Wildflowers of Terezin (31 page)

Schleswig
and
Neumünster, Hamburg
and
Hannover, Magdeburg
and
Leipzig.
They saw the signs flash by in a blur.And finally, by misty sundown of the following night, when all the words had been long ago spent and Hanne could no longer swallow from thirst and bitter exhaustion, the boy at the door raised his weak, hoarse voice.

"I don't think we're in Germany any longer."

"What? How do you know? Let me see." Another young man pushed him aside to look for himself. The others only stood with glazed expressions as they heard the news that they had crossed over into Czechoslovakia, for now the signs in passing train stations no longer bore German names, but even more strange, unpronounceable ones like
Krásny Les
and
Ústí nad Labem.
By that time Hanne had fallen to her knees, as they took turns standing or leaning against one another, as they were able. Many were not, and Hanne feared the weak and the old would not survive such a trip. But then their transport jerked to a stop once more, and after a moment they watched the doors slide open to a scene much like the one they had left behind.

They stood and stared, still clinging to one another, afraid to move, unable to move. Hanne blinked at the light, wishing for blindness so she might not see what awaited them.They had passed through to another country, but they had not escaped the familiar shouting of German soldiers and the barking of their dogs.

Only this time Hanne could not move as quickly as she had before, and she would not leave Bela and her mother behind, despite yells and prods.

"Out! Out! Out!" The soldier would not understand how faint his screams now seemed as Hanne helped Bela clamber down to the muddy rail yard at
Bogosovice,
marked by a crooked sign on a dingy shed with broken windows that passed for a train station. Never mind; Hanne avoided looking at the guards and hurried to follow the others away from the station and down a dark trail, perhaps as wide as a country lane and just as rugged.

A cold drizzle had filled puddles and quickly soaked everyone to the skin as they paraded into the night, but this time Hanne did not waste the energy to ask where they were going. Despite the cold and the rain she tilted her head back in the autumn night for just a moment, knowing that stars still shone somewhere above the low, pregnant clouds. And if they did, perhaps so did hope.

"Move on!" yelled another guard, proving to Hanne that they did not possess the ability to speak in a normal voice. So they moved on, shoulders slumped against the rain.

"Don't let your doll get wet," Hanne told Bela. "We want to keep her nice and clean, don't we?"

Poor little Bela was so far beyond answering, or even walking. So Hanne summoned more strength than she knew and hoisted the little girl to her back as they walked down a muddy lane lit only by the flashlights of their guards. A young boy just ahead of her stumbled and fell with a cry, face-first, into the mud. Without hesitating, a guard (not a German soldier, this time) snatched him up by the collar like a sack of potatoes and shouted at him in Czech. Despite not understanding a word he said, no one seemed to have the strength to argue—or even to think of escaping into the night. They simply shuffled through mud toward a distant walled city lit by the occasional trash fire belching foul smoke into the night. Hanne's legs would surely not move unless she commanded each step, and as the soles of her shoes grew more and more caked with mud, a Czech gendarme motioned for them to hurry along.

After all they'd been through? But he looked right through her as they were herded through a dimly lit gate in the castlelike walls, past a double checkpoint of barbed wire fencing and grim-faced gendarmes wearing old-fashioned rounded helmets with visors and double-breasted coats with rows of brass buttons and shoulder pads that looked like something out of the last war. One of them, a barrel-chested man with a stony expression and a gray moustache, motioned for them to set down their luggage and continue on to several tables set up in the shadow of an empty city street, where it was darker and even more desolate than Hanne had expected.Portable spotlights hanging from wires stretched overhead gave the area the look of a deserted carnival, and they cast ghostly shadows as they swung in the cold wind.

But Hanne and the others were not the only ones in this strange, haunted village. From somewhere the music of a string quartet broke the eerie silence, making Hanne wonder if it might be a recording somewhere.

But no—in the shadows of a covered entryway four musicians huddled with their instruments, swaying slightly as they played a dark, intricate melody. Beethoven, perhaps. Hanne could never be sure with this kind of music, only that the four played as one, that they played with great talent and without looking at any printed music in front of them.

"What a nice welcome," said Bela's mother, as they walked by. But these street musicians didn't seem to know anyone else was there, which gave Hanne a strange, dislocated feeling.She looked up at a second story window and saw a hollowfaced ghost of a child staring until he was pulled back into the shadows and disappeared once again.

"Look!" Bela saw the face as well and pointed. "Who's that, Mor?"

Of course her mother didn't know.

"Come, then," Hanne told her two friends, turning her attention back to where they stood. "I smell food, don't you? Aren't you hungry? Let's listen to the music as we eat."

She didn't need to ask, as she led little Bela and her mother to the line where a thin potato soup was being ladled into small cups and passed around to the newcomers.

"Thank you," Hanne told the older woman who handed her the cup of greasy, lukewarm liquid, along with a chunk of suspiciously green-tinged French bread. But just like the musicians, the woman didn't look up, just held out the cup to the next person in line.

What kind of nightmare village could this be, inhabited by apparitions? Since there was nowhere to sit in the middle of a cobblestone lane, Hanne stood among her traveling companions and sipped at her lukewarm soup, smiling and calling it delicious even as she tried not to gag at the rancid taste. Bela seemed to go along with the charade and didn't complain as she emptied her cup as well. Strange what hunger could do.

While they remained standing and before most had finished eating, a shiny black German staff car with the familiar swastika flags on the front fenders was admitted through the same gate they'd just passed through. The gendarmes obviously recognized an authority and straightened up as the car screeched to a halt on the far side of the road, a safe distance beyond the newcomers and the makeshift feeding station.

The driver jumped from the front and hurried around to open the back door, opening an umbrella as he did. The rain had paused by this time, though. Presently a ramrod-straight Gestapo officer made his appearance at the edge of the light, under his umbrella. The musicians halted in mid-note, making an awkward end of their little concert. Even the soup servers paused what they were doing when he stepped up to make his announcement on the hushed street.

"Welcome to Theresienstadt," he told them in a booming baritone. "I am
Kommandant
Burger. After you have finished your meal, you will be shown to your barracks, which you will find most comfortable. Then in the morning, you will complete your processing and receive a work assignment. But first, you will have a chance to write home to your friends and loved ones, telling them of the fine reception you've received here. We trust your stay here will be a pleasant one."

His galling words hung in the air as he turned on his heel and returned to his idling car. A moment later one of the older women cried out in fear when it nearly ran her over on its way out of the city. The kommandant's car didn't even slow down. But Bela's mother looked at Hanne with a spark of hope in her eyes.

"At least we'll have a place for the kids to sleep," she whispered."A place for
us
to sleep."

But there would be no rest just yet. For now they were herded to another series of tables, where they were each given a blank postcard and a pencil, and told to write home of their wonderfully positive treatment.

"Good food, and plenty of it!" yelled a young German officer, strutting about in front of the tables. "Warm, comfortable accommodations. A friendly welcome with music and festivities.You will write of this!"

If only. Hanne turned her card over to see a pretty picture of an alpine peak, then looked up to see the officer squinting directly at her. She swallowed hard and began writing, but could not find the words.

Dear Steffen,
she wrote, but her tear fell directly on the "dear."

We have arrived at the town of Terezin, which the Germans call Theresienstadt, and I am well . . . enough. There will be much to do here. Please don't forget me.

She thought about crossing out the last line, which in retrospect seemed a bit melodramatic, but it was too late for that. The officer now paced from table to table, collecting their letters.