The Runaway Family (22 page)

“Ruth is my wife’s name, too,” Kurt said as he followed the rabbi into the room.

“I know,” the rabbi replied. He waved Kurt to a chair. “Please take off your wet coat.” And as Kurt did as he was bid he went on, “So you didn’t find her.”

“No,” Kurt replied. “She… they had to move on. And now I am in trouble, it’s a long story…”

The rabbi raised his hand and said abruptly, “Stop! I don’t want to hear of your trouble. We all have enough of our own. So, no long story, just tell me why you have come here, now.”

“Simply to ask if I may sleep in the meeting room at the back of your synagogue… just for one night.”

“You ask a good deal from someone you don’t know,” the rabbi said sharply.

“I ask you as a pastor who looks after his congregation,” replied Kurt. “I have nowhere else to turn. If I sleep out tonight, I shall die of cold. If I am picked up, I will be arrested. All I ask of you is a safe haven for one night. Tomorrow I leave Munich, and you’ll never see me again.”

“You ask me something that may bring danger to my family and to my congregation,” the rabbi pointed out, “if you are a wanted man.”

“I’m not a wanted man,” Kurt replied firmly. “Not for another four days,” he added silently. “I am still searching for my wife and children. All I need is a place to stay for tonight before I move on after them.”

There was a tap on the door and Frau Rahmer appeared carrying a tray. On it were two cups of coffee. She put it on the rabbi’s desk and disappeared again without a word.

Rabbi Rahmer gestured to the cups. “Take one,” he said, “it’s all I can offer you.” He reached for a cup himself, and Kurt took the other.

“Please, Rabbi, in the name of charity, let me sleep in the meeting room.”

“The synagogue is already locked for the night. I’m afraid I have to lock up as soon as it gets dark these days,” said the rabbi. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I think, when you’ve drunk your coffee, you should leave.”

Kurt downed the coffee, almost scalding his mouth as he did so. It wasn’t coffee at all, just hot brown liquid, but at least it was hot.

He got to his feet and pulled the damp coat round his shoulders. “Thank you, Rabbi,” he said. “ I quite understand your reluctance. You have to protect your own.”

The rabbi stood as well, and calling to his wife said, “Herr Friedman is leaving now, Ruth. Please see him out.” He didn’t extend his hand, merely nodded to Kurt and sat back down behind his desk. Kurt was dismissed, and Rabbi Rahmer gave his attention to the papers in front of him.

Kurt turned and left the room, following Frau Rahmer to the front door. As she opened it she said softly, “The meeting room has a broken window. Smashed by the Hitler Youth. If my husband doesn’t get it mended soon, anyone will be able to get in.” She held out her hand. “Goodbye, Herr Friedman, I hope you find your family soon.”

The door closed behind him and Kurt found himself back in the biting March wind. He walked away from the house and on up the street without so much as a glance at the synagogue opposite, not slowing his pace until he had rounded the corner and was out of sight of the rabbi’s house. Then he drew into the shadow of an alleyway and considered what to do.

Had he understood Frau Rahmer’s words aright? Was she telling him how to get into the back of the meeting room? Suggesting that he might rest there for the night after all? But would the rabbi think of that, too? Would he come out and check that his visitor hadn’t tried to break in? Kurt decided that he had to take the risk. Better to be caught by an angry rabbi when camping in his meeting room than by a Gestapo patrol out in the street at night. He would wait for a quarter of an hour and then he would try and get into the meeting room through the window. He walked back a little way until, from the shadow of a tree, he could see the rabbi’s front door. The minutes ticked by and it remained shut. There was no sign of the rabbi or his wife.

Kurt was chilled to the bone now, the wind knifing through his wet overcoat as he stood and waited. Frost was forming on the road and on the trunk of the tree that sheltered him. The sky was beginning to clear, and a half-moon sailed into the sky, lightening the street and deepening the shadows. At last Kurt thought it must be safe to try his luck. He looked at the outside of the synagogue and realised that the meeting room could not be seen from where he was. The alley he’d sheltered in earlier must run round the back of the building, so he would not be visible to any casual passer-by.

