Page 79 of The Little Liar
Fannie nodded.
“Then I am very sorry I treated you so coldly.” She put her hand on Fannie’s shoulder. “I am glad you are alive.”
“What about the others?” Fannie said. “What happened to them?”
“The younger ones survived. The older ones were put in a ghetto. After that, I don’t know what happened.”
“I do,” Fannie said.
The woman sat down.
“Tell me.”
“They marched us to Austria. For days and days, we had to keep going. It was so cold. There was no food. No water. We slept on the ground. You couldn’t stop walking or they would shoot you. So many died. Women. Children. They didn’t care. They left them in the mud.”
The woman sighed. She pointed to the paper.
“Fourteen of these names are still alive. Fifteen now, with you. A woman in Budapest keeps track of them. Some are still in Hungary. Some in Israel, some here in America. They have husbands, wives, children. They suffered awfully. But I am relieved to know they are well taken care of.”
Fannie looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Every year, they get money. Nobody knows from where. It’s been going on since the war ended.”
The actress noticed the look on Fannie’s face.
“You get this money, too?”
“No. But I know someone who does. Every year, on the same day—”
“August tenth,” the woman said.
“August tenth,” Fannie repeated.
The actress pursed her lips, then took the paper and folded it back inside the envelope. She looked at Fannie for a long moment.
“Wait here,” she said.
She went into the back and was gone for a bit. When she reemerged, she was holding a pack of postcards, held together by a rubber band.
She sat down, undid the band, then laid the postcards on the table in front of Fannie. There were at least two dozen. Each announced the premiere of a new movie.
“I’ve been getting these for years,” the actress said. “No message. No signature. Just the postcards. The boy you are looking for? Did he have blond hair? A nice smile?”
Fannie nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, he did!”
“If it’s him, then he was the cleverest boy I’ve ever met. Spoke many languages. Could charm anyone. He hid some of my jewelry and furs from the Nazis. If not for that, I’d have had nothing left to trade with the Arrow Cross. But he wasn’t called... what name did you say again?”
“Nico?”
“No. His name was Erich Alman. At least when I knew him. I told him once he should go into the movies.”
She pointed at the postcards. “I think he did.”
She stacked the cards together and put the rubber band around them. She handed the stack to Fannie.
“Find the man who made these films,” she said, “and you’ll find the boy you’re looking for.”
Vienna, 1978
