The Melody of the Soul

by Liz Tolsma

  “Very generous of you.” Horst bit into a potato, grimacing as the smell of soot overtook the flavor.

  “So, it’s to be west, then. Where?”

  “Plzeň.”

  “Is it far enough west?” Horst fiddled with the handle of his cup.

  “I offer no guarantees. These days, all we can do is hope and pray.”

  Anna sat at the table and forked a piece of potato. “My reservation remains my grandmother.”

  “Plzeň isn’t that far.”

  “I know, but her health isn’t the best. She has heart problems. A bumpy ride in a farm wagon might be too much for her. And I won’t leave her alone.”

  “Understandable.” Georg peered at her through his spectacles. “But I have a way to get us there.”

  Horst wrinkled his forehead. “How?”

  “By train.”

  Anna release her hold on her fork, which clattered to her plate. “Train? We’re going to just march right on board?”

  Georg reached into the pocket of his pants. He laid four identity cards on the table, like a poker master with a winning hand. “We’ll use these.”

  Anna picked up one of the booklets. Her picture stared back at her, but the name typed on it wasn’t hers. “Where did you get these?” There was no large J for Jew stamped on it.

  “Patricie has a brother also in the underground. He makes false identity cards, among other things.”

  Horst turned his over and over. “He’s good at what he does. This looks better than the one that the rain ruined when I went to Theresienstadt. We’ll leave soon?”

  “Two days.”

  “But we have no money.” Anna’s racing heart slowed almost to a stop. “How will we buy tickets?”

  “I have enough for all of us sewn into the lining of my coat.”

  “You’ve been planning this for a while.”

  “I have. I’m sorry we were too late for Patricie.” Georg’s eyes misted over.

  Anna touched his rough hand. “We all are. Why are you doing this? Why haven’t you left like you threatened?”

  “For Patricie. She would want me to help you to safety. To finish what she started. And I waited to tell you about the cards until after David’s passing. I knew you wouldn’t leave with him so ill.”

  “Děkuji. We cannot thank you enough.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. This trip is fraught with danger.”

  Anna rubbed her eyes as she made her way to the chicken coop. She, Georg, and Horst had stayed up far into the early morning, discussing their plans for the future. Even now, Hauptsturmführer Jaeger might be watching the house. She’d dressed in Paní Karas’s clothes, an embroidered black shawl over her head. Her breath puffed into clouds in front of her face.

  Anna’s stomach rumbled. Georg warned they would get no more help in terms of ration cards, and so they hadn’t in the weeks since the raid. They’d had just enough to sustain them.

  She entered the warm, smelly coop, pushed one chicken to the side, and gathered the egg into the basket she carried. Not all the hens were kind enough to offer up a prize. She moved to another. This little one refused to give up the egg. She pecked at Anna until she dropped the basket. Two of the four eggs she’d collected broke.

  “Stupid, stupid chicken. See what you made me do? Now there won’t be enough for breakfast.” She kicked at the coop’s wall. “Ouch.” Her toe throbbed.

  She sank to the floor, pulled the scarf over her face, and wept. Cried for the family she’d lost. For the home that was no more. For her virtual imprisonment.

  Most of all, for the loss of music. For the emptiness of her soul.

  The coop’s little door creaked open. She didn’t bother to lift her scarf to see who entered. She breathed in his masculine, woodsy scent. How did he smell that way without his cologne? His own clothes?

  “Anna, what’s the matter?”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose to stem the tide. A few moments passed before she regained her composure. “The chicken pecked me.”

  Horst examined her hand, then kissed the top of it. “A few red marks, nothing more.”

  “And I dropped the eggs for breakfast. How will we eat?”

  He righted the mess. “God provides.”

  That prompted her to remove her shawl and stare at Horst. “Does it look like He provides? Our lives are in as much danger as ever. Maybe more. We’re hunted. Pursued. Tracked like animals.”

  “But here we are.” His confident words almost disguised the clouded gaze of his pale blue eyes.

