When the World Was Ours

by Liz Kessler

  The headmaster, Mr Salisbury, was outside directing us to the shelters. They’d only been built two years ago, especially for us in case there was an actual raid while we were at school.

  ‘Is it real or a drill, sir?’ a boy from another class asked as we passed him.

  ‘It’s a drill this time,’ he answered. ‘But remember, we treat it exactly the same as we would if it were real.’

  I hurried across the yard with my classmates, then down a narrow tunnel and into the underground cave where we would spend at least the rest of the lesson. The longest we’d had to spend in there was two hours. That was the one time it was real.

  ‘What are you doing at the weekend?’ Daniel asked as we squashed together on the concrete bench.

  I shrugged. ‘Helping Mum, I guess.’

  We’d moved out of the Stewarts’ house last year. Mama – or ‘Mum’ as I called her in front of my friends – had said we couldn’t abuse their kindness any longer, especially now that the war and rationing meant things were tough for all of us. We’d been living with them for over a year so it was quite a change – but she was right. It was time we started to be independent.

  She’d found a tiny flat for us. She had the bedroom, I slept on a sofa in the lounge. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it was our own place.

  The wallpaper was about fifty years old and peeling off, and when we moved in Mr Stewart had said that we had to replace it.

  Mama had laughed. ‘Where do you expect me to get wallpaper?’ she asked. ‘It’s hard enough to find butter for my bread and sugar for my tea nowadays. Wallpaper is a luxury I don’t expect to find until the war is over!’

  Mr Stewart had frowned. ‘I’ll find you some,’ he’d said. ‘I’m not letting you live like this. My wife would not forgive me.’

  It took a while but he’d been true to his word and just last week he’d brought round three rolls of wallpaper with big green and blue flowers on it. I’d promised Mama I would help put it up this weekend.

  ‘Too bad,’ Daniel said to me now. ‘Rory says he’s going to take us to the cinema.’

  Rory was the American soldier Daniel’s older sister Maddy had started going out with. It had pretty much made Daniel the most popular boy in the class. Rory was always bringing Daniel’s family things that were nearly impossible to find now. Coffee, evaporated milk; last week he’d even brought them sugar and Daniel’s mum had made a cake with it. Daniel brought a piece into school for me. It wasn’t a patch on the Sachertorte Mama used to make but compared to the basic food we had to eat now it was heavenly!

  But the cinema! That was a special treat. ‘What film are you going to see?’

  ‘Bambi.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Daniel pulled a face. ‘It’s about a baby deer and his friends. Sounds like a kids’ film really. It’s on in the morning.’

  ‘Really? Okay, I’ll see if Mum will agree to start wallpapering in the afternoon. Count me in!’

  The next day, I finished off my breakfast, cleared my plate and went over to say goodbye to Mama. ‘You sure you’re all right with me going out?’ I asked.

  She patted my hand. ‘Of course, darling. I’ll make something nice for lunch, and then we’ll get started this afternoon.’

  I kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Mama.’

  Daniel was in the queue at the cinema with his sister and Rory. I went over to join them. ‘Oi!’ someone said pointedly from behind us as I shuffled into the queue.

  I turned around to see two girls I vaguely recognized from school. The one who’d spoken had long blonde hair and big green eyes which she fixed on me. ‘That’s pushing in!’ she said. The other girl pulled her dark hair over her face and blushed as I glanced at her.

  ‘I – I’m really sorry,’ I said to them both. ‘I’ll go to the back if you like.’

  The blonde girl shrugged. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, a twinkle in her eye. ‘We just wanted to get your attention. Been trying for weeks.’ Then she nudged her friend. ‘Haven’t we, Annie?’

  Annie’s face flushed an even deeper shade of red as she looked at me from under her fringe. Her eyes were dark brown, and she turned them away from me too quickly. I wanted her to look at me again. My mouth had gone dry and all the words I knew seemed to have deserted me.

