The Woman Who Heard Color (39 page)

“Yes, I am Hanna.” She heard a quiver in her voice, wrapped in a harsh, grating tone as if her vocal cords had rusted from lack of use over the past week and a half.

“I’m Johann Keller’s sister,” she explained. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find you.” She let out a relieved breath. “But you are just as Johann described.”

Hanna wondered what he had told her. Surely not—

“Just the one bag?” Elsa asked.

As Hanna nodded and the woman took it from her, Hanna thought of the other bag and the contents from the lining of this one. Had the driver delivered her bundle along with the smaller bag to Johann?

“Come.” Elsa motioned. “My husband has parked the automobile.”

They walked without speaking. When they arrived at the car, the woman introduced her husband as Robert. Hanna, as just Hanna. She guessed that Johann had given them but one name, as if to protect her identity. She also realized that her passport was made out to Hanna Schmid, the name that had been entered into her records as she arrived. She was no longer officially Hanna Fleischmann.

“You had a pleasant journey?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Hanna lied.

Elsa, who sat in the backseat with Hanna, turned to her. “You’re to join your family in Onondaga County?”

Hanna nodded. Johann knew this much—that her family lived on a dairy farm south of Syracuse. She wondered if they were going to deliver her. It was a good distance, several hours by train.

“They have been notified?” Hanna asked slowly, forming the English words carefully, awkwardly.

“Johann thought it best to wait,” she replied.

Hanna wasn’t sure what this meant—in the unfortunate event that she not make it?

They drove through traffic, past a landscape of tall buildings intermingled with smaller ones, lines stretched from window to window with laundry hanging to dry in the summer sun. Children playing kickball in the street.

“Would you like something to eat?” Robert glanced back at Hanna.

“No,” Hanna replied, “thank you.” She was too nervous to eat. “One request, please?”

“What is it?” Robert asked.

“I have no American dollars—”

“We have funds to assist you,” Elsa broke in.

“I have”—Hanna hesitated—“I have gems . . . diamonds that I wish to exchange, if you might assist me.”

“Robert?” Elsa asked her husband.

“Let’s go home, have lunch, and I’ll make some calls.”

They lived in a nice apartment with large windows overlooking a grassy area that reminded Hanna of the Englischer Garten in Munich, and for a moment she was struck with a longing for home, wondering if she would ever return to Germany. And then she thought of Johann, what it might be like living here in New York City with him in such a lovely apartment. He could work at one of the city’s museums or galleries; perhaps she could, too. Isabella could enroll in school here.
Oh, Isabella,
she thought,
will you even know me?

Elsa presented Hanna with a sandwich of white bread, cheese, and ham on a beautiful floral-patterned china lunch plate, and a small dish of fresh fruit in a matching bowl. Hanna ate slowly as Robert made several calls from a phone in the hallway. He spoke quietly and she could not understand what he said. Elsa put a record on the phonograph, and the two women sat with no need for conversation. The music was soft—violins, Brahms, a lullaby, the colors soothing pastels.

Hanna wondered what Johann had told them about her, and she wondered what the Americans knew about Germany under Nazi rule. She remembered conversations with Käthe and Hans during her last visit. They knew little of Hitler. But that was four years ago. Should she ask Elsa?

But just then, Robert came into the room. “We have an appointment at eight tomorrow morning, which means you cannot leave today, unless you accept our offer to purchase the ticket for you. If you wish, you could stay here tonight and take the train in the morning.”

Hanna questioned whether she should just accept the funds, but she doubted there would be any place other than New York City to make this exchange and she wanted to get it done now. She was eager to see Isabella, but . . . “Please, if it is no bother to you, I wish to do the exchange.”

The following morning, early, Elsa served her breakfast, wished her well, and Robert drove her into an older part of the city. They pulled up to a tall brick building and took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor, for which Hanna was thankful, as her ankle was still causing her some pain.

