Good-bye Marianne (2 page)

M
arianne reached the corner of her street and breathed in the familiar smell of Otto’s shop. Her father always bought his newspaper there on the way home, and sometimes a cigar to smoke after supper.

She’d walked all the way home without ever looking up, once ignoring a cyclist’s bell as she crossed in front of him. Mutti was always warning her to be careful at the Wilhemstrasse’s busy intersection.

Home at last. Now she had only to avoid Mrs. Schwartz’s curiosity. Mrs. Schwartz was the caretaker for their building. She lived in the ground-floor apartment facing the street. It seemed her life depended on knowing everyone’s business! The slightest detail was of utmost importance to her, and she knew almost everything that was going on in the building, on their street, and even what was said behind closed doors. The mailman often paused on his rounds to have coffee with her.

Luckily, today she was not scrubbing the front steps, skirt tucked into her apron waistband. Nor was she peering from behind the spotless white muslin curtains on her gleaming windows.

Marianne opened the front door and tiptoed past Number One. She crept up the stairs, careful not to step on the polished wood surround of the new, green, stair carpet that was Mrs. Schwartz’s pride. Marianne’s apartment was on the first floor. She rang the bell. No reply. Oh well, she had her key. Mutti was probably out shopping. “Oh, please, come home quickly. I have to tell you now,” whispered Marianne.

Marianne had tied a piece of blue ribbon to her key, so that she could find it quickly. She unstrapped her schoolbag, but couldn’t see the key. She shook the bag’s contents onto the linoleum, so highly polished by Mrs. Schwartz that the Misses Schmidt upstairs complained that it was more dangerous to walk along the hallway than to cross the Kurfürstendamm: skipping rope, math textbook, notebooks, pen, pencil, eraser, compass and ruler, sandwich paper for her mother to wrap up her lunch the next day. Of course, she wouldn’t be needing one tomorrow; she’d forgotten for a moment. Marianne checked her pockets – just her handkerchief and emergency subway fare. The key must have fallen out in the park. Marianne didn’t even want to think about going back there to look for it.

She felt the day would never end. She heard a clock chiming twelve noon. Was it really only four hours since she’d left home that morning? Marianne slumped on the floor, leaned her head against the apartment door and closed her eyes.

There might be a letter from her cousin Ruth today. She’d promised to write and tell her about the new school. How long would a letter take to reach Berlin from Holland?

It must be at least two weeks since they had the good-bye supper for the Fischers, just after the High Holidays. Auntie Grethe was Mutti’s older sister. Her daughter, Ruth, was thirteen and, unlike Marianne, went to Hebrew school, so the cousins didn’t see each other that often. Uncle Frank was much more orthodox than Vati. Marianne and her parents attended the liberal synagogue, but she and Ruth would miss each other all the same.

Uncle Frank had lost his job months ago, so this was a lucky break for the Fischers – for him to find a position as a furrier in Amsterdam. At that last visit they’d eaten roast chicken and apple cake, and Mutti had made good strong coffee. Then the grown-ups played cards and she and Ruth had done the dishes, being extra careful of Mutti’s Rosenthal china that had been a wedding present.

The china was beautiful: thin white plates with gold bands around the rim, and a different design of fruit painted on each one. There were little side plates to match. Marianne’s favorite was the sprig of cherries; Ruth liked the grapes best. Vati always used to pretend the grapes were real, and then acted disappointed when they wouldn’t come off the plate. Of course, that had been when she was little.

Ruth and Marianne listened to Marianne’s records in her room with the door shut, so they could talk in peace after they’d
finished in the kitchen. Ruth said she couldn’t wait to get away from Germany. Her friend Lilian’s family had been picked up by the Gestapo. Her father’s name had been on a list. The apartment had been given to someone else. Lilian never came back to school.

Everyone knew that the Gestapo came without warning, usually at dawn. Ruth told her that she had nightmares about being picked up. That’s why she was pleased to go to Holland, even though she couldn’t speak Dutch.

