All My Love, Detrick (24 page)

A
young boy wearing short pants and a short jacket with a swastika armband rang the doorbell to the Abdenstern home. Miriam opened the door and recognized him as John, the letter carrier. He handed her a plain manila envelope addressed from the Hadamar Institute and rode away on his bicycle. Jacob would not be home from work for several hours, and Leah had just left on her way to see one of the children who partook of her piano lessons.

Miriam had been waiting for news. She tingled with hope that this message she held in her hand would be the one to alleviate all the guilt and worry she’d been suffering. At this moment, anything seemed possible. By the
postmark, she knew the letter originated at the hospital where Michael received treatment. Perhaps he’d begun to walk. Perhaps…

After she closed the door, turning to sit, she opened the letter.

It read:

Mr. and Mrs. Abdenstern,

It is with deepest regret that we must inform you that your son Michael has passed away.
He came down with a bad case of measles and died within two days. There was no time to send for you. You have our sympathies.

The Staff at the Hadamar Institute

Miriam read the letter in disbelief. Then she read it again. Michael, dead…gone forever.
Never to come home again. She walked to his room and looked at his bed. She laid her head down upon his pillow and took a deep breath.

It had been her fault. If she had not sent him away, he would still be alive.

She’d killed him, her child,
her son. She would rather have killed herself. How dare she live, eat good food, drink hot tea…while he lay cold, never to laugh again? Still holding the letter in her trembling hand, her face blinded by tears, and her mind stunned with shock, Miriam walked slowly back to the kitchen.

There, she took a knife out of the kitchen drawer. Then, squeezing the paper into a tight little ball, she cried out, howling in grief. The pain filled every inch of her body and she swelled with it, until nothing but anguish existed for her. Still crying out, she fell to her knees, unaware of the pain of the impact of her knees on the floor.

“Michael! Oh, God! Why…why my Michael?” Her hand shook violently, as if it moved of its own accord. With her mind crashing with guilt and shame, she cut the lifeline of the veins in her wrist.

Red blood ran freely, and with the release of it came the release of her mental anguish. She laughed
hysterically; glad to feel nothing but the agony as she fell to the floor.

Miriam lost consciousness, and with it, her lifetime of self-blame melted away as her life spilled itself into a ruby red pool on the kitchen floor.

77

Warsaw

February 9, 1939

An explosive thunder raged through the city of Warsaw. In response, Mother Earth convulsed wildly, sending tremors rippling madly through the streets. Trees vibrated as their branches ripped off at their centers. Karl raised his eyes to see the air munitions factory ablaze with angry, orange fire. People scattered in all directions in an effort to avoid the shooting debris. Some were knocked to the ground and trampled. Billows of thick, black smoke poured endlessly from the broken structure, covering the street and making visibility nearly impossible.

The factory had been bombed. If Karl had not been out on an errand for his boss, he would now lay dead beside all of his former co-workers, lost in the rubble.
But, surrounded now by chaos, he could little afford the time to consider his good fortune. Instead, he found himself swept into the hysterical mass of people gripping their loved ones and running for their lives.

Things happened too fast. He could not determine how far he ran, or for how long the building continued to burn. His eyes and nose ran profusely and he coughed, unable to catch his breath.
Finally, the crowd that had pushed him along by sheer force of its numbers began to disperse. He stopped and held on to the post of a street sign while he attempted to catch his breath. Then, looking around him, he saw a child hacking up grey mucus on the side of the road, his mother cradling him with her hand on his forehead. On the other side of the street, a couple gripped each other tightly; blood had been spattered on the man’s face. The woman moaned as the man held her, whispering words of comfort.

For the first time in his life, Karl Abdenstern wished he were not so alone.

Love could be risky; it could make one vulnerable. In the past, he’d never allowed another person into his life, for fear it would weaken him. Now he wished for the comfort of holding someone in his arms and knowing that it mattered to another person if he lived or died.

Thoughts of his family haunted him. They came flooding quickly into his mind, but he forced them away, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

The walk back to his apartment seemed long and tedious, but once he arrived and began to clean himself, he felt a little better. With the factory gone, tomorrow would bring a new challenge, for now he must find another position; the bombing had left him unemployed.

78

The following day, the streets remained littered with bits of brick, wood, and plaster. By noon, it had begun to snow and the temperature dropped, chilling the windy air as it blew in torrents, lifting pieces of the wreckage and flinging them across the ground. Karl could not allow the cold to stop him. He needed a job. The factory had paid him so little that he’d been unable to save anything. Without an income, he would be homeless in a matter of weeks. He walked the cobblestone street, going from door to door, and asking the local businessmen for work. Each of them turned him away, with the excuse that they barely made enough money to support themselves.

