Good-bye Marianne (4 page)

A
truck roared into the square. It skidded to a halt in front of a gray house, one of a row overlooking the market. Storm troopers carrying rifles jumped out, their glossy boots shining in the lamplight. One kicked over a basket piled high with apples, which was standing by the fruit stall. Apples rolled in all directions. The troopers hurried up the steps. A voice shouted, “Open up
Juden raus.”

Marianne was unable to move. She wanted to run, but she seemed to be trapped in one of those dreams where she could not make her feet obey her. Ernest gripped her arm, “There’s going to be an arrest; this is my lucky day.”

The sounds of breaking glass and splintering wood rang out over the square. A few people watched, like Ernest, wanting to know what was going to happen next. Mothers took their small children by the hand and hurried away. The fruit seller picked up his apples, and polished them one by one on his striped apron.

Marianne whispered to herself as much as to Ernest, “I have to go now. I’m going.” She crossed the square. Away from the truck, away from the storm troopers, away from the sounds in the house, which the gramophone could not muffle.

“Wait, I just want to see what’s going on,” said Ernest.

Marianne wasn’t listening, except to a voice in her head which was saying, ‘Go home.’ She turned her head, forced to do so by the sounds of glass breaking, a cry, the thud of a body landing on cobblestones.

The soldiers clattered down the steps and picked up the body of a man lying facedown in the snow. They dragged him to the truck and hauled him over the side. The truck pulled away, its tires spinning.

The square was quiet again. Drops of blood glistened, scarlet as winterberries, under the street lamp where the man had fallen. His black cap lay forgotten in the snow. People moved on.

Marianne began to run. Ernest sounded the motor-horn behind her. “Wait for me.” He caught up with her. “I don’t think he was dead,” said Ernest, to comfort her.

A cold wind blew little flurries of snow against their faces. Ernest turned up the collar of his jacket, and Marianne pulled her scarf over her mouth. It gave her an excuse not to speak. There was nothing to say.

When they got home, Ernest said, “You look like a bandit with your face all muffled up. Good disguise. It was fun today. Thanks. See you.” He disappeared into Number One.

As soon as Marianne was back inside her own apartment, she took off Ernest’s bandage. Her knee had bled. She ran cold water and washed the handkerchief in the kitchen sink. The stain came out easily.

Marianne went into her bedroom and dropped her clothes on the floor. She put on her nightdress and lay down on her bed. Then she unwrapped the music box and turned the key. She sang the words of the melody:

When the tune was finished, she put the box under her pillow, curled up under the covers, and slept immediately. She did not stir when her mother came in, folded her clothes, and quietly closed her bedroom door.

I
t snowed all week.

Marianne opened her eyes. She stretched, sat up, and smiled at her mother, who stood beside her bed holding a tray.

“Breakfast is served, Your Highness.”

“I’m not ill, am I?” asked Marianne.

“Just a treat,” said her mother. “I
am
sorry I got home so late again last night. I’ll make up for it with the best potato pancakes ever, for supper. Now, please eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

“I’m starved,” said Marianne, tapping the top of her boiled egg. “Sit on my bed and tell me about the latest meeting. Will there be school classes for me to go to?”

Mrs. Kohn sat at the end of Marianne’s bed. “First I have a surprise.”

“Vati’s coming home?”

“Not quite yet. But…” Mrs. Kohn put a thin blue envelope beside Marianne’s cup of hot chocolate. “This is nice, too, don’t you think?”

Marianne opened the letter, slitting the envelope with her knife in exactly the same way her father always opened his mail. “It’s from Ruth! Listen…”

“What a lovely letter. I must answer right away,” said Marianne.

“Yes, she does sound happy. But Marianne, please don’t leave the letter lying around. Put it out of sight. Ruth writes too freely. She’s forgotten so quickly how things are here.”

“Mutti, no one but us is going to see it – no one ever comes here anymore.” Marianne looked up and saw her mother’s worried expression. She remembered the man in the market last week. “Of course I’ll put the letter away, as soon as I’ve answered it. Thank you for my delicious breakfast. Now, tell me about the meeting – I can’t wait one more minute.”

Mrs. Kohn said, smiling, “Even ladies of leisure must get dressed. As soon as you’re ready, I’ll tell you. I’m just going to start clearing up the kitchen. Don’t forget it’s my day for volunteering at the orphanage.” She left the room.

Marianne washed quickly, longing to hear her mother’s news. She put on her favorite red and white wool sweater over a gray pleated skirt.

“I’m ready.”

“How nice you look, darling.” Mrs. Kohn put down her coffee cup and said, “It was a long meeting. People are worried and upset. It was mostly mothers there. So many men are in hiding, or…”

“Mutti, you can say it.”

