by Robert Elmer
Welcome to the Danish Red Cross, indeed. A brass band of perhaps ten or twelve lederhosen-clad musicians played a lively German dance tune from the moment Herr Madsen and Steffen stepped off the train. Smiling uniformed Germans lined the platform, some of them clapping their polite, orchestrated welcomes. All that was missing, thought Steffen, was a champagne reception. Perhaps that would come later. For now, a little blond girl, perhaps six or seven years old and as cute as they came, stepped up with bouquets of daisies for each of them. Steffen smiled his thanks, though he wasn't sure what to do with his bouquet and tucked it under the flap of his portfolio case.
Close behind the girl a smiling SS officer in polished boots stepped up, nodded his head, and clicked his heels in Teutonic fashion.
"A very warm welcome to Theresienstadt," he told them, offering his hand. "I am Obersturmführer Karl Rahm, the camp kommandant, and I will be accompanying your delegation today. If there is anything you require in the course of your tour, you can be assured that I will see to it."
Herr Madsen made the introductions from their side, and they were hurried off the platform to a waiting black Mercedes. German efficiency and all that. But when Steffen held back just a moment to tie his shoe, he noticed the band had already stopped playing, and with their machine guns, two gray-suited German guards immediately poked and prodded the unfortunate musicians toward the back of a waiting troop transport. The poor man with the tuba had the worst time of it, and he was harried most mercilessly.
Late for another concert? Steffen didn't think so. But when he finished tying his shoe and caught up with the others, the meaning behind Rahm's sharp glare could not be mistaken, even when masked by a smile.
"For your safety," he said, "I must ask you to stay with the group at all times. This is imperative. And now, the city is only a short drive away."
Without further discussion they were guided into the idling car. And almost before the doors slammed they were hurtling down a gravel lane toward the distant walled city.Herr Madsen pulled out a neatly typed list from his briefcase and extended it to the obersturmführer in the front seat.
"Here's a list of the places we'd like to see," he told their host. "Although if you have additional suggestions, we would consider that, as well."
"Of course." Rahm gave the list a cursory glance before folding it neatly and slipping it into his own vest pocket. But when Steffen craned his neck he could see the clipboard on Rahm's lap. A carefully drawn city map indicated a route marked in red, along with x's and times penciled in. He had a feeling their route, and their schedule, had already been determined.
And so it had. For the next two hours they kept to Rahm's plan—to the minute. First the welcome center, nearly as festive as the train station. Then the day care center, filled with happy children painting lovely pictures and enjoying a mid-morning snack. Their center seemed freshly painted and newly decorated with child-sized tables and chairs.Everything one might expect in a similar center back home.Rahm beamed and patted a youngster on the head.
"You like it here very much," he said, "don't you?"
The little boy nodded and returned to his painting, a castle with clouds and a fire- breathing dragon. He looked freshly scrubbed and his hair was cut short, and he pulled at the collar of his little shirt as if he had never before worn one.Steffen bent down to ask a question of his own, and the rosycheeked little fellow looked up at him with a hint of fear in his eyes.
"Did anyone tell you what to say to visitors like me?" Steffen asked in a quiet voice. But the boy would only press his lips together and look toward the nearest soldier. The entourage was already leaving.
"A photograph over here, Petersen." Herr Madsen had already located another photogenic view, this time out the window and down the street toward the central plaza.
"Excuse me." Steffen thought he would try asking one of the well-dressed women attendants. "But do you happen to know a Danish nurse? Her name is—"
"Herr Petersen!" This time Rahm called his name, and motioned him to follow. "I believe your assistance is required."
The woman backed away with a moment of palpable fear in her eyes, shaking her head and muttering something in Czech that Steffen obviously did not understand. Well, he could try again with someone else.
Back in their entourage, they hurried down one of the main streets to a nicely decorated central park—a grassy area with fountains and flowers and a gazebo where another brass band played. So much music in this place! And though they wore different clothes this time, Steffen was almost certain the tuba player was the same one who had greeted them at the train station. Perhaps some of the other instrumentalists, as well. Steffen paused to listen, trying to discern what about this visit bothered him so much, when everything looked so . . . perfect.
Perhaps that was it. The concert appeared so perfect, as if they had been rehearsing many weeks for this day. Not that there was anything sinister in that. But the way the welldressed couples strolled from bench to bench, smiling and chatting with each other under a canopy of lovely linden trees, just coming into leaf—had that been rehearsed the same way? Yet it made Steffen all the more determined to make contact with someone—anyone—outside Obersturmführer Rahm's tightly choreographed boundaries.
"Another photo, Petersen." Herr Madsen pointed to the gazebo, where several young families were enjoying the midday sunshine. Steffen stepped off the path, looking for a better angle, yet still keeping his eye on a young couple approaching him from the other direction with a baby stroller. He fiddled with the camera for a moment until they nearly bumped into him from the rear and he turned to smile at their baby—only to see an empty carriage.
