Read Pennies For Hitler Online
Authors: Jackie French
The ‘friend’ was a woman with fat cheeks, like the good gargoyle’s, and fat ankles too, in thick brown stockings. Mutti opened the door for her. Tante had vanished, for some reason, after bringing him soup and cold pork and bread.
The woman looked Georg up and down. ‘He’s small. That’s good. But can he lie still for hours? Not make a sound?’
‘Georg has great self-control,’ said Mutti. ‘Please, Frau …’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry, I do not know your name.’
‘You can’t tell the SS or Gestapo what you do not know.’ The fat woman stared at Georg again. ‘There is a chance to get him out of the country on the train tonight. After tonight, I do not know.’
‘Tonight then,’ said Mutti. Her voice was iron again, as though every one of her bones was cold.
For the first time the woman spoke to Georg. She kneeled down and looked him in the eyes. Her breath smelled of caraway seeds. ‘Well, boy? Can you lie still in the dark for many hours? For a whole night? Not move at all? Not speak or cry or make a sound?’
Not move or make a sound for a whole night? He didn’t know. How could you know if you had never tried? He could stay still for half an hour, when he and his friends played hide and seek. But for a night?
If he said yes he would have to go to England, to Aunt Miriam, who he hardly knew. Go with strangers, no Mutti and no Papa.
Mutti’s eyes were bright; Georg imagined there were tears behind them that she couldn’t cry. He remembered Papa’s words, screamed above the roar of the crowd: ‘Marlene, save Georg!’
Mutti’s eyes said ‘please’.
This was all he could do for Papa now.
The fat woman gripped his arm. ‘Look at me, boy! If you move or make a noise the Nazis will find you. They may kill you. If you move or cry the people who are taking you may die as well. They risk their lives for you. Can you stay still for that?’
‘Yes,’ said Georg.
The woman stood. ‘I think you can too.’ Then to Mutti, ‘Do you have a suitcase?’
‘I don’t know if it is safe to go back to get his clothes —’ began Mutti.
‘Not for his clothes. For him.’
Mutti fetched one of Onkel Klaus’s suitcases from the attic. She didn’t ask Tante. Georg thought she didn’t care if Tante wanted her to have it or not. He hadn’t heard Tante’s voice since she had brought his food, or the servant’s either. Were they still here?
It was dark outside now. Mutti slipped out the front door, leaving him with the woman. The woman didn’t talk to him. She sat, as though she needed all her spare time to think.
Georg looked around the room, at Tante’s china dogs on the mantelpiece, at the cushions she had embroidered, the gaslight hissing on the wall.
Perhaps, he thought, Papa will be at home. Perhaps he wasn’t hurt at all; maybe he landed on something soft. When Mutti comes back he will be with her. He will find a way that we can all go to England together, like a holiday.
He shivered. No one had come to light the tiled stove, despite the evening’s chill. What if the students were waiting at home? What if they grabbed Mutti, carried her upstairs and then forced the window open? What if …
The door opened. It was Mutti, alone. She had his coat, and clean underwear and his passport too — the one he had shown the guard when they went on holiday last summer.
‘So,’ said the woman. ‘We will begin.’
He was hungry again. He was thirsty too. But the woman would not let him drink. He could not get out to use the toilet once he was in the suitcase. He must pretend he wasn’t there.
The suitcase had holes now, small holes so he could breathe. The coat was tucked into it to muffle any sound in case he moved.
He stared at it, unable to quite believe what was happening, that Mutti could send him to strangers, alone, so far away.
That he was supposed to hide in this.
‘Can you do it?’ asked the woman.
He glanced at Mutti and saw the hope frozen on her face. ‘Yes,’ he whispered again.
Mutti reached out a finger and stroked his cheek. It was as though she couldn’t bear to hug him. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘For saving my son.’ But she didn’t look at the woman. Instead she stared at Georg, as though she was trying to record his face, every expression and every move, to store it up for later.
‘He is one of many,’ said the woman. ‘We do what we can. For every one we get out of Germany a thousand are trapped here.’
