by Sarah Rayne
It had seemed an ordinary evening at first. Leo had his supper as usual, Mother washed up the dishes, and Father worked on some school papers – Leo thought they were exercises from pupils in his father’s class at the school. Leo did not yet go to his father’s classes, which were for learning French and English, but his father had taught him a few phrases of both, because he said it was important to know about other lands and the way people in other countries spoke. That night, as he sat over his pupils’ homework, occasionally making tsk-ing sounds if he came across a mistake, Mother read a story to Leo, and it should have been an ordinary night, exactly like all the others. But it was not. There was something different, something frightening. Nothing you could see or hear, but a feeling that something was spinning a huge black spider’s web, and as if the threads were being spun closer and closer … As if the spider at the heart of the web had turned all of its eyes on to Leo and his parents and all their friends. When Leo thought about it afterwards, he realized the fear had been in his house – in everyone’s house – for a very long while. Once – no, it was more than once – he heard the grown-ups whispering and looking worried. One of them said something about ovens, and some of the women turned away, trying to hide that they were crying. People at school talked about the ovens, as well, doing so in a scared, whispering way, but Leo did not think anyone really knew what they were. Sophie Reiss said they might be like the oven in Hansel and Gretel, which the bad old witch had made roaring hot in order to roast children for her dinner, but Susannah, who was inclined to be more practical, said that was stupid, that people did not roast children and it was just a fairy story.
Leo knew Susannah was right, but he also knew that the grown-ups were very frightened indeed. Once, when his parents thought he was busy with his school work, his father said, ‘The ovens are being fed with thousands every day now.’ And Leo’s mother said, in a voice Leo had never heard her use before, ‘How long until they come for us?’
It was two nights after that when Leo’s father woke him up in the middle of the night and said he must get dressed in his warmest things, because they had to go on a journey, but Leo was not to be afraid, and everything was going to be quite all right.
Leo had never been woken up in the middle of the night and told he was going on a journey, and he although he was a bit afraid, he was also a lot excited, because this could be the start of an adventure, the kind of thing people did in books.
They had gone along to the church on the edge of the village, Leo holding tightly to his father’s hand on one side and his mother’s on the other. He was still a bit frightened, but this was starting to be an adventure all by itself, because he had never been inside the church – he had never been inside any church – but one of his friends at school knew someone who had, and he said churches were a bit like synagogues where you had to chant things and there was a priest, and music.
When they got to the church, Leo’s friends were all there. Sophie and Susannah came straight over to him; they were wearing their scarlet coats and mittens, and their cheeks were pink with excitement and apprehension. They had known he would come, said Susannah. They had felt his fear in their minds when he set off from his house.
This was the kind of thing the twins often said, so Leo did not bother to question it. He asked what was happening.
‘We don’t know,’ said Susannah. ‘Sophie thinks it might be something to do with the Ovens.’
‘What about the Ovens?’ asked Leo, but neither of the twins knew any more than Leo did about the Ovens, except that the grown-ups talked about them a lot and always seemed frightened of them.
A register was called, as it was in school, and they had to answer to their names, then go down some crumbly stairs to a long dark room under the church. Leo would have liked to stay in the real church and look round – there were carved bits of stones and beautiful tall windows with sparkly colours in them – but it seemed there was no time to do that, and anyway it was all in shadow and they must not put on any lights. Sophie and Susannah did not think there were any lights, on account of it being an old, old church where hardly anyone ever went.
The room under the church was cold and there were huge stone boxes with carvings on them, and stone figures lying on their lids. It smelled damp and musty, and the twins put their scarves over their mouths so they would not have to breathe in the smell.
‘Dead people,’ said Sophie. ‘But a long time ago.’
But then Leo’s mother, who was dreadfully pale, brought them all hot soup, and after that they did not notice the smell, and drinking soup in the middle of the night inside a church seemed part of the adventure.
They sat on the ground, on blankets and cushions, and waited to see what would happen next. Leo’s mother gave him a small canvas bag which, when he looked inside, he found had his best sweater, pyjamas, socks, toothbrush, and some pieces of jewellery and a silver box that had belonged to his grandmother. He had only the haziest memories of her, but he knew she was one of the people who had vanished, along with his grandfather. His mother had never talked about them, but once Leo had found her sitting on her bed, clutching their photographs and sobbing.
She was not exactly sobbing now, but her face had a white, hurt look. She hugged him and said he was to be a good and brave boy, to do whatever was asked of him, and to never forget that they loved him very much and always would. His father gave him a small package – something wrapped in layers of cloth. Leo unwrapped a bit of the cloth and saw it was one of the silver golems from the synagogue. He looked questioningly at his father, because the two golems at the synagogue were special things, even a bit magical, and no one was ever allowed to touch them.
‘Keep it safe and it will protect you,’ said Leo’s father, and although he was not exactly crying, his eyes were shiny and his voice was husky as if he might be getting a sore throat.
