Good-bye Marianne Page 2

  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.

  “Sorry 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.

  As 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, h
ow 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:

  One, two, let me through

  Three, four, police at the door

  Five, six, fix the witch

  Seven, eight, it’s getting late

  Nine, ten, begin again.

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

  Marianne looked through the living-room window. The first snow of winter was coming down in great blobs, and settling on the square yard that all the tenants shared. The neatly dug flower beds, the two chestnut trees, and the narrow bench were already covered with a thin white layer.

  Marianne hoped last year’s skates would fit her, though the way things were going, she probably wouldn’t be allowed to skate on the river Spree this year. The list of forbidden activities was piling up like the compost heap by the back fence.

  An apron hung stiffly on the line. One of the Misses Schmidt (Marianne always found it difficult to tell the old ladies apart) hurried out with a shawl over her head, to bring in the washing. The scrawny cat, Sweetie, who wasn’t in the least “sweet,” picked her way daintily after her mistress, wanting to be let in out of the cold.

  Marianne heard the back door slam twice. You had to give it a good tug in damp weather to make it close. The Schmidt sisters were elderly, their hands were gnarled with arthritis, and they never managed to shut the door properly the first time. Sometimes her father carried groceries up the stairs for them. When Mrs. Schwartz wasn’t around, they’d be really friendly and stop to chat with her.

  “Dear child, how was school today?”

  Marianne would bob a curtsy – she knew the old ladies appreciated a well brought-up child.

  The afternoon loomed endlessly. She turned away from the window and switched on the radio. Didn’t the network ever broadcast anything but marching tunes?

  Marianne sprawled on the deep couch. The room was getting dark and it was only half past two. She hoped her mother hadn’t had any trouble getting to the meeting. The Rabbi’s house was right next to the synagogue, which had been burned in last week’s anti-Jewish demonstrations.

  The Menorah gleamed on the mantelpiece. Hanukkah in four weeks, her favorite time of the year. She’d never forget that time two years ago in the synagogue when the Rabbi reminded the congregation that the festival was about more than gift gi
ving, was more than a children’s holiday. “Thousands of years ago, at another time of persecution, a small group of Jews fought against overwhelming odds, for religious freedom. The Menorah tells the world our spirit will never die,” he had said. “Let Hanukkah be as important for us as Passover and Purim.”

  Marianne hoped her grandparents would come from Düsseldorf as usual. They’d all miss Uncle Frank and Aunt Grethe though, and without Ruth she’d be the only child at the table. Nothing stayed the same.

  What was she going to do this afternoon without school to go to? There’d be lots of afternoons like this now. Would she always feel this restless? Maybe she’d read – work her way through every book in the room. Just last month her father had finished putting up another shelf to hold all the books he kept bringing home. Mutti complained she couldn’t reach the top ones to dust. Soon they’d run out of wall space.

  Marianne helped herself to a peppermint from the cut glass dish on the coffee table beside her. This wasn’t too bad. Right this minute her class was cleaning up after gym, the final class of the day. She could imagine Beate and Gertrude planning the first winter snowball fight and, of course, looking very innocent when a teacher walked by.

  “I hope Miss Friedrich walks right into a snowball!” Marianne spoke aloud. When she was younger, she and her father had built a snowman in the yard with bits of coal for eyes and a long carrot nose. She’d wound a muffler round his neck, and cried when the snow melted.

  Marianne’s first school photograph stood on the coffee table. She was holding a big paper cone packed with treats. The cone was almost as big as she was. Every child in the first class had one. Marianne remembered the feel of the shiny blue and silver paper, the stiff paper frill around the top, and the taste of the first chocolate. It did sweeten school, and she had loved it from that first day.