Anne Frank and Me

by Cherie Bennett

  “Please,” she begged in French, pointing at Liz-Bette. “She can come to the right with me. She can!” He did not look at her. So she turned to the shorter SS man. “Please. Let her come to me. Or let me be with my sister.”

  He chuckled and pointed to the left with his bullwhip. “Du? Lentz?”

  “Lentz,” Nicole echoed, nodding furiously. “Ja. Lentz.”

  “Jawohl, Lentz, Jude!” the SS man mock-saluted her. “Jawohl, Jude, Heil Hitler!” He pointed left again as all around him on the platform his fellow Germans laughed uproariously. Nicole ran to Liz-Bette and hugged her.

  “You didn’t leave me.”

  “No. Didn’t I promise?”

  The two columns were now separated by a rank of SS—Nicole saw Anne in the other column, not twenty feet away. A woman had her arms around Anne’s older sister, who was sobbing. Anne stood alone.

  “Anne?” Nicole called. “Anne!”

  Anne turned. “Nicole?” Her eyes seemed to overwhelm her pale face. “Nicole, I’m scared. I am so scared.” Nicole wished that she could offer Anne the same strength that Anne had offered her on the train. But she didn’t have Anne’s faith; she wasn’t strong enough or brave enough to—

  “Anne?”

  “Yes, Nicole?”

  “Anne, listen to me. It’s important!” One of the SS men glared at her, but she didn’t care. “I lied before. I do know what happens to you!”

  “You do?” Anne’s eyes grew wide.

  “Yes,” Nicole insisted. “You become a famous writer. And you break a million hearts.”

  Anne wrapped her arms around herself, as though they were Nicole’s arms. “Thank you,” she said simply. That was when Nicole and Liz-Bette’s column began to move forward.It seemed the only word on the planet was Schnell.

  “Schnell, Schnell!” the SS ordered, swinging their truncheons to make the women run.

  “I’m too tired to run,” Liz-Bette panted.

  “You can do it,” Nicole coaxed.

  “Schnell, Juden, Schnell!” The women ran through a gate toward the building with the big smokestack. The vile smell was overpowering. The ground sloped downward and an entrance to its interior opened before them. With more shouts, the SS forced the women into an underground room.

  Nicole held fast to Liz-Bette as prisoners in uniform shouted directions to them. “You will have a shower and be deloused! Leave your clothes in a pile for later!”

  Everyone is either shot or marched into a big room—for a shower, they’ll tell you—

  Nicole felt weak. She looked around—the walls were covered with signs, most making reference to LAUS. She knew enough German to understand that was the word for lice.

  It was a delousing procedure. David was wrong. She was sure of it.

  “It is a shower,” she told Liz-Bette firmly. “Disinfecting. It will take away your itching. That will be wonderful.”

  “Hurry, hurry!” the uniformed prisoners shouted. “Into the shower room. Take off everything!” Nicole and Liz-Bette stripped naked as the girls and women around them did the same. Most used their hands to try to cover themselves

  Liz-Bette crossed her arms over her nonexistent breasts. “I’m embarrassed, Nicole,” she whimpered.

  “Pretend you have on a beautiful ball gown, Scar-lett,” Nicole told her. “The blue one that matches your eyes.”

  “Into the shower! Hurry, hurry!”

  “Your gown is very lovely, but it could use a good washing.” She took Liz-Bette’s hand as they were herded through a doorway into the shower room, and looked around as her eyes adjusted to the murky light. Showerheads. Yes. A dozen. No, fourteen. Spaced out on the walls. She went limp with relief. “You see the spigots, Liz-Bette? It is going to be grand to be clean.”

  More people were pressed into the room. It was getting dangerously crowded. How could all these people be deloused at the same time? The crush forced them toward the rear wall. There were panicked shouts as naked men were pushed into the room. The heavy door clanged shut.

  “I want my maman!” Liz-Bette howled. “I want my maman!”

  “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Nicole screamed. She clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. It was too much to ask—she could not be strong. She wanted to lose her mind, tear her hair out, to beg someone, anyone, for her life.

