The Roses Underneath (25 page)

“When they took my mama out, they laid her on the street. Right there on the street with all the others. There was ash everywhere, falling from the sky like rain. She
laid there for a whole day and I sat with her and rubbed the ash off her face and her hair. They told me Papa was burned so bad they might never find him for sure. Because he had gone upstairs to make sure everyone had come down. But my Mama, she still looked beautiful. I stayed with her until they came to take her away. I told them I had an aunt who lived close by. I lied so they’d leave me alone. Then I walked though the city trying to find my friends, but it was all gone. Dead people were lying everywhere. They just lined them up next to the tram tracks so they could get picked up. All the buildings were gone. When it got dark, I walked to the woods and slept there. I stayed there until I got too hungry.” He shrugged. “Then I went back into town and lived in a bombed-out building for a while.”

“But, Oskar, that was almost one year ago. How did you survive?”

“Sometimes the soldiers would give me their food. Sometimes old ladies would give me bread or lard. Sometimes I just took it. Climbed in the open window and took whatever was there.” He stopped and looked at her, as if calculating her reaction. “But of course then, when it got too cold in the winter, I caught a ride on a truck with some troops and I came back here to Wiesbaden. To the villa. And that’s where you found me.”

“And you mean to say that you were at the villa all that time?”

Oskar stopped the swing and looked up at her. “Frau Klein?” he said sweetly. “Can I go inside now? I don’t want to talk anymore. It makes me too sad.”

Anna stood and nodded. “Of course,” she said. Oskar jumped up and ran to the barracks. Anna shivered in her soaked clothes. The air had turned chilly and a wind was picking up. She followed Oskar and waved to Maria who was corralling a handful of little girls playing a game of ring-around-the-rosie. After retrieving her bike, she pinned her pants legs and headed into the gray toward the Adolfsallee, feeling drained. Why was no one coming forward to claim this boy? If his family
was so well-connected, so high up in the ranks, surely someone, somewhere, would know of him. How could he just have been abandoned? What was he not telling her? And what did he mean when he said he came
back
to Wiesbaden?

When Anna arrived at the Adolfsallee, Madeleine was up, cleaning out the drawers of the old desk. Amalia sat on the floor by her feet, her old chocolate box of treasures open. Madeleine looked better than she had in weeks.

“It’s that damn tea, I think,” she said. “I hate to admit it, but I think it works. If I had any sherry I’d pour it in. Then it would
really
work.” She sorted through a pile of postcards on the desk. “Look what I found here. A postcard I got from your mother in 1937. When you were all visiting Bad Gastein.” She held it out to Anna.

Anna shook her head. “I can’t,” she said, averting her eyes from the card and busying
herself with undressing. All the talk of mothers with Oskar made the idea of seeing her own mother’s handwriting too painful. She dug in the pile of clothes on the bed for her robe.

“I want to see, Auntie,” Amalia jumped up. The two of them bent over the writing and Madeleine lowered her voice to read the card.

“Mama, Auntie says I can keep this.” Amalia waved the card. “I’ll put it in my box.”

Madeleine handed her the stack of cards to let her take her pick of more. “So, did you find out anything more about the boy?” she
asked, only half-interested.

“Oskar? Just a little,” Anna replied. “It sounds like he was adopted by a high-ranking officer’s family.” She looked at Amalia who was focused on reorganizing her box. “SS,” she mouthed.

Madeleine made a face.

“But his mother seems to have been very loving and kind,” Anna added.

“She was very beautiful,” said Amalia to the floor. “Oskar’s mother was.”

Anna nodded. “Yes, that’s what he told me. I think she loved him very much.”

“She liked to do things with him a lot. He told me. And she had lots of friends. They had lots of parties. It sounds like fun.” Amalia’s eyes were wide. “I wish we had parties.”

Anna sat down on the bed and rubbed her feet. “Yes, it does sound like fun, Maus. We will have a party, too, one day.”

