The Orphan's Tale(24)

“Follow her,” he instructs the younger officer, who lingers just outside the doorway.

My panic worsens: if the men follow me, they will see Theo and ask questions. “Really that isn’t necessary. It will just take a minute.”

“Fine,” the older man says, “but before you go, I have a few questions.” I freeze, skin prickling. He takes a cigarette from his pocket and lights it. “The woman on the trapeze.”

“I was on the trapeze,” I manage, hoping no one heard the quaver in my voice.

“Not you. A woman with dark hair.” They must have seen Astrid through the gym window. “Where is she?”

Before I can answer, Herr Neuhoff rushes in. “Gentlemen,” he says, as though greeting old friends. This must not be the first time they have come. “Heil Hitler.” His salute is so authentic that I cringe.

But the officer does not smile. “Hallo, Fritz.” He addresses Herr Neuhoff too familiarly, his voice lacking any sign of respect. “We are looking for a performer who is reportedly a Jew. Do you have anyone like that here?”

“No, of course not,” Herr Neuhoff blusters, seeming to almost take offense at the suggestion. “The Circus Neuhoff is German. Jews have been banned from performing.”

“So you are saying that there are no Jews with this circus? I know they’re good at trickery.”

“I am a German,” Herr Neuhoff replies. As if that answers everything. “The circus is Judenrein.” Cleansed of Jews. “You know that, gentlemen.”

“I don’t recall her,” the officer says, pointing his head in my direction. The ground seems to shift beneath me. Does he think I am a Jew?

“So many new performers each year,” Herr Neuhoff says airily. I hold my breath, waiting for the man to ask further. “Noa joined us this year from the Netherlands. Isn’t she wonderfully Aryan? The Führer’s own ideal.” I admire the skilled way Herr Neuhoff makes the argument, but hate that he has to do so. “Meine Herren, you’ve come so far. Join me up at the villa for some cognac.”

“We’ll finish our inspection first,” the officer says, undeterred. He flings open the armoire a second time, peers inside. Then he halts, standing just over the spot where Astrid is hiding. I hold my breath, dig my fingernails into my palms. If he looks down, he will surely see her.

“Come, come,” Herr Neuhoff soothes. “There’s nothing more here to search. Just a quick drink and then you’ll want to be on the road to get back to the city before nightfall.”

The officers storm from the dressing room, Herr Neuhoff and Peter in tow.

When they are gone, I sink down into a chair, shaking. Astrid remains silent below the floorboards, still not daring to come out.

Peter returns a few minutes later. “They’ve gone.” I follow him out the back of the dressing room. Along the edge of the practice hall, hidden behind a wheelbarrow, is the narrowest of cellar doors. He pries it open and helps Astrid from her hiding place. She is pale and covered in bits of hay and manure. “Are you all right?” I see then the way he holds her, a moment’s tenderness. I should leave them alone. But she turns away from him. Her pride is too hurt to let him close.

I follow them back into the practice hall. I find a cloth and wet it in one of the buckets. “Thank you,” Astrid says as I hand her the cloth. It is the kindest voice I’ve heard her use. Her hands tremble as she wipes the brown muck from her hair and neck.

I struggle to find the words to ask my many questions. “Astrid, you hid...”

“A trick from the Great Boldini. He performed with my family years ago in Italy.” She smiles. “Don’t ask me how I did it. A good magician never reveals her secrets.”

But I am in no mood for jokes. “Oh, Astrid!” I burst into tears. Though she hates me, I cannot help but care. “They almost found you!”

“They didn’t, though,” she replies, a note of satisfaction in her voice.

“But why did they want you?” I persist, even though I know my questions are too much for her right now. “Why did you hide?”

“Darling...” Peter interjects with a note of caution.

“I can trust her,” Astrid says. I straighten with pride. “She will find out soon enough anyway.” But she bites her lip and studies me, as if still deciding whether to confide in me. “You see, Theo is not the only Jew with the circus. I am also a Jew.”

I am stunned into silence. I had not imagined that Astrid could be Jewish, though with her dark hair and eyes it made sense.

I exhale, thanking God in that moment that I had not told her everything about my past and the German soldier. Something had held me back. And it is for the best, because surely if I had she would have thrown me out.

“I was the youngest of five children in our family’s circus,” she adds. “Our winter quarters were adjacent to Herr Neuhoff’s.” I remember the dark, abandoned house over the hill that Astrid had eyed as we traveled back and forth between the women’s lodge and practice hall. “I’d left it to marry Erich and live in Berlin.” I glance at Peter out of the corner of my eye, wondering if it is hard for him to hear about the man Astrid loved before. “He was a senior officer at Reich headquarters.” A Jew, married to a high-ranking Nazi. I try to imagine what that life had been like for her. I’ve been training alongside Astrid for weeks, feeling as though I had come to know her. But now a whole different person seems to appear before my eyes.