by Andie Newton
‘Remember? They’re looking for a dumpy hausfrau with moppy dark hair. They don’t know who I really am.’ She put her hands on my shoulders. ‘Now Ella,’ she said. ‘That family in your aunt’s shop. How can I get inside, and what time does she open up for business?’
‘Early. She’s there by eight every morning.’ I dug into my pocket. ‘There’s a set of keys in the window well. That will get you in the shop, but they are in the basement,’ I said. ‘Here’s the key.’
She slipped the key into her pocket.
‘Where will you take them?’ I asked.
‘I only have one place,’ she said. ‘I just hope there’s still time—and that I can save them all.’ She gave me a hug, kissing my cheek. ‘I’ll have to hurry.’
*
I saw my aunt’s head bobbing up and down through the window, behind the Nazi flag hanging over the glass. As I got closer, I saw her back up and pace in a circle with folded arms. I opened the door slowly, peeking in, and Auntie yelped and collapsed to her knees. I jumped from the shrill cry of her voice; I’d never heard her so relieved and frightened at the same time.
‘Sascha! Where have you been? It’s so late—I was worried sick!’ She hugged me at the waist, tugging so hard she nearly brought me to the floor with her. I started to speak, but she’d cut me off. ‘Wait, don’t answer. I don’t care. You’re safe… you’re home. Here, sit.’
She led me to the divan and we sat under her flag which cast a pink hue on us from the lamp shining just under it. Her freshly powdered cheeks stuck to my skin as she pressed them to my forehead, hugging me very tight. ‘Were you raped?’ she said. ‘Wait! I don’t want to know. Don’t answer.’
My eyes lowered along with my head.
She gasped and shook her fist at the ceiling. ‘In Christ’s name!’
‘Nein!’ I raised my voice so she would hear me. ‘Tante Bridget! I wasn’t violated by a man.’ I pulled my stockings up at the thighs, now ripped from knee to ankle, and showed off my flat, dirty shoes. ‘But I’m sure my appearance says otherwise.’
She covered her mouth and nodded.
‘Time ran away from me…’ My voice trailed as I remembered the lie I had told her. ‘I got stuck at the station after Greta’s train left for Berlin.’
She exhaled loudly, cheeks puffing, after noticing my tattered scarf. ‘Oh no,’ she said, reaching for it. ‘It’s got a hole!’
There was a slight tear in the fabric next to the pulled thread Claudia had made with her teeth when she bit the tag off. It could have happened at a number of times, but most likely ripped when Bart tried to grab the shop keys from my hands.
‘It’s all right. I’ll darn it for you. You’re home, that’s what’s important.’ She turned me toward the kitchen and I caught a whiff of cooked eggs. ‘Now, I made you eggs. You must be starving.’
I imagined Aunt Bridget cooking in her white apron, catching peeks of her reflection in the window and straightening her bow while I hid from the Gestapo. Shouting came from the house over, followed by thumping made from a fist pounding on a door. Auntie took me in her arms and we got real quiet, listening to three men arguing.
‘Sounds like Gregor, Frau Schmitz’s tenant.’ Auntie let go of me when we heard the arguing move into the street. We watched from the window with our hands to our faces, peeping through our finger gaps. The man threw a punch at Gregor’s chin and he fell flat backwards on the pavement, bleeding from his nose and ears. The men dragged him away into the dark, while Frau Schmitz wept from her front steps.
‘We should go to her,’ I said, making a move off the divan, but Auntie closed the curtains with a quick snap.
‘We can’t, Sascha,’ she said, eyes closing. ‘We can’t.’
The late evening bulletin announced over the radio. The Reich continues to destroy Britain with air raids… We listened intently, and I spun the dial on the volume, waiting to hear what the Reich would say about the destruction in the streets and the roundup. Gestapo have apprehended Communist rebels that violently attacked local German businesses and homes.
‘Oh my,’ was all Auntie said.
‘Auntie, there were no rebels. It was a Gestapo roundup. I saw it myself. Jews dragged out of their homes, beaten in the streets just like Gregor, only they were hauled away in trucks. Whole families.’
‘Evacuation isn’t to be frowned upon, Sascha,’ she said. ‘And it’s the Communists causing the violence, not the Reich. You heard it yourself on the radio. And you saw it outside just now. We’ll keep our doors locked tonight.’
