Before the storm, p.4
Before the Storm, page 4
“What is it?” asked Heinz.
“Odessa has papers for you.”
Realization crept over Heinz. “What do you mean? Are you saying only me?”
Michael nodded. “You have to understand how difficult it is to secure the documents—to arrange for the transportation. This is costing our monastery thousands of marks as it is.”
“We appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” said Heinz. “But please tell them respectfully, I will have to wait until we have paperwork for all of us.”
“No!” said Elsie, her face flushed. “You have to go now!”
“We’ve been through this a dozen times,” said Heinz. “I’m not going without you and Hannah.”
“We can join you later,” insisted Elsie. “Look at that article,” she said. “Do you know what they will do if they catch you?”
Heinz shrugged. “It’s difficult to say.”
“No, it is not,” said Elsie. “They’ll have a rope around your neck before you can get out a few words in your defense. That’s if they even bother to arrest you and they don’t just shoot you out of hand.”
“Bah,” protested Heinz. “They aren’t the Russians. I’d get a fair trial.”
“And then what?” asked Elsie. “If we’re lucky, you serve twenty-five years in prison? You get out when you’re almost seventy? When Hannah is thirty and doesn’t know you? And all those years, how do I keep us alive? What work would I do?”
“Odessa will take care of you,” said Heinz.
“Would they? They have too much else on their plate. We’re not the only people in hiding. I appreciate everything they do for us, but at the end of the day, I would be on my own.”
“Your wife is right,” said Michael. “You can’t put all of your faith in our friends. Who knows what the future will bring? You should go while you can. Once you reach South America, you’ll be able to obtain work. We have many contacts there. A man with your knowledge and skills will be in demand. Once you’re set up there, you will be in control of your own destiny. You’ll be able to bring Elsie and Hannah out on your own terms, and you won’t be worried about jail sentences . . . or worse.”
Heinz shook his head. “I won’t do it.”
Michael stepped forward and put his hands on Heinz’s shoulders. “Think about it,” he said. “Elsie and Hannah can stay here. They will be safe. Nobody will be interested in them once you’re gone. They can stay as long as they need to. We have a school here. Hannah can attend when she’s old enough if need be. In a year or two, you will be with them again. Think on that, Heinz. A year or two. How can it be better than that if the Americans take you?”
“Find the resources for my family, and obtain the paperwork, or I won’t go.” Heinz shrugged Michael’s hands off him.
Michael took a deep breath as if he had more to say, then he turned to Elsie. “Talk to him, will you? We have a very small window. Odessa will be here tomorrow night at about seven o’clock. You have until then to decide. They won’t be pleased if this is a wasted trip.” The monk bowed solemnly to them. “Now, I must go, I’m very late for our evening service.”
“Thank you, Michael,” said Elsie. “Thank you for everything.”
The monk left, quietly closing the door behind him.
“Heinz,” Elsie started.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. Heinz stepped over to the solitary cupboard over the stove. He retrieved a bottle of schnapps, pouring himself a full glass. He took a deep drink, the fiery liquid burning his throat. Retrieving the newspaper, he sat down on a hard chair and reread the article, sipping away at the remainder of his drink. Elsie finished dinner and called him to the table, but he ignored her, lost in his thoughts. He rose a couple of times to refill his glass. Hours passed, and still he said nothing. Elsie moved around as if he didn’t exist, taking care of Hannah and cleaning away the dishes. Finally, it was time for bed. Heinz lifted himself up from the chair, setting his empty glass on the table. He stumbled out of their apartment and down the hallway to the bathroom. Returning a few minutes later, he changed into his pajamas and lurched into bed.
“Mein Liebling,” his wife whispered.
“I’ll go,” he said. “There’s no honor in it, but I’ll go.”
Elsie moved close to him, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek. “Oh, my dearest, of course it is honorable. You are taking care of your family with this decision. Don’t you see that?”
“By leaving you?”
“It’s no different than the war,” she said. “Truly, it is better than that. So, we will be parted for a while. But we will be entirely safe while you’re gone, and so will you. That’s all that matters to me,” she whispered, kissing his cheek again. “I couldn’t live if something happened to you.”
“That’s precisely why I don’t want to leave you and Hannah behind,” he said, putting his arms around her.
“I know you would never leave us,” she whispered, eyeing Hannah, who was asleep in her little bed a few feet away. “But you’re not abandoning us. You are doing what’s necessary for us to be together.”
He kissed her and she kissed him back. She reached over and shut off the light. They held each other closely in the darkness, clinging to this last night together.
Chapter 4
Permission
Tuesday, October 5, 1948
6:30 a.m.
West Berlin, Germany
Sara awoke early. Her tiny flat was freezing cold. She desperately wanted to light her stove, but she knew if she did she wouldn’t have enough coal for tonight. She stretched, shivering, trying to take in the morning. Then she smiled, remembering last night, the restaurant, the warmth of Max’s hand on her. The plan.
