The Locket

by Evans, Mike

  My question seemed to catch Aunt Haya off guard, but she quickly recovered and gave me a blank look. “What others?”

  “The ones in the—” Haya cut me off with a look. I suddenly realized she didn’t want Maria to know. My mind raced as I searched for a way to get off the topic. “I…thought…you said someone was joining us.”

  “They left already.”

  My attempt to cover for the mistake only made things worse. Maria had a quizzical expression. “Someone was here?”

  “They stopped by while you were gone,” Aunt Haya explained. “Nothing important. Just saying hello.”

  That night after dinner, I found a note on my bed. Written in Aunt Haya’s hand it said simply, “Come to my room.” I tucked the note into my pocket and walked down the hall to her bedroom. She was lying in bed, propped on pillows, reading a book as I stepped through the doorway. She gestured with her left hand and said in a coarse whisper, “Close the door.” I pulled it shut behind me and stepped to her bedside. She patted the mattress with her hand in a gesture for me to sit, which I did. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier in the kitchen, when you and Maria were preparing supper.”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “I said too much.”

  “We must not talk about the things that happen here in front of

  Maria,” she continued, still in a whisper.

  I nodded once more. “But why not? Is she not helping us?”

  “I’m not sure about her. Oscar said he heard some rumors about her and until we find out the truth, we’ll have to be careful.”

  “Does she know about the room in the basement?”

  “No.” Aunt Haya gave her head a shake. “It was there before she came to work for me and I haven’t told her.” She pointed at me. “And don’t you tell her, either.” We talked a little longer, then I went to my room.

  Late in the night, I was awakened by someone banging on the front door. For a moment I thought of all those things Oscar and Aunt Haya had said to me about the policeman in the park. Images flooded my mind with all the things that might happen to me. Then I heard Maria’s voice as she answered the door. Moments later the sound of footsteps came from the hallway, followed by Haya’s voice from downstairs. “There’s no one here. No one at all.”

  A male voice responded in a gruff and demanding tone. “We have received evidence that you are harboring illegals. Recently arrived to the country. A man and woman with a young girl.” I threw back the covers, came from the bedroom, and appeared at the top of the stairs. From there I had a clear view of the entryway at the front door and I could see the man was a policeman dressed in a blue uniform. He was not the officer who confronted us in the park and from that I gained great comfort. In my young mind I thought that if there were to be trouble over that incident, the officer we saw would be the one who caused it. That a different officer appeared at our door must mean trouble of a different sort.

  When he saw me on the stairs he pointed up at me and called out in a loud voice, “You there! Who are you?”

  “I am Sarah,” I replied as politely as I could, not at all afraid anymore. Haya looked alarmed. “She’s my niece.” I could hear the worry in

  her voice.

  The officer’s eyes were still fixed on me. “Let me see your papers,”

  he demanded.

  “They are in my room.” “Get them.”

  I hurried to the bedroom and opened the trunk. The envelope we received from the Interior Ministry was in a compartment on the top tray. I found it and took out the identification card, then rushed downstairs and handed it to the officer. While he looked at the card, I did my best to engage him in conversation. “What’s your name?”

  “Mendez,” he answered without looking up.

  “Is that all of it?”

  He glanced at me. “Fernando Mendez.” “And where do you come from?” “Barcelona.”

  “Do you have papers?”

  He stopped reading and looked me in the eye. “I don’t need papers, young lady. I am a soldier and a police officer.”

  “But how do we know that?”

  “I have a uniform,” he said with a tug of his shirt for emphasis. “That’s a nice uniform,” I said with a smile. “But any good tailor can

  make a uniform.”

  “Yes,” he grinned. “I suppose so.”

  I pointed to a medal on his chest. “You are wearing army medals on your policeman’s uniform?”

  “It is allowed. Now, about this—”

  To his consternation I cut him off and continued to talk. “Any good silversmith could make those medals. What are they?”

  He placed his finger on the first one. “This one is from a battle in

  France.”

  “You were in the war?” “Yes.”

  “In school they told us Spain was neutral.”

  “That is true,” he said with pride, “but I joined a separate unit. We defended the honor of the German people.”

  “And whose side are you on now?” “The king, of course.”

  “And does the king—”

  He saw my point and held up his hand for me to stop. “I have heard enough.” He handed me the identity card and nodded to Aunt Haya. “Sorry to bother you. I am sure it was all just a mistake.”

  When they were gone, Aunt Haya glared at me. “That was very

  dangerous.”

  “It worked.”

  “Yes.” She stepped toward me. “It was brilliant, but it was also very dangerous.” Suddenly she grabbed me and hugged me close. “And very brave.” She held me tight a moment, then let me go and pointed up the stairs. “Now back to bed.”

  The next morning, I was in the study reading and doing schoolwork, as had become my regular routine, when Aunt Haya entered the room. “I need your help. Come quickly.”

  I rose from my chair with a worried look. “Is something wrong?” “We have to get the people from the basement.” She was already at the doorway to the parlor. “Come quickly.”

