Wildflowers of Terezin

by Robert Elmer

  Years and years ago they'd built the hospital at the city outskirts, beyond narrow København streets, shoulder-toshoulder shops, and four-story apartment blocks presided over by dozens of church spires. How strange that she had grown up here in the shadow of all these ornate old churches, yet had never dared to enter one until this morning.

  As the pavement grew slick with drizzle, she paused once again to adjust her scarf, and out of the corner of her eye caught sight of a tall man in a dark coat, pausing at just the same time. Familiar? She wasn't sure. But she supposed anyone else had the same right to be walking down Tagensgade as well. A woman pushing a stroller with a young boy hanging on her coat crossed by on the other side, along with several young girls and an old man. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Except that when she began walking again, she casually stopped at a shoe repair window to notice a collection of sturdy leather walking shoes, men's shoes at that. Again out of the corner of her eye she noted the man behind her, staring in his own window, and she could see the sign over his head.

  Jensen: Tøj til Kvinder.

  Jensen's Clothing for Women.

  If Hanne hadn't been a Jew in a country where all other Jews were either in hiding or being deported to death camps, she might have thought nothing of it. Or if she didn't hold a forged identity card with another woman's non-Jewish name, she might have shrugged it off. But her mouth went dry as she turned away, knowing that something here was not right. Without waiting she turned and hurried toward the safety of the hospital, and it was all she could manage not to run in panic.

  I'll get there, she told herself, because now she could see the hospital buildings looming larger. I'll get there, and there won't be anything they can do to stop me.

  Now she didn't dare turn around, but she felt the man's eyes on her, closer and closer. Yet even as her heart beat wildly she kept up a normal Sunday stroll, forcing herself to deliberately slow down.

  Breathe. Relax. Don't panic. It's nothing.

  She didn't believe a word of the lies she told herself. And now she almost wished she had stayed back in the church, perhaps even spoke with Steffen. At the hospital she could lock her borrowed apartment door and hide, but then what?

  Finally she entered the comforting embrace of the Bispebjerg campus, where that familiar cluster of buildings told her she was almost home. She ducked under an archway and down a covered walk, her footsteps echoing, then into a service entry where linens from the hospitals were taken.She knew this way better than most. Surely he would not follow her here?

  Against her better judgment Hanne casually glanced back around and down the breezeway, waiting for . . . nothing out of the ordinary.

  Silly, she told herself. He was just out for a walk, the same as you. You're making a lot out of nothing. Why would anyone follow you, anyway?

  Still, she waited in the service alcove for just a few more minutes, just to be sure. And when she gingerly stepped out into the breezeway again she kept a wary eye on the path through the campus from the street where she had seen the man. A doctor in a white frock bustled along the path, clipboard in hand. A maintenance man in coveralls pushed a cart laden with tools and towels. Just what she would have expected.

  There, see? You were just being paranoid. Everything is under control.

  Now she stepped out with even more confidence, back out into the breezeway and the open courtyard. The afternoon drizzle had lightened into a mist, not even enough to justify an umbrella. In this case, a smile of relief would do the job, and Hanne lifted her face to the mist as she took the long way through the gardens to her apartment.

  Her little celebration was cut short, however, when she noticed Ann-Grete headed her direction, arms crossed across her chest and a stormy look on her face, as if someone had just died. That, and Ann-Grete wore no coat, even in the chill of the afternoon.

  "What's wrong?" Hanne asked the obvious question, but Ann-Grete only shook her head stiffly, grabbed Hanne by the arm, and dragged her away from the center of the plaza.

  "Don't ask questions," said Ann-Grete, barely moving her lips. The expression of terror on her face sent a chill up Hanne's spine. "Just walk with me."

  "Where?" Hanne was afraid she didn't want to know what had shaken up her friend this badly. "And what in the world is going on?"

  Again Ann-Grete shook her head. And her grip on Hanne's arm nearly cut off the circulation.

  "They're here, and they're searching your apartment."

