Consul Van den Arend nodded. “Are you certain you wish to go through with this?”
Hans looked boldly at the consul and nodded his head.
The consul handed the thick envelope to Hans. “Everything is in order then. Your visas were approved.”
Instead of tearing the envelope open, Hans examined it, took out his penknife and carefully cut the U.S. stamps from the corner. “For my stamp collection.” He pulled out two visas, one for himself and one for his sister, Esther. There were lengthy explanations and fine print in English, and he asked for help understanding the detailed instructions before placing the visas in his leather briefcase. The consul came around his desk and grasped Hans by the shoulder. “Good luck.”
The morning rain had dried completely. He looked through the narrow brick buildings into a bright sun and a renewed day. Amsterdam was beautiful, with vibrant greenery filling out branches of the trees and reflecting into the canals. Flower stalls were full of fresh tulips and every window box was overflowing with colors. Freshly washed lace curtains hung in windows that had been sealed all winter. These were ordinary things that he would miss when he left Holland.
Another stone street led toward the Leidseplein and to the Café Americain. Its sparkling windows and black and white stone floors evoked jazz and fun. It was easy to spot his coquettish sister at a table for two, her auburn hair bobbing to music. He grinned, slipped through the glass doors and moved toward her table. Beautiful and headstrong, his younger sister Esther had once again fought with mother. God knows what this most recent rift was about.
Waiters hurried everywhere, rolling their carts of pastries and delicate china cups. He followed behind a large cart with a heavy silver urn and retrieved his new Leica from a coat pocket. Esther startled at the pop of the flashbulb.
“Why, it’s you! I thought I was meeting Hedy Lamar. Happy Birthday!” He reached his arms out for an embrace.
Esther stiffened as he kissed her cheeks, then pushed his elbows away.
“You’re dreaming again.”
He took his seat, folding his long legs under the small table. “But we need to celebrate. Mother and Max both asked me to wish you a happy birthday.”
Sparks flashed through her deep green eyes. “Oh, Mama. I haven’t seen her for weeks. I’m sure she must be devastated by my absence.”
Hans searched for a vague comment, something to avoid any eruption of Esther’s temper. “She goes out for tea every afternoon, and still orders extra whipped cream on her pastry. The old ladies gossip about misbehaving adult children, trying to arrange our lives.”
Esther’s tapered fingertips pushed at her bobbed waves. She raised her penciled eyebrows and laughed. “Then she is still fat, or fatter if that is at all possible. I don’t know how Sam stands her. He likes our money, but there has to be a limit to his lust.”
Hans’s ear twitched and he blinked. “Ah well, enough about them. Esther, we need to talk. I have something for you.”
“What?”
“In my briefcase.”
“Ooh la la, it must be small and lovely!”
“Esther, you’re the limit. And I’m hungry. What shall we have, sandwiches, cakes, or both? My God, are those strawberries?” The gloved waiter displayed his trays proudly, and poured a fragrant dark tea into their cups.
“They’re probably from Spain. They won’t be ripe. Sometimes they aren’t as sweet as they look.”
He selected a large strawberry pastry with golden custard and whipped cream. Esther picked over the tray, and settled on dark chocolate gateau drenched with a rich orange liqueur. The noise of the busy café rang around them with the clatter of dishes and the buzz of conversations. Casting a glance about the room, Hans leaned in to comment quietly.
“You know this is just as serious for me as it is for you. My inheritance is gone – Mother signed over our business to Sam. I work in a place that I should own. A job? I don’t even get a salary – Sam says there aren’t enough profits. He gives me an allowance, like a spoiled child.” His intense blue eyes looked at her, unblinking and seeing all.
That look frightened her. They had conspired against adults all their lives, and she knew when he was joking and when he planned to act. Helpless inaction was not part of his lexicon.
“What are you thinking?” She picked at the dense glaze on her pastry. “You make me nervous.”
“Have you even been paying attention to the news reports?”