It was Sophie who suddenly sat up and looked towards the crumbly stairs as if she had heard something. Susannah looked as well, at exactly the same moment. They’ve heard something, thought Leo, his heart starting to thump. Or they’ve felt that something’s about to happen. Whatever it is, it isn’t good. As this thought formed, Sophie looked across at him, and shook her head. No, it isn’t good.
Moments later, Leo heard marching feet, and voices sounding sharp and angry, calling out. The grown-ups made signs to the children to be very quiet. ‘Like a game,’ said one of them, softly, but Leo thought they all knew it was not a game. He whispered to his father to ask if it was something to do with the Ovens, and his father looked at him in a startled way, then said, very quietly, ‘Pray it is not.’ The twins’ mother said something about the Angel of Death, and her face twisted as if she was going to cry. But she did not; she put her arms round Sophie and Susannah and hugged them very tightly to her.
Leo reached for the golem tucked inside his bag, and curled his hand firmly around it. It felt friendly and reassuring, and he fixed his eyes on the stair leading up to the church. The footsteps were louder now; they rang out sharply and in exact rhythm, like a fast-beating heart, and the voices were louder. Leo could not understand what they were saying, but some of the grown-ups pressed back into the shadowy corners as if wanting to hide. Leo discovered he was shivering, but he sat up very straight so no one would know.
It seemed a very long time before the marching footsteps and the voices faded, but eventually they did, and the adults looked at one another and smiled a bit shakily.
The twins’ mother was just pouring coffee for everyone from two large flasks, when the sound of new footsteps reached them – not the hard, frightening ones they had heard earlier, but soft, light steps. Before anyone realized it, a man was standing at the foot of the stairs, a faint shaft of silver moonlight falling over him like a thin cloak. Leo’s father said, ‘Schönbrunn. Oh, thanks be that you’ve reached us,’ and went forward to shake the stranger’s hand.
The man called Schönbrunn was thin-faced and dark-haired, and although
he was somehow very quiet-looking, once he stepped into the room, the clogging fear seemed to vanish, and everyone sat up and smiled and nodded. It’s going to be all right, thought Leo. Whatever was wrong is going to be put right. He’ll put it right.
Schönbrunn knelt down in front of Leo and the twins, and the other children, and held out his hand. There were still flecks of silver moonlight in his hair and his eyes.
‘Hello,’ said Schönbrunn. ‘I’m glad to meet you all.’ He smiled at Leo. ‘You’re the young man who can speak a little English,’ he said and, when Leo nodded, Schönbrunn said, ‘That’s very good indeed. That will be a great help to us.’ He looked at Sophie and Susannah then. ‘And you’re the Reiss twins.’ Leo thought he frowned slightly, as if somebody had suddenly given him a very difficult task, but he only said, ‘I’m particularly glad to find you here.’ He sat back on his heels, and looked at the other children, all huddled into a fearful little group. ‘We’re going away,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit of an adventure and you must promise to do everything I tell you. But it’ll just be ourselves – you’ll have to leave your parents for a time.’
Leo felt a surge of panic, because he knew that people sometimes vanished. You never saw them again, and no one ever said what had happened to them.
Then Schönbrunn said, ‘But one day you’ll see your parents and your friends here again, and for the moment I’m going to keep you safe.’ His eyes went to Sophie and Susannah again. ‘You must promise to do what I tell you,’ he said again, and Leo had the impression that he was talking solely to the twins now.
‘We promise,’ said the twins, speaking exactly together.
‘Leo?’
‘I promise as well.’
‘Good. Now, listen, after tonight, you must never trust anyone you don’t know,’ said Schönbrunn. ‘You are going to be looked after by people you can trust. But if anyone else – any grown-up you don’t know – should try to talk to you, or offer you a treat, or perhaps a ride in a car, you must refuse. Do you understand all that?’
‘Yes,’ said the twins, staring at him solemnly, and the other children nodded.
Schönbrunn smiled. ‘Don’t look so scared,’ he said. ‘It will be all right. I’m going to keep all of you safe.’ He moved slightly and the silver moonlight moved with him. ‘I always keep people safe,’ he said.
The time that followed was blurred, but even across the years, Leo could still see and feel the jolting of the carts that had taken them across land, and then the boats that had crossed a river, until finally they came to the sea. He would have found this exciting because he had never seen the sea before, but everything was confusing and frightening, and some of the others were crying and some were sick from the swell of the waves. Leo did not cry and he did not feel sick, and he did not let anyone know how frightened he was, because he thought his father would not have wanted that. And Sophie and Susannah were with him, which made things almost bearable. He thought Schönbrunn watched Sophie and Susannah a lot of the time.
Somewhere during that dark, confusing journey, Leo found out that the twins had been given the second silver golem from the synagogue. As Sophie said, it was like having a tiny piece of home with them.
‘And we’ve got one each.’
Both golems had been marked on the underside with the children’s initials. There was the Jewish S symbol on the twins’ – the horizontal line with three branches, and on Leo’s was the Lamed, the thick horizontal stroke with the upjutting line on the left and the downward tail on the right, for L.
