The Locket

by Evans, Mike

  A policeman moved toward me but Papa intervened. “I am sorry, officer.” He removed his cap and bowed. “She is just visiting with us and does not understand our customs. I assure you she meant no offense.”

  He glared at Papa, then looked past him, his eyes roving over me. “See to it that you keep her under control.”

  “Yes, sir,” Papa bowed once more.

  He turned away from the officer, replaced his hat atop his head, and started toward the pile of luggage. As he passed me he said tersely, “Keep your mouth shut.”

  Papa pulled my trunk from the pile, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and carried it from the platform toward the station building. As we approached the doors, he turned and walked along the edge of the building to the corner. A cart sat there and he put the trunk on it, then walked around to the front and picked up the forks where a horse would have been harnessed. With slow, plodding steps, he started forward and we walked up the street away from the station.

  I could not believe what I was seeing. “First, they insult us by tossing my trunk aside. Then an officer confronts us and you bow to him. And now we are walking?”

  “The exercise will do you good.” “But why?”

  “Because we have no car.”

  “What happened to it?” I walked beside him, flailing my arms and talking loudly. He remained expressionless, his head down, putting one foot in front of the other.

  “Someone in the Ministry of Finance office wanted it.” “You sold it?”

  “They took it.”

  “Took it?” I felt as if I had fallen into a nightmare. “They just took it? Without paying for it? Papa, that isn’t right.”

  “They raised the taxes on it and when I couldn’t pay, they seized it.” “Well, then why don’t we get a taxi?”

  “You ask too many questions. You always ask too many questions.” “But I thought you’d—”

  “You should never have come back here.” “I had no choice. Haya died.”

  “I know she died, but you should have stayed there. Made a life for yourself.”

  “Oscar told me to leave.”

  “Oscar is an idiot. You never should have come back here.”

  A man banged into the cart. He shouted and yelled at us and kicked Papa in the shin. Papa doffed his hat and moved on. I was wide-eyed as I watched the scene unfold before me. “What has happened?” I scanned the streets and tried to make sense of it. Around us, the city seemed drab and grimy. The faces of the people we passed were blank and emotionless.

  “Too many questions,” Papa continued. “You ask too many questions.”

  “I want to know,” I insisted. “I want to know what happened.”

  He brought the cart to a stop and turned to me. “Look around you, Sarah. Things have changed. This is not the Linz you once knew.”

  “But why?”

  “The Republic is over. Fascists are in control. And they hate us.”

  “Hate us? Hate Austrians?” “No, they hate Jews.”

  An hour later we arrived at home. Mama saw us coming and raced down the sidewalk to greet us. Like Papa, she looked older than I had imagined but when she threw open her arms and hugged me close, things seemed almost normal.

  That evening, after supper, Stephan Rovina came for a visit. I had thought of him often while living in Spain, but until that night I did not realize how much I had missed him. He had the kindest eyes and when he looked at me everything else disappeared and it was as though we were alone, even on a crowded street. We walked outside to the front porch and sat on the edge at the top of the steps.

  “Mama and Papa do not seem happy to see me,” I complained. “Things are different now.”

  “Everyone says that. They said that when I left for Spain. They said it when they wanted me to leave Spain and come back here. Now I get back, and everyone is saying it again. Okay. Things have changed. But I’m still their daughter. I am glad to see them. Why can’t they be glad to see me?”

  “I’m sure they are, but when they see you here, they don’t think of how beautiful you are, or how smart you are, or what a great future you have. They think only of what could happen to you and it makes them sad.”

  I smiled at him. “Did you just tell me I’m beautiful?”

  “Yes,” he grinned, and he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. But before he could reach me, I turned toward him and met his lips with mine. His eyes opened wide and we giggled. Then he kissed me again and I enjoyed it.

  “I am glad to see you,” he whispered, “but even I wish you had never come back.”

  My forehead wrinkled in a frown. “I don’t understand.”

  “In Spain, you were far from me and I thought of you every day. But I knew you were safe and nothing would happen to you there. At least that way we had hope for the future.”

  “You don’t think there is hope for the future now?”

  “When the Republic died, Austria died with it. Now all the anger and bitterness that lay beneath the surface has come out in the open. They hate us. And I don’t think that will change for a very long time.”

  Later that week, I enrolled for my final year of secondary classes. Unlike before, the school was divided into classes for Jews and non-Jews. Only Jewish teachers were allowed to interact with us, and each grade was limited to a single classroom. Often there were not enough desks or chairs for everyone. Many of the boys stood for the entire day, as no one was permitted to sit on the floor.

  We were not allowed to loiter outside on campus either, even at noon, which meant we ate lunch inside, regardless of the weather. When we passed non-Jewish students in the hallway, we were forced to stand aside and let them go by unhindered. And when they went by, we were required to bow our heads and look down, never making eye contact with them. As you might expect from that, we were often subjected to hazing, harassment, and physical abuse.

