Remember Me (5 page)

A
unt Vera came into the kitchen, where Marianne faced an unfamiliar Sunday breakfast of fried bread, bacon, and eggs. “Good morning. Finish your breakfast quickly, Mary Anne. Church begins at 10:00 A.M. Gladys, dinner at the usual time, so you can finish early. Mary Anne may eat with us in the dining room today.” Mrs. Abercrombie Jones left the kitchen and shut the door.

Marianne carried her plate to the sink. “I wash dishes?” she asked.

“No, thanks. Better get ready for church,” said Gladys.

“Please, what is ‘church’?”

Gladys turned to her with a look of shock.

Now what have I done?
This was the trouble in a new country – you never knew when you said or did the wrong thing.

Aunt Vera called out impatiently, “Mary Anne, put your hat on. We’ll be late.”

Marianne walked behind Aunt Vera and Uncle Geoffrey along the High Street to a beautiful old gray stone building, with a tall spire. Organ music greeted them. Marianne knew immediately why Gladys had looked so horrified when she’d asked what “church” was. “Church” meant
Kirche.
She’d forgotten the word, that’s all. She used to pass
Neuekirche
– New Church – on the way to visit her father’s bookshop, and the French Church was near
Unter den Linden
on the
Französichstrasse.
This was the first time she’d been inside one.

They sat down in one of the long shiny pews. Men and women together. Black leather prayer books were on a ledge in front of them, and a cloth-covered footstool was on the floor at each person’s place. Marianne was so busy looking at the stained glass window of Jesus wearing long white robes, surrounded by sheep, that she was late standing up. Aunt Vera gave her a small push. Everyone sang, even Aunt Vera and Uncle Geoffrey. Then they all sat down again.

A man who looked strangely familiar, dressed in black robes covered by a sort of white overshirt, began to speak. He went on for a long time and Marianne dozed. She opened her eyes when he stopped, and there was a great shuffle while everyone knelt on the little footstools.

Suddenly Marianne remembered where she’d seen the speaker before. It was the “spy in black,” the one who’d come to greet her on Friday for tea.

Marianne tugged at Aunt Vera’s sleeve. “Please, Aunt Wera …”

“Not now, Mary Anne,” Aunt Vera hissed. “The vicar is speaking.”

Marianne tried to stifle nervous laughter, but couldn’t quite manage it. How could she have thought this man was a spy!

Aunt Vera gripped Marianne’s arm and said,
“Sh.”
She bent her pink face over her book.

Marianne imagined what she’d write to her mother about her first visit to church. It was beautiful and seemed like a nice quiet place to be, even if it wasn’t a synagogue. She was sure God wouldn’t mind her being here!

On the way out her “spy” shook hands with everyone. “I am glad to welcome you to our church, my dear,” he said to Marianne in his accented German.

Marianne nearly giggled again. She bit her lip and looked down.

On the way home Aunt Vera said, “You disgraced me, Mary Anne. Everyone was looking at us. You are old enough to know better. Well? Say something.”

Marianne was lost in the jumble of words.

Uncle Geoffrey looked at Marianne. “Tell Aunt Vera you’re sorry,” he said sternly. “Say sorry.” He raised his voice.

“I’m wery sorry, Aunt Wera.”

“Ver, Vera – speak properly, Mary Anne. You’re not trying! Thank goodness you start school tomorrow.”

They walked back in silence.

Gladys had set Marianne a place in the dining room, but reset Marianne’s place in the kitchen after Aunt Vera spoke to her.

T
hat Sunday night Marianne was too excited and nervous to sleep. She’d been in England only three days, and tomorrow was the first day of school.

She got out of bed and checked her clothes again. The linoleum felt as cold to her bare feet as if she were outdoors. Marianne set herself a test to ensure a smooth day at school. She opened the window, ignoring the sharp December wind that blew in. Slowly, she counted backwards from one hundred. She had to do it without shivering, or start again. She did it the first time.
Everything will be alright now.
She closed the window gratefully.