  “You doubt, too.”

  “Trust isn’t easy. I’m responsible for all of you. What’s going to happen next? How can I keep you safe? And alive? I want to do it all. Yet, I can’t. Only God can do those things for us. My head knows it. My heart needs more convincing.”

  “Babička would say to trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and He shall direct thy paths. That’s from Proverbs. She would add that salvation comes only from Him.”

  “And you? What do you say?”

  She turned her focus to the slanted roof. “It’s so dark. Like the blackest of all moonless nights. Even the stars don’t shine anymore. How will we find our way? Maybe none of us will even come out of this alive. Perhaps it’s futile to try. Patricie saw that. She wanted relief. Escape.”

  Horst sat on the ground beside her, knee to knee. “Ne, that’s not it. She wanted to save us, to keep us from being discovered. But I’m not ready to give up. I’m willing to fight. To live, like David told you.”

  “That’s just him.”

  “Maybe, in part. But we have to hold on.”

  “For what? The music is gone. It won’t return. Without it, I’m nothing.” The blackness threatened to spill from her heart and mind to her soul.

  He caressed her cheek and let his fingers skim her neck. Fire and ice raced through her. “You are more than just your music. Yes, it is part of you. A very important part of you. But not all of you. You are kindness and compassion, gentleness and faithfulness, loyalty and trustworthiness. They make you who you are. And that is all wrapped up in your music. But it’s not gone.”

  “I have no instrument. No one to play for. Hauptsturmführer Jaeger, the Nazis, stole everything from me.”

  “You are the music.”

  “Those other things that make me who I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “All my life, music has been there. My parents filled our home with it. When we were old enough to hold a violin, all of my siblings and I added to the symphony that was our household.”

  “But there was more to it than that.”

  “My mother had such a musical lilt to her voice. It was more like she sang than she spoke.”

  “Ah, that’s where you get it from.”

  “But you’re right.” Her soul stirred a little bit. “They also taught us to be kind, compassionate, helpful, and so on. They tried to instill in us a love for the Lord.”

  “Even without an instrument in your hand, you are beautiful to watch, to listen to, to be around.”

  He saw those things in her? “But I feel empty without it. I can’t even hear a note in my head. It’s vanished.”

  “Often, when people lose a sense, another one is sharpened. Some who are blind are very sensitive to smell. Or noises. Maybe the Lord is training you to use your other senses. Your other gifts and talents.”

  “He’s teaching me to be more compassionate, kinder.”

  “Possibly.”

  But why did the Lord have to take away her music to teach her those lessons? Did she need to trust in Him more? Yes, she did. She didn’t rely on Him enough. When trouble came, she leaned on her violin more than on her Bible. Without her instrument, she had nowhere else to turn but to God.

  “You said my music isn’t gone.”

  “‘O sing unto the Lord a new song.’”

  “He’s my audience?”

  “Always.” Horst clasped her hands, warming them through. “Close your eyes.�
�

  She obeyed.

  “Reach deep down inside. Dig to the pit of your being. What is there, deep in your heart?”

  A tiny sliver of light. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re not there yet. Delve inside. You’ll find it. Trust me.”

  “We’re alive.”

  “Ja, alive. I feel it, too. Breathe in. Breathe out.”

  She allowed the warm farm air to rush into and out of her lungs. He did the same. They took this journey together.

  “We’re safe.” No thinking of the future or the past. Only this moment.

  He squeezed her hand. “No prison. We have freedom, no matter how little.”

  Another fissure in the darkness of her heart. “My family is here.” She brought Babička to mind.

  “Family, ja. My mutti is alive and well.”

  “We have clothes, food, and provision.” She licked her lips.

  “Yes.”

  “We have each other.” How could she have forgotten the love she harbored for this man?

  “Each other. Anna, you have made this time in my life bearable for me. Even more than that.”

  The light broke the horizon of her mind. “We have salvation.”

  “In many forms.” He rubbed her thumb.

