The Locket

by Evans, Mike

  “What about you and Mama and David?”

  “What about us?”

  “Will you be coming to Spain, too?” I already knew the answer but I wanted to hear him give it.

  He looked away. “Perhaps we will join you later.” “Join me? You are certain?”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding his head vigorously. “Perhaps.” “And we will all be together again?”

  “I should hope so.” He had a tight, thin smile.

  “You would do that?” I pressed. “You would move all the way to Spain?”

  “Nothing has been set for certain, Sarah. I haven’t even talked to Haya about that part, but I don’t see why not.” And I knew that was the truth.

  “But I still don’t understand why I am going.”

  “Things are changing here,” he said, trying to explain. “It is no longer good for you.”

  “Is this really because of Adolf ’s father? Is that all that happened?” “Your mother told you about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “He is just part of the problem. The situation here is changing. Things have taken a turn. I can’t explain it. It’s just not good anymore.”

  “Aunt Haya knows of this? Of me coming?”

  “Yes. Of course. That is what I’ve been telling you. Didn’t your mother explain this to you?”

  “Yes. You have heard from her directly?” “No. Through a relative.”

  Just then Mama entered the room. “Perhaps we could have a party before you go,” she smiled. I was certain she had been listening to our conversation from the other room.

  “A party?” I grinned, trying not to be sad or dour. “That would be lovely. How soon am I leaving?”

  “Soon,” Papa replied. “Soon.”

  “If we had a party, I could say goodbye to my friends.”

  “No,” Papa shook his head earnestly. “That would not be a good idea.”

  “But why not?”

  “It would draw too much attention. You should simply go, with no more said about it than if you were walking to school. Just get on the train and go. No fanfare.”

  Fear struck in the pit of my stomach. “Will I travel alone?” “We…are arranging someone to go with you.”

  His hesitancy made me nervous. “Who? Who is it? Is it someone I know?”

  “A friend. Someone Uncle Alois knows.” I looked up at Mama. “Who is it?”

  “We aren’t sure yet.”

  * * *

  Mama and I spent the next two weeks preparing for my trip—cleaning and sorting my clothes, gathering essential items, then packing everything into a large trunk. The night before I was to leave, Uncle Alois came to the house with an envelope. He handed it to Papa and smiled at me. “This is a great opportunity for you, Sarah. Haya is a wonderful host and you will do well under her care.”

  “I have never been on a train before.”

  “Then this will be an adventure for you.” He rested his hand on my shoulder. “In fact, when Haya went to Spain with Carlos, it was her first train trip, too.”

  “How old was she?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Maybe nineteen or twenty.” “I am only twelve.”

  “Well,” he patted me on the shoulder, “we will take care of everything. Don’t you worry.”

  “Aunt Haya was glad to go to Spain?”

  “She was happy to go,” he smiled. “We all thought she was crazy, not so much for going to Spain but for marrying that Carlos Murillo. He was a character.”

  “What happened to him?” “He was killed.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t remember the exact details.” He took a watch from his pocket and checked the time. “Oh my. It’s getting late. Orna,” he glanced at Mama, “I have to be going now. You will have her at the station in the morning?”

  “Yes,” Mama nodded. “We’ll be there.”

  The next morning, David and I said goodbye before he headed off to school, then Papa and Mama drove me to the train station. We arrived a little after seven. The train was scheduled to leave at eight for the first leg of our journey that would take us across the border into Switzerland. We stopped at the ticket window and Papa took an envelope from his pocket and handed a slip to the clerk. It was the same envelope Uncle Alois had given him the night before. The clerk issued tickets for the trip, stamped each of them, and handed them to Papa. A porter took my trunk and then we walked out to the boarding platform. The air was unusually cold that morning and I pulled the collar of my coat up around my neck.

  Across from the main station, the train that I was to take sat idle on the tracks, but the doors to the cars were closed. Down the platform to the left I saw steam seeping from the locomotive, and through the morning glare I saw soldiers and policemen on patrol. Papa checked the tickets and led us to a car near the end of the train. We stood there, trying to think of things to say, alternately hoping the time would pass quickly and desperately clinging to every second.

  Half an hour later, an older couple arrived. They were both smiling as they approached and acted as if they knew us. I had never seen them before. Mama was polite but reserved, especially with the woman. After exchanging a greeting, Papa introduced them to me as Ernst and Julia Deutsch. “They will ride with you to Cordova,” he explained.

  “We will look after you,” Julia smiled, “and see that you get there safe and sound. Don’t you worry.”

  Mama could see I was afraid and she hooked her arm in mine. “It’s okay, Sarah,” she spoke softly. “This will be good. You will see. Everything will work out.”

  I leaned my head against her shoulder and whispered, “I am afraid I will never see you again.”

  Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. “We must be brave. These are difficult times. Only God knows why He has sent them to us. So we must be brave and trust Him for His own purposes.”

  While we stood there waiting, an Austrian policeman approached us. He glanced at Ernst and Julia, then looked at Papa. “Your identification cards, please.”

  Papa took a card from his coat pocket and handed it to the officer. He glanced at it, then handed it back. “What about these two?” He gestured at Mama and me.

