by Andrew Gross
“What about the plane?” Blum asked them. “The Germans are right behind us.”
“We’ll handle the Germans this time.” He signaled to his men in the woods, and they began to spread out in the brush. “And as for the plane…? Lucjan, bring me the radio again. Truth is, we didn’t think we’d be seeing anyone here. I need to call back your ride.”
* * *
Strauss had no sooner started to contact Donovan to deliver the bad news when the radio operator grabbed his arm. “You may want to hold a second, sir. There’s another transmission coming in.”
“Truffle Hunter One. Katya here…” The operator translated the Polish. “You’ll be pleased to know that we have your truffles after all. Three big ones. Ready to be picked up. Come get them, as planned. And fast, please, as there are other buyers nearby.”
We have your truffles. Come get them!
“We’re back on!” Strauss shouted, seizing the operator by the shoulders, almost knocking his headphones off. He grabbed hold of the mic and contacted the circling plane himself. “Water Dog One, Water Dog One, we’re back on! Repeat, they are there. Get down and get them as fast as you can. And you may have some excitement on the ground. We’re back on as planned!”
The Mosquito copilot came back scratchily. “Roger. Going in now.”
Strauss sat back. Elation coursed through him. He was reserved by nature, a cantor’s son, but he made no attempt to hold back at all. “Cancel that call to Donovan,” he said to the operator, slamming the table, papers flying onto the floor. “We’re back on! They’re there!”
However the hell Blum had done it, they were there!
Then he stopped and for the first time thought on what the partisan leader had just told them. He sat down on the edge of the table and muttered, quizzically, wrinkling his brow, “Three…?”
SEVENTY-FOUR
They hid in the woods while the band of partisans disappeared into their cover. Anja and another ran out into the field and lit the lanterns.
In minutes, the landing strip became clear.
Now all Blum had to do was pray they could hold the Germans at bay.
Five minutes.
“The plane is in the area,” Janusz, the partisan leader, said. “Unfortunately, it looks as if we’ll have a local welcoming committee as well.”
The yelps of the search dogs could be heard advancing through the dark fields, closer than just minutes before. Shouts in German. Lights flashing haphazardly.
Blum checked his Mauser. His blood was surging. It was clear they were going to have to fight it out.
Above them, they suddenly heard the sound of an engine in the night sky.
“Hear that?” Blum said to Leisa, exultantly, and pointed toward the sky. “Who else has a plane coming to pick them up? In a few hours, we’ll be in England.”
For the first time since he had found her today by the orchestra, he saw the bright smile on her face and the trusting eyes he remembered from their youth.
“Yes. I hear it, Nathan.”
“See, Leo.” Blum pushed the boy triumphantly. “I told you this was the spot.”
“I never doubted.” Leo grinned back. Then he cast a nervous glance in the direction the German shouts were emanating from.
Another minute and the rumble above them grew louder. The plane would land without lights, Janusz explained, the lanterns guiding them in.
“There!” Leo pointed to the sky.
Barely a shadow above the horizon, the only light coming from the cockpit, the plane descended from the north. Soon it was only a couple of hundred feet off the ground, its wings swaying in the wind.
Blum said, “She’s coming in fast!”
“Get ready. She’ll be on the ground in thirty seconds,” Janusz said. “When they are, we’ll—”
Suddenly they heard the sputter of machine gun fire. A Czech ZB-26. The partisans had surprised the Germans and were trying to push them back from the site. All they would need was to hold them off for another minute or two.
Blum could see dark shapes, soldiers, advancing in the same field he, Leisa, and Leo had come through minutes before, and the yellow flashing of submachine gun spurts.
“Get down!” Janusz instructed them. “We’re going to take some heat.” The Germans were now returning their fire, mostly toward the woods where the resistance fighters were spread out. The ground firing was so loud, it wasn’t clear whether they had yet made out the plane.
“There are a lot of them.” Janusz pulled back the bolt on his Blyskawica. “Once it lands, you will have to move quickly and whatever you do, do not stop.”