  “But what about Maria?” I asked in a stage whisper. “What do we do about her?”

  “I sent her to the meat market.” She crossed the parlor to the hall with me following behind. “We’ll have to hurry,” she huffed. “Oscar will be here any moment.”

  She led the way down the basement steps and I helped her move the shelf aside. The man and woman were seated in the chairs. The little girl was asleep on one of the cots. When we entered, he stood to face us. “It’s okay,” Aunt Haya smiled. “It is time to go.” They seemed not to understand at first but then the man smiled and nodded. He picked up the girl from the cot, and the woman, still looking a little confused, followed. We pushed the door closed with the shelves back in place and then started upstairs.

  As we came up the hall toward the front door, Oscar arrived. I could see his car through the window. Just then, I heard the side door open and there was the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. Panic seized me. Aunt Haya turned to look over her shoulder in my direction. From the look in her eye I knew she was scared too, but in an instant I knew what to do.

  I gestured for them to go ahead and while they continued toward the door, I stepped in the opposite direction and entered the kitchen. Maria stood at the icebox with several packages of meat. They were wrapped in white paper from the butcher and stacked in her arms like firewood, which made it difficult for her to move. I stepped toward her. “Here, let me help you.” I reached around her in an awkward manner and clumsily opened the icebox door, making sure to do so carelessly. As I did, the door banged into the packages in her arms, knocking them to the floor.

  “Oh no!” I exclaimed. “I am so sorry.”

  “It is no problem,” she replied with a strained smile. “You were only trying to help.”

  We stooped to pick them up and I made sure to drop them again. It became comedic and I started giggling. Then Maria began to laugh and by the time we finally got the packages in the icebox, we were out of breath. As we closed the
door, Aunt Haya entered the room. “Did you get everything?” she asked with a smile.

  “Yes,” Maria nodded. “I purchased everything you asked.”

  “Great,” she beamed. “We will have an excellent dinner tonight.” Then with a stern expression she pointed at me. “And you, young lady, need to get back to your studies.” The tone of her voice was gruff, but I could see the twinkle in her eye and knew she was pleased with the way I handled the situation.

  * * *

  The next day, Maria asked if I could accompany her to the central market, a rambling collection of shops and kiosks that covered a city block near the middle of town. Aunt Haya was opposed to me going but Maria persisted and, reluctantly, Aunt Haya agreed. Alberto drove us there in the car. After we were finished shopping, we were supposed to take the bus back as far as the river, and Alberto would collect us there.

  At midmorning we left for the market. Alberto dropped us on the corner near the fish merchants. I walked with Maria as she moved slowly and deliberately from vendor to vendor. She spent a lot of time looking at the items each merchant offered for sale, but I noticed her shopping basket had little in it.

  An hour or so into our venture, I stood near a bin filled with apples, wondering about the price for just one, to eat right then. I turned to ask Maria but she was nowhere in sight. Just then Gabino stepped out from behind a stack of wooden crates. The sight of him startled me and for an instant I smiled at him, then I remembered the warning from Oscar. I turned away and moved down the aisle, my head down and my eyes focused on nothing but avoiding Gabino’s gaze.

  He came alongside me, as I knew he would. “Please, don’t ignore me,” he implored. I glanced at him. “I need your help,” he pleaded. He had an earnest look on his face, but his eyes showed no fear or worry.

  “With what?” I tried not to sound interested.

  “My parents were killed and I have nowhere to go.” “And you think I can help?”

  “I have heard your aunt gives safe passage to those in need and I was hoping you would convince her to help me.” His face softened as he spoke to me and his words sounded stilted and awkward. Still, he was my friend and I felt obligated to help. I was about to agree to speak to Aunt Haya when I caught a glimpse of Maria, watching from the corner of a vendor’s booth not far away. Then I remembered Aunt Haya’s suspicions about her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “You are mistaken.” Then I turned

  away and walked in the opposite direction from where Maria stood.

  Gabino followed after me. “But everyone says she can help,” he said, sounding more angry than desperate.

  “I am sorry you have believed those rumors.” I spoke without looking at him and walked quickly toward an exit. “There is nothing she can do.”

  Behind me I heard Maria speaking to someone, but she spoke too rapidly for me to understand. Then I heard Gabino respond and my heart sank. I was certain it had been a trap designed to trick me into betraying Aunt Haya, a trap that I narrowly escaped. I quickened my pace to avoid being stopped by Maria and reached the exit before she could grab me.

  Outside, I crossed the street to the bus stop and climbed aboard the first bus that came by. Thankfully, it took me all the way to the river and I walked home from there. Aunt Haya was surprised to see me back so soon. “You are home early,” she smiled. “Where is Maria?”

  “Still at the market, I suppose.” Then I told about the incident with Gabino and how I was certain Maria had set it up.

  Aunt Haya nodded thoughtfully. “You do not think Gabino’s parents really were killed?”

  “I think it was a trap.” “Why?”

  “The way Maria acted, leaving me there like that and then watching. The way Gabino talked to me. I did not like it.”