  “I’m sorry, Nicole,” Liz-Bette said. “I’m sorry that I was sick. You should have gone with Anne.”

  It had come to this: Her twelve-year-old sister blamed herself instead of the ones who were guilty. That, Nicole would not allow her to do. She met her sister’s panicky gaze with steady eyes.

  “Listen to me, Liz-Bette,” Nicole said, bending close to her sister’s ear. “You are not responsible. They are responsible. I am here because I chose to be. Do you hear me?”

  Liz-Bette nodded.

  “I will give you Papa’s Shabbos blessing. It will be my voice and my heart, but his, too. And others, everyone who ever loved you. Do you understand?”

  Liz-Bette nodded again. Something like marbles clattered through the ceiling and fell to the floor. People howled in fear, pushing wildly, coughing. Nicole gently placed her hands on her sister’s head. “Yiverechecha Adonai viyismerecha,” Nicole prayed. “May God bless you and keep you. Yaer Adonai panav elecha viyichunecha. May God’s countenance shine upon you and illuminate you. Esai Adonai panav elecha vasham lecha shalom. May God turn His countenance to you and bring you peace.”

  People shrieked and tore at their throats, choking. Nicole and Liz-Bette began to choke, too. But Nicole forced herself to keep talking to her sister. “God is watching us, Liz-Bette. Shema Yisroel, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad; Shema Yisroel— ”

  In the tiniest voice, Liz-Bette joined her. “Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad.”

  Now, bodies were falling to the floor. “Shema Yisroel, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad. Hear 0 Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One. Shema Yisroel, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad.”

  “Shema Yisroel, Adonai Elohenu ...”

  “I love you, Liz-Bette,” Nicole whispered.

  Then, there was only silence.

  thirty-six

  The blaring high-pitched whine of sirens. A terrible pounding inside her head. Raw, rhythmic waves of pain. Nicole clamped her hands over her eyes and moaned. It was as if her mind were swimming through muck, coming up from another place. Who she was and where she was, and what had happened, returned to her slowly, like faces materializing on a developing photograph.

  “Nicole? Nicole?” Someone was calling to her from very far away. “Nicole? Nicole?”

  The voice came closer, far too loud, reverberating like exploding bombs, punctuated by an insistent whup-whup, whup-whup.

  “Nicole, can you hear me?” Whup-whup, whup-whup.

  “I hear you,” Nicole mumbled through parched lips. She recognized that voice, didn’t she? Yes, she did. Ms. Zooms, her English teacher.

  “Nicole?” Ms. Zooms repeated. “I couldn’t understand you. What did you say?”

  Nicole licked her lips and forced her mouth to form distinct words. “Stop. Calling. My. Name.” She tried to get her bearings. She was lying on her back. On something hard. “Am I alive?”

  “Yes. Very much alive.” Ms. Zooms’ normally bombastic voice was surprisingly soothing.

  Whup-whup, whup-whup. What was that noise?

  “What’s her name? Can she open her eyes?”

  “Can you open your eyes, Nicole?” Ms. Zooms asked. “There’s a paramedic here.”

  Nicole shook her head, which sent waves of pain coursing through her body.

  “Too much sensory input, too fast,” she heard the paramedic explain. “It’s not uncommon after something like this.”

  What was he talking about? What had happened? A breeze tickled Nicole’s face. She smelled burning leaves.

  I must be outside. But how did I get out here?

  “Where am I?” Nicole managed.

  “Outside the s
tate museum,” the paramedic replied. “Your vitals are fine. We called your mom, and she’s meeting you at Memorial.”

  “Memorial what?”

  “Memorial Hospital. The doctors need to check you out. Think you could open those peepers now, nice and slow?”

  Her eyelids felt leaden. She covered them with her hand, then forced them open, squinting between her fingers into the too-bright morning sun. Her view was partly blocked by a red-haired man with a stethoscope around his neck.

  “Welcome back, Nicole. I’m Sam. How many fingers do you see?” He held up two.

  “More than one, less than three.”

  He grinned and turned to Ms. Zooms. “Other than having the mother of all headaches for a while, it looks like she’ll live. We’ll take her to Memorial just to be on the safe side. Don’t let her move around too much.”