She rose and hurried to the sink in her kitchen, sponging herself with freezing-cold water. She stomped her feet, trying to force a little warmth into her body. She dressed in a rush, moving quickly around the little space. After a few minutes, the shivering stopped and she felt she could face the morning. Her thoughts kept flittering back to last night’s dinner. She shook her head, forcing her attention back to her routine. What was she, a schoolgirl? She felt like she was fourteen again and dreaming about a boy in that way for the very first time. This was unexpected and unwanted. She had to focus.
She finished dressing and ate a piece of toast. She hurriedly packed a little lunch. She wanted more but just like the coal, she had to be careful or she would run out of food for the week. Still, she cut an extra piece of cheese and put it into the tin container. She could afford it, she decided. After all, she’d had a free dinner last night.
The electric excitement coursed through her again. Usually, she dreaded going into the office. She certainly appreciated having work, but the day-to-day job so far was primarily typing an endless pile of letters. She also had to juggle Jeffrey, particularly when Mr. Varberg wasn’t present. Today she didn’t mind. She had a purpose, and she couldn’t wait to hear Mr. Varberg’s thoughts on her proposal.
She finished her scant breakfast and made her bed. She looked over her one-room flat, the tiny kitchen, the metal table with two rickety chairs. She didn’t even have a sofa. Still, the small space was easy to heat with the cast-iron stove in the corner, and she wasn’t forced to room with anyone else. Compared to most Berliners, she was living in luxury right now.
She left her flat, bounded down the three flights of stairs to the street level, and started the half-mile walk to the office. Dawn was just streaking across the sky. She adjusted her coat against the cold. The snow hadn’t started yet here, but it couldn’t be far off. There was a biting wind. She would have to remember tomorrow to throw on another layer of clothing and bring her gloves. Still, she hardly felt the discomfort today. She had a purpose.
She arrived at the office ten minutes later. The building was already warm, equipped as it was with electric heat, a rare and wondrous feature that came as a bonus with her position. She turned on all the lights, washed the dishes from the day before in the little kitchen sink, and brewed a pot of coffee for the day. She checked her watch; it was not quite seven thirty. She would have another half hour by herself before the men arrived.
She set to work on some typing from the past few days that had been marked to complete “as time allowed.” These were lower-priority messages, mostly update reports for Mr. Varberg’s superiors in Washington, D.C. It seemed her boss was worried about the diminishing morale of the population within the American district of Berlin, and he was seeking more money and perhaps another staff member to assist him. In particular, he wanted more latitude in providing direct funds to needy families and struggling businesses. Sara thought of Max and Karl. If only they had those resources now. But then again, she wasn’t sure they would give the money to the Portnoys even if they had it, for other political reasons that seemed terribly unfair to her.
The door rattled. She felt her excitement rising. Mr. Varberg always took a few minutes in the morning to chat with her before he started his day. She was sure he would listen to her idea. She looked up, her mouth half open, but she dropped her expression immediately. It was Jeffrey.
The American waltzed into his office and she could hear him shuffling around for a few minutes. “Sara,” he said in his most imperious voice, “be a good girl and get me some coffee.”
She ignored that comment but rose and returned to the kitchen, pouring him some coffee with a dash of cream and a spoonful of sugar, just the way he liked it. She thought about adding something extra, something unauthorized and full of phlegm, but she decided against it. She didn’t want any trouble today and besides, she refused to let Jeffrey ruin her mood this morning. She brought the coffee into his office. Jeffrey was at his desk, scanning a newspaper, a cigarette dangling from his lips. She set the coffee down and started to leave.
“Just a moment,” he said. “What are you in such a hurry about today?” His eyes moved up and down her figure. She felt uncomfortable and took a step back. “Well?” he asked again.
“Nothing, sir. I’m just working on some of the typing backlog. Do you know when Mr. Varberg will be here this morning?” she asked.
“He won’t be.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her heart falling.
“He was called away yesterday.”
“For what reason?”
Jeffrey looked up at her, his face turning into a frown. “That’s little of your business. I’m in charge until he returns.”
“How long will that be?” she asked.
“You don’t fancy me at the head of the office?” he asked, his features morphing into a smirk.
“No, not at all,” she lied. “I just had something to talk to him about.”
“And what is that?” asked Jeffrey, leaning forward.
“Oh . . . it’s nothing. Nothing that can’t wait.”
“I demand that you tell me immediately,” he said.
Sara hesitated. She didn’t want to reveal anything to Jeffrey, particularly something that had to do with Max. But now she didn’t know what to do. She cursed herself for bringing it up.
“Spit it out,” he demanded.
“It’s really nothing,” Sara sputtered. “When will Mr. Varberg return?”
“It could be a week,” said Jeffrey. “And if you have something to share with him, you will share it with me. This moment. Or you will find yourself without a job.”
Sara wasn’t sure Jeffrey had the authority to fire her. Then again, he might. If Mr. Varberg was not returning for a week, it might be too late to help Max and Karl get to Munich. She realized she had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she explained her conversation with Max last night. She left out the details of their interaction and their dinner, trying to keep her emotions in check and her face neutral.
Jeffrey listened, taking out a piece of paper to write some notes. When she was finished, he reread his scribblings, then looked up at her, scrutinizing her closely. “Where were you with Max when you learned this information?”