Esther pouted. “Boring. All about market prices. And I certainly don’t listen to German radio. Who cares about the Germans? I like American music.” Hans smiled in anticipation of delivering her surprise, and then the light left his eyes.
“What about Kristallnacht? Esther, the Nazis are not just German thugs. We have them here too. Nothing else will matter if they gain any more power, or worse, if their ideals take hold in the rest of Europe. They are not going to stop with Berlin.”
“Politics! Look, I came to see you and have tea.” She picked up two more sugar cubes, put one into the cup and the other into her mouth. “For God’s sake, Kristallnacht was six months ago. There’s no reason to be afraid of the Nazis. We’re half German.”
“Kristallnacht wasn’t an end; it was a beginning. You really don’t pay any attention to things you don’t want to understand, do you?”
Esther pulled the teacup up to her face and then banged it back down, tea spilling into the saucer. “Maybe I should have ordered Genever. This is not fun. In your note you promised me something special.”
He lifted the briefcase to the table and opened it. Instead of a brightly wrapped gift, he pulled out his envelope. “Esther, remember that bird in the attic?”
“Oh God, that was awful.” She looked at the packet. There was no bright paper or ribbon.
“The point is, we set it free.” Hans pushed the envelope to the side of his plate and covered it with his napkin.
“No, you got to be a hero and set it free. I had to stand on your shoulders and grab it from the rafter. It was disgusting – it screamed and it bit my hand. I almost killed it.” She looked down at a tiny scar on her finger.
“But you didn’t kill it. It hopped out onto the upstairs pulley and then flew up and sang from the gables.”
“So what does any of that have to do with my birthday? You sometimes speak in riddles that no one understands.”
He looked ahead quietly. “We need to free ourselves, and you can’t tell anyone what we’re going to do.” He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing a stray curl off of his forehead. A waiter approached them with the teapot. “It has to be like the attic, our secret. Little birds sometimes talk, and I couldn’t tell you what I was planning.”
He uncovered the envelope and pulled out a letter from inside. “Would you like to see your gift now? It took weeks to prepare it. I called on everyone for these. Immigration visas to the U.S., even though there is a tight quota on Jews. We’re going to New York!”
He expected her to be thrilled with his initiative. Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth. He had gone mad.
Tea at the elegant café was an error. Everyone on the street could see into the large glass windows with their gold lettering. The pastel walls and mirrors displayed elegant clientele, but he didn’t wish to be displayed. He wanted to hide. He needed to remind her of who and what they were.
Her mouth gaped, closed, and then opened again, her lipstick mask torn and distorted. “There is no ‘we’ in this discussion. You don’t tell me what to do.” He shook his head curtly, shooing the waiter away. A whisper broke across the table. Even Esther realized that this was a dangerous conversation in a public place. “Are you crazy?” A perplexed smile crossed her face. “Is this one of your imaginary conspiracies? You shouldn’t worry about the Germans. Mother was born in Germany. We can apply for German citizenship if we need to.”
Hans lifted his face, and lowered his voice. “And then what? What makes you think that Holland will stand up against Hitler? My God, they just elected forty Nazis to our parliament.” He stared at her in disbelief.
“Why do you want to blame the Nazis?” Esther didn’t listen for an answer, but instead folded her napkin. Her foot was tapping under the table as she glowered at him. “You just want to escape.”
“Just how do you think you can leave Amsterdam? We don’t know anyone in America!”
Hans paused to think a moment about how their parents’ connections had helped them get anything they had ever wanted, including the visas.
Esther continued. “The only English I know is ‘Good Afternoon’ and, ‘Yes please, I would like some more tea.’ All you know how to do is to fill out invoices. That will not even get us a sandwich in New York.”
He opened the envelope and handed her the papers to examine. “Look, I have been able to get two visas.” She looked at the papers with her name and the seal of the United States, then idly smeared the chocolate on her plate, daring him to lose his temper.
