“Ist das deine Uhr?” Slim asked, pointing to the watch with the heart face.
Jansky yanked her wrist away and left quickly. The watch was the one Lena had given Jansky for information about Karol. Slim was sure of it. Odds were, Karol would be joining Heinze for dinner. The dinner was probably designed to show her how happy the boy was and discourage her from trying to save him. How could she rescue him? She was bolted into this fortress. Slim walked over to the window and looked at the long footbridge connecting the grounds of the castle to the other side of the mountain. It seemed shrouded in the clouds. Perhaps she could convince the boy to come with her, but how? She understood a little German but not enough to explain why she was there.
At 7 on the dot, Slim followed Jansky through a wood-paneled anteroom on the third floor into the dining room within the private apartments of Mad King Ludwig. Covered in murals and framed by oak paneling, Slim nearly tripped on the carpet leading to the small dining table.
Heinze stood up and greeted her. Dressed in a crisp white shirt with a black tie and black pants, he cut a dashing figure. He rang a bell and through a massive wooden side door, a teenage boy entered. With close-cropped blonde hair and almost six feet tall, he looked every inch a member of the Hitlerjugen. He bowed slightly to Slim, then saluted his father with his arm raised forward. But instead of saying, ‘Heil Hitler.’ he said, ‘Heil Deutschland!’ They both waited for her to sit down. Then Heinze and his son followed suit.
Anneliese Jansky brought in the first course, soup. Slim gobbled it up. She was hungrier than she had realized.
“Karl knows why you are here. You may ask him any question you want; I will decide whether I will convey the question to him. If I feel that your presence is disruptive in any way, you will be asked to leave. Is that understood?” Heinze asked.
“Yes, of course. My first question is: does Karol — I mean Karl — remember Poland or his mother?” Slim asked curiously.
After the question was conveyed, Karol answered it without making eye contact with Slim. “Nein, Herr Vater.”
“I am curious. What was it like to be one of the last people to see the Führer alive?” Slim asked.
Heinze hesitated and then asked Karol. Slim saw a brief flicker of fear and surprise cross Karol’s face. Heinze said something to Karol sharply. The boy quickly regained his composure and replied.
“He says it was a great honor,” Heinze said.
“Why did you get to meet the Führer?” Slim asked.
The boy looked down at his soup. His left eye had started to twitch. Then his hand began to shake and knocked over a glass of milk in front of him. He bent down and hurriedly tried to mop up the spill. For a brief second, Slim could see bruises on Karl’s neck.
“Fräulein Jansky!” Heinze shouted. Jansky appeared within seconds and mopped up the spill.
“Now enough questions. Let us eat. Fräulein Jansky has prepared a wonderful meal for us.” Heinze said regaining his composure. Karl put a fresh napkin in his lap.
They ate in mostly silence, with Slim asking a question here and there. At the end of the meal, the boy stood up and bowed slightly, excusing himself. Slim held out her hand, “It was nice meeting you Karl,” she said. He looked at her hand and then looked at Heinze who nodded. He took her hand. Slim pulled him close and whispered, “Ich werde dir helfen” She kissed him quickly as she placed something in his hand.
Startled, the boy drew away and pocketed what Slim had given him. He saluted Heinze and left.
“You have a marvelous boy,” Slim said.
“When we release you, please tell his mother he is fine,” Heinze said with a smile.
“Are you going to start the Fourth Reich in Argentina?”
“Tomorrow we are leaving for Argentina. We will take with us the two tons of gold bars stored here during the war. With boys like Karl, we will make the Fourth Reich invincible.”
✽✽✽
When Slim arrived back to her room, she stared out the window. In one of her father’s early swashbuckling movies, The Adventures of Count Jim, he had played a nobleman imprisoned in a castle by his uncle. She thought about Count Jim’s perilous escape. There was no way she could climb out the window and scale down a wall. She had to rescue the boy somehow. The bruises on his neck were the marks of a sadist. She was sure the boy was being horribly abused.
Slim sat down on her bed and waited for the knock she knew would come.