Blum nodded, taking hold of Leisa’s hand. “I understand. You?”
“Yes.” She nodded, the worry clear in her eyes.
“Get ready then. Take my hand.”
Anticipation coursing through him like a river spilling over its banks, Blum followed the path of the Mosquito as it swooped above the field and came in. Now you could see its wings dipping from side to side, lower and lower, and the cockpit light descending below the trees, and then it touched, its wheels hitting the ground and then bouncing high, once, then twice along the bumpy, improvised strip.
Janusz said, “Get set, it’s down!”
Propellers whirring, it came to a stop at the far end of the field and immediately turned back around. It settled a couple of hundred yards away from them, preparing for a swift departure.
A hatch door in the fuselage opened.
Janusz gave them the thumbs-up. “Get going—now! Go!” The fighting had gotten even closer. “Good luck!”
Cocking her Blyskawica, Anja said to Blum, “I was wrong. You do look like a fighter now.”
He smiled back at her. “As do you.”
Nodding to Leo and taking hold of Leisa, Blum shouted, “Run!”
They sprinted into the field, legs pumping as hard as they could. Behind them they heard the concussive sound of a grenade exploding nearby. Then a flash. Recoiling from the noise, Leisa stopped and screamed. Blum retook her hand and pulled her. “Go on!”
The fighting grew closer now. The Germans, now aware of the plane, had shifted their attention to the three of them. As they ran, rounds sprayed at their heels, the zinging phht, phht, phht of bullets hitting the earth close behind them.
Blum shouted again. “Run!”
The plane was about a hundred yards away from them. An airman crouched in the opening, waving them on. Leo ran ahead, Blum, clinging to Leisa’s hand, ten yards behind. “Don’t stop, either of you! Run!”
He heard an explosion not far behind them. A grenade landed directly where Janusz and his men had been firing from, bodies flying in the yellow blast. The concussion almost shattered their eardrums. Anja stepped out from the brush. She stood there in the open field, covering them, discharging her submachine gun until it was empty, and then Blum heard a spurt of return fire and Anja crying out and falling.
“Anja!” He wanted to go to her, but they couldn’t stop now. “Leisa, Leo, keep running!”
Suddenly a German came up on the side. Blum let Leisa go and ran off four shots on his Mauser, emptying Franke’s clip. The soldier fell back.
Blum turned and ran.
The airman was waving them in now. Twenty yards. Bullets sprayed, scraping the ground behind them, clanging loudly off the fuselage. Ping, ping, ping, ping.
“Leisa, keep going! Don’t stop!”
They were going to make it. Ten yards.
Finally they reached the plane, bullets popping loudly against metal all around them. “You first!” Blum said to Leo.
The airman put out his hand. “Who the hell are these?” he shouted. “Where’s the old man?”
He hoisted Leo into the plane. Then he reached down for Leisa.
“Mendl’s dead,” Blum said. “Leisa, get in now!” The ground fire had grown more intense. Bullets pinged like heavy hail against the fuselage. The airman had a bullet graze his shoulder and grunted, “Shit!” ducking back inside.
Leisa screamed hysterically, ground fire tearing all around her.
“Leisa, now, you must go!” Blum pushed her up, the airman scampering into a crouch and grabbing onto her arm. He pulled her inside. The engines revved loudly and the propellers began to whir.
“Nathan, come on!” she screamed back to him.
Now it was Blum’s turn. The airman grabbed onto his hand, bullets blistering all around the fuselage door.
“Nathan, give me your hand!” Leisa turned back around to help him.
Leisa, no …
He reached out and touched her, catching a glimpse of the beauty and love she had for him in her fierce, determined eyes.
That was the instant he felt something hot and searing slam into his back. Like a prize-fighter’s punch. Only harder. His insides on fire.
“Nathan!” his sister screamed.
Then another, straightening Blum up, his fingers slipping out of the airman’s desperate grasp.
Maybe one more.
The next thing he knew he was on the ground. He looked up at the plane. He couldn’t hear any sound, only the airman shouting silently for him to get up. Leisa, her face twisted in helplessness and horror, screaming his name over and over, just no sound, desperately lunging with her hand, fighting the airman off to climb down to get to him.