“It is risky, but we can do this.”
“You don’t even have any money.”
“I have already gone to the camera shop. I’m selling all my box cameras, the Rollei, tripods, everything. I can’t carry them with me. Even my stamp albums are with a dealer. I’m starting new ones, all American stamps.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Visas! You can’t be serious. How did you manage to get two visas?”
“I called on Consul van den Arend, father’s old friend from the U.S. Consulate. Remember? They worked together on trade agreements for years. Anyway, everyone is nervous about the Nazis gaining too much power. Have you looked at the German films? My God, they are trying to recreate another Roman Empire. It would almost be funny to a Latin School boy if their cries of hate weren’t real.”
“I’m not going to America. I am Dutch and I live in Amsterdam.”
Her face rested on both hands as if she were using them to keep her jaw from dropping open and her gaze from wandering throughout the entire café. Hans’s blue eyes turned angry, a steely gray, like a storm brewing. “Esther, there is nothing here for us.”
“I can’t believe this. You don’t even want to be a businessman; you want to be a photographer.”
Knuckles showed white as he clenched his fist. “You are wasting time.” He looked around the restaurant, which thankfully was not as full as it was an hour ago. “We must act quickly. I need to book our passage.”
She shook her head. “I could never leave Peter.”
“Who in the heck is Peter? I’ve never heard of him. You haven’t introduced us.” Hans scraped at the whipped cream and crumbs on his plate, his silver fork clattering along the edge. “My God, what are you doing with yourself?” The air froze around him as he searched for his breath. “This is not the right way to get a husband. How long have you known this man?”
“You’re being nasty now. You’ve never approved of my boyfriends. Okay, I have shared some things with you that I shouldn’t have, but it’s not my fault that you’re a prude. Anyway, Peter’s an artist.”
“I don’t care if he’s painted you in the nude, even though it’s wrong.”
Esther’s pursed her mouth in a tiny smooch. “He has.”
“Marvelous! Great! I have a sister who became an artist and ended up a courtesan. What is your next role?”
“Hans, I do not want us to part with a fight. I am not going to New York. I will order a Genever and toast to your newest endeavor. We will drink the gin, and you will leave.”
Hans took his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Esther, Esther… I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “No, I didn’t confide in you. I couldn’t. But my action is intended for the best. We can send for Peter later, but you and I must act now.” He was talking to her back as she bent under the table in an effort to retrieve her shopping bags.
“You never listen. You’re like mother; you only hear what you want to. Thanks a lot for your ‘gift’ but I’m not going without Peter. We’re done here, and I have an appointment.”
He sat perfectly still, cleared his throat and spoke very quietly. “I can’t get a third visa. Don’t be a fool. Just take this one, and we will talk again before I buy our tickets. We still have two weeks’ time.”
Esther took the visa in her hand, stared at it thoughtfully, and tore the papers in half.
Chapter Two
Ellis Island
August 01, 1939
“Each island is only a place to depart from to go to another island. You never know where you are going.” ~ Sidney Diamond
Hans looked around the Ellis Island terminal with its queues of passengers winding their way through the labyrinth. The vast entry hall was full of new arrivals. Afternoon sun baked the upper windows, and the place reeked of thousands of sweating, exhausted bodies. Even though it was a hot and humid summer day, people were piled deeply into vests, jackets and coats, as if everything they owned were on their backs. Hans was dressed like a first class passenger, even though he was in the line with third class immigrants who had traveled in close spaces for days. His business suit was not in the latest style, but it fit well and he carried expensive leather luggage. This was the day to make a good impression, as long as he didn’t faint in the August heat.
An immigration inspector looked up at Hans’s lean figure, sweating under a black felt hat. The young man looked like a hungry bird, with a prominently hooked nose and piercing blue eyes that scattered glances all over the entry hall. They were midway through the interview, filling out line #7 in the enormous logbook – Bernsteen, Hans.