"Pardon me," the young father told Steffen in hushed but accented German. "We were just taking our baby out for some fresh air."
Steffen took another quick look, just to be sure, since by this time Rahm was quickly approaching to intercept. But the couple's point had been made, and Steffen nodded as they hurried off without another word.
"Very handsome baby," he said, and turned to frame Rahm in his photo.
"Hold it right there, Herr Obersturmführer," he called out, holding his hand up. "I'd like you in this shot, as well!"
Rahm paused several meters in front of the camera, mugging for the photo.
"Perfect!" Rahm clapped his hands together and motioned them on to the car. "And now I'd like you to see something we're very proud of. The dispensary. It's quite well-equipped, we think. Almost makes me want to get sick here in the city, the care is so good. In fact . . ."
Steffen scribbled the best notes he could as they neared a neat, whitewashed building on one of the street corners. Red crosses painted on two of the front windows identified it as their next stop.
"In fact, some of the staff here are your Danish nationals," Rahm went on as they followed him inside and into a small but clean waiting room, then into what appeared to be a well-equipped exam room, with exam tables and bright lights, cabinets along the wall filled with supplies, and several doctors and nurses in white coats watching over their patients.
Steffen most surely couldn't hear what Rahm told them now, his heart was beating so loudly in his ears. He hid behind his notebook, pretending to be writing, as he nervously scanned the rooms for any sign of her. For she had to be here, did she not?
"A photo here, please, Petersen." Herr Madsen waved at the examination room, but despite all the bright lights, in here Steffen knew he would have to use his flash attachment.His hands shook as he assembled the unit, found a flashbulb, and plugged it in. Perhaps no one would notice his nervousness.Finally ready, he looked through the viewfinder to see a neat row of beds in the distance, a doctor in the foreground, and . . .
Steffen choked when he realized the nurse standing in the corner, holding back, was . . .
Hanne.
"Is there something wrong with the camera?" asked Herr Madsen.
"No, no," mumbled Steffen. "Perfectly fine."
He clamped down on
the shutter to fire the flash, though with all his shaking this picture would most certainly turn out blurry. Still he stared through his viewfinder, hardly able to believe what he saw. But it was her.
"Shall we continue?" asked Rahm, already moving for the door.
Steffen could not make his legs move. He could only stare toward the corner of the exam room, where Hanne stood staring as well. He had to do something.
"Er, Herr Obersturmführer?" Steffen smiled apologetically."I really need to find a WC. You have one in this building, I assume?"
"Er, yes." The officer didn't look so sure. "Perhaps it would be more convenient down at the recreation center, which is next on our tour."
"No!" Steffen didn't need to act for the desperation to show through his raised voice. "I really need to find a WC now! I'm very sorry."
"Yes, of course." Now the obersturmführer looked more understanding as he pointed to the far side of the room, a door opening into a hall. "No need to panic. I believe it's down there, and to the left. I'll have one of my men show you."
Rahm pointed to one of the guards standing by, but Steffen stepped up to the young man and patted him on the shoulder.
"Thank you, Oberschütz, but I think I'm perfectly capable of going to the WC without your help. You just stay here. I'll be right back."
The two-stripe corporal looked over at Rahm, who hesitated only a moment before nodding his okay. Breathing a sigh of relief, Steffen tried not to look again across the room.By this time Hanne must have already slipped out through another door. She had heard his little speech, had she not?
He hurried across the room and down the hall, making sure he ducked out of sight around a quiet corner just beyond the restroom door. Where was she?
"Hanne?" he whispered, hoping no one else would come down the hall from the other direction. Here empty wooden crates lined the walls, some of them labeled with the names of medical equipment. Curious. When he heard footsteps approaching, he slipped between two of the crates and held his breath.
"Hanne, are you there?" he whispered once more, and he nearly reached out to grab the sleeve . . . of a passing German guard. No! He bit his tongue, praying the guard had not heard him, and pressed himself up between the crates as the footsteps receded once more.
She's not coming, he told himself, and was about to step back out when he heard footsteps approaching once again.Only this time they paused for a moment, long enough for him to peek out around the corner, to see Hanne standing in the hallway, peering around the corner in the direction of the washroom. She must have seen him step out of the shadows, though, and wheeled to meet his embrace.
"Steffen!" She held on and did not let go, and neither would Steffen. After all these long weeks and months!
Several moments later she finally backed away to look him in the face. "How in the world did you get here? You said nothing in your letters about coming!"
"I couldn't. You understand."
"No, I mean, yes, I do." She nodded, and the tears filled her eyes. "I understand. And you understand why I haven't told the whole truth in my letters, either."
He smiled at her.
"It's all right. I could read between the lines, here and there.Did you know what I was trying to tell you, only I couldn't?"
A noise out in the hallway made them both jump. Perhaps it was nothing. He couldn't let her go.
"But this place," he said, looking around. "It's not real, is it? I mean, this isn't how it normally is?"
She shook her head.
"We've never seen all this equipment before. It hasn't even been installed, just rolled into place to look as if it's been there. The supplies were unloaded last night, before you came. They'll be gone the minute you leave."