  ‘Why don’t you ladies join us?’ Rory burst in, smiling his smooth, wide smile that I was pretty sure all the girls loved as much as his US army uniform. ‘I’ll treat you, to make up for my friend here queue-jumping. Sit with us.’

  They gave each other a quick look, like they were speaking a secret language that only girls understood. Something about the movement reminded me of Elsa. The sharing of secrets, the sweetness of the smiles, the idea of being close to a girl again. I found myself holding my breath while I waited for them to reply.

  Then, with another shrug and in a voice that was probably meant to sound casual but didn’t fool anyone, the blonde girl said, ‘Sure. Why not?’

  As we shuffled along in the queue, I soon realized that Annie was walking along next to me. ‘I’m Leo,’ I said awkwardly.

  ‘I’m Annie,’ she said.

  I reached out to shake her hand. ‘Hi,’ I mumbled.

  She looked at my hand and, with a soft laugh, reached out and shook it.

  I wanted to keep holding her hand, but the moment passed and soon we were at the front of the line and then we were inside in the darkness – and I found I could barely breathe as she sat down next to me.

  I barely watched the film. All I knew was that every now and then, I could feel Annie’s arm brushing mine. One time, we both had our hands on the armrest and I could feel the back of her fingers against mine. I didn’t move a muscle. I’m not sure I even breathed for a few minutes.

  ‘I – I’ll see you at school,’ I said when we parted after the film.

  Annie smiled at me. ‘I hope so,’ she replied and my heart leaped out of my body, twirled around a lamppost a few times and jumped back in again.

  Daniel ribbed me about it all the way home. ‘Leo’s got a girlfriend, Leo’s got a girlfriend,’ he sang.

  Rory and Maddy laughed. ‘Leave him alone,’ Maddy said.

  But I didn’t mind. It wasn’t like the days when the boys called me names that made me feel like crawling into a ball. This was being teased by my friend and I was too full of happiness to care. And besides, I quite liked the idea that Annie might possibly be my girlfriend.

  I got home and let myself into the flat.

  Mama was standing in the middle of the kitchen and there were scraps of wallpaper in her hair and all over the floor, the chairs – everywhere but on the walls, it seemed.

  She turned to face me, a wire brush in her hand, and smiled. ‘I’ve made a start,’ she said.

  I rolled up my sleeves. ‘I’ll join you,’ I said.

  ‘Let’s have lunch first. You can tell me all about the film and then we’ll get stuck in.’

  I told her as much as I could remember about the film. I didn’t mention anything else, though. I wouldn’t have known how to put it into words.

  After lunch, I put on my scruffiest clothes and joined Mama in the kitchen. We worked all afternoon and into the evening, chatting and laughing and scraping and scrubbing at the walls.

  I think it was the best day I’d had since we’d come to England.

  As the room began to darken, we stopped working and cleared a space on the table. Mama lit a special candle and said the Havdalah prayer for the end of Shabbat. Then she kissed me on the cheek.

  Our Saturdays were so different now – almost indistinguishable from any other day. But still, the Havdalah prayer reminded me where we’d come from, and who we still were. And those things would never change.

  It was still early for dinner. ‘Shall we do a bit more before we eat?’ I asked.

  ‘If you’re happy to. Let’s have a little music while we work, shall we?’ Mama switched on the radio and we got back to our work, humming along with s
ome of the tunes.

  When Vera Lynn came on, Mama stopped humming, stopped scraping and sat down in one of the chairs, now randomly placed in the middle of the room and covered in bits of wallpaper.

  ‘We’ll meet again…’ Vera Lynn sang.

  ‘Don’t know where, don’t know when,’ Mama sang along with her. Suddenly, her voice cracked and her shoulders started shaking as she dropped her head.

  I stopped scraping and went over to her. Her eyes were red, lines of tears carving wet trails through the wallpaper dust on her cheeks.

  Seeing her upset made me want to cry, too, and the joy of my day dissolved at her tears, and at the cause of them – the fact that Papa wasn’t here. More than anything, I wanted to sob my heart out, wail like a child, have her comfort me and tell me everything was going to be all right.