A thin, nice-looking man, who reminded Hanna of a younger Jakob Kaufmann, spread the diamonds out on a white sheet of paper. He ran his perfectly manicured fingers over the stones, and then examined each with a jeweler’s glass. He did not speak as he carefully placed them one by one on a scale, as if an added word might alter the weight.

“Very nice,” he finally said. He did not ask where the diamonds had come from, but made an offer.

Hanna had no idea if it was a fair price, but trusted that this man, as well as Robert, was trying to help her. She did not tell him that she had several more diamonds. She would save them for later. What she needed now was enough to get her to Käthe’s, enough to live on until she could decide what to do next.

As they rode back down on the elevator, Hanna asked Robert, “I may send a telegram to my sister?”

“At the train station,” he replied.

When they arrived, Hanna purchased her ticket and sent the telegram:

 

ARRIVE SYRACUSE 3:45 TRAIN FROM NEW YORK CITY. HANNA

 

She could only imagine what Käthe might think. It had been almost two years now since she’d written her sister. Unless Leni or Frederick had communicated with her, she knew nothing of what Hanna had been through over the past two years. But even Leni and Frederick didn’t know why she was in Berlin, though of course her brother must have understood, when she showed up at the farm with her Nazi escort, that she was working for the government.

Robert sat and waited with Hanna in the busy, noisy station. She tried to picture what Isabella might look like now. Perhaps like a pre-teenage Leni, who was very pretty. Hanna wished she had a gift for her daughter. At a small vendor’s cart, stocked with cigarettes, newspapers, and candy, she bought a chocolate Hershey’s bar for a nickel, wishing it was chocolate from Germany. As she pulled an American ten-dollar bill from her bag—she had nothing smaller—the vendor said something rapidly that Hanna did not comprehend. Yet she understood by the scowl on his face that he was not happy to make change for such a small purchase. She glanced over at the news rack and then, impulsively, she grabbed a copy of the
New York Times
, then two more Hershey’s bars.

Quickly, the vendor counted the change out for her, slapping it into her palm, an exaggerated tone of irritation in his voice. She tucked the chocolate in her pocket, the newspaper under her arm, and walked back to where Robert sat.

“They’ve announced your train,” he said, holding out a hand. “Elsa and I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Please tell your wife once more, thank you.”

On the train, she scanned the paper, wondering if there was any mention of what was happening in Germany. She devoured two whole bars of chocolate as she attempted to translate an article with the headline, “Chamberlain Bars Any Coup in Danzig; Pledge Is Sweeping.”

As she picked out words she understood, the article seemed to confirm what Hanna heard in the chatter at the Hotel Bellevue during her last weeks in Berlin—it was Hitler’s intention to take back the free city of Danzig, which had been under the protection of the League of Nations as a provision of the hated Treaty of Versailles. The British evidently were not willing to accept this. Surely, the world was once more headed toward war. Hanna knew that Hitler was not to be intimidated by the British.

She attempted to read an article regarding debates in the U.S. Senate over neutrality legislation. Her head throbbed, exhausted from these strained efforts to read the English, worn-out from her travel, from having slept little last night. Her ankle ached. The chocolate turned in her stomach.

Fitfully she slipped in and out of uneasy daytime slumber, her head jerking up every time the train slowed at a new stop. At each station she read the names on the buildings and boards, fearful that she would pass right by her destination, that she would miss it.

When the train finally pulled into Syracuse, Hanna gazed out onto the platform, scanning the clusters of people, some with bags waiting to board, others with eager faces ready to greet incoming travelers.

There they were!

Käthe stood along with Hans and a tall thin girl. If she had not been standing beside her aunt and uncle, Hanna wasn’t sure she would have recognized her own daughter. The expected tears of joy did not flow. Hanna was terrified.

She grabbed her bag and moved along with the other passengers, who clogged the aisle, gathering baggage, children, and lunch sacks. Hanna felt so nervous and frightened she thought she might faint. Why should she feel anything other than sheer happiness? she wondered, as a raw panic surged through her.

As she stepped off, Käthe ran toward her, wiping tears with one hand, pulling Isabella with the other. Then Käthe stopped, gently nudging the girl forward.