“When Papa comes we will have a party,” Amalia cheered. “Oskar’s mama liked to paint pictures of him. And take photographs. Maybe I can be an artist too, when I am big.”

“Really? What else did Oskar tell you?”

Amalia sighed. “Mama, you already asked me yesterday. I told you. He’s too sad to talk about it.” She went back to her box of treasures.

“You know, that reminds me,” Madeleine said. “I meant to tell you this earlier. About Ludwig Schneider.”

Anna had been trying not to think about Schneider. “What about him?”

“I remembered my Otto did have a run-in with him once. You know the
Nazis, they were taking all the art from Jewish collectors, even in the early days. Forcing them to sell it for nothing. Otto got together with a few of his friends, the ones he could still trust. I think this was in 1934. They bought up a few pieces belonging to some of our Jewish friends. Not much, just some things here and there so it wasn’t obvious. I remember they bought each one for just under one thousand Reichsmark each, because if it was more than that you had to have the transaction certified by the local official. And then Otto and his friends turned around and sold the art as their own property for twice what they had paid. Because if the work was labeled as Aryan property they could get more for it. Then they gave the profit to the Jews to help fund their emigration. It worked for a while if you didn’t get greedy and kept it all very small. Every little bit helped.”

“So what does Schneider have to do with it?”

“Schneider was the auctioneer. Because the Party only allowed auctions through their sanctioned people. I remember he and Otto argued afterwards because Schneider suspected what Otto had done and threatened to report him. Otto had been very clever to cover his tracks. Bankers are good at that kind of thing. But Schneider couldn’t prove it—he was never that smart. Families were desperate to raise funds, and the Nazis gave them pennies for what their pieces were worth. I know of one family that lost their entire collection. Significant pieces they were, German painters, right in line with what the Nazis liked. The Nazis must have liked Schneider’s work because soon enough he became a fully-fledged crazy like the rest of them. But still, after that auction I was so terrified. For weeks every knock at the door sent me into a near heart attack. If Otto was even five minutes late coming home from the office, I was beside myself. The poor man. I nearly drove us both insane. But nothing ever happened. And then much later Schneider himself got sent to a KZ, I think to Dachau, to the concentration camp. When he came back, he was never the same. Eventually he was kicked out of the Party, and we never heard from him again. I really thought he was dead.”

“Do you know why he was sent to the camp?” Anna asked.

Madeleine shook her head. “No. It was in ‘42 or ‘43. By then we didn’t ask questions anymore. And I didn’t much care anyway.” She looked tired now and Anna suggested she lie down. The rain picked up again and the afternoon was as dark as a winter evening. Anna closed the window where the rain was beginning to splatter the floor and turned on a lamp to provide dim light for the room. As Madeleine crawled into bed, Anna sat back on the sofa, putting her feet up on the arm. She tried to think of what Schneider could have done to get crosswise with his Nazi bosses. People who did short stints in concentration camps were usually being taught a lesson. If he was doing something to help the Jews whom he was assigned to rob, that would have been enough to get his bosses’ attention. Maybe he wasn’t so shifty after all. Or maybe he was even worse than the Nazis. Was that possible? The rain tickling the windowpane soothed her mind and she allowed it to wander until she fell into a light sleep.

Footsteps and voices in the stairwell jolted Anna back to consciousness. She had dozed off on the sofa as Amalia played with her dolls. The knock on the door was followed by Frau Hermann’s voice.

“Frau Klein? I am sorry to bother you, but there’s a woman here looking for you. She says she knows you.” She repeated the knock.

Anna swung her legs to the ground and tried to gather herself. The clock said six thirty. Madeleine was asleep in her bed. Amalia had curled up next to her and was playing with her dolls. She gave Anna a worried look.

“It’s all right, Maus. Just stay there.” Anna called out that she was coming and tucked her shirt back into her pants. She stepped into her shoes and patted her hair down into its clip.

“Who is with you, Frau Hermann?” she said to the door, one hand poised on the handle.

“It’s me, Frau Klein, Frieda Schilling. I am sorry to disturb you on a Sunday, but could I speak with you?”

