The Watcher (12 page)

“Then along came Adolf Hitler and his socialist party. He made promises; he reminded the German people they were ‘the master race.' He built up the country with work and jobs—and gave everyone hope. People listened to his speeches and gained confidence again. They came to believe and have faith in Hitler, as if he were a prophet from God who had come to save the nation. Brilliant scientists and educators look to him, believe in him, and are willing to do anything he asks.”

“And that's what happened to Adrie?”

“She is one of the strongest believers of all. She even turned away from David—your father—when he was imprisoned.”

Barret added, “I've heard people who watch the Führer parade by collect the dirt he walked on to keep as a shrine in their houses.”

Something Johanna said came back to me.
Heil Hitler means you worship Hitler as your savior.
No wonder Johanna refused to say
Heil Hitler
. He was the man who started this war of killing and hatred. Yet despite that, the people adored him.

“You must never tell anyone about our talk today,” Herr Strohkirch reminded me. “Anything overheard can mean your imprisonment and for me . . . possibly death.”

“Then why search for me to tell me all this?” I felt a trace of anger. “I was perfectly okay with who I was. Now I'm afraid.”

“I'm informing you of this because of the promise I made to your father before he died in prison. He wanted you to know your birthright, and he hoped Adrie would never bring you to Germany. If she did, however, he gave me instructions to get you out of the country to safety—if it ever became necessary.”

Out of the country?
Did that mean I could go home and be Wendy Taylor again? An American girl? “Can I leave whenever I want?”

“Oh, my dear, of course not. No one can just up and leave. Besides, Adrie would never let you go.”

“So I must stay here forever?”

“Not necessarily, but to escape would take careful planning. The borders are closely guarded, and it would be dangerous. However, now that you know all the parts of the puzzle, it is an option that you can hold in your heart until you decide. Your father wanted you to have that choice. If you do decide to leave at some point, I will help you—just as I promised David.

“For now the best thing for you is to go on being Adrie's perfect Aryan daughter—a true German girl, just as Adrie wants for you,” Herr Strohkirch advised. “Or at least pretend to be.”

“I sometimes wish I could go back to New York,” I said wistfully. “I feel guilty that I left my mom and daddy over there without a word, after all they did for me. I miss them.”

“Never speak of your New York family or friends, and never say that things were better in the States. Especially don't say that you resent certain aspects of the Third Reich,” Barret warned me. “Isn't that true, Opa?”

“Ja,”
his grandfather agreed. “People betray one another here. It is dangerous to speak out.”

I thought again of Johanna, who was German—who had done nothing wrong except worship God and read the Bible. Yet she was not free, and the rest of her family was in prison because they would not pretend or deny who they were. Now I felt as if I were in a prison, because I had to hide my thoughts and words . . . and who I really was. There was no freedom here in Germany for anyone who did not agree with Herr Hitler, I realized. Even for Germans.

I wondered again about my real father. “Tell me more about David Dressner—my father.”

Herr Strohkirch nodded. “Oh, he was very concerned about your future even before you were born. He didn't want you to live as a
Mischling
here in Germany for the rest of your life.”

“What is a
Mischling
?”

“A half-Jew—it means ‘half-breed' or . . .” Barret hesitated.

“Mongrel!” Herr Strohkirch spit out the English word. “
Ach
!
How disgusting—to give that name to any human being.” He looked away for a moment, waved his hand as if casting off a bit of dirt, and then continued with my parents' story. “David and Adrie both agreed that you should have every opportunity of a happy, safe life. There was only one way out of the situation.”

I instantly knew the solution. “That's when Adrie married Karl Dekker and pretended he was my father?”

“Correct!” Strohkirch smiled. “Karl Dekker was a wounded Great War hero and had always been in love with Adrie. Adrie agreed to marry him right away. As an official in the government, I was able to secretly destroy all records of Adrie and David's marriage.”

“So Karl believed I was his daughter?”

“
Ja.
Karl was a good man. Later Adrie went to New York, where you were born, and took on your aunt and uncle's surname, Taylor. Adrie and Karl together decided it would be safer for you to stay in the United States for a
period of time because the government here was unpredictable at that point.”

Herr Strohkirch relit the tobacco in his pipe. “Eventually poor Karl died from his war injuries. He received the Iron Cross for valor. As far as the world is concerned, you are Karl's daughter. It's never been necessary for anyone to know differently.”

“Did my real father, David, ever meet me?”

“
Nein
—no. I received photographs from New York that I brought to David. He called you his
Liebling
—his darling child.”

I looked again at the picture of my father, David Dressner, and at his pleasant smile. “Was it David who gave my mother the ruby ring?”

“
Ja
. His family owned a string of fine-jewelry stores. After his expulsion from the university as a geologist, he worked in the Netherlands, where he traded worldwide. He collected some of the most valuable gems in the world—like that ruby. David designed the ring in pure twenty-four karat gold. It's worth a fortune.”

“Adrie told me about the value of the pigeon-blood ruby when she gave me the ring and told me I was her daughter.”

Barret, who had been listening intently, spoke up. “That tells you how much you mean to Adrie.”

“Be careful with that ring.” Herr Strohkirch's expression darkened. “It could be stolen by the government. Reichsmarschall Göring takes wealth and treasures belonging to the Jews for his own personal collection. He
has also helped himself to many of the world's most precious art collections.”

