by Mona Golabek
From the swirl of the crowd, Mrs. Floyd and the other students reappeared and invited Lisa to join them for a victory dinner.
“Oh, thank you so much,” Lisa answered. “But I think maybe I should celebrate with the others at home,” she said, suddenly not feeling at all in a celebratory mood.
“Are you sure?” her teacher yelled above the noisy crowd.
Lisa nodded her head and waved good-bye as two of the students grabbed Mrs. Floyd by the hand, pushing the elegant English lady into a conga line that danced away from her. Lisa headed away from the raucous festivities.
The buses had stopped running, since the drivers had given up trying to navigate the crowded streets, so Lisa decided to walk home. She waded against a tide of well-wishers who flashed the V-for-Victory salute as they walked by. Gradually the crowd thinned, and with it, the sense of exhilaration and camaraderie. She walked faster and faster past rows of boarded-up buildings and shops— trudging forlornly over the bomb-scarred streets and past the destruction. When she came to her beloved Hyde Park she was buoyed temporarily to see that the swans had survived. She stood by the pond for a long moment, watching them swimming in gentle gliding motions over an eerily still pond. Beautiful things could survive, she told herself; she tried to have hope.
In the cold, dark stillness of the waters she superimposed an image of what she imagined would exist across the English Channel—a dark and silent Europe, battered and ruined, so far from her now. Her mind conjured up the streets of Vienna she’d left behind so long ago—and she saw for a moment the smiling faces of the beloved ones left behind. She thought she could hear their laughter the day of the ill-fated picnic on the balcony. Where were they now? Where were her mother and father and sister Rosie?
Chilled and lonely, she left the park and headed up the large avenue toward Edgware Road. More revelers ran by her, anxious to celebrate—their nightmare of waiting was over. But for Lisa and her fellow Kinder on Willesden Lane, the nightmare of waiting had just begun.
At first, there were just rumors. Unsubstantiated rumors, impossible rumors, which spread like wildfire through the already broken hearts of the Jewish community. Place names like Treblinka, Bergen-Belsen, Nordhausen, Auschwitz, and Theresienstadt were whispered from ear to ear.
Talk of mass graves, piles of bodies, piles of unspeakable obscenities. Photos leaked out of hollow-eyed inmates staring from behind barbed-wire fences, their fleshless, bony bodies hardly able to stand.
Lisa couldn’t read most of the articles about it in the newspaper. She couldn’t bear to hear it when she was told. She had known the terror of the Nazis, seen Kristallnacht, but never could she have imagined what had transpired, unreported, behind Nazi lines.
She couldn’t practice, either, although sometimes she would play exercises and scales, comforted by the mindless repetition. It was difficult to go to her job at the Howard Hotel and watch the smiling people as they talked of their hopeful futures, but she needed the money and was grateful for the distraction.
Finally the Red Cross, the United Nations, and the U.S. Army began to post lists of concentration camp survivors as they were liberated, moved, and organized in camps for displaced persons.
Lisa flocked with the other desperate refugees to the agencies posting the lists. The pages were chaotic and disorganized, taped to walls in crowded hallways, often not dated, not alphabetized, put up as soon as beleaguered workers could type them, to help the frantic search of the heartbroken relatives.
She went every day to see if new lists had been compiled, going over and over the old ones with care. Seeing that there were no Juras on the list, Lisa looked for Leo’s name. There were dozens of Schwartzes, but no Leos and no Rosies.
Rumor guided the search for lists. Gina would hear that new lists were at the United Nations Relief Agency, then someone else would hear that names were posted at the U.S. Army Office, which oversaw the displaced persons camps, or at the World Jewish Congress offices, or in hastily printed Jewish newspapers.
Mr. Hardesty wandered through the halls and saw faces he recognized from the Kindertransport so many years earlier. He saw Lisa and greeted her with tender care. He looked at the crowded hallways, filled with some of the ten thousand Kinder who had been saved by their hurriedly organized train rescue. Ten thousand now seemed so few.