  “I’ll see to that, thank you,” Ms. Zooms agreed, as Sam hurried toward a man with a walkie-talkie. Nicole craned her neck carefully, looking around.

  She was on a bench in the plaza. There were scores of police, heavily armed SWAT teams running to and fro, and many ambulances. Overhead, she counted two—no, three—helicopters. That accounted for the annoying whup-whups. But what was happening? She felt off-kilter, caught in someone else’s skin. Suddenly, something essential deep inside of her shifted, an earthquake of the self, pieces falling not out of place but rather into it. And she remembered.

  The state museum. An exhibition about Anne Frank. Doom with a gun. Gunshots. Terror. Panic. Bodies crushing bodies. Bodies falling. Mimi. Oh, God, Mimi—

  “Nicol”

  Suddenly, Mimi was flying toward her. Nicole hugged her. “I had to wait forever for the paramedics to tell me I’m fine, which I could have told them but no one would listen to me,” Mimi reported. “Are you okay?”

  “Miss Baker, good to see you in one piece,” Ms. Zooms said. “Can I count on you to stay here with Miss Burns until the paramedic comes back?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “If Miss Burns’ condition changes, scream.” Ms. Zooms gave Mimi one last look for emphasis, then hustled off.

  “What happened, Mimi? The last thing I remember, we were in a crush trying to get out—”

  “I hyperventilated and we fell into this mosh pit. You got slammed into the door—bam! You were out cold. God, it was scary. I managed to drag you out of there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  Whup-whup. Nicole looked up. Another helicopter, this one bearing the logo of an all-news cable network, joined the three in the skies above them.

  “It’s like we’re in a movie,” Mimi said.

  “Only we’re not. It’s real.” Nicole’s head pounded. “How many people did Doom get?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did they catch him?”

  Mimi cocked her chin toward a paddy wagon surrounded by a sea of blue uniforms. “In there.”

  “How does a person get that twisted?” Nicole wondered.

  Mimi shrugged. “Who knows. How’s your head?”

  “I plan to live.”

  Mimi looked at her quizzically. “Odd thing to say, but good to know”

  Sam the paramedic loped back over to them. “Hey, how ya doing, Nicole? Double vision? Vomiting? Fainting?”

  “None of the above.”

  “Great. We’re kinda shorthanded. Think we can get you into an ambulance under your own steam?”

  “Sure.” Sam and Mimi helped Nicole up. For a moment she felt dizzy, but it passed. They guided her toward an ambulance as Mr. Urkin’s amplified voice reverberated through the air.

  “All West students not receiving medical attention are to line up by class in front of the Assembly building for a head count. Immediately.”

  “That means me,” Mimi said. “I’ll come to the hospital as soon as they let me.”

  Nicole hugged her again. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “Right back at‘cha.” Mimi headed for the Assembly building. Nicole saw Suzanne catch up with her, Jack at her side.

  It came back to her like a sucker punch to the gut. Jack. The bus ride. He’d saved her a seat. Put his arm around her.

  It’s about Suzanne. I’m crazy about her.

  “Hey, you’re looking a little green around the gills all of a sudden,” Sam said. “You okay?”

  No. Nothing was okay. She nodded anyway, and he helped her into the ambulance.

  “Mom, I’m fine,” Nicole insisted. “Can’t we just go home?”

  “Soon, sweetie.” She trotted along as a hospital orderly rolled Nicole into an antiseptic-looking room at Memorial Hospital. “It’s just for observation.”

  “Did you hear any news while you were waiting in the ER? Did anyone die?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone was saying it was that Hayden boy. How did he just slip through the system?”

  “You need help getting into the bed?” the orderly asked Nicole.

  “No, thanks. I don’t even need to be here.” Nicole climbed off the gurney and got onto the bed. She eyed the TV bolted to the wall. “I’ve got to know what’s going on. Can we turn it on?”

  The orderly shook his head. “Not without a requisition.”

  “Who do I have to see to do that?” Mrs. Burns asked.

