Page 95 of Hell to Pay
“Well, look,” the colonel said. “Show up here tomorrow morning at eight, and we’ll get a lift for you to Munich on one of our trucks, you and your kids. And your interpreter here, of course, if she wants to come along. You’ll have to see the officials there, but I’ll give you a note.”
We rode the train home in near silence. I knew what Dr. Becker was thinking.Can this be real? Can there truly be such a place for us?At last, I said, “I believe I’ll need your help, too, Herr Doktor. There must be many Americans in Munich now, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Dr. Becker said. “Or so I heard today at the hospital. It’s the capital of Bavaria, after all.”
“Then I can sell the brooch,” I said. “On the black market. Only—how does one find the black market? I don’t imagine there are signs. ‘Black Market here—open Monday through Saturday, 1:00 PM to 5:00 P.M.’”
I succeeded in one thing. I made him laugh. “No,” he said, “I don’t imagine there are. But we’ll find it. After we see this man—” He pulled the slip of paper from his pocket. It wasalready creased and worn; he’d had his hand on it the entire time, as if afraid to let it go for fear this chance, too, would melt away. “We’ll sell your brooch,” he finished. “We’ll sell it, and you, too, will be taken care of. As your parents would have wished.”
“Yes,” I said, pretending more confidence than I felt. “I have a great deal, really.”
“Well, at least some jewels,” he said, with that small smile I rarely saw. “As long as we remember to trade coats again! And your baking skill.”
“Yes,” I said, “and my English. For all we know, I may be living in Buckingham Palace next year. Maybe they’ll want a baker. Who can say?”
42
MUNICH
The next part of the story, I told over coffee and treats—Kaffee und Kuchen—the following afternoon. This time, we were in the dining room of my suite, and theKuchenwas a plate of Pfeffernüssethat the hotel manager himself had brought up “with the hotel’s compliments.”
“But this is another Christmas delicacy, like the Lebkuchen,” I said, when I received the little balls of deliciousness, with their coating of powdered sugar and the warm spices nearly bursting out of them. “And your kitchen is making them for the guests in June?”
“Not precisely,” the manager said. His name was Herr Fentermann, and he was a very spruce personage indeed in his quiet, well-fitted charcoal suit. “We didn’t make them for all our guests. We made them for our mostimportantguests. After all, if one has Saxony’s own princess in one’s hotel, one must do everything possible to accommodate her. Life affords few such opportunities, yet here it is before us.”
“Are you a Saxon, then?” I asked with pleasure.
He gave a little bow. “Indeed I am. My family was mostexcited to hear of your presence. My mother in particular insisted that I afford you every courtesy, but alas, you ask for little. Please accept this small token as a tribute from her. She’s a great fan of royalty, you see, and her parents were true admirers ofyourparents. Your father, a war hero and a true nobleman, is remembered most fondly here, and your most beautiful mother also. My mother was not a very good Communist, I’m afraid.”
“Please tell her,” I said, “that she—and her son—have made an old lady very happy.”
The Pfeffernüsse, it must be said, were excellent, and our little band of adventurers demolished them as I went ahead with my story.
“We walked to Nuremberg the next morning,” I began, “all five miles of it. No choice; I would need a train ticket back from Munich and had to save my money. If I couldn’t sell the brooch, especially—what then?”
I paused, remembering the emotions of that day and the next one, then recounted the rest.
Dr. Becker was terrified of being left behind, and I was nearly as nervous, so we set out before five to make sure of being on time. “At least it will be cool, starting so early,” I said as we ate a piece of potato bread apiece and drank peppermint tea, sitting together at the kitchen table for the last time.
Nobody answered me. Frau Adelberg was downstairs baking. I’d done as much mixing, proofing, and shaping as I could manage by rising at two-thirty this morning, but she was going to have to bake and sell the bread by herself today. She’d been quiet the night before, perhaps feeling guilty about not being able to house everyone, but who could blame her?Dr. Becker, too, seemed sunk into himself, as if he didn’t dare look past this minute for fear of disappointment, and the little boys were silent and sad. Only Andrea looked alert—even happy. She asked now, “Will I really get to go to school?”
“Yes,” I said, when her father didn’t answer. “The officer said there would be schools.”
“Real school?” she asked. “With books and maps and paper and pencils?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I think the Americans still have such things in their schools, and it sounds as if they’re serious about providing the necessities in these camps. I hope they’ll have everything you want.” Andrea had started her period last month, and we’d cut up the faded blue dress, already almost a rag, for supplies. Imagine the bliss of pads that one could throw away when soiled! I didn’t mention that, both because of the male presence at the table and because I had no idea if it would happen. How much were the Americans willing to do for these destitute people?
“And even Jews are allowed to go to school?” Andrea asked.
I wanted to hug her, so fierce was the pity in my heart. But Andrea had been self-possessed and cautious since the day I’d met her. The restrictions and persecutions on Jews had started in 1933, the year of her birth, and were all she knew. We’d shared a bed these past months, but I still couldn’t see into her heart. “Especially Jews are allowed,” I said. “That’s who the school is for.”
“And they won’t kill us?” A smaller voice, now. Andrea served customers all morning long, and had heard more than any twelve-year-old should know about the horrors uncovered by the Allies.
“No,” I said, the tears pricking behind my eyelids. “They want to help you.” Now I did squeeze her hand, and she allowed it for an instant before pulling hers away.
Gerhardt said, “I don’t want to go.” The first thing he’d said all morning. “I want to stay here, please, Papa, with Matti.”
“We decided,” Matti said. “Because it’s nicer with two, and you have somebody to play with.”
