Pastel Orphans (24 page)

“No, because I don’t want to lose you too.”

He looks worn and vulnerable, younger suddenly, and I throw my arms around him protectively. He smells like Henrik: of industrial soap and earthy, warm skin. I do not want to let him go.

“I don’t want to lose you either.”

He sits down on the bed. The three children are in the kitchen eating. I can hear Gottfried singing a humorous tune to them. His waitress is out front.

“I have been thinking of something. Something that worries me,” says Henrik. “How can I return to Mama without Greta?”

“How can you
not
return to your mother? She wants you just as much as she wants Greta. You can’t do this to her. You have helped enough. You have done more than most. Perhaps Gottfried can go this time.”

“It is a long journey. He is too well known and if he gets caught, then the whole operation would close. He is the most valuable person within the network. Besides, he needs to show up at Gestapo quarters several times a week with deliveries. If he doesn’t show, they might become suspicious, and they might turn up here to search the premises.

“These children have lost their parents. They watched their father hang, and the youngest was in his mother’s arms when she was gunned down. I can’t just walk away from that.”

I know that he speaks the truth. The children are depending on him. Gottfried’s safe house is only a temporary solution. I am just saying anything to put off the inevitable.

“Tell me, Rebekah,” he says. “Are you well enough to make the journey to Zamosc?”

“Yes,” I say. I am feeling stronger from the warm bed and food, but my voice cracks when I say this. I do not sound convincing, even to myself. I do not tell him that sometimes it is still a struggle to breathe, that sometimes my chest aches for more air.

“I know what you are thinking: that I will never give up on Greta. I asked Gottfried’s contacts, and all those I smuggled, if they had seen her. I gave everyone her description. She is not there, she is not here. Many were sent away to camps months ago. She may even be in Germany. I have failed Greta and Mama, but I cannot fail you as well. If you are well enough to travel, we will leave as soon as I return.”

I suddenly feel selfish and remember it was my choice to follow him.

“I am sorry, Henrik,” I say. “Do what you must do. If that means we have to travel to Germany to find her, then I will do that too.”

He sighs and reaches out to pull me down beside him.

“No. We won’t do that. It is pointless, if not impossible. I see that now. After I have delivered these children to safety, we will return to Zamosc.”

The children play in the secret room. Gottfried tells them jokes and they laugh. I think that after all the destruction, these tiny moments in the children’s lives are the ones that will build their strength and determination, and these are some of the good things they will remember.

Henrik makes the journey again a few nights later. Before they leave, the children kiss me good-bye. The older boy cries. Like me, he has got used to Gottfried’s cakes, the smell of baking bread, the warmth and sounds of the kitchen, and sharing a safe room that has a bed. He does not want to leave me either. Gottfried and I kiss them and they disappear into the night.

Henrik is gone for over a week, but this time the mission is successful. He returns weary.

We will never know the fates of the children after Henrik left them at the next contact point, but I pray for them daily.

C
HAPTER
31

On a warm spring morning, after Gottfried arrives home from his deliveries, we announce our departure. He hides his disappointment well, disguising it with jokes and discussion about our futures.

“You have done well, my little friends, and you have been good company. The café won’t be the same without you. I’m so sorry I could not find your Herr General DW.”

Since Henrik and I arrived, Gottfried has been making discreet inquiries about the SS in the area, to see whether there is a man who has these initials. At one time he is given a list of names but there is no one with these initials in the area.

“It may have been a temporary assignment only, if he was ever stationed here,” Gottfried says. It might also be that this officer was in Poland solely to deliver children to camps before returning to Germany. He is likely not based here, or his mission is so secret that even other officers do not know what he is doing. “Some of these officers are so secretive, with orders direct from the Führer himself. They come and go like the night.

“But, I have to tell you something I heard this morning. There is a man . . . a member of the Nazis . . . known as ‘The Wolf.’ The soldiers were talking about him when I arrived with their bread. Apparently he has been away for quite some time, but has just come back. They say he was here when the first shipment of Polish children arrived, that he was the first to inspect them. I asked if they knew his name, but they could not tell me, and I did not want to sound too interested with any further questions. They did volunteer, however, that he has a large river house east of the city, where he stays sometimes. You will be heading that way. Perhaps you can look in . . . or perhaps it is nothing.”

“You are probably right . . . It is likely to be nothing,” says Henrik.

Gottfried gives us a map of the forests and roads, and another compass. He says Henrik can keep the pistol. Gottfried seems to have unlimited resources, all thanks to his “friends” in the Führer’s army. They are in as deeply as he is, and this is what Gottfried relies on to keep their alliance.

That evening we leave, promising that we will return when the war is over, when it is safe enough to come. He does not say anything to this. Perhaps he does not want to talk anymore of the future. Perhaps he cannot see as far as I can now. I understand. I have had those moments many times.