Nathan, get up.
He tried to pull himself to his knees. He tried with every bit of strength he had. But it was like the heaviest weight he had ever felt had pinned him to the ground. Kept him there.
Get up.
He rested his head back on the soil. It felt good there. He blinked once or twice. He looked at his hand on his chest, and it was covered in blood. Things began to grow hazy. You have to get up, he told himself. Up. He felt an explosion to the left, close to the plane. A grenade, maybe. The earth threw him up for a second. Then back down.
He could see the airman and Leisa shielding themselves from the incoming fire.
They’d better get out of here fast, Blum said to himself. Go.
You have to go now, Leisa. Now.
He put his head back down. He heard the sounds of the propellers whir. The only regret he felt was that he wished he had done what he intended to do and shot the damn driver.
SEVENTY-FIVE
“Nathan!” Leisa screamed. “Nathan!” staring down at him in horror. She tried to hurl herself back out of the plane to get to him, but the airman grabbed her by the torso to rein her in, fighting against her desperate attempts to wrestle out of his grip. “Nathan, no, no, no!”
“We have to go!” the airman shouted, trying to get to the door. Bullets shrieked into the fuselage and he ducked to the floor. “The fire’s too intense.” You could see Germans advancing in the field now. Only fifty yards from the plane. The airman reached to throw back the door handle. “We have to go now!”
“No! No!” she kept screaming, fighting him with every ounce of strength she had. “Nathan! Nathan! We have to get him.”
Before he shut the door, she peered down at him, in helplessness and horror, blind to the incoming fire. I saw him there. His eyes had become still and glazed. I don’t know, maybe I saw some life still in him. Not fear. Not even a glimmer of it. Regret, maybe. At seeing her go. If it doesn’t sound crazy, I would almost say there was a smile on his face.
“We can’t!” The airman pulled her back inside. “He’s gone.”
“No!” She tried to tear herself away from him. “He’s not gone! He’s not!”
“He’s gone!” the airman shouted, and threw the door closed.
“No…!” She was screaming, sobbing, as the realization that he was left behind became clear now. “No, no,” she kept repeating, tears running down her face. “It was supposed to be me. Don’t you understand, I was the one who was supposed to die. Not him! Me…!” She ran to a small window and continued to shout his name, looking down at him, as bullets peppered against the outside door. “Nathan, get up, please…”
“We’ve got to get out of here now!” one of the pilots shouted back to us. “Hold on!”
The propellers whirred faster and faster and the engine rumble intensified into a drone. We started to move.
“Don’t you understand? I was the one who was supposed to die,” she kept sobbing. “Not him. Me! Nathan!”
“You both have to strap yourself in!” the airman said. “We’re taking off now. Hard.”
“No, please, don’t leave!” She scrambled back to the door. “Don’t! Don’t,” she said as the speed picked up. “Don’t leave him…” She dug her fingers against the door.
I grabbed her and brought her over with me to the makeshift seat. There was no time to strap anyone in. The plane was already moving fast. I felt the g-force tug as the Mosquito picked up speed over the bumpy landing strip.
So I just held onto her as tightly as I could. She was crying, sobbing against me, saying his name over and over.
I held her against me, and I vowed then to never let her go.
SEVENTY-SIX
So this is what it is like … Blum said to himself.
The plane door was closed. Leisa was safe inside. He heard the rumble of the engines revving, the ping, ping, ping of bullets clanging off the plane.
It’s not so bad at all.
Go, he said. Go. Now. You have to go.
The droning of the engines grew louder and louder.
Then everything became very quiet.
Whatever light there was, even only the halo of the moon, intensified into a bright glare, luminous as a star exploding. He thought maybe he heard the whine of the plane as it took off from the bumpy field. And that it swooped around, maybe just one time, dipping its wings, to say goodbye.
Or maybe he was just imagining that.
