Finding Rebecca: A Novel of Love and the Holocaust (17 page)

So Christopher and his father began
their new enforced role. There were no other fluent German speakers on the
island, with the exception of Alexandra, and both were happy to keep her as far
away from the Germans as possible. It wasn’t long before the news of what
Christopher and his father were doing got out. They were in the pub one evening
after work when Dewey Leonard, a local fisherman, now unemployed like hundreds
of others due to the German ban on all fishing boats leaving harbor, approached
them at the bar. He was drunk, blind drunk. “Traitors,” he hissed, “profiting
from the invasion of the island. You’ve been waiting for them to come for a
long time now, haven’t you?”

Christopher went to step forward, but
his father put an arm across him and looked at his son. Christopher stepped
back. “I can assure you we’re not happy that the Germans have occupied the
island. The sooner they leave and we can return life to normal the better,”
Stefan said. The other people in the pub stayed silent. Christopher and his
father soon left. Two days later they found the tires on their car slashed outside
the office. Christopher confronted Dewey, sober this time, on the street a few
days later, but he swore he was on the other side of the island visiting his
mother that day, so Christopher let him go. They never reported the
incident.
 

In early September Christopher found
out that the Durrells were still living in their house, but were now sharing it
with the Commandant and his staff. Rebecca wanted to visit them or even to send
a letter offering her condolences, but Christopher asked her to leave them
alone and she eventually agreed. Those were the beginnings of the worst times
most of the islanders had ever known. But even with all that was going on
around them, Christopher had Rebecca and she had him, and that was enough.

It was towards the end of October
that Christopher saw the ordinance about the Jews cross his desk. All Jews on
the island were to register at the Chief Aliens office in St Helier.
Christopher read down through the document, his pulse quickening with every
line he read. Jews were defined as any person that belonged at any time to the
Jewish religion, or who had more than two Jewish grandparents. People on the
island who had never considered themselves Jews would be included. Christopher
felt his hands turn to blocks of ice holding the paper in front of him, and he
struggled even to gesture towards his father. There were no German soldiers in
the room with them. They were left to do their work alone. They did it well,
taking stock of every chicken, cow, hen and pig on the island and what each
farmer was growing, translating letters to and from the people for the
Commandant and, of course, translating whatever decree Von Stein happened to
want to pass down that day. There had never been anything about the Jews until
then. Somehow Christopher had convinced himself, and Rebecca too, that the
Nazis would treat the Jews on Jersey differently. Christopher’s father walked
over to him, and picked up the sheet of paper, written in German and signed by
Von Stein at the bottom. His face seemed to whiten, but then regain its color
quickly. He handed the sheet back to Christopher.

“One thing’s for sure,” Stefan said.
“Rebecca is not registering.” Christopher nodded. Stefan heard the door opening
behind him and saw Lance Corporal Steiner come in. Steiner was from Frankfurt,
a young, handsome man, only a little older than Christopher. He was perpetually
cheerful and that day was no different.

“How are we this morning, gentleman?”
he said.

“Do you know anything about the order
for the Jews to be registered?” Christopher asked, ignoring his question.

Steiner looked at them both, staring
at him. “What need have you to worry about that?” he smiled. “It’s just a part
of the process of cleansing the population.”

“What do you suppose will happen to
the Jews on the island?” Christopher asked.

“Who knows? But for the time being
it’s important that we know who they are, so that we can watch them.” His smile
had barely faded since walking through the door. “It’s so good to have some
fellow Germans here; it makes our job so much easier.” Neither man reacted.
“The British are a most civilized nation of people, not like the Slavs. I was
in Poland, you know, when the invasion took place. Those people,” his face
changed as if he had smelt something foul. “Those people are very different.
They barely have running water. And the Jews there, they’re as close to beasts
as I’ve ever seen, more like vermin.” Stefan and Christopher both looked on in
silence as he spoke. “The British are very different however. It seems a shame
we have to fight them. I’m sure one day we’ll all be on the same side.”

Christopher looked down towards the
pile of documents in front of him, his entire body tensing.

“Don’t worry about the Jews,
Christopher. They certainly don’t worry for you. They’re the cause of all this
war anyway.” Steiner put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder and Christopher
looked up at him. He tried to smile at him but couldn’t. “Are you feeling all
right, Christopher?” Steiner said.

“He’s not been well all day,” Stefan
said. “Is it all right if he goes home? He only lives a few streets away.”

“Of course, it seems like you’re
almost finished for the day anyway.”

Christopher didn’t wait for any
further permission and nodded his head as he picked up his belongings. He
waited until he was out of sight of the office building and ran around the
corner, knocking into John Baines, a once wealthy farmer, as he rode around the
corner on his bike. Christopher fell back against the curb, jutting out his
arms to break his fall. John reached down to help Christopher back to his feet.
Several German soldiers who had seen the collision were looking at him. They
all knew who Christopher was and took steps towards them, casting harsh glares
at John. Christopher did his best not to scowl back at them. He reached across
to John and shook his hand. He waved back to the soldiers who returned to their
conversation. John looked at him and left without a goodbye.

Rebecca was in the kitchen, reading
her books, those poetry books she read and re-read, when Christopher burst in.
The radio was off. It was rarely on in those days: the proscribed radio
stations spewing Nazi propaganda were of little interest to either of them. Some
people on the island dared to listen to the BBC still, although on pain of
incarceration, or the threat of worse.

“You’re home early,” she stood up,
smiling. “Did the Nazis let you out early? What is it? Attila the Hun’s
birthday?”

