The Orphan's Tale(25)

She continues, “When I came back to Darmstadt, my family had disappeared. Herr Neuhoff took me in. Ingrid is my birth name. We changed it so no one would know.” It’s hard to imagine anyone rejecting her. An image of my father standing at the door to my bedroom ordering me to leave appears in my mind. All of the old pain that I have worked so hard to push aside these many months wells up as fresh and awful as the day it happened.

“What about your family?” I ask, fearing the answer.

“Gone.” Her eyes are hollow and sad.

“You don’t know that,” Peter says gently, placing his arm around her. This time, she does not turn away, but rests her head on his shoulder for comfort.

“It was winter when I came back and they should have been here,” Astrid says numbly. She shakes her head. “They would not have been able to go far enough to outrun the Germans. No, it is only me. I still see their faces, though.” She lifts her chin. “Don’t pity me,” she says. How could I possibly? She is so strong and beautiful and brave.

“Does this happen often?” I gesture in the direction in which the police had gone.

“More than enough. It’s fine, really. There have been inspections from time to time. Sometimes the police come through to make sure we are in compliance with code. Mostly it has just been a shakedown and Herr Neuhoff gives them a few marks to be on their way.”

Peter shakes his head grimly. “This was different. SS—and they were looking for you.”

Her face grows somber. “Yes.”

“We have to go,” Peter says, his face stony. Though I have seen him rehearse, it is impossible to imagine the dark, brooding man bringing levity to a crowd. “Leave Germany.” His words come in staccato bursts, breath urgent. He is thinking of Astrid—she needs to be out of the country, immediately, just as surely as I must get Theo to safety.

“A few more weeks,” she says, soothing him.

“Then we’ll be in France,” I offer.

“You think France is so much better?” Peter demands.

“It won’t be, really,” Astrid explains, answering for me. “Once we might have found some safety in the Zone Libre. But no more.” In the early years of the war, Vichy had not technically been occupied. But the Germans had all but done away with the puppet regime two years ago, taking control of the rest of the country.

“I need to go speak with Herr Neuhoff,” Peter says. “Astrid, you’ll be all right?” Though he speaks to Astrid, he looks at me, as if asking me to care for her.

I hesitate. I am desperate to go check on Theo and make sure the Germans had not seen him. But I cannot leave Astrid alone. “Come,” I urge, reaching out my hand. “I’ve got some questions about what we practiced today and a sore ankle that needs taping.” I make it sound as though I need her help instead.

“Here,” I say, taking the now-soiled cloth from her once Peter has gone. I return the cloth to the bucket where I had found it, kneeling to rinse it and wring it out. When I straighten, Astrid is staring out the window across the valley. I wonder if she is thinking of the SS coming or her family or both. “Are you all right?” I ask.

“I’m sorry,” she replies. “What I did to you was wrong.”

It takes a moment before I realize she is talking about the trapeze earlier, pushing me. With all that has happened, I had nearly forgotten. “I understand now. You didn’t want me to be afraid.”

She shakes her head. “Only a fool is not afraid. We need fear to keep our edge. I wanted you to know the worst that would happen so you could be prepared and make sure it does not. My father did the same thing to me—when I was four.” I try to grasp the idea of someone pushing a toddler off a platform forty feet in the air. Anywhere else it would be a crime. But here it was training, accepted.

“Do you have a trunk?” Astrid asks, changing subjects. I shake my head. I had left Bensheim with nothing and have only the bits of clothing she had gathered for Theo and me. “Well, we’ll have to get you one... That is, if you’ll stay?” There is fear in her eyes and a kind of vulnerability that had not been there before—or perhaps I had not seen it. “We can’t perform on the flying trapeze without a third aerialist. And I must perform.” With the Germans having come, the tables seem to have turned and she is begging me now, needing me for the act in a way I might have not imagined possible. I hesitate, considering my response.

Later that night, I lie awake. Astrid, who had not gone to Peter for the first night since my arrival, snores beside me. I think about all that she’s been through. We had both been cast out by people we loved, me by my parents, her by her husband. And we both lost our families. Perhaps we are not so very different after all.

But Astrid is a Jew. I shiver, feeling the danger that is so much worse for her than it is for me. In a thousand years, I would never have imagined it. I reach for her arm, as if checking to make sure she is still here and safe. I suppose I should not have been surprised to learn the truth about her. In wartime we all have a past, don’t we, even a baby like Theo? Everyone needs to hide the truth and reinvent himself in order to survive.

Unable to sleep, I slip out from beneath Theo and climb from bed. I tiptoe past Astrid and out of the lodge, crossing the field in the cold darkness. The ground beneath my feet crackles, crisp with frost. Inside the practice hall, the air is thick with rosin and dry sweat. I look up at the trapeze. But I do not dare to practice alone.