‘Go and get it then.’ Pam sat on a low bench so they could see the pictures when she turned the book toward them. ‘Start at the beginning,’ Gerd commanded.
‘Again?’ Yes, they wanted it from the beginning. ‘Walter turned over on the straw. He was still dreaming, and the dream frightened him. Down through the dark a monster came toward him. A gray monster that came down and sat on his chest. It spread its wings,’ she turned the book around so that they could see it was only a bird, and someone sighed.
‘Walter wanted to cry out but he couldn’t. He knew the monster could make him sick.’ The next sentence was one she didn’t read. They were too young to understand what it meant to be so sick that you die, but she couldn’t risk it. ‘Walter woke up suddenly and saw what had scared him. An old gray chicken was standing on his chest!’ Everyone laughed. They loved the idea that you could be scared by an old chicken.
Mrs P looked in from the hall. ‘If you’re going to the zoo, you’d better get your coats on.’ Hans was standing behind her, and he waved his fingers at Pam.
‘Read some more!’ Gerd urged, pulling on her skirt.
‘Two pages, then we’re going out. Look at that sunshine!’ She read, ‘Walter pushed the chicken off his chest and it flew away cackling.’ Gerd started to cackle and the other children imitated him. When the noise died down, she explained, ‘Walter isn’t afraid anymore. He’s angry! Do you know why?’
‘Because he was afraid of a silly hen!’
‘Yes, because he had been afraid of nothing! Listen, ‘He spit out a piece of straw that was stuck between his teeth and sat up. Up over his head there was a hole in the roof where the smoke from his fire went out. When he looked up, he could see the sky and then he knew what kind of day it was. Sometimes he didn’t have to look, because it was raining or snowing, and drops of rainwater or snowflakes were falling on his cheeks.
‘This morning the sky was pale blue. Walter knew that was good weather for wolves, and today was the wolf hunt! Oh, he thought, it had better not snow, because then they wouldn’t be able to see the wolves’ prints. Oh, this was a wonderful day, the day of the wolf hunt!’
The children applauded, they were proud of Walter. Pam showed them his picture sitting on the straw smiling and shut the book. ‘Coats and hats,’ she said, and they jumped up and ran into the hall.
Halfway into her own coat, she saw Mrs P signaling her. ‘When you go around the corner,’ she whispered, ‘a young man will meet you. Dr Slump had a phone call from someone who will take a baby right here in Amsterdam. I’ve got one ready for you.’ She handed Pam a brown canvas rucksack, not quite zipped-up, large enough for an infant wrapped tightly in a blanket, a bottle of milk, a few diapers. ‘I’ve fed him, he’ll sleep for a few hours. Long enough.’
Pam buttoned her coat and adjusted the straps on the rucksack carefully over her shoulders. If she were caught, they’d all be arrested, the children, Mrs P, all the nurses, everyone. But there was no other way to do it, and the students who organized the disappearances were very careful. If anybody was around to see them, she’d just have to bring the baby back. She lined the children up in the hall, two by two, Gerd next to her, Sara at the end so she could shoo the little ones ahead of her.
From across the street, a guard was watching them. Standing on the sidewalk and fussing with buttons and caps, she waited until a tram appeared. The driver saw her and slowed down and, hidden from the guard, she and the children walked quickly alongside it. By the time the tram had reached the corner, she and the children were out of sight.
At the entrance to the zoo, a young man eased the rucksack off her back. ‘Thanks,’ he whispered and walked around the next corner. There was nobody on the street but, even so, Pam’s heart didn’t stop pounding until they were safely inside the zoo gates.
When they stopped to look at the three monkeys sitting near the bars of their cage, the door at the back opened a crack, and she saw a man peeking out at them. He had heard the children and he smiled and waved, then shut the door quickly. There were people hiding there, sleeping on straw, hoping the Germans wouldn’t decide to shoot the last of the animals and close the zoo completely.
