”

  Papa took a document from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. “The authorities want to know about Hanna’s estate.” Mama had a troubled frown. “Why do they care about her estate?”

  Papa looked back at me. “Karl Eichmann has filed a complaint with the Economic Rehabilitation Board. He says we did not pay the death tax when Grandma died. Now they want to conduct an investigation.”

  This was the first I had heard of such a thing and I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or to Mama. When she didn’t answer, I asked, “There is a death tax?”

  “A tax on the property of all who die.” “That is ridiculous,” Mama muttered.

  I pursued the issue, seeing it as a way to avoid any further discussion of the necklace, and whether I had worn it to school. “All Austrians have to pay such a tax?”

  Papa did not respond at first, but Mama spoke up quickly. “Erma Buresch did not pay such a tax when her father died. I was there. I helped her settle his affairs. There was no mention of a tax.”

  “Erma Buresch is not a Jew,” Papa replied.

  I gave him a confused look. “Only Jews must pay the tax?”

  “Yes. Only Jews. And Karl Eichmann thinks we should have paid it.” He focused his gaze on me even more intently than before. “Any idea why he would think such a thing as that?”

  Finally I could stand it no more and I burst into tears. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I protested. “Yes. I wore the necklace to school, but that is not wrong. I just wanted to wear it so my friends could see.”

  Papa was unmoved by my display of emotion. “And in addition to that, you’ve been going down there to the Eichmann house, stirring up trouble.”

  “I didn’t stir up trouble
.” I wiped my eyes with my hands. “Karl

  Eichmann is the one causing trouble. He beats Adolf.” “That is none of your concern.”

  “Adolf has trouble with his grades,” I continued. “They took him out of school because his grades are bad. I wanted to help him. He’s my friend.”

  “I understand that he is your friend,” Papa said patiently, “but you cannot go down there. It is too dangerous.”

  “Too dangerous for what?”

  “Adolf ’s father is an influential member of the Workers Party. They do not like Jews. You must not provoke him.”

  “But what about him provoking me?”

  Papa raised an eyebrow. “Did he touch you?”

  “No.” I looked down at the tabletop. “But he said mean things about me.”

  “Like what?”

  “They said I was trying to kill Adolf just like I killed Grandma.” “Ah,” Mama gasped. “Who would say such a thing to a child?”

  “It does not matter,” Papa slowly shook his head from side to side. “It does not matter what they said. Words do not matter. They cannot hurt you unless you allow them to. I want you to stay away from there.” He looked up at Mama. “Perhaps we should sell the locket.”

  “No!” I shouted. “You cannot sell it.” Tears streamed down my cheeks once more. “It is mine. Grandma gave it to me.”

  “It’s okay,” Mama put her hand on my shoulder. “No one is going to sell the locket.” She looked over at Papa. “Your mother gave it to her on her deathbed. There must be a reason God put such an idea in her mind. I don’t think that reason was so we would sell it.” She gave me a hug. “We should help Sarah find that reason. Karl Eichmann can rule his own house, but we cannot let him rule ours, too.”

  Papa sat there staring at us for what seemed like a very long time. Then, finally, his shoulders relaxed and his countenance softened. “Okay,” he sighed. “The locket is in the jewelry box and that is where we will leave it.”

  I wiped my eyes with my hands once more. “But what about the tax?” “I will take care of that,” Papa replied.

  “Perhaps Uncle Alois can help,” I suggested with a smile. “Yes,” Papa nodded, “perhaps he can.”

  * * *

  Papa’s warning not to go down to the Eichmanns’ house scared me and in response I decided to simply stay inside when not in school. Two days after he confronted me, I came home as usual and went up to my room. Sometime later I became aware that darkness had fallen and evening was fully past. Yet Mama had not called me downstairs to help with supper. I was concerned and came from my room to see what was wrong.

  As I reached the bottom of the stairs I heard Mama in the kitchen, nervously flittering about. “I am sorry,” I apologized. “I did not realize it was so late. Where is Papa?”

  “Today is the day he had to answer the complaint about the tax.” “So soon? He only got the papers a few days ago.”

  “I do not set the times for the Rehabilitation Board.” “Did Uncle Alois go with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” I smiled confidently. “Everything will turn out right.” Mama was puzzled. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve seen the way people look when they come to his house for help. They arrive sad and they leave smiling. He makes things turn out right.”

  About an hour later, Papa finally arrived at home. I saw him coming from the front window and ran outside to greet him. He was tired but smiling. I hooked my arm in his. “What happened?”

  “I told them the story.” “The story? What story?”

  “That my mother died and she owned only the one necklace and locket, that my daughter took it from the jewelry box and wore it to school because she missed her grandmother. Others saw it and were mistaken about what it meant.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “They said I should keep my children under better control, and then they dismissed the case.”

  “Was Adolf ’s father there?”