  Stephan and I had been friends all our lives and during that year our relationship became much more. I was fond of Stephan, and if I had been honest with myself I would have admitted that I loved him. Still, I was unable to shake the memory of Adolf and I wondered what happened to him. He was my first crush, a childhood infatuation, but I could not put him from my mind. Once or twice each week, as I came home from school or walked to the store for Mama, I found a reason to walk past the house where his parents lived. Each time, I studied the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

  Finally, one winter afternoon, I saw his sister, Ilsa, on the sidewalk near their house. I hurried to catch up with her and when I was alongside her I greeted her with a smile. She was startled to see me and before I could speak she hissed at me, “What are you doing here?”

  “I was wondering about Adolf.” “What about him?”

  “Where is he? I haven’t seen him since I came back.”

  “He’s not here,” Ilsa growled. “Why do you ask so many questions?” “I just wanted to know what—”

  “You don’t know anything.” “I was just—”

  “I see you every day—coming by our house. Looking in from the alley. You think no one notices, but I do and I’ve got one thing to say to you.” She leaned closer, her face just inches from mine, and shouted, “Stay away from our house!”

  Her intensity startled me, but I refused to let her intimidate me. Instead I kept smiling. “I was just wondering about Adolf.”

  “Well, you should not be so curious.” “Why not?”

  She turned away and continued up the sidewalk. “Because you are a filthy Jewish pig. And a stupid whore.”

  “Adolf is my friend,” I continued, unwilling to give up. “No Jew would ever be the friend of an Eichmann.” “Why not?”

  “Because we wouldn’t allow it!” she shouted. “That’s why.” “Well, he’s my friend.”

  “Don’t talk to me,” Ilsa shouted. “Leave me alone. Stay away from me. Stay away from us. We don’t want you passing by our house.” She spit on me and shoved me from the sidewalk to the street. “Walk on the o
ther side!” she shouted and shoved me again. “Walk on the other side of the street.”

  By then others had stopped to see what was happening and they began to chant, “Other side of the street, Jew! Other side of the street!” When I didn’t move fast enough, they stepped toward me shouting the phrase over and over as they drew closer and closer.

  Just when I thought they would overtake me, Stephan appeared at my side and took me by the hand. “Let’s go,” he led me away. They followed us into the street, shouting and cursing. Someone threw a bottle at us. Several more threw rocks and others began shouting insults. “Get away from us! Stupid pigs! Haven’t you got sense enough to know we don’t want your kind around here?”

  When we were safely away from them, Stephan turned to me with a desperate look. “What were you doing?”

  “I was trying to talk to Ilsa.”

  “What?” He was beside himself. “Why were you talking to her?”

  “I know her. She’s our neighbor.” Only moments before perfectly calm, even while the crowd yelled at me, but now my hands shook and my voice quivered. Yet inside I was determined to do as I pleased. “I only wanted to talk to her.”

  “Not anymore,” he said grimly. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know what it was like in Spain, but here in Linz it’s forbidden for Jews to talk to them, unless they approach us first.”

  My mouth dropped open and my eyes were wide. “Forbidden?”

  “I told you, things have changed. From now on, you don’t know anyone who isn’t a Jew.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Yes, it is, but it’s safe.” Stephan quickened his pace. “We have to get you home.”

  “I would never live like that. Not talking to someone just because they are different from me is a ridiculous way to live.”

  “Yes, but it’s a safe way to live. And you’ll live that way,” he insisted. “I most certainly will not.” I was angry. “No one can make me live that way.”

  “Yes, they can.”

  “Why? Why would anyone live that way?”

  He came to an abrupt halt and took me by the arm. “Because you don’t want to go to the camps.”

  “What camps?” I was puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Nazis have camps. Concentration camps. That’s where they send political enemies. That’s where they send people who cause trouble. That’s where they send people like us.”

  “We are not in Germany.”

  “Not yet.” He let go of my arm. “But it’s coming.”

  We started walking again and I could see our house in the next block. “I do not believe that. I do not believe we will be reunited with Germany. The Austrian people would never permit the Nazis to rule here.”

  Just then a man and woman passed by. The man bumped against Stephan’s shoulder. He turned with an apologetic look and reached up to doff his hat, then he realized we were Jewish. The friendly expression on his face quickly turned dark. Instead of offering an apology, he cursed at Stephan and spat on him. A glob of spittle landed on the lapel of Stephan’s coat. At the same time, the woman spat toward me, showering my face with her spray.

  Stephan glanced over at me. “You think they do not want to be Germans? They already are Germans.”

  * * *

  One evening, a few weeks later, I attended a concert with Papa and David. Mama was playing the violin with the orchestra and we went to watch her perform. Normally we sat down front, near the center of the audience, but that night we were directed to the balcony. The seats were cramped and the air was hot and stuffy.

  Afterward, members of the orchestra were invited to attend a reception for orchestra patrons. Every year prior to that we had attended as Mama’s guest, but that night when we appeared at the door, attendants shoved us aside. One of the maids working the reception told us we would probably find Mama waiting at the rear entrance. We went around there and found her standing outside in the cold. Papa wanted to speak to someone and find out why she was being treated that way, but Mama insisted that he not.

