The Melody of the Soul

by Liz Tolsma

  “I enjoy the walk.”

  “With such a heavy sack?”

  “I needed to buy eggs. The challenge is to get to a shop before they sell out. This way, I had plenty of places to try before I got home.”

  He stroked the seat beside her. “Come now, we all must live with the rationing. In the end, life for all of us will be much better.”

  She slid the tiniest bit toward the door. “Of course.”

  “You have lived here all of your life?”

  “Ja.”

  The small talk continued until they arrived at the restaurant. Warm, rich wood paneling set the ambiance. A phonograph played soft violin music in the background.

  The maître d’ greeted them with a snap of his heels and a Heil Hitler. “It is good to see you tonight, Hauptsturmführer Jaeger. Your table is waiting.”

  Hauptsturmführer Jaeger offered her his elbow as the man led them to the best location, in the far back corner of the sumptuous room. They passed square tables covered with crisp, white linens and set with the finest Dresden china, pink and yellow and purple flowers painted on it. Much more delicate than the bright, primary-colored Czech ceramics.

  He pulled out her chair and waited for her to be seated before turning to the waiter. “Danke. We will have our wine now.” He situated himself across from her.

  “You must come here often. He knows you.”

  “Often enough, but never with a woman as beautiful as you.”

  “You flatter me.” Patricie crossed her legs one way, then the other. “But I’m plain, and I know it. Look at me. Mousy brown hair. Green eyes set too far apart. Nose a bit too big.”

  “I only ever state the truth.”

  And all she did these days was lie.

  The maître d’ returned with their wine. She capped her glass. “None for me, děkuji. If I could please just have some water?”

  Once the man poured Hauptsturmführer Jaeger’s drink and left, the Nazi officer leaned across the table. “I know all about you.”

  She gulped. Where was that waiter with her water? “You do?”

  “The child of a store manager and a typing pool employee. Two brothers. Graduated from school with mediocre grades, studied at the music conservatory, now is a store clerk. How did I do?”

  Too well. Underneath the table, her legs shook. “Very good.” She was forced to work in a clock shop because the Nazis stole her music from her. The part of her that lived and breathed. That came alive. Helping the Jews filled a small part of the void. “Where did you get all that information?”

  “I have my ways. Nothing escapes my notice.”

  Of course it didn’t. “I suppose, then, you are perfect for your position. But you have me at the disadvantage. I know nothing about you.”

  “There is not much to tell. My father passed away when I was young. I took care of my mother and younger sister, looked out for them, watched over them. I was commissioned and joined the SS when I completed my university studies. And now, I’m here.”

  With a great deal of effort, she gave him a small smile. “I’m glad you are.”

  “Tell me more about yourself. How is it you know every part of the city so well?”

  The waiter brought her water, and she downed a gulp of it. “Even before the war, Máma and I visited the elderly and helped them in any way we could.”

  “A compassionate soul. But why help strangers? Didn’t you want to look out for your own family?” He slicked back his light-brown hair.

  “We all need someone’s kindheartedness from time to time. They taught me, and teach me, many things. I learn from their wisdom. Everyone has their useful place in this world.” She clamped her mouth shut. Where did those words come from? She’d said too much. That’s why Czech children were taught from early on to hold their tongues around strangers.

  Hauptsturmführer Jaeger laughed, a sound as cool as a mountain stream. “In their own ways, I suppose.” He played with his spoon. “You don’t have to be nervous around me.”

  She forced herself to sit back in her chair and unclasp her hands. “I’m not.” Yet another lie. “I’ve never been to such a place like this before, though.”

  “None of your other boyfriends brought you here?”

  “I’ve never had time for relationships with men.”

  “Always too busy helping others.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  An icy jolt shot up her spine. “What do you want with me, Hauptsturmführer Jaeger?”

  His smile revealed a row of even, white teeth. “Call me Stefan. No need to be so formal.”

  “We are a formal people.” Patricie cringed. She would never call or even think of a stranger by his first name, least of all a Nazi officer.

  “I like a beautiful woman who is a mystery. At the station the other day, I picked you out of all the others, with your heavy canvas bag. You say you help other people. What people do you help? And why do you help them?”

  Patricie clasped her hands together even tighter and prayed that he would never discover her secret.

  Anna sat on the edge of the sofa as dusk softened the light in the apartment. She searched Hauptmann Engel’s face for the answer she wanted. The answer she dreaded. She squeezed Babička’s hand so hard, her grandmother let out a small squeal. “What about the rest of my family? You saw them at Terezín, ne?”

  He rubbed his broad forehead. “I’m sorry.” His husky voice was little more than a whisper. “David told me that they were taken away on a transport several weeks ago.”

  “Away? To where?” Her insides turned as cold as Prague in the winter.

  “I haven’t seen a camp for myself.”

  “What are they like?”

  Hauptmann Engel crushed out his cigarette. “May I speak to you alone, Anna?”

  Could she trust him? Perhaps. He had no reason to tell them about David. Foolish, maybe, but she went with him to the hall.

  He leaned against the staircase’s wrought-iron railing, shoes in his hand, then cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I didn’t want to upset your grandmother.”