“Alright I will – or are in concentration camps. I’m sure they’ll be released soon; it’s just a question of time. Now, about school. The Jewish community is short of teachers, books, and space for all the children who can’t go to German schools anymore. Some of the mothers prefer their children to be taught at home. They feel that’s safer than allowing them to walk to the classes we’ll set up. The Rabbi says room will be found for the rest of you somehow. It will all be sorted out in a couple of weeks.
Meanwhile, darling, you have your books here. You must try to carry on by yourself for awhile.

“Now, I must hurry to the orphanage. Wonderful news. The orphans are to join a group of more than two hundred children who will be allowed to leave Germany. They are being sent to England. Good homes will be found for them there. They’re leaving in a few days, and each child must be packed and ready. Think of all those suitcases! It’s like a miracle that they’ll be sent to safety. The Rabbi hopes many more Jewish children will be taken in by countries wanting to rescue our children.”

“But, Mutti, having to go so far away, how awful!” said Marianne.

“I explained to you before, we don’t always know what will happen. The most important thing is for them to be safe.”

Marianne flung her arms round her mother’s neck. “Thank goodness I’m not an orphan. I’d never leave you and Vati to go so far away. You wouldn’t send me away by myself, would you, Mutti? Promise me you’d never do that.”

Mrs. Kohn kissed the top of Marianne’s head and said, “When you’ve finished your letter to Ruth, why don’t you come and pick me up at the orphanage, say about one o’clock? I like to walk home with you.”

“I’d love to. You go now, Mutti, or you’ll be late. I’ll put the dishes away. And be careful.”

“You’re beginning to sound just like me. Thanks, darling. I’ll see you later.” Mrs. Kohn patted her daughter’s cheek, put on her hat and coat, and closed the front door softly behind her.

England! Marianne had begun English lessons two years ago. She liked learning languages. She tried to remember what to say when asked, “How do you do?” Was it “very well” or “werry vel”? She could never remember. She tried saying it both ways, speaking aloud to her reflection in the kitchen mirror, “Tank you werry much.”

The sound of a horn blaring sent her rushing to the front door. “Ernest, are you crazy? We’re going to be in big trouble.”

“I knocked on the door. Were you asleep?”

One of the Schmidt sisters leaned over the banisters and called out, “What’s happening? Is something wrong?”

Ernest stuffed his fist in his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Marianne called out politely, “Good morning, Miss Schmidt. It’s nothing. I’m sorry we disturbed you. Someone was showing me how his alarm system works.” Miss Schmidt clucked disapprovingly. A moment later her door shut.

“Lucky Mum and Aunt Helga are out,” said Ernest.

“Aunt Helga!” Marianne howled with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” asked Ernest.

“I didn’t know Mrs. Schwartz’s name was Helga,” said Marianne, and went on laughing. “I never even thought of her having a first name!”

“You’ve gone mad. Please excuse my friend, ladies and gentlemen.” Ernest spoke to an imaginary audience.

“Do you want to come in for a moment?” asked Marianne.

“Thanks.” Ernest followed Marianne into the kitchen. “I have to do this school project on the Brandenburg Gate. Like to go
with me? Then, this afternoon, I’m meeting my mother. She says I need new winter shoes. She’s taking me out for ice cream and pastries afterward, as a reward for good behavior.”

“I have to pick up my mother as well, but I’ve got a couple of hours. Just wait a minute – I’ll put on my coat. I’ll get your handkerchief too.”

When Marianne came back into the kitchen, Ernest was holding Ruth’s envelope. “Here’s your handkerchief; it’s quite clean now,” said Marianne. For a moment she remembered her mother’s warning.

“Thanks. Could I have this Dutch stamp? I’ve already got it, but I could use it for a swap.”

“Of course. Have the whole envelope. I’ll just take out the letter.” Marianne put Ruth’s letter in a drawer.

“Thanks a lot. Let’s go.”

W
alking along to the streetcar, Marianne felt completely happy. Ernest had said, “My friend is mad.” ‘My friend.’ Perhaps everything would turn out alright after all. Vati would come home; she’d start school again. Things would get better. Everyone kept saying that.

“What are you smiling about?” asked Ernest.

“I’m mad, remember? So of course I smile at nothing at all. I’m really smiling, though, because I get to watch someone
else
do a school project.”

“You Berliners have got it good.”

Ernest made a face at her and they ran for the streetcar.

“Not in school?” the conductor commented cheerfully.

“I’m doing a project on the Brandenburg Gate,” said Ernest.

