Wildflowers of Terezin

by Robert Elmer

  "I told you it's not time yet," came Henning's voice from where he crouched just under a picture window facing the sea. To his credit, he only whispered. "Not for at least another half hour, and then we make contact with the boat."

  A glimmer of moonlight trickled inside when Henning peeked out through the shade, enough for Hanne to make out the dark forms of Aron pacing and Steffen sitting by the door, as if guarding against any intruders.

  Hanne didn't move, just sat with arms wrapped around her knees in one of the tiny room's lumpy, mismatched chairs that smelled of a cottage locked tightly for far too long. She sneezed again as the dust tickled her nose.

  "Hmmph." Aron apparently wasn't satisfied with the time, as if they could push ahead the hands of their watches and make it so. "I thought you said they'd be here by midnight."

  "That's exactly what I said," replied Henning, not disguising his own impatience as he let the shade slip back into place. "It's only half-twelve. Eleven-thirty."

  "You're certain your watch is correct?" asked Aron.

  Henning only harrumphed in reply. It had been like this all evening, and Hanne's head buzzed with tension while the rest of her body rebelled with a fatigue that had hit her the moment she'd sat down, over two hours ago. Perhaps she would be able to rest when they got on the boat. But in the back of her mind she knew that would only be the start.

  "There go the guards again," whispered Henning, peeking out at the beach. "Every twenty-six minutes, just like clockwork."

  "I like predictable Nazis," said Steffen, but then his voice caught. "I mean, no, I don't like Nazis. I just like them more when they're predictable. Ak, you know what I mean."

  Henning peeked out once more. In a shaft of moonlight Hanne saw Steffen gazing in her direction, and she felt her own heart beat more quickly. But of course that would only be from the tension of the moment and the thought of sneaking through the night past the watchful eye of the beach patrols, and nothing more. Aron moved to the door.

  "I need to go out for a moment," he announced. In response Henning stepped over to block the door, as well.

  "I told you to take care of that kind of thing before," he said.

  "Listen, I can't help it. And I'll just be a moment, all right?" Aron wasn't taking no for an answer. "Those guards are headed down the beach, anyway. You said so yourself. No one is going to see a thing."

  "We're still not sure of their pattern," replied Henning.

  "You said they were clockwork."

  "Fine." Finally Henning sighed and apparently gave way."But don't blame me if they catch you in the outhouse."

  A moment later Aron had slipped outside.

  "Anyone else want to announce the fact that we're smuggling a dozen more Jews out of Danmark tonight?" asked Henning in a sarcastic whisper. "Perhaps we could all go out on the beach and light a bonfire, sing some farewell songs, invite the guards to join in. Then we can take them around to each of the four beach cottages where people are hiding, and make introductions?"

  No one answered. Hanne certainly didn't dare. But Henning slipped outside as well, mumbling something about having to check on the other cabins, and that Steffen should keep watching the door and out the window. After several moments of quiet, in which the only sounds were the waves lapping outside and Steffen's nervous foot shuffling, Hanne spoke up.

  "Are they still out there?" she wondered aloud, instantly regretting the silly question.

  "I saw Henning a moment ago," he replied, sounding more patient than she might have. "But I don't see your . . . I mean, Aron."

  At last Hanne could not sit there any longer, waiting, so she unfolded her legs and quietly stood up.

  I'll never see Steffen again, she told herself. What does it matter now?

  "We were never engaged," she told him, and surprised herself for even opening her mouth.

  "You mean to Aron? I—"

  "My mother wanted us to be, and everyone in the synagogue assumed we would be. But we weren't."

  "It's . . . none of my business."

  "Maybe not. I just thought I should tell you. Aron is a good man. He deserves a good Jewish wife. I'm just not sure I'm that person."

  This time he chuckled softly, and she couldn't help smiling along with him.

