The Melody of the Soul

by Liz Tolsma

  Stefan tapped the steering wheel. “You’d be interested to know that this camp, a former fortress, was built in the shape of a six-pointed star. Prophetic, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose. But why this insistence that I go?”

  “I know you like art and music, and there are a great many talented Jews there. They are planning a concert tonight that I thought you would enjoy attending. After I finish my work.”

  Many more words teetered on the edge of Horst’s tongue, but he bit them back and instead leaned against the headrest and stared at the car’s ceiling. Stefan was wrong. He would rather be anywhere than listening to Jewish prisoners perform for their masters’ enjoyment like so many trained animals.

  “It’s not all bad for them there.” Stefan tapped the brake as the car rounded a curve. “They have work to occupy them and are able to enjoy the arts. This outing for you is meant to be a diversion after all those hours in that dark office in Prague.”

  “I get out enough to inspect the buildings around the city, to make sure that we don’t bomb any cultural treasures we want to preserve.”

  “Still, it’s nice to get away from time to time. Now cheer up. We’re here.”

  Thin, haggard, wizened people crammed the muddy streets of what had once been a sleepy garrison village. In their eyes, Horst spied nothing but hopelessness. Small children, dressed in little more than rags, shuffled between buildings. Soldiers surrounded a group of men with pickaxes returning from their work detail. The place stank of decay, disease, and death. Like rotting teeth.

  An officer, all spit and polish, greeted them. “Heil Hitler.”

  Horst straightened his cramped legs and returned the salute, as did Stefan.

  “I trust you had an uneventful trip.”

  “Ja, just fine. Hauptsturmführer Neubaum, this is my friend, Horst Engel, Minister of Architectural Preservation.”

  “Glad you could join us. Dinner is all set out. Nothing as fine as in the city, but hearty fare nonetheless.” The captain led the way through the command headquarters to the dining room. “Hauptsturmführer Jaeger tells me you appreciate good music.”

  Horst nodded. “Ja, I do.”

  “Who is your favorite composer?”

  “Wagner.”

  “Of course. The Führer’s favorite. You are a wise and discerning man.” Neubaum rubbed his golden mustache, an exact replica of their leader’s. “You will be very impressed at the level of talent on display this evening. Theresienstadt is home to many of Prague’s finest musicians.”

  Home. Anna. How long before she played her violin in this place? Before she became one of the vacant-eyed residents just hoping to survive?

  Fine china and crystal, set on the long tabled, glittered in the chandelier’s light. Neubaum indicated where he wanted Horst and Stefan to sit. Women prisoners marked with the yellow star on their maid’s uniforms served wurst and spaetzle and potato pancakes. They stared at the food with their dark eyes and licked their lips. Horst forced his attention on his meal.

  “How long have you been in Prague, Hauptmann Engel?”

  “Only a short time. I was stationed in Vienna before that.”

  “And what do you think of your new post?”

  “My family and I often took holidays here when I was a child, so I’m familiar with the city. I’m glad to see the beautiful old buildings weren’t damaged during the invasion. It would be a pity if the world lost such amazing architecture.”

  Stefan lifted his beer stein. “If any harm comes to them, it won’t be because of the Germans, I assure you. The Russians or English would be to blame.”

  “That won’t happen. Czechoslovakia is part of the German Reich now.” Neubaum bit a piece of veal from his fork.

  The conversation turned to people Horst hadn’t met yet. He should have stayed in the city where he could have listened to Anna’s private concert. A time of balm for his soul.

  When the meal ended, they made their way through the three inner courtyards of the Magdeburg barracks to the hall where the performances were held. Neubaum nodded in the direction of one of the overcrowded buildings. “Another transport left today. We’ll empty this place yet.”

  “Where do they all go?”

  Stefan and Neubaum stared at him as if he’d asked how to get a man to the moon. “Surely . . .”

  Neubaum chuckled. “To the east. Treblinka, Auschwitz. Part of the final solution. You haven’t been behind a desk that long, have you?”