Stiff with cold, his teeth beginning to chatter, Kurt made his way back to the alley, and felt his way along it. It was almost pitch dark in here as there were no streetlamps and the moonlight did not penetrate between the high walls that enclosed it. The building on the opposite side had no windows, but halfway along there was a gate in the wall, which Kurt assumed led directly into someone’s garden. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Kurt found that he could see more than he’d at first thought. Running his hands along the brickwork, he found a window, and sure enough the glass had been smashed, leaving jagged shards jutting from the frame. Pulling his hand up inside his coat sleeve, Kurt carefully pushed his arm through the frame and reached inside. The window was a casement, and it was not long before he had found the catch to release it. The catch was stiff, but, by shaking it up and down, he gradually loosened it until he was at last able to open the window. The rusty hinges screeched in protest as he pulled it open and he froze. Had anyone heard? The people who lived in the next house? Again Kurt waited, poised for flight if there should be a shout, a light, or the sound of investigating footsteps. But the night remained silent around him and he eased the window again. The hinges creaked again, but this time he was ready for the sound and it didn’t seem quite so loud. It was enough, the gap was now wide enough for him to slide inside. One of the shards caught his coat and tore the sleeve, but apart from that he found himself inside, undamaged. Very gently he eased the window almost closed again. He didn’t want anyone passing down the alley to notice that it had been opened.

He had no torch, and wouldn’t have used it if he had, but a shaft of moonlight pierced the darkness through a window on the opposite side of the room, so he had enough light to make out his surroundings. The room was quite large, with chairs and tables stacked round the walls, ready for use. Several old armchairs stood in a group in front of a large iron stove at one end, and there were two large cupboards at the other end. The stove was quite cold, all the previous ashes swept away. No fuel was piled beside it, and Kurt could see nothing with which he could light a fire even if he dared. He had no idea who would be able to see lights in these windows. It was nearly as cold as the street outside, except there was no wind, and Kurt wondered, if he allowed himself to go to sleep, whether he would ever wake up again.

Still, he thought, at least I am off the streets. I should be safe here until the morning. He took off his wet coat and hung it over a chair in the vain hope that it might dry a little by the morning. Then he investigated the cupboards at the end of the room. They were locked, and unwilling to damage anything that might reveal he had been there, he didn’t try and force them open. He was still shivering and so he began to do physical jerks. He thought back to his days at primary school when they had been made to do exercises before class every day. He swung his arms, raised his feet high, running on the spot, jumped, feet together, hopped round the room first on one leg and then on the other. As the blood began to flow more quickly through his veins, he began to feel a little warmer. He opened his suitcase and got out the few clothes that were inside it. He pulled them all on over what he was already wearing in an effort to retain the heat he had just generated.

I must try and get some sleep, he thought, and make an early start in the morning. He pulled two of the old armchairs together to make him a short bed. It was not long enough for him to lie straight, but if he curled himself into the foetal position, he could just about fit, and the sheltering arms of the chairs gave an illusion of warmth.

Kurt awoke several hours later, cold and stiff. His neck ached and one of his arms had gone to sleep. It was still dark outside, but it was, Kurt decided, a lightening darkness. It must be almost morning. He got out of the makeshift bed and stretched before going through the routine of physical jerks he had done the night before. Gradually warmth began to creep back into his body, but his stomach rumbled for lack of food. Kurt took out his money and counted it. He had enough for a cheap meal or a ticket back to Kirnheim… not both.

Time was not on his side, Kurt knew, so he would have to go hungry. He needed to get to Kirnheim, to the Meyers, before the last three days of his deadline ran out. As soon as the sky lightened to grey daylight, Kurt checked that there was no sign that he had used the room, put on his still-damp overcoat and picked up his now empty suitcase. He would still carry it, he thought, it gave him an air of respectability. He dropped the case out of the window and then climbed out into the alley. When he emerged at the far end he turned in the opposite direction from the rabbi’s house. No point in risking being seen again now. He walked briskly back to the centre of the city, and when he reached the early bustle of the station bought himself a ticket to Kirnheim.