  “Yes, from all our sins. From Satan. From Hauptsturmführer Jaeger.”

  “God has been good to us. And He always will be.”

  “No matter what?” As they traveled west?

  “Even when we walk the valley of the shadow of death, He’ll be with us. Even if He takes our earthly lives from us, we’ll have heavenly ones.”

  A note sounded in her mind, clear and true. Her fingers ached to hold a violin, to clutch a bow. Instead, she hummed the tune.

  Horst echoed.

  Warriors who for God are fighting,

  And for His divine law,

  Pray that His help be vouchsafed you;

  With trust unto Him draw;

  With Him you conquer,

  In your foes inspire awe;

  With Him you conquer,

  In your foes inspire awe.

  The rich notes of the old Czech warrior hymn filled the small space. Even the chickens paused their cackling. Anna turned to Horst. “You know Czech music?”

  “When Mutti and I visited during the summers, we worshiped in local churches. Vater didn’t approve, but we didn’t tell him.”

  She brushed a kiss across his cheek. “Děkuji. You gave me back the music.”

  “I did no such thing. God gave it to you.” He returned her kiss. For a moment, he sat back. Then he drew her close and kissed her on the lips. Runs, trills, vibrato coursed through her. A passion only music brought before now stirred in her.

  They parted, breathless.

  “I love you, Anna.”

  Could she ever say the words?

  The wind whipped around Anna’s bare legs as she stood on the knoll overlooking the Czech countryside. David’s knoll, where his body rested. Daylight faded in the west. The west, where she was bound. Tomorrow, she would not be here. Where would the next weeks and months take her? Would she ever return?

  She pulled Paní Karas’s black shawl around her shoulders, hoping Hauptsturmführer Jaeger would stay far away. That they would manage to outrun the Nazis and the Soviets. Horst’s only hope lay in getting to the Americans.

  Kneeling, she picked up a clump of the fresh, soft dirt and sifted it through her fingers. “Oh David, I wish you were coming with us. But it’s useless to think about the past, isn’t it? No amount of longing is going to bring you back. Nor Máma, nor Táta, nor our sisters.”

  But how she ached for them. She would give her life for even one more minute as a family. In the past, she didn’t treasure them the way she should have. And now . . .

  “You’re happy, David, and at peace. I want that for myself. Until that time comes, I pray for a measure of it on this earth. Maybe soon. If we survive.”

  Though she tried not to dwell on what lay behind, memories flooded her. Happy Easters, the family all decorating kraslice, the intricate hand-painted eggs girls gave to boys on Easter Monday. Excursions to the countryside, and Táta trying to paddle a boat. Chilly winter evenings spent on Máma’s lap as she read to her.

  The tears came, fast and furious. Great sobs shook her entire body. She keened, rocking back and forth, back and forth, hugging herself. Cried for the nieces and nephews she would never know. For the wisdom she’d never receive from Máma. For the family reunions they would never enjoy.

  How could she do this? How could she leave him? All of them? She trembled and rubbed her upper arms.

  Thus, if thou hast known Him,

  Not ashamed to own Him,

  But wilt trust Him boldly

  Nor dost love Him coldly,

  He will then receive thee,

  Heal thee, and forgive thee.

  Trust Him boldly. So hard to do. Like throwing yourself from the Charles Bridge, hoping your father would catch you. This leaving was a free fall.

  Lord, catch me. Oh please, catch me, or else I will drown.

  The wind lashed at her face, cooling the tears that coursed down her cheeks.

  “Good-bye, David.” She turned to the northeast, to the place where the Germans had taken her family. “Good-bye Máma, Táta, Jana, Lada. Until we meet again.”

  Horst tucked his coat around himself to ward off the cold. Anna stood on the hill, the wind tossing her wavy, dark brown hair to and fro. She knelt. Her shoulders shook. She wept.

  So small against the vastness of the sky. So helpless in the face of the storm. So vulnerable in light of the danger.

