Last Train to Paris (15 page)

After the day spent in Friedrichshain, I began my column:
Human beings are being forced to sell their possessions for the dream of freedom.
I wired it to Paris. The next day I received a cable from Ramsey.
Cool it with your poor Jews. Nobody's interested.

 

I needed to be alone with Leon, away from the overwhelming fear that encircled us. Leon's mood, I could see, matched mine.

“Let's get out of Berlin,” I said. “We need a break.”

“Wonderful idea,” he said, “but not possible.”

“Could you ask Gerard anyway?” I said. “Maybe he'll be so happy that his wife's not fooling around that he'll give you a break. God, it's as if you're in jail.”

“Exactly—I am in jail! Listen, Rosie. May I remind you that we're not living in your democracy? You make me angry with your optimism!”

‘It's not optimism,' I said, ‘it's love. And I'm trying to understand. Really, I am.'

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm being mean to you. But you've got to understand that we're living in an enormous and sinister prison. Look around,” he said, and he swept his arms toward the gray-sooted, locked windows in a bar—“this is the definition of fascism. This is what it means to lose one's freedom. I understand you're having a hard time getting used to it, but I suggest you open your eyes wider. And, yes, I'll try asking him.”

We met a couple of days later. It was raining. When I got off the tram, I couldn't find Leon in a sea of black umbrellas. Then I spotted an umbrella that was popping up and down, looking as if it were trying to fly away. It was Leon. Laughing, he led us away from the crowd. “Be aware,” he said, “I'm being followed.”

“Why?”

“Why? It's simple. I requested permission to go away with you. And Gerard has to make sure I don't leave Germany. The guard will follow me until we return from our holiday.”

“So, permission was granted? How did you do it?”

“It wasn't so hard. All Gerard said was, ‘Yes, for one night only. And remember—no return, no parents—and you'll be followed.'” Leon anticipated my next question. “My passport was confiscated a long time ago and he won't return it. But he'll arrange for a temporary travel pass. And no,” he said, “I won't forge anything. I don't want to take any chances.”

“But if you don't have a passport, then what's he worried about?”

“That I may betray him. That I may indeed have forged other passports for my parents and myself. That we may flee. He can't afford to trust me, and he can't afford
not
to trust me. He's putting himself in a precarious situation in allowing me this escapade. Yes, there's a part of Gerard that's still good—but I don't know how long this ‘good' will last. The morals of even nice people are being corrupted, slowly but deliberately.”

I continued to be stunned by the reality of our situation. And my surprise wasn't over yet.

“This next part is hard for me to say, Rosie. Please be patient.”

He lit another cigarette. I watched his face.

First there was anger in Leon's eyes. Then, as if he had erased his feelings, he said, “Okay, here it is. You're going to have to pay for our holiday. I have no money of my own.”

I didn't know what to say. I knew this deeply hurt his pride. “Of course I will,” I said. “It's not a problem.”

 

I couldn't believe the pressure Leon was under. He looked worn out and I was afraid that I was contributing to the fatigue. But I was also infuriated. “That bastard Gerard. I'd love to punch him in the face for doing this to you.”

“Oh, come on, Rosie, act like a grown-up. Isn't there enough violence without your adding to it? Now, may I make a suggestion? There's a seaside town called Sonnenshein on the Baltic where I used to go as a child. Let's go there. It'll be freezing cold, maybe stormy, but we can dress warmly and walk along the seashore.”

I could see color flooding his cheeks and knew it didn't matter where we went—as long as we could change the gloomy landscape.

 

We waited for the train at Stettiner Bahnhof. ‘Why are so many people sitting in the station's café?' I asked. ‘I've never noticed this before. No one has any luggage.'

‘Train station cafés,' he said, and paused and looked around, ‘have become, for the moment, the only safe public places left for Jews to visit friends. We can't go to our own cafés because they've been closed, nor are we allowed to sit in an Aryan one. And even this meeting place won't be allowed much longer, I can assure you.'

