Wildflowers of Terezin (22 page)

Y'hi ratzon milfanekha Adonai Eloheinu . . .

She went on like that for a few sentences more. Though Steffen wasn't sure of the words, he could sense their meaning and warmth as he prayed along with these precious souls. And he was able to pick out a word or two, here and there.
Shalom,
of course. Peace.
Barukh atah Adonai.
Blessed are you, Adonai. He knew Adonai was another word for Lord, but the rest escaped him until Hanne volunteered a brief translation.

"Guide our footsteps toward peace," she whispered, "and make us reach our desired destination for life, gladness, and peace. May You rescue us from the hand of every foe."

After that she resumed in Hebrew, apparently picking up where she'd left off. And as they finally said their amens Steffen gently closed the lid, leaving an inconspicuous piece of folded cardboard in place to make a crack for fresh air. He added a silent prayer of his own for their safety, this one in Danish, for their God was multilingual.

"You look like an old pro at this kind of thing," Henning told him as he went around to test the handles.

"I've done it a couple of times before," answered Steffen."Only under slightly different circumstances."

"Yeah. The people weren't alive, were they?"

"Something like that. Let's get this loaded into the back of the ambulance and get out of here."

Easier said than done. He looked over at Hanne, who now stood off to the side as if not quite sure how to help. She nodded before heading to open the outside doors for them.

"Thank you," he told her, bending to take his handle. "You could have been a rabbi."

That brought him a shy smile. Steffen wasn't certain, but he was pretty sure the synagogue didn't allow such a thing.

"Thought you said no more jokes," Henning reminded him. They both grunted as they lifted their heavy load, which despite the small stature of the occupants, felt almost impossibly heavy.

"So that's why they put these things on rollers?" Henning grunted with the effort as the veins on his neck stood out. Yes, they could have used some kind of mechanical advantage.Lacking that, they had no choice but to manhandle it into place. Henning staggered backward as Hanne opened the doors and they moved unsteadily toward the back of the ambulance, fortunately just a few meters away.

Not so fortunately, Steffen had neglected to look both ways before they stepped outside. And that would be the time a German soldier on a motorcycle decided to come by on his rounds, obviously policing the area. Henning must have seen the look on his brother's face, as he turned around and in the process nearly lost his grip on the casket.

"Oh, no." Steffen groaned under his breath, though the motorcycle's noise would mask their conversation. "Just what we need."

The rider looked over just in time to notice them as he pulled past, though Steffen averted his eyes and tried his best to look very dull, doing one of his dull daily duties. It didn't work.

"Don't look!" he told Henning, "but the German is turning around!"

He was, but by that time Steffen and Henning had nearly lost their grip on their casket, and both wavered where they stood. They actually tried to move the last step and lift it up into the back of the ambulance, but missed by a few centimeters.As the soldier pulled up alongside them they could only balance the end of the casket on the rear bumper, trying desperately not to drop their precious cargo.

"Help, you need?" the soldier asked them in a broken blend of Danish and German.

"Nej, no. Nein." How many languages did it take to stop this fellow? Steffen smiled and shook his head violently as Henning turned his face to busy himself with the casket."We're doing just fine."

Unfortunately the young soldier could see as well as anyone that they were not. Ignoring Steffen's protests, he dismounted his motorcycle and jumped to their aid. With the help of his young muscles they easily lifted the end into the ambulance and slipped it in the rest of the way.

"Heavy, ja?" The tall young soldier held his hands out in sign language. "Large person?'

"Ja, ja." Steffen stood back awkwardly, his heart thumping both from the exercise and the fact that this soldier didn't seem to be in any hurry. "Funeral. We're headed to the funeral. Better go. Thank you."

But this young soldier was too polite for his own good. He stood smiling, extending his hand in introduction.

"Obergefreiter Max Kaufmann," he said, pointing back at himself with his left hand as he bowed slightly. Steffen would be expected to do the same, and he hesitated only slightly before accepting the man's hand.

"Er . . ."

But by that time Henning slammed the back door shut and ran around to the passenger's side.

"Got to get going, Pastor," he said. "Or we'll be late for the funeral!"

"Yes, right." Steffen smiled at the soldier and moved away to join Henning. "Don't want to be late. Thank you again, corporal. You have no idea how helpful you've been. And may God bless you."

He looked back over his shoulder, unsure if the young man understood all his words. But he couldn't miss Hanne's face following them through a small window in the hospital's double doors, before she pulled back inside.

Steffen hit the gas, sending the casket sliding and Henning scrambling for a handhold.

"May God bless you?" Henning asked through clenched teeth as they powered through the hospital campus toward the main road. A couple of white-coated doctors scurried out of the way. "I think I would have said something else."

