The Orphan's Tale(72)

Peter stands calmly, offering no resistance. But then the officer with the club reaches up and knocks the top hat off Peter’s head. Surprise and rage seem to break Peter’s face into a thousand pieces. He lunges for the hat. Thrown off-balance by the cuffs on his wrists, he falls sideways to the ground.

The policeman drags Peter to his feet. His wedding suit is soiled with dirt now and his limbs shake with anger. I know that he will not be held back now. “You won’t have any use for that where you’re going,” the policeman sneers, kicking the hat. The air hangs silent as Peter seems to be thinking of a retort.

Then he spits in the policeman’s face.

There is a beat of silence as the policeman stands stunned. Then he lurches forward with a roar, kneeing Peter hard in the groin. “No!” I cry as Peter doubles over in a heap. Though he does not get up, the man kicks him over and over again.

Say something, I think. Do something. But I am frozen, paralyzed by horror. The man is using his club now, raining blows on Peter’s head and back. My body screams out with pain, feeling each hit as though I had been struck. Peter lies motionless in a ball. “Enough!” the captain says sharply, pulling the younger policeman away. “They want him alive.” Hearing this last part, I am terrified. Who wants him? And for what? “Get him in the truck,” the captain orders.

Two of the police haul Peter to his feet and start for the truck. He offers no resistance now. I will never leave you, he said just days earlier. He seems aged years, a beaten man.

But I will not give up. “Wait!” I cry, starting toward him. A policeman grabs the shoulder of my dress as I near, sharp nails cutting into my skin. I push him away, heedless as the fabric tears.

I reach for Peter’s arm, but he shrugs me off. “Astrid, you can’t come with me,” he says in German, his voice low and terse. A large bump is beginning to form on his forehead where he was struck. “You need to stay here. You need to be safe.”

“They’ll take you to the village jail. You’ll be back in a few hours,” I say, desperately wanting to believe it. “They’re just trying to scare us, send a warning. Soon you will be back...”

“There’s no coming back,” he says before I can finish. “And you can’t wait for me here. You must continue on with the show. Do you understand?” His dark eyes seem to burn into me. “Promise me,” he says.

But I cannot. “Enough!” the policeman who had struck Peter snarls, tearing us apart. I start to lunge at him, wanting to claw his eyes out. “Give me a reason,” he threatens. I pull back. I cannot make things worse for Peter.

The police begin dragging Peter from the backyard toward an army box truck that has pulled up on the dirt road close to the edge of the big top. There is writing on the side in a Slavic language I do not recognize. A black police car sits in front of it. A driver emerges from the truck in a military uniform and opens the rear doors, revealing two long rows of benches inside. I understand then that it is all ending—he isn’t coming back.

“No!” I cry, rushing toward the truck.

Arms grab me from behind, restrain me. It is Noa, though where she has come from, I do not know. She wraps both arms around me. “Think of yourself...and your baby.” She is right. Still I fight against her with all the force of my body, a lion trying to break free from its handler.

“They’re taking him, Noa,” I say desperately. “We have to stop this.”

“This isn’t the way to do it,” she replies, her voice firm and low. “You can’t help him if you get arrested, too.”

She is right, of course. But how can I stand here and do nothing while they take my whole world away? “Do something,” I plead, begging Noa to help me as I have helped her. But she simply holds on to me, as powerless as I am.

Herr Neuhoff rushes forward once more, face red with anger and desperation. He holds out a small bag in his hand, heavy with coins, likely much of the remaining money the circus has. Giving it would leave us in ruin, but he would do it to save Peter’s life. “Officers, wait,” he begs. Please, God, I pray. Let it work. It is our last hope.

The captain turns away and I see in his eyes a flash of remorse—which scares me more than anything has. “I’m sorry,” he says. “This is out of my control.”

My panic redoubles and I break free from Noa’s grasp, racing forward. “Peter!” But it is too late—the police are loading him into the back of the truck and he does not resist. I lunge for the door, my fingers just inches from Peter, nearly grazing him but missing. I turn to the closest policeman. “Take me instead,” I say.

“Astrid, no!” I hear Noa call from behind me.

“Take me,” I repeat, ignoring her. “I’m his wife—and a Jew,” I cry, heedless of the danger I am bringing, not just to myself but the entire circus.

The policeman looks uncertainly toward the captain for guidance.

“Wait here!” the captain orders. He disappears around the front of the truck to the police car and returns with some papers. “We have no record of a Jew with the circus—and you aren’t listed for transport.” He turns to Peter. “Is it true that she is your wife?”

“I have no wife.” Peter’s eyes are like stone. I step backward, ripped to the core by his denial.