  He climbed the small rise and stood behind her as she bade farewell to each member of her family. Then he knelt beside her and gathered her into his embrace. She cried into his coat until she hiccupped and finally stilled.

  Silence settled over them.

  How hard for her to leave all she knew. When, if, they met the Americans, none of them had any idea what might happen. His only hope lay in the Allies showing him mercy. He had no guarantee. They might throw him in prison. He didn’t dare think of the other possibility.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I will never leave you nor forsake you. That’s God’s promise to you.”

  “And to you.” She drew back, her face stained by tears. “You are afraid, ne?”

  “Apprehensive. The Americans can’t be worse than the Soviets. Perhaps they’ll treat me with kindness.”

  “I don’t like not knowing what’s in front of me. Táta bought me a flashlight to leave by my bed, so I could find my way to the restroom or to their bedroom in the middle of the night.”

  “That’s what trust is about.”

  “It’s not easy.”

  “Ne, it’s not. If it was, it wouldn’t be trust.” God, provide that trust in You, no matter what happens. My life is in Your hands. The way his stomach tightened, he might as well have jumped out of an airplane. Would the parachute deploy in time? Or would he hit the ground at an incredible rate of speed?

  She kissed his cheek over and over.

  He kissed her salty, sweet lips. “I love you. Are you ready?”

  “Are you?”

  He squeezed her hand. “It’s time to step out in faith.”

  A powerful pressure weighed on Horst’s chest as he, Anna, her grandmother, and Georg stood on the platform at the small train station, just two valises between them. A few people milled about, going on with their business despite the end of the war looming on the horizon. The ticket agent sat behind the window, a shadowy beard covering his sunken face.

  Georg stepped up. “Four tickets to Plzeň, please.”

  Even now, Horst held his breath. Would the man question why they went west?

  He didn’t. He simply took the money Georg slid across the counter and produced the tickets in exchange.

  Horst released the air from his lungs. One hurdle cleared. Many, many more to go.

  He and Georg retu
rned to the women, huddled at one end of the platform. Both wore shawls over their heads. Anna blinked several times and bit her lip. He squeezed her hand. “Are you nervous?”

  One corner of her mouth tipped up. “I’m trying not to let it show.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “Once we reach Plzeň.”

  “And how are you, Paní Doubeková?”

  The old woman leaned on a cane Pan Karas had carved from a gnarled tree limb. “I’m fine.” But in the time he’d known her, she’d shrunk, smaller than her already short stature. More lines graced her face.

  “Good.”

  “How long?” Anna still clung to him.

  “It’s not far.”

  “Ne, not that. How long until this miserable war ends? Until we are truly safe?”

  “Only God knows.” His pulse throbbed in his wrist.

  “How long do you think?”

  “Anna, don’t pester the man. He doesn’t know.” The old woman’s soft voice carried the authority of her years.

  “That’s fine. We all want to know. To have a date to shoot for. I understand. But I don’t know the mind of the Allies. From what Pan Karas told me before his arrest, the Americans are going around Czechoslovakia into the heart of Germany. That makes sense. If they strike at the command center, the rest of the operation will fall.”

  Anna toed the wood deck. “It’s been a long six years. It’s like waiting for Ježíšek, the baby Jesus, to come on Christmas Eve, for Máma to ring the bell to let us know He’d brought us gifts. In January, you don’t get too anxious or excited about it, because it is so far off. But as December draws on, it’s harder and harder to wait.”

  Georg nodded. “We all feel that way right now. First things first. We have to get to Plzeň.”

  Off in the distance, a train whistle blew. A shiver ran down Horst’s spine. The times he’d visited Theresienstadt, he heard that sound plenty. Trains bringing thousands of Jews to the camp. Trains packed with men, women, even little children, headed to Auschwitz.

  The hulking, black behemoth chugged into the station, belching steam and soot.

  Horst supported Paní Doubeková and helped her up the metal stairs. Georg and Anna followed them into the passenger compartment.