Steffen shrugged in self-defense.

"That's why you're the saboteur and I'm the pastor."

"Even so," replied Henning, never taking his eyes off the road ahead. "You'd still better be careful who you ask God to bless. He might finally listen to you, one of these days."

God might finally listen to him? Steffen thought about that as they drove the back way to Tårbæk, some ten kilometers up the coast but more than twice as far when they avoided the main highways and kept to winding narrow lanes and through golden beech woods flaming in gold. As Henning explained, they'd best keep to these roads to stay away from any Germans, helpful or otherwise.

But, God might finally listen to him? Steffen thought about a comeback, but honestly couldn't say anything. Henning was right, after all. Which left the question: Did God listen to him at all? As they bumped along somehow he doubted it—despite his years in seminary and his degree, despite his pulpit and his clerical collar. A flurry of golden leaves swirled around and behind them as he and Henning pushed toward the coast a bit faster than allowed, though a speeding ambulance might be overlooked in that regard.

And now? He tried to pray, but the words all seemed to fall short. All he could hear was Hanne, back on the loading dock, as she prayed over the frightened little family in the casket.

"Guide our footsteps toward peace," she had prayed. And with the gray German army trucks parked up ahead, they would need that kind of guidance very soon.

BISPEBJERG HOSPITAL, KØBENHAVN

TUESDAY AFTERNOON, 5 OKTOBER 1943

Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person.

—MOTHER TERESA

Y
ou're pulling my leg now, aren't you?"

Hanne couldn't keep from laughing when the pastor told her his story as they walked toward the main hospital exit after her shift. He held up his hand in a promise.

"Honestly, that's what the soldier said. 'Please accept my sympathy. Please go ahead.' And then he waved us through.Waved us through! But that's after he sees Henning with tears streaming down his cheeks, and after Henning tells him his sad story about how his aunt, his beloved
tante,
died in an auto accident, and he was almost killed as well, and we're transporting her to her family grave."

"Well, at least he had the injuries to prove it. I'm still worried about his hand, by the way. Have you seen it?"

"He wouldn't show it to me, either. All I can tell you is that it has to hurt, and badly. He can't hardly move it, much less grip anything."

"It could be broken, or worse. He needs to let us look at it."

"Sure he does." Steffen chuckled. "But you think he's going to listen to me? He has a high pain threshold. He actually made me poke him in the eye, just for effect, so it might water a little more easily."

"Hmm. Then did he explain to the soldiers why a pastor was driving the ambulance?"

"I think so. But by that time I was so nervous about Henning overdoing it, I don't think I heard a word of what he said. In fact, I was ready to confess everything, and I think I just might have if the soldier had said anything else to me directly."

"Good thing you didn't." By that time they had reached the front door. "We need you in this work."

Pastor Steffen stiffened noticeably at her words, and she bit her tongue. She hadn't meant to be so direct. Still she meant what she'd said. Because Steffen—that is,
Pastor
Steffen—brought a sort of innocent authority to the rescues that his reckless brother could not.

"Henning did say he had five more people waiting in the back of his bookstore." Steffen lowered his voice. "And after that, we should pick up more from the ones waiting here at Bispebjerg."

"What time?" she asked. Her mind spun as she considered which people should be evacuated next.

"Six o'clock tonight," he replied, his hand on the door."And actually, Henning's injury gave me an idea. I have some stage makeup. You know, blood and that sort of thing. We'd like to dress up the people we're carrying, just in case."

Hanne thought about it for a moment. Perhaps it could work.

"Henning liked that idea?"

"I'm not sure how much he actually liked it. But that hand is hurting him so much, he just told me to go ahead."

"That sounds convenient. Perhaps you should ask him some other favors, while you can."

Steffen smiled at the joke. "And we'll need a doctor or a nurse to ride along. I hate to ask you, but do you know anyone who you think we could trust?"

Hanne caught her breath. Hiding Jewish refuges in the basement was one thing. But riding along among Germans was quite something else. But if she didn't, who would? Finally she nodded.

"Me."

"No, no, that's not what I meant. It's too dangerous for you.I was thinking of someone else you might know. It won't take long."

"I can't think of anyone else. I told you I'll do it."

He looked at her and frowned, as if trying to figure out how to win this argument. But he could not.

"So, I'll see you at six?" she asked, steeling her voice once again to keep it from sounding as shaky as she felt.

He sighed and shook his head.

"You are one determined woman."

"What exactly do you want me to do?" she asked.

He frowned again. "You would just be riding along, the way a nurse would do. If anyone stops us, we can just be having an emergency, and you can do all the things an emergency calls for. I'll make sure that you're safe."

