The Runaway Family (26 page)

Kurt paused for a moment, looking at the empty desk. Where had the receptionist gone, he wondered, cold fear flooding through him – had she been listening in to his conversation? Was she even now reporting that he had phoned Austria to the authorities? Had she passed on his registration card? Was someone, somewhere checking his name against a list? His heart was pounding as fear tightened its grip. Should he leave the hotel, now, before they came for him? Where would he go? He glanced over the front of the desk and saw his registration card on the top of a pile of similar cards. It was still there, the young woman hadn’t passed it on. The panic subsided a little. Why should she, he argued with himself as he crept back up the stairs – what suspicions could he have aroused? Surely his name and identity could not have been circulated this far yet. He reached his room, and closing the door firmly behind him turned the key in the lock.

There could be any number of reasons why she wasn’t at the desk, he told himself. A call of nature, duty somewhere else in the hotel. Perhaps she’d gone home. It was unlikely such a small hotel would keep a receptionist on duty throughout the night. Surely he was as safe here as anywhere else, and a lot safer than in most places. He would leave first thing in the morning. But he was only half-convinced and the fear did not leave him; despite the wonderful warmth and softness of the bed, he slept little, dozing and waking until it was daylight.

In the morning he shaved carefully with the razor Paul had provided, packed his few belongings into the case and got ready to leave. He knew that he must keep moving. To stay in one place for too long was to invite discovery, and he felt that he had stayed too long here already. Picking up his suitcase he went downstairs. A different woman sat at the reception desk.

“I’d like to pay my bill,” Kurt said, taking money from his coat pocket. “Room 4.”

The woman wrote out his bill and as she handed it to him she pointed to an added figure just above the total and said, “That last amount is for the international phone call you made to a number in Vienna last night.” Written beside the amount was Edith’s phone number.

Kurt looked at it and said quickly, “Yes, yes, that’s quite right. Thank you.” He proffered the money for the bill, but the woman did not take it straightaway.

“If you need breakfast,” she said, “we can serve you in the dining room.”

“Thank you, no.” Kurt replied, “I have to catch the Hamburg train.”

At this the woman finally took the notes he held out, tucking them into a cashbox with the carbon copy of the bill. Kurt bid her good morning and picking up his suitcase went out into the street.

During his wakeful night, Kurt had decided what he should do next. He still intended to go to Vienna, but he knew he was going to have to take a circuitous route. He found a small bookshop, bought himself a train timetable, and took it to a café he had seen, where he studied it over his breakfast. He would keep well away from Munich while still heading east. He was determined to get into Austria, and decided that he would try and cross the border at Passau. He would take the train to Regensburg and spend the night there. From there he could phone Ruth again, to tell her of his plans and then the next day he would use Günter Schiller’s passport and try and cross into Austria. Once he was over the border, he could get another train to Vienna. It was Thursday 10th March; with luck he should be in Vienna with his family by Sunday the 12th at the latest. It would be exactly eight months since the night of the riot.

Kurt finished his breakfast and walked back to the station. It was busy and he hoped that one more man wearing a nondescript hat and coat would pass unnoticed among the crowds. He knew from his timetable that there was a train for Regensburg in half an hour, so he bought himself a ticket and a newspaper and sat on a bench reading until it was time to board the train. There were some uniformed men around the station, but most were the civil police, who seemed to be on normal duty. As the departure time approached, Kurt got to his feet and walked purposefully across to the platform where the Regensburg train stood, its engine blowing smoke and steam as it prepared to leave. He showed his ticket to the collector at the platform entrance and was passed through without a second glance. With his heart still pumping, Kurt walked along the train until he came to the third-class carriages. Choosing one that already had an elderly couple sitting in it, he opened the door and got in.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked politely, indicating one of the empty corner seats.

“Please,” the old man said, and waved his hand towards it.

“Thank you.” Kurt placed his case on the rack above his head, carefully laid his hat on top of it and sat down. The couple were watching him, so he smiled politely and opened his paper.