  “You may be right. I will contact Oscar and see what he can find out.” For the remainder of the day I stayed in my room, reading and listening for Maria. I was anxious to find out what might happen when she returned, but by noon she had not come home and I began to wonder if she ever would. Then, a little before four, I heard her in the kitchen. Aunt Haya was down there and they were talking but I could not hear what they said, only the rumbling sound of voices as their conversation drifted through the house.

  We had supper as usual. Maria served us in the dining room. She said nothing to me about our trip to the market and Aunt Haya made no mention of the day’s events. Later that evening, Oscar came to the house. Aunt Haya called me into the parlor and I told them again what happened at the market.

  Oscar was frustrated by my lack of discretion earlier, when we were preparing supper a few nights before and I mentioned the people in the basement room. He was certain that what I said made Maria suspicious and might have compromised their effort. But, having aired his sentiment completely on that matter, he conceded with a smile, “At least you had the presence of mind to keep quiet in the market and to come to us.” There was now no reason to avoid the questions that had been on my mind, so I took a deep breath and asked, “Why were the people hiding in the basement?”

  Oscar stood near the fireplace. Aunt Haya sat on the sofa. He glanced over at her and she responded with a nod. Then his shoulders sagged, as if letting down his guard. “They were Jews escaping Germany, on their way to Palestine.”

  “Escaping Germany? Something has happened in Germany?”

  “With the rise of the National Socialist Workers Party, things have gone from bad to worse for our people. They have not been very successful yet in elections but their campaigns have stirred the people against us. It does not look good. As many as are able are getting out.”

  “Alona was going to Palestine,” I countered, “but she stayed upstairs in a bedroom.”

  “Alona was from Poland,” Aunt Haya explained. “And she had proper documentation from the Polish government.”

  “And the others had no papers?”

  “No,” Oscar shook his head. “They had no papers and very little else except for the clothes on their backs.”

  “They were poor?”

  “They were forced into it.”

  “But how?” It seemed incredible to me that one could be forced to live in poverty.

  “Look,” Oscar sighed. “I’m not sure how much of this you can understand or even need to know.” He paused, as if considering whether to continue. “But,” he said finally, “I suppose if you’re going to live here you might as well know something of what we face.” He placed his hands in his pockets. “The German process for emigration is unpredictable at best. Whether they issue proper documents to Jews depends very much on the clerk involved and the person making the request. The people you saw here at the house were certain they would never get official permission to travel. So they decided to leave everything behind and simply get out.”

  “They just walked away from everything they owned?” The thought of it left me feeling lonely and hollow inside.

  Oscar turned away, a distant look in his eye. “If our sources inside the German government are accurate, they made a wise decision.”

  “They came to us,” Aunt Haya continued, “because the British government controls Palestine and puts strict limitations on the number of Jews who can move there to live. We are able to get around those limitations by using our contacts in the Spanish government who issue the appropriate documents, as if the person were a Spanish citizen.”

  “A non-Jewish Spanish citizen,” Oscar added. “There are no immigration limitations on them.”

  “Only, not everyone in Spain agrees with us,” Aunt Haya interjected. “As we mentioned to you earlier,” Oscar went on, “we are caught in the middle, between those who oppose the king and those who are loyal, between those who hate Jews and those who don’t, between those who want to return to Palestine and those who think it’s a bad idea.” He sighed, “And now our entire operation is in the hands of a ten-year-old.”

  “Twelve,” I corrected.

  “Okay,” he shrugged. “A t
welve-year-old.” “What about Maria? What will happen to her?”

  “I’m not sure,” Oscar replied. “Has she said anything to you about it?” “No, not a word.”

  “Then don’t say anything to her about it. Act like nothing has happened, at least until we find out what Alois says.”

  * * *

  A few days later, I was studying in the room off the parlor when Oscar’s car turned into the driveway. It came to a stop in front of the house and the passenger door opened. My heart leaped when I saw Uncle Alois climb from the front seat. I ran from the room, threw open the front door, and raced down the steps to him. He was startled when I wrapped my arms around his neck.

  “They didn’t tell me you were coming!” I exclaimed. “I thought it would be best that way.”

  “I’m just glad you’re here.”

  Oscar came from the driver’s side of the car and took Uncle Alois’ suitcase from the back seat. Then we all climbed the steps to the porch, where Aunt Haya was waiting. They greeted each other with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then she took him by the arm and led him inside. Oscar carried the luggage upstairs and gestured for me to follow. When we reached the second floor he turned to me. “Let’s give them a few minutes to visit alone. She hasn’t seen him in over a year.” I was disappointed not to spend every minute with Uncle Alois, but I understood their need to catch up on each other’s lives. Instead of bounding downstairs, I retreated to my room.

  A little while later, Aunt Haya called for me. I came to the hallway and leaned over the banister. She stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Come down here, please. You need to visit with your uncle.”

  When I reached the first floor I found Uncle Alois waiting in the hallway. Aunt Haya gestured to him and took me by the hand. “Let’s take a walk outside. We can visit while we stroll.”