  "What?" she asked. "I don't mean to get personal. I just—"

  "No, no. I don't mind. Although maybe I should set up a confessional booth in my church. What do you think of that?"

  "I don't know about confessions, Steffen. All I know is you've been very kind to me. Risked your life, even. I don't know how to thank you for what you've done, because I just didn't expect what happened."

  "I'm just sorry I couldn't do more for you, and for all the others. And the little travel bag we put together for you, well, it's not much."

  "Better than what I had, thank you."

  She looked at her feet, avoiding his direct gaze. The waves continued to wash ashore, adding their soft, soothing background to the conversation. And in the dim moonlight she could see him turn to face her.

  "I guess I didn't expect things to turn out like this, either."Now his voice wavered. "And we haven't known each other for a long time, but—"

  "But it seems much longer, doesn't it?"

  "It does." He laughed nervously. "And I like the way you finish my sentences. But look, we'll see each other—"

  "Again, of course. As soon as all this is over."

  "Meanwhile, I'm so sorry for the way things have turned out. I wish they could have been different."

  He took another step closer.

  "I wish they could have been different, too," she replied, and she felt his breath on her cheek as he reached out to hold her. She returned his embrace, felt his soft kiss brush by her lips and land on her cheek.

  "Please be careful," he finally whispered. "And if there's a way to send letters, you know the address of the church. Or you could just address them to my apartment on Nørrebrogade.Perhaps that would be safer. Nørrebrogade 225."

  "Nørrebrogade 225. I'll remember." She felt herself choking up as he pressed a small book into her hand.

  "In case you need something to read. It's by a Christian pastor, not a rabbi, but even so. His poems make me think.Kaj Munk? Perhaps you'd like them as well."

  "Thank you. I know of him." She accepted the little volume and slipped it into the top of the small overnight bag Steffen had given her.

  "And I, I'll be praying for you. Maybe, when you get back . . ."

  Then what? She waited for him to finish his thought, but he obviously could not. They would still live in different worlds. And right now, if she was honest with herself, she wasn't entirely sure she would get back. She wasn't even entirely sure she'd make it across the stretch of water separating them from Sweden.

  But she might have thanked him once more, except that Henning pushed in through the door just then and they both stepped back from each other. Henning didn't act as if he noticed anything, just slipped in with Aron in tow.

  "Five minutes," said Henning, all business. "Do you have the flashlight, Steffen?"

  "Right here." Steffen replied, taking up his station by the door once more. "Is everyone else ready out there?"

  "There isn't anybody else," he replied, his voice steady."Not as far as I can tell."

  "What?" Steffen raised his voice. "I thought there were supposed to be at least ten others, waiting in the other cabins."

  "We checked every one," replied Henning, and Aron added his nervous explanation.

  "There must be some mix-up," Aron told them. "This isn't good. They didn't show."

  Steffen groaned. "Does this mean—"

  "Means nothing." Henning obviously wasn't giving up."We're still going ahead. The boat's still going to take these two."

  Steffen clutched the flashlight as if his life depended on it. Actually, perhaps Hanne's did. And Aron's, too, naturally.He tried to settle his wildly beating heart, telling himself that the boat would still take these two to safety and t
hat nothing had changed.

  But things had changed. Everything had changed, now that Hanne was leaving. And as much as he wanted the best for her, as much as he wanted her safety, a part of him just wanted to hide her away in the church a little longer. Just a few more days.

  But he knew he couldn't think like that. Now he needed to concentrate on doing his job. So he pulled the shade aside slightly, as Henning had instructed, and pointed his flashlight straight out toward the water. Now would be the time.

  "Four blinks," Henning whispered.

  "I know, I know." Steffen counted one, two, three, four.

  And they waited. Steffen strained his eyes to see a return signal.

  Nothing.

  "Did they see you?" asked Aron.

  "Keep still," Henning told him.

  "I was just—"

  "Nej, Aron. From now on you keep your mouth shut, and you just do what I tell you. Understand?"

