Wildflowers of Terezin

by Robert Elmer

  "You don't know what you're asking, Steffen." Henning looked around to be sure no one overheard. "First of all, I can't just be driving that thing around in the middle of the day. Especially now with my hand. I can't hardly work the cash register, much less drive. And second of all, what are you talking about, a funeral?"

  "You know, a funeral. It's where you put bodies in a casket—in this case, three bodies—and, yes, I know that's going to be a tight fit. But we need to transport them from the hospital to the coast, where they'll be transferred to a fishing boat. Do you understand now what I'm saying?"

  Henning didn't have to ponder very long before he motioned for a single customer to follow him to the front of the store.

  "Sorry, sir, but we're closing for lunch," he explained, opening the front door. The confused-looking older man set down his book but followed him outside. Henning wasted no time locking up. "We eat lunch a little early around here. Be back in just a little while."

  They left the customer standing on the narrow sidewalk, while Henning led the way around the building and back around to the garage in the adjoining back alley. Steffen didn't bother telling him that this would probably end up being a long lunch hour.

  "By the way," Steffen asked, "you don't happen to have a suit, do you?"

  Henning gave him a stern look. "Do I look like I have a suit?"

  "Just thought I'd ask. I thought it would look better if the pallbearer was a little more, you know, dressed for the occasion."

  "Oh, so now I'm a one-handed pallbearer?"

  "You've never been one before, have you?"

  "Can't say that I have." After a quick look up and down the alley, he pulled open the garage door with his good hand and stepped inside. When Steffen followed, Henning paused a moment, and with a frown tossed the keys at him.

  "You're driving the ambulance."

  A moment later they were speeding through the narrow streets of København on their way to the hospital. Steffen had to admit he was a little rusty in his driving skills, but it wasn't his first time.

  "You drive like an old lady." Henning told him, crossarmed."Where are we going?"

  "Sorry about that," Steffen steered the ambulance into the hospital campus, barely missing a curb. "The service entry.Hanne will be waiting for us."

  And she was, just inside the large double doors through which hospital supplies and such were loaded and unloaded, where trucks routinely backed up. Only this time it was Henning's ambulance. They hopped out, the pastor and his assistant. Once inside, Steffen looked around the storage area to find not one casket, but two. Both looked ornate in carved rosewood and brass handles, certainly not cheap.Steffen turned to see Hanne enter the loading area.

  "Fru Ibsen has good taste, has she?" he asked.

  Hanne shrugged. "Her husband owned one of the larger department stores downtown before he died. And of course she is, as you've seen, a little . . . eccentric."

  "Then she won't mind if we borrow her casket for a few hours?" Steffen walked over to the caskets, checking inside to make sure. He thought he heard Hanne gasp, and he looked over to see that she had noticed his brother's injuries.

  "You need someone to look at that," she said, examining his head. He pulled away like a little boy from his mother.

  "It's nothing," he said, "and it's not why I'm here."

  "What about your hand?" She persisted.

  "What about it? Listen, nurse. We came here to help you, and I happen to still have one good hand at the moment.Let's just get it done, all right?"

  She appeared to bite her tongue but finally nodded and backed away.

  "All right, then. But I wish you'd stop by the emergency ward a little later to have a doctor get a better look."

  "We'll see."

  By the way he said it, Steffen knew Henning had no intention of having a doctor—or anyone else—get a better look.And there was nothing Steffen could do about it.

  "Maybe we should get these people loaded up?" Steffen suggested. "Three people only."

  "You're not saying what I think you're saying?" Hanne turned her attention to him.

  "Don't tell them what you're doing. Just bring them here any way you can. If there are any very small children, I think you'd better sedate them. We may be stopped, you know."

  By that time Hanne's eyes had widened, but she caught on quickly and nodded. And while she left to fetch their first passengers, the two men wrestled the nearest casket closer to the door.

  "This thing is heavy enough," mumbled Henning, beads of sweat rising on his forehead, "even without the people inside."

  Sure enough it was. And it didn't help that Henning could only use his one hand. But just a few minutes later Hanne returned, pushing a gurney covered by a large sheet. Behind her a young orderly pushed a young woman holding what looked like a rag doll, limp and lifeless. The orderly looked at the open casket in confusion, then back at the woman she'd been pushing.

  "I don't understand," she told Hanne.

  "You don't have to." Hanne patted the girl on the shoulder and led her back to the door through which they'd come."Now just go back to what you were doing, and keep this to yourself. Do you understand?"

  The young girl nodded solemnly and hurried away. For their sakes Steffen hoped she would do as Hanne had told her, but there wasn't time to worry about that now. Hanne pulled away the sheet from her gurney, revealing a young man whose face looked as white as the sheet he had been hidden under. But he seemed more worried about the other woman, who by now was sobbing.

  "Who would hurt my baby?" asked the young woman, holding the limp child close. "Who would think of hurting my child? Why would they—"

  Hanne came up beside the distraught woman and slipped an arm around her.

  "No one's going to hurt her, I promise." She led her slowly toward the casket. "But you know that if she cried, someone might hear her, right? That's why we had to sedate her."

