Finding Rebecca: A Novel of Love and the Holocaust (43 page)

“It’s
not my fault. What happened after the war isn’t my fault.” She began walking
again and he beside her.

“I know
that. I never thought that it was. I’m not looking for anything from you,
Rebecca. How could I be? An hour ago I thought you were dead. I don’t know that
I’m not going to wake up from this in a cold sweat and realize that this was
all some dream.” Christopher felt the people passing them on the street looking
at he and Rebecca for the first time and realized how oblivious he had been. He
raised a hand to his head and looked back at her.

“It’s no
dream, Christopher, believe me, it’s very real.” She seemed almost angry as she
spoke.

Best to
get back to safe ground, he thought to himself. The husband was his buffer, the
limit to what he could hope to achieve. It was best to establish boundaries. “So
tell me about your husband, when did you get married?”

Rebecca
shook her head and gritted her teeth through a closed mouth. “We were married
on April 9
^th
1950. I really don’t want to talk about that though,
Christopher.”

“Talking
to me about your husband isn’t being unfaithful.”

“Okay,
what do you want to know? That he was a survivor too?” She was truly angry now.
He knew her mannerisms so well. It was like being back in the apartment in St
Helier with her again.
 

“That
would be a start. Where did you meet him?”

“We
worked together. I met him in ’47.”

“What
happened to you after the war? How did you end up in Israel?” The words were
coming quickly now. Somehow that made it easier.

“We
don’t have time to talk about this. Your interview is starting again in five
minutes.”

Christopher
looked at his watch and looked at her. “I don’t care about that. This is more
important.”

“No,
Christopher, this is no good. I shouldn’t have come here today. All this is
doing is opening up old wounds.” They were outside the building the studio was
in. “You were fine without me and I was fine without you. We’ve survived.”

Christopher
ran his hand through his hair. “Rebecca, just knowing that you made it through,
that you survived the camps, makes me so happy. I had thought all these years
that I was a failure and that the one thing that I’d gone there to do was the
one thing that I couldn’t.”

“You, a
failure? All those people are alive today thanks to you.”

“That
didn’t make the pain of losing you any easier. It didn’t ease the guilt I
felt.” He felt the familiar geyser of pain rising inside him.

“Oh,
Christopher, no.”

“You
never would have been deported if it wasn’t for me. You would have been safe in
England. The only reason you stayed in Jersey was to be with me.”

“Christopher,
if there’s one thing in the world I’m sure of, if there is only one thing, and
God knows these days it’s hard to be sure about anything, it’s that I do not
regret staying in Jersey with you. That was the most wonderful time I’ve ever
had. You gave me everything. I was never happier.” Rebecca tilted her head to
smile and the pain in him was eased. He had longed to hear those words. “You’ve
got to go back upstairs now,” she said. The tears were in her eyes again.

“I will
if you stay. I’m not going back inside there without you.”

“No,
Christopher. I can’t.” She shook her head. “I’m married.”

“Rebecca,
I’m not trying to get you. Just come inside, I won’t go if you’re not with me.”
Christopher took her by the shoulders with gentle hands. “I’m not letting you
go this time.”

Rebecca
turned her head from side to side and looked into his eyes. “All right, I’ll
come upstairs, but only because you joined the SS to find me.” She smiled.

“All
right, that will do for me.” They walked inside. The elevator came within a few
seconds and the same operator looked at them as they got inside. “You have to
stay where I can see you. I want you standing at the glass.”

“Yes sir.”
 
Rebecca laughed, but Christopher didn’t
crack a smile.

David
met them as the elevator arrived. “I knew you’d make it back. The others here
weren’t so confident, but I had faith in you.”

“Thanks,
David. When am I on?”

David
looked at his watch. “Oh, in about fifteen seconds or so.” The interviewer was
waving his arms at Christopher who jogged inside and put the headphones on
again. He leaned into the microphone and looked up at Rebecca by the window as
he waited for the next question.

Christopher
looked up at Rebecca in between questions, during questions and most of the
time while he spoke. The thrill of seeing her face was almost giddying to him.
No photo he had could capture the sparkle in her blue eyes or the energy he
felt when he was around her. She dragged her hair back in her hands, tying it
up as she watched him. The minutes spent in the studio were an agony. He was
looking at his watch all the time, begging for the end, but he did what he was
there to do, what the
American Jewish Committee had brought
him over to do. There was five minutes left when he looked up to her again but
she was no longer there. David was still standing at the glass and he looked
calm. Christopher tried to draw comfort from the look on David’s face, but as
the seconds built into minutes, she had still not returned and the urge to tear
the headphones off his head was almost unbearable. The interview ended and
somehow the interviewer seemed happy.
 

“That was a
hell of a thing you did.” He was beaming as he shook Christopher’s hand.

“Yes, thank
you,” Christopher said and looked up at the window into the studio again. David
was looking worried. Christopher walked out. “Where is she, David?”

“I don’t
know, she said she was going to the bathroom. That was about five minutes ago.
She’s taking quite a long time.” His smile belied the nerves beneath.

Christopher put
his hand on top of his head and knew that she was gone. They searched the
bathroom, but she wasn’t there. They ran to the elevator and onto the street.
David apologized again.

