Out of the Smoke Read online

  4:02 p.m.

  When Lisa’s father had successfully engineered an election back in 1930 that quadrupled the number of Parliament seats held by the Nazi Party, Hitler had given him a generous bonus and a significant increase in salary. Shortly thereafter, her parents had sold their home in Milbertshofen and moved to Schwabing. They bought a home that was almost double the size of their previous house. Lisa and Jo got their own bedroom with twin beds and no longer were required to have three-year-old Rikki in the bedroom with them.

  That had been pure heaven. It was large enough that Lisa and Jo each had their own armoire and separate dressing tables and mirrors. Lisa had been absolutely ecstatic. No more fighting over the dressing mirror. No younger kids sleeping with them. Hans Otto, Rikki, and baby Nikolaus shared a bedroom, though their parents were talking about moving Rikki to a separate room as she got older. Their parents’ bedroom at the end of the hall was twice as big as their previous one and had a private bath attached. Lisa, not quite eleven when they moved in, had thought it was the most wonderful house she had ever been in.

  Very nice, but hardly remarkable. The Zeidner home, on the other hand, was more like a mansion. The proof of that was that Erika and Leyna each had their own separate bedroom, each of which was larger than the bedroom Lisa and Jo shared. Each bedroom had its own large wardrobe and a smaller armoire, and—­incredible as it seemed—each had its own small, private bath with a porcelain tub and matching sink.

  Seeing that was when Lisa had come to understand the full meaning of the word covet. Well, the second time. The first time was when she had seen the Zeidners’ Steinway grand piano.

  Lisa sat down on Erika’s bed and watched as she put her knapsack in the armoire. “What would you like to do?” Erika asked.

  Lisa shrugged. “I don’t care. What would you like to do?”

  “I don’t care either.”

  They were silent for a moment, and then Lisa turned and laid back on the pillow, slipping off her shoes before bringing her feet up. “Then let’s just talk.”

  Clearly pleased, Erika removed her shoes and plopped down beside her. “About what?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Anything.” Then Lisa poked Erika in the ribs. “How about Freddie Greizz?”

  Erika went beet red. “I . . . uh . . . who?”

  “Ha!” Lisa cried. “Freddie. The boy who wants to sit with us every day at lunch. Freddie, who always comes over during recess, pretending that he’s come to talk with all four of us but who can’t take his puppy-brown eyes off of you. Not even for a moment.”

  Erika turned her head away and sniffed. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Then before Lisa could retort, Erika had another idea. “I know. Let’s play a game.”

  “What game?’

  “It’s called Honesty. Me and Leyna play it with each other all the time.”

  “Honesty?”

  “Yes. I get to ask you any question I want. And you have to answer it being completely honest. If you don’t answer honestly or refuse to answer the question, then I get to ask you another question. If you do answer honestly, then you get to ask me a question. Okay?”

  “I like it. Me first?”

  “No! You already asked me about Freddie Greizz. So it’s my turn.”

  “Nein!” Lisa objected. “First of all, we weren’t playing then. Second, you lied. You said you had no idea what I was talking about.”

  “All right,” Erika said ruefully. “But you can’t ask the same question twice. So no more Freddie.”

  “Fair enough.” Lisa turned on her side to face her friend. “Okay. Um . . . ah, yes. Okay. Is there a boy at school that you like?”

  “No fair,” Erika cried.

  “Why not?” Seeing that Erika was blushing furiously again, Lisa hooted aloud. “Because it’s Freddie Greizz, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew it!”

  Erika sat up. “Okay, here’s my question for you.” She hesitated before speaking. “Do you believe in God?”

  Lisa rocked back. That was hardly what she had expected. “I. . . . Yes, I do.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, but that’s another question. My turn.” Lisa hesitated for only a moment. “Do you?”

  “Yes. Without question.”

  “Good. I thought you did. Being Jewish and all.”