I sat closer to him, lit a cigarette, and waited without saying another word. The train arrived. It was only four cars long. “This little train,” I said, “makes me feel that we're going where no one else wants to go. I like this.”

Leon smiled. “Or no one can afford to buy train tickets to a seaside town.”

We were alone in the compartment. There was a melancholy mood around us. Our guard, whom we had nicknamed the Shadow, was across the aisle in another compartment. He had a long thin face with vertical folds that made him look as if he had once been much heavier. Dressed in a cheap brown suit, he also wore a black overcoat and a tan fedora that was too big and came down over his ears. I smiled at him, but he glared back at me.

The train slowly left the station.

“Here,” Leon said, taking a flask of whiskey out of his pocket. “Have a sip, Rosie—it'll help.” Just then the door slid open, startling us.

“Tickets and travel documents,” the ticket collector, wearing a tan armband with a stitched black swastika, demanded. We handed him our papers. He looked at Leon. He looked at me.

“Jews?” he said, and turned to leave without opening the documents.

“Wait!” I said. “You can't take our papers.”

“He'll bring them right back,” Leon whispered. “It's protocol.”

Now, rather than being angry, I was scared.

“I think we'll be fine,” he said. “They're trying to frighten us. It's their classic harassment. Our papers are in order—I made sure. Try to relax. It's no use making a scene. Actually, it's dangerous.”

“I know,” I said. “I've been routinely stopped to show my papers. But this is the first time I've been identified as a Jew. It feels odd.” And Leon took my hand tightly in his.

Within a few minutes the ticket collector returned, handed back our papers without comment, and walked out. It took the next hundred and sixty miles for me to get hold of myself. The incident reminded me of when I was a girl, but at least then I could fight back with words. Now I was gagged.

 

KEINE JUDEN ERLAUBT
! No Jews allowed, was posted in the hotel's window.

“Wait here,” Leon said. So the Shadow and I leaned against the same fence. In a few minutes he returned with a smile on his face. “Come on, you two, it's all right. The proprietors remember my family, and they've offered our friend here one of their nicest rooms.”

“But we can't go into a place that's illegal,” I said. “Or can we?”

“Yes, it's fine. Because we have a guard, it means that the Reich has authorized our visit. They're nice people and embarrassed to put me in this position. By the way,” he said, lowering his voice, “I told them we're married.”

Our room was on the second floor and the guard had been placed at the other end of the hall. We were close to the sea. I found the sound of the waves crashing against the seawall thunderous and upsetting. “You'll get used to it,” Leon said. “Anyway, it'll give us some privacy from the Shadow.” We quickly washed up and went to dinner.

The dining room was three floors above ours. It was run-down and smelled seaside-musty, but it was clean. The view of the water was spectacular—and although it was a stormy sea, it was considerably quieter than in our room. The light reflected off the whitecaps of the towering, gusting waves. Every few minutes it felt as if the raging water would surge over the seawall and flood the downstairs.

The only other people in the room were the proprietor, who was pleasantly friendly, his wife, who was cheerfully cooking and singing, and our guard, who sat on the opposite side of the room, glumly tucked into a corner.

“Quite a night, isn't it,” said the proprietor.

“Have you ever been flooded?” I asked.

“Rarely, Madame, but this we risk for the love of our hotel.”

And he showed us a bottle of red wine.

“Madame,” he whispered with a bow, “this is a wedding gift for you and your husband—and for the memory of better times.”

“It's French wine!” I whispered back. “What a wonderful treat. Thank you.”

“It will help to warm you,” the proprietor said. “There's no coal, so no heat. We put extra eiderdowns on your bed. I hope you enjoy your dinner,” he said, and he served our wine as if we were at the Ritz.

Next, he poured a large glass of whiskey for our Shadow—which was quickly accepted, and just as quickly downed.

There were no choices for our meal. We were served a fish stew with turnips and potatoes, along with freshly baked bread. The stew was plain and I kept adding salt and pepper; the bread was filling, and we finished the delicious bottle of wine.

After dinner, we excused ourselves. The Shadow was drunk. “Don't worry,” the proprietor said, “I'll take care of him.”

