by Robert Elmer
"Which are being modified right now. From what I understand, you quit your job without warning three weeks ago.And you left no forwarding address. Everyone will say the same thing, and they'll have no idea what's become of you.See? There's one more missing Jew."
"Ann-Grete, I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. It's only temporary, you know. I hear they're already getting fishing boats together to ferry people across to Sweden. Besides, I might not like your furniture.Say, you do have furniture in your place, don't you?"
"Of course I do." Hanne smiled for the first time since all the trouble had started. "Bought the sofa just last year at Juhl Hansen. A nice floral print. You'll like it just fine."
"Ah, she even has good taste in fine furniture stores. On second thought, maybe I'll just stay in your place for a while."
"Yes, and I can just go on being a ghost here in the hospital."
When they laughed Hanne forgot for just a moment that her identity at the hospital—everything that once had her name on it—was being erased to save her life. And when she checked her wristwatch her heart jumped.
"Oh, no! I told my mother I'd meet her at the front doors in ten minutes. Would you bring the woman in 43 her glass of water, please?"
Ann-Grete nodded as Hanne hurried off down the hall, her mind spinning. What more could she be doing? Perhaps Mor could stay with her for a few nights, here at the hospital—if it was safe. But she wasn't sure about that, or how it would look if someone came searching. Perhaps it would be better someplace else. She hurried down the stairs to the ground floor, not noticing that someone else was laboring up.
"Oh!" She stopped short. "Pardon me. Undskyld. I didn't mean to . . . Pastor?"
When he took off his hat he didn't look like the patient she had helped stitch up just the other day. This time he looked far more, well, not so disheveled. And very nice, really. He smiled when he recognized her.
"Nurse Hanne. Very good to see you again." He patted his side. "And thanks again for all your good work."
"I hadn't expected to see you back here so soon."
"Well, better to be walking in than carried in, right?"
"You're right about that." She laughed in spite of herself."I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Much better, thanks to you. Actually, though, I'm here on official business, visiting one of our older parishioners again.Teglgaard?"
"Ah, ja. Broken hip. She would be in room 24, if I recall.Um . . ." She nodded her head politely before taking another step and continuing down the stairs. "I hope you'll continue to feel better, as well."
He thanked her as she continued down the stairs, until a thought crossed her mind and she had to stop once more.
"Actually, Pastor," she called out, and her words echoed in the stairwell. Fortunately they were the only ones there, as far as Hanne could tell. And she blurted out the words before she changed her mind. "I wonder if I might ask you something else."
"Steffen," he answered, turning quickly. "Please call me Steffen."
"Er . . . okay. Steffen. But I was wondering." She looked up and down the stairwell again, just to be sure. No telling who might be listening. "When you were here previously, and your brother came to take you home, I couldn't help overhearing . . ."
Hanne paused, wondering what she was getting herself into. Well, but if she didn't ask, who would? He raised his eyebrows but did not interrupt, so she took a breath and went on—but this time in a guarded whisper.
"I couldn't help overhearing him talk about the Resistance.And I know it's not common knowledge, or public, but people here at the hospital know about the ambulance. He often parks it here, I think perhaps to make it look more legitimate.I hadn't known it was your brother, though."
"He surprises us both, eh?" He smiled at her, and she enjoyed the warmth of it. "But you probably know more about that ambulance than I do. He doesn't tell me a lot of those kinds of things, if you know what I mean. He tells me to stay in the church and preach my sermons, and then he gets upset with me for not doing more."
"More?"
He lowered his voice to match hers. "In the Resistance, I mean. But I'm sorry. You meant to ask me something?"
By this time Hanne was pretty sure Pastor Steffen—Steffen, that is—was telling her the truth about what he did or didn't know of the Resistance movement. How could those eyes lie to her, or to anyone? Maybe it was even better that he was not involved, yet. But she couldn't help asking him.
"I was going to ask you about putting up some friends—my mother included—perhaps at your church. I've never been inside, but I'm thinking perhaps there might be a basement, or some rooms that might be safe for them to stay in. For just a few days, that is, until we can find a way to get them to safety."
"Wait. Your mother? You want your mother to stay in our basement?"
When Steffen wrinkled his nose she couldn't help thinking of him like a cute little boy, puzzled at a school assignment he didn't quite understand. And she couldn't help smiling.
"I'm sorry. I didn't explain." Now she would tell him everything.What else could she do? It's what Rabbi Melchior had asked of them. "This morning at the synagogue Rabbi Melchior told us that the Nazis are finally coming for us. It's been decided."
"He knows this for certain?" Steffen's eyes widened in disbelief as she tried to reassure him.
"He would not have told us if it were not true. Everyone is going into hiding immediately, and we're letting as many Jewish people know as we can."
"But how would your rabbi know? I can't imagine the Germans would have advertised such a thing."
"Nonetheless it's true. They say it will happen on the night of the Rosh Hashanah celebration."
"Friday night. I morgen aften."
"You knew that?"
"It's in my Bible too."
He shrugged, as if every Christian person in Danmark might be just as aware of the High Holy days. She knew better. But now he nodded slowly, as if he's just figured something out.