After the monkeys, the children wanted to see the tropical birds and the snakes, and then it was lunchtime and then a nap. Pam liked that hour, it gave her time to help Mrs P with her reports, all the records the Germans demanded of how many children there were in the nursery that week, how much food they’d bought, and how much money they’d been given and spent, even though the Germans didn't give them any.
When she went into the office, Mrs P said, ‘Pam, help me. Go in and talk to him. His name is Leo. One of the guards brought him over here this morning after you left.’
‘A little boy?’
‘Not little, twelve maybe.’
The Germans had a rule that a child under thirteen was too young to keep in the theater, a rule they broke when it suited them. ‘I can’t talk to him. Do it for me, please.’
‘Of course, but why isn’t he with the other children?’
‘He doesn’t want to be, he says he has to go back. So I told him to speak to you first, just for the records. Here, take him some bread and milk. He probably hasn’t eaten anything today.’
The tray in one hand, Pam opened the door and looked in. The first thing she saw was a violin, its nut-colored shape glowing in a slit of sun on the table. Leo was slumped on a small chair so low that only his head showed above the table’s edge. It was a small room where they could have quiet talks with children who were sad or angry or frightened, children who needed to sit on somebody’s lap or hold somebody’s hand. There was a bright blue table and four chairs in four different colors. She put the tray down in front of him, ‘Here’s some lunch, Leo,’ she said. She sat down across from him and reached out a finger to touch the violin. It was a child’s instrument, Ted had owned one when he was young, but he hadn’t played much after he went to middle school and they sold it.
Leo stared at the milk. ‘There’s plenty,’ she assured him and he lifted it up and took a sip.
Pam knew not to start with a question. If they wanted to talk they would, and no question, no matter how well-meant or carefully phrased, would be answered if they didn’t want to.
What a small boy he was, narrow shoulders and thin arms in a neat brown jacket with a Jewish star sewn on the breast pocket. His white hands were a little too big for his body, and his fingers were long and looked strong. From practicing hours every day? Probably. Oh, the waste of it!
‘My brother Ted played the violin,’ she told him. ‘His favorite pieces were by Mendelssohn. Have you ever played anything by him?’
Leo shook his head. ‘I mostly play Mozart.’ He looked up at her. ‘When I finish the milk, can I go?’
‘I do have to know some things about you, just for our records. We have to know how many children come here.’
‘Are you a German?’
‘Of course not! I’m sorry, did you think we are? Of course not!’
He picked up the bread and bit off a corner as though she had told him it was safe to eat. ‘My parents are across the street and they’re waiting for me, so I have to go as soon as I can.’
‘But Leo, they didn’t say to come right back, did they? Not really?’
He shook his head, too honest to make something up, or too tired or too hopeless.
She took a piece of paper from the shelf behind her and a pencil from her apron pocket. ‘Let’s start with your name and how old you are.’
‘Leo Weissman. I was ten last month.’
‘How long have you been playing the violin?’
‘Four years.’
‘Who was your teacher?’
‘Mrs Schwarz.’
‘Rosa Schwarz? I know her! Oh, she’s a good teacher.’
Leo sat up and smiled for the first time. ‘I saw her yesterday just before we left the house where we were hiding. She said, “Don’t say goodbye, Leo, say till we meet aga
in.” She said it in French to my mother and father.’
‘And Rosa says you're her best pupil, I’ll bet.’
He nodded and smiled again, stroked the violin with one finger, then picked up the glass of milk and drank it all. When he sat up straight, he looked older than ten. Small and thin as he was, there was no baby fat on his cheeks and his mouth was firm above a proud chin.
Pam thought he was beautiful, precious. This little boy and his talent were not going to be lost, somehow she had to protect him and it. ‘Leo, this school is full of kids. We get them from across the street because the soldiers can’t take care of them. They give us everyone who isn’t thirteen yet. Little kids are a problem for them.’
‘I wouldn’t be a problem.’