  Horst laughed along, trying to make his chuckle as real as possible. “Nein, nein. I simply didn’t know which camps this one fed. Those aren’t important details in my office.”

  A new odor accosted him. Something like the time he burned his finger on the hot stove. His eyes watered, and he fought to keep his dinner in his stomach. He didn’t ask what it was. No need to appear foolish again.

  Probably for the best he didn’t have the answer.

  Bodies crammed the music hall. The voices of the prisoners rose and fell, some in German, some in Czech, some in other languages he didn’t recognize. An open window provided small relief from the stench of the unwashed bodies packed inside. He restrained himself from digging into his pocket for his handkerchief. Instead, he reached for a cigarette.

  They passed the Jews, packed shoulder to shoulder, and moved to the best seats, the ones reserved for the German officers. Four chairs occupied the raised the stage. Neubaum leaned over. “A string quartet tonight, starring Egon Ledeč. You have picked a good evening to be here.”

  At the top of the hour, four Jewish men entered and sat down. They tuned their instruments and adjusted the music on their stands. The curly headed man with the receding hairline nodded three times, and they launched into a piece by Mozart.

  This wasn’t an amateur group. The bows flowed over the strings as the music rose to the rafters. The silkiness of the sound enveloped Horst and carried him from this place and time to a world he could only describe as beautiful. The notes caressed him, soothed him, and filled him.

  As the final measure sounded, the room held its breath for a moment before leaping into wild applause. The four musicians stood and bowed, their faces beaming and radiant, no longer hopeless. Horst rose to his feet and clapped with all his might. Not even in Berlin had he heard such a fine performance.

  Stefan tugged on his coat and pulled him into his seat. “You are making a spectacle of yourself. A Nazi doesn’t acknowledge Jews in such a manner.”

  Horst shrugged but held his hands still. “Why shouldn’t we reward their accomplishment? They must have practiced for hours and hours.”

  “They are Jews.” For Stefan, that may have been answer enough. For Horst, it was not.

  After the applause died away and the room emptied, Neubaum tapped Horst on the shoulder. “Since you were so enthusiastic about the show, let me introduce you to tonight’s musicians.” The captain led the way to the stage where the four Jews returned their instruments to their cases.

  The group huddled together as Neubaum made the introductions. “This is Egon Ledeč, Viktor Kohn, Paul Kohn, and David Zadok.”

  Horst stared at the tall, gaunt young man with dark hair which stuck out in every direction. Against all conventions, he shook the Jew’s hand. “Zadok, you say?”

  The musician nodded.

  Horst turned to his fellow officers. “Why don’t you head back without me? I’ll join you in a few minutes. I have some business with this Jew.”

  Stefan’s gaze hardened, but he nodded. “Don’t be long.” His words were deep and slow. He and Neubaum left.

  Horst turned to David. “You have a sister named Anna?”

  The man’s bottom jaw dropped open. He nodded. Light shone from his hazel eyes.

  “I live in the flat below her and your grandmother.”

  David’s knees buckled, and he sat in his chair with a thump. He grasped the edge of the seat. “How are they?”

  Horst sat beside Anna’s brother. “I just mo
ved in and have only met them a few times, but they appear to be fine. How long has it been since you’ve seen them?”

  “Eight or nine months.”

  “What about the rest of the family? Anna mentioned parents and two sisters.”

  A shadow crossed David’s face. He swallowed several times. “They left on a transport east several weeks ago.”

  To an extermination camp.

  He couldn’t erase the image of Anna from his mind. Soft, sad eyes which filled with tears when the subject of her family came up. Or the image of his mother, risking his father’s wrath if he found out, going to their Jewish neighbors the morning after Kristallnacht, helping them to sweep the glass which littered their jewelry shop.

  She wouldn’t want him to turn his back on this man and his sister. “What can I do to help?”

  David held his violin bow and stared after the lean German as he walked down the concert hall’s aisle and out the door into the cold and rainy night. Horst. He’d said his name was Horst.