We say good-bye tearfully, and then we are gone. I will miss Gottfried. I will miss the café.

Gottfried has told us to exit the city a different way from where we came in, since there are fewer soldiers in the eastern farm areas and—other than the information he gleaned earlier—it is not known to house any German officers.

We walk past residences, hand in hand, looking for the large Nazi house that Gottfried spoke of earlier that morning. Though there are none that stand out, there are many that are large.

We are several miles from the city when we pass a well-lit house with sounds of celebration coming from inside, and two stately black vehicles parked in front. The house is bordered by others just as large. Someone is playing the piano and there is singing.

“This might be the one.”

I don’t like that we are not rushing to leave this city and tell Henrik this. I worry that we may in fact find this man, “The Wolf,” and that we may not care to learn what he is capable of.

“Don’t worry. It will probably be nothing. I will just have a look inside and then we can go.”

He leans over to kiss me, to reassure me. We are like any other lovers, except for the fact that we are fugitives also.

“I will be back in a moment. Stay here.”

I lose sight of him briefly as he crouches to blend into the shadows beneath a side window. Henrik stands cautiously to peer inside and then a moment later appears again at my side.

“Wealthy Germans, Nazis . . . nothing else. Let’s get out of here.”

As we are walking away, a child cries excitedly from behind the house. This time I follow Henrik to investigate. A yard at the back stretches towards the river. It appears that the adults are in the house while children play on swings at the back. There is a nurse or guardian nearby, watching them. She is young herself.

We stand with our backs to the wall at the side of the house to make ourselves unseen, and Henrik turns his head around the corner to sneak a look into the yard. He pulls back suddenly, his breathing labored, his chest heaving as if he has seen a ghost.

“She’s here.”

At first I don’t know who he is talking about. In my mind, Greta had almost been buried.

“You don’t mean . . .”

“Greta’s here in the yard!”

Henrik leads me to hide behind a shed on the property adjacent to the yard.

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “I am. It has been many months and she has grown, but it is her. They have cut her hair shorter.”

I am not yet convinced. “Are you sure it isn’t the poor lighting, that it isn’t someone who looks similar?”

“I would know my own sister,” he says.

There is silence.

“What do we do?”

“I am thinking.”

“How many were there?”

“Children? About five. She looked like the oldest.”

“What were they doing?”

“They were playing a game. They were running around chasing each other. We must go back. I must try and get her attention. You stay here.”

I watch him go. I see him crawl across the grass and disappear into the shadow of the wall. I can see the children from a distance, and hear their laughter. They are all fair. The yard is lit up with tiny yellow lights that hang between the trees. The older girl I took to be a nurse is sitting near the steps at the back. She is watching them play. A short time later Henrik returns.

“I can’t get her attention. Every time I peer around the side, there is a child looking my way.”

“Maybe we should go back to the café.”

“No,” says Henrik. “We stay here beside the house until morning.”

“But they might be able to see us in the morning. We will also be exposed to the other houses.”

He thinks about this. “Maybe it is best if you return to the café. I will come and collect you after I get Greta.” There is excitement and desperation in his voice, as if he will do something reckless.

“No,” I say firmly. “I am not leaving you, ever.”

He squeezes my hand.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I’m not leaving,” I say. “But it is dangerous. I think we should break into the shed.” We try the doors but they are bolted with iron. There are no windows to break this time.

“What about the coop?” says Henrik.

The house where Greta is staying has a small chicken coop at the back.

“They will screech if we enter.”

“If they make a noise, we break their necks.”

The children are called inside. One of the cars drives away. The lights go off at the back of the house, and we scurry like mice towards our destination. Only a couple of chickens cluck softly as we enter their netted pen. The coop is quite visible to anyone looking from the windows at the back of the house, except for the inside of a small wooden hutch where several hens are nesting.

We crawl inside and these occupants become noisy and indignant when we chase them out. We do not sleep or talk but lie there waiting.

It is early morning and through the gaps in the hutch we watch another car leave, steam trailing behind as the smoke from the exhaust pipe meets the cold morning air.

There are sounds from within the house, of tin pans and commands. It has been a cramped night and I long to step out to stretch my legs. I think that we might have to stay here all day as well.

My head rests on chicken straw and droppings. We do not see or hear the girl enter. She leans into the hutch, her head above me, holding a basket.

I pinch Henrik on the arm and he sits up quickly.

The girl is frozen. She studies us both before resting her eyes on Henrik.

“Greta,” says Henrik. I see that he fights the urge to step out and greet her, knowing that he will risk being seen.

“Henrik?”

He puts a finger to his mouth to tell her to be quiet.

My heart is beating fast from fear and joy. I cannot quite believe that we have found Henrik’s pearl in such a large sea. It is a miracle.