  "They. You mean—"

  "The Gestapo. That awful man who's been in and out of the hospital, asking questions all the time?"

  "Wolfschmidt?"

  "Him, yes, and four soldiers. They looked like they were determined to find you."

  "But how?" Hanne still couldn't believe it.

  "I have no idea how they found out. I don't know. All I know is you can't go back to that apartment. Not now."

  As numb as she was, it crossed Hanne's mind that the man who had been following her might still be waiting now, perhaps out on the street or at the edge of the Bispebjerg campus, behind a car or a tree. Her legs stiffened.

  "Didn't you hear me?" hissed Ann-Grete. "Go wherever your Jewish friends have been going, but you've got to get out of here. You can't pack your bags. I mean now! Nu!"

  "But what about you?"

  "Forget about me. I can work my way out of this. I can just tell them I was reassigned to your apartment when you escaped, and that I didn't know what was going on. They can't prove anything."

  "I don't want you to get in trouble for my sake."

  "Believe me, I'm not, all right? Now just don't worry about anything except getting out of here. I'll take care of your stuff, as much as I can. I'll listen to your records. But do you have somewhere to go?"

  Hanne thought for a moment. The only option that crossed her mind now was the church basement, where she'd taken her mother. She nodded.

  "I know a place."

  "All right, then." Ann-Grete gave her a quick hug, squeezing Hanne breathless and then letting go just as abruptly."You'd better go there before they see us together. Get out of here!"

  Hanne paused a moment longer than she probably should have, trying not to think of what she so suddenly had to leave behind. Her work and her friends. Her apartment. Her life. Even her new identity and all that had come with it. There had to be some mistake—but she knew there was not.

  By that time they'd reached the edge of the campus. And though Hanne looked all around, she still couldn't see the man who'd followed her. Maybe she'd lost him.

  "I just thought I'd have more time to prepare," she managed.

  "I thought so, too. But there's no time to prepare, Hanne.I'm sorry. I'll see you when . . . when this is all over."

  Without another word Ann-Grete turned and hurried back to face her own danger. Hanne thought of calling out, but no more words would come, and neither would tears.Only a shock that hit her so hard in the stomach that she could hardly breathe. That, and a brief but blinding wave of anger for the men who would do this.

  Ann-Grete was right, though. Even without a suitcase— not even a toothbrush!—now Hanne could only hurry away to find whatever sanctuary she could.

  If she still could.

  24

  SANKT STEFAN'S KIRKE, KØBENHAVN

  SUNDAY AFTERNOON, 10 OKTOBER 1943

  Remember the signs of the Christian Church have been the Lion,

  the Lamb, the Dove, and the Fish . . . but never the chameleon.

  —KAJ MUNK

  Hanne paused before knocking on the back entry to Sankt Stefan's Kirke, her hand in mid-air. Had it really come to this? She thought she detected the faint odor of cigar smoke in the air, though perhaps that came from the murky refuse cans lined up along the tall stone wall of the church.Unpleasant or not, the alley looked clear and she could not delay, so she knocked and waited.

  No one came.

  She knocked again, now wondering if it would be safe to walk around to the front, in plain
sight of anyone passing along Nørrebrogade. Probably not. Though she had not noticed the man who had followed her to the hospital less than an hour ago, she could not now risk both her own safety and the safety of Pastor Steffen.

  Perhaps she should try somewhere else to hide. But where? She hunched her shoulders against the drizzle, wishing she had an umbrella or at least a scarf to keep her hair from getting soaked. But it was far too late for that. She shivered, feeling colder than ever, and knocked on the door again.

  "Come on!" she pleaded with the large wooden door, hitting it harder now with her closed fist. "Someone answer!"

  Finally she heard a shuffling sound from somewhere inside, then a deadbolt unlatching and the creak of hinges. Finally!

  "I'm so sorry to bother you," Hanne began, even before seeing who now peered out at her from the shadowy interior of the church. "But I have a very large favor to ask, and—oh!"