“
Ja
. Just as they took Heidi from me,” Barret murmured in a low voice. “They said that the soldier who lost his sight was far more . . . er . . .
wertvoll
 . . . valuable than a blind boy like me.”

“How dare they say such a cruel thing?” I blurted out. “You are valuable and . . . bright and kind.” To my own surprise—as well as Barret's—I threw my arms around him and hugged him.

I
hoped Barret could tell how embarrassed I was for my impulsive show of affection. “I'm sorry, Barret. Please forgive me.” I could feel my own face burning, and I had to look away.

However, I was relieved and happy when Barret changed the subject. “I live within walking distance. I would enjoy meeting you again here or somewhere. We can walk and visit, and I'd be happy to help you train your dog.”

“Does Adrie know you live nearby, Herr Strohkirch?” I asked Barret's grandfather. “She'll be away for another week or so, but after that, she might suspect I am meeting someone if I come down here too often.”

“I've moved several times since Adrie and David knew me. She has no idea that I'm living nearby. Barret has lived with me since his father died.”

I turned to Barret. “I'm sorry, Barret. I didn't realize you had lost your father.”

“
Danke,
Wendy,” he replied.

“And your mother? Is she living?”

“Barret's mother, Adrienne, was my beautiful daughter,” Herr Strohkirch said. “My only child.”

“My mother died when I was born,” Barret explained. “I was very small, premature, and in fact, that is the reason I am blind. My grandfather has been good to me, and I know it is hard for my Opa to have a blind grandson to”—Barret struggled for the right words in English—“to care for.”

“
Ach,
you are my joy. You know that, Barret.” His grandfather grasped Barret's shoulder, and for a moment I saw tears well up in Herr Strohkirch's eyes.

“You call your grandfather ‘Opa'?” I asked, trying to brighten the conversation.

“
Ja,
that's like ‘granddad' in your country,” Barret said.

Herr Strohkirch smiled. “You may call me Opa too, Wendy. Herr Strohkirch is . . . what you would say in America . . . is a mouthful. I will be your grandfather, and we three will be a family.”

“
Ja
and it would be better not to use the name Strohkirch at all,” Barret added. “Opa has an important position in the Third Reich. We do not want him to get in trouble for the help he gives so many people.”

“Shall we meet here on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, since I work on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays?” Then I wondered how he could manage his way to
the park without a dog. “Will Opa come with you?”

“Sometimes. He often works at the Chancellery. Do not worry about me walking by myself, Wendy. I can see light and the shadows of people and cars,” he assured me. “It's not as if I'm in total darkness. I will use my white cane. I know my way here very well—by heart. In fact, I could walk here . . . how you say it . . . blindfolded.” He laughed. “About ten o'clock on Tuesday morning?”

“That sounds right. By the way, how do you tell time—other than asking someone?” I asked curiously.

Barret put his arm out to show me the watch on his wrist. He popped the glass open with a click and then touched the hands inside. “Right now it's ten past eleven. Right? Notice how the numbers are raised little bumps. They're in Braille.”

I moved closer to see. “Oh, so you read Braille?”

“Oh,
ja,
since I was very young.”

“Once he caught on, there was no stopping him,” Opa said with a proud smile. “He reads everything he can find that's in Braille.”

I was beginning to understand how well Barret could get along by himself.

Opa stood, waiting to leave. “Shall we go now, Barret?”

“
Ja,
I suppose we should.” As Barret reached for his grandfather's arm, Watcher got up from his place at my feet and lapped Barret's hand. “We will train you to be the best dog in Berlin, Watcher,” Barret told him.

I batted Barret's arm. “He already is the best dog in Berlin!”

Opa paused on his way to the sidewalk. “Before we go, I must remind you again that our conversations here must be kept private. Lives depend upon that, Wendy, my dear.” Opa's eyes were serious.

“I understand, Opa.” I knew very well what Adrie might do if she knew what Opa had revealed to me. Adrie could be dangerous. Opa, especially, would be in danger.

“If you are not here, I will understand that you cannot come,” Barret said. “We will find a way to keep in touch—if you need me.”

I had a sudden rush of relief mixed with joy. I had a friend—and a grandfather.

W
atcher and I walked home slowly. I had so much to straighten out in my head. I understood now who my true father was and why Adrie had kept him a secret. What scared me the most was the hush-hush talk about the death camps. When Johanna and I sat outside and ate lunch together one day, she whispered to me terrible things about the death camps, where she said Jews—even children—were killed by the thousands. Surely, the German people would never allow death camps or such awful things to happen, would they?

In any case, what did it have to do with me? I would never tell anyone I was Jewish.

By now we had walked around the block and approached the driveway of my house. I stopped and looked at the tall beautiful stone mansion. My bedroom here was bigger than the whole first floor of my old house
in New York. I had everything I needed or wanted. I loved the house and Frieda and the wonderful meals she made. I loved having a dog, even during the war, when many people did not have enough to eat but my dog was well fed. Should I feel guilty? No. It wasn't my fault that there was a war or that people were starving and imprisoned. Besides, what could I do about it?

I jingled the bracelet on my arm, the one with the three gold monkeys.
See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil.

From now on I wouldn't be alarmed at what I heard or saw. I had every reason to be happy. I would stay right here and be the daughter Adrie wanted.

With that decision, I felt better. I bent down to pet Watcher, who looked up at me sweetly and lapped my face.

“Let's go home, Watcher,” I said.