When Marianne finally went to sleep, she dreamed of her math teacher in Berlin. He was dressed all in black; his high boots shone. There was menace in each threatening step that marched towards her. His mouth was twisted in hatred, and opened and closed angrily, but she could not hear his words. His hand reached out
for her teddy bear, and raised it to show the class before hurling the bear through the window with a force that shattered the glass pane.

“No!”

Marianne woke up.
Did I scream?
The house was still. “Only a bad dream.” She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, imagine her forehead being stroked.

Next morning Marianne walked beside Aunt Vera, who had been giving her instructions ever since they left the house. She couldn’t get the nightmare out of her mind.

“Mary Anne, are you listening? Answer me, please.”

“Pardon, Aunt Wera?” Marianne said.

“I said, oh, never mind. Here we are. I’ll come to the office with you.”

They crossed the playground, which was full of laughing, skipping girls. Some boys kicked a football; one almost ran into Mrs. Abercrombie Jones. She gave him her iciest look.

Aunt Vera handed Marianne over to the secretary along with a note, said good-bye, and left.

Marianne spelt out her name, and managed to remember her new address.

“Did you bring your records?” the secretary asked.

Marianne looked at her.
Records?
Thank goodness she’d brought her dictionary. She looked up the word. Marianne shook her head.

The secretary said, “Please ask your mother to send them.”

A door opened and an imposing-looking lady, with white hair, entered briskly. She read Aunt Vera’s note. “You must be Mary Anne Kohn.” She shook hands firmly with Marianne. “I am Miss Barton, the headmistress. I am going to take you to your new class. Come along,” she said matter-of-factly.

The morning was strange, not a bit like school in Berlin. The teacher gave her a desk in the second row and a curly-haired girl called Bridget was assigned to stay with her for the day and show her what to do.

Assembly was in the big hall. The teachers sat on the stage, and the headmistress stood in front, at a lectern. “Good morning, school,” she said.

All the students stood and answered, “Good morning, Miss Barton.”

Then they sang a song about Jerusalem being built in a green land. Marianne thought of her father raising his glass and saying, “Next year in Jerusalem.” Perhaps they’d all be together in London soon.

Miss Barton said, “We are delighted to welcome a new student to Prince Albert Elementary School. Mary Anne is a refugee from Germany, and we hope she will be happy here.”

Every head swiveled to look at her.

Bridget nudged her and whispered, “Don’t worry.”

Marianne concentrated on pretending to be somewhere else, but felt her cheeks going red all the same.

The morning passed easily. It was good to get back to a
routine. Marianne was so busy she didn’t have time to miss her mother. Did that make her a bad person? Shouldn’t she feel miserable all the time?

Bridget said, “Must be awful to start school so late in the term – poor you.” She shared her milk with Marianne at milk time because she hadn’t brought any money.

Even math was alright, nothing like the nightmare. The teacher wrote problems on the board that seemed to involve a greengrocer, a customer, and many questions about carrots, potatoes, and onions, and how much they all cost if one added more, or took some away. The teacher saw Marianne desperately looking up words in her dictionary, and called her up to his desk. A boy in the back row snickered and whispered something about Huns. He was given extra homework. Mr. Neame sent Bridget down to the “infants” to get a box of English play money, and he wrote on a card what all the money represented, and told Marianne to learn it:

(Tomorrow, she would buy two bottles of milk – one for Bridget. Milk was 1/2d a bottle.) There was also a threepenny piece and a sixpence, two of those making one shilling. There was a big
silver coin and that was called half a crown, eight of those making a pound. It was very complicated. Marianne wondered if she’d ever understand it all.

In the afternoon there was drawing, and music. The first thing Marianne noticed when she entered the music room was the writing on the blackboard – it was in English and German:

The teacher said, “Today we are going to learn the words of ‘O Christmas Tree’ in the original German. Mary Anne can help us with the pronunciation. Would you read the German text please, Mary Anne.”