  “No,” Papa shook his head. “No one was there for the other side.” By then we were at the front door. Mama was waiting for us. She gave him a knowing look. “We dodged the trouble this time?”

  “Yes,” Papa nodded. “But I do not think we will be so lucky again.” He kissed her on the cheek as he came inside.

  Mama took his arm and walked with him through the house to the kitchen, where he washed his hands. Then we followed him to the table and took our seats. As we passed the bowls of food, Papa’s face turned solemn. “We can be happy among ourselves for what has happened, but we must say nothing of this to others.” He looked across the table at me. “Understand?”

  “Yes, Papa,” I replied.

  “You must not brag about it to Adolf or that little boy you’ve been hanging around with.” His expression softened ever so slightly. “Stephan? Is that his name?”

  The sound of his voice made me giggle. “You know his name?”

  “Of course he knows his name,” Mama reassured. “He just doesn’t want to admit that his daughter might have a friend who is a boy.”

  “He is my friend.”

  “That’s what you said about Eichmann,” David added.

  “He is my friend, too,” I continued. “But not his parents. And not his sister.”

  Papa looked up from his plate. “Why do you say that?” “They said mean things to me.”

  “If you stay away from their house, you won’t have to worry about that, will you?”

  “No, Papa.”

  He gave Mama a worried look, then cut his eyes back at me. “See that you remember it.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  One afternoon the following week, after I was home from school, Mama came up to my room and sat on the bed. I was at my desk, reading a history lesson. As she came in I put the book aside and turned toward her. She looked tired and her eyes were sad. Mama patted the bed. “We need to talk. Come and sit beside me.”

  I moved from the desk to the bed and took a seat next to her. “What’s the matter?”

  “Your father and I have been talking.” She seemed nervous and awkward. “Things here are not as they seem.”

  “What do you mean?” My forehead wrinkled in a frown. “I don’t understand.”

  “Life in Linz is changing. Austria is changing. It is not like it used to be. Your Aunt Haya in Spain has offered to let you live with her and attend school there.”

  I could hardly comprehend what she was saying. I had lived in Linz all my life. All my friends lived there and to now move away and leave them seemed unfathomable. “Spain? Why? What are you talking about? Why are you telling me this?”

  “We think it would be better for you to go there.”

  “This makes no sense to me,” I argued. “Has something happened? Has someone caused more trouble?”

  “Not exactly,” she sighed.

  I lay back on the bed and shook my head. “I don’t understand.” Mama turned in my direction and for the first time I noticed she was crying. “It would just be better if you went to school somewhere else. It’s for your own good.”

  “What about David? Is he coming, too?”

  “David is older. And,” she shrugged, “he’s a boy.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed the end of her nose.

  I propped myself on my elbows. “Why is that different, just because he’s a boy?”

  “It shouldn’t be that way, but it just is. He will be finished with school before long. But you … you must leave Austria for now.”

  Then suddenly I knew. “This is about Karl Eichmann, isn’t it?” When she didn’t respond I sat all the way up. “I knew it was something more than you were saying.”

  “We are concerned for you. Things here are not as they seem anymore. Others have left already. You should go, too.”

  “What did he say?” She turned away, shaking her head. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back toward me. “Tell me,” I insisted. “What did he say?”

  Mama rea
ched out with her arm and pulled me close. Her lips were near my ear and I could hear the raspy sound of her breathing as she spoke. “Yesterday, when your father left the shop, Karl Eichmann asked about you.”

  “He asked about me?” “Yes.”

  “That was nice of him to remember me, wasn’t it?”

  She shook her head. “He wasn’t being nice. He wanted to know why we raised you to be so disrespectful of adults and why we hadn’t taught you your place in life. And he said if we didn’t put you in your place, he would.”

  I leaned away from her to look her in the eye. “Put me in my place?” I gave her a puzzled look. “What does that mean?”

  “It means what I was telling you before, about living within the limitations life gives us.”

  “I don’t understand. He thinks he can teach me how to act?”

  “They want you to act like one of the Germans instead of who you really are.”

  “And who am I?”

  Mama grabbed me against her and hugged me even closer. “You are beautiful and smart.”

  I loved it when she held me like that. “And funny?” I giggled, trying to break the tension of the moment.

  “Yes,” she smiled. “And funny.” Then she leaned away and the serious expression returned. “But funny will get you into trouble.” She gestured with her hand for emphasis. “Austria is no longer a place where young Jewish girls can afford to get into trouble of any kind.” She stood and straightened her dress. “Now come with me to the kitchen. We have work to do before supper.”

  “When will I go?”

  “I do not know yet.” She moved toward the door. “We must make arrangements.” By then she was in the hall. “Come. We must get busy.”

  After supper that evening, Papa and I sat in the front room. He asked if Mama talked to me about going to visit Aunt Haya.

  “She talked about me going there to school.”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “That’s what I mean.” It seemed difficult for him to talk about it. “For you to attend school.”