  “Being Jewish doesn’t mean you automatically believe in God, Lisa. All it takes to be Jewish is to be born of Jewish parents, or even just a Jewish mother. Judaism is our religion. Jewishness is our bloodline. Albert Einstein is Jewish, but they say that he is an agnostic.”

  “Hmm.” That was a new concept to Lisa.

  “My turn again,” Erika said. Then, more hesitantly, “Do you pray to your God?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “How often?”

  “Night and morning.”

  “Wow! I. . . .” Erika looked away.

  “You what?” Lisa asked when she didn’t finish her sentence.

  “I got the impression that your father doesn’t believe in God or prayer or. . . . And I guess I just thought that. . . .” She shrugged, embarrassed again. “I don’t know what I thought.”

  “Vati does not believe in God. Or at least, not in a God who’s up in heaven watching over us and blessing us.”

  “But you do?”

  “Yes, and my mother and grandmother do too. We are what are called Mormons.”

  “Is that a religion?”

  “Yes, it’s a nickname for the church that we belong to. Its formal name is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

  “Whew! That’s a long name for a church.”

  Laughing, Lisa nodded. “That’s why people call us Mormons.” She paused. “Is it my turn again?”

  There was a pleased smile. Erika had no idea whose turn it was now, but the game was working. She had been wondering how Lisa felt about these kinds of things for quite a while. She had come up with the idea to play the game today so she could get some of those questions in her mind answered. So she nodded. “Yes. Your turn.”

  “How often do you pray?”

  “Well . . . it’s a little more complicated for us. Do I kneel down beside my bed and pray to God morning and night? No. In Jewish law it is our duty to pray three times each day. In the morning, at noon, and in the evening. These are set prayers and we recite them either from memory or from our prayer book.”

  “Oh.” Lisa wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “What about just praying to God? Just talking to Him about your problems or asking Him for something? That’s what we do.”

  “Yes, we can do that too anytime we want.” Erika was earnest now, the game clearly forgotten for the moment. “But we don’t usually do that every day, because of the other prayers.”

  “I see.” Lisa’s voice trailed off as another question came to mind, but she wasn’t sure it was appropriate to ask it.

  “What?” Erika encouraged.

  “Uh . . . well, I heard that Jews are not supposed to kneel when they pray. That they pray standing up.”

  “The first part is not true; the second is. I asked my father that very question once. He explained it like this. There’s a place in scripture where God said we were not to have a kneeling-stone that we bow down upon. That was some kind of idol back then. But we can kneel as long as there is something between us and the floor. But to be sure we’re doing it right, generally we just pray standing up, looking up to heaven. I think most Christians kneel, right? Oh—are Mormons Christians, or are you something else?”

  “We believe that Jesus was the Son of God, so yes, we’re definitely Christian.”

  They were silent for a time, feeling a little unsure of themselves. This conversation had taken a turn neither had expected. And yet both were finding this sharing about how the
other believed quite fascinating. “Is it my turn again?” Erika asked.

  Lisa chuckled. “I have no idea. So go ahead.”

  Erika was staring at her hands as she turned to face Lisa. Finally she looked up. “Remember, you have to be absolutely honest.”

  “I will.”

  “Do you. . . .” Erika took a deep breath. “Do you wish that I weren’t Jewish?”

  Lisa’s head came up with a snap. “What? No, Erika. Why would I care about that?”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t know. I just. . . .” She took a deep breath. “But thank you for answering so quickly.” She took another quick breath. “I like your father and mother very much, as do my parents. I’m glad that our families have become friends. My parents don’t have any other really close friends.”

  “Neither do mine. Our family is really close, and we’re close to our extended family, but as for real friends other than that, no. But my father talks all the time about how much he enjoys the discussions he has with your father. And as for Mutti, well, look at what happened today. That was a big deal that she invited your family to Graswang. This is our whole extended family, and usually it is only our family. And Mutti would never have asked your mother without asking Vati first. So Papa wanted it too.”