  “Our daughter is taking the train,” Papa explained. “Orna and I shall remain here.”

  “You have tickets?”

  “Yes.” Papa took the tickets from his pocket and showed them to the officer.

  “The girl can’t board without an identity card.”

  “Yes,” Papa nodded. He returned the tickets to an outer pocket of his jacket and withdrew a second card.

  The officer took it from him, studied it for a moment, then handed it back. “Very good. Everything seems to be in order.” He turned to Julia and doffed his cap. “Have a pleasant journey.”

  When he was gone Papa handed the card to me. “Put this in your purse and do not lose it.” Then he gave me the tickets. “Do not lose these.”

  I took them from him and placed them in my purse, then gestured with a nod toward Ernst and Julia. “Why did he not ask them for their cards?”

  “Hush, now,” Papa cautioned. “This is not the time for questions. Everything has been arranged. Just do as they tell you, and if anyone asks let Ernst answer first.”

  A few minutes later, the doors to the train car opened and a conductor appeared. He climbed from the car, opened a compartment beside the door, and took out a small step stool. When it was in place below the door, he turned to face us and in a low voice cried, “All aboard!”

  “It is time.” Papa tried his best to smile, but I could see he was struggling to keep from crying.

  Ernst and Julia boarded the train and waited for me inside. I said one final goodbye to Mama, gave Papa a hug, and stepped aboard. Ernst led the way down the narrow corridor through the center of the car to our compartment. I was glad it was located on the platform side of the train. When I was settled into my seat, I leaned my head against the window and waved to Papa and Mama. Papa smiled bravely and w
aved. Mama wept. Soon the train car lurched forward and we began to roll from the station. I stared out the window, watching them standing there together on the platform, until the train rounded a curve and the station was out of sight.

  For the remainder of the morning, I sat by the window and watched as the Austrian countryside moved past. In spite of my sadness at leaving my family behind, I was fascinated by the things I saw. This was not only my first time to travel by train, it was also my first time traveling west of Wels, a city not far from Linz. Papa went there once to attend a fabric market and took me with him. I was four years old and the world beyond our neighborhood seemed strange and wonderful. It was equally as strange and wonderful as we rode on the train,

  but I already missed home and especially Mama.

  Around noon, we crossed the border into Switzerland. Julia and Ernst expected the train to stop to allow Swiss officials to check for visas and travel documents, but the train continued without even slowing. A little while later, when they were certain we really weren’t going to stop, we walked to the restaurant car and ate lunch.

  We arrived in Zurich around three that afternoon and got off to change trains. I wanted to go inside the station and look around but Ernst would not allow it. He said we should stay on the platform. Benches sat nearby and we rested on them, but after two hours I was sure we called more attention to ourselves just sitting there than we would have by wandering around inside the building. Still, Papa said I should not ask questions and do what they said, so I did my best to obey him, but it wasn’t easy.

  At five that afternoon we finally boarded a different train and traveled southwest to Geneva. It was a short trip and, because of the delay in Zurich, we had little time at the station to catch the next train. We ran to the platform and were the last passengers to board. I liked that we didn’t have to sit and wait. By the time we reached our compartment the train was moving.

  Sometime after midnight, the train slowed to a stop on a siding. Ernst thought we were not far from Lyon. Outside the window there was only darkness. Then I heard the heavy thud of boots as someone walked along the corridor, coming in our direction—walking, stopping, walking some more, but always growing closer and closer. And there were voices. Gruff and loud, they reverberated through the walls. I glanced around nervously. Julia caught my eye and smiled at me. “Just a short delay. Nothing to worry about.”

  In a moment, the door to our compartment opened and the conductor appeared. Beside him was a man wearing a dark suit and behind him was a soldier. “Identity cards and travel documents,” the conductor growled in the same gruff, officious tone I’d heard through the walls.

  I turned in the seat for my purse, but Julia gently touched the back of my hand. “I have them right here,” she said calmly. She opened her travel bag and took out an envelope, which she handed to Ernst. He passed them to the conductor.

  From my place on the seat I saw that he held three sets of papers in his hands and, as he turned the pages, I saw they all bore Christian names. The clerk examined them a moment, then handed them back to Ernst. “Very good,” he said, then he closed the door and they all trouped to the next compartment.

  Ernst returned the documents to the envelope and handed it to Julia. She placed it in the travel bag and latched it closed. As she slid them in place I leaned near her and asked, “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing.” She closed the clasp on the bag and looked over at me. “Nothing at all,” and then she patted me on the thigh. “Try to sleep now.” Moments later she was sound asleep, and I turned again to stare out the window into the darkness.

  Sometime in the night I fell asleep to the gentle rocking of the train coach and the clatter of the wheels against the rails. I awoke to find my head resting in Julia’s lap. The glare of the morning sun streamed through the window. “Where are we?” I was barely awake.

  “Southern France.”

  “Not far from Toulouse,” Ernst added. “We’ll have to change trains again.”

  “I’m hungry. Can we go to the restaurant car for breakfast?”

  “Better to stay in here,” Ernst warned. “We can try the restaurant after we’ve crossed into Spain.”

