The Day the Flowers Died

by Ami Blackwelder

  “I understand,” Eli said and Aaron nodded. As Eli and Aaron turned to exist the way they had come, a loud screech from a vehicle sounded outside the front of the building.

  The man’s wife drew back the curtain and hissed, “Gestapo!” Moments blurred with the four hurrying and orchestrating their movements. The old man pulled Eli by the arm to the back of the room where a table blocked a closet. Aaron followed.

  “Quick, you must be unseen, unheard. Stay here.” Shoving them into the closet, the old man’s voice whispered against the cacophony of the soldier’s jackboots pounding hard on the road as they marched toward the building. The entire event didn’t take two minutes. Eli and Aaron squeezed close as they listened.

  “Herr Reiner, you and your wife are under arrest for falsifying government documents and for aiding and abetting Jews in illegal exit of this country. Make it easier on yourself and give us your files and names.”

  “I…I have no files.”

  The two men heard a slap and Mr. Reiner groan.

  “Don’t hurt him!” Mrs. Reiner screamed. A scuffle ensued and they heard the elderly woman hit the floor, her nails scratching the table where the immigration papers just sat.

  Aaron gripped Eli’s shoulder, his eyes wide with fear. Eli shook his head for silence.

  “Helga!” Mr. Reiner cried out just before a Gestapo officer growled.

  “Names, old man! We want names!”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The next sound Aaron and Eli heard came from the old man crashing into furniture, knocking it over. It sounded like something wooden broke.

  “Oh, god, you’re bleeding,” his wife whimpered.

  “We have to do something,” Aaron whispered into Eli’s ear.

  “What? We’re locked in here.”

  Before they could arrive at a rescue plan, the Gestapo dragged the old couple down the hall and to the sidewalk.

  The sounds echoed through Eli and Aaron’s distressed ears, but neither heard the old man or his wife yell out in question or in defense. The jackboots pounded up and down the building in patterned search.

  Moments later, the voice of the haggard man in the back of the building startled Aaron as he shouted, “Why are you doing this? Where are you taking me?” He screamed, running the words into one sentence.

  “Who are the forged documents made for?” A sharp voice from the Gestapo asked. The haggard man shouted out in pain as if his arm had been twisted. “We want all the names,” the Gestapo shouted again.

  Aaron stared at Eli in fear, an expression Eli was not familiar with seeing on Aaron’s face. He had often seen his serious brooding side and he had on serendipitous occasion seen his jovial side. But Aaron never let fear escape him, especially in the courtroom. Eli stood beside Aaron with trembling hands. Both of them breathed heavily and yet more quietly then they ever had in their lives. Their hearts raced and Eli felt he could faint except for the possible need to escape keeping him alert.

  Another twist to the man’s arm and then another agonized scream sounded before the front door slammed shut. Then silence. The screaming was gone and the raucous noise caused by fighting bodies smashing into furniture vanished. Eli and Aaron stood motionless, thoughts still caught in the disturbing events.

  Eli’s voice broke the silence. “Can we come out? Is it over?” He whispered to Aaron like a younger brother to an older brother. Aaron delayed his answer with a hesitant departure of his ear from the door.

  “I think so, but the door is locked.”

  Eli ran his hands across the door, feeling for nails or hinges or anything to take the door down. “I wish I had a screwdriver,” he mumbled. “I could remove the doorknobs.”

  “Will this work?” Aaron pulled a small knife out of his pocket and held it out. Enough light came from the crack in the door for Eli to see. After several moments of feverish work, he got the doorknobs off and the two men pushed their way to freedom.

  Eli and Aaron walked to Eli’s apartment rather than drive. They ducked down alleyways and side streets, hiding behind bushes or parked cars whenever they saw traffic. It took hours to get to Eli’s home and they arrived after sunset.

  With a sigh of relief, Eli looked to the fourth floor and saw the light on in his kitchen window. “Let’s go.”

  He took one step out of the shadows across the street and Aaron jerked him back.