  “Moshe, it will do no good. I enjoy playing and that is enough. Now let’s go home.” They turned to leave and David did also, but I just stood there and watched. When they realized I wasn’t with them, they turned to face me. “Come, Sarah,” Papa insisted. “You can’t stand out here all night.”

  “Can’t we get a taxi?”

  David came back to me and took me by the hand. “Taxis do not stop for Jews now,” he said softly. “We must walk.”

  When we reached the next corner, a car came to a stop alongside us. The window rolled down and I could see Walter Proch, the orchestra conductor, seated inside on the back seat. Next to him was a young man only a little older than I. At first I thought he’d stopped to give us a ride, but my hopes were quickly dashed.

  “Orna,” Proch said through the open window. “I wanted to tell you that we no longer need your services.”

  Mama frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Your services with the orchestra are no longer needed,” he repeated.

  She stepped toward the car, a look of disbelief still on her face. “You are firing me?”

  “You are dismissed.” “For what reason?”

  “I am terribly sorry.”

  “For what reason are you firing me?” “We have received complaints.” “Complaints? Complaints about what?”

  “There are some who object to a Jew having a chair.”

  Mama’s eyes lit up. “You mean a Jew having a chair at the expense of an Austrian.”

  “You understand the times,” he shrugged. “There is nothing I can do.”

  “I understand I am as much an Austrian as anyone.” She pointed at him. “Perhaps even more than you.” “Well, not in the eyes of some.”

  The young man seated beside him spoke up. “Father,” he scowled. “It’s cold. Roll up the window.”

  “So sorry,” Proch said. Then he rolled up the window and the car sped away.

  Papa took hold of Mama’s arm and in the glare of the streetlight I saw tears streaming down her face. “Now, now. You can play the violin for us at home. David will accompany you on the piano.”

  Mama jerked her arm free of his grasp and shouted, “How much more will they take? Tell me, Moshe. How much more will they take? First they drive our daughter away, then they take the car. Now they’ve taken my music. How much more do they want?”

  “All of it,” David grumbled. “They want all of it.”

  Papa once more took Mama by the arm and we trudged through the empty streets toward home. The air was cold and when we reached the opposite side of town there were no streetlights. All of them had been extinguished in our neighborhood, officially to save on the expense of gas, but many of us felt it was to provide cover for the gangs that roamed the night. Walking in the dark I felt certain we would be accosted by a mob but none came out to confront us and I was left only with the thought of Mama’s question and David’s answer. I was certain he was correct. They wanted everything we had, even our lives.

  In the spring I finished secondary school. Jewish students were not permitted to attend the official graduation ceremony. We were to receive our graduation certificates on the last day of class. But Mr. Zweig, our instructor, convinced school administrators to allow us to hold our own graduation ceremony at which he would confer our certificates. It was supposed to be a discreet affair but it soon became a very big event for the families involved. The ceremony was to be held in the synagogue on Michaelsbergstrasse and afterward a reception was planned for the basement. Mothers and other relatives organized committees for decorations and refreshments and even though no one had very much to contribute, they each agreed to bring what little they had to make it a festive occasion.

  That same spring, the Ministry of Finance issued an order requiring all Jews to file a written declaration of their assets. Supposedly, this was to enable the accurate payment of taxes. Forms were available for mak
ing the required statement but there were no instructions as to how to fill them out, and confusion over the matter quickly became overwhelming. From the day the order was issued until the last week for filing, almost every conversation in the neighborhood turned to the matter of how to fill out the forms. Many thought government officials had simply overlooked the instructions and that they must be available at the Ministry office. Others thought the officials were imbeciles and took great joy in saying so. Mama thought they left off the instructions on purpose, so they could pick and choose which forms to accept and which to reject. I thought she was right.

  Papa had the forms, and on several occasions he sat down at the dining table to fill them out, but each time fear of doing it wrong held him back. Finally the last day for filing arrived and he had no choice but to fill out the form as best he could and take it in person to the Ministry office. The only problem was, that day was the day of my graduation. He was in such a state over it, I offered to go with him to find the correct office, but he refused. “You must graduate.”

  “I will graduate,” I replied. “In fact, I already have. The ceremony is just a ceremony. Mr. Zweig will give me my certificate whether I’m there or not. Several of my class won’t be there anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re too scared to attend. Their parents think something bad will happen and they don’t want to risk being attacked.” I took his hand. “I’ll be glad to go with you.”

  “No,” he said once more. “You must attend the ceremony. You’ve earned it.”

  “Can Uncle Alois help?”

  Papa looked away. “Not now.” His voice had a hint of sadness. “Why not?”

  “He isn’t allowed to practice law anymore.”

  “Not allowed?” I couldn’t believe it. Uncle Alois had been a lawyer for as long as I had been alive. Practicing law and helping people was his life. “Why can’t he practice?”