  “I need to know where my parents and sisters went.”

  “Despite what the Germans tell Prague’s Jews, Theresienstadt is not a nice place. There are crowded conditions, disease, and starvation. If you are a musician, your life might be a little easier. You don’t have to work as hard, and you might end up with better living conditions.”

  Hauptmann Engel evaded the question. Goosebumps raced up and down her arms. “What about the rest of my family? David and I were the only musicians. Máma hasn’t played since David was born. Jana and Lada are still very young.”

  “I don’t know where for sure, but from Theresienstadt, the Jews are taken to camps farther east. These camps are part of the final solution. The plan to rid the world of Jews.”

  Her knees buckled. Hauptmann Engel caught her before she hit the floor. In his embrace, a strange warmth flooded her. He led her to the top step and helped her to sit. “I’m sorry to shock you.”

  “There has been talk, but no one could prove it. Not a single person who went there has been back to tell about it. It’s . . . it’s hard to hear. So, they are . . . are, you know, then?” She couldn’t say the word. Couldn’t force it past her lips.

  He sat beside her. “Those who are able to work are spared. Perhaps . . .”

  “Two middle-aged people, one with a bad back, and two young girls. How much work are they able to do? I’m afraid there is no hope for them.” His image swam in front of her eyes. She couldn’t allow him to see her break down. “Please, will you excuse me from playing for tonight?”

  “Of course. Do you need anything?”

  She shook her head. Even if he could right her world again, she refused to accept help from the very kind of person who had likely murdered her beloved parents and sisters.

  As Horst once again entered the transition camp at Theres
ienstadt, he attempted to shut out the sights and sounds that accosted him. The old people who tottered around the grounds on stick-like legs. The piles of corpses thrown like refuse on the side of the street, too many dying each day to be buried. The aroma of rotting flesh and the pungent stench of human excrement.

  How could the world think the Germans protected the Jews here?

  Only the music was beautiful.

  He made sure to arrive in the late evening when the inmates scheduled a concert at their captors’ command. And as he hoped, the barracks where the German guards lived were empty of almost all their residents. Though missing the performance was unfortunate, he needed to have it this way.

  In the near-darkness, he slipped into the yellow-painted administration building. If they ever needed to flee this place in a hurry, the Germans had much to burn. They were nothing if not meticulous in their record-keeping.

  All the better for him.

  He held his breath as he crept up the stairs in case one of them should creak. The memory of the tears that had welled in Anna’s eyes as she feared the worst for her family haunted him. Drove him. What if Mutti disappeared without a trace? He wouldn’t be able to stand the not knowing. The awful wondering at her fate.

  For Anna’s sake, he had to find out.

  Why he was willing to risk his life for a Jew, he didn’t have an answer. She was beautiful, to be sure, with large eyes and dark hair that fell in soft waves around her heart-shaped face. More than that, she was sweet and vulnerable. Perhaps that was what had sent him on this crazy, heart-pounding search. Since that one awful night so many years ago, he couldn’t endure that look of helplessness and pain in another creature’s eyes.

  He reached the top of the stairs and the records office. He turned the office’s door handle. Locked. Just what he expected.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hairpin.

  Good thing he had a female neighbor. As he’d left Anna’s flat the other day, he’d picked up the pin on the landing, thinking to return it to her the next time they met.

  His hands shook so much, the pin fell to the floor. Outside, on the street below, the voices of fellow soldiers who’d had a bit too much Czech beer tonight hung in the air. They sang the song all wrong, then laughed.

  His stomach turned to a block of ice. The voices passed, then faded. He dared to relax and draw in a deep breath.

  After retrieving the pin from the floor, Horst jiggled it in the lock. It took awhile, but at last it clicked, and the door opened. He pulled down the blackout shades and turned on the light.

  The record keeper was neat and organized, and in short order, he located the file cabinet that held the records for each individual who passed in and out of these arched gates. He sorted through the folders until he got to the Z’s.

  Of course, quite a number of people named Zadok resided here. A popular surname in Prague’s Jewish community. And he’d neglected getting the names of Anna’s parents and sisters. The chore in front of him grew much more tedious.

  After a few minutes of searching, he located David’s file, which listed his parents and sisters who were also in the camp with him.

  A floorboard in the hall creaked.

  Horst stopped. He stood stock still, not breathing, not listening.

  No more noises. He allowed the air to rush from his lungs.

  Flipping through the files as fast as possible, he discovered the ones he wanted. He pulled them from the drawer, sat down, and set them on his lap. After a brief scan of each, he had the information he needed. That Anna and her grandmother needed.

  Before he returned the files to their places, the door swung open.

  An imposing SS officer filled the entryway. “What are you doing in here?”

  Horst froze.

  Soft light filtered into the chilly living room of Anna’s apartment. Though Babička napped in the bedroom, Anna lifted her violin to her chin. Babička said the music lulled her to sleep. She never shushed Anna or told her not to play.

  Today, she chose Paganini’s 24 Caprices as her music selection. She’d won an award for it long ago. Before the world went crazy. The challenging arpeggios, trills, and intervals kept her mind and fingers occupied, transporting her from this insanity. She poured her passion into it.