  “Look.” Aaron nodded with his chin to the far corner where two dark figures lurked. Every time a vehicle passed or someone walked by, the dark figures inspected each one.

  “I’m being watched,” Eli concluded.

  “Then so am I.” Aaron stuffed his hands in his pockets, his mind a flurry of panic. “Where shall we go?”

  “We must stay away from our families. I would die if Gestapo arrested Rebecca.” His mind fluttered in thought, but the only images he could manage were ones of Reiner and his wife being dragged into the back of the Gestapo’s military truck.

  “The swing club.” Aaron’s eyes lit up while his lips grinned. “There’s always a mixed crowd to blend in with.”

  “But they’re in Hamburg. We’ll have to take buses,” Eli groaned.

  “There’s a local club across town.” Aaron gritted his teeth. “I’ve been there with Jacob.”

  As they prepared their escape from the looming grip of the Nazis on the streets and into the cloak of lights, colors, and sounds of the local swing club, Eli gripped Aaron’s shoulder from behind.

  “If we don’t make it out of this, I want you to know you’ve been a good friend to me and I wouldn’t want to be on these roads with anyone else.”

  “Don’t say ‘if we don’t’. When we do, Eli, when we do.” Aaron nodded to confirm his words and Eli returned the nod.

  The swing sounds permeated the room and reverberated against the walls, seeping onto the nearby streets. The club was not full of swingers at this earlier hour, but a few couples danced to the practice routines of the band. Despite the elated music and lively atmosphere, a cloud of defeat hung over Eli. In the pit of his stomach his nerves twisted into knots as his mind panicked over the Nazis waiting by his apartment, so close to his Rebecca.

  Aaron’s stomach growled and they both knew they needed to eat something. They went outside and ducked into a side street to consider their options. The local markets offered an easy opportunity, situated on the sidewalks under canopies, but Nazi youth infested them and neither Aaron nor Eli could afford the chance of being seen. Eli stared at Aaron and they both knew what they had to do to eat. Hunger would only worsen and neither knew how long they would have to hide out on the streets before they could return home to their families.

  “I’ll do it.” Aaron grimaced.

  “No, I will,” Eli protested. “I’m better at this kind of thing.”

  “No, I got us into this mess. I took you to Reiner.” Aaron concluded and pushed Eli back, then darted off like a rabbit fleeing from bloodhounds. Aaron blended behind a family of four, passing the market on the sidewalk. He kept his eyes ahead while his fingers snatched an apple. It wasn’t a full meal, but the two could share it to alleviate hunger pangs.

  Aaron followed the family of four to the end of the sidewalk and twisted around the block, ducking and bending to keep out of the Nazis’ sight as he made his way back to Eli.

  “I’ll do it next time,” Eli stated. Aaron smiled in his nod and they both took a bite out the apple while they cowered on a side street. The clouds darkened, the heavens opened, and rain poured over Eli and Aaron.

  “Can you believe this?” Eli groused and turned up his jacket collar. “What else can go wrong?”

  “C’mon.” Aaron tossed the apple core away and led his soaked friend back to the swing club.

  * * *

  Rebecca hurried to the sound of pounding on her apartment door. She threw on her silk white robe and eased the door open, familiar with the sounds of the Nazis. Dark hair swept high in a loose bun on her head wrapped with a white la
ce ribbon. Strong blue eyes complimented her porcelain skin. A sting of blood dripped off a cut on her left leg from a shave in the bathroom when they first pounded.

  The Gestapo, clad in black uniforms with breeches tucked into their polished black jackboots, didn’t ask questions until they pushed their uninvited presence into her room. Their black hats hid their short cut hair. Visors hid their eyes. One of them pushed the door back into her arms and, even if she’d tried, she wouldn’t have been able to stop it. Four men marched inside; one surveyed the room while the others rummaged through her personal belongings. Opening drawers, they dumped the contents on the floor. Pictures cracked when they tore them off the walls and threw them down. A baton swung for the television screen, and Rebecca gasped, but the thick glass didn’t break.