Georg wondered if the woman really saw him, except as a package. One of a thousand. Would she even remember his name?
He gave a cry and flung himself at Mutti. At last he felt her arms warm about him. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘Always remember that. Do this for me. For Papa. More than anything on earth, we love you. We want you to be safe. Know that forever.’ She kissed him. ‘Be happy. We will come to you when we can.’
He clung to her.
The woman coughed. ‘It is time.’
Mutti tensed, then pushed him away, towards the suitcase.
At first he didn’t think that he would fit. His legs stuck out over the rim of the suitcase. His body clenched in panic. He didn’t want to do this, but he couldn’t fail either. He curled his legs close to his body, then closer still. I am a snail, he thought. The suitcase is my shell.
‘
Gut
,’ said the woman. She tucked his underwear between him and the walls of the suitcase, then laid his coat on top of him. ‘The cloth will muffle small noises you make,’ she said. ‘But not much.’
He nodded, a tiny movement in case she thought he couldn’t lie still. He could only see Mutti with one eye now. He stared at her, trying not to blink, not to lose a second.
The lid came down. The world was black, not light.
‘Do not speak until it is open again,’ said the woman. He heard the click as it was latched down.
He wanted to call out ‘Goodbye’ to Mutti. He wanted to say he loved her too. Why hadn’t he said that before? But if he called out now he would break his promise. If he spoke now the woman might take him out and say he couldn’t go.
He listened for another word from Mutti. But there was nothing. Perhaps she thought if she spoke he might answer back. He tried to imagine her, standing there, in her flowered dress. He wondered if she would let herself cry properly now.
It was dark. Too dark. He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t bear it: the dark; the lack of air. He imagined his fist breaking through the case into the light. Then he felt a tiny breeze from the holes, which were near his face. He thought of Papa and of Mutti’s face.
Maybe if he did this impossible thing it would be all right. If he could lie still and quiet the whole night then Papa would be safe again; Mutti would be free to come to England too.
He felt the suitcase being lifted up. At least he faced up, not down. He couldn’t have borne being carried face down. The clothes cushioned him as he lay still.
Muffled voices. He could just make out words from Mutti: ‘Take good care of him.’
‘We risk our lives each time we do this. We take all the care we can.’
The suitcase moved. It bumped a little up and down, and back and forth. The woman must be strong, to lift him and the big case too.
Out the door, he thought. He heard the click of the garden gate. He tried to listen for Mutti’s footsteps on the path too. But there was only the
click, click
of the woman’s heels.
Mutti was gone.
Panic seized him. He was floating in a world of black, with nothing to hold onto. Nothing that he knew behind him, a strange new world ahead. He couldn’t do this! He couldn’t!
And yet he knew he could. He could do this: he
would
do this and it would all be all right.
He shut his eyes. It was silly, because the world inside the case was black anyway, but it helped. He shut out the click of footsteps and remembered Papa’s words instead, the poem after lunch. How had it gone again?
‘
Über allen Gipfeln
…
Quiet touches the treetops,
The breeze hardly breathes
Through the leaves;
The tiny birds are silent in the forest.
Wait …
Soon you’ll be at rest too.
’
Georg imagined Papa’s hand in his, imagined Mutti with him.
And he knew that wherever she was — back at Tante’s, or out in the street going to find Papa — she was with him too, thinking of him, hoping for him, trying to send her warmth to him so he wasn’t alone. Know that forever, she’d said.
Papa’s voice whispered in the suitcase: ‘
Soon you’ll be at rest too
.’
The suitcase moved back and forth, back and forth. It made him feel sick a bit, till he forced himself not to think of his tummy, but to listen for Papa’s voice in his memory. He heard the sound of a tram.
The suitcase clunked on a floor, and he heard the tram sound underneath him now.
Clunkaclunka clunkaclack
.
The ticket collector called. The tram stopped, then started. Four stops. Five.
The suitcase was lifted again. He heard the mutter of a crowd.
He had a sudden urge to yell, to scream, ‘I hate you! I hate you all! You have made me a Jew.’