"And how exactly would you do that?" she wanted to know.

"Well, ah . . ."

As he spoke another nurse hurried down the hall toward them, looking flustered with her peaked white nurse's cap falling off to one side.

"Hanne!" Ann-Grete panted for breath as she caught up with them. "Hanne, I'm so glad you didn't leave, yet. He called from Roskilde."

For a moment Hanne wasn't sure who "he" might be. But really there could be no doubt. She just wished Steffen wasn't standing so close by, and looking curious at that.

"So Aron hasn't left for Sweden, yet." Hanne put on her best professional voice and hoped for the best. She wasn't sure how advisable it was for him to call from anywhere in Danmark, though. Ann-Grete leaned close enough to almost whisper.

"Apparently he's still hiding in someone's basement in Roskilde, and he really needs to get out."

"Yes, don't they all. Did he say why he was calling here? Does he think we can help him?"

"He asked for you, Hanne." Ann-Grete glanced at Steffen with a nervous smile. "I didn't know what to tell him."

"But you told him I was still here?"

"I couldn't lie. I told him I would pass along the message."

"So you did." Hanne groaned quietly and scratched her head, not sure what to say next. Yes, she wanted Aron to be safe, the same way she wanted all the people in the hospital basement to be safe. And yes, she couldn't deny she'd had feelings for Aron—once. But after their last minutes together in the synagogue, she just wasn't sure. Her time with Pastor Steffen had only confused the issue even more.

Even if she had the chance, could she and Aron once again be the couple her mother had always wanted, with all the grandchildren that went along with such an arrangement? Hanne couldn't say.

"He said he's going to get here as soon as he can," added Ann-Grete. "That he's going crazy in hiding."

"As soon as he can?" Hanne couldn't believe it, and tried not to raise her voice. "Did he say when that might be? Why would he come here?"

Ann-Grete shook her hand and held up her hands, as if she was scared of being scolded. "All he said was that if you're still here, he has to see you. Oh, and he said that you need to go with him to Sweden."

"Has to, need to. This is crazy. He really told you all this?"

By this time Steffen had drifted away a few steps, looking as if he was politely avoiding a conversation obviously not intended for his ears. But by the way he glanced over every now and again, she could tell he was listening.

What to say? Her stomach tightened into a knot. At least she'd missed the call. Or maybe it would have been better if she had spoken with Aron, after all. Then she could have told him not to come.

"What are you going to do?" asked Ann-Grete, looking from Hanne to Steffen as if she recognized the dilemma hanging over her head. Hanne wrung her hands and turned in a circle.

"I don't know," she finally answered. "All I know is that I'm not going to Sweden. Not yet. He doesn't understand there's too much for me to do here."

"But other people can do what you're doing," argued Ann- Grete. "You don't have to be the only one to stick your neck out."

"She's right." Steffen cut in, though it was not his place to do so. "You shouldn't be the one to put yourself in danger. I shouldn't have asked you to help. I'm sorry."

"Please don't apologize. I'm in a safe apartment with a safe ID card, and I'm not in danger, all right?" Hanne held up a finger for emphasis and looked at them both. "And even if I was somehow in danger, how about if you both give me the courtesy of letting me decide when I should go—or even if I should? I don't need other people telling me that. Not Aron, and certainly not either of you."

Ann-Grete looked as if she had been slapped, and it hurt Hanne to see. Still she turned to go, then stopped and turned one more time.

"But thank you for telling me, Ann-Grete. I'm sorry. I don't mean to yell. It's not your fault, all this, after all. Pastor, I will see you at six."

She hoped her extra-firm tone of voice might leave no doubt about her intentions to remain here at Bispebjerg. She would care for the sick and injured, and she would continue to work until every last Jewish person had been taken safely across the Sound to Sweden. Even then, she might not leave.

Besides, she meant every word of what she said about not having others tell her what to do. She was a big girl, after all.She could take care of herself. And why should she allow the Germans—or anyone else—to decide her life this way? This would be her personal form of protest—staying alive and staying put, doing her job and not running for safety. Not that she faulted anyone else for doing what they needed to do. She simply knew that she had been placed here for such a time as this. Why couldn't everyone else understand what she knew most deeply in her heart?

As she stalked away, heels clicking on the hall's polished tiles, she heard Steffen ask Ann-Grete "Who's Aron?"

She didn't wait to hear Ann-Grete's answer, though perhaps she should have told him before this. Perhaps she still would. Either way, she wasn't eager to have Aron Overgaard show up uninvited at Bispebjerg, especially not if he was still intent on having her accompany him to Sweden. No, that certainly would not do.