At three in the morning the knock came and the door opened. The boy stood there fully dressed with a rucksack slung over his shoulder. He walked over to Slim and opened his hand, revealing the small metal soldier Slim had given him, then pointed to himself, “Itzhak, mein name Itzhak.”
He pulled from his pocket a tiny square of paper and unfolded it. It was a map of Neuschwanstein. Each part of the building contained a number. He pointed to the top level (6) “Mein Zimmer. Das Zimmer meines Herr Vaters,” and then he pointed to level four and then at Slim and said, “Hier.”
He traced his finger along the fourth level until he reached a circle and made his fingers walk down a pretend flight of stairs. Slim nodded. He motioned for her to follow him. The boy walked over to a panel on the other side of the room and pressed a button. A door snapped open. He led her through it into an anteroom. She followed him down a long unadorned brick hall. In the dark, she heard their footfalls on the winding stairs.
Then she heard a yell. It sounded like Jansky. Shouts came from everywhere; dogs barked. The boy looked at Slim, petrified. She grabbed his hand and led the way to the bottom of the stairs through another corridor. Slim was about to run out into a courtyard, but the boy stopped her and pulled her down several more flights of twisty stairs until they came to what Slim recognized from the boy’s handwritten map: the donjon wall. He grabbed her hand tightly and they began to run. Floodlights lit up the skies above. They turned right as they left the castle and ran into the forest. It was a smart move. The dense trees would provide cover, making them less likely to be lit up by the spotlight. The boy sprinted, leaving Slim behind. She heard the faint barking of the dogs behind her. Scared, Slim picked up the pace and caught up to the boy. She paused. The terrain was growing rockier and more treacherous. Sensing her exhaustion, the boy held out his hand, which Slim readily took. He guided her through the rocks until they came to the beginning of the long footbridge connecting the castle to the other side of the mountain. Slim hesitated and looked down. Her knees buckled. The boy waved her on, but she could not move. The sound of the dogs grew close. What was she to do? She thought of Tiny; her baby needed her mother. She willed her legs to move, but still they would not. Then her father’s voice came to her. She had once asked him how he was able to perform the sword fighting scene on a shaky bridge above a waterfall when he had such a fear of heights. Tyrone Moran looked at her and said, “The key is not to look down. Pretend there is sidewalk under your feet.”
Later Slim learned a stuntman had performed the scene. Still, it was sound advice even if the giver had never used it.
Slim jutted out her chin and began to follow the boy. They were nearly halfway there when a bright spotlight suddenly clicked on, illuminating them.
“Slim!” a voice called out.
Slim looked at the end of the bridge and saw Pasha holding a gun.
“Run to me, both of you!” Pasha said urgently.
“Where are you taking the boy?” Heinze’s voice shouted over a megaphone. “Karl, komm her!”
Slim saw Karl turn and look at Heinze. She saw such a look of fear on Karl’s face that she knew the dinner had been one big acting job.
Pasha waved them towards where he stood.
“Fräulein Moran, if you keep walking, I will shoot you,” Heinze said. “I want my son back.”
The boy looked at Pasha and then at the distant figure of Heinze.
“You do not want the boy. He is not your son. He will never be your son,” Slim said loudly, startling the boy.
“He i
s my son. He is coming with me to Argentina,” Heinze shouted.
“His birth father was a Jew,” Slim said as she stood in front of Karl, protecting him. She whispered in the boy’s ear, “Lauf, Lauf!”
The boy hesitated.
“You are mistaken,” Heinze said. “His mother was Polish and ….”
“And there is not a father listed on his birth certificate because his father is a Jew,” Slim shouted back.
“You are lying,” Heinze said, this time a bit less confident.
“His name is Itzhak Rosenberg,” Slim said. “Ask Karl his real name.”
There was a long pause. Finally, Heinze asked, “Heisst du Itzhak Rosenberg?”
“Ja, Herr Vater. Mein Name ist Itzhak Rosenberg,” the boy shouted.
“Du hast mich belogen!” Heinze shouted.
The boy did not answer.
“Gib mir den Buben,” Pasha shouted to Heinze.