  Which was more stunning, the fact that the man knew both Anna and Babička or his offer of help? He was a stranger. David didn’t know him in the least.

  Viktor snapped his fingers in front of David’s face, breaking his trance. “What was that about?”

  David shook his head. “I don’t know. The man is a Nazi officer who knows my sister and grandmother. Yet he spoke to me and offered to help us.”

  “Help us how? To get on the train east?” Viktor pointed in the direction of the tracks.

  “To bring us food and medicine.”

  “And you believe him? Look around. You can’t trust a single German. They are out to eliminate Jews from the face of the earth. Not a word of what he said was true.”

  David scoped out their surroundings. This one was packed with Jewish prisoners doing nothing more than existing, shoulder to shoulder. The rotten stench of filthy bodies mingled with the odor of sauerkraut and pervaded the very walls. And this was a palace compared to the room he shared with ten other men. They slept on rough mattresses along with lice and bedbugs.

  “That man did this to us.” Viktor shook his head. “He brought us here, and he’s going to ship us out of here.”

  “He could be our savior.”

  “Our savior?” Viktor laughed a single, curt chuckle. “There is not going to be any savior. No one will rescue us from this place. Our only savior is our music. Our temporary relief from the hardship we call life.”

  David set his bow in his case and closed the lid. Táta and Máma taught him about a different Savior. They said if you believed in Him, He would grant you release. Some release it turned out to be. Last time he checked, he didn’t see a Savior lifting anyone from this hole because they believed.

  Nothing but a bunch of rubbish.

  David sighed. “Music and sleep. The only times one can forget this place.” And even sleep didn’t provide the release he craved. He longed for. He only had his music to cling to.

  He rose and picked up his instrument case. “Come on, Viktor. I’ll race you to the room.”

  His short, balding friend grinned. “Like I’m in a hurry to be back there.”

  They left the building and trekked through the muddy courtyard, the muck oozing through David’s cracked shoe sole. No moon shone to light their way, but at least the persistent shower stopped. “And what about Anna and Babička? He lives in the flat below them.”

  Viktor let out a low, long whistle. “That can’t be a good situation.”

  “Ne, it can’t. I’m very worried. That officer seems to have taken a liking to Anna. What will that mean for her? For both of them?”

  Viktor hustled to keep up with David’s long strides. “Remember, you can’t trust him. This may be a trap.”

  “How?”

  “He might be looking for them, waiting for you to spill the information he needs to nab them. Watch what you say.”

  “But he knew all about them.”

  Viktor shrugged. “That’s the Germans’ job. They know everything about us. There is nothing private when it comes to the Jews. Their persecution of us is relentless. Watch and be wary. Stay away from him. Don’t let him near you. That’s my advice.”

  “And it’s good advice.” But for his sake and for Anna’s sake, he might not follow it.

  Anna paced the tiny living room in the tiny apartment, stopping in front of Babička. “He wants me to play for him again. Play for him. Like I’m his personal musician, put on this earth for his pleasure and his alone. What do I do?”

  “You do as he bids.”

  “Just like that. I create music for him.” A knock broke off Anna’s argument. “And there he is. I want you to come with me. I refuse to go to his flat alone.”

  Anna flung open the door, thinking she would see the Nazi officer. Her day got much better when she discovered Paní Buraneková on the other side with a bag full of groceries. “What a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

  The older woman, her thin gray hair in a knot on the top of her head, chuckled. “I can come back tomorrow, if you like.”

  Anna ushered her into the sunny flat. “Only if you bring us koláček.” Prune and cheese-topped Danish. Her mouth watered.

  Paní Buraneková led the way through the double doors into the narrow kitchen. “You always were a dreamer, Anna. That is what I love about you.” Their friend from church pulled bread, paprika, and a small package of tripe from her sack. “A special surprise for you. Enough to make dršťková polévka.”

  Anna’s stomach rumbled. How long had it been since she’d had tripe soup, her favorite dish?

  “How is your grandmother today?”

  “Come and see for yourself.”

