by Susan Ross
The Connecticut Helping Home for Seniors was a short brick building surrounded by a parking lot overlooking the highway. A rusted link fence encircled the asphalt. There were no trees or grass.
“Do you think this is it?” Mom asked as she parked next to a pair of abandoned hubcaps.
“It looks like a bus station.” Charlie looked around cautiously.
Charlie could barely keep up as Mom got out of the car and barreled through the entrance to the reception desk. The hallway walls were white and bare; there wasn’t any marble tile or soft mauve couches like the ones at Clover Manor where Nana Rose lived.
A sign stuck on a metal post blocked their way: ALL VISITORS MUST BE ANNOUNCED.
“Hello there!” Mom said in a cheery voice to the young woman sitting behind the desk.
The receptionist peered at them through shaded glasses. She was wearing orange button earrings, and her blond hair was poufed on top of her head. “Can I help you?”
“We’re here to see Dr. Nathan Kulka.” Mom’s voice sounded uncomfortably loud, Charlie thought.
“Oh, that’s good. Dr. Kulka doesn’t get too many visitors. Hardly any.” The woman picked up the phone on her desk. “He is expecting you, right?”
“Well…” Mom hesitated. “Not exactly.”
“What’d you say?” The receptionist leaned forward, keeping one hand on top of the phone. “Who should I tell him is here?” She cocked her head to the side so that her hair looked crooked. “You must be family members, aren’t you?”
“Actually, it’s kind of a long story,” Mom explained. “We think Dr. Kulka might be related to us.”
“Sort of,” added Charlie. Probably not helpful, she realized immediately.
The receptionist sat up straight and adjusted her glasses. “I don’t understand. I’ll need to let him know who’s here—it’s our policy. Your names, please?”
“The thing is…” Mom began, but Charlie could already tell this wasn’t going to work. Then Mom put her hands up. “Roth—My name is Marion Roth.”
The receptionist watched them as she dialed the number. “Hello, Dr. Kulka, we’ve got some visitors for you. Dr. Kulka?” She raised her voice. “It’s a Mrs. Roth with her daughter. That’s right, Roth. R-O-T-H.”
Charlie could see her mother wince.
The receptionist put down the receiver. “I’m sorry, but he says he doesn’t want to be disturbed. He might have been sleeping.”
“We really do need to meet him,” Mom insisted. “He could be our long-lost cousin—”
The receptionist stood up, expressionless. “I’m sure you understand that you can’t go in if he doesn’t want to see you. Maybe you’d better call first next time.”
“But I just explained to you, we might be family!” Mom leaned forward. “Is there somebody else I can speak to?”
“There’s only me today,” the receptionist replied coldly. “And like I already told you, I can’t let you in. Sorry.” She hurriedly shuffled some papers, placed a small sign on the counter that read BACK IN FIVE MINUTES, and walked into the adjoining office. She pushed the door shut.
“Excuse me!” Mom exclaimed in the direction of the closed door. “Have a heart!” Charlie could see the veins in Mom’s neck popping out. “That receptionist is simply…infuriating.”
“Mom, she’s just doing her job. We’d better go.” Charlie yanked on her mother’s sleeve.
“Honey, we’re here right now. And what if he actually is our cousin, and he’s alone and old…” Mom’s voice cracked.
“But we can’t do anything.” Charlie shook her head.
They turned and started back toward the front door. Halfway down the corridor, Charlie spotted a hallway that veered off to the left.
“Look over there!” Charlie exclaimed.
“What is it?” Mom asked.
“Give me a sec, okay?” Charlie lifted her violin case and darted down the hallway. Mom glanced behind them, squeezed her handbag under her arm, and skidded after her.
At the opening at the end of the hall, five or six people were sitting in metal armchairs, watching a small TV. Charlie searched from face to face. They were all elderly women; a few held knitting needles or newspapers. One of the women smiled but said nothing.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Charlie whispered. “I thought I saw him!”