“Nein, ich werden ihn umbringen,” Heinze said, raising his revolver to fire.
“Duck Slim! Pull the boy down!” Pasha yelled as he fired at Heinze.
Slim pulled the boy down and covered him with her body. From the corner of her eye, she saw Heinze shot in the right shoulder. Heinze fired back. Pasha let out a yell for them to stay down as he emptied his gun. Slim felt a bullet graze her shoulder. Then she saw Heinze fall over the bridge into the gorge below. Slim held the boy, who laid oddly still. At first she was worried the boy was hit. Then she realized he was in a state of shock. Pasha ran over followed by two other men.
“Pasha, the boy cannot move,” Slim said as Pasha helped her to her feet.
Pasha waved his men to the boy. “Jones, help him up, and Michaels, go find whoever else is in the castle.”
“Anneliese Jansky, the secretary from Laakirchen, is in the house,” Slim said. “Get that gold watch off of her; it belongs to the boy’s mother.”
✽✽✽
An hour later, they were sitting in the large kitchen of the castle. Slim was sipping cognac and the boy, a mug of hot chocolate, toying with the metal soldier she had given him.
“How did you find me?” Slim asked Pasha.
“I went back to get you, and I saw you being led away by Hans. I tried to follow you, but lost you in the crowd,” Pasha said.
“Then I assume you found Hans,” Slim said.
“Yes, and do not ask what happened to him,” Pasha said. “Does the boy know Lena is his real mother?”
“No, I will leave that to her to explain,” Slim said. “He has been through so much. Please tell him that we are flying tomorrow and he will meet Lena in Paris. We will send a telegram when we get back to Munich.”
Pasha relayed this. The boy’s eyes grew bright. He wiped away tears. He asked a question in German, and Pasha replied, nodding.
“He is surprised Lena is alive,” Pasha said.
“What will happen to Anneliese Jansky?” Slim asked.
“Probably nothing,” Pasha said and then took out a watch from his pocket. “You can give this back to Lena.”
The boy began nodding off.
“Let’s get him in the car and drive back to Munich. We’ll leave early in the morning for Paris,” Pasha said.
“Yes. Then I will take a plane to London to pick up Tiny and her nanny,” Slim said. “Look, Pasha…”
“Slim, darling,” he began, “I had this fantasy that you and I could be a domestic couple raising our children together, but there is nothing domestic about either one of us.”
Slim laughed and said, “I do love you, Pasha.”
“My darling Slim, whatever you need I will always be here for you. Now, I have some news about Daniel.”
“What news?” Slim asked.
“The lead I thought I had is a dead end. We have no idea where Daniel is. I looked everywhere. I am sorry.”
Slim picked up his hand and kissed it, “I believe you. Now, let us get this tired boy back to Munich and to Lena.”
Pasha had one of his men lift the boy up and carry him out. She had found the lost boy, but now it was time for him to find out the truth about his parentage.
Chapter fourteen
1950 — Paris
They arrived at the café mid-afternoon the next day. Not much had changed. Françoise was barking out orders for the evening’s dance party to Remy.
“We are having a dance contest,” Françoise said.
“Of course you are,” Slim replied.
Lena was waiting for her son at one of the tables. Next to her was a man whom Slim did not recognize.
“Itzhak!” Lena yelled. She ran over to him and embraced him. The boy returned the embrace.
The man walked over to Slim, “I am Emil Rosenberg. I am Itzhak's father. Thank you for finding him.”
Lena released the boy and then introduced him to Emil. Karl shook the man’s hand, looked at him inquisitively and then said something shyly.
“He says that he wants to be called Karl,” Emil said with uncertainty.
“That’s the name he’s used to,” Slim said.
Slim handed the gold watch to Lena, who took it. Lena said something to Emil in Polish.
“Lena says she cannot believe you found this,” Emil said, smiling.
Slim laughed and said, “It wasn’t easy.”
“No, I cannot imagine it was,” he replied.
“How do you think he will react to finding out that you are his real father?” Slim asked.
“I do not know. Karl has gone through so much, I can only pray that I can be the father he needs me to be,” Emil said.