No one else came into the carriage and within minutes the whistle blew and the train drew slowly out of the station. It was not an express train, and it had no corridor. He and the elderly couple were on their own until they reached the first station. It stopped at several small stations as it headed south towards Regensburg, but that suited Kurt very well. He thought that the Gestapo or SS might take less interest in a slow, local train than an express. At each station he was alert to what was going on outside, trying to look at ease while being ready to leap from the train if there was any sign of police or storm troopers. He watched the country slide past the window, but all the time he was aware of the couple in the compartment with him. They didn’t speak to each other, or to him, and something told him they were as nervous of him as he was of them.

When the train eventually reached Regensburg he got out. He had half a day to kill before he could make his second call to Ruth, but he felt safer here, in a different place. If the hotel had reported his call, if they were indeed looking for him, the receptionist would report he’d said he was going to Hamburg. If his fears were unfounded, then he was still as safe here as anywhere. He would phone Ruth from here at the appointed time and just pray that Edith had given her the message.

Eight months since his arrest! The thought of speaking to her after so long made his heart pound in his chest. He walked out of the station into the city and wandered the nearby streets in search of another small hotel. He found one, ten minutes’ walk from the station, and arranged to take a room. As of the previous evening he had to fill in a registration card, giving his name and address.

The receptionist looked at the card. “What brings you to Regensburg, Herr Friedman?” she asked.

Kurt managed a smile. “Just some business… for my mother.” It was all he could think of as he realised that his papers named him as a grocer, not a travelling salesman.

The girl handed him a key. “Room 3 at the top of the stairs.”

Kurt took the key, thanked her and made his way upstairs. The girl watched him disappear round the turn in the stairs, then picked up the registration card and looked at it again. She glanced at the stairs again before lifting the receiver of the telephone on her desk and making a call.

Kurt left his case in the room, and went out to find something to eat. He’d had nothing since his early breakfast, and he was feeling hungry. He found a small café and ate a plate of cold meat for his lunch, and then decided to spend the afternoon in the anonymity of a cinema. When the film was over, there was still some time before he could ring Ruth, so he strolled through the town until he came to one of the canals that linked with the River Danube. As he walked along the towpath he watched a string of barges being towed out from the canal into the main waterway, heading east. He wondered where they were going and what they were carrying. He crossed a bridge and watched as the barges slipped away beneath him, like so many ducklings strung out behind their mother. He found a bench and sitting on it watched the barges disappear slowly into the dusk. He looked at his watch. Nearly time to make his call, to talk to Ruth. He must find a public phone, somewhere where he was sure he couldn’t be overheard. He walked back past the station. There, in the ticket hall, were three telephone booths.

I’ll ring from there, he thought, and turned into the entrance.

At exactly the time he had arranged with Edith, Kurt went into one of the telephone boxes and placed his call. He was lucky and the operator was able to put him straight through. His heart was thumping as he heard it ringing at the other end.

“Good evening. Herr Doktor Bernstein’s residence.” As before the maid answered the call.

“Please may I speak to Frau Ruth Friedman.”

“One moment, please.”

Then he heard her voice, breathless, shaky. “Kurt? Is that you?”

“Ruth, my darling Ruth!” He had planned exactly what he was going to say in the precious three minutes allotted to him, but when he heard her voice everything flew out of his head and he could only say her name.

“Kurt! Where are you?”

“Ruth? It’s really you!”

“Kurt! Yes, yes, I’m here! Kurt, are you all right? Where are you?”

“I can’t tell you that. I’m so glad you’ve got the children safely to Edith’s. Are they well? Are they all right? Are
you
all right?” Now Kurt’s questions came tumbling out.

“We’re all fine,” Ruth assured him. “Did you get,” she paused before saying, “what I sent you?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I can use it. They’re looking for me.”

“Oh God!” Ruth cried. “Can’t you come?”

“Darling Ruth, I will if I possibly can, but it’ll be dangerous.”

“Then don’t!” Ruth spoke sharply “Don’t come. We’re fine. We’re all fine.”

“I want to be there with you all.”

“Please, Kurt, don’t come if it is too dangerous. I’d rather you were free, and alive and somewhere else.” Ruth’s voice shook as she added, “You should go and visit Berta.”

“Berta?” For a moment Kurt was bemused. Who on earth was Berta?