  And then I remembered what Papa had said to me. I found it harder and harder to fully remember his face now, but his words from the dark day when they took him away had never left me.

  You are the man of the house now. You look after your mother. You hear me? You promise me?

  I put my wire brush on the floor and crouched down in front of Mama, reaching out to lift her chin.

  ‘Mama,’ I said. She looked at me through damp, dark eyes. ‘We will see Papa again. I promise you.’

  ‘I just miss him so much,’ she said. ‘I can’t bear it. Never knowing where he is, what has become of him. I try not to think the worst but—’

  ‘No.’ I stopped her. ‘We must never think like that. One day Papa will walk into this place and he’ll say, “What on earth is that crooked paper you have all over the walls?” and then you will dance together in this very kitchen.’

  Mama laughed softly. ‘My darling boy, I hope and pray you are right.’

  I wiped her cheek with my thumb. ‘I am, Mama. I promise you.’

  She clutched my hand. ‘You are such a good boy,’ she said. Then she shook her head. ‘No. You are such a good man. My wonderful young man. The best thing in my life.’

  I reached out to put my arms around her waist. She leaned her head against me and stroked my hair.

  And behind us, Vera Lynn sang out.

  ‘Keep smiling through, just like you always do… I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.’

  ELSA

  I’m riding in some sort of train carriage. I know I’ve been here before but I can’t remember when. I’m packed in with so many people that I can barely breathe. It all feels familiar. So familiar. But then the carriage rises from its tracks, climbing up into the air, and the doors open and we look out over the city.

  Max and Leo are with me. Their bodies on either side of me keep me warm. Our friendship wraps me in a bubble of happiness.

  ‘Elsa!’

  At the sound of my name, Max and Leo are suddenly moving away.

  No! Don’t go. Stay close to me. Keep me warm. Don’t leave me!

  Someone is shaking me. ‘Elsa!’ The voice is insistent. ‘Elsa, wake up!’

  And then I realize. I’ve been dreaming.

  The disappointment is so crushing it feels like an actual weight on my body. Max and Leo aren’t here at all. They haven’t been here for longer than I can remember. Their existence itself feels like a dream. I don’t want to open my eyes.

  ‘Elsa, you have to get up. They’ll be here for roll call soon.’

  Eventually, I force myself to open my eyes. Mutti’s face is inches away from mine. ‘Elsa, please.’ Her voice is feverish. ‘There is another transport today. In the night, three women in our block received a summons. We can’t give them any reason to add us to the list.’

  ‘Mutti, I’m sorry. I’m up, I promise.’

  I pull the thin rag that passes for a blanket off my body and swing my legs round to get off the bunk. I barely notice the aches and pains that come from a night of sleeping on such an uncomfortable bed. After nearly a year at Theresienstadt, I am used to the aches and mostly they are the least of my troubles.

  I have no memories of a time before this – in my waking hours, anyway.

  I don’t remember nights before these ones, during which Mutti and I share a bunk bed so narrow that if one of us wants to turn over in the night the other must mirror their movements or risk falling on to the floor.

  I don’t remember ever having anything over my body at night other than a blanket that’s so dirty I have no idea what colour it was before this murky grey, and so torn that the holes take up more space than the material itself.

  I don’t remember a time when my thoughts involved more than wondering if I will find enough to eat so that my stomach won’t growl and cramp and buckle all day long.

  Is it any wonder I prefer to dream?

  We join the others outside in the square.

  Greta finds me and she and her mother stand with us.

  ‘Okay?’ Greta asks, stroking my hair like she always does.

  I smile softly at her. ‘Okay,’ I reply and reach out to squeeze her hand. ‘You?’

  ‘Better now,’ she says, squeezing my hand back.

  As always, I search around for Vati and Otto. We haven’t seen them for over a week. The men’s camps are quite close, really. But they might as well be on another continent for all the chance we have of seeing them.

  Yesterday, two men were caught sending letters to their wives. The soldiers told us they would be punished today.