"And outside? The scrubbed streets?"
"Everything is a show. There's nothing in the stores to buy.The theater and the community hall were put together for this tour, and for any others that come. I hear they're going to make a propaganda film. The playgrounds, the children's home, the bank, the café . . ."
"All a show?"
She nodded. "To make you think it's so pleasant and nice, and so to leave the Nazis alone to do their evil—here and in all the other camps. Steffen, it's not as it seems! If they were to let you go just a few meters off your approved route, you would see the real Terezin, where people are sick and starving and dying. But you won't see those people. I see them in here every day. Today they've all been ordered to stay away, out of sight."
"What about the park, with the young families?"
"Ha! The park. None of us have ever been allowed in there—only a few slave workers in a factory tent. It was fenced off with barbed wire until just the other day, when they brought in loads of flowers. The meals, the swimming area, the happy people—it's all a horrible lie."
The weight of her words hung heavy between them. But still he had to know.
"I understand the why, Hanne. But how? How did they get everyone to smile and just go along with it?"
"Don't you see? If anyone doesn't do just as they're told, they know they'll be the next ones transported to the death camps. The Nazis have already transported several thousands, we think to make it look less crowded here. We've heard rumors, Steffen. Are they true?"
Steffen bit his lip, not sure what to say. He'd heard the same rumors. But who could say? Most sounded far too incredible to believe.
"I don't know. But enough of the camp. I don't care about the camp. I care about you. What about you?"
She turned away. He noticed her cheeks looked sunken, and so much thinner. And she had been slender to begin with, back home in Danmark.
"I'm fine. They treat us Danes a bit differently than they do the Czechs or the Germans and the Poles, you know. Perhaps it's because of the pressure from home. From people like you.Oh, Steffen, there's so much I need to tell you, but—"
"Petersen!" Herr Madsen's voice floated down the hallway and around the corner. Fortunately he would not be able to see them unless he ventured closer. Steffen held a hand over his own mouth, hoping it might sound like he was answering from behind the washroom door.
"In a minute!" he called back.
"We're on a schedule, you know," Herr Madsen answered back. "Let's hurry!"
"Be right there."
But the last thing Steffen wanted to do was release Hanne from his grip, and Hanne wasn't letting go, either.
"I don't know how you talked your way into this camp, Steffen Petersen, but—"
She gave him another hug, but now he had to find his way back.
"Listen to me," he told her, gripping her thin shoulders. He could feel her shoulder blades. "I'll do everything I can to get back here, again. And meanwhile we'll send more packages.What do you need most, more medicine? Food?"
"Of course." She smiled at him. "The problem is, will it get past the gendarmes? They go through everything, you know."
"The packages we've sent?"
She nodded. "Everything. They skim off what they like."
"Then I'll just have to bring it personally."
He wanted to say so much more, but now he tore himself away from the exquisite torture—hearing her voice, feeling her close—but only for a few short moments! Perhaps he shouldn't have come.
"You must go now," she told him. "They're probably wondering what happened to me, as well."
He stroked a lock of her hair with his hand and slipped quietly to the corner, just to make sure no one was watching him come out from where he should have been. Then he turned back and kissed her softly on the lips.
"I pray for you every day, Hanne Abrahamsen."
He glanced at her one more time, and she let her fingertips touch his before he slipped back around the corner. And as quickly as he could he slipped straight into the washroom for a moment, not even bothering to find a light. He simply leaned back against the door in the darkness, his head spinning, catching his breath in wild gasps.
And then someone pounded on the door once more.
/> "Petersen! For goodness sake, are you sick in there or something?"
Steffen wasted no more time, just pulled open the door and stepped back out into the hallway with a sheepish smile, hopefully not overdone.
"So sorry, Herr Madsen." He straightened out his shirt and tie for good measure. "I didn't mean to hold you up. I'm feeling fine. Really."
"All right, good." Herr Madsen looked him over as if trying to decide whether to believe him or not. "Let's get back on the tour, then. The obersturmführer is getting quite nervous, and there's much more on his schedule."
33
NORTHERN CZECHOSLOVAKIA
SATURDAY, 24 JUNI 1944
I remember my affliction and my wandering, / the bitterness and
the gall . . . / Yet this I call to mind / and therefore I have hope: /
Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed.
—LAMENTATIONS 3:19, 21-22 NIV
Steffen had not expected the dark cloud of his depression to descend so quickly and heavily, even before they'd left the Bogosovice station on their way back north, back home.As Herr Madsen resumed his work in the seat beside him, Steffen could not possibly pull his thoughts together.
"I said, number of beds in the dispensary?" Herr Madsen paused from his writing and looked over expectantly at Steffen. In a delayed reaction, Steffen shuffled through his own hastily scrawled notes.
"Oh, yes. I'm sorry. I wrote it down here somewhere."
Steffen finally found the figures, but Herr Madsen wrinkled his brow and frowned as he wrote.