  The mother, who couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty, nodded silently. Meanwhile Hanne continued to calm her with a soothing voice.

  "Now she'll wake up in three or four hours. But those pills you have—give her one more as soon as she wakes, understand? Just one." She looked at the young man. "Dad, can you make sure that happens? Make sure she swallows it, even if she doesn't want to. That way she'll still be relaxed on the way over to Sweden. Do you understand?"

  This time the young man nodded but they could not console the weeping mother.

  "Please." Steffen tried his best. "You'll need to settle down a bit so we can get you into the . . . box. But don't worry about anything. You'll have plenty of air to breathe—we'll make sure of that. And we'll get you out just as soon as we've reached a safe waiting place on the coast. All right?"

  His voice must have calmed them, because now the couple looked a little less likely to break down completely as they stepped gingerly into the padded casket and curled up inside with their sleeping child. But the young mother held up her hand and looked first at Henning, then at Steffen.

  "Please. I don't suppose either of you know the Tefilat HaDerech."

  She looked so desperate that Steffen honestly wished he did. Instead Henning looked to his brother for help.

  "Do you have any idea what she's talking about?"

  Steffen nodded. "The Traveler's Prayer. I'm . . . I'm sorry.I know what it is, but I don't know the words. Perhaps you'd allow me—"

  "Excuse me." Hanne interrupted softly. "But I know it."

  Perhaps the couple wasn't used to having a Danish nurse lead them in such a prayer, but in the absence of a rabbi, well.The young mother nodded as Hanne recited the Hebrew words in her soft, musical voice:

  Y'hi ratzon milfanekha Adonai Eloheinu . . .

  She went on like that for a few sentences more. Though Steffen wasn't sure of the words, he could sense their meaning and warmth as he prayed along with these precious souls. And he was able to pick out a word or two, here and there.Shalom, of course. Peace. Barukh atah Adonai.
Blessed are you, Adonai. He knew Adonai was another word for Lord, but the rest escaped him until Hanne volunteered a brief translation.

  "Guide our footsteps toward peace," she whispered, "and make us reach our desired destination for life, gladness, and peace. May You rescue us from the hand of every foe."

  After that she resumed in Hebrew, apparently picking up where she'd left off. And as they finally said their amens Steffen gently closed the lid, leaving an inconspicuous piece of folded cardboard in place to make a crack for fresh air. He added a silent prayer of his own for their safety, this one in Danish, for their God was multilingual.

  "You look like an old pro at this kind of thing," Henning told him as he went around to test the handles.

  "I've done it a couple of times before," answered Steffen."Only under slightly different circumstances."

  "Yeah. The people weren't alive, were they?"

  "Something like that. Let's get this loaded into the back of the ambulance and get out of here."

  Easier said than done. He looked over at Hanne, who now stood off to the side as if not quite sure how to help. She nodded before heading to open the outside doors for them.

  "Thank you," he told her, bending to take his handle. "You could have been a rabbi."

  That brought him a shy smile. Steffen wasn't certain, but he was pretty sure the synagogue didn't allow such a thing.

  "Thought you said no more jokes," Henning reminded him. They both grunted as they lifted their heavy load, which despite the small stature of the occupants, felt almost impossibly heavy.

  "So that's why they put these things on rollers?" Henning grunted with the effort as the veins on his neck stood out. Yes, they could have used some kind of mechanical advantage.Lacking that, they had no choice but to manhandle it into place. Henning staggered backward as Hanne opened the doors and they moved unsteadily toward the back of the ambulance, fortunately just a few meters away.

  Not so fortunately, Steffen had neglected to look both ways before they stepped outside. And that would be the time a German soldier on a motorcycle decided to come by on his rounds, obviously policing the area. Henning must have seen the look on his brother's face, as he turned around and in the process nearly lost his grip on the casket.

  "Oh, no." Steffen groaned under his breath, though the motorcycle's noise would mask their conversation. "Just what we need."

  The rider looked over just in time to notice them as he pulled past, though Steffen averted his eyes and tried his best to look very dull, doing one of his dull daily duties. It didn't work.

  "Don't look!" he told Henning, "but the German is turning around!"

  He was, but by that time Steffen and Henning had nearly lost their grip on their casket, and both wavered where they stood. They actually tried to move the last step and lift it up into the back of the ambulance, but missed by a few centimeters.As the soldier pulled up alongside them they could only balance the end of the casket on the rear bumper, trying desperately not to drop their precious cargo.

  "Help, you need?" the soldier asked them in a broken blend of Danish and German.

  "Nej, no. Nein." How many languages did it take to stop this fellow? Steffen smiled and shook his head violently as Henning turned his face to busy himself with the casket."We're doing just fine."

  Unfortunately the young soldier could see as well as anyone that they were not. Ignoring Steffen's protests, he dismounted his motorcycle and jumped to their aid. With the help of his young muscles they easily lifted the end into the ambulance and slipped it in the rest of the way.

  "Heavy, ja?" The tall young soldier held his hands out in sign language. "Large person?'

  "Ja, ja." Steffen stood back awkwardly, his heart thumping both from the exercise and the fact that this soldier didn't seem to be in any hurry. "Funeral. We're headed to the funeral. Better go. Thank you."