  We are all here, standing in the cold, waiting for the daily orders, when the men are dragged out in front of us.

  ‘See this?’ a guard shouts. ‘This is how we treat those who think they are cleverer than us!’

  And then he pulls out a huge whip. He orders one of the men to bend down.

  The man is crying. ‘Please. Please, no.’ His hands are held together in prayer. He kneels at the guard’s feet. ‘I beg you.’

  In reply, the guard kicks him in the stomach so hard that the man almost flies through the air and lands on his side. The guard kicks him again so that the man flops over on to his front, his face in the dirt.

  And then he uses the whip on him.

  The other guard holds on to the second man and screams at us, ‘Anyone who looks away will face the same punishment!’

  No one looks away. A couple of people are sick on the ground right in front of where they stand. I bunch my fist into my mouth to make sure that doesn’t happen to me.

  When you live on one bowl of thin soup a day, you need to keep it all down.

  Luckily for me, Mutti is one of the kitchen helpers which means that sometimes she manages to sneak away some kind of treasure. Last week she came to the barracks with a whole potato! We could hardly believe it. She cut it into six portions and shared it with the women in our corner of the barrack.

  I made my portion last two whole days. And that included giving half of it to Greta.

  Greta is my lifeline. I don’t think I could survive here without her. We don’t play like we used to. We don’t gossip and tease each other. But we still talk. We still dream. We still pretend to plan a life after this. We still smile. We smile sometimes.

  We made a rule a few weeks ago. Every day we have to find something good to say. Every single day, something new. We have managed it so far. I try to recall at least five of them each day and I say them to myself whenever the guards shout at us.

  It feels like a rebellion.

  I do it now, as the guards whip the two men. But it doesn’t feel like rebellion today. Rebellion feels far too ambitious an idea. It feels like survival.

  I fill my mind as much as I can, trying to drown out the sounds of the men’s screams.

  One: The potato. The thought of it makes my mouth water, even now.

  Two: I have Mutti, we are together.

  Three: I have Greta. That’s two people who love me, who I see every single day. It’s more than most people have now.

  Four: We heard from Vati and Otto last week, so I know that they are still here, and still alive – or at least they were a
week ago.

  One of the men who runs the kitchen fought alongside Vati on the Czech front. I think he and Vati are like Greta and me: they will do anything they can to help each other. He’s called Kem. He’s in here because he is from the Roma community: the only people treated as badly as the Jews.

  Kem risked his life to bring a note from Vati. He managed to pass it to Mutti while she was preparing the soup.

  Otto and I are fine. Stay strong. Love you always.

  We couldn’t keep the note, of course. Mutti wanted to. I had to prise it out of her hand.

  I went outside and stamped it into the mud, my heart thumping so hard I thought it might beat straight out of my chest. It wouldn’t surprise me if that were possible. I have so little flesh covering me that my ribs stick out like a carcass of an animal that has been picked dry by predators.

  But now, here, as I fill my mind with everything I can to block out the screams, I thank whatever God I desperately try to persuade myself might exist that I forced Mutti to let me throw Vati’s note away.

  It could be him in front of us now.

  The bile rises with that thought and I drag my list of good things back to my mind.

  Five: Thereza.

  Thereza is our cat. Mine and Greta’s. She isn’t as friendly as Felix and we don’t see her as often, but she is always around somewhere.

  We named her after – well, it’s not hard to see what she was named after. Theresienstadt: our holiday home, our model village, our place of safety where no one will harm us!

  Did we ever believe those lies? The lies they fed us before we came here and the lies they still spin to the world out there. There are tiny parts of this place that look almost like a holiday camp. Whenever anyone comes to inspect, that is where they take them. That is what they show the world. See, this is how we treat the Jews. We’re doing nothing wrong. They are happy here.

  Everything about this place is a lie.

  After Mutti and Greta, Thereza is the best thing about life here. She sneaks through the barracks, up and down the lanes, jumping over the walls in a way that makes my heart hurt with jealousy.