“You know Berta, Edith’s daughter. Listen, Kurt, write to me,” Ruth said, “our new address is…”

“No,” Kurt interrupted, “don’t say it! I’ll write care of Edith.”

“All right. Oh Kurt, I do miss you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, darling.” There was a break in Kurt’s voice as he went on, “Always and ever, whatever happens, remember I love you!”

“If you can’t come, Kurt, don’t! Stay safe. We’re safe. Just try and keep in touch somehow!”

“I’ll ring again… same time next week.”

“Time’s up, caller.” The line went dead.

Kurt stood with the silent telephone receiver in his hand for a long minute. Had Ruth heard his last promise, to ring again next week? Who else had heard it? Who else had heard the whole conversation? Had the operator listened in? Was someone even now reporting a strange conversation to the authorities? One of the Nazis’ triumphs was to make informers of everyone.

Time to get off the streets, he decided, and take shelter in his hotel, ready to move on again in the morning. He replaced the receiver in its cradle and walked quickly away from the station. Once out on the busy pavements, he slowed his pace and headed back towards the hotel, just one more nondescript man in a crowd returning home from work. As he approached the corner of his street, a car swept past him and turned down towards the hotel. Kurt had seen cars like that before, and a chill ran down his spine. When he reached the corner he paused, looking along the road towards the hotel. The car had passed it and pulled up a hundred yards further along, but he saw that the hotel door was closing behind someone. Someone had just gone into the hotel. Kurt waited in the shelter of a shop doorway and watched. After a few moments a man came back out of the hotel, looked both ways along the empty street and then hurried to the parked car. He spoke to someone in the car and a second man got out. Both hurried back into the hotel, and the car eased off down the road and disappeared round a bend. Men like these were all too familiar. Despite his warm clothes Kurt felt suddenly cold. If he hadn’t stopped to make the call from the station, he would have been at the hotel when they arrived. Even if they had not been looking specifically for him, he would have been discovered. He stepped out of the doorway and walked briskly back the way he had come. Whether the men in dark coats were looking for him or not, he would not go back to the hotel. There was little there he needed, everything of importance was with him; his money was hidden about his person and both passports were in the inner pockets of his coat. He had his watch on his wrist and Ruth’s letter in the inside pocket of his jacket. Shaving kit, vital to keeping himself looking respectable, he could replace.

He headed back to the station, but the crowds returning home were thinning out now, and he walked past. He glanced in through the main entrance, and what he saw made him want to break into a run. It took all his willpower to keep walking at a steady pace as if he had somewhere special to go. Standing at the ticket office was a man in the uniform of an SS trooper. Two more were standing at the entrance to the platforms, stopping everyone going through to the trains. They were looking for someone, and although Kurt had no idea if it was him, he was taking no risks.

Fighting the instinct to run, he continued to walk away from the station. How had they caught up with him so quickly? One of the receptionists must have suspected something and handed his registration card to the police. How had the police known that he was on the run? Someone very important must be determined to find him, someone who was powerful enough to have his details wired to main police stations, Gestapo offices… and, he thought, to all border crossings. Wherever he went they might have his passport details, be on the lookout for him. Was it because Loritz had been tricked out of his property, or simply because he refused to allow a Jew to get the better of him? Once he was away from Kirnheim, he had thought he would be safe enough, he had never truly thought that the net would be cast this wide. By pure chance he had escaped that net just now, but he knew he was not safely away yet. He had to get out of the town, disappear again, and not risk moving about openly.

He walked purposefully along Bahnhofstrasse and then cut up through the maze of smaller streets that led back towards the river. Here the streets were darker and there were few people around. Kurt tried to keep to the shadows; and more than once he reached a dead end and had to turn back, but at length he crossed the river. Somehow putting the river between himself and the railway station made him feel a little safer. He continued, more slowly now, with no particular direction in mind. He was looking for somewhere to spend the night, before he headed for Passau and the Austrian border in the morning. Tall buildings loomed on either side of the streets, warehouses, their windows dark, their gates locked, but Kurt continued to walk, searching for a doorway, or sheltered alleyway where he might take refuge for the night. He turned into another lane, twisting its way between blank-faced warehouses, but he found it ended in high metal gates, secured by a strong padlock and chain.