‘But I saw it!’ My blood had started to boil, and I could tell my aunt knew it because she took a step back.
‘The radio doesn’t lie,’ she said. ‘Everyone knows that.’ She tightened her hair bun, and then swiped her hands together, staring at me, blinking her eyes. I thought she expected me to say something, but what could I say? She turned the dial off on the radio and dusted the set, tidying up for the night.
I stood up, not knowing exactly where my place was in this conversation, and then decided there wasn’t a place. Fighting with her was useless. She said my parents were the misguided ones, but it was her. It had always been her.
‘Oh, good idea, Sascha. You should rest. I’ll bring you some eggs in just a moment. You shouldn’t go to bed without food in your stomach.’
‘No eggs,’ I said back to her. I closed my door softly before falling face first onto my bed. Not long after, I heard Aunt Bridget press up against my door.
‘I’m glad you’re home, Sascha,’ she said, voice crackling.
5
We left for the shop early the next morning. Shop girls gripped their bags, popping the collars up on their wool coats, as Auntie and I crested the edge of the small circle waiting for the tram, our breath frosted white. The tram stop wasn’t normally that packed, but petrol was expensive, and nobody wanted to take their cars into town.
‘Feels unusually cold for an October day,’ Auntie said aloud. Just then, old Frau Baer and her daughter Christa walked up from the kerb, wearing new fur coats. Christa sashayed by me, burrowing her way into the warm middle, a sly little smirk on her lips. ‘Don’t you think, Sascha?’ Auntie said, and I turned to her.
‘What?’ I folded my arms for warmth.
‘Cold for October,’ she said.
Frau Baer burst in between me and Aunt Bridget, squeezing her way into the pack. Auntie looked aghast at her gall, and then pinched her lips up when she heard someone comment on how beautiful Frau Baer’s new coat looked.
‘Come by my shop later,’ Frau Baer said. ‘I have a closet full. Marked down just for my favourite customers.’
Auntie rolled her eyes. ‘I can get fur coats too,’ she mumbled.
I thought of the record keeping I still had to do that morning, and the items I had to remark for sale, when suddenly there was a slight twist in my stomach. What if the Kortens were still in my aunt’s shop? What if Claudia didn’t make it? I was still lost in thought when the tram showed up and passengers started embarking up the steps. Auntie pulled on my arm when she noticed I’d lagged behind. ‘Are you coming?’ she said, and suddenly I couldn’t hurry enough.
The shop seemed smaller as we walked up, narrower, as if the buildings on its sides had squeezed it like bookends.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Open up.’
Auntie looked at me strangely. ‘I have to get my keys.’
My body stiffened instantly when I saw the dirty footprints near the door’s threshold; two were Maria’s, I could tell by the size and width. One was flat and smeared—must be mine—the other looked petite and doll-like, which I thought had to be Elsie’s. I looked for Claudia’s before swiping them away with my foot, but I couldn’t tell if any were hers.
Auntie jammed the key into the lock and her fingernail snagged on the metal faceplate. ‘Damn manicure,’ she whined.
‘Auntie, just open the door.’ I wanted to get in, and get in fast, confirm the Kortens were gone. Claudia moved t
hem. I was sure of it—no, now I wasn’t sure at all.
She twisted the doorknob, bumping the door with the side of her arm. The door barely moved, so she bumped it again, throwing her shoulder into it until the door flung open. ‘There, finally!’
She sighed, ran her fingers over her bound hair, and then walked inside gaily. I sloughed off my coat and walked straight to the basement door, where it was quiet, dead quiet. Auntie followed me after picking up my coat from the floor and hanging it on the metal rack.
‘Could you please pick up after yourself?’ She put a hand on the basement door and fingered the knob as if she were about to open it. ‘I had to pick your coat up off the floor, Sascha—really, it isn’t that hard.’ She was playing with the knob now, moving it back and forth, her arm stiff, pushing against the door, and I imagined the worst: that the Kortens had spent the night and were now huddled in the corner, Bart’s arms wrapped around Maria, Elsie near crying with Karl standing like a wall trying to protect them all from whomever was about to rush in on them, followed by my aunt screaming for the SS, Gestapo or both.
