by Anne Dublin
Anne Dublin
The Baby Experiment
A NOVEL
For my dear grandchildren
“Whoever destroys one life it is as though he had destroyed a whole world; and whoever saves one life it is as though he had saved a whole world.”
— Talmud (Mishnah, Sanh, 4:5)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.
— Chapter One —
The Interview
Hamburg, Germany
1703
Johanna had been waiting on the hard wooden bench for over an hour. She shivered as cold drafts of air seeped in through the doors and windows. The hall was very grand with its tiled floor and faded tapestries, but it wasn’t made for comfort.
She stood up, sat down, stood up again. She smoothed her dress and straightened her hat. She sat down again.
Johanna stared at the other girls sitting on benches that lined the hall. Some were chatting to each other; others sat stiffly, gazing at the walls or the floor.
Am I mad? Johanna thought. Why did I come here? Perhaps if I do something, I’ll be able to calm down. She took a piece of lace out of her bag. She loved the way the bone shuttle drew the thread back and forth, making knots and creating a design. She had learned to do lacework like this from Grandmother Rachel. But her fingers trembled so much that, after a few minutes, she put her work away.
Last week, she had seen the announcement posted in front of the town hall:
Young women needed
to work in orphanage ––
Under the sponsorship
of the Duke of Brunswick.
Apply in person
at Hamburg Town Hall.
Wednesday September 15, 9:00 a.m.
Johanna felt guilty. She should have stayed to help Mama at the market. Every day they tried to sell the lacework she and Mama made, or notions like buttons and thread. On good days, they earned a few schillings; on bad days, they went to bed hungry.
Papa had been a stonecutter, specializing in headstones for the Jewish cemetery in Altona. Jews were forced to bury their dead there because they weren’t allowed to have a cemetery in Hamburg. Papa often travelled between the towns.
Three months earlier, on his way home from Altona, Papa had been attacked by robbers. They had kicked him in the ribs and beat him on the head with heavy clubs, all the while calling him names like “dirty Jew.” Some passersby had helped Papa get home. He lay in bed for several days until he succumbed to his wounds and died.
Papa hadn’t been one of the wealthy merchants who had profited from trading tobacco, wine, cotton, or spices. Nevertheless, he was skilled with the chisel on stone. Now he himself lay buried beneath a stone in the Jewish cemetery where so much of his work stood.
Johanna helped Mama with the housework as well as at the market. But she hated cooking, cleaning, and washing! She was so tired of helping Mama! Today, Johanna had told Mama she was going to visit her friend, Marianne. Mama had grudgingly agreed.
Instead, Johanna had come here, to the town hall. She was sorry about lying to Mama, but if she got this job, she’d be able to buy a new dress or shoes or coat. More importantly, she would be able to give some money to Mama.
“Excuse me?”
Johanna was startled. She looked up into the blue eyes of a young woman sitting beside her. Her blonde hair hung in two neat braids on each side of her round face.
“Do you know anything about the new orphanage?” The girl twisted one of her braids through her fingers.
Johanna shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
The girl smiled. “If I were as pretty as you,” she said, “I would try to marry a rich man. Not look for work in an orphanage.”
Johanna blushed. Mama always said she was pretty, with her auburn hair and hazel eyes, but Johanna didn’t really believe her. After all, mothers always thought their daughters were beautiful. “You need a dowry to get married to a rich man,” Johanna said, “and I don’t have one.”
“Nor do I,” the girl replied.
“My name is Johanna. What is yours?”
“Cecile. Cecile Hansen.”
“Are you from Hamburg?” Johanna asked.
“No. Altona.” Cecile lowered her voice. “My brother, Antoine, is a merchant. He often travels between Altona and Hamburg on business. Last week he saw the sign posted outside. He told me about the job. So, I begged him to take me with him today.”
“Perhaps we’ll both be lucky.”
“I hope so,” Cecile answered.
A short man stood at the door at the end of the hall. “Next,” he said and motioned Johanna to follow him. He wore a long, brown, full-bottomed wig. His jacket was light brown wool; his breeches, dark brown; and his buckled leather shoes were plain brown.
The windows’ interior shutters had been opened wide and shafts of sunlight were playing with dust motes in the air. Johanna tried to walk quietly, but the sound of her shoes resounded loudly on the tiled floor.
The man sat down behind a large oak table. Beside him, a stout woman glanced up as Johanna approached. The woman wore a dark grey, woollen dress cut in severe lines. Her thin black hair was streaked with grey. Her small black eyes seemed to bore into Johanna’s head, while her nose jutted out like a bird’s beak.
Johanna couldn’t find a comfortable place for her hands. She wanted to run away but her feet felt stuck to the floor. Her smile felt like the one painted on the Till Eulenspiegel puppet she had seen last summer at the Hamburg fair.
“What is your name?” barked the woman.
Johanna curtsied. “Johanna, if you please, ma’am.”
“Last name?”