It was mid-morning before Kurt found himself at the end of Gerbergasse. The shops were all open and people were going about their business. Further down the street he could see the Meyers’ bakery, and beyond it on the opposite side the ruined shell of his own grocery. At least that is what he thought he saw until, as he walked slowly down the street, he realised that things had changed. Work on restoring the building had begun. A new, sturdy door stood open, with workmen going in and out from a van parked in the street outside.

Kurt felt a shudder of fear. Who had instigated this work? He had passed the deeds to no one yet. Who would spend money rebuilding the place if it didn’t belong to him? Kurt turned away and walked back up the street, out of sight, to consider this development and to decide what to do next. Oberführer Loritz must have decided not to wait for the deed before he seized the property.

If I had turned up at the Jewish Affairs Office in Munich with the deeds, Kurt thought with a stab of panic, he would probably have taken them and arrested me again anyway.

The more he thought about this, the more certain Kurt was that he was right. The Oberführer had had no intention of letting Kurt and his family leave Germany, he had simply used that as a way of appropriating a piece of property. Once he’d got his hands on the deeds, Kurt would have been back in Dachau. The icy chill of terror ran through him at the thought of his narrow escape. Thank God he hadn’t had the deeds, thank God he hadn’t taken them and handed them in. Now he had absolutely nothing in the world, no home, no money and nothing to bargain with.

But I’m still alive and I’m still free, Kurt thought with a surge of adrenaline. They haven’t won yet! But as quickly as the rush went through him it drained away again, leaving him standing two hundred yards from his home, cold and frightened, trying to think what to do next.

Had Ruth thought of sending his passport to the Meyers? When he had left them last time, they were terrified. The arrival of the SS patrol and his own narrow escape from them had put the Meyers in danger. Even if Ruth had sent the passport, would they have held on to it? Wouldn’t they simply have destroyed it, afraid to hold something belonging to another Jew, a Jew on the run? He could understand that they might. He might, too, in the same situation, if it put any of his family at risk. But without a passport, Kurt was going to find it almost impossible to escape. It must be worth the risk just to go and ask them. He wouldn’t stay in the shop a moment longer than necessary. All he had to ask was, “Has a parcel arrived for me?”

Kurt knew that if he were going to do it, he had to do it now, before his own nerve broke. He retraced his steps to the top of Gerbergasse and walked briskly down to the bakery. The door was closed, but the bread and pastries were laid out in the window. Without looking across at the building opposite, Kurt pushed open the door and went in.

Leo Meyer was behind the counter, serving a customer. When he saw who had walked into the shop, the colour drained from his face, and the words he had been saying dried on his lips. At this reaction the woman being served turned round, and Kurt saw that it was Rudy Stein’s wife. She stared at him for a moment, as if she’d seen a ghost, and then with a cry she pushed past him and fled from the shop.

“Kurt!” Leo’s voice was a croak. “I thought you were long gone. What brings you back here?”

“I’m still looking for my family,” Kurt replied. “And I wondered, Leo, if by any chance Ruth had sent anything to me, here, to your address.”

Leo walked across the shop and flipped the open sign to closed, drawing the bolt across, turning the key in the lock and then pocketing it. “Something did come for you not long ago,” he said. “I put it in my bureau upstairs for safekeeping. If you’ll wait here, I’ll go and fetch it for you.” Without pausing for a reply, Leo went through the back of the shop and up the stairs to the apartment above. Kurt waited a moment and then followed him. He thought he heard a voice, and paused on the stairs; Leah must be up here. He knocked on the door and went in; Leo was standing by his bureau, but there was no one else in the room.

“I thought Leah was here,” Kurt said, looking round. “I thought I heard a voice.”

“No, she’s away,” Leo said. “I talk to myself… it’s a sign of old age. Look, here’s the packet that came for you. It was posted in Vienna. If it’s from Ruth that must mean they’re safe, mustn’t it? You’ll be able to go and find them there.”

Leo thrust the package into Kurt’s hand. “Go ahead and open it,” he said. “I can guess how much you are longing for news of them.”

Kurt was about to rip the brown paper from the parcel when he saw that it already had a tear across the top. He looked up sharply. “Did you open it, Leo?”