My Enemy's Cradle (38 page)

"No. I just don't want to talk about it now. Maybe next time."

"Cyrla, things are different now. I might not be able to get away again." He saw the panic rise in my face, and he squeezed my hand. "No, whatever happens, I'll be there when the baby's born. Everything's going to be all right."

I suddenly didn't want to get out of the car. Or couldn't. "Everything's not going to be all right. I'm so afraid. I'm afraid for you now, I'm afraid for the baby—"

"Nothing's going to change. I promise you that. I'm not going to do anything. And you're not going to worry about any of this."

"I'm going to worry about all of it!"

"No, you won't. You're braver than that. I know you."

I wasn't brave. I didn't even have the courage to tell Karl what I was really afraid of. And Karl couldn't know me—I didn't even know myself anymore. Where was the person who swore she'd never ask love to follow rules? Who called Isaak a coward for not daring to love anyone? Who told her uncle love is the opposite of shame?

I knew a trick for when I was afraid. But I didn't need it anymore.

"Karl." My voice was steady. "I love you."

On the first of June, I awoke late—Eva had already gone down to breakfast—and I lay in bed feeling a growing sense of restlessness. I hurried out of bed, seized by a sudden urge to clean everything, pack, prepare. I dragged my suitcase from under the bed and flung open the doors of the wardrobe. The old maternity clothes could stay, and Erika didn't want hers back. But I'd need clothes for after—I dug out the things of Anneke's that my aunt had packed so long ago. I held up the pearl-gray trousers—even with the seams let out, the waist seemed impossibly small. The thought of fitting into normal clothes again made me grin. I dumped all of Anneke's clothes onto the bed beside the suitcase and then looked in my bureau: In the bottom drawer were a few things from before. Everything on top of the bureau I would leave until the last ... but the velvet bag! I couldn't risk anyone finding it after I'd gone into labor.

I eased myself to the floor and reached under the wardrobe—it was difficult with my huge belly in the way. I found the bag and tore the tape off, grunting. I tossed it onto the bed with my clothes, hauled myself up, and then had another sudden thought—the baby's clothes.

Erika had sent over a few things to add to Anneke's layette. Suddenly I needed to wash everything: to feel the soft fabrics and care for the tiny clothes my baby would soon wear against his skin. It wasn't one of my scheduled laundry days, but after breakfast I'd rinse them out.

Breakfast! I dressed in a hurry, grabbed the baby clothes, and went downstairs. In the dining room, the air was soft with the rich scent of lilacs and the hushed chatter of round-bellied girls. I said hello to Eva, who was leaving, ate some bread with honey, talked with the girls who sat next to me—all without really paying any attention. There was still so much to do. I reminded myself to pack Neve's books with mine—maybe I could find a way to get her address. First, though, I had to find Sister Ilse. I didn't want anyone else in charge. I hadn't seen her for a few days, so maybe she was away—I'd go down to her station as soon as I finished the laundry.

In the laundry, I washed the baby things in the special mild soap used for newborns' clothing. The tiny sleeves, the little necks and fastenings, the embroidered hems, all gave me such pleasure. It dawned on me—I was nesting! It was one of the signs Leona's had read to me from her booklet:
A sudden energy; a compulsion to clean and prepare things.
I hung up the little clothes and went back to my room, smiling to myself at this miracle ...
birth was imminent.

When I opened the door, I was still smiling. I'd be leaving this room soon. I would see my baby's face soon!

That was my last clear thought.

There—on my bed next to the jumble of clothes to pack—was the blue velvet bag.

Empty.

I stared at it, unable to understand. Then I fell on it and turned it over and over, turned it inside out, tore through the clothes on the bed, unable to believe. I hurried to the door and shut it. Then threw it open again. The hall was empty—a tunnel stretching away forever. At the end, impossibly far away, was the telephone.

I made myself walk out. Step after step, without feeling the floor, I hurried toward the telephone. When I got there, my hand shook so hard, I dropped the receiver. The crash echoed down the hall as I realized I didn't have Karl's number. My head cleared. Karl and Ilse. I could trust them both. I was not alone.