‘No, of course not, but you’re not a big man yet, are you? The Germans want people to go to work for them, you see, so they only want to hire grownups.’ Hire! What else could she think of to shield him from knowing what was happening to his parents? What other lies? ‘If you had to work hard all day, you would get very tired and maybe even sick. I think that’s why your parents were pleased you could come here.’
Leo shook his head.
‘Leo, look at your hands,’ she went on. He looked surprised and she said again, ‘Look at them, Leo! You’re going to be a great violinist, aren’t you? Isn’t that what you want? What your parents want? So your hands are important. You can’t go and work for the Germans, it would be so bad for your hands. You can’t want that!’
‘No,’ he said, but she didn’t know what he meant, no to what? ‘No, I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to hide anymore.’ He stood up and pushed the violin across the table to her. ‘Keep it for me.’ He opened the door before she could get up.
When they came out into the hall, Mrs P was standing with her back to them, talking to a girl Pam didn’t know. She turned and saw Leo halfway to the front door and drew a loud breath, too surprised to move or speak. The door closed quietly behind him. Pam went to the window and watched him cross the street and walk through the gate between the guards. Too busy eyeing a girl walking past, they didn’t look at him.
Mrs P banged both her fists hard on the table. ‘I didn’t want that to happen!’
‘Oh Mrs P, there isn’t anything in the world that could stop him. He’s a little boy and he wants his mama. I couldn’t tell him where she was going, and what was going to happen to her and his father, could I?’
‘I know, I know! I’m not angry with you, my dear. I’m just so,’
‘Angry?’
It made them laugh. Who wasn’t angry these days? It was better than being discouraged or frightened. Pam had seen the faces of German soldiers stopping men to examine their identity cards. Sometimes they looked angry, because they didn’t like where they were and what they were doing. The Dutch police all loved what they were doing, how important it made them feel. Adrian said they had been the scum of Amsterdam and still were, never mind how fine they looked in their fancy uniforms.
‘Pam, this is Jo,’ Mrs P said, ‘She’s going to help us with the children, help them to disappear. I wanted you to meet her so you’ll recognize each other later on.’
While they shook hands, Pam wondered how old Jo was, was she old enough to be trusted with a child, with the chance of being caught and arrested?
‘I’m supposed to give you something from your brother,’ Jo said, and she handed Pam an envelope with her name on it in Adrian’s bold handwriting.
‘Do you know him?’
Jo nodded. ‘I’m not supposed to say, of course, Adrian’s always warning us.’ She looked at Mrs P, who smiled and put her hands over her ears. ‘I deliver newspapers to his group, that’s how. And messages.’ She buttoned her coat, shook hands with Mrs P and again with Pam and left.
Pam sat in the room where she had met Leo and opened Adrian’s letter. ‘I’m going to be gone for a few days and I don’t want you and Ted to worry. Tell him tonight. It’s just some business I have to attend to, nothing serious. Take care, Adrie.’
She tore the sheet of paper into little squares and stuffed them into her apron pocket. It was nice of Adrian to think of telling them, surprising really. He would turn up after his few days laughing and prancing and feeling like a hero, so she didn’t need to think about him in the meantime. Anyway, it was impossible to think of anything but Leo and how they couldn’t save him. In the building across the street, sitting on the floor with his mother and father and the other prisoners, Leo was waiting for the next thing to happen. Nobody knew what that was, except that it began with the trains at a small station outside the center of the city. The Germans said they needed people to work for them, but they were taking children and old people and even people too sick to walk by themselves. They weren’t going to be much use in German factories or on their farms. Where did they go, to Westerbork or straight to Germany?
In the early evening an open truck drew up in front of the theater, and a line of men and women came out and climbed awkwardly up into it. They helped each other lift their canvas sacks in, one for each of them. Watching for Leo, Pam saw one of the men reach down and lift him up to sit on his mother’s lap. The noisy motor sputtered, the truck bucked a little, the prisoners grabbed each other for support, and they roared off.