One day Gunter found his mother’s name on the list from a displaced persons camp near Theresienstadt. Shaking with emotion, he spent the day writing hurried telegrams to make contact. When he returned to the hostel, he was so sensitive to the others’ pain that he told only Gina about his news, feeling it was selfish to talk openly of his good fortune. But Mrs. Cohen heard and spread the word, feeling it important that what little joy there was should be shared.
During those first months of searching, Lisa would often lie on her bed and stare at her parents’ pictures, placed reverently on her nightstand, and try hard to remember their faces. Their real features had long ago been replaced by the features she had memorized from the photographs. Sometimes, but only in a dream, she thought she could catch a glimpse of her mother’s expression the night she had wiped the blood from her father’s face on Kristallnacht. She had tried over and over to recapture it. And she could sometimes see the smile her mother gave her when they would play together at the piano after her lesson with Professor Isseles. Sometimes she was sure she caught a glimpse of it, though other times it seemed unbearably dim.
Yis’ga’dal v’yis’kadash—May the great Name of God be exalted. Nightly, the prayers at the synagogues chanted the names of the departed.
One weekend afternoon, a familiar figure walked through the front door of the hostel. It was Aaron Lewin, carrying his air force satchel and wearing the insignia of lieutenant.
Mrs. Cohen was the first to recognize him. “Aaron! How wonderful to see you. Come in, come in!” There was no hint of her former animosity. War had put such petty matters behind them.
“Is Lisa here?” he asked, direct as always.
“Yes, she’s upstairs, please go on up.”
“Aaron!” Lisa yelled, leaping off the bed. “It’s so good to see you!” And it was good to see him again; he looked so mature, so sophisticated. She gave him a brief hug but the atmosphere between them was distant—she had gotten no letters from him for many months.
“I was worried about you! Are you all right?”
“Never better,” he answered but his expression said the opposite. “This place looks like it needs some attention,” he continued, glancing at the cracked glass of the window. “Maybe I should grab the toolbox.”
Lisa smiled and led him to the kitchen to find the matron. She knew intuitively that Aaron needed time to get his bearings.
They spent the day together. Lisa watched as Aaron tackled the mechanical things that badly needed fixing. He worked in silence.
After lunch, Lisa felt it was time to broach the difficult question she had been waiting all morning to ask. “Have you heard anything about your family, about your mother?”
“My mother is dead. So are my brothers,” he answered, not adding any details.
“How?”
“I don’t know. How would we ever know?”
“Then how are you sure they’re dead?”
“We have to just assume it, don’t we?” he said flatly, trying to shield himself from the pain of his words.
“How can you just ‘assume’ it?” she said, starting to get upset.
“Lisa, you must be realistic. I think it’s time you faced it. What are the chances any of them survived?”
“Am I supposed to give up hope? Is that what you’re saying?” Lisa asked trying to sound defiant. But her words came out halfhearted. It was her turn to be silent. She looked out the kitchen window at the gray sky and felt a leaden, numbing sadness. Could it be possible that she would never see her parents or Rosie again?
As the long summer afternoon was ending, Aaron asked Lisa to come with him into the back garden. They wal
ked over the lush grass to the hedge that separated the hostel from the convent next door. Lisa’s heart was still heavy from the terrible realizations that were beginning to wash over her.
Aaron had his back to her as he said, “I’ll be leaving for New York. I’ve managed a visa for America.”
“Oh,” she said, with an involuntary gasp at the unexpected news.
Still facing away from her, he continued: “Will you come with me?”
Lisa was silent. Her world was fragmenting around her; she was facing the loss of everyone she held dear. Could she bear to lose Aaron even if she knew her feelings had changed? She didn’t know if she had the strength to say no.
When Aaron turned around, he saw her deep in troubled thought and knew her answer.
A week later, Aaron came to the hostel before his final departure, bringing candies and cakes. Everyone was overjoyed, and no one asked him how he got them. He was trying to be positive and forward looking, fighting, as they all were, for a reason to go on. He had found his in the journey to America.