“Richter.” Johanna had almost blurted out her real name, but stopped herself just in time. If she told them her name was Eisen, her real, Jewish name, she wouldn’t get the job. People didn’t give such work to Jews. To be sure, a few wealthy Jews lived in the city. But most Jews made their living in small trades — tailors, shoemakers, bookbinders. The Christians didn’t trust Jews; they still believed all the old lies.
The man riffled through some papers on his desk and reached into his pockets, searching for something. Then he touched the spectacles resting on his nose, shook his head, and smiled. He dipped his quill into the inkpot, licked his lips, and wrote Johanna’s name onto the paper. The scratching of pen on paper put Johanna’s nerves more on edge.
“My name is Frau Taubman,” said the woman. She pointed a fat finger at the man next to her. “This is Herr Vogel, the duke’s secretary.” The man nodded and pushed his spectacles farther up the bridge of his nose. “What is your age?”
“Fourteen.”
“Do you have experience taking care of babies?” Frau Taubman asked.
Johanna swallowed hard. Her mouth felt dry as sand. “I had a younger brother and sister. I took care of them since they were babies. That is —”
“What?” Frau Taubman interrupted.
“They died last winter. Of the plague.” Johanna’s legs were shaking. She clenched her fists and willed herself to stand still.
“I see.” Frau Taubman stared at Johanna. At her threadbare woollen dress, her frayed collar, and worn shoes. Johanna blushed under the woman’s scrutiny. She was glad she’d washed her hands and face that morning. She hoped she didn’t smell too badly.
“You seem to be a quiet one. You do not chatter on and on like some of the others.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Johanna said.
“Now, girl, you need to understand something before you take this position.”
“Ma’am?” Johanna’s heart began t
o beat rapidly. Does this mean she will offer me the job?
“You will be responsible for the care of orphan babies.”
“I know I —”
Frau Taubman pursed her lips and held up her hand. “We have a strict rule. An unbreakable rule. The caregivers will not be permitted to speak to the babies. And you may not hold a baby beyond what is absolutely necessary for its physical care.”
“I don’t understand,” said Johanna. “Why not?”
“That is not your business,” said Frau Taubman. “You must follow this rule.” She narrowed her eyes. “Can you do so? And will you?”
Johanna nodded slowly. It was a strange rule, an unnatural rule, but she desperately wanted the job. “Yes, Frau Taubman. I can.” She swallowed hard. “And I will.”
“Very well, then. You shall be paid one thaler per month. Adequate room and board will be provided.” Frau Taubman stared at Johanna as if she wanted to ask her another question but changed her mind. “Report to the duke’s old summer house on the 27th of September. You will live there full-time, with one day off every three weeks.” Frau Taubman paused. “Do you agree to these terms?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Johanna said. Frau Taubman didn’t seem like the sort of person anyone should disagree with.
“Make your mark on this paper,” said Herr Vogel, sliding the paper towards Johanna. He handed her the quill, which she dipped into the ink. She signed her name — her false name — trying not to smudge the ink with her cuff.
“You know how to write?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. His spectacles slid down his nose.
“Yes, sir,” Johanna answered. In a quieter voice, she added, “My grandfather taught me.”
She was so grateful that Grandfather had taught her how to read and write. It was almost unheard of for a girl to have these skills. Grandfather always said that every person, man or woman, should know how to read. He said it was like a passport to another country. He once said something even more shocking — that everyone had the right to learn his letters. Grandmother had shushed him up at once for saying such an outrageous thing.
If Johanna had been a boy, she would have gone to cheder to learn. But girls were expected to stay home, and help with the housework and the children. If she were wealthy, she would have had a private governess. She wished she could study subjects like mathematics, geography, history, and other languages. But she was just a poor girl, with dreams beyond her station. Johanna bit her lower lip.
“An added bonus,” Herr Vogel murmured. He handed Johanna a piece of paper. “Here are your instructions.” He took his spectacles off and laid them on the table.
“You may go now,” Frau Taubman said. She waved Johanna away, as if she were a pesky fly.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Johanna said as she curtsied. Her legs were shaking so much she found it difficult to move.
“I wish you good fortune in your new job,” said Herr Vogel.
“Thank you, sir,” said Johanna, as she curtsied again.
“Perhaps you will need more than good fortune,” he added.
His words puzzled Johanna, but she didn’t dare ask him what he meant. She adjusted her cloak and tied her hat ribbons under her chin. She left the town hall and hurried outside.
“Fresh baked bread and rolls!”
“Get your chickens! Killed right before your eyes!”
“Fish! Fresh fish caught this morning!”
Farmers and craftsmen had set up wagons or carts on both sides of the street. As people walked from one stall to another, they tried to avoid stepping in dirty puddles or bumping into beggars. Those poor wretches sat on every street corner — their clothes in tatters, eyes hollow, and thin cheekbones jutting out from their faces. Papa had told her that people streamed into the city from the country. They were looking for work, but found only misery.
Children ran in and out between people’s feet. Cats meowed, dogs barked, and large rats with gleaming eyes darted furtively along the narrow streets. Smells of old food and stale body odours, of rotten garbage and the contents of chamber pots thrown into open sewers blended together in a nauseating stench that permeated the air for miles.