“You mean Nathan Kulka? But Charlie—how would you even know?”
Suddenly a shadow crept into the corner of Charlie’s eyes. An old man wearing a long blue bathrobe was just beyond the next doorway, shuffling down the hall with a cane.
“Mom, come on…”
“Charlie, stop right now. What is going on?”
“Look at his ears!” Charlie exclaimed. “They stick straight out.”
“For heaven’s sakes, that’s rude,” Mom responded.
“They stand way out,” Charlie repeated under her breath.
The old man stood still for a moment, holding on to the doorframe.
“We should leave.” Mom put her hand on Charlie’s arm. “We have no idea who that man is.”
Charlie pulled away and leapt forward: “Dr. Kulka?”
The old man turned to see who was calling. Suddenly, his mouth dropped open. “Mein liebchen!” He raised one hand and clutched his chest. “Is it you? I thought…I was certain you were dead!”
“What?” Charlie froze.
“You’ve come back to Budapest; I prayed you would come! And you’ve brought your instrument. Yes, for the concert!” Tears sprang into the corners of his wrinkled eyes.
“It’s my violin,” Charlie said hoarsely.
“I think there’s some mistake.” Mom’s face was ashen. “This is my daughter, Charlie; we’ve never met before.”
“Haven’t you come back for good?” The old man shook his head. “I waited for such a long while.”
Charlie felt so hot she could hardly breathe. She pulled off her cap, and red curls tumbled over her shoulders.
The old man sprang backward, clutching his cane. “Who are you?”
“I’m Charlie Roth—we spoke on the phone, do you remember? Mom and I came to see you because, well, we might be relatives.”
“No! I don’t know you! No! No! No!” The old man closed his eyes. “I don’t know. There are so many things I forget these days,” he added wearily.
Mom reached forward, gently touching his arm. “Let me explain. We are looking for Dr. Nathan Kulka. We think we might be related. We’d like to talk about the old days, about our family…”
The man’s eyes opened wide. Ignoring Mom, he searched Charlie’s face. “Did Johann send you?”
“Johann? Do you mean Johann Schmidt?” Charlie gasped. Maybe she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Do you know Johann?”
The old man ran a finger along his lips thoughtfully. He rocked back and forth, staring into space as if trying to recall. “We must save as many as possible,” he finally said. “Get them to the hills to safety.”
“Please,” Mom tried again. “Can we sit with you for a moment?”
A loud voice thundered across the hallway. “Hey, lady, what’re you doin’ in there?” A tall, square security guard appeared. The receptionist stood behind him, pointing her finger.
“We’re just visiting, that’s all,” Mom said.
“They snuck right by me.” The receptionist stared at Charlie.
“Do you know these people, sir?” the guard asked in a stern voice.
“Never seen ‘em before. Perfect strangers!” The old man rubbed his nose with his wrist.
“Lady, you gotta come with me.” The guard motioned with a sharp jab of his finger.
“But we have to talk to Dr. Kulka,” Mom said. “If you’ll just—”
“I want you and your daughter out of here immediately!” The guard point
ed in the direction of the front door.
Mom turned toward the old man. “Here is our address and phone number.” She pulled out a business card and dropped it into the pocket of his bathrobe. “We may be cousins. Lottie Kulka was my aunt, and Rose Kulka is my mother.”
The old man shook his head sadly. “I don’t know those people. Never seen ‘em before.”
“Now, lady!” The guard stepped forward.
“We’ll return soon to visit you.” Mom squeezed the old man’s hand, then wrapped an arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “Okay, I guess we’d better go.”
Charlie took one last look. The long wrinkled face was nothing like the boy in the photograph. Only the large ears were the same. “When we come back, I’ll play my violin for you.”
He nodded, his head shaking ever so slightly, silent.
* * *
—
On the way home, Charlie stared out the window, her head resting against the seat.
“We can try again.” Mom broke the silence.
“It won’t make any difference.” Charlie pressed her nose against the glass. “It’s too late. He won’t remember anything. He seemed to sort of remember, but then he couldn’t. He’s just too old and confused.”