It was Sophie who said, very softly, ‘Let’s swap.’
‘Should we?’ The golems were immensely special, and had to be treated with huge respect.
‘Yes, then it’ll link us forever,’ said Sophie.
‘We’d like that,’ said Susannah.
Leo said, ‘But you’ll always be linked to each other anyway.’
‘Yes, but we like to be linked to you, as well.’
‘Um, all right.’
Solemnly they unwrapped the two figures, and switched them over. As Leo carefully stowed the twins’ figure in his pocket, Susannah said, ‘It doesn’t need the golems to link us at all, really. We’ll always know if you’re not all right, or if you’re in trouble.’
‘And you’ll always know if we are, as well,’ said Sophie.
FIVE
Prague,
April 1943
Dear J.W.
I am deeply relieved that I can tell you the children have all reached England safely and are presently being cared for by various trustworthy organizations. Homes will be found for them with English people, and perhaps one day they can be reunited with their families.
We have lost too many of our people to the gas chambers and I’m afraid we shall continue to do so, but at least we are saving some of our children.
M.B.
The School House,
April 1943
Dear M.B.
Your message brought more joy and relief to everyone here than I can convey. We can never be sufficiently grateful to Schönbrunn.
If you are able to let us know where the children are, it would give all the parents so much comfort.
J.W.
When the children reached England, they had to separate and go to different places. Several of them cried, but Leo and the twins managed not to. They clung to one another though, and Sophie said they would not say goodbye, because it was a forever kind of word. Susannah said they would all soon be going home anyway. Schönbrunn had promised that.
‘And we’ll always know if there’s anything wrong,’ said Sophie.
‘I’ll know, as well,’ said Leo, and hoped this was true.
Leo was taken to a place called Willow Bank Farm in England, which was owned by a brother and sister called Hurst. Simeon Hurst and Miss Mildred Hurst.
‘They’re good people,’ Schönbrunn said. ‘They’re one of a number of families who are prepared to give a home to children like you. I think you’ll be all right here, Leo.’ He knelt down and took Leo’s hands in his. ‘And you’ll be safe,’ he said. ‘That’s why your parents wanted you to come here. To be safe.’
‘From the Ovens.’
Schönbrunn’s eyes flickered, but he said, ‘Yes, you’re quite safe from those, Leo.’ He stood up. ‘I think your friends, the twins, will be living quite near, so you’ll most likely see them. Will that help?’
‘Oh yes.’ Leo would put up with a good deal if Sophie and Susannah were nearby.
Willow Bank Farm was not like anywhere he had ever known. There were fields and animals, and the farmhouse smelled of cabbage and carbolic. The chairs were not very comfortable and the table where they ate their meals was a bare, scrubbed one, not like the glossy one at home, which Leo’s mother polished every week. Each night, after supper, Mr Hurst read the Bible to them, Miss Hurst nodding in approval over her mending basket. Leo had never seen a Bible before and he did not understand many of the words in it.
His room was at the top of the house, looking across fields and trees. There was a place to hang the few things he had been able to bring with him, and a shelf for books. A kind of picture with words in sewing hung over his bed. He knelt on his bed and traced the words with one finger, trying to understand them, but his English was not enough.
At first he put the silver golem on the window ledge by his bed, because it would look after him and he liked to wake up in the morning and see it there. But the Hursts were horrified; they said it was a heathen image and not something that could be on display. Leo managed to understand most of this, although he had no idea what a heathen image was. He explained, as well as he could, that the golem was a piece of home – of his family – and he must keep it. He was allowed to put it in a drawer in his room, but each night, after the Hursts had gone to bed, he set it on the window ledge, so that it would not feel shut away, and so that Leo would know it was looking after him. He always made sure to put it back in the drawer before breakfast, and he su
pposed this was a bit deceitful, but he could not help it. He wondered if the twins were allowed to have their silver golem in their bedroom, or if they, too, had been told it was a heathen image.
On Sundays the farmhouse smelled of boiled mutton – occasionally roast lamb, although that was rare and was generally accompanied by Farmer Hurst’s talks about how sacrifices to the Lord must be without blemish. This precept, however, did not appear to apply to the more elderly sheep of Willow Bank’s flock, whose flesh found its stringy way on to the dinner table more frequently than any other dish. Leo, obediently eating whatever was put in front of him, thought that when he was home he would never eat mutton again.
Mr Hurst tilled the land and saw to the sheep and oversaw the labourers who worked for him. Miss Hurst looked after the house and cooked and cleaned, which she did very thoroughly, because cleanliness was next to godliness. When she was not cooking or cleaning, she was at church.
Leo was taken to church and to something called Sunday School. He was made to learn prayers and told to always speak English, and he was pulled into a culture he had not previously known existed. It was bewildering and desperately lonely, but his father had said he must do whatever he was told, and Schönbrunn had said it would not be for very long. Leo trusted his father and he trusted Schönbrunn, so he tried to do all the things expected of him, and he did his best to learn English. He seemed to be quite good at this, and he discovered that he liked learning new words and trying them out.