Surely Vati couldn’t be on a list too? Was that why he was away? That couldn’t be the reason. All he did was buy and sell books, and make jokes – usually the same ones, over and over. The shop never seemed to make much money. Mutti was just wonderful at making do. She and Marianne would look through the fashion magazines together and laugh as if they were the same age, and then Mutti would say, “Don’t you think, Marianne, if I changed the buttons, and put a new collar and some pockets on my navy dress, it would look just like that model? I’ll try it.”

And then she’d get to work and have her mouth full of pins for days, and they’d have cold suppers, but there would be the dress, or the new winter coat for Marianne.

But Mutti didn’t laugh so much anymore, in fact, hardly ever.

The other day when he hadn’t made a single sale all day, Vati had said, “Books aren’t so popular in the Third
Reich
!” He was smiling when he said it. Mutti had told him to be quiet.

“You never know who’s listening, David.”

Her father laughed, but he got up and closed the window all the same, and drew the heavy blue curtains.

Marianne dozed. It was quite comfortable on the floor, warmed by the midday sun shining through the hall window. A blaring noise sounded, uncomfortably close.

“Hands up, you’re under arrest, stand against the wall.”

Marianne jumped up, pressed her back against the wall, and slowly raised her hands.

“I’d say that worked pretty well, didn’t it?”

In front of her, dressed in a tweed suit, the trousers ending just below the knee, a peaked cap of the same material perched on his red hair, stood a boy holding a motor-horn, and smiling the friendliest smile she’d seen in a long time.

“S
orry to wake you up,” said the boy, and laughed.

Marianne couldn’t help joining in, though her palms were still sticky from fright. “You really scared me. I thought you were the police.”

“Ah, guilty conscience I see,” said the boy in an exaggeratedly deep voice.

Marianne changed the subject. “That’s a terrific motor-horn. It sounds exactly as though a car were parked right beside me. Wherever did you get it?”

“From a kid in my class. We traded. I did his math homework for a week for it. He got it from his grandfather’s old car. Here, try it if you want. Just press the black rubber bulb and the noise comes out from the horn. Can’t you imagine driving along and having to hold the horn in one hand when you want someone to get out of the way?”

Marianne took the horn and gave one gentle squeeze to try it out, then three great blasts, before handing it back. She’d have Mrs. Schwartz up here if she weren’t careful!

“Thanks a lot. It’s wonderful – just like Gustav’s in
Emil and the Detectives.
That’s my favorite book. Is that where you got the idea?” said Marianne.

“Good deduction. Exactly right. I hope to be a detective one day. I’d better introduce myself – I’m Ernest Bock. Tourist from Freiburg, at your service.” He gave Marianne a small bow.

“Hi, I’m Marianne. I live here. I mean not in the hall, but in there.” Marianne pointed to her front door. “I lost my key.”

Ernest said, laughing again, “I guessed that. I’m pretty smart at picking up clues too. You are lucky living in Berlin. This is my first visit. I’ve never seen so many shops and lights blazing, and cars, and flags waving. Fantastic! My dad gave me this trip as a birthday present. He works on the railway, so he gets cheap tickets. Yesterday when we were on the train from Freiburg, I was thinking of the part in the book where Emil falls asleep, and the man in the bowler hat steals all his money. I can tell you, I kept my hand on the motor-horn the whole time, and didn’t close my eyes once.”

“Did you travel all that way on your own?” said Marianne.

“Oh, no, my mother’s here with me. We’re staying with Mrs. Schwartz, an old friend of hers. They went to school together.”

Marianne asked as casually as she could, “You mean Mrs. Schwartz in Number One?”

“Yes, I’ve hardly spoken to her yet. As soon as we arrived, she and my mother rushed off to some big department store for bargains. They won’t be home for hours.”

“Wertheim’s, I should think,” said Marianne. “All the mothers like shopping there.”

“That’s the one. They said I should keep an eye on things till they come back. That won’t be till the stores close, I bet. I’m exploring; hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” said Marianne. “How long are you staying in Berlin?”

“I wish it was forever, but it’s just for two weeks. My dad and my brother know how to cook only one kind of food – sausages – boiled, fried, or grilled. Anyway, can’t miss school for too long. You know how it is. Have you got the afternoon off?”

“Yes. I’m off school for awhile.” Marianne bent down to pick up her things, stuffing them into her bag. Ernest helped her.