I went back to my room, steadying myself with these thoughts, and found Karl's number. On the way back to the phone, I passed Inge and her roommate. They nodded at me and Inge pressed on her back and groaned. They didn't know. Yet.

I dialed and it took forever for someone to answer. A man's voice, not Karl's.

But Karl came to the phone.

"Come
now.
They know!"

"Cyrla?"

"Come now!
Come now!
"

I dropped the phone. Even with my huge bulk, I ran down the stairs, ran to the delivery wing. At the main desk sat a nurse I had never seen. I asked for Sister Ilse.

"She's not here."

"Where is she?"

"She's gone. What do you need?"

My hands flew to my forehead—a sudden searing pain.

The nurse dipped her head to peer over her glasses. "What's wrong with you?"

I took a breath, forced my hands to my sides. No panic. "Nothing. I just want to ask her something. Could you tell me where she is?"

The nurse put down her paperwork and pushed herself back from the desk to inspect me. She crossed her arms over her chest; a silver mother's cross rode on her lapel, the swastika glaring at me from the center. "Sister Ilse's services were no longer needed. What did you want with her?"

"She had tea, she gave me tea," I mumbled, backing away.

"Come back."

I turned and kept walking.

"Come back here." The scrape of a chair. "What's your name?"

I was at the door, but I turned back. "Eva De Groot, 12B."

In the hallway, I realized I was out of ideas. I pushed through the door of the laundry room, hoping to steal a minute of quiet so I could think.

And in the laundry room was my salvation.

She was bent over the open washing machine, pulling clothes out, her back to me: the Little Brown Sister whose longing for Eva I'd interrupted. She was pregnant, her apron tied above her rounding waist. I did the unconscious calculation that came with living here: five or six months. The Christmas party? How terrible, to have to give yourself to loud, rough men if what you craved was soft and quiet. Or had that made it easier?

She turned, her arms full of wet clothes, and caught her breath when she saw me. The wet laundry dropped to the floor.

I stood as tall as I could and faced her coldly. "Give me your cap."

Her eyes darted to the door. I stepped to block it. Her mouth worked as if she wanted to say something. I stuck my hand out, my eyes a dare.

She faltered and bit her lip. Then she unpinned her cap and gave it to me.

"And your apron."

I put on her things, never taking my eyes from her, keeping them hard. "I'm leaving here. You could sound an alert. But you won't. You do not want me back." Then I grabbed a basket and walked out. Out of the laundry room, down the hallway to the delivery door and out. Out onto the shadowless walk, down the walk straight out to the side entrance, where one guard stood, facing the street.

He heard my steps and turned. I nodded and lifted the basket, made a face as if to say,
Look what they've got me doing, and at my stage.
I flashed him a smile bright with sheer desperation.

And he smiled back.

He raised his hand—half wave, half salute. And he smiled.
People see what they expect to see. You just have to allow them to see it.

I passed him—so close I was sure he could smell the sweat coursing down my back.

On the street, I headed away from the main gate. The instant my back was to the guard, my bravado vanished. The pavement shimmered dangerously, my legs threatened to buckle, the blood in my veins felt papery as though I were going to faint. With each step I imagined the guard's hands on my neck. I wanted to run but I forced myself to walk. To saunter. The sidewalk ran the length of the property—three hundred meters from the gate at least—until finally I could turn the corner onto the main street. There I dropped the basket and fell against the trunk of an elm, shaking hard.

I heard the sound of an engine; something rough—a jeep. I crossed the road and pressed myself into the privet hedge there. The branches tore at the skin of my arms and legs and the back of my neck—but they gave way. The shrubs were so dense they held me up—otherwise I might have collapsed. The jeep passed, four soldiers in it. It didn't slow down.

I wedged myself farther into the shrubbery. Of course they would find me, but if Karl came first ... He would come. He had heard me and he would come.

I snapped off branches until I'd made a tunnel through the hedge to watch for him. The trip took forty minutes; if he had left immediately, he might be here soon. Before the dogs.