  “But. . . .” Lisa was chewing on her lower lip. “Do you think they would have done that if they knew we were Jewish? I mean, your father is a high official in the Nazi Party, and Nazis don’t like Jews.”

  Lisa nearly blurted out that it would make no difference to her father, but she hesitated. Would it? The Nazi Party was well known for their anti-Semitism. Officially, they classified those of Jewish descent along with Gypsies, Slavic peoples, mentally-deficient individuals, and other inferior beings. Sometimes they even used the word subhuman. But even as those thoughts came, Lisa had her answer.

  She leaned closer, looking Erika straight in the eye. “Erika, I can say without question that it would make absolutely no difference to my mother, nor to my grandmother. None!”

  “And your father?”

  “I know two things about my father. No, three. And that’s all I can say. First, he is a good man. He’s honest and he values integrity. Second, yes, he is a high official in the Nazi Party, but that doesn’t mean he totally agrees with all they stand for. Don’t say this to anyone else, but he often comes home and unloads about things that highly frustrate him. You can’t assume that because he is an important Nazi Party member that he hates Jews.”

  “Thank you, Lisa,” Erika said, reaching out to take her hand.

  “And, third,” Lisa went on, “I wish you could hear how my father talks about your father. He admires him so much. He talks about how intelligent he is and how widely read he is. Every time they’re together, Papa comes home and tells Mama all about it. I’ve only known one other adult male that he has ever felt as close to as he does to your father, and that’s his uncle, my great-uncle Wolfie. And they’ve leaving for America soon, which makes his friendship with your father all the more important.”

  Erika laughed in delight. “And my Vati is the same. He talks about the discussions they have all the time too.”

  “So,” Lisa concluded. “Back to your question. If my father found out that your family is Jewish, would it make a difference to him? I can’t say for sure, but you know what I think. I think that the answer is no.”

  Erika hurled herself at Lisa, and they fell back onto the bed in a heap. “Oh, Lisa,” she cried. “That makes me so happy. You are the best friend I have ever had. Ever! I couldn’t bear it if something happened to break up our friendship.”

  Lisa got off the bed and stood up. “I want to show you something my cousin Miki taught me.”

  Erika stood up too. “Is she the one who helped you with that boy who kept trying to kiss you at summer camp?”

  “Yes. Afterwards, I tried to thank Miki for what she had done for me, telling her what a wonderful cousin she was. She shook her head and said, ‘Oh, Lisa. We are much more than cousins. We are dear friends.’ And remember, Erika, she is four years older than I am. And then she took my hands and did something I have never forgotten.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I want to show you.” She reached out and took both of Erika’s hands in hers and then pulled her in closer until they were only about a foot apart. “Close your eyes.” She did so. “Just relax. I’m going to touch your head for a second, but it won’t hurt.”

  “All right.”

  Moving even a few inches closer, Lisa interlocked her fingers with Erika’s. “Do you have a middle name?”

  “Yes. Ellspeth.”

  “So Erika Ellspeth Zeidner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now lean your head forward a little, and keep your eyes closed.”

  Lisa could sense that Erika was a little nervous, but she did as she was told. Gripping her hands more tightly, Lisa closed her eyes too and leaned in until their foreheads softly touched. That startled Erika and she almost drew back, but then she steadied and held very still.

  “Erika Ellspeth Zeidner,” Lisa began, her voice low and solemn, “I, Alisa Maria Eckhardt, clasp your hands in mine as a token of friendship and sisterhood. This signifies that we are as one, sisters in a friendship that can never be broken. We touch our foreheads to signify that in spite of our differences, we are now of one heart and one mind.” She paused and then quietly concluded with, “Of this I solemnly swear.”

  Erika started to pull back, tears brimming her eyelids, but Lisa held her fast. “Now you. Close your eyes again. You say it, but this time for yourself.”

  Erika cleared her throat and then, in a voice barely audible, began, “Alisa Maria Eckhardt, I, Erika Ellspeth Zeidner, clasp your hands in mine as . . . uh. . . .”