‘Of course, Auntie—’
She burst through the door and down into the basement. My words got caught in my throat, leaning into the room, eyes stretching. The room was dark and empty, thank God, except for my aunt and her voice. ‘I’ve got suppliers coming this morning and I want the shop to be tidy,’ she said, picking up the small crate Elsie had used near the trapdoor. ‘Shut the door for me, please,’ she said as she walked back into the shop, pausing to look at my face. My chest was puffed up from holding my breath.
‘Everything all right?’ she said, her eyes flicking over me, smiling slightly.
A mere moment felt like it had turned into a minute.
‘Of course.’ And with that, she walked into her office, talking about how late it was and that customers would be arriving soon.
I reached for the knob, taking a second to feel the emptiness of the room before closing the door. And breathe. The Kortens were indeed gone, just as Claudia said they’d be. I had no reason to worry after all; my aunt had no idea they had been there. ‘Be safe,’ I whispered, before going back to the front of the shop.
Not long after, I heard the hum of a diesel engine rumbling down the road. I peeked outside and saw a green paddy wagon with metal grates tied to its grill and a thick coated arm hanging out the open window. A chubby hand pointed a lit cigar at our door and the wagon screeched to a stop. Herr Coburg. The deliveries had arrived, and once again, my aunt was first on his list.
A smile spread across my aunt’s face when he came through the door. ‘Greetings, Herr Coburg. Come in.’
He coughed, catching his cigar with probing lips. A waft of air blew past him as he closed the door—smoke and the stench of an unwashed body. If I didn’t think my aunt would wither with embarrassment, I would have offered him the buttermilk soap we had for sale.
‘Why, Bridget, it’s good to see you so well, especially after the ruckus of last night. Nice to see the street thugs didn’t get your shop before the Reich caught them,’ he said, looking around, twirling his cane. ‘But who could harm such a charming little shop?’
‘Herr Coburg,’ she said, blushing, ‘you are so kind.’
‘Ella!’ he said, suddenly. ‘You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.’ He smiled with brown teeth, and I grimaced—my natural reaction.
Auntie glared as nonchalantly as she could, hoping Coburg wouldn’t notice, begging me to be polite with her tense face. I smiled big. Coburg looked at my aunt, then back at me, jutting his chin as if he suspected we were up to something.
‘Here,’ he said, pulling my silver hairclip from his pocket. ‘I found this—’
‘Thank you,’ I said, cutting him off. Auntie would be mortified if she knew I had fallen in front of him and his Gestapo friends on the bridge.
Four men jumped out from the back of the truck and tossed boxes onto the kerb. Some were long and hit the pavement like dead bodies. Others were quad-flapped squares with lumpy middles with edges that bowed and split.
‘When did you order new things?’ I said.
Auntie looked around for her reading glasses and then discovered they were on top of her head before signing and invoice slip Coburg had given her.
I asked her again. ‘Tante Bridget?’
She slid her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and the one eye that had crossed slightly straightened itself. ‘Oh, don’t you know? I have a standing order.’
Coburg and my aunt whispered into each other’s ears, then she handed him a bulky envelope stuffed with reichsmarks.
‘Ladies!’ he said, tipping his hat. ‘It was nice doing business with you!’
He flipped through the money in the street before hopping into his wagon and speeding away.
‘Don’t you think he’s peculiar?’ I shivered.
She patted my shoulder. ‘Yes, but he gives us first pick. You’ll need to learn how to be nicer to our suppliers if you want to be a good shop girl. I saw that look you gave him.’ She waved me away from the window. ‘Now, over here. Help me with these boxes, would you please? We’ve got a lot of things to go through today.’
She sauntered over to the largest box and nudged it with her hip to gauge its weight, before cutting it open, pulling out three fur coats. Her mouth drew open with surprise. ‘Will you look at that!’ She held one to her face, taking a big sniff. ‘And it smells like me! Here, Sascha, smell!’
I took a sniff and nearly gagged, which made Auntie laugh. 4711 Eau de Cologne. It was the same cologne submariners wore after a month at sea, but my aunt wore it to smell beautiful.
‘Take that, Frau Baer,’ she said, hanging the coats up on a rack to sell.