A truck passed. Two cars—not military. I watched, tense, my legs aching. There were no cars for a long while. Then the dairy cart, with its big metal cans of milk clanging. I eased myself down, felt the sharp branches scrape my legs. And then I heard it: the heavy, gliding purr of a Mercedes. The car was dark and sleek, but from this distance, through the branches, I couldn't tell anything else. I clawed closer to the pavement. No—it was two-toned gray, not black. The car roared by. Another jeep passed—this one braked as it turned the corner, as if it might be entering the home.

And then I heard it again—like an oiled growl, coming fast. I peered at the car—dark, dark enough to be black. It came closer and I saw the grille that always seemed to be leering. I scrambled out.

It was Karl.

"Drive!"

Karl drove. "What happened?"

"Drive!" I pitched myself over, my head almost on Karl's lap, out of sight, but I imagined the hot breath of wolves on my neck. "
Drive!
"

He drove, but it didn't feel fast enough. And then I felt him brake. I raised my head. We were turning onto the road to the sheep farm. "No. Keep driving!"

"Look behind us—do you see anyone coming? No one can see us."

"But—"

"Cyrla, you're nine months pregnant. We have to stop and think. Make a plan."

He parked behind the barn. "You're bleeding. What happened?" He began to dab at my face, but I brushed him off and got out and hurried inside. I made Karl close the barn door and slide the bolt. Then I made him open it again so I could keep watch.

"Cyrla, try to be calm. Did you ever tell anyone about this place?"

"No, but—"

"Neither did I. So it's safe. Sit down and tell me what happened."

He led me to the pile of feed bags he had stuffed with straw for us long ago and eased me down and held me. I told him everything that had happened, and he only nodded and asked questions and held me tighter. My eyes never left the barn door.

"All right," Karl said. He took out his handkerchief and began to clean my face gently, as if my scrapes were the worst thing that had happened and we had all the time in the world. He tipped my face back and began to dab at my neck.

I grabbed his hand. "Karl, they know. What am I going to do?"

"I don't know yet. For now, you're going to stay here and rest. I'll go find out what I can."

"Wait. You're leaving?"

"I have to. You'll be safe here. Get some water from the stream—"

"When can you come back?"

"There's a big cocktail party tonight. I'll have to make an appearance and be introduced around. It would be noticed if I weren't there. Afterward, they'll all be drinking and playing skat—I won't be missed then."

"Not until then?"

"No one will look for you here. Try to sleep. I'll find out what's going on. I'll come up with a plan."

He tried to rise, but I held his arm. "Karl, Eva found out. I have to leave."

"Maybe. Yes, probably. But not in broad daylight. I'll be back by eight. Go to the stream and get water. There might be strawberries by now—do you remember where we saw the plants? I have to go now."

He kissed me twice. Then he left.

When he was gone, a strange calm settled over me. Every hour or so I walked to the stream, drank cold water, found tiny wild strawberries, and ate them. But mostly I lay on the straw in the barn, thinking of all the other times I'd lain here, thinking of how this place more than any other was my home. Thinking of how I would never see it again. I plucked a tuft of wool from a post beside me and inhaled the scent of lanolin, knowing I would never wear a sweater again without thinking of Karl. Above me, swallows cut endless arcs to their nests in the eaves, leaving trails of dust motes swirling in their wake, witness to the exquisite grace of free things.

The baby kicked hard, demanding my attention. I lifted my blouse and followed the liquid wriggle of his course. Impatient. A foot appeared for an instant at the top of my swell—a perfect foot pressed against my skin, complete with the curve of five toes, like coffee beans under my skin. And then it was gone and he was still. After a while, I fell asleep. But I awoke to screaming, and it took a long time to realize the screams were mine. I didn't lie down again, I just sat with my arms wrapped around my belly, watching the sky change over the mountains.

Finally he was back.

He'd brought food—a loaf of bread and a can of peaches. "I'm sorry—it's all I could get at the commissary." I ate and Karl told me what he had learned. I listened calmly, as if he were talking about someone else.

"They came this afternoon. Had I known you were Jewish? Did I know you'd run away? I said no, acted shocked and betrayed. They watched me all day."

"Did they know I had called you?"

"I took care of it. I told the secretary that if my sister called again, to say I was too busy to come to the phone."