  She played it through twice, hating for it to end, for reality to intrude once more. As she lifted her bow from the strings, there was movement in the doorway. Her very dear friend who grew up next door to her stood in the entrance. “Ester.” Both tears and a smile threatened.

  Ester Taborová gave her own sad smile before stepping into the room.

  “How long have you listened to me?”

  “Since halfway through the first time.” She pushed a long, dark strand of hair from her face.

  Anna hugged her and motioned for her to sit on the sofa beside her. “And you didn’t say anything?”

  “You know I like to listen to you. I can’t play such a challenging piece, so I watch you and pretend.”

  “And what brings you by?” Anna returned the violin to its blue-

  velvet-lined case.

  “I wanted to see you. To find out how you are doing, especially with a Nazi living downstairs from you, or so I hear. It’s bad enough to have the man in the neighborhood.”

  “Up to this point, it’s not been too terrible. He’s nice, as far as Germans go. He hasn’t been unkind to us. He hasn’t taken my violin away or turned me in. In fact, he likes me to play for him.” What possessed her to list Horst’s positive attributes?

  Ester’s nut-brown eyes widened. “And you do?”

  “What other choice do I have? When he commands, I obey. Maybe he’ll keep us around longer if I perform for him. Between that and Jakub, perhaps Babička and I will have a chance to live. And he brought the most wonderful news.”

  “Is there such a thing as wonderful news these days?”

  “Partly wonderful, anyway. He had to go to Terezín and, while he was there, he saw a concert.” Anna restrained herself from jumping up and down on the rosy cushion. “David was one of the musicians.”

  A grin broke out on her friend’s face. Ester had been sweet on David for years. “He’s alive?”

  “For now he is.” A laugh gurgled in Anna’s throat.

  “And the rest of your family?”

  Did Anna dare to tell Ester what Hauptmann Engel had shared with her? They would end up at Terezín sooner or later. In time, their number would be called to go to the camp in the east. Anna bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

  They both sat silent for a few minutes. At last, Ester reached into her pocket. “I don’t want to diminish your joy over David, but I have some bad news of my own.”

  Anna held the paper in her trembling hands. She didn’t need to read it to know just what it said. “Your deportation notices.”

  Ester nodded. “I’ll be joining your family in Terezín. Yours will come soon, I expect. Prague is almost empty of Jews. The Butcher of Prague may be gone, but he’s still having his way with us. Before too long, Jakub will have to put you on the list, because there will be no one else.”

  Anna’s body numbed. “You leave soon, ne?”

  “The day after tomorrow. My mother is in a tizzy, my sister is crying over leaving her friends. And I’m scared. What if they do to us what the Butcher did to Táta?”

  The ear-splitting ring of the gunshot that took Pan Tabor’s life still reverberated in the street. Though they had scrubbed the wall Heydrich had lined him up against, the blood stain would forever mar the bricks.

  She squeezed Ester’s hand. “I will miss you. Do you remember hiding in your mother’s wardrobe, amongst her fur coats, eating the koláček we swiped from the table?”

  “The cook was so angry with us. We should never have done that. And what about the time we went swimming in the river without permission? I thought you were drowning, so I pulled you to the bank.”

  “And how we giggled over boys and planned our grand
weddings, with huge vases of flowers and lace gowns.” A lump in her chest weighed on her. “Oh, Ester, I’ll pray for you.” What more could she say?

  “Thank you. That helps. What else can we do? We pack our two bags each and go to the exhibition hall at the appointed time.”

  Images of that day last winter flashed in front of Anna’s eyes. Her family walking into the hall. And now, to lose this friend who’d brought her such joy in the many years they lived beside each other.

  If only . . .

  Her heart broke into a thousand little bits, like a piece of fine china smashed on the ground.

  A shot of adrenaline rushed through Horst’s body at the sight of the SS officer in the office doorway, leaving him mushy-elbowed and weak-kneed. He stood on wobbling legs and gave as lusty a Heil Hitler as he could manage. “Good evening, sir.”

  Thunder crossed the officer’s oval face. His blue eyes flashed. “I asked you a question. What are you doing searching through those files?”

  What was he doing here? His mind raced, searching for an answer. He must have been crazy to think he could get away with helping a Jew. “I needed to check on some files, sir.”

  “You are not answering my question. Let’s start with another one. Who are you?”

  He raised his head and summoned every bit of strength he possessed to sound confident. “Hauptmann Horst Engel, sir. I’m the Minister of Architectural Preservation in Prague. There is one building I’m particularly interested in that was most recently owned by Jews. I need to speak to them about one change they made to the building, but I cannot locate them.”

  “Why would you care about a Jewish dog and what he did to a building? Burn it down.”

  “Sir, to destroy such beautiful architecture—”

  “Who let you in here?”

  “Someone passing by. He had to get back to duty, so he couldn’t stay.” Horst stuffed the folders into the drawer and slammed it shut. “I have the information I need.” With another Heil Hitler, he strode out of the room, down the steps, and out the door.