Christopher’s
insides tightened and he felt like punching the wall, like screaming, like
grabbing David by the lapels, but he didn’t do any of these things. His heart was
racing as he spoke. “It’s not your fault, David, really it’s okay.” Christopher
looked up the street into the sea of people. David reached up and put a hand on
his shoulder and Christopher gave him a rueful smile. Christopher lit up a
cigarette and watched the smoke rise up into the thick summer air. There was no
way to keep her, not if she couldn’t bear to be here with him. The sun was
setting over the city and the buildings of Times Square were bathed in orange,
red and gold, each window a separate reflection, like gold bars piled on top of
each other. Christopher breathed deeply in through his nose, the cigarette by
his side. The mourning of losing her was beginning again. He felt David pat him
on the shoulder again and Christopher nodded to him as David went back into the
building. He looked at the faces of the people as they walked past, but none
looked back, as if he wasn’t there at all. The cigarette was finished and he
threw it down and stood there, motionless. Then he heard her voice, felt her
arms around him as she hugged him from behind.

“I’m so
sorry, Christopher. I didn’t think I could stand to see you anymore. I thought
it was best for both of us, for your family, for your daughter…” Her voice was
low in his ear and, although no one else could possibly have heard, he felt
embarrassed in front of the strangers passing them on the street, though not
one looked at them.

Christopher
turned around and took her in his arms. “I’m glad you came back,” he said,
kissing the top of her head. He wanted to say more, but stopped himself, and they
went back into the building together, to say goodbye to David and the others in
the radio station.

They were
back on the street together minutes later. “The sun is going down, where shall
we go?” she began.

“Have you
eaten?”

“No, but I’d
love a drink. I think we both deserve that,” she said.

“We can do
both. I think I know where we need to go. Come on.”

They crossed
the street and began to make their way across town, east along 52
^nd
Street. “There’s something we haven’t touched on yet, something I wanted to ask
you.” Rebecca began. “I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.”

Christopher
turned to her. The cross street was almost quiet in comparison with the avenues
and they didn’t have to swerve to avoid the crowds as they had earlier. “What?
You can ask me anything you want.”

“It’s about
Uli. What happened to Uli?”

Christopher
felt his jaw tighten at the name and his eyelids were heavy. “Uli died in June
1944. He was killed in some field in Russia.”

“We don’t
have to talk about that.”

“No, it’s
fine, it is ten years ago now. I’ve had time to deal with it. I mean, if I
haven’t gotten over it by now, when will I?” He pushed out a ridiculous laugh
as he turned to her, but then looked straight ahead again. “The last time I saw
him was in late January of ’44, on one of my trips to Berlin.”

“Did he know
what you were doing?”

“Yes, he
knew, he delighted in it. He had seen too much killing. I only spoke to him for
an hour, but he was changed. I suppose we all were, but it was hard to believe
that it was my uncle.” Uli had been a shadow of the man he had known. He didn’t
want to remember the emaciated version of Uli he met in ’44, but the vibrant
uncle he had grown up with. “The light had gone out inside him. He didn’t care
about the war, didn’t care about winning or Hitler or any of his objectives. He
just wanted to get back to his wife and son, just wanted to get his men back
safely. But he never did. That was the last time I ever saw him.”

“What
happened with his son, with little Stefan?”

Christopher
paused and stepped around a homeless man whose feet were jutting out across
their path. The man looked up at them with filthy brown eyes, sucking from the
bottle in his hand, murmuring gibberish Christopher could not understand, and
just for a second Christopher thought to reach into his pocket, but changed his
mind and walked on. He looked across at Rebecca again before he began to speak.
“The last few months in Germany were chaos, everyone was fleeing west. I
managed to get the kids, the kids I had smuggled out of Auschwitz, to a number
of safe houses in Frankfurt, away from the Soviets. Alexandra went with them
along with some of the nuns from the convent. My father stayed in Berlin with
Karolina and Stefan as he had already been drafted into the Volkssturm.”

“Who?”

“The militia
the Nazis set up to protect themselves. Kids and old men. My father was in command
of a squadron of 16 year-olds.”

“Was he there
when the Soviets came?”

“Yes, he was
in Berlin, age 50, fighting against the Soviet tanks as they rolled into the
streets. He knew that if he tried to desert they would hang him. But Karolina
tried to take Stefan and leave, tried to run when the Soviet tanks arrived. The
Gestapo caught her and hung her from a lamppost on the street.” Christopher
stopped talking and they walked for a few seconds. He felt Rebecca beside him,
could feel the warmth exuding from her, but he didn’t look down or reach to
touch her. They passed onto Fifth Avenue and began to walk upwards, toward the
park. “The Gestapo brought little Stefan back to cousin Harald’s house. They
hanged his mother but made sure little Stefan got safely home.” Christopher
grimaced and shoved out a deep breath. “Somehow my father survived and got back
to the house, back to little Stefan. After the battle was over, he used the
last of the money that I’d given him, to bribe some Soviet troops to let them
out of Berlin into the countryside. He made his way towards Frankfurt, behind
the American lines. After that he brought Stefan back to Jersey. They were
there by the end of October ’46, a few months after you came looking for us.”
Christopher shook his head. “I’ll never know how the old man survived; most of
the Volkssturm were wiped out.”