Everyone waited. Marianne wasn’t quite sure what she had to do, so she didn’t do anything. The teacher picked up the wooden pointer from her desk and raised it. Marianne bit her thumbnail.
Is the pointer for me?
She hid her hand; her cuticle was bleeding a bit. The pointer rested on “O
Tannenbaum
.”

“Begin please, Mary Anne,” said the teacher and smiled at her.

By the time she’d read to the end of the first line, Marianne was transported back to a Berlin winter. She remembered standing on tiptoe in the street as a very little girl so that she could look through the windows at the Christmas trees, with their white candles of flame making halos around each green branch. Her mother had made her hurry away long before she’d gazed her fill at the brightness. “It’s not polite to stare into someone’s home,” she’d said.

Great soft flakes of snow clinging to coats, resting on the cobbles, on the streetlights. Flags hung from every building. Flags, red as blood, their centers snow-white circles and, in the middle, swastikas black as ebony. Red and white and black, like the story of “Snow White” by the Brothers Grimm.

Marianne’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure everyone else could hear it. Her voice shook. She just managed to finish reading the last line.

“Thank you, Mary Anne. Now all together, class,” the teacher said, and raised her pointer again.

At the end of the day they were given homework – some spelling – a whole list of words connected with winter: Arctic, blizzard, chilling, freeze, glacial, icicle, numb, shepherd, snowdrift, snowstorm. They were told to write a sentence to show the meaning of each word.

That night Marianne looked up the words in her dictionary and wrote: “Aunt Vera’s face is glacial when she looks at me. I feel numb with sorrow without my mother.”

It took her hours to finish the homework, and her head ached.

“T
omorrow when you come home from school,” Aunt Vera said one afternoon in late January, “you may help me serve tea to my friends. Change your blouse and brush your hair before you come in.”

“Yes, Aunt Vera. Many ladies are coming?” asked Marianne.

“Mrs. Brewster, Mrs. Stephens, and Mrs. Courtland – my bridge group.”

Tomorrow.
Marianne hurried upstairs. She had lots to prepare: write down her mother’s address in Düsseldorf, check out words in her dictionary, and practice her pronunciation. One of those ladies might have work for her parents!

Next day, after scrubbing the ink off her fingers with pumice stone, she handed round plates of thin bread and butter, scones, and sandwiches. Gladys had given her an encouraging wink before she entered the dining room.

Marianne waited for her opportunity to speak.

“Your frock is darling, Phoebe,” Mrs. Stephens said.

“Oh, do you like it? I’m so glad. I’ve found the most wonderful dressmaker. A little Jewess who’s set up shop in the Cromwell Road. She works out of two rooms, my dear, only arrived last year from Vienna. Had her own salon there, I believe. Lost everything to the Nazis. She uses a borrowed sewing machine. Her prices are quite reasonable and she’ll copy any design.” Mrs. Courtland paused and sipped her tea.

“Please,” said Marianne, “my mother can sew also, and she is most wonderful cook, and my father is very clever and speaks good English. They want to work in England.” Marianne held out the paper on which she’d printed her mother’s address. “Here is the place for you to write.”

Aunt Vera took it, crumpled the paper into a ball, and dropped it onto the tea trolley.

Then everyone began to speak at once, as if Marianne had done something awful, like spilling the tea.

“Are your parents in Vienna too, my dear?” asked Mrs. Brewster.

“Rather sweet and brave of her to ask. Don’t be cross, Vera,” said Mrs. Stephens.

“Of course, Dora’s been with us for years. I don’t think she’d approve if I brought a
foreigner
into her kitchen. No one bakes like your Gladys, Vera, my dear. You are so fortunate. Do let me try one of those little scones now,” said Mrs. Courtland.

Aunt Vera found her voice at last. The lines of her mouth looked pinched. Marianne sensed her anger. “We can manage
now, Mary Anne. Please ask Gladys to bring in more hot water.”

After the guests had left, and Marianne had finished helping Gladys with the drying up, Gladys said, “Don’t know what you did, but you’re to go and see Mrs. Abercrombie Jones.”