  It had not occurred to her that anyone other than Steffen might answer the door on a Sunday afternoon. But she did recognize the silver-haired former pastor. He peered out at her with a curious expression, nodded once, and signaled for her to come in.

  "Hurry, now," he said, stepping aside and then bolting the door shut after she stepped inside. "Did you see anyone out there?"

  She wasn't sure who he might mean by "anyone." But she shook her head no.

  "I don't think so. But actually I came to see Pastor Steffen.He's here, I hope?"

  Now the older man guided her down the hall to the little safe room under the stairway. Perhaps he didn't realize she had been in the building before.

  "He and his brother are out looking for you, as a matter of fact. But you're welcome to wait here for them, if you like. I'll get you a towel to dry yourself. Would you like some coffee?"

  "Coffee?" She perked up at the word. "You really have coffee here?"

  Perhaps this was a better hiding place than she thought.He chuckled softly, and she liked the sound.

  "Oh, you know. I call it coffee, just to be charitable. Perhaps you're as good at pretending as I am. But chicory root and a few other things, once you get used to them, well . . ." He made a funny face. "Yes, it's still awful. But we drink it anyway, don't we?"

  He left to retrieve his wartime coffee, but Hanne still had to know.

  "Wait." She stopped him. "What did you mean, they're looking for me?"

  Again he studied her with a bit of a sideways glance, as if sizing up whether she was to be trusted, or not.

  "Steffen's brother, Henning, showed up just after the service this morning, terribly agitated. You have to understand that it takes something quite out of the ordinary to bring Henning to this place. He's not normally a churchgoing man."

  Hanne nodded politely, not letting on that yes, she knew this about Steffen's brother. The older pastor looked as if he enjoyed telling his story.

  "So Henning comes running up to the church, all red in the face, and I hear him say something about how the Gestapo knows everything, how they're going to her apartment, and how another refugee just showed up at his bookstore without warning. How the Gestapo knows everything is another question, you see. But before I can say anything else they're both running out the door. Off to find you, they said."

  "I see. Well, I do appreciate you opening your door to me."

  "Of course, of course. But it looks like you barely escaped, isn't that correct?"

  "Pardon?" Hanne still wasn't sure how this man knew so much.

  "You're not carrying a suitcase." He pointed at her empty hands. "So I assume you had to leave wherever you were in a terrible hurry. That can't be the best of circumstances.Nevertheless, God is taking good care of you. You're still well, and we'll have coffee together, just as if nothing evil was going on outside."

  Hanne had to admit she had not looked at it from quite that perspective. But yes, she was still well, even without her luggage and her things.

  "And we're very glad you're here," he added, as his expression turned serious and his voice lowered. "But let me just give you one word of caution."

  "Of course." Hanne replied, unsure what to expect.

  "I have to tell you there's a cleaning woman here in the building. Sometimes she comes in after the morning service, other times not until Monday. I can't go into too much detail, but it would be best if she did not see you, for the time being."

  "I'll do my best to stay out of her way." Hanne nodded, fearing the worst about this woman. "But one other thing.Did you say Henning had another refugee in his store?"

  "I think so, yes. Apparently told to go there by an Underground contact. But I can tell you Henning wasn't happy about it."

  "No? Why not?"

  "I'm not entirely sure." Pastor Viggo shrugged his shoulders."Perhaps you'll find out for yourself, before long."

  For Hanne the next two hours of waiting seemed so much longer. She couldn't rest in the dreary little safe room under the stairs, and she couldn't think of anything except what might happen to Ann-Grete at Bispebjerg. Every sound or creak in the ancient building made her think German soldiers had finally caught up with her. What would happen to the pastors, then?

  Finally she heard the alley entrance slam shut, then footsteps and familiar voices coming closer.

  "I told you, we're taking you here because the shop is just a way station, all right?" Henning obviously made no attempt to disguise his irritation. "You're just lucky I happened to be there when you arrived. You should have called ahead. I'm not usually there on the weekend."

