Out of the Smoke Page 8

  He closed his eyes, nodded, and started to moan again.

  “Gut!” Lisa said. She went over and picked up her satchel, feeling uncontrolled trembling coming on. And yet elation was exploding inside her. Gerhardt had been right. You had to solve your own problems or be forever afraid.

  “Danke, Gerhardt,” she whispered. “It worked! Again!”

  September 2, 1932, 3:43 p.m.—Eckhardt Home

  Lisa raced up the stairs to their front door ahead of her two siblings and then turned to face them as they trudged up to join her. She raised a hand and shook her finger under their noses. “Not a word!” she hissed. “Not to Mutti or Vati. Nor to Oma, either. Do you hear me?”

  “But why?” Jolanda asked, keeping her voice low as well. “What you did was amazing, Lisa. I still can’t believe it. Everyone was amazed.”

  “Because!” she hissed, “Papa and Mama will just get all upset. They may even make us stop going to that school.”

  Hans Otto’s eyes grew big. “Nein,” he said slowly. “I like school.”

  “So do I. So not a word.” She turned to Jo. “Verstehen?”

  Jolanda nodded solemnly but then had a horrible thought. “What if those boys come back again?”

  “They’re not coming back,” Lisa said. She forced herself to smile. “You heard the policeman. He told us that Bully Boy was going to jail. And probably the other boy, too.”

  “Doesn’t matter if they go to jail or not,” Hans Otto said smugly. “Lisa beat the stuffing out of them. No way are they going to come back for more.”

  Feeling a little smug herself, Lisa turned on her brother. “Hans Otto? Not a word, you hear me?”

  A sly look stole over his face. “Can I take your new Fussball to the park tomorrow?”

  “No! Take the old one.”

  He cocked his head and looked at her. His expression was clear to read. Do you want me to be quiet about this or not?

  “Oh, all right. But if you lose it, you owe me five marks.”

  “Wunderbar!” he crowed. Then he yanked the door open and darted into the house before she could say more.

  Lisa reached out and caught the screen door to stop it from slamming as Jo stepped forward and put her arm around her sister. “Oh, Lisa. I wish I could be more like you.”

  “What?” Lisa cried. “Brash? Cocky? Stupid? No, Jolanda. Some­times I think I’m too much of a boy. So, let’s go inside and pretend that we had a long, boring day at school, shall we?”

  As the two girls trooped through the entrance hall and into the living room, Lisa was momentarily startled. Oma Eckhardt was standing in the doorway that led into the kitchen. She smiled warmly. “Guten Tag, Mädchen.”

  “Guten Tag, Oma,” Lisa said, moving up to give her grandmother a kiss on the cheek. Jo did likewise.

  Lisa looked around. “Where’s Mutti? Is Vati home yet?”

  “No. Your father called a little while ago and said he’s been delayed.”

  “Not again,” Jo wailed.

  “He’s taking the first train down from Nuremberg tomorrow, so he should be home by eleven or so. He’s promised to spend the rest of the day with you children. Your mother is at Tante Paula’s house. She called a couple of hours ago with some surprising news.”

  “What?”

  “She and Uncle Wolfie received word that they are approved to emigrate to Utah.”

  “No,” Lisa cried. “And what about Tante Anna and Onkel Rudi?”

  “Nothing yet, but with Wolfie’s position in the government, they expected that they would be approved more quickly than Rudi and Anna and their children.”

  “Why would they go, Oma?” Jo wailed. “I don’t want them to leave.”

  “Nor do I, but this is their choice. They both have their reasons.”

  “But Onkel Wolfie’s not even a Mormon, Oma,” Lisa reminded her.

  Inga chuckled. “No, Lisa. But not everyone in Utah is a Mormon. And Mormons don’t discriminate against non-LDS people. At least, they’re not supposed to.”

  Lisa nodded glumly and then turned and started after Jo, who was headed for the hallway. “Lisa?” Inga called.

  She turned back. “Yes, Oma?”