  "I understand." Hanne answered for them, her quiet voice soothing the tension. And Aron must have left it at that.Well, if he was smart, he would—and Steffen wasn't at all certain of that. But Henning ordered his brother to try again.

  "They'd better be there," Steffen whispered between clenched teeth, just as a faint return blink told him they had caught the attention of their offshore contact. There!

  "All right, good." Henning obviously noticed the signal, as well. "Now we give them four minutes to beach their boat, and then out you go, Aron. After that Hanne, you count to ten and follow. Don't run. Just hurry."

  In the moonlight he pointed to Hanne, and she nodded as Steffen silently counted the seconds, waiting. With the door slightly ajar, he thought he heard a crunch of a boat on the beach.

  "Go!" whispered Henning, and without another word Aron bolted.

  "I said, don't run!" Henning tried to warn him, but Aron tripped off the cottage's front step and landed with a thud and a grunt in the low beach grass.

  "That guy's single-handedly going to get us killed," said Henning.

  "Three, four, five . . ." Now Steffen counted, and he squeezed Hanne's hand as she stood by the front door, waiting for her chance at freedom. She returned the squeeze, as if she might hold on.

  "Eight, nine, ten," Steffen whispered as she released his hand and quietly stepped out the door into the darkness."Now!"

  What happened next must have taken just a matter of seconds, though it seemed to Steffen an eternity, and slower: First the sound of the dogs, before they even saw the bright flashlights from behind a nearby cottage. Henning swore when he realized what was happening, because suddenly this was not going according to plan.

  "Where did they come from?" asked Henning, but his reaction was swift as he backed away from the door and headed for the window on the far side of their cabin.

  "Steffen!" he hissed as he tumbled across the room. "It's too late. We've got to get out of here!"

  Steffen could not make his feet move, even if he had wanted to. He could only stare in horror as gruff German voices shouted and their flashlights caught first Aron, then Hanne as they ran. And they looked more close together than Steffen had realized, with Hanne only a step or two behind Aron. She reached out to him with a cry, stumbling in the sand, but he only sprinted even more quickly, leaving her behind without a backward glance.

  A staccato burst of shots filled the air, flashing from the muzzle of the guard's gun. Hanne fell to her face.

  "Halt!" the German yelled over the wild sound of barking and growling. "You can't escape!"

  From the back of the cabin Henning called Steffen's name once more, and Steffen turned to see his brother halfway out the window, waving wildly.

  "You can't do anything to help her, now, Steffen. Please!"

  Steffen wasn't so sure. But he knew he couldn't just run away as dogs were loosed on Hanne, or worse. Even from a distance he could see the stricken look on her face as she rose to her knees in the sand. She glanced first to the ocean, where Aron had disappeared into the darkness, then back at the cottage. And for a moment she looked straight at him, shaking her head and mouthing the word.

  "Nej!"

  Steffen did the only thing he could imagine doing. He stepped out the front door, hands in the air, shouting at the top of his lungs.

  "Hey, there! Over here! Call them off!"

  Perhaps it was the unexpected shout or the tone of his voice, but the two large German shepherds did pause for a moment, several yards from where they would have come upon Hanne on the sandy beach. By that time, their two handlers had caught up to them. Steffen kept his arms raised as he marched in their direction, like a fool to his death. But if this was the way he was going to die, Steffen thought, then so be it.

  "Leave her alone!" he roared, with a voice that sounded many times bolder than he felt. "I say, leave her alone!"

  Now the Germans would have to decide which of the three they would capture first. The girl didn't seem to be running, and by now Aron must have waded through the gentle surf to the waiting small fishing boat. If he had not already been shot in the process, but they would find that out soon enough. Steffen thought he heard the sound of a small boat's engine over all the chaos of barking and shouting. But now he himself approached with his hands in the air. He would make the choice simple for these two soldiers, he thought.