Lisa’s reason? She didn’t know. She could only stand sadly on the steps of the hostel, next to Gunter and Gina, and wave good-bye.
The Rachmaninoff Prelude in C-sharp Minor reached into the vast emptiness of Wigmore Hall. Professor Floyd arranged for Lisa to practice in the art deco auditorium where her concert would take place in two months’ time.
Lisa worked through her program, playing flawlessly, but with a disquieting coldness that worried her teacher. Mrs. Floyd knew the unbearable pressures that her prized student was under. She had been following the terrible reports of the Jewish Holocaust in the newspapers, but she hoped a gentle prodding would keep her prized pupil on track.
From several rows back in the empty theater, she called. “Lisa, did you practice the things we spoke about last week?”
“A little bit, I’m sorry, not like I should have,” Lisa answered, afraid to admit that she hadn’t practiced at all.
“Let’s not forget that the date is almost upon us. I don’t want to frighten you, but the critics can be quite harsh on a new pianist. Ah, let’s try the prelude from the maestoso, shall we?”
Lisa closed her eyes and began again, but there were no pictures or images to inspire her. She couldn’t see the faces of the people she loved. She played on and tried to shield herself from the heartbreaking beauty of the music, which she knew her family, lost forever, would never share.
25
GINA AND GUNTER made a handsome bride and groom. Their big day had finally arrived and they sat with the rabbi in the living room of the hostel and signed the ketubah.
In spite of Mrs. Cohen’s dedicated planning, the day had been hectic with last minute preparations. The older girls had swarmed into the kitchen, turning hoarded sugar and flour into kugel, Sacher torten, and an only moderately successful apfelstrudel. The boys, meanwhile, were frantically putting the finishing touches on the chuppah in the backyard.
The florist from the high street delivered the flowers with thirty minutes to spare. And last but not least, with a herculean effort, six of the strongest boys had lifted the piano and carried it out to the back lawn.
Lisa had put on her brightest face for the happy occasion, a feat made easier because finally, her sister Sonia had been allowed to move to London. She had moved into the hostel the week before. The war was over, and the city was safe, but even so the conscientious Bateses had called every day to see how their beloved charge was adjusting to her new life. Sonia was delighted to be near her older sister; most traces of her frightened demeanor had completely disappeared. The sisters had been put in charge of the wedding dress and had helped Gina to shop in the secondhand stores on the Edgeware Road until they found the perfect elegant lace gown.
Now, with ten minutes to spare, Gina had put her foot through the hem. The Jura sisters yelled for a needle and thread, and in no time, the beautiful bride was ready.
Rabbi Silverstein performed the ceremony, reciting the ancient prayers and asking the couple to exchange the traditional Jewish vows.
Yet for all the merriment that led up to it, the service itself was a somber occasion. Everyone was painfully aware of the enormity of the void in the group of gathered relatives and friends.
Gina’s parents had died in Treblinka. Gunter’s father had succumbed to a heart attack while being deported. Gone were Mrs. Cohen’s entire family, as were Mrs. Glazer’s . . . and so the list of the void went on down to the last orphan who stood watching. Only Gunter’s mother had been on the “lists,” and she was still in a hospital in a displaced persons camp near Theresienstadt.
Some of the “children” like Gina and Gunter were trying to move forward with their lives and had accepted the terrible news. But others still held out hope that at any moment, from out of the wreckage of Europe, their parents and siblings would miraculously appear. Lisa wavered between the two extremes.
When the vows were over, Gunter kissed his bride and stepped on the champagne glass to cries of “Mazel tov!” Then the assembly of well-wishers clapped and the music began.
Although still in no mood to play, Lisa had agreed, out of a sense of duty, to perform the first movement of the Grieg piano concerto. As the notes of the first few bars floated into the warm outdoor air, Lisa couldn’t help but think of Aaron. He had sent a congratulatory telegram from the Île de France, where he was on his way to a new life. Although her feelings for him were no longer romantic, Lisa missed his presence terribly.