“You are lucky. Tell you what – while you’re waiting for someone to come home, we’ll pretend I’m Emil. I’ll sit here on the top step, and close my eyes. You have to reach into my pocket and steal this ten-pfennig coin without my hearing you. I’ll sound the horn if I catch you.”

Marianne said, “Alright, but let’s start with just snatching the cap. You put it beside you, and I have to take it away without you hearing me. We can advance to more sophisticated crimes later.”

“Excellent. You have first go,” said Ernest, and removed his cap. He leaned against the banisters, and closed his eyes.

Marianne removed her shoes, then began to creep up behind him. Unfortunately, the glossy floor squeaked even under her light step, and Ernest blared the horn triumphantly.

They changed places. Ernest picked up Marianne’s skipping rope and formed it into a lasso. He slid forward on his stomach, and gently curled the rope over the cap.

Marianne heard the sound of a button scraping on the floor, opened her eyes, saw the rope miss her ear by inches and capture the cap. She shrieked, “Stop, thief,” squeezed the horn, and both children shouted with laughter. At that moment Mrs. Kohn opened the front door and, hearing loud voices, one of which was Marianne’s, ran across the hallway and up the stairs.

“What are you doing on the floor, Marianne? What’s happened to you? Are you hurt?” Mrs. Kohn was deathly pale, and she was gasping for breath.

“Mutti, calm down – we were just playing. I lost my key and couldn’t get in.”

Meanwhile Ernest had picked up the rest of Marianne’s things, put them in the schoolbag, and handed the satchel to her. He raised his cap, clicked his heels together, and gave the same little bow.

“Mother, this is Ernest Bock – he’s here from Freibourg on holiday. He kept me company,” said Marianne. She did not look at Ernest, knowing she’d giggle if she did.

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” said Ernest politely.

Mrs. Kohn smiled a stiff little smile – she still hadn’t got over her fright. “Good day, Ernest.”

“I’d better be going. I haven’t had lunch yet. Good-bye Ma’am, ’bye Marianne. See you again.”

“’Bye, Ernest. Thanks.”

Ernest ran down the stairs, two steps at a time. He gave her a final motor-horn salute before disappearing into Number One.

A
s soon as they were inside the apartment, Marianne and her mother burst out talking at the same moment.

“Where were you?”

“I’ve been so worried about you.”

Mrs. Kohn fastened the safety chain on the door, then turned and gave Marianne a hug. “I’ve been sick with worry, darling. I heard the announcement on the radio, and rushed out to meet you, but of course you’d left. Was it dreadful for you?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t going to pretend. The morning settled like cold rice pudding in her stomach. “At least I missed the test.” Mrs. Kohn hung up her coat on the hall stand and followed her daughter into the kitchen. She picked up the brown envelope Marianne had taken from her schoolbag.

Marianne sat at the kitchen table, one elbow leaning on the blue and white checked oilcloth. She brushed her arm, in its clean white-sleeved blouse, across her eyes. “I’m getting a cold.”

Her mother sat down facing her. She studied the records. “Oh Marianne, this was so brave of Miss Stein. She could be in a lot of trouble for writing such a nice comment about you.” She replaced the papers and put them in the kitchen dresser drawer. She arranged two honey cakes on a plate and poured Marianne a glass of milk. “Now tell me, how in the world did you lose your key?”

Marianne said, with her mouth full of cake, “In the park.”

“The park! Marianne, you know better than that. Anything could have happened. It’s bad enough just coming straight home from school. I’m sorry, darling, but you know it’s not safe for us to be in public places.”

Marianne chewed her thumbnail. She shivered, remembering Inge.

“I still don’t understand how a key can fall out of a closed schoolbag,” said her mother.

“It must have fallen out when I got my skipping rope. Sorry.”

Mrs. Kohn was about to say more when she noticed Marianne’s flushed cheeks. “I think you really are catching a cold. Just as well you’re home for a few days.”

“A few days! Don’t you mean forever? Why can’t we go to Holland? Then I could go to school with Ruth.” Marianne knew she sounded spoiled and childish – she couldn’t seem to help it.