“We’ll find a way.” Mom’s head bobbed up and down. “Remember what Nana Rose always says: ‘If at first you don’t succeed…’”
“‘…Try, try again.’ I know, Mom, but honestly, it’s kind of lame. We’re never going to find out what happened to Lottie.” Charlie’s throat felt so thick it was hard to talk.
“Oh, honey, I don’t know what to say.” Mom sighed. “I suppose I got my hopes up for a minute, too.”
“Can we at least go back and bring him something good to eat?” Charlie turned toward her mother. “I bet the food there is terrible. We could make him some cookies, or even ask Nana Rose for her strudel recipe.”
“Absolutely! We’ll do that.”
A truck wheezed by them on the highway. Charlie’s stomach tightened. “What are we going to tell Nana?”
“We’ll tell her that we met a very sweet gentleman from Budapest and that we plan to visit him again soon.” Mom’s voice was firm.
“I didn’t even get a chance to play my violin.” Charlie sighed.
“You’ll do it next time, sweetheart. I promise. I’m sure that…I know that Cousin Nathan would love to hear you play.”
There was no avoiding orchestra rehearsal on Monday morning. Charlie couldn’t think of a single excuse for skipping. Now that seats were officially assigned, everyone would see that she wasn’t the best violinist after all. She kept her head low as she walked into the rehearsal room and watched Tommy take his place as concertmaster. Tommy raised his violin and deftly warmed up with a few measures from Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in G Major. The high school chamber ensemble had played the same music at their spring concert, Charlie realized.
“What’s up?” Devin was heading toward her.
Charlie was about to say “Hey” in return when she realized that Devin was talking to Tommy. She quickly closed her mouth and opened her violin case, but before she had a chance to sit down, Mr. Fernandez clapped his hands. “Good morning, everyone! Hope you all had a terrific weekend.”
Why was Mr. Fernandez being so cheerful?
“I know you’ve seen your new seat assignments, but for today, I want to start out with an experiment. Forget where you’re supposed to sit for the time being—we’re going to try something different.”
What was that? No seat assignments?
“I’d like everyone to really listen to each other—not only hear their own instrument, but all the different instruments; so just for today, we’re going to mix the sections up.” Mr. Fernandez waited for this to sink in. “Cellos, go ahead and find a spot in the violin section. Violas, sit anywhere. It’s kind of a musical mash-up.”
“Find different places, people!” Ms. Patel chirped.
Garrett Goodness raised his hand from the back. “Excuse me, but where did you say we’re supposed to go?”
“Anywhere you like.” Mr. Fernandez gestured around the room, grinning.
Charlie sank down in the nearest chair. The other kids were cautiously moving around the room looking for seats. Suddenly, a shock of thick brown hair above a smiling face appeared in front of her, along with a cello.
“Hi,” Devin said lightly over his shoulder.
“Hey.” Charlie exhaled.
Mr. Fernandez tapped his baton on the stand and nodded for rehearsal to begin. They started with some easy scales to warm up and went on to the theme from Star Wars. It was impossible to concentrate. Charlie could see Devin’s elbow swinging back and forth in front of her, his back swaying with the music. The cello sounded a little like a baritone singing. Every note was rich and full. When they came to a resting spot for the cellos, Devin dropped his bow to one side, while Charlie and the other violins picked up the melody.
All of a sudden, Devin reached into his pocket with his free hand. What the heck—was he pulling out his phone? With a quick twist, he tilted the phone toward her. Charlie swallowed a giggle and skipped three notes. Devin’s screen image, barely visible out of the corner of his pocket, was a photograph of a green turtle sitting on top of a cello case! With one hand, Devin deftly typed, while the other arm pulled the bow in front of his cello, as if he was actually playing. To her amazement, Charlie saw Tommy, who was sitting across the room, grin and reach into his own pocket.
At the first pause, Charlie leaned forward. “Nice turtle.”
