The Orphan's Tale(73)

“Stand back,” the guard orders, closing the door and separating me and Peter for good. “No!” I cry. I reach for the truck once more. The police pry my fingers from the bumper, flinging me backward so hard I almost stumble. But I run around the truck and stand in front of it, arms folded. They will have to run me over to leave.

“Astrid, stop...” I hear Noa again call, her voice sounding so very far away.

The policeman who had beaten Peter strides toward me. “Step aside,” he barks, raising the club.

“Astrid, no!” Peter cries with more anguish than I have ever heard, his voice muffled by the glass that now separates us. “For the love of God, move!”

I do not move.

The policeman swings his arm downward. I try to step back, but it is too late. The club hits my stomach with a sickening thud. Pain explodes through my midsection and I fall sideways to the ground.

“Astrid!” Noa cries, closer now, as she rushes to me. She throws her body on top of mine, trying to shield me.

“Enough!” the captain orders, moving to restrain his subordinate. The policeman does not stop. He swings back his foot and kicks me hard across my side, finding the spot Noa has not managed to cover. Something seems to break loose inside me. I scream, my pain reverberating through the trees.

Then hearing a growl, I lift my head. Herr Neuhoff marches toward the police, his face deep red with anger as he moves to place himself between us and the guard. “You dare to hit a woman?” I have never seen him so enraged. He draws himself to his full five feet three inches, seeming to grow larger and more resplendent as he faces down the German.

The police officer raises his truncheon again. Terror surges through me. Herr Neuhoff is an old man; he will never survive such a blow.

Herr Neuhoff brings his hands to his chest and a look of surprise crosses his face. He crumples to the ground, as though he has been struck. But the guard has not hit him and the truncheon remains in the air.

Noa races to Herr Neuhoff. I try to stand to go to him, as well. A knife-like pain creases my stomach and I double over once more. I drag myself across the ground to where he lies, as quickly as I can manage. There is cramping low in my stomach now, growing stronger. I feel a dampness inside my skirt, as though I had soiled myself when I was a child. Let it be just the wet ground, I pray.

I near Herr Neuhoff, whose face is ashen and covered with sweat. “Miriam,” he whispers, and whether he thinks I am his long-gone wife or he is simply remembering her, I cannot say. Noa loosens his collar and he gasps for air.

A memory flashes through my mind then of playing in the valley between our winter quarters with my brothers when I was a child, sledding downhill in an unbroken sea of white. I had looked up and seen Herr Neuhoff standing on the hilltop. Set against an azure sky, he’d reminded me of the Greek god Zeus atop Mount Olympus. Noticing me, he had smiled. Even then, it seemed, he was watching out for us.

“Medic!” I cry, but no one, not the police or the guards, moves to aid us. Noa crouches by my side and we watch helplessly as Herr Neuhoff’s eyes go blank and still.

Below me my skirt is not just damp but wet now, the moisture too warm to be from the ground. Blood. Am I to lose my child, too? The baby, which days ago I was not sure I wanted, is suddenly everything I have in this world. I hold my stomach, clutching it to keep the life inside me from slipping away. Then I start to pray, in a way I have not done since I was a small girl.

The truck engine revs. I raise up with my hands as it starts forward, belching exhaust down upon us. There is a banging noise, Peter pounding on the glass window, seeing what has happened but powerless to help.

I reach out as if to touch him. Sharp pain, worse than when the soldier struck me, shoots through my lower stomach. I drop and curl into a ball once more, hugging my knees to my chest.

Still lying on the ground, I turn my head to look at Peter one last time. Through the window, I see him sobbing openly now. His sorrow cuts through me, more painful than any blow. The eyes that just minutes ago gazed so lovingly at me grow smaller, the lips I kissed in our sacred vow farther away.

The truck roars and Peter disappears from sight.





19

Noa

“Astrid!” I cry, racing toward her as the rumble of the engine fades in the distance. She does not answer, but lies motionless on the ground, one arm outstretched in the direction the truck has gone.