She played the evocative concerto and thought of the images her mother had taught her, of the fjords, of Norway, of the placid, icy waters of Grieg’s homeland. The images and their reverent mood helped to calm her overflowing emotions. She watched Gunter and Gina as she played, their love so radiantly displayed on their faces, and continued her musical tribute to their friendship—and to the friendship of all who were gathered here. So much was changing, the emotion was almost too much to bear. To keep from breaking down, she forced her thoughts back to the icy panoramas of the Grieg and managed to make it through the piece.
When she was finished, she got up to prepare a surprise. “Please wait a moment, everyone,” she said, and walked over to Hans and escorted him to the piano.
He played a beautiful rendition of “The Girl with the Flaxen Hair” by Debussy, which Lisa had been coaching him on for weeks. She had found a simple solace in being a teacher, and in truth, she hadn’t known what else to do. The lessons paid off and made for a beautiful surprise, especially for Hans’s mother, who broke down in tears.
Gunter then gave a toast to “all those missing today,” making special mention of Paul and Johnny “King Kong.” “May we remember the beauty of their gentle spirits and keep their memory in our hearts for the rest of our lives.”
Feeling the pall that had been cast by Gunter’s words, and not wanting the wedding day to turn somber, Mrs. Glazer hurried to bring out the cake. After the couple did a ceremonial cutting of the first piece, the bride rushed to open her presents, which were stacked neatly on the dining room table. Lisa waited patiently for Gina to open her gift, two silver candlesticks.
Then Gunter announced formally what they had all assumed, that he and Gina would be heading for New York as soon as his mother joined them, hopefully before the month was out. Lisa hugged her friends warmly, and was gripped by the sadness of another good-bye.
Children were arriving at the hostel from the displaced persons camps of Europe, where they had been brought from the hell of Bergen-Belsen, Auschwitz, and Dachau, and again there was a premium on space at Willesden Lane. Unlike the Kinder of 1939, these children had gaunt eyes that had seen things not even an adult could bear.
Mrs. Cohen had decided to stay on, having made her peace with losing the wealth and status of her past life in Berlin. She had found a calling in the difficult but rewarding job of matron.
The older Kinder were moving out to make room for younger children, and Lisa was among them. She was now twenty-one yea
rs old, and although it was hard for her to grasp, she had been in England for six years—many of them in this room she was now leaving.
It had been decided that Lisa would move to Mrs. Canfield’s. Her son had been killed by a mortar shell while dressing a soldier’s wounds and the matron had asked if Lisa would go live with the Quaker woman, insisting the company would do the grieving mother good. And remembering her generosity during the bombing of the hostel, Lisa was only too glad to repay the debt of kindness.
Sonia, now eighteen, would take over Lisa’s bunk. Her sister wouldn’t be under the same roof, but she would be right around the corner.
On the day of the move, Sonia watched as Lisa took down the black-and-white photo of Leslie Howard in Gone with the Wind, which was taped on the wall above the bed.
“Want me to leave this?” Lisa asked.
“Who is it?” said Sonia, staring at the blond heartthrob. “Who is it? I guess I’ll have to take you to the movies. We’ll go this weekend!”
Sonia’s eyes shone with anticipation. Lisa made herself a promise to introduce her little sister to all the joys that a teenager deserved. She vowed to make up for all the crucial years she had missed in her sister’s life.
Mrs. Cohen came in as Lisa was packing her suitcase. “I haven’t asked you lately how your music is going,” said the matron, visibly saddened by Lisa’s departure.
“All right, I guess,” Lisa said, not sharing that she hadn’t been able to practice.
“We’re all looking forward to your concert,” the matron said.
Lisa couldn’t find the courage to tell her that she would have to cancel her debut, since try as she might, she couldn’t find the strength to continue.
Mrs. Cohen stood by awkwardly as Lisa made her bed. Finally she spoke, breaking the reserve that she had kept for so long.
“I was thinking back to that afternoon when you first played our piano . . . when you thought you were sneaking in and no one would hear you.”