Christopher did not respond to the
joke. “The Jews on the island have been ordered to register. There was an
ordinance passed down today. I translated it myself.”

Rebecca’s entire face seemed to melt.
Her shoulder slumped down and she put her hand to her face, letting it slide
down across her mouth. She balled her fingers into a fist and turned towards
the window. “Where do I have to go? When?”

“By the 24
^th
. Next
Thursday. They set up some office downtown but don’t worry. You’re not
registering. That’s not going to happen.”

“I’m not ashamed of who I am.”

“I know, Rebecca.” Christopher took
her face in his two hands. “They have this….” Christopher looked away and
around the room, searching for the words, “…. idea, this perverted notion that
Jews are vermin, rats or the like.”

“What about my father? He’s
registered as a Jew, he’s on the voting lists. He’ll have to register for
sure.”

“I don’t know about your father. I
can’t do anything for him.”

“Oh, no.” She began to cry. He took
her in his arms and she buried her head in his shoulder. She drew her head up
to speak again. “I have to see him. I have to tell him.”

Christopher felt the anger inside him
rise as he remembered Cassin, holding the shotgun, forcing him to write the
letter. He and Rebecca had discussed that night many times and, although
Rebecca fully believed him, she couldn’t hate her father for it. It was as if
hatred was beyond her, an emotion she wasn’t capable of feeling.
 
She hadn’t been to see him in the few
months since the Nazis had arrived, but she thought of him often, alone in that
house in St. Martin, surrounded by the short-lived gains of her courtship with
Jonathan- his retirement plan now gone awry.

“Okay. Let’s go and see your father,
together, today.”

They set off on their bikes, out
towards St Martin. The roads were full of German soldiers. They were
everywhere, hundreds of them, scuttling around on motorbikes and trucks.
Christopher stared at their weapons, casually slung over their shoulders. There
would be no chance of saving Rebecca if they identified her as a Jew, there
could be no resisting them. But how would the Nazis know? There were no
synagogues on the island. Rebecca could pretend to be someone else, could take
someone else’s identity, maybe even Sandrine Mallard, gone to England with her
family. Well, maybe not Sandrine, but there were many others.
 
There
were ways around this, no need to panic
, he told himself as they rode past
another truck of German soldiers. There were cows on the road ahead and the
soldiers had jumped out. Christopher stepped off the bike and walked ahead of
Rebecca, weaving through the soldiers littering the road. Rebecca walked
through the soldiers with her head high.

It was five o’clock when they arrived
at the house. A grey curtain of clouds was drawing in over the coast from the
sea. They dropped the bikes in the driveway beside the brand new car that never
left the driveway, a gift from Jonathan Durrell to his mother in law to be that
never was. Rebecca knocked on the door. They were both able to hear the gentle
music wafting through from inside. Rebecca knocked on the door again. They
waited for another thirty seconds, neither of them speaking, until the door
finally opened. He looked at her and then at Christopher.

“Hello,” Rebecca said. “Can we come
in?”

He smirked at her. “So, it’s true
then. You stayed, with him? There are twenty thousand Germans on the island
now. You have plenty to choose from.”

“Can we come in, father?”

He waivered slightly at the door and
it shuddered from side to side under his weight. “If you must,” he shrugged,
holding the door open to the wall.

Christopher smelt the whisky as he
passed, but could not bring himself to look at him. The hallway was clean, and
the mirror above the side table was brand new, the remnants of the price tag
still clinging to the corner of the frame. Rebecca led them into the living
room. Christopher felt like he was returning to the scene of a crime. There
were a couple of whisky glasses strewn around the tables and the ashes from
last night’s fire were still in the fireplace, but, apart from that the room,
was well kept and clean. Rebecca took a seat, the armchair beside the fire
where Cassin had made Christopher sit. Her father was in the armchair opposite
and Christopher sat on the couch facing the fireplace itself.

“I’m glad to see that you’re keeping
the place in good order,” Rebecca began.

“It’s been easier since your mother
left,” he said, without betraying any regret in his voice.

Rebecca swallowed hard and looked at
Christopher. “We’re not here for a social call.”

“Oh no?” Cassin said, feigning
surprise as his face hardened. “Say what you have to say and leave me alone.
I’ve no wish to see you again, not after the way you betrayed your own family.
The sight of you disgusts me.” His face contorted as he spat out the words.

Rebecca’s face reddened and she began
to cry. Christopher went to her but Rebecca waved him away. “I really don’t
care what you think of me, because I know you’ve never cared for anyone your
whole life, not me, not Peter, not mother, not even yourself. I’m just here
today to tell you that the Germans are going to order that all Jews on the
island are to register.”

Cassin’s lip curled up and he looked
away. He took a deep breath and let it out and then he looked at the empty
glass beside him. “Is that it?”

“Come on, Rebecca, let’s go.”
Christopher stood up, but Rebecca ignored him.

“What do you mean ‘is that it’?”
Rebecca leant forward in her chair. “The Germans want all the Jews on the
island to register. Don’t you care?”

Cassin’s eyes slithered down to the
floor.
 
He didn’t speak. Rebecca
still stared at him, as if imploring him to say something, to do something, but
he didn’t. He just reached into the cabinet beside him and took out a crystal
decanter. He took off the top and poured himself a drink.

“I really think it’s time we left,”
Christopher repeated.

Rebecca got up, as if in slow motion.
Her eyes never left her father, yet his only glanced towards her. Christopher
took her by the hand. Just as they were walking out, they heard his voice.