Either way, he felt pride, somehow. Leo was on his way to England. With everything he held in his head. Strauss and Donovan would be pleased. He had done what he said. He had fulfilled his mission.
And Leisa … She was safe too. He had watched over her. Just as he’d always promised. He had kept his oath on that as well.
Doleczki. He smiled. He had seen those dimples one last time as she smiled at him in the woods. Don’t be angry with me. That was my vow all along. Our Mozart fit together one last time. Remember that. Keep it that way. Together.
No, it’s not so bad at all.
He heard shouting. He couldn’t tell if it was up close or far away. Or if his eyes were even open or closed. What did it matter now? Aliyah. Why did that of all words come into his mind? The first time he went up to read from the Torah. He’d made a promise to return one day. To the Holy Land.
“A man may compel his entire household to go up with him to the land of Israel,” Rabbi Leitner had said to him, “but may not compel a single one to leave.”
He dug his nails into the soft earth around him.
Papa, I told you, I will not leave.
It had been dark the night he went away; nerves grinding in his stomach. He stood somewhere between a boy and a man. “I don’t want to go,” he begged his father as he dressed to go on his journey. “If I do, who will take care of her?”
“You must go,” his father told him. “I release you from your vow, Nathan. You can’t protect her any longer.”
“But I can,” he said back defiantly.
“No. You can’t.” His father shook his head. “Not any longer. With what is to come, only God can protect her now. But you have something even more important you can protect. You will take the Mishnah to a new home. In that way, you will protect us all, my son. Our history. Our tradition. Not only Leisa. Us all. For that, you have to go.”
“But, Papa…”
“What is good cannot be known in the short term, Nathan. Remember?” his father said. “It is a great honor.” He put his hands on Nathan’s shoulders. “And they chose you, my son. Here…” His father took off his hat, his goose-felt bowler, and placed it on Nathan’s head, adjusting it so that it sat just right. “This is righ
tfully yours now. Now you are really a man. And remember, a hat is not just a thing to wear, it’s what you stand for. Who you are.”
A feeling as proud as the day he first stood at the bimah and read from the Torah ran through him. His father’s goatee curled into a smile. He put his hand on Nathan’s cheek. “Do you understand all this, my son? What I’ve told you.”
A soldier ran up to him on the ground. He pointed his rifle at Blum’s chest, his finger on the trigger.
“Yes, Papa.” Blum stared into his father’s eyes. “I think I understand.”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
THE EDWARD HINES, JR., VETERANS ADMINISTRATION HOSPITAL
“So I guess you know now”—the old man shifts in his chair and looks at his daughter with hollow, bloodshot eyes—“that the woman I held in the plane was your mother.”
His daughter nods, her hand firmly wrapped over his, tears forming in her eyes. “Yes.”
“I vowed never to let her go. And I didn’t. I didn’t let her go for sixty years.”
“Oh, Pop,” she says, taking his hand and bringing it softly against her cheek.
“She used her middle name, Ida, when we came to the States. And I guess it just stuck. All these years. As you understand now, there was a lot that took place there that we wanted to leave behind. We moved to Chicago just like her brother had. It was the only family either of us had.”
She’s never heard this, any of this, the true story of how her father and mother met. She has only heard, without much explanation, that it was “in the camp.”
“Oh, Daddy.” She squeezes his hand.
It is after midnight now. The floor staff had let her stay on. The night nurse had looked in on them from time to time, taking his tray, bringing him his pills, but they let him finish his tale. He has been sitting up this whole time, years pouring out of him, years he had kept to himself, completely hidden, stopping only for a few sips of water when his throat grew dry.
Then he just sits there, and there is nothing more to say.
“So you see, I’m no hero. I couldn’t even save the one man who saved me. This photo…” He picks up the one of the military officers presenting the Distinguished Service Cross. “This wasn’t given to me. They were presenting it to his sister. To your mom. The only surviving family he had. You probably missed somewhere in that box, there’s a little plaque, ‘To Nathan Blum, Lieutenant, U.S. Army.’ He was the hero.” The old man shakes his head. “Your uncle … Not me.”