  “Do you have a moment?”

  “Uh . . . sure.”

  Her grandmother moved back into the living room, with Lisa following. Inga went to the overstuffed chair that was next to one of the front windows and sat down. The morning newspapers were folded on one arm of the chair, and the curtains were stirring lightly from a breeze through the open window. Inga motioned to her granddaughter. “Pull up a chair. Let’s talk for a moment.”

  But Lisa had stopped dead about ten feet away from her. She was staring at the curtain, realizing that the fact that they were stirring in the breeze meant that the window was open. And that this was the window that was closest to the front porch. And that the chair where her grandmother was now sitting was grandmother’s favorite place to sit when she was reading or taking an afternoon nap.

  Or listening to her granddaughter swearing her siblings to secrecy not five feet away!

  Her grandmother’s eyes were twinkling. “Yes, Lisa, I heard every word. Please, sit down.”

  “Grandma!”

  “Well, what was I to do? You were there. I was here. The window was open.” Her smile broadened. “And you weren’t whispering, my dear.”

  “Grandma, I—”

  “Get a chair and sit down. This will be just between you and me.”

  “You won’t tell Mama and Papa?”

  “That depends. If it’s something I think they need to know, then. . . .” She shrugged.

  “It’s not.” Lisa went over and got the chair. “It’s nothing bad.”

  “Then I’ll not say a word.”

  She raised her right hand, index finger extended, and drew an X on the front of her blouse as she solemnly intoned, “Cross my heart and hope to die, if I ever tell a lie, stick a finger in my eye.”

  Lisa couldn’t help it. She started to giggle. This was something she and her siblings did all the time. But not her grandmother.

  Inga Bauer Eckhardt had been born and raised in Southern Bavaria, in a beautiful alpine area just north of the town of Oberammergau. The daughter of a pig farmer, she had become an indentured servant to a well-to-do shopkeeper and restaurant owner in Oberammergau. There she met Hans Eckhardt, the handsome son of a prosperous dairy farmer from Graswang, a village a short distance to the southwest. Smitten by the shy but intelligent young girl at the shop, Hans soon began courting her. They were wed when Inga was eighteen and Hans was twenty-two. They had gone on to raise five children and numerous grandchildren. Then Opa Eckhardt had died unexpectedly. A year or two later Oma moved to Munich to live with Paula and Wolfie, and then two years after that, she moved in with Lisa’s family. She was like a second mother to her grandchildren, and she and Lisa were especially close. Lisa absolutely adored her grandmother and suddenly realized that she very badly wanted to tell her everything that had happened, even the stuff that Jo and Hans Otto didn’t know.

  She carried her chair over and set it down directly in front of her Oma. “All right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Are you ready for this?”

  She began with what had happened at camp during the summer. As she talked about Günther Dangel, she saw shock and then dismay in her grandmother’s eyes. Occasionally she broke in to ask a question, but only if something needed clarification.

  She explained how Gerhardt had taught her the four words: Surprise! Distraction! Speed! Force! And how well it had worked with Günther. Lisa’s eyes were downcast as she finished her account, but her grandmother only nodded and said, “Go on.”

  So she told her about how they had first met Bully Boy and Little Pig and then recounted all that had just happened. She held no detail back, somehow feeling tha
t if she didn’t get it all out, it would fester inside of her forever. By the time she finished, she was staring at her hands, which were folded in her lap, and was experiencing a curious mixture of relief and shame. Would Oma approve of her little Alisa acting like a camp brawler?

  Finally, she could no longer bear it and looked up. Inga’s sky blue eyes were thoughtful as she studied her granddaughter. But when she finally spoke, her reaction was not at all what Lisa had expected.

  “And you don’t know who they are? The two girls?”

  “No. I’ve seen them at school, but there are a lot of students there that I don’t know yet.”

  Her next question was equally surprising. “Did you say anything to Hans Otto and Jolanda about the Jewish thing?”