  “Accounting.” He hesitated. “I’m not supposed to do this, but ...” He went to the TV, punched a code into the cable box, and clicked on the power.

  “Thanks.” Nicole’s eyes were already glued to the screen as he wheeled the gurney out of the room. An aerial view of the state capital government plaza, still a mass of emergency vehicles, filled the screen, with the word LIVE superimposed on it.

  “Recapping our top story,” said the news announcer. “At a traveling exhibit called Anne Frank in the World, gunfire evidently erupted while the state museum was filled with high school students. It has been confirmed that some students have been taken by ambulance to local hospitals. A male juvenile is reportedly being held by police as the suspect.”

  The newscaster narrated as taped footage was shown. It was surreal. Nicole saw people she knew outside the museum, hugging and crying. At any moment, she expected to see the aerial camera zooming in on herself.

  “We have a new development,” the anchorwoman cut in. “We’re going live to a press conference being held by Chief of Police Shanika Brown, and the head of security for the Anne Frank in the World exhibition, Moshe Ben-Ami.”

  The cameras cut to the steps of the museum. A crowd of reporters shouted questions.

  “Chief Brown, how many dead?”

  “Was this an anti-Semitic hate crime?”

  “Any truth that foreign terrorists might be involved?”

  Chief Brown, a petite African American woman, stepped to the mike. “I have a brief prepared statement.” She waited for the crowd to quiet, then began to read from a note card. “Today, students at the state museum were the victims of a cruel and dangerous prank. No weapons were involved, and fortunately, no one died.”

  “What?” Nicole yelped. “There were shots, I heard them!”

  “This morning, at approximately nine-forty-five, three students from East High School threw lit firecrackers at students from West High School. In the resulting panic, two dozen students were injured. Fifteen were treated and released at the scene, eight are hospitalized in satisfactory condition, and one student is still in surgery with a compound fracture to his right leg. Police have released a student who had been detained on suspicion of having used a weapon. I give you now Moshe Ben-Ami, chief of security for the exhibition.”

  “It wasn’t Doom,” Nicole said, dazed. “We were all so sure.”

  On TV, a burly man stepped to the microphone. “I am Moshe Ben-Ami,” he said with a slight accent. “First let me assure you that our excellent security precluded a gun from ever entering the museum. Moreover, the entire exhibition is under video surveillance, so we were able to review the tapes and quickly identify the perpe
trators. Chief Brown has informed me that they are now under arrest. Thank you.”

  Chief Brown came forward to take the barrage of questions that followed. “Amazing.” Mrs. Burns clicked off the TV. “You should rest now, sweetie.”

  Nicole slumped back against her pillows. One thought kept playing in her mind: Doom hadn’t done anything wrong at all.

  thirty-seven

  Nicole? Nicole?”

  Nicole opened her eyes. Little Bit stood by her bedside, looking down at her. “Why are people always calling my name?” Nicole said groggily. “What time is it?”

  “Eight. Are you okay?”

  “You woke me to ask if I’m okay?”

  “Mom said we need to keep an eye on you in case your brain got damaged yesterday, though personally I don’t think it was in such great shape before.”

  “I’m going back to sleep.” She rolled over and snuggled into the pillow

  “Want to know what I heard on the news just now?”

  “No.”

  “They released the boy with the broken leg from the hospital,” Little Bit reported. “Want to know what else?”

  Nicole groaned.

  “They’re playing the football game. The mayor said it’s important to show the world our town’s spirit and it’s not fair to punish everyone for what just a few kids did.”

  “ ‘This is Little Bit Burns, signing off,’ ” Nicole concluded for her sister.

  “It’s Elizabeth.”

  “Lemme sleep.” Nicole pulled the blanket up to her chin and nuzzled into her pillow again. But sleep would not come. She kept seeing images from the day before in her mind: the crush of bodies, the panic, the chaos. She opened her eyes. Little Bit was at her dresser, trying on one of her bracelets. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Nothing.” Red-faced, Little Bit took it off quickly

  “How many times have I told you not to touch my stuff?”

  “Hey, you two.” Mrs. Burns walked in, dressed for work. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

  “Ready to become an only child,” Nicole replied.