  One of the men kept her occupied with questions. “Where is Eli Levin?” The man’s large blue eyes did not deviate from looking into hers.

  “I…I…don’t know,” she said with thoughts of Eli circling in her mind.

  He grabbed her arm, squeezing it. “Where…is…Eli…Levin!”

  “I don’t know,” she said again with certainty to the contorted face towering over her.

  “How long has he lived here?”

  Rebecca knew a lie to the Gestapo would be found out and she could pay for it with her life. “Since January of this year.” She answered curtly and her hands began to tremble at the inquiry in her home, her sanctuary, by what she and Eli both determined deplorable — the very presence of German perversion. At the sound of a plate breaking behind her, she grimace but refused to look.

  Hearing the truth, he released his grip. “When will he return?” The man’s words grew impatient and his face reddened.

  “I don’t know.” Tears streamed down her cheekbones, highlighting their pink tint.

  The man turned from her and marched towards the door. The other three followed, their boots crunching over broken glass, and the door slammed shut. Rebecca crumbled to the floor with her face in her hands and her body curling up into her legs. Her body shook and her face and lips became puffy with tears. Pushing herself off the floor after several moments frozen in fear, she ran to the phone. It rang twice and then a coarse voice answered.

  “E…Ezekiel?”

  “Yes, is this Rebecca?” He could hear the distress in her voice. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Eli…” She swallowed her tears. “Gestapo is out looking for him. They stopped by my house to question me. He mustn’t come here. You need to warn him.” The word Gestapo slipped from her lips with bitterness and disgust.

  “They’ll come by my house next,” Ezekiel answered in a calm response, mulling over his thoughts. “He can’t come here either.”

  “How are we going to warn him?” Rebecca’s pitch heightened.

  “I don’t know,” Ezekiel said. “Do you know where he is?”

  “He wrote me a note.” Rebecca began to sob again. “He said he was going to get the visas for everyone.”

  “Then, I’ll drive down there. I have an idea where it might be.” Ezekiel spoke in a fatherly tone like he had rescued his son from many mishaps before today. “Stay where you are in case he returns. I’ll let Deborah know what’s going on.” Ezekiel sighed and then gave words of comfort to her. “If the Gestapo stopped by your house looking for him, then they don’t know where he is either. Don’t worry, Rebecca. He will turn up.”

  “Alright.” Rebecca clung to Ezekiel’s words that he would find Eli and return him to her. She waited all night for the call from Ezekiel, unable to sleep, tossing in the bed where only she lay. It felt unnatural for her to sleep alone anymore. She had grown familiar with Eli’s masculine smell, and his heavy breathing before he fell asleep. She missed him. Every sound she heard, every creak and crack tossed her from the bed and to her feet, longing and yet afraid for it to be Eli at the door.

  As her neighbor exited his apartment, the sounds of shoes against the steps swept Rebecca off her bed and she rushed to the door, whispering Eli’s name. Flinging the door open and finding nothing but an empty hallway, the absence of Eli only drove her madder. Her hands clung to her forehead and she rubbed her temples, her fingers growing red and worn. Then, she dropped to her knees at her bedside.

  “Please, God, return Eli to me. He needs to be home, warm and safe. I need him in my arms. Please, I beg you.” Her prayer turned to tears swelling up her reddened eyes. Her head throbbed in dizzy thought. “Papa, is there anything you could do to bring him back to me?” Rebecca spoke aloud as if her father stood before her, as if her father wielded that kind of power. For a brief moment she thought he did and was there to grant her wish. But the mirage before her soon faded and she wept as she realized the only answer to her prayers was to wait.

  * * *

  Ezekiel drove frantically to the old building he knew his son had been. He knew the business of the owner there. They had known each other from Synagogue and from legal advice Ezekiel had provided him over the years. The Jewish community knew to talk to this man if one wanted forged immigration papers. His work began in 1930 and increased in popularity in 1933.

  Ezekiel pulled his BMW behind the building and entered through the backdoor to find the latch broken and the door kicked in, hanging on a nail. He walked in haste through the corridor leading into the main room. The room was in disarray with furniture knocked over and broken. Papers and books sprawled all over the floor and furniture.