  Julia opened her travel bag and took out a brown paper sack. In it were three rolls wrapped in paper. She handed one to me and I took a bite. The food was dry and crumbly but I ate it without complaint. They had one too, and we all smiled as if we were on a picnic. All the while, I wondered why we were waiting until we reached Spain to go to the restaurant car.

  * * *

  At dusk the following day the train entered Cordova. I had expected to find it a sleepy town and was surprised to find it was a city. I stared out the window at the brown and tan buildings and was struck by how different it looked from what I was used to. Austria seemed farther away than ever.

  In a few minutes we came to a stop at the station. I was tired of sitting and tired of being confined to our cramped compartment. Even sleeping didn’t make me feel any better. As people began to file off the car, Julia turned to me. “Your Aunt Haya will be waiting on the platform. How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

  “I’m not sure,” I shrugged. “It’s been a while.” “Will you recognize her?”

  “I think so. Won’t you be there?”

  She picked up her travel bag and stood. “We’ll get off ahead of you.” Ernst reached past her, opened the compartment door, then leaned aside to let her go first. When I turned to follow, he held out his arm. “Come behind me,” he smiled. “You get off last.” I was puzzled by what he said and I think he must have known it because he patted me on the head and said, “It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

  I waited as they made their way into the aisle, then stepped from the compartment behind them. As I did, another couple moved ahead of me, separating me from Julia and Ernst. I could still see them just a few feet ahead and watched as they continued down the aisle to the steps at the end of the car. When they reached the platform, they turned to the right and moved out of sight. It seemed odd to me, what they had said before we left the compartment and the way they left the car, but I wasn’t worried. I just wanted to get off the train.

  As Julia had said, Aunt Haya was standing on the platform. I spotted her as I came down the steps and moved past the conductor. Although I had not seen her since I was three, her picture was in a frame on Mama’s dresser. I recognized her immediately. While I was still a few feet away, she stepped toward me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and pulled me close. My face was buried in her chest. She smelled like roses with a hint of mineral water. The smell of it tickled my nose. I had to concentrate to keep from sneezing. When she finally let me go I turned to introduce Julia and Ernst, but they were gone.

  “Never mind about that,” Aunt Haya said. “I’m sure they know their way around.” She took me by the hand and we started from the platform. “We should get you home. I think you could use a nice hot bath.”

  The thought of a bath made me smile, but then I remembered my luggage. “I have a trunk,” I worried that it might get left behind. “We should find it first.”

  “Alberto will get it.” “Who is Alberto?”

  “My driver,” she answered over her shoulder as she led me toward the station.

  Inside the building, we quickly crossed the lobby to the front door and stepped outside. A very large Packard automobile was parked at the curb. Behind it a tall, slender man was strapping my trunk onto a luggage rack above the rear bumper. Haya waited for him to finish, then he came around and opened the rear door. She climbed in back and gestured for me to follow. “Sit right here beside me.” She patted the seat cushion with her hand just like Mama did when she wanted me next to her and I was struck by the similarity of their mannerisms.

  Though older than Mama, Aunt Haya had a quick mind and sharp eyes, but she coughed most of the way from the station and we could hardly talk. Alberto pointed out some of the sights as we made our way through town. A few minutes lat
er we crossed a river I later came to know was the Guadalquivir. Broad and peaceful, it meandered through the city at an almost imperceptible pace. All around me were buildings and houses with stucco exteriors, flat roofs, and all of them painted and finished in same earth tones I had noticed from the train as we entered the city. Back in Linz, the houses were made with clapboard siding and gabled roofs, most which were trimmed in white. The difference in appearance took a while to get used to.

  Across the river we turned right, passed several shops, then drove up a low hill. At the top, Alberto slowed the car and turned into a short driveway that ended near the front steps of a large house. “This is home,” he announced.

  I leaned my head to one side to see out the window and looked up at it. Like most of the buildings I had seen that day, the house was the color of sand, with a stucco exterior and clay tile roof. The central portion was three stories high and around it the first floor spread out on all four sides in a rambling fashion. Sitting atop the hill as it did, the house seemed to tower above the neighboring structures. It looked to me like a mansion.

  We stepped from the car and were greeted by the housekeeper, Maria Landa. She was tall and slender with smooth brown skin and black hair. I learned later that, as a teenager, she had been offered a job as a model but her father had made her turn it down. She smiled at me, and when she spoke her accent made the words sound like music.

  While Alberto wrestled my trunk from the car, Maria escorted us up the steps and into the front parlor of the house, where we found a young woman waiting for us. Aunt Haya introduced her only as Alona. She spoke with an eastern accent and from the sound of it I thought she might be from one of the countries to the east of Austria, but I had never been beyond the Austrian border in any direction. She was about twenty and I liked her from the start.

  After we exchanged greetings in the parlor, Maria led me upstairs to the second floor and showed me to a bedroom. Unlike the exterior, walls inside the house were painted white. The bedroom was no different. It had white walls and a white ceiling with white curtains hanging over a single window that stood opposite the doorway. A wardrobe stood along the wall and a dresser sat beyond the window. In between was the bed with a nightstand on one side and a washbasin on the other.