  But this young soldier was too polite for his own good. He stood smiling, extending his hand in introduction.

  "Obergefreiter Max Kaufmann," he said, pointing back at himself with his left hand as he bowed slightly. Steffen would be expected to do the same, and he hesitated only slightly before accepting the man's hand.

  "Er . . ."

  But by that time Henning slammed the back door shut and ran around to the passenger's side.

  "Got to get going, Pastor," he said. "Or we'll be late for the funeral!"

  "Yes, right." Steffen smiled at the soldier and moved away to join Henning. "Don't want to be late. Thank you again, corporal. You have no idea how helpful you've been. And may God bless you."

  He looked back over his shoulder, unsure if the young man understood all his words. But he couldn't miss Hanne's face following them through a small window in the hospital's double doors, before she pulled back inside.

  Steffen hit the gas, sending the casket sliding and Henning scrambling for a handhold.

  "May God bless you?" Henning asked through clenched teeth as they powered through the hospital campus toward the main road. A couple of white-coated doctors scurried out of the way. "I think I would have said something else."

  Steffen shrugged in self-defense.

  "That's why you're the saboteur and I'm the pastor."

  "Even so," replied Henning, never taking his eyes off the road ahead. "You'd still better be careful who you ask God to bless. He might finally listen to you, one of these days."

  God might finally listen to him? Steffen thought about that as they drove the back way to Tårbæk, some ten kilometers up the coast but more than twice as far when they avoided the main highways and kept to winding narrow lanes and through golden beech woods flaming in gold. As Henning explained, they'd best keep to these roads to stay away from any Germans, helpful or otherwise.

  But, God might finally listen to him? Steffen thought about a comeback, but honestly couldn't say anything. Henning was right, after all. Which left the question: Did God listen to him at all? As they bumped along somehow he doubted it—despite his years in seminary and his degree, despite his pulpit and his clerical collar. A flurry of golden leaves swirled around and behind them as he and Henning pushed toward the coast a bit faster than allowed, though a speeding ambulance might be overlooked in that regard.

  And now? He tried to pray, but the words all seemed to fall short. All he could hear was Hanne, back on the loading dock, as she prayed over the frightened little family in the casket.

  "Guide our footsteps toward peace," she had prayed. And with the gray German army trucks parked up ahead, they would need that kind of guidance very soon.

  20

  BISPEBJERG HOSPITAL, KØBENHAVN

  TUESDAY AFTERNOON, 5 OKTOBER 1943

  Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person.

  —MOTHER TERESA

  You're pulling my leg now, aren't you?"

  Hanne couldn't keep from laughing when the pastor told her his story as they walked toward the main hospital exit after her shift. He held up his hand in a promise.

  "Honestly, that's what the soldier said. 'Please accept my sympathy. Please go ahead.' And then he waved us through.Waved us through! But that's after he sees Henning with tears streaming down his cheeks, and after Henning tells him his sad story about how his aunt, his beloved tante, died in an auto accident, and he was almost killed as well, and we're transporting her to her family grave."

  "Well, at least he had the injuries to prove it. I'm still worried about his hand, by the way. Have you seen it?"

  "He wouldn't show it to me, either. All I can tell you is that it has to hurt, and badly. He can't hardly move it, much less grip anything."

  "It could be broken, or worse. He needs to let us look at it."

  "Sure he does." Steffen chuckled. "But you think he's going to listen to me? He has a high pain threshold. He actually made me poke him in the eye, just for effect, so it might water a little more easily."

  "Hmm. Then did he explain to the soldiers why a pastor was driving the ambulance?"

  "I
think so. But by that time I was so nervous about Henning overdoing it, I don't think I heard a word of what he said. In fact, I was ready to confess everything, and I think I just might have if the soldier had said anything else to me directly."

  "Good thing you didn't." By that time they had reached the front door. "We need you in this work."

  Pastor Steffen stiffened noticeably at her words, and she bit her tongue. She hadn't meant to be so direct. Still she meant what she'd said. Because Steffen—that is, Pastor Steffen—brought a sort of innocent authority to the rescues that his reckless brother could not.

  "Henning did say he had five more people waiting in the back of his bookstore." Steffen lowered his voice. "And after that, we should pick up more from the ones waiting here at Bispebjerg."

  "What time?" she asked. Her mind spun as she considered which people should be evacuated next.

  "Six o'clock tonight," he replied, his hand on the door."And actually, Henning's injury gave me an idea. I have some stage makeup. You know, blood and that sort of thing. We'd like to dress up the people we're carrying, just in case."

  Hanne thought about it for a moment. Perhaps it could work.

  "Henning liked that idea?"

  "I'm not sure how much he actually liked it. But that hand is hurting him so much, he just told me to go ahead."

  "That sounds convenient. Perhaps you should ask him some other favors, while you can."

  Steffen smiled at the joke. "And we'll need a doctor or a nurse to ride along. I hate to ask you, but do you know anyone who you think we could trust?"

  Hanne caught her breath. Hiding Jewish refuges in the basement was one thing. But riding along among Germans was quite something else. But if she didn't, who would? Finally she nodded.