  “As a token of friendship.”

  “As a token of friendship. . . .”

  “In a sisterhood that can never be broken.”

  “In a sisterhood that can never be broken.”

  Erika stopped, clearly struggling with her emotions. Lisa was about to prompt her again when she went on. “We touch our foreheads to signify that while we are different in many ways, we are now of one heart and one mind when it comes to our friendship.” Another choked cry, and then, in a tremulous voice, “Of this I solemnly swear.”

  They were weeping as they opened their eyes and threw their arms around one another, laughing and crying at the same time.

  January 29, 1933, 9:25 p.m.—Hospital Clinic, Ludwig Maximillian University, Munich

  “Sunday, 29 January 1933. I regret to say that I am writing this first journal entry of the New Year from a hospital bed. Yes, that’s right. I am in the hospital. I arrived yesterday afternoon from Graswang, stretched out in the back seat of Alemann Zeidner’s car, with my head cradled in Emilee’s lap. Let me explain.

  “For a man rapidly approaching his thirty-seventh birthday, it is embarrassing to admit how stupid one can be at times. My Onkel Wolfie, Tante Paula, and their youngest son, Bruno, have received final permission to emigrate to America. So have my sister Anna and my brother-in-law Rudi and their four children. They leave for America by steamship from Hamburg next week and will arrive in Salt Lake City approximately two weeks later, depending on how long immigration officials hold them in New York City for processing. This has left my mother, who still lives with Emilee and me, sorrowful and somewhat depressed, even though she is very happy for them.

  “Anyway, it was decided that we would all spend one last weekend together down at my family’s dairy farm in Graswang. It would be kind of like a winter festival, but just for our family and the Zeidners. We went down Friday evening and went out to dinner at a wonderful Italian restaurant in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, about ten or twelve miles away. I was pleased at how quickly the Zeidners fit in and how they were warmly welcomed by my extended family. Then on
Saturday, we began a day of winter fun—sledding, ice skating, building snowmen, playing Fox and Geese, and ending with a grand snowball fight with the old taking on the young. It was much fun for all and the weather was perfect.

  “Late that afternoon, the men agreed to take all of the older children sleigh-riding one more time while the women prepared supper and kept the smaller children in the house. All went well for a time. As we prepared for one last run as the sun was about to go down, Lisa and I challenged my niece, Miki Borham, and her fiancé, Paul, to a race down the hill. Miki is to be married at the end of the summer. They both jumped at the challenge when I suggested that the prize would be a dinner at a restaurant of the winner’s choosing, paid for by the losers.

  “What we had not counted on was that as the sun went behind the west mountains, the temperature dropped a few degrees, turning the soft snow into ice. Lisa sat in the front and guided the sleigh with her feet. I sat behind her, using my weight to give us stability. When we pushed off, all the onlookers started cheering and hollering. Lisa and I immediately shot out into the lead, and we took the first jump at breakneck speed. The whole family had come out to watch and lined the route on both sides. My children were all screaming their lungs out.

  “I’m still not sure what happened, but about halfway down the run is the largest jump on the course. It gives you some exciting air time. But this time, it felt like we were going twice as fast as we had been earlier in the day. I saw the jump coming and knew we were in trouble. I shouted for Lisa to roll off, which she did. I turned my head to make sure she was all right. Big mistake. When I turned back, I was at the jump. Startled, I over-corrected and hit the jump somewhat off of dead center.

  “From that point on, things are a bit of a blur. It all happened so fast. My sleigh and I both went airborne, like a duck breaking from cover. But I went in one direction and the sleigh went in another. From what they told me later, it was fortunate that I was still in a sitting position as I flew through the air. I say fortunately because if I had come down headfirst, that could have been very serious. But as it was, the first part of me to hit the ground was my bad hip. Ever since I was shot during the Putsch of November 1923, I have had problems with my back. Recently, I had all but a few bullet fragments removed, and I have done better since then, but I always have some residual pain.