When we opened the door to our room, we had to laugh. Piled high, like a bed in a fairy tale, were numerous colorful eiderdowns. We hurriedly undressed and slithered in.

“Ah,” Leon said, “a little elf has been here and brought us heated bricks and two hot-water bottles.”

It was a different world under the weight of the blankets. We moved toward each other, as people will do when they're feeling safe—when they're no longer weighted down with troubles. Slowly. Caressing in slow motion—not pulling apart, for fear of a cold draft or reality striking the skin—we made love to the sound of the sea.

 

The next morning we took a walk along the edge of the water. Our poor Shadow. He was wearing dress shoes that looked worn out.

“I can't really enjoy this,” I said. “That poor man must be freezing. Let's go back.” And we reluctantly turned around.

In the afternoon, we boarded the train in Sonnenshein to return to Berlin. The ticket taker insisted that our guard share the compartment with us. I have to admit that I had become immune to his presence—and although we never spoke, there was a certain comfort in his being with us. Somewhere in my head I had presumed that he was our pass to safety. The ticket collector entered our compartment. This time I wasn't upset. I was so in love, so awed by the turn that my life had taken.

“Pay attention, Rosie,” Leon said sternly.

“Off the train! Off!” the ticket collector yelled at us. “You're Jews. You're contaminating my train!”

At first, I was stunned.

“What in the hell do you mean?” I demanded, after finding my voice. “We're legal. We have the correct papers. I want to speak to your superior. Now!”

Events moved quickly. Four men dressed in black, leather-belted coats, high black boots, and black fedoras (without insignias) appeared out of nowhere and gripped us under our arms. We were literally lifted off the train. The more I fought, the more passive Leon became.

I felt both embarrassment and rage. When I looked up for help from Leon, I could see from the look on his face that he was somewhere else and I was no longer in his thoughts.

Passengers were yelling at the officials to get moving. This made me more furious—almost hysterical.

Then I glimpsed, out of the corner of my eye, the Shadow speaking to an official.

Within minutes we were released and allowed to reboard the train. Our guard sat back down across from us. “Thank you,” I said. He gave a slight nod and looked out the window.

I felt so alone, even though I was sitting beside Leon. The scenery sped by, and I didn't comment on it. I tried not to cry. Leon was impassive.

We arrived at Berlin in silence. The weekend had been spoiled. How could I have been so stupid?

The guard, without a word, left the train and blended into the crowd.

We followed.

Leon almost commanded, “Let's sit here on the bench.” I watched him as he sat. He reminded me of a frightened snail.

‘Let's go to a café,' I said. ‘I'm freezing.'

‘You just don't understand, do you, Rosie? We can't go to any café. Dammit, pay attention to me! Don't you understand that if I'd been arrested, my family would be jeopardized? That everything I do reflects back upon my parents? You move through the world with impunity. I can't afford the luxury. You keep forgetting that I'm not a newspaper story. Look at me, Rosie,' he said, grabbing my arm. ‘I'm real flesh and bones, easily bruised. And like this,' he said, and he snapped his fingers, ‘I'm gone.'

“But—” I tried to protect myself from his anger.

“No ‘buts,'” he said. “I've lived in a state of anxiety most of my life. My parents have always had their heads in the clouds. I saw this coming long ago, but I never expected it to be so bad. I'm rooted here. That's why the enemy succeeds—they understand this. You don't really understand the situation. You can simply get on a train and cross the border whenever you want. I can't move. I'm trapped. Every non-Aryan is trapped. You can scream and yell and carry on. I can't.”

By now Leon's teeth were clenched and he was fiercely whispering. “I must be meek and mindful—and obedient. And this makes me roil with rage—and believe it or not, you bring it out in me. So, Rosie, what are we going to do about this?”

 

What I did was to cover myself in a skin that was hard on one side and soft on the other. The outside showed a tough and worldly reporter. The other side, I saved especially for Leon. It was challenging to keep my opinions and anger to myself, but I tried—and he understood that I was trying.