“Thanks,” Devin whispered back.
“What’s his name?”
“Uh—it’s Ludwig, actually.”
Charlie sputtered and began coughing as she tried to stifle her laughter. As soon as they took a break, she drew out her own phone and quickly texted Sarah: News flash: Devin has a turtle and it’s named after Beethoven.
Sarah texted back, Ha! You could buy a goldfish and call him Amadeus.
“Anything wrong, Ms. Roth?” Mr. Fernandez peered over the stand, pointing his baton straight at her. “We’re about to start again.”
Charlie shook her head. No, nothing wrong at all.
* * *
—
Charlie was still smiling when she got home that afternoon. She made a cup of tea and sat staring out the kitchen window, thinking about Devin’s turtle. She wondered whether Nana Rose and Lottie had any pets when they were children and made a note to ask.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Hannah: At the library with Amy. When are you getting here?
Charlie smacked her hand to her forehead. She’d made plans to meet her friends at the library at four to work on their research projects. They were supposed to have at least three library books for their bibliographies. Charlie had been so rattled by the mash-up at orchestra practice that she’d completely forgotten. Mom had already left for a meeting, and Dad was still at work. How could she get there? The library was way too far to walk.
Devin’s in the reference room, Amy texted.
Charlie sprinted upstairs to where Jake lay sprawled across the floor with his iPad.
“Hey, Jake…”
“I’m in the middle of something.” He didn’t look up.
“I need a ride to the library. I have to do some research for my family history project. It’s kind of required.”
“You know I don’t have my license yet,” Jake replied, “not that I would bring you anyway.”
“Can’t you get a friend to do it?” Charlie bent over and covered the iPad with one hand. “What about that girl with the braids who’s obviously got a massive crush on you? She’s always picking you up in her car.”
Jake scowled. “Not an option. Alison’s busy this afternoon.” His face softened slightly when he saw Charlie’s dark frown. “Well, maybe in a couple of hours, bu
t I can’t make any promises.”
Charlie groaned. What if she rode her bike? She’d have to go on the parkway, where there was a bike lane, sort of, but with buses and trucks whizzing by, it was fast and dangerous. Mom wouldn’t want her anywhere near there, and Dad would probably ground her on the spot if he knew.
A new text from Hannah popped up: Devin just asked where you are.
Charlie chewed on the edge of her nail, then nudged Jake’s shin with her foot. “If Mom gets back, tell her I’m at Hannah’s house, okay?”
“You can go ahead, but there’s no way I’m covering for you,” Jake grunted.
Charlie got on her bike and pedaled to the entrance of the parkway. She paused to watch the cars zoom by before pulling into the narrow bike lane. She hadn’t counted on the thundering noise; every car and truck sounded like it was about to slam into her back tire. The only other bikers were a couple of middle-aged guys in blue spandex who sped past her on their skinny racers.
Breathe, breathe, breathe! A gigantic eighteen-wheeler roared by, then a dump truck rumbled past. Charlie barely exhaled until she saw the exit for the library. When she reached the parking lot, her legs were wobbly and her head hurt like mad.
Charlie swallowed hard, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and marched inside.
“Hey, you made it.” Hannah waved. She and Amy were sharing a computer in the reference room.
“Devin just came by,” Amy added.
“Did he, um, say anything?” Charlie asked.
“Not this round.” Hannah giggled. “But he’s walked by three times.”
The girls went in different directions to look for books. The librarian steered Charlie to the back corner of the second floor where a section of books was dedicated to the Holocaust.
Suddenly, Charlie noticed a tall figure with a tuft of gray hair at the far end of the room. He was wearing a red plaid jacket and sitting with his back facing her. The man was mumbling loudly.
When he turned his head her way, Charlie realized with a shiver that it was Dr. Szemere, the owner of the awful dog! There was something in his hands. Charlie stretched to see better—was Dr. Szemere holding a camera? He sat hunched over the table, oddly muttering and snapping photos. What was he up to?