  Babička sat in the bay in the living room, a book in her lap, her gaze fixed on the scene outside. “More going. Always more going.”

  Paní Buraneková went to her longtime friend and sat in the worn wing chair opposite her. “Don’t worry. Let’s praise God you haven’t received your notice yet. He’ll take care of you.”

  Babička turned to Anna, her gray eyes lacking their usual luster. “It’s not for me that I fret. It’s my Anna. I’ve lived a full life. She hasn’t.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “But the Lord’s way is not our way.”

  “True enough.” Paní Buraneková shook her head. “What is this world coming to?”

  Another knock startled Anna from the scene. Her heart rate kicked up a couple of notches. There were penalties for helping Jews. Severe penalties. She nodded at Paní Buraneková. “Go to the kitchen.”

  The older woman furrowed her brow. “I’m visiting a friend. If that is wrong, then let them send me away.”

  Anna stared at her. How could she say such a thing?

  “I mean it. I refuse to live my life in fear or to stop from doing what is right. Answer the door.”

  Anna hissed at her. “I can’t let you take that risk. Please, at least go to the kitchen. I’m going to be leaving with him in a few moments.”

  Paní Buraneková relented and did Anna’s bidding. Only then did she crack the door. “Hello.”

  Hauptmann Engel smiled through the small opening. “I came to hear you play for me again this evening. May I come in?”

  Like he needed to ask. Dark laughter built in her chest, and she pressed her lips together to keep it contained. He could force his way in any time he pleased. She stepped back. He entered and removed his shoes, perhaps intending to stay.

  Shadowy splotches formed half-moons under his pale blue eyes. The crease around his mouth was deeper, as if he’d aged in the past couple of days.

  “What would you like to hear?”

  “Something melancholy.” He stared over Anna’s left shoulder. “Good evening, Frau Doubeková.”

  It was a good thing Paní Buraneková remained in the kitchen, away from his prying eyes. “You were gone for a while.”

  “I was away on business. I’d like to talk to you about that, actually, if I may.
”

  What did he have to say? That Jakub could no longer keep their names from the deportation lists? She sat on the tattered, flower-speckled couch.

  He folded his frame onto the low seat and lit a cigarette. “I was at Theresienstadt.”

  Anna glanced at Babička. Her grandmother sat with her hands clasped. In resignation, possibly. “I know about it. In Czech, it is Terezín.”

  “I listened to a very fine string quartet while I was there.”

  Now he would tell her what a wonderful place it was, how the Germans would protect her there, and even allow her to play her music.

  But that’s not how it was. “You enjoyed it, ne?”

  “Very much.” His eyes softened. “Egon Ledeč was part of it.”

  The name struck a chord in Anna’s heart. “My brother used to play with him. They practiced for hours upon hours.” She swallowed hard.

  “Your brother was one of the performers.”

  Anna grasped the armrest and clung to it. “David? He was there?” She had a difficult time breathing enough to get the words out.

  Babička joined Anna on the couch. “Are you sure?”

  Hauptmann Engel nodded.

  Anna swiped a tear from her eye. “What about the rest of my family?”

  Evening fell over Prague, and darkness descended. Blackout shades covered the windows and dark paper snuffed out street lamps and headlights. Patricie flew down the stairs, not wanting Hauptsturmführer Jaeger anywhere near her apartment. Inside, the crevices and crannies hid stolen ration cards and lists of Jews her arm of the resistance aided.

  Hauptsturmführer Jaeger grinned when he saw her, but no warmth radiated from the smile. “You look lovely tonight.”

  His touch chilled her. She drew her coat tighter over her suit. “Thank you. May I say, you cut a dashing figure.” And he did. His dark uniform complimented his fair coloring, the belt cinched around his small waist. At the sight of the red armband with the swastika, Patricie shuddered. How would she keep her nerves under control all evening?

  He showed her to the car, every inch the perfect German gentleman. She slipped into the leather interior, the buttery suppleness of it caressing her skin. He slid into his seat and pulled away from her humble apartment building. “This is far from where I met you, is it not?”