But Johanna scarcely noticed the foul smells and loud din. She had a job! She lifted her long skirts out of the mud and walked as quickly as she could along the rutted road.
She had one problem. How was she going to tell Mama?
— Chapter Two —
Johanna Makes a Decision
Johanna stood outside the door to the room where she and Mama lived. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she pushed open the door.
Mama was kneading dough and didn’t look up as she came in. “How is Marianne?”
Johanna turned her back to Mama and hung up her cloak.
“Why are you so quiet?”
“Mama, I have something to tell you,” Johanna said as she untied the ribbons of her hat and hung it on a hook on the wall. “Mama,” Johanna said as she walked closer to her. “I … I got a job.”
Mama stopped kneading and looked sideways at Johanna. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I got a job.” Johanna swallowed hard. “At the new orphanage.”
“A job? At an orphanage?” Mama wiped the sweat off her face with the back of her hand.
“The duke has given funds for a new orphanage and I saw a sign that they wanted girls to work there. I had an interview with Frau Taubman and I got the job,” Johanna blurted out.
Mama put her hands on her hips. “You applied for a job and did not tell me?”
“Mama, I wanted to. I truly did,” Johanna said. “But I didn’t think you would understand.”
“You are right. I do not.” Mama began to knead the dough again. Blue veins like roads going nowhere criss-crossed on the back of her hands. “Where is this orphanage?”
Johanna sat down on the chair opposite Mama. She avoided looking at her and drew circles in the flour with her finger instead.
“In the new part of the city. In the duke’s former summer house.”
Mama sighed. “It is well and good that the high and mighty duke will sponsor an orphanage.” Mama sighed again. “But it is not for you.” With every word, Mama pushed down on the dough.
“You should stay home like other girls your age. You should help me.” She looked at Johanna sharply. “Besides, you know very well they would never hire a Jewish girl to take care of their babies.” She frowned. “Unless … Unless …” She stopped kneading and lifted Johanna’s chin with a floured hand. “Did you lie about being Jewish?”
“Not exactly,” said Johanna, turning her head away and wiping her chin.
“Then what exactly? Johanna, look at me!”
“They asked me what my name was and —”
“And?”
Johanna could feel her face getting red. “I gave them a false name.”
Mama shook her head. “So, you lied.”
“But Mama,” said Johanna. “If I hadn’t, they wouldn’t have given me the job!”
Mama sat down hard on a chair and crossed her arms. “You know how dangerous that is! If you get caught …”
“Mama, I won’t. I’ll be careful!”
“But why did you do it?”
“I want to earn some money. I see how hard it is for you since … since Papa died.” She paused. “Besides, I want to be out in the world. I want to see new places, meet new people, learn new things.” Johanna stood up and gazed out the window.
“The world?” Mama shook her head. “The world is not a kind place for Jews.”
“I know, Mama,” said Johanna.
“I wonder if you do.” Mama took a handkerchief out of her apron pocket and blew her nose. “We are still being blamed for poisoning the wells, for spreading the plague, for …” She sighed and blew her nose again. “They can’t decide why they hate us. All I want is peace and security.”
Johanna walked over to Mama and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Please don’t b
e angry.”
Mama pulled away, stood up, and began kneading the dough again. “A respectable girl should stay home until she is married.”
“But Mama!”
“Not one more word,” said Mama, raising her hand. “You will contact this Frau …”
“Taubman.”
“This Frau Taubman and tell her it was a mistake; that you have changed your mind.”
“I can’t,” Johanna said.
“You must.”
“I’m sorry, Mama, but I intend to take this job — with or without your permission.”
Mama wagged her finger at Johanna. “You are stubborn,” she said. “Since you were a little girl, you have always been stubborn.”
“Not stubborn, Mama. Determined. There is a difference.”
Shaking her head, Mama muttered, “Stubborn. Like a mule.” She pounded the dough again and again, her knuckles pushing through to the wooden table top, her lips pressed tightly together. Finally, she shoved the dough into a pan, brushed melted butter on top, and threw a cloth over the pan. Johanna wondered if the poor dough would recover from its ordeal.
The following Saturday afternoon, Johanna and Mama were walking home from the house where some Jewish families gathered for prayers. What would it be like to go to a real synagogue, built only for study and prayer? Johanna wondered. Would it be easier to talk to God in such a place? Would He listen to our prayers then?
For many years, the Hamburg Senate had prohibited the Jews from building a synagogue. And now rumours were spreading that soon the Jews of Hamburg would no longer be allowed to practise their religion at all. Many of the wealthier Jews had already moved away — to Altona, Ottensen, and even as far as Amsterdam.
Lately, Johanna had been feeling as though a blanket of fear was suffocating her. She was afraid of being poor, and of being Jewish. For almost a hundred years, the leaders of the church had been demanding that the Senate expel the Jews. And for the past six years, the Jews had been forced to pay exorbitant fees for the privilege of staying in the city. Will a day come when we will be thrown out of Hamburg? Johanna wondered. Where will we go? What will we do? The thoughts buzzed in her head, like pesky flies she couldn’t shoo away. Questions without answers.