“What are you doing here?” she says.

“Come into the hutch. Are you collecting eggs?”

“Yes.”

“Come in and pretend you are looking, so it doesn’t look like you are talking to anyone.”

She puts her head in only. There is no room for a third person in the hutch; it barely disguises us.

Henrik reaches his hand out but she recoils slightly to avoid his touch. I think she is perhaps still in shock.

“Why have you come?”

“To take you home.”

She looks down into her basket. She is a pretty girl with healthy pink cheeks. She wears a light blue skirt and shirt, and a dark blue vest over the top that has pink flowers embroidered on the front. Her eyes are round and blue and I can see why she was taken. She is the perfect Aryan.

“Henrik . . .” She struggles to find the words. “You have to go. You can’t stay. If they catch you . . .”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am quite safe here,” she says haltingly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Are you crazy?” He reaches for her hand but she draws back again, more forcefully this time. I can see the concern in Henrik’s eyes. “I have spent months looking for you.”

She looks up towards the house and then back at Henrik, and then to me.

“Hello,” I say putting out my hand. “My name is Rebekah.” She touches my hand gently and studies my face.

“I don’t think it is safe for you here,” she says to me. I can see that she knows something about race, and I
wonder how much she has been told.

Henrik has read my mind. “What have they been filling your head with?”

“I am German, like you, Henrik—though, they only want ones like me.”

“Blonde, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Did they tell you why?”

“They say that there are others . . . darker ones . . . who want to kill us all and replace our kind with their own. They have taken me so that it doesn’t happen, so that I am not replaced. Perhaps, Henrik, you can find someone to take you in also. You are German.”

Henrik shakes his head. “Gretel, do you not see?” Upon hearing Henrik’s pet name for her, her nervous, darting eyes suddenly focus on her brother. The name has triggered a memory. “They have brainwashed you into believing their nonsense. They lie to you so that they can take over the world. It is they who want to replace everyone else. It is they who are cruel. If you could see what I have seen . . .”

“Stop it!” Greta drops the basket to cover her ears. When she sees that Henrik is no longer talking, she picks it up again. Henrik is shocked by her reaction, his mouth open. He cannot find any more words.

“You must go,” she says, and she rushes from the coop without the eggs—the eggs we crushed during the night, in the dark.

We creep towards the shed behind the house next door and lie in the long grass. It is the only place where we can hide from the road, but it is visible from houses across the river and from where Greta is living. If anyone were to gaze too long from one of the back windows, they would see us.

“We must convince her that she has been wronged. They have spoiled her with food and clothes and singing, and games with the other children.”

I agree, though I can’t see how it will be done.

The children come out during the day but Greta is not amongst them. Henrik is getting worried that she will not come out at all.

“If I have to, I will break in and carry her, kicking and screaming, from this place.”

Nighttime and we hear a car, its headlights shining onto the field and water behind us, and then there are voices. We watch an officer ascend the stairs to the front door.

“I think it is him,” says Henrik.

“Who? The one who took Greta?”

“Yes. The same one who hit my mother.”

“Are you sure it is him?”

“Almost sure.”

“I don’t think Greta realizes this. She must not have seen him strike her.”

“Who knows what lies they have said about that.”

There are sounds of greetings and laughter, of fondness. I hear footsteps going up and down stairs, and the aromas of cooking infuse the air, and then the house slowly grows silent, and then dark. We eat some of the food in our packs and wait.

From behind the shed, Henrik is assessing the windows and considering where he will enter when a light-colored shape emerges from the house. It is Greta in her nightgown. She is like a beacon in the night. She rushes to us, crouching low as if in some way this might help her avoid detection.

This time the brother and sister hug, but still Greta is holding back.

“I pretended to be sick so that I would not be disturbed today. I have come to say good-bye. You must go back, Henrik. Tell Mama that I am well.”

“I am not leaving without you. That man you live with is a killer.”

“We call him Papa and he is not a killer. He has been kind to us.”

“You are too young to see.”

“See what?”

“What they are doing. You must trust me, Greta. You must come back with us.”

“With both of you?”

“Yes. Rebekah has helped me find you. Do you remember being taken?” Henrik asks.

Her little mouth twists as she looks at me curiously, then to Henrik as she tries to remember.

“Sort of. I was put in the back of the car and they threw a blanket over my head. I fought with them to pull it off. I remember seeing you run behind the car. I was frightened at first but then they apologized and took me to a house where a lady gave me an injection, and then I slept.”

“You know the man you call Papa nearly killed your mother. He hit her so hard she fell back and hit her head.”

“Henrik, you are making that up. Papa would not do something like that.”

Henrik squeezes his hand into a fist. I touch his arm to calm him.

“You have to believe me. I have not come all this way to make this up. That man has taken many children.”