  “Eli? Eli?” Ezekiel whispered. He stumbled over a fallen stool and hit the closet. His eyes fixated on the outline of the pine door and he squeezed his hands into the two center holes missing door knobs and pulled the closet open. Cloths hung on hangers, but the space was empty of his son. “Where are you?” he cried out. Ezekiel scurried through the building, searching in the bathroom and hallway until he found himself at the backdoor. He hung his head, ambled to his car and drove home. Hands trembled as they gripped the steering wheel and a few tears rolled from his eyes.

  * * *

  Rebecca awoke the next morning to call into work sick and then went downstairs to retrieve the mail in the cubby of the first floor lobby.

  The box held only one small thin envelope. Rebecca slipped her hand in and her sharp fingernails scratched it as she pulled it out of the box. She read over the address as she plodded upstairs to her apartment.

  The return address stated New York, America which meant the letter came from her Aunt Martha. Getting the letter opener, she inserted the end of the blade, slid it across the envelope and pulled the letter out in one motion to find two pieces of paper folded into thirds. She perused the letter twice until she was satisfied with the meaning and intent she drew from it.

  Dear Rebecca and Eli,

  I have received your letter with its request and must first congratulate you both on your marriage. I do wish the very best for both of you and, unlike my mother and your own mutti, Deseire, I do not hold any grievance upon your choice.

  I am happy to oblige with a letter of sponsorship, suggesting the arrival of Eli Levin in New York City is both expected and requested. The letter is followed by this one. It has been certified with a notary and includes personal information to establish my citizenship (which took some time to put together).

  However, please don’t pin your hopes on this letter as I’ve been informed that many Jews have been turned away upon arriving by boat and a few of the boats were simply turned away without even so much as a glance at the passports the passengers carried.

  The immigration offices and harbors are filled with immigrants from all over the world requesting permission to stay in America. Our President is restricting the numbers allowed entry to appease the angst of the public, which has only increased in fear of losing their own jobs to cheaper labor.

  I hope this all becomes sorted out and, since the two of you are legally married, that Eli will be allowed to accompany you to America. I have heard horrible stories about the conditions of Germany today and if you are in an
y need of help from me, please do not hesitate to ask. You are my only niece and I love you dearly.

  Sincerely,

  Martha

  Caressing the letter between her fingers, Rebecca recalled a time ten years ago when her Aunt Martha had sojourned to Germany to see her sister, Deseire. She had a memory of Martha frolicking in the park hand in hand with her while Deseire relaxed on the park bench with Ralph.

  Rebecca remembered the smell of roses and squishing her nose in between a bundle of white lilies. A protective warmth radiated from her aunt, not like the suffocating rigidness of her own mother. Rebecca’s lips pressed softly up into her cheeks as she held the letter, remembering Martha and, as she folded the letter and laid it upon the dining table, she hoped she would be seeing her aunt soon.

  Still quietness filled her living room, and she hoped the ring of the phone or a knock at the door would shatter the silence. She sipped a cup of tea, too distraught in Eli’s absence to make herself breakfast.

  Had the Gestapo taken him? Was he being tortured? Was he at the Dachau concentration camp? Was he dead?

  She wandered to her room and paced over the floor before walking outside onto the porch. She looked over the terrace, surveyed the area, and hoped for a glimpse, any sign of Eli. The phone rang while she stared over Munich. She was out of breath when she picked up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Rebecca?” the coarse voice asked.

  “Ezekiel, is he alright?” Her words clung to hope.

  “I haven’t found him. He wasn’t there.” Ezekiel fell silent and Rebecca didn’t respond. “There was a scuffle of some kind. Furniture was knocked over. But the room was empty.”

  “Oh god.” Rebecca’s throat tightened. They both thought the worst. “Gestapo?”

  “It looked that way,” Ezekiel reasoned. “But he may have escaped, which would explain them coming to look for him. We can’t know for sure if he was taken,” he said with a father’s hope.