Sara felt the heat fill her cheeks. She looked down. “I delivered the funds from Mr. Varberg to the store last night.”
“You had this conversation at his store?”
“Max, I mean Mr. Portnoy, asked me to dinner.”
“You had dinner with a Jew?” asked Jeffrey, whistling. He chuckled. “I didn’t think you Germans went in for that sort of thing. Our friends who vandalized the store wouldn’t like that much,” he commented, lighting up another cigarette. “Well, I suppose your private life is your own. This is interesting information. Let me check out this Nazi scientist and get back to you. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Sara was surprised. Jeffrey had never acted this way before. Just now he had treated her almost like a co-worker, like a human, instead of a piece of furniture or a slave to get his coffee and fetch his laundry. She left his office, smiling to herself, brimming with hope that her plan might work out after all.
She worked the rest of the day in good spirits. Jeffrey called her into his office several times to dictate messages. Again, his demeanor was polite. He treated her more like Mr. Varberg usually did. Had he seen something in her because of the initiative she had taken with Max? Something he’d neglected to realize before? She was shocked he was not angry about the dinner . . .
The day wore on and neared an ending. She decided to catch a cab right after work and visit the Portnoys’ shop. She wanted to give them the news that Jeffrey was checking into things—and she wanted to see Max. Finally, the clock ticked to five o’clock, and she rose to collect her things.
“Sara, are you leaving for the day?” Jeffrey asked.
“Yes, sir,” she responded.
“Come in, would you?” he asked.
She took a deep breath and stepped back into his office. He was still sitting there like he had been all day, his desk an ocean of paperwork, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Good news,” he said. “I talked to Washington. They are very interested in having me talk to Max and Karl. Heinz Hoffman is high up on the list of people they are seeking. Also, and this is fortuitous for us, they don’t have any photographs of him. If your friends can truly identify him, that would be an incredible benefit to us.”
“That is exciting news,” she said. “I’ll go see them and give them the information tonight.”
“No need,” said Jeffrey. “I rang them. They are coming in first thing in the morning.”
“Wonderful,” said Sara, a little disappointed. Still, there was nothing stopping her from visiting Max tonight. Even though the surprise was spoiled, she still could discuss everything with him. “I’ll be off then,” she said.
“Unfortunately, I need you to stay late,” said Jeffrey. He motioned at the mountains of paperwork on his desk. “I’m doing two jobs now without Mr. Varberg. I’ll need your help. Be a doll and brew another pot, will you? Then I’ve got a bunch of letters to dictate.” He glanced up at her dress, and then the cardigan she wore over it. “Lose the sweater,” he said. “It’s too hot in here for it.”
She froze, feeling the hot shame and anger bubbling up again. She forced it down. She was so close to getting what she wanted. For now, she would suffer Jeffrey. For now.
* * *
Sara arrived at the office the next morning and was surprised to find the lights were on. At first, she feared someone had broken in, but she saw that Jeffrey’s door was closed and that light was peeking out under it. She tiptoed up and realized there were muffled voices inside. She thought she could recognize Max’s voice. She checked her watch—it wasn’t yet seven. Why hadn’t Jeffrey told her that he was meeting with the Portnoys so early?
Feeling a little unsettled, she went about her regular morning routine, although she noted that Jeffrey had also made coffee. She was surprised; she didn’t know he was capable of such a feat. Eventually she sat down at her desk and started in on her paperwork. She rolled a blank sheet of paper into her typewriter and began a letter, but the muffled voices kept drawing her attention. She strained to hear the words, but they just eluded her. She tried to focus on her work but she kept straining her ears to hear what was being said. The meeting lasted most of the morning. She couldn’t imagine what was going on, and time passed ever so slowly. Finally, near noon, the door opened and, amid laughter, the Portnoys stepped out into the waiting room.
She looked up and found Max smiling at her. “Good morning, Miss Sturm,” he said, his voice lilting a little.
“It’s almost noon,” she said.
Max checked his watch. “So it is. I didn’t realize how long we’d been in there.”
“Lots of details to work through,” said Jeffrey, who was leaning against the doorjamb. “Thank you again for drawing this issue to my attention, Sara.”
Max looked like he wanted to say more, but Jeffrey was ushering them out of the office. She glanced at Karl, who was scowling. The older brother walked directly to the front door and departed, without even saying goodbye. She wondered why he was so upset.
“You’ll have to forgive my brother,” said Max. “As I think I’ve said before, he doesn’t trust government officials. But I am more open-minded. I appreciate this meeting very much, Jeffrey, and I hope we will hear back from you soon.”
“You certainly will,” said Jeffrey, extending a hand. Max shook it, and then with a final look toward Sara, he departed.
“What was decided?” she asked, as soon as the door was closed again.
“That’s rather bold of you to ask, isn’t it?” asked Jeffrey, frowning at her. “Still, since you brought the matter to my attention, I suppose you deserve an answer.” He turned to her. “I’ve spent the morning poring over their story, and also confirming a number of details with Washington. It looks like they are telling the truth. This Hoffman did run some kind of nuclear program during the war. He was apparently also in charge of slave labor, including Jews.”
“How did he escape justice?” asked Sara.