Anna pulled the door open to see Frau Hermann, arms folded across her shelf of a chest, mouth configured into indignation. Behind her stood Frieda, her hair and clothes dripping.

“I am sure Frau Wolf is resting. I told her.” Frau Hermann shook her head. “The woman needs her rest.”

“Frau Hermann, thank you for showing Fraulein Schilling the way.” She stood back to make room for Frieda to enter. “Please, won’t you come in?”

“Thank you. I won’t keep you long.” Frieda puddled past her into the apartment and Anna closed the door with a deferential gesture that left Frau Herman stewing on the landing. Behind the closed door Anna rolled her eyes and smiled at Frieda.

“I apologize for her. She has given herself guard duty. She means well, I suppose. Please, try to get warm.” She led the way into the kitchen. “My aunt is resting but we can sit here by the stove. Can I offer you a coffee? It’s the real thing,” she beamed, proud to have something to offer.

“Oh, well, I don’t want to stay, but I guess under the circumstances, that would be lovely. I should have thought to bring you some, but if you already have your own, that’s even better. Anyway, I already have my answer.” Frieda bent around the corner and waved into the living room at Amalia.

“I’m sorry?”

“I am out in this rain looking for my brother. I thought maybe he was with you. He went out last night and hasn’t come home. It’s not really like him. I mean he does go off on his benders but usually he’s back by now. He hasn’t been here, has he?”

Anna shook her head. “No, why would he come here?”

“Well, sometimes when he drinks, he gets impulsive. And I know he thinks of you, still. I told him to stop, but anyway, I thought maybe he had paid you a visit.”

“When he drinks?”

“He gets his hands on some liquor now and then. It doesn’t last long with him. Luckily it’s hard to to come by. I think he inherited this from our father. He was a drinker, God rest his soul.”

“Well, he hasn’t been here.” She turned off the flame underneath the shrieking kettle and poured the steaming water into the coffee pot. The small talk annoyed her. It was tiresome and she always felt she should be on her guard: residue of the many years when no one could be trusted. She wished she hadn’t offered the coffee—now she was stuck until they finished it. “I hope you find him. This weather can’t be helping.”

“I’m sure he’s holed up somewhere, but I’ve already looked everywhere I can think of.” She took the cup Anna held out and looked around. “So, this is where you are staying?”

Anna nodded. “Yes. We are very lucky. Most of the time the electricity works and the water runs. And there’s room for all of us to sleep.”

“But when your husband comes, you’ll need to find something better. It’s not right that our children have to grow up living this way.”

Anna changed the subject. “You were a nurse during the war? In the Red Cross, I suppose?” Anna took a sip of her coffee.

“Yes, I got moved around quite a bit but I ended up back here. My family has been in Wiesbaden for generations.”

“Really? Well, I wonder if you know my aunt? Madeleine Wolf? She has lived here all her life.”

Frieda made a show of searching her mind and coming up empty. “No, I don’t think I do. But I am sure we know some of the same people. Perhaps one day when she is feeling better we could talk.” She took a drink. “How do you think Amalia has enjoyed her first week with us? She’s a wonderful child. So sweet and pretty. And clever. She’s the smartest of the bunch. I’m sure of that.”

“She seems to be enjoying it very much. I think you have a future in this work. And there will be a lot of it, with the women all working now.”

“I just love being around children.” Frieda shrugged. “I guess it’s my calling.”

“And you’re still young. You’ll have your own children too, one day.”

Frieda said nothing and drained her cup instead. She placed it into the sink and exhaled.

“I’m sorry. I’ve upset you, I didn’t mean–”

“Not at all. But I really must get home. I want to be there when Emil returns.” Frieda walked toward the door and then turned back. “With all that business happening tomorrow at the Collecting Point, no doubt you’ll need to work late. If you’d like, Amalia can stay with me tomorrow night. Save you having to feed her and deal with all of that. It’s not any trouble of course, we have plenty of room. And I do love having the little ones with me.”