  Lisa’s head snapped up. “No! The older girl begged me not to say anything to anyone about it. Which seems odd, because she said she wasn’t a Jew. So why would she be so worried about it, Oma?”

  “What do you think?”

  Lisa shook her head. “She was terrified, Oma. When Bully Boy called her a Jewess, she went white as a sheet.”

  “And what do you assume from that?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure.” She leaned forward, her face earnest. “Do you think they are Jews?”

  To Lisa’s surprise, her grandmother ignored the question. “Are there other Jewish children at your school?”

  “No.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I know what a Jew looks like.”

  Oma gave her a highly skeptical look. “Oh?”

  Lisa shrugged, taken aback. “You know. The men wear all black clothes and those funny black hats. And married ladies all wear scarves on their heads. Someone told me they do that because the men make them shave their heads so they won’t look beautiful to other men. But that’s kind of stupid, don’t you think? They won’t look beautiful to their husbands either.”

  That won her a brief smile.

  “And, oh—the men and boys never shave, and they have those funny curls of hair around their ears.”

  Oma’s expression was grave as she searched her granddaughter’s face. Finally she sat back in her chair. “Alisa, do you remember when you were in fourth grade at your school up in Milbertshofen and those boys grabbed you and held you down out on the playground?”

  Lisa’s head came up. “Yes.”

  “Why did they do that?”

  “Because I was a Mormon.”

  “Yes. But why specifically did they hold you down?”

  Her eyes widened. “Because they wanted to see if I had horns.”

  Inga’s head bobbed once. “Did you tell them that you didn’t have horns?”

  “Of course. I laughed in their faces for being so stupid. But they didn’t believe me. They thought that’s why I wore my hair long. So they held me down to check it out.” She grinned. “And I gave two of them bloody noses for doing so.”

  “Seems unbelievable, doesn’t it? That anyone actually thinks Mormons have horns, or a tail like the devil. Or that all Mormon men have dozens of wives. Or that our missionaries come here to seduce young women. You know Elder Johnson and Elder Slater. Do you think they’re friendly to you so they can take you back to America as their wife?”

  Lisa hooted in derision. “No! They’re wonderful.” Then she realized where her grandmother was going with this. “And you’re saying that’s how it is with Jewish people?”

  “Exactly. Only the stories and rumors about them are far worse than those about us. Did those girls seem horrible to you?”

  “No. They both seemed very . . . uh . . . very nice, I guess.” Her head came up slowly. “So you do think they were Jewish.”

  “Yes. And so do you.” She cocked her head to one side. “Don’t you? If not, why did you threaten Bully Boy about saying anything about them being Jewish?”

  “Because they both were really scared when the boys came, but. . . .” She paused, remembering. Then understanding suddenly dawned. Her words came out in wonder. “But they were even more scared about people finding out they were Jewish. And particularly when they saw the police coming. Why is that, Oma?”

  “Did you know that during this last election, a group of Jews over in Mannheim were not allowed to vote? Even though they are German citizens. And when they protested, some of the police went after them with their clubs. Several were taken to hospital.”

  Lisa sat back, clearly shocked by that. Then another thought came to her. “Some of my teachers say that Jews are not really people like the rest of us. That they are subhumans.”

  “Would you say that Herr Levy, who cuts your father’s hair, is subhuman?”

  Lisa’s eyes widened. “He’s a Jew?”

  “And the Weber family who ran the ironmonger shop up in Milbertshofen?”

  Lisa gasped. “No! That can’t be. Their daughter was one of my best friends. Their whole family was really nice.”

  Inga laughed sadly. “So how could they be Jewish if they’re nice, right?”

  Lisa felt her face go warm as she realized the implication of what she had just said. “I’m sorry, Oma. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I know, dear. But just remember, there are people who actually believe that we have horns, and that we worship the devil in the Salt Lake Temple, just like there are people who truly believe that Jewish people are a different species than the rest of us.” She sighed, and her face softened as she watched Lisa’s expression. “Can I ask you one question, Lisa?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let’s assume for a moment that those two girls are Jewish. If you had known that, would it have changed how you responded to those boys?”