“We can try. Don’t forget it took Uncle Frank a long time to get sponsored by his new employer. It’s very hard to obtain a visa these days. We have to wait our turn. Now, as for going to
school – of course you’re not going to miss school forever. Do you think we would let that happen? The Rabbi has called a meeting for this afternoon so that all the parents can discuss the situation. There are lots of things we can do – set up classes in our homes even – for those students for whom room can’t be found in Jewish schools.”

Marianne began to chew her thumb again, something she hadn’t done since she was a toddler. She didn’t want to go to Jewish school and have bricks thrown through windows, and stones hurled into the school yard. It wasn’t that she was more of a coward than anyone else, but she just wanted to
be
like everybody else, that is, like the kids in her old school – some of them, at least. “I’m not going to sneak around and join some homemade class!”

“Marianne, that’s quite enough. Whatever’s got into you today? Now tell me – and please, darling, I’d rather you ate your cake instead of your thumb – who was that boy? When I heard you scream, I thought you were being attacked.”

“Is that why you were so unfriendly to Ernest? I told you, Mutti, he’s nice – we had fun while I was waiting for you to come home.”

“Did he ask you anything? What was he doing in our hallway? He doesn’t live here. For all we know, he might be from the Hitler Youth, checking out the building.” Mrs. Kohn brushed cake crumbs fiercely from the tablecloth, then poured more milk for Marianne.

“I can’t drink all this milk; it makes me feel sick.”

“You can. Drink it. It’s good for you. And this is no time to be talking to strangers. We know absolutely nothing about him.”

“But, Mutti, he’s staying with Mrs. Schwartz.”

“Mrs. Schwartz! Marianne, think! He could be spying on us, reporting everything we say and do. You know Mrs. Schwartz doesn’t like us living here, you
know
that. She’s a Nazi party member.”

“Mutti, please listen. I know kids. Ernest’s not spying. He’s alright. He’s just here for a couple of weeks with his mother. We like the same book. He’s from Freiburg. He’s perfectly safe.”

“Marianne, you have to understand, we aren’t safe. No Jew is safe anywhere in Germany. Do you think there are no Nazis in Freiburg? The Nazis are everywhere. The
Führer
has said we are enemies of the people. We are no longer considered citizens. If we are attacked in the street, or in our homes, no one will help us. There are countries who will take us in, but only a few people at a time, and an exit visa costs a lot of money. So Marianne, until we can go, we must be very very…”

“I know, careful,” interrupted Marianne. The caution was becoming a family joke.

Mrs. Kohn began to clear the dishes. “Hand me my apron, please.” Marianne took the blue apron that hung over the back of her mother’s chair, and tied it round her waist for her. She gave her mother’s waist a little squeeze to show she understood. Marianne sat at one corner of the kitchen table and said as casually as she could, “Mutti, when is Vati coming home?”

Her mother turned on the cold tap to rinse the glass, and said without turning around, “I don’t know.”

“Why won’t you tell me where he is? I’m not a baby.”

“Marianne, I don’t know. I mean it. But even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Wonderful. You don’t even trust your own daughter.”

“It’s not that. It’s just if you know something, and mentioned it, or were overheard, and reported…”

“Mutti, I don’t have anyone to play with, or to tell stuff to. Who would I talk to? I don’t have any friends anymore.”

“You were talking and laughing with Ernest just now, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t even tell him my full name! I’ve a right to know where my father is. He’s not in prison, is he?”

Her mother took off her apron and folded it. “No, he’s not. All I know is what I told you – he’s away on business. Now, I must go, or I’ll be late for my meeting. I’m supposed to be there at 2:30
P.M.
We’re all arriving at different times, so it won’t look like a protest. I told you, didn’t I, the government has forbidden more than three Jews to meet at one time, but this is an emergency.”

Mrs. Kohn sighed, put on her coat and hat, and picked up her string shopping bag. She kissed Marianne’s cheek. “I’ll be home for supper. I’ll make potato pancakes. Vati’s favorite.”

“What’s the point when he’s not even home?” Marianne said.

“Because it’s important to remember. Have a nice afternoon, darling.”

She left. Marianne fastened the chain behind her. The apartment still felt safe and warm and quiet. She sang the refrain of the skipping rhyme:

As long as she was inside her own home, who could hurt her?