"I understand. So you're—"
"Jewish? Yes." She practically whispered the words. "But I'm okay for now."
She thought it over for a moment. She could go with her mother, or help to get her and the others to safety. Given her job, though, was there really any choice? Standing here in the hospital, her next step seemed a little clearer.
"I think I'm going to try to stay here for just a little longer," she explained. "With everything going on, there's so much to do here."
"You wouldn't leave with the others?"
"Actually, it's my mother I'm worried about, and several of our friends from the synagogue. I'm not sure any of them know where to go."
Steffen didn't appear to have any answers, either, though he did know how to listen well. He nodded as she went on.
"The only thing I've heard is that we're going to get fishing boats to take everyone across to Sweden, but it may be several days. In the meantime, they still need a place to hide."
She stood on the step beside Pastor Steffen, holding her breath as he rubbed his forehead in obvious thought. Finally he struggled to his feet as Hanne helped steady him. He straightened and looked directly at her.
"But so many," he whispered, as if still considering the task."Five thousand? Six?"
"We're over seven thousand. But who's counting?"
"The Nazis, I expect. And I wonder what happens when they come knocking at your doors to find you not home?"
This time it was Hanne's turn to shrug. "I'm not sure of that, Pastor. I hope no one is punished or gets in trouble over this matter. But what would you do if they were coming after the Christians instead?"
She rather liked the way his eyes seemed to twinkle as he pondered her question. And Pastor Steffen seemed to do a lot of pondering, besides. Finally he allowed the hint of a smile to lift the corners of his mouth.
"Just the same as you're doing now." He nodded, the decision obviously made. "I just hope the church cellar won't be too damp and dreary for them."
Hanne smiled. "Better than the inside of a German prison camp, I imagine."
"I suppose you're right. So just tell your mother to knock on the back door of the church, on the side facing Vedbækgade. We should wait until after dark, should we not?"
Hanne wasn't sure about that, either, but it seemed like a good idea.
"I've never done this sort of thing, before," she told him as he made his way up the stairs again.
"Doesn't matter. Tell her to come after dark but before curfew. Eight o'clock? Two knocks on the back door like this . . ." He demonstrated on the inside of the door leading to the second floor hallway. "Then three more. Can she remember that?"
Hanne nodded.
"She'll remember."
12
SANKT STEFAN'S KIRKE, KØBENHAVN
WEDNESDAY EVENING, 29 SEPTEMBER 1943
May God keep you all. May God keep Danmark.
—KING CHRISTIAN X, 9 APRIL 1940
I still can't believe you told them they could hide here," Henning told Steffen that evening as they rolled a couple of blankets out on the floor of a lower level storage room.
"We're going to make it hyggeligt, as cozy as we can. And if they're cold, they can keep their coats on. They'll be fine."
A lone bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling would help just a bit, though it cast harsh shadows on boxes of assorted cleaning supplies lining the far wall. He just hoped no one minded a little dust.
Best of all, Steffen imagined they might not be found here, secluded under a stairway and with an entry door with no handle that seemed to very much blend into the shadows and cracks of a lower level wall. One would have to possess very sharp eyes or know the door was there to open it.
"Cozy? No, that's not quite what I meant." Henning waved his hand around the tiny room—barely large enough to turn around in. "I meant, I can't believe you agreed to all this. I'm surprised at you."
"Oh, is that it? After all the times you've been lecturing me, lillebror, I thought you would be happy we were actually doing something constructive."
"You can call me little brother all you want. But this is impulsive. This is a little dangerous, compared to your normal, er, way of life. This is definitely not you."
"Well, perhaps I'm just doing my patriotic duty for our country?"
That, and a little more. But no one said Steffen had to tell his brother everything. Especially not if he—that is, Steffen— wasn't even sure of his own motivations. He couldn't escape the feeling that he himself was a bystander, looking on, while another personality had hijacked his own life. In that way, Henning was entirely correct. What was happening here was definitely out of character for Steffen.
"Hmm." Henning stroked his chin, obviously still trying to sort things out. "And just a few days ago, you were telling me how foolish the Underground movement was, how King Christian said not to resist, et cetera. Come on. What's different now?"
"You're so suspicious. The need presents itself. Things have changed." Which was mostly true.
"Then how much are they paying you?"
"Shame on you for even suggesting such a thing. I'm a pastor."
"I was joking, all right? But come on! I still don't believe you just woke up this morning and suddenly decided to open up your church storage room to hide Jewish refugees."
"Why not?"
"It's just not . . . I mean, it just doesn't make any sense.Unless it's all about the girl . . . that's it!"
"Would you stop?" Steffen clapped his hands of dust and reached into his jacket pocket for a letter, which he handed over to Henning. "Here, read this. It might help you understand."
"Oh?" Henning squinted as he held the letter up to the light. "On behalf of all Danish bishops, eh? Sounds auspicious.Or suspicious. Where did you get this?"
"The Bishop. It went to the Germans today. They want us to read it from the pulpit this Sunday."
Henning read a few lines to himself, then out loud.