Isabella held out a bouquet. “Welcome to America, Mother,” she said stiffly as she offered Hanna the small bunch of flowers. The color of her voice had deepened.

Hanna grabbed her daughter into an awkward hug, and the tears gushed from her eyes, her body heaving with emotion, fear turned to joy, to exhilaration.

Time stood still, and then she was embracing Käthe, and then Hans had wrapped his big arms protectively around her.

Once more Hanna held Isabella, and then she stood back, her hands on the girl’s shoulders. She was no longer a child, but a young woman of twelve, taller and much thinner than Hanna would have imagined. Much to Hanna’s horror, she had cut her hair, which was a darker blond than Hanna remembered, and now barely grazed her shoulders. She wore a pale green summer sundress, sprinkled with yellow tulips, and Hanna could see she was budding little breasts.

Käthe cried, “We thought we might never see you again.”

Hanna’s brother-in-law had her bag, though she didn’t remembering letting go of it. He motioned to them all. “Let’s go home,” he said with a grin.

As they walked, Hanna flanked by Isabella on one side, their warm moist hands intertwined, Käthe on her other side, she gazed at her daughter and realized how much she resembled the beautiful woman who had greeted her in New York City—Johann’s sister.

“You’ve grown,” Hanna said in German.

“It’s been four years,” Isabella replied in English.

“What a relief to have you here with us,” Käthe said. “What a wonderful, wonderful surprise to receive your telegram.” She burst into tears again and had to stop to fully embrace her sister once more. Suddenly both sisters were laughing, wiping away more tears.

Hanna glanced at Isabella, who stood rigid, as if she didn’t know what to do.

They continued on to the car.

As soon as they were settled in the automobile, Hanna and Isabella in the backseat, Käthe and Hans in the front, Hans said, “Are you hungry? Should we go get something to eat?”

“We’ve got plenty of food at home,” Käthe replied with a laugh. “Didn’t you notice I was baking all morning? The children are all coming over to welcome Hanna.”

Hans laughed, too, and Hanna remembered how easily and agreeably they teased one another, laughing over each other’s missteps like two young lovers.

Hanna turned to Isabella and didn’t know where to begin. She gazed down and realized she was still clutching the bouquet her daughter had given her. The delicate flowers, daisies, were starting to wilt. Then she remembered the chocolate, and reached into her pocket. She pulled it out and felt her fingers push into the candy, softened by the summer heat as well as the warmth of her body. Had she removed the outer brown paper wrapper, she might have poured the chocolate out of the foil like syrup from a silver pitcher.

“I bring you a chocolate bar,” Hanna said, “but I am sorry it is . . . it is . . .” She searched for the word.

“Melted?” Isabella looked down with a frown, and then said, “We can put it in the icebox when we get home.”

“Yes,” Hanna said.

They drove on, through the countryside now, passing scenery both familiar and new, fields of summer crops, horses bunching together under the shade of a single tree, a newly painted bright red barn alongside a sun-faded farmhouse.

Finally Hanna said, “What do you study in school?” She spoke slowly, deliberately in English. She was speaking to a stranger, in a foreign language, to a girl she had just met, someone else’s child.

“We’re on summer vacation now,” the girl said.

“What do you enjoy to study,” Hanna asked, “when you go to school?”

“English literature and history.”

“You like to read?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Hanna said. She looked down at the soft bar of chocolate she still held in her hand. She could think of nothing more to say.

Warm smells from Käthe’s kitchen, along with her three eldest daughters, their husbands, and Hans and Käthe’s youngest son, Herman, the only one still living at home, greeted Hanna as they arrived. Children of every age and size ran about the house. Some Hanna recognized, others she did not—new grandchildren who had arrived since her last visit.

The table overflowed with
Brotzeitteller
,
Krautschupfnudeln
,
Kartoffelsalat
,
Krautsalat
,
Zwetschgen-Strudel
, and
Dampfnudel
, dishes from home that Käthe had learned to make from their mother, their stepmother, or the cook in Munich.