He didn’t.
The suitcase bumped back and forth. He heard the hiss of steam and the clanking of an engine.
Train station, he thought. And then: I have to move.
His arm cramped — or had it been cramped before? His knees screamed. If he didn’t move the pain would grow, his leg would get stiffer and stiffer till it cracked. He had to move! He had to breathe fresh air!
If he moved in this crowd then they would find him. The faces would peer down at him, yell, ‘
Juden! Juden ’raus!
’
If he moved then he would die.
The poem’s peace had vanished. Mutti and Papa had disappeared too. Finally, he tried twitching one finger at a time, and then a toe.
It took a long time to move each one, and then he began again. First toe, second toe, third toe … first finger, second, third. He kept his lips pressed together hard so he couldn’t make a noise.
The suitcase clunked onto another floor. A man’s voice said, ‘Let me put that big case up on the shelf for you.’
‘So kind,’ said a woman’s voice — not the woman from Tante’s house. This one sounded young.
He felt himself and the case fly through the air and land,
thunk
. He grunted with surprise, then clenched, wondering if anyone had heard.
Someone laughed nearby. The young woman said something. The man answered back.
No one had heard.
He lay in pain and silence till the train began to move.
He thought he slept. Perhaps time simply went away.
He woke to agony — his knees, his elbows, even his neck. He couldn’t breathe! Where was he? He blinked, trying frantically to see, then remembered where he was.
The suitcase. The cries of ‘
Juden ’raus!
’ Papa and the bodies on the grass …
His body screamed for air. For a second he thought he really had screamed. He
mustn’t
.
He lifted his head slightly and sniffed at the holes. He could see light through them dimly now. As long as the light was there, he had air too. He tried moving his toes and fingers again, moving his knees and elbows just a tiny bit. It helped, or maybe it just took his mind away from the pain.
How long had he been here? Please, please, he thought, let me have slept most of the night. The woman had said he had to be still for a night. Please, let it be nearly over now.
The train clunked below him.
A-hugachug, a-hugachug
.
How long did it take to get to England? Four days when they had gone on holiday, but they had stopped each night on the way and visited the museums that Papa liked. Papa … Had Mutti found Papa now? Or was he —
For the first time he let himself think the word. Was Papa dead?
They may kill you, the woman had said. The people who are taking you may die as well. This was a world where being dead was possible.
Please, don’t let him be dead, thought Georg. Please, let us all be alive.
He couldn’t stay in the case for four days. You died if you didn’t eat or drink, didn’t you? They wouldn’t carry him in the suitcase just to let him die.
Maybe the fat woman hated Jews. Maybe it was a trick! He would die here in the dark, die with no food, no water. Die like Papa.
He clenched his fists, then when the action didn’t rock the suitcase clenched them over and over, wriggling his toes too. It would be silly to go to all the trouble of carrying a boy in a suitcase if you only wanted him dead. He wasn’t going to die and Papa wasn’t going to die and Mutti wasn’t going to die either.
The fat woman had told the truth. She said he had to stay in the suitcase for one night. He could do that.
How far did a train go in one night? Out of Germany? He should have asked. Would she have told him more if he had asked? What you do not know you can’t tell.
A-hugachug, a-hugachug
went the train around him. There were no other noises. He wondered if everyone was asleep.
Not morning then. Maybe a long way till morning. Hours before he could move again, breathe fresh air, drink water —
cool fresh water. His throat hurt, as though he’d been crying. Could you cry in your sleep? He bit his lip. If he had cried in his sleep someone might have heard him. But he’d have felt the case move if someone had opened it and found him inside.
He was still safe. But he couldn’t sleep again. Couldn’t risk sleep. If he was found then the Gestapo would know that Mutti was trying to get him out of Germany. If she hid her Jewish son then she must be a Jew too. If he was found it wouldn’t just be the women who carried the suitcase who would be punished.
He tried to think of a story. One of his favourite ones. The story in which he had a big dog called Bruno … no, that story had Mutti and Papa in it. The story about the Führer and the dragon.