QIV 2710 Visa # - Quota Immigration Visa, status refugee
Date of issue: 5/17/39
Can read and write in Dutch
Intent to return to country of origin – NO
Are you in possession of more than $50? If so, how much?
Hans had $400.00 to begin his new life in the United States, a gift from his mother. Ellis Island doctors and nurses took over with their inspections, listening to his heart and lungs and, finally, pulling down his eyelids. His tear ducts were working. Once his vision cleared, he looked across the counter at the inspector and the notebook.
Condition of Health, Mental and Physical:
Height: 6’2”
Hair: Brn
Eyes: Blu
Hans was called aside for a separate interview. His hands went cold in spite of the muggy day. These questions were much harder to answer, and he wasn’t sure that his English was good enough to satisfy the officer.
“Have you ever been an anarchist?
“Have you ever been a polygamist?”
“Are you a person who believes in or advocates for the overthrow by force or violence of the government of the United States or all forms of law?”
“Are you coming as a result of any offer, solicitation, promise or agreements expressed or implied, to labor in the United States?”
He hesitated, “I will be seeking work.”
“Do you intend to become a U.S. citizen?” For the first time Hans looked up, wide eyed, and smiled at the officer with a deliberate nod. Coming from generations of service to the Royal Palace of the Netherlands, he understood citizenship and planned to do his best.
“Welcome to the United States.” Hans extended his hand and a cordial handshake ended the interview.
As the ferry to Manhattan pulled away from Ellis Island, Hans saw that the building was really quite lovely, a brick palace designed to make newcomers feel that they had arrived in a special place. They sailed past Liberty Island with its green lady welcoming visitors like a friendly but imposing aunt, and people rushed to the side of the broad beamed boat to get a good look at her. At last Hans was in New York on the way to making his fortune.
The ferr
y landed at Battery Park where hundreds of workers were taking noontime walks in the sun, and paths were worn through the grass where people had spilled off the walkways. One lone bench stood in the sun, and he sat down to plan out his day. He still needed to find lodging and look for work. A newspaper boy passed by and called out the day’s headlines…. something about a prison named “Alcatraz.” A gentleman sat down on the bench next to him, dressed in a dirty shirt, jacket, tie and hat. Instead of proper trousers he wore dungarees.
“Hey buddy, you new here?”
Hans regarded the fellow, and tried to think of proper American etiquette for meeting total strangers. He didn’t like strangers. “Yes.” His eyes remained focused on unfamiliar words in the newspaper.
“D’ya have a cigarette?”
A disgruntled sigh escaped. “I don’t smoke.”
“Wanna get a beer?”
Hans did not answer.
“You some kind of foreigner? Like just off the boat? Whatsa matter? Can’t ya even answer a fellow?”
“Good day.” Hans began to look around at passersby. They rarely stopped to sit on benches. The crabgrass was brown and flowers had already wilted and gone to seed. Greedy gulls and pigeons snatched up crumbs dropped from lunchboxes. He stood up, brushed off his slacks and folded his jacket. This was not a good place to rest. With a heavy bag and a thin wallet, he located the subway train and made his way up to Grand Central Station.
New York City was an assault on his senses. Wide streets roared with the sounds of the cars and buses – honking, beeping, and screeching to their destinations. Even the draft of wind behind them was annoying. An occasional horse drawn wagon or open carriage would also appear on the street, with the animal’s head bent down, and blinders folded in to keep it from startling, or even defending itself from a bicycle or auto. Hans could use a set of blinders. He searched for the subway stop, a dark hole in the ground. Its tunnels were decorated with bright advertising posters that jumped out from the blackness. Noise from the crowds and the rumbling of the trains was deafening. Scraps of food, urine and the smell of combustion permeated the air, or what there was of it. He watched a pair of rats scuttling between cracks in the concrete, searching for nibbles of dropped breakfast rolls or fruit pits.
Islands of Deception Page 2