At the corner of a busy intersection, he saw a shop that said, “Petir the Shoe Maker.” With no knowledge of this trade, he knew he offered little to the owner, but desperation forced him to try.

The rich smell of leather filled the shop. Petir Schmidt sat on a wooden bench and looked up when he saw Karl.

“How can I help you?" Petir’s brown and grey hair circled his head like the hair of a monk, leaving the top shiny and bald. His eyes, small and alert, studied Karl.

“I need a job. Do you have any work?”

“Not a lot.” Petir laughed. “But enough. Perhaps, if you don’t expect to
be paid too much, I can use you. You’re young and you look pretty strong.”

“I am strong, and I will work for whatever you can pay me.”

“Hmmm… Perhaps we can come to some kind of an agreement.”

79

Petir turned out to be a fair boss; appreciative and undemanding. He marveled at the way Karl had advanced in his trade.

“A find you are, my boy!”

Karl just smiled. He’d developed affection for the old man. They worked well together.

Petir Schmidt and his wife lived above the shop in a small apartment. Their only son had married and moved to Paris to study art more than ten years earlier. Often they invited Karl to join them for their meager evening meal. The couple enjoyed having the help of this strong and capable young man. Whenever he came for dinner, Karl tried to make
himself useful by fixing things that had broken in the Schmidt’s flat.

Even with all of the anti-Semitism since the Nazi occupation of Poland, Karl continued to wear a Star of David necklace. He refused to hide h
is background, infuriating the neighbors who lived and worked beside the Schmidts.

“Karl, I don’t care that you are a Jew. It makes very little difference to me.
But, people on the street are making mention of it and I am worrying for you. You think maybe you should take off the necklace?”

“I can’t. I am who I am, Petir. I have been fighting all of my life with pride to be a Jew. I can’t stop now.”

Petir just nodded his head, attributing Karl’s stubborn behavior to his youth.

Winter’s harsh and frigid weather gave way to a wet and slushy spring. Although he rece
ived looks of disdain from the Gentiles, among whom he lived and worked, Karl had settled into a groove. The relationship he’d developed with old man Schmidt made his workdays easier. And, the nagging obsession he’d had with the loss of his family seemed to subside, at least a little. Other than Petir and his wife, Karl had no friends.

On his day off, he stayed in his small apartment or had a beer alone at a local tavern. He preferred to work and stay busy than to spend his time idly.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. The spring turned to summer, and the summer to fall, as time ticked on.

A crisp chill set into the air as fall gave way to an early snow. Karl felt grateful that he’d purchased a warm coat, and he pulled it tighter around his large frame. Petir kept the shop as warm as he was able to, but both men wore winter clothing as they worked. Humming softly, Karl sat at the
workbench tanning a large cutting of fine leather. Earlier that morning a beautiful woman had come in, placing an order for a pair of fine, well-made, high-heeled pumps. She’d smiled at him, winking when she thought Petir did not see. All day, her face stayed in his mind. The black cashmere coat she wore had hung open, revealing a scarlet silk dress that clung to her womanly shape. He could not help but wonder what wonderful mysteries lay beneath that frock.

Karl decided that hers would be the finest pair of shoes he’d ever made.

80

H
ello, I am Claramond Bauer. I have a pair of shoes on order. Black pumps.” Her eyes glittered and she smiled a knowing smile. There could be no doubt of his fascination with her. His eyes traveled over her body, out of his control.

“Yes, I recall.” Karl heard himself speak and decided that his voice sounded a few octaves higher than his usual deep tone. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat.

She laughed in response. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

He laughed a nervous laugh. “No, I mean…perhaps…a little.”

“I’m sorry. If you will just hand me my shoes, I will be on my way.”

With
that, he turned away so she could not see that the blood had rushed to his face. He walked to the back to the shelf that held finished orders. It did not take much for him to find her name. He’d looked at it every day since she’d last been in. Once more, he studied the shoes. Satisfied with having done a perfect job, he brought them proudly to her.

Picking one up a slow smile spread across her lips.

“Nice, very nice.”

Not looking up, he pulled her receipt out of the register. Showing her the amount, he waited while she counted out her cash.

“Well, I thank you then, and I will be going.” She began walking toward the door.

If she left now, he knew he would never see her again. “Mrs. Bauer?”

“Yes?”

“If you need any
more shoes, please keep us in mind.”

“I will.” She stopped and strolled back. “Would you like to take me to lunch?”

He couldn’t believe he’d heard those words come out of her mouth. ’“I would, yes. Let me go and tell my boss I am going out for a while.”

“It’s only ten in the morning.” She laughed, “A bit too early for lunch
, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps you could meet me at the restaurant down the street at noon or so?”

“Yes, I could. I mean, I would like that.”