  She started to shake her head but then stopped. Would it have? The question troubled her. But after a moment, she shook her head. “No, Oma. It wouldn’t have.”

  “Good. I didn’t think so. And that makes me all the more proud of you for what you did.”

  Lisa sat back. “You can’t tell Mama or Papa about them being Jewish. I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Which wasn’t exactly true. The girl hadn’t waited for her answer. But as she was going home, Lisa had vowed that she would honor that request, though she wasn’t sure why.

  “I agree,” Inga replied slowly. “But you have to tell your parents the rest of it, Lisa.”

  She leaped up. “No, Oma! I can’t. Vati will be furious with me.”

  “Lisa, dozens of people already know what you did today. You said the police took your name down in case they have more questions for you. They will likely report it to your schoolmaster. Your parents will hear about it sooner than later. You have to tell them first, or they will be really upset.”

  She sat back, a frown creasing her forehead. She hadn’t considered that. “All right,” she finally agreed. “But not about the girls being Jewish. I promised.”

  At that moment, Inga felt such an intense love for this beautiful, courageous, intelligent granddaughter of hers that tears sprang to her eyes. “No, mein Liebchen. Not if you promised.”

  Lisa sighed as if a heavy load had been lifted from her. Then, after a moment, an impish smile stole in around her mouth. “There’s another great lesson I’ve learned from today, Oma.”

  “Oh? And what is that?”

  “I’m never going to let a boy kiss me on the front porch unless I know for sure you’re already in bed.”

  With that, Oma Inga threw back her head and hooted in delight.

  September 3, 1932, 9:30 a.m.—Hauptbahnhof, Westend District, Munich

  As the train shuddered to a stop, the cars slamming against each other one last time, Hans got slowly to his feet. He groaned inwardly as he reached up to the overhead compartment for his bag. Every muscle and bone in his body was stiff. And, most discouraging, his bad hip was aching like fury again.

  After he
had been shot in the back during the failed Beer Hall Putsch in 1923, the army doctors had decided that trying to remove the bullet risked damaging his lower spinal column and paralyzing him from the waist down. Years later, with more competent surgeons and greatly improved x-ray technology, the bullet had been removed, except for a couple of small fragments they didn’t dare mess with. The second operation had left Hans nearly pain free once it had completely healed.

  But now the pain was back. Not anything like it had been before, but it was back. It had started not long after they had announced new elections. For two months he was constantly at his desk at the office, sometimes for twenty-four hours at a time with only a quick nap in between. Or he was crisscrossing the country by train or automobile. His doctor was sure it was due to too much sitting, too little sleep, his erratic eating habits, and far too much stress.

  Hans didn’t dispute the diagnosis, but there was nothing to be done about it. So he put on a brave show when he was home and carried bottles of aspirin with him when he wasn’t.

  In the family’s three weeks at Lake Como it had all but gone away, and Hans had been hopeful. Hitler and his inner circle, including Hans’s boss, Joseph Goebbels, had immediately left for Berlin following their stunning electoral victory. Hans had returned to the office hoping that with them gone, finally things would get back to normal. But there were party celebrations going on all around the country, and it was not possible for Hitler or the top echelon of leadership to attend them all. So Hans and others at his level became fallback alternatives. And once again, he was back on the road.

  A sharp rap on the window brought his head around quickly. His Uncle Wolfie was standing outside on the platform, staring at him incredulously. He rapped again. “You’re home,” he mouthed. “Get off the train.”

  9:35 a.m.—Car Park, Hauptbahnhof

  As Wolfie took Hans’s bag and put it in the trunk of his car, Hans laid a hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “Danke, Wolfie. I told Emilee not to worry about me, that I would catch a taxi.”

  “I wanted to come. I’m hoping you’ll catch me up on what’s going on in Berlin.”