“And Lena?” Slim asked, noticing the wedding ring on Emil’s hand.
“She knows that I am married. We were very young when we had our affair. I will do everything in my power to support her and my son and to make sure they are happy in Chicago.” He wiped tears from his face. “I don’t know how you found him. I am sure it was not easy, but I spent years thinking everyone in Poland had perished. To see them both, it is truly a sign that God exists. Please tell me what I owe you and I will write you a check before I leave.”
“That has already been taken care of by a friend. Mr. Rosenberg, there is something you should know about your son. Can you come upstairs to my office for a minute?” Slim asked.
“Of course,” Emil said and then turned around to Lena and Karl. He said something to both of them. Lena barely heard, but Slim could see the worry on Karl’s face.
They walked up the flight of stairs making small talk. Once Emil was seated in her office, she shut the door and took out an envelope.
“Look, I do not know how to say this, so I am just going to say it,” Slim said.
“If it is about my brother and his wife, I already know they were executed in the square. Lena told me,” Emil said somberly.
“There is something you should know about Karl. I wish I could keep the truth from you, but you will eventually find this out.”
Slim opened an envelope and pulled out the photo of the boy with Hitler. She slid it over to Emil.
“What is this?” Emil asked, dumbfounded.
“On April 20, Hitler emerged on his birthday to greet members of the Hitlerjugend to award them Iron Crosses. Your son was one of those boys.” She pointed to the boy being patted on the shoulder by Hitler.
Emil stared at the photo and then finally said, “Lena told me that Itzhak-Karl was kidnapped and taken to Germany to be Germanized and adopted. I never imagined…How did this happen? I mean this picture?”
“Karl was adopted from a Lebensborn home by a high-ranking Nazi who took him to the Waffen SS garrison in Dachau. Somehow, he wound up fighting for the 12th Panzer Division. Everything else is sketchy. From what I can tell, the boy was physically and mentally abused by his adoptive father, who is now dead.”
“Are you telling me that my son is a Nazi?” Emil said incredulously.
“Yes, but not by choice, Mr. Rosenberg.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that he was a Nazi. I can
’t take him back to America. I don’t know if I want anything to do with him.”
Slim got up and opened her door. Remy was mopping the stairs outside.
“Remy, bring me Lena’s boy, please,” Slim said.
Moments later, Karl walked in. He saw the photo in Emil’s hands and lunged for it. When he wrenched it free from Emil, Karl tore it into pieces, and yelled, “Ich bin das nicht! Nein! Nein! Nein!”
“It is him. I want nothing to do with him. The likes of him killed my brother and his wife,” Emil said with disgust.
The boy whispered something Slim did not hear.
“What did he say?” Slim asked.
“He needs to tell us what happened. I don’t care,” Emil said. He got up and went to the door. The boy began to sob violently.
“You will listen to him. You owe that to him. Karl, komm her,” Slim commanded. The boy went to Slim. She looked him in the eye and mimed him taking off his shirt. Emil looked on, confused.
“What are you doing?” Emil asked.
Karl pulled off his shirt leaving only his undershirt. His lower neck and back were bruised with hand marks. But was most telling were the scars on his abdomen.
“What happened to him?” Emil asked, shocked.
“What happened to him, is that you left him in Poland. You got your family’s maid pregnant and hightailed it to Chicago. Your son did what he needed to do to survive. This is your child, if you do not want to take him, I will make sure that he and his mother Lena have a good life here in Paris, but before you decide, you must hear his story. Sit down. This boy is more of a man than you will ever be.” Slim knew she sounded harsh, but she was disgusted by Emil’s behavior. Karl pulled on his shirt and began to speak. Emil translated.
“He says his Polish is rusty, but he does remember words. He will tell the story in German and Polish. I will translate as much as I can,” Emil said, sitting down and taking out a cigarette. He offered one to Slim who shook her head no, but Karl held his hand out. A bit startled, Emil gave him one. Emil lit both of their cigarettes.
Lena came to the door and softly knocked. She looked inside the room curiously.
The Lost Boy Page 20