She was not going to cry, it wouldn’t help Leo or his mother and father or anyone else. The baby who had disappeared today might grow up to be something wonderful. She had done that at least. Mrs P had put the violin in the safe under the stairs. He had said, ‘Keep it for me.’ Perhaps the nursery would be there when the war ended and he came for it. Perhaps she would be too.
Reporting for Westerbork, each person could take a backpack for clothing and a canvas sack for two blankets, a set of bed linen, a towel, a toy or a book, food for three days, if they had any, and a plate, cup, fork, knife and spoon.
14 Hannah, November 1942
From her table near the window, Hannah saw Adrian coming to meet her, his hands in his pockets, whistling, walking as if he owned the street. People turned to look at him. As cold as it was, his coat swung open behind him, and he wore neither hat nor gloves. He looked happy, healthy, indomitable, a fine young Dutchman. Whenever he smiled at someone, the someone always smiled back.
The door banged open. ‘Sorry, sweetie,’ he greeted her. ‘We worked late today, a big shipment came in, and the yard was full of soldiers poking around and getting in the way. Must have been arms, they were watching every move we made.’
‘You don’t mind sitting by the window, do you?’ she asked. ‘Your table was taken.’
At the round table in the corner, four old men were playing cards, laying them down silently on the thick Persian rug that stood in for a tablecloth. Smoking and sipping beer, they looked only at their own cards and what lay face-up. Nobody spoke or laughed, and there was no way to tell who won a hand or whether they were enjoying themselves.
‘It’s their table too,’ Adrian said. ‘They’ve been playing cards there for fifty years at least.’
‘No wonder they have nothing to say to each other.’
He laughed, leaned over to kiss her cheek and went off to the bar for their beers. Hannah got up and put his coat on a hook next to hers. It was German army issue, she saw, as heavy as a blanket, with deep pockets inside and out. Where the company badge had been, a few tiny threads hung loose.
He saw her looking at it and said, ‘We find things at the yard every day. No way or reason to look for the owner, is there? And, sweetie, I could wear that thing and get away with murder, couldn’t I? Drink up,’ he urged her, ‘we’re expecting company.’
‘We are?’ She had intended to stay only an hour and then say she had to work. Conrad would be waiting for her, there was a dinner party somewhere outside the city, and she would have just enough time to dress for it.
‘I’ve been wanting you and my sister to meet,’ Adrian said. ‘The two most important women in my life. I want us to have supper together.’
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‘Oh, I wish I’d known, I’d have asked to stay out longer.’
‘I thought you had the evening off, it’s Saturday!
‘I can’t always get Saturday off,’ she said. ‘Other nurses want it too. But Adrie,’ she coaxed, ‘I’m free all Monday night. I promise. I do want to meet your sister, and I won’t rush off. If I’m a little late, Nettie will cover for me.’
‘All right,’ he said. He pushed his lower lip out like a sulky child, then laughed at himself, looked out the window and said, ‘Here she is!’
Hannah turned around to look at the young woman coming in. Not pretty, good-looking, and she looked familiar. Had they met? Where? One of Conrad’s parties? That was impossible, Adrie’s sister would never be invited.
‘This is Pam,’ Adrian said, ‘and this is Hannah. Say hello, girls, and I’ll get Pam a beer.’
Left alone, they looked at each other silently, until Hannah finally asked, ‘Have we met before?’ Pam shook her head. ‘Sorry, I just thought I’d seen you somewhere. Goodness, you don’t look anything like Adrie, do you!’
‘No.’
‘Good thing! He’s a handsome man, but you wouldn’t want that jaw!’
‘He must be pleased you think he’s handsome.’
‘Oh, I do!’
‘The Aryan type, you like that?’ Pam’s voice was insulting, dismissive.
‘Who’s an Aryan?’ Adrian set a glass down and dropped into the seat next to Hannah. ‘Ain’t no Aryans around here today.’
Pam saw the bartender shake his head and then turn his back to them. ‘Be careful,’ she whispered, nodding toward the men playing cards.
‘What were you whistling?’ Hannah asked. ‘Everyone was looking at you.’
The Time Between Page 16