"All Danish citizens enjoy equal rights and responsibilities before the law, and full religious freedom," he read, then paused. "Very nice. That sounds just like something you would have written, to be sure."
"I didn't, though." Steffen pointed at the bottom of the page. "See the signature?"
"Hmm, okay." Henning pulled the letter away and kept reading. "Perhaps I should visit the service to hear it for myself."
If Henning knew they'd broached a sensitive topic, he made no sign of it as he handed the letter back.
"Perhaps you should," Steffen answered, stooping to straighten up a blanket that did not need straightening. "It would be nice to see you more than once a year."
Yes, and it would certainly prove to be cold and hard in this cramped space beneath the staircase. He would not like to consider sleeping there, himself. But he could think of no better place for anyone to hide, if that is what they had to do.
"Did I make it last Christmas?" wondered Henning.
Steffen didn't answer this time. He and his brother had more than enough to argue about, already, without getting into his brother's indifference about faith, and church, and other things Steffen held most dearly. They'd covered that ground before. Now Henning looked as if he was about to say something when someone knocked on the storage room door.They both stiffened and looked at each other.
"I thought no one else was supposed to know about the room down here," whispered Henning.
"Ja," replied Steffen, "no one but—"
"Steffen?" A rusty hinge squealed as Pastor Viggo pulled open the small door and poked his head inside. "Ah, there you are. I thought I heard familiar voices down here. Wasn't sure what was going on."
"Didn't realize we were making so much noise," said Henning, bumping his head on the slanted ceiling as he straightened out. "Ow!"
"Henning. Good to see you again. Although I can't recall the last time I've seen you in this building. Perhaps when I confirmed you?"
Henning laughed at the joke. He'd certainly been here since he was twelve, once or twice. Hadn't he?
"Henning was just helping me, er, straighten things out."Steffen wasn't sure they needed to go into too many details, and now he wished they'd kept their voices down. Because now Pastor Viggo looked curiously at the blankets and hand towels they'd set up next to a couple of wash basins and a pitcher of water.
"I see. Well. Sort of like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, is it? Only in this case, I don't imagine you'll be ringing the bells."
He looked expectantly from Steffen to Henning, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. Perhaps he thought this was amusing.But what else could they say, now? Henning looked at his brother and shrugged.
"It's your call this time, big brother."
As a matter of fact, yes it was. Steffen drew the older man inside and the door creaked shut behind them.
"It's not what it looks like."
Two hours later Steffen did his best not to be startled by the next gentle knock at the door—this time the back service entrance of the church.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered to Henning, who had already snapped off the inside light.
"I heard it. They're late. Open the door."
"No, wait." For a moment Steffen considered blowing out the flickering flame at the end of the brass candlelighter rod he held in one hand. He sniffed and sneezed as it smoked in his face.
But there it was again, this time two knocks and then three, and Steffen swallowed hard despite his dry mouth. Keeping the back light turned off, they swung the door slowly open, and Steffen shivered at a draft of cool outside air. Before he could catch a glimpse of who had been knocking, the candlelighter flame immediately blew out.
"Anyone there?" His voice cracked and he strained to see anything in the darkness. Naturally the rest of København lay muted and dark behind blackout shades, as it did every night. Only a shuffling sound on the cobblestone pavement told him someone was there.
"Pastor Steffen?"
Steffen recognized the nurse's voice cl
ose by, almost next to him, and felt a hand on his arm. Steffen's or Hanne's, he wasn't sure.
"Let's not be chatting out here," snapped Henning, sparking his own lighter. A golden pool of light revealed four frightened faces huddled just outside.
"Please come inside," Steffen told them, keeping his voice steady. He set aside the candlelighter and helped an older woman over the single step, while others followed. Once they were all inside, Henning pushed the door shut, and they snapped on the hall light.
Steffen blinked his eyes to see five frightened people, not just the four he'd been expecting. Still lovely in a dark overcoat and scarf, Hanne Abrahamsen made brief introductions.
"This is my mother, Elsebeth." She pointed at an older woman, perhaps seventy, but wearing a wide-eyed expression of fear that added years and made her resemble a frightened animal. Even so, the stooped woman nodded politely even as she kept the scarf over her head in place. Next Hanne indicated a couple standing just inside the door, every bit as reluctant to remove their coats.
"Mr. and Mrs. Levin," said Hanne, "and their friend Elias."
Elias seemed to force a tiny smile.
"We're imposing on your kindness," said Mr. Levin, in thickly accented Danish. He could have been Austrian, perhaps German. His guttural accent reminded Steffen of the way German soldiers sometimes butchered their Danish, often mixing in foreign words or confusing matters by imposing that peculiar German word order. "But we have no relatives here, and no other place to go. Only Elsebeth was kind enough to tell us of her daughter, that's Hanne, and Hanne said—"
"Pardon me for interrupting." Henning cleared his throat."But we should probably show them to their room, shouldn't we, Steffen?"
The newcomers looked at Steffen, then at Henning, before addressing Hanne.
"Wer ist das?" he asked in German, but his wife just poked him in the side and would not tell who it was.