“Nice-looking helper.” The conductor winked at Ernest, and Marianne blushed. The conductor rang the bell and they got off just before the gate.

Ernest stood absolutely still. People moved around him. He stared first at the wide sweep of Unter den Linden, the avenue of parades and victory marches, that stretched through the center of the city. Marianne knew he was imagining great armies coming through the Brandenburg Gate. She had never really looked before at the twelve huge stone pillars supporting the gate, or at the Goddess of Victory above, driving her chariot drawn by four stone horses. A sea of red flags hung from the surrounding buildings.

“It’s sixty-five feet tall,” said Ernest.

“You tourists know everything.” All at once it was fun seeing Berlin through a visitor’s eyes.

The sounds of drumming and marching feet drew near. Led by a drum corps of boys wearing khaki shirts and black shorts and the armbands of the Hitler Youth, a troop of young men in uniform stepped in perfect unison toward Pariser Square. Behind them marched the girls’ corps, in white blouses, blue pleated skirts and brown jackets. They stood at attention facing the small crowd.

Ernest grabbed Marianne’s hand and pulled her right to the front of the crowd. His arm flew out in salute, and his voice rang out with those of the watching people and of the Hitler Youth,
“Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil.”
Ernest seemed to grow taller. He was a stranger. It was as if she had never seen him before.

Marianne stooped to tie her shoelaces. She stayed down, hoping not to be noticed. She’d do anything to get out of hailing the
Führer.

“What’s the matter?” said Ernest. “You’ll miss everything.” Marianne stood up. The words of the “Horst Wessel” song echoed over the square:

Marianne did not hear another word because at that moment, she looked straight into the shining eyes of the girl she had met in the park. It was Inge. She wasn’t imagining it. She’d never forget Inge Bauer. Inge’s eyes glittered. She seemed under a spell.

“I feel a bit dizzy,” Marianne whispered to Ernest. She excused herself politely till she got through the rows of people, and then walked back toward her tram stop.

Ernest caught up with her. “What a shame to miss the concert. My mother doesn’t like crowds either. Shall we find a bench and sit down a minute?”

“No, I’m fine, really. I have to meet my mother soon anyway. Please go back. You still have to do your project. There’s my streetcar now.”

“Good-bye then. See you later.” Ernest raised his hand in a half wave and hurried back into the throng of Nazi worshippers.

’That was really nice of him, leaving the parade to make sure I’m alright.’

On the way home, Marianne sat hunched and small in her seat, trying not to be noticed, thinking about the way her life had changed so abruptly.

Every single day since she’d been forbidden to attend school, Marianne had forced herself to go for a brisk walk round the neighborhood. She was afraid that if she missed even once, she’d never leave the safety of her apartment again. She walked with her head up, but avoided the eyes of anyone in uniform. It wasn’t easy because there were so many soldiers and police everywhere – marching, saluting, often dragging passersby into trucks and cars.

One afternoon, she joined a small group of people who were good-naturedly watching two boys fighting. Their local policeman, whom everyone knew, separated them. He was in a good mood, smiling and greeting some of the women by name.

The younger boy said to the policeman, “Please, sir, I left my bicycle leaning against this lamppost, and I was gone only for a minute to post a letter for my mother. Then when I came back, he’d taken my bicycle and he won’t give it back.”

The other boy, who was bigger, said, mimicking the younger one’s voice, “Please, sir, this boy is a Jew. That’s not stealing, is it?”

The policeman’s mood changed abruptly. He cuffed the Jewish boy so hard, he hit his head against the lamppost. “You’re getting off lightly,” he said. “Next time you make a complaint against a citizen of the
Reich
, I’ll take you into custody.” The boy ran off, holding the side of his head.

As Marianne turned to go home, she heard the policeman chuckle and say, “You’ve got yourself a fine bicycle there. You tell your mother I gave it to you – confiscated goods from Jewish vermin.”

The red and white flags with their ominous black swastikas, which hung from every building, waved in the wind with more menace than usual that day. They signalled a very clear message to Marianne –
YOU AND YOUR KIND ARE THE ENEMY IN THIS LAND.

One dreadful morning a few days later, a woman whom Marianne knew slightly because she worked part-time in Otto’s Cigar Store, saw her in the street and said, “Turn around and go the other way; go by the back lane. There’s been a bad accident. A woman got killed when the Gestapo came and took her son away. Her body is still on the street.” She’d taken Marianne gently by the shoulders and pushed her in the opposite direction because Marianne had been too shocked to move. That day, Marianne ran all the way home. She had quite forgotten she was not supposed to draw attention to herself.

How could the grown-ups say, “Things will get better”?