  Strangely enough, the two young Germans decided to hold their snarling dogs in check, as one of them circled around to prevent Hanne's escape and the other trained his light directly on Steffen's face. Although it made Steffen blink in pain, he could still clearly make out the ugly snub end of a machine pistol pointed directly at him.

  "Face down on the ground!" yelled the soldier. For a moment Steffen considered pretending he didn't understand, and he paused.

  "Listen to me," he blurted out, doing his best to keep his voice soft and reassuring. "I'm a pastor. See my collar? A pastor.And look, we have money. Lots of money. Just a little now. But I can get you more. Perhaps that will make it easier to forget this ever happened. See? Buy something nice for your girlfriend. How much do you want? Five hundred kroner? Think of it as a gift."

  Unaccustomed to the art of bribery, Steffen started to reach for his pocket, but that was his mistake.

  "I said, don't move!" yelled the young soldier, suddenly stepping forward with his gun drawn.

  "No, no, see? I'm just getting my wallet. For you.Understand? Verstehen sie? A gift." Steffen tried to hold his hands out at his sides, but it was too late, as the soldier used his weapon like a club to the back of Steffen's head.

  Steffen did try to duck, but could not avoid the worst of the blow. And as he crumpled to the sand the last thing he heard was Hanne's painful scream.

  "Steffen!"

  After that he remembered nothing else.

  26

  VESTRE PRISON, KØBENHAVN

  MONDAY MORNING, 11 OKTOBER 1943

  A prison cell, in which one waits, hopes, and is completely dependent

  on the fact that the door of freedom has to be opened from the

  outside, is not a bad picture of Advent.

  —DIETRICH BONHOEFFER

  For the second time in recent weeks, Steffen awoke with a burning, throbbing pain. Only this time it wasn't from a bicycle accident but from a run-in with the handle of that young German soldier's gun. He groaned as he rolled over in a stiff, unyielding cot, the back of his head throbbing from a goose egg.

  "Oh, that's the worst," he moaned, barely able to form the words. His mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton and his arms as if they had been pulled from their sockets.Perhaps he had been tossed around after what had happened the night before.

  "Hanne?" he sat up straight, which only made his head pound even more. Stars danced in front of his eyes, until he finally opened them just enough to see where he was. She was the last thing he remembered, though he could not put his finger on the exact time or place.

  "Sorry, friend." A soft, low voice greeted him from the other side of a small room, dark
like a closet and smelling much worse. "But if she's the one who sold you out, you're probably better off without her."

  "Pardon?" Steffen blinked and did his best to focus in the dim light.

  "You heard me. Nobody gets in here unless the Gestapo wants to know what you know, and then usually not unless someone else sold you out. But don't worry. It happens to the best of us."

  "I don't know anything," whispered Steffen, gingerly testing to see how large the bump on the back of his head really was. "And I'm sure no one did such a thing. It wasn't like that at all."

  "Oh, really? Here's a new one. What was it like, then?"

  Even as his cellmate chuckled Steffen couldn't help wondering about Margrethe and how well the cleaning woman had kept track of what took place at the church over the past several days. Surely she could have had nothing to do with his capture or Hanne's capture on the beach. No. He had brought it all upon himself.

  "It's a long story," he finally mumbled. "I wouldn't want to bore you."

  Again the other man laughed.

  "In this place? Bored? You're proving to be entertaining."

  Steffen wasn't so sure about that. But at length he understood he'd been locked in a windowless cell with a high, rounded ceiling. Its pale yellow paint had been mostly chipped away by previous occupants, who had also carved their initials or defiant statements wherever they could.

  On the plus side, a narrow shaft of light filtered in through a sort of mail slot cut into the formidable entry door, though it gave no real clue as to what time it was or how much time had passed. He noticed his watch and his wallet were missing, but that's what surprised him least about all this. What surprised him most was that he still lived and breathed, despite the hammering of his head.