Wildflowers of Terezin (38 page)

"Excuse me." Steffen thought he would try asking one of the well-dressed women attendants. "But do you happen to know a Danish nurse? Her name is—"

"Herr Petersen!" This time Rahm called his name, and motioned him to follow. "I believe your assistance is required."

The woman backed away with a moment of palpable fear in her eyes, shaking her head and muttering something in Czech that Steffen obviously did not understand. Well, he could try again with someone else.

Back in their entourage, they hurried down one of the main streets to a nicely decorated central park—a grassy area with fountains and flowers and a gazebo where another brass band played. So much music in this place! And though they wore different clothes this time, Steffen was almost certain the tuba player was the same one who had greeted them at the train station. Perhaps some of the other instrumentalists, as well. Steffen paused to listen, trying to discern what about this visit bothered him so much, when everything looked so . . . perfect.

Perhaps that was it. The concert appeared so perfect, as if they had been rehearsing many weeks for this day. Not that there was anything sinister in that. But the way the welldressed couples strolled from bench to bench, smiling and chatting with each other under a canopy of lovely linden trees, just coming into leaf—had that been rehearsed the same way? Yet it made Steffen all the more determined to make contact with someone—anyone—outside Obersturmführer Rahm's tightly choreographed boundaries.

"Another photo, Petersen." Herr Madsen pointed to the gazebo, where several young families were enjoying the midday sunshine. Steffen stepped off the path, looking for a better angle, yet still keeping his eye on a young couple approaching him from the other direction with a baby stroller. He fiddled with the camera for a moment until they nearly bumped into him from the rear and he turned to smile at their baby—only to see an empty carriage.

"Pardon me," the young father told Steffen in hushed but accented German. "We were just taking our baby out for some fresh air."

Steffen took another quick look, just to be sure, since by this time Rahm was quickly approaching to intercept. But the couple's point had been made, and Steffen nodded as they hurried off without another word.

"Very handsome baby," he said, and turned to frame Rahm in his photo.

"Hold it right there, Herr Obersturmführer," he called out, holding his hand up. "I'd like you in this shot, as well!"

Rahm paused several meters in front of the camera, mugging for the photo.

"Perfect!" Rahm clapped his hands together and motioned them on to the car. "And now I'd like you to see something we're very proud of. The dispensary. It's quite well-equipped, we think. Almost makes me want to get sick here in the city, the care is so good. In fact . . ."

Steffen scribbled the best notes he could as they neared a neat, whitewashed building on one of the street corners. Red crosses painted on two of the front windows identified it as their next stop.

"In fact, some of the staff here are your Danish nationals," Rahm went on as they followed him inside and into a small but clean waiting room, then into what appeared to be a well-equipped exam room, with exam tables and bright lights, cabinets along the wall filled with supplies, and several doctors and nurses in white coats watching over their patients.

Steffen most surely couldn't hear what Rahm told them now, his heart was beating so loudly in his ears. He hid behind his notebook, pretending to be writing, as he nervously scanned the rooms for any sign of her. For she had to be here, did she not?

"A photo here, please, Petersen." Herr Madsen waved at the examination room, but despite all the bright lights, in here Steffen knew he would have to use his flash attachment.His hands shook as he assembled the unit, found a flashbulb, and plugged it in. Perhaps no one would notice his nervousness.Finally ready, he looked through the viewfinder to see a neat row of beds in the distance, a doctor in the foreground, and . . .

Steffen choked when he realized the nurse standing in the corner, holding back, was . . .

Hanne.

"Is there something wrong with the camera?" asked Herr Madsen.

"No, no," mumbled Steffen. "Perfectly fine."

He clamped down on the shutter to fire the flash, though with all his shaking this picture would most certainly turn out blurry. Still he stared through his viewfinder, hardly able to believe what he saw. But it
was
her.

"Shall we continue?" asked Rahm, already moving for the door.

Steffen could not make his legs move. He could only stare toward the corner of the exam room, where Hanne stood staring as well. He had to do something.

"Er, Herr Obersturmführer?" Steffen smiled apologetically."I really need to find a WC. You have one in this building, I assume?"

"Er, yes." The officer didn't look so sure. "Perhaps it would be more convenient down at the recreation center, which is next on our tour."

"No!" Steffen didn't need to act for the desperation to show through his raised voice. "I really need to find a WC now! I'm very sorry."

"Yes, of course." Now the
obersturmführer
looked more understanding as he pointed to the far side of the room, a door opening into a hall. "No need to panic. I believe it's down there, and to the left. I'll have one of my men show you."

Rahm pointed to one of the guards standing by, but Steffen stepped up to the young man and patted him on the shoulder.

"Thank you,
Oberschütz,
but I think I'm perfectly capable of going to the WC without your help. You just stay here. I'll be right back."

The two-stripe corporal looked over at Rahm, who hesitated only a moment before nodding his okay. Breathing a sigh of relief, Steffen tried not to look again across the room.By this time Hanne must have already slipped out through another door. She had heard his little speech, had she not?

He hurried across the room and down the hall, making sure he ducked out of sight around a quiet corner just beyond the restroom door. Where was she?

"Hanne?" he whispered, hoping no one else would come down the hall from the other direction. Here empty wooden crates lined the walls, some of them labeled with the names of medical equipment. Curious. When he heard footsteps approaching, he slipped between two of the crates and held his breath.

"Hanne, are you there?" he whispered once more, and he nearly reached out to grab the sleeve . . . of a passing German guard. No! He bit his tongue, praying the guard had not heard him, and pressed himself up between the crates as the footsteps receded once more.

She's not coming,
he told himself, and was about to step back out when he heard footsteps approaching once again.Only this time they paused for a moment, long enough for him to peek out around the corner, to see Hanne standing in the hallway, peering around the corner in the direction of the washroom. She must have seen him step out of the shadows, though, and wheeled to meet his embrace.

"Steffen!" She held on and did not let go, and neither would Steffen. After all these long weeks and months!

Several moments later she finally backed away to look him in the face. "How in the world did you get here? You said nothing in your letters about coming!"

"I couldn't. You understand."

"No, I mean, yes, I do." She nodded, and the tears filled her eyes. "I understand. And you understand why I haven't told the whole truth in my letters, either."

He smiled at her.

"It's all right. I could read between the lines, here and there.Did you know what I was trying to tell you, only I couldn't?"

A noise out in the hallway made them both jump. Perhaps it was nothing. He couldn't let her go.

"But this place," he said, looking around. "It's not real, is it? I mean, this isn't how it normally is?"

She shook her head.

"We've never seen all this equipment before. It hasn't even been installed, just rolled into place to look as if it's been there. The supplies were unloaded last night, before you came. They'll be gone the minute you leave."

"And outside? The scrubbed streets?"

"Everything is a show. There's nothing in the stores to buy.The theater and the community hall were put together for this tour, and for any others that come. I hear they're going to make a propaganda film. The playgrounds, the children's home, the bank, the café . . ."

"All a show?"

She nodded. "To make you think it's so pleasant and nice, and so to leave the Nazis alone to do their evil—here and in all the other camps. Steffen, it's not as it seems! If they were to let you go just a few meters off your approved route, you would see the real Terezin, where people are sick and starving and dying. But you won't see those people. I see them in here every day. Today they've all been ordered to stay away, out of sight."

"What about the park, with the young families?"

"Ha! The park. None of us have ever been allowed in there—only a few slave workers in a factory tent. It was fenced off with barbed wire until just the other day, when they brought in loads of flowers. The meals, the swimming area, the happy people—it's all a horrible lie."