A wooden broom hit the front of the building with two quick swats. My aunt jumped. Shards of glass trickled into a tin rubbish bin. It was Herr Rudin from the bakery next door, cleaning up the Gestapo’s mess. His usual white apron was smeared with ashy handprints, and it sagged low on his hips as if he had forgotten to tie it. Sad eyes, half-hidden under a brown flap hat, flickered cautiously in our direction.
My aunt gave him a fleeting look and sighed. ‘Ugh! I can’t look at unpleasant things right now. Poor Herr Rudin and his wife. That’s all I can say about that,’ she said, turning her eyes away.
‘They took her away, Auntie.’
Just then Frau Rudin stepped out from the broken window and onto the pavement. ‘No, there she is,’ Auntie said.
I watched the Rudins sweep up the glass together. Her marriage to Herr Rudin, an Aryan, must have saved her from going east.
Auntie turned her back to them. ‘Don’t go over there anymore, Sascha,’ she said, and I looked up at her. ‘Just… don’t.’
Frau Rudin wore the dress Auntie sewed up for her just last winter. ‘But you’re friends,’ I said.
Auntie closed her eyes, squeezing them really tight, and after a few silent moments to herself, she went over to one of the boxes. ‘I can’t believe the deal I got on this order. It’s amazing what people will sell in Paris.’ She pulled a collection of gilded pâté knives from the box, followed by a pocket watch with a long chain. ‘Coburg makes deals every day, ships it back to Germany for a fraction of the cost.’ She dusted her items with a plume of violet feathers. ‘Frenchmen know nothing about value. Grab a pair of shears, Sascha,’ she said, but then handed me her pair. ‘What’s in that small box over there?’
Herr Rudin and his wife had walked back into their ruined shop, and I took a breath. Auntie pointed to a box by the front door. ‘Right there.’
‘I got it,’ I said, dragging the box across the floor. I cut it open with Auntie’s shears, and reached into the middle, plunging my hand through a wadding of newspaper. I grabbed what felt like a handle and then gave it a pull, only to stumble immediately backward with a gasp that I swear had sucked all the air from the room.
A vase—made of dove-white porcelain and glazed in the middle royal blue with cream
-coloured serpents that coiled at the sides into handles.
The Kortens’ vase.
‘What do you have there?’ Auntie adjusted her glasses, peeking over my shoulder. ‘Look at that!’ she yelped. ‘It’s a Meissen. What’s the picture on the back?’
I closed my eyes, not wanting to be right. ‘It’s a vignette of soldiers on horseback.’
‘You know this piece?’ Auntie pointed to the inscription on its base. ‘The mark of King Augustus! This is at least two hundred years old, and it’s in perfect condition.’ She pulled the vase from my hands, peered into the hollow middle and then held it up to the light. ‘Who would get rid of this? You’d have to pull it from my dead hands before I’d sell this vase!’
My eyes shifted to hers. ‘They didn’t sell it.’
‘You mean they gave it away for free?’ She laughed. ‘You’re very amusing, Sascha.’
I sat still and watched her as she eyed her prize. Then her face went blank, as if she had just remembered something. ‘Go find my Meissen catalog, will you? I’ll need to put a price on it right away.’
‘Umm…’ My hands started to shake, drawing connections between Coburg’s bulging boxes and the roundup last night, looking at all the items Auntie had purchased—these were belongings; not unwanted things people had sold in France. Auntie believes everything the Reich tells her. Is the watch Karl’s? What about the gilded knives? Somebody. They belong to somebody.
Auntie noticed I was struggling. ‘Are you all right?’ She let go of the vase long enough to put her palm to my cheek. ‘Go relax in my office. You look feverish all of a sudden. I’ll finish up here.’
I walked away, feeling my own face, and went straight to the liquor cabinet under her desk where my uncle kept his scotch. He said it was for emergencies, though my aunt and him differed on what kind of emergencies required scotch.
‘Sorry,’ I said into the air, as if the Kortens could hear me. Two long gulping slugs later, I only felt worse with a knot in my stomach that had turned sour and hot. I sat in her chair, head in my hands.
The front bell chimed, and I heard voices. Customers. My head throbbed, thinking of helping a customer in this state.