  "I'm sure we'll find her," added Pastor Steffen. His voice sounded on edge, almost pleading. "We're pretty sure they haven't caught up to her yet. I spoke briefly with her friend at the hospital."

  "And she couldn't tell you where Hanne had run to?"

  Hanne froze at the sound of Aron's voice, though it seemed hoarse and raspy, hardly recognizable. So he was the one Pastor Viggo was talking about!

  "All she could tell me was that Hanne said she had a place to go to." Steffen pulled at the hidden door as he spoke. "I can't imagine where that would be, except—"

  "Except here?" Hanne finished his sentence as the door opened. And she enjoyed for a moment the warm glow in Steffen's eyes as he realized she was safe. She couldn't help but return the quick smile.

  On the other hand, Henning and Aron wore looks of frozen astonishment.

  "Hanne!" croaked Aron, stepping forward. He hardly looked like the same man she'd left in the synagogue, the morning of the announcement. His beard looked wild and unkempt, his bloodshot eyes framed with dark circles. Clearly the hiding had not been an easy time for him.

  But still he stood staring, as if not quite believing he'd actually found her. He reached out his hands but quickly pulled them back again. Finally she broke the awkward silence.

  "How did you get here, Aron?"

  He shrugged. "Back of a delivery truck, all the way from Roskilde. Long ride. Long story."

  "Well, I'm glad you're well."

  And she did mean it. But just then Pastor Viggo came scurrying down the hallway.

  "Oh, there you are! See?" His cheeks looked rosy and his smile genuine as he patted Steffen on the shoulder. "And you were so worried the Nazis might have caught up to her."

  Steffen looked at the floor, the light in his expression turning to embarrassment. Meanwhile, Aron stood awkwardly by the entry to the safe room, smelling as if he hadn't had a bath since the last time she'd seen him.

  "Well, this reunion is all very nice." Henning had a way of getting to the point. "But we're making arrangements for you both to leave Danmark."

  Hanne looked at him, and he must have recognized the pleading in her eyes. She thought desperately how she might argue her case, and of ways she might convince them that she should stay. But after what had happened this afternoon, nothing made sense any longer.

  "There's absolutely no argument this time," Henning told her. "I learned just this morning the Gestapo knows who you are and they know what you look like. Someone
must have tipped them off."

  "Is it true?" she asked Steffen, but he could only nod glum agreement. "Who would do that?"

  Henning didn't seem particularly moved.

  "Someone at your hospital? I don't know. But you just can't stay here anymore. You must understand. In fact you can't stay anywhere in Danmark. We have a boat that will take the two of you to Sweden."

  "That's right." Steffen forced a smile. "In fact, we've arranged to have you wait in a beach house just a few kilometers up the coast, close to Tårbæk. The fishing boat will pick you up just before midnight."

  Hanne let the words sink in as she repeated the word.

  "Midnight?" she wondered aloud.

  "Yes," said Henning, nodding. "Tonight. And no rowboat adventures."

  Tonight! Hanne caught her breath at the suddenness and sat down on one of the cots Steffen had set up in the safe room. Aron sat down next to her, but she wasn't sure she heard any of what he said. Instead she looked up at Steffen to see the saddest, most helpless expression. And finally her own tears let loose—for herself and for everything that had happened to her that day. For her country and her people.Even for Aron, who now slipped a tentative arm around her shoulder.

  Steffen pressed his lips together and said nothing as he turned away. If she could have said anything to him, she would have. But she could not, and the lump in her throat only grew as she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  25

  DANISH COASTLINE, 26 KILOMETERS NORTH OF KØBENHAVN

  SUNDAY NIGHT, 10 OKTOBER 1943

  It is a kingly act to assist the fallen.

  —MOTHER TERESA

  What's taking them so long?" Aron grumbled as he paced the bare wood floor in the tiny beach cottage. Hanne thought his voice carried much too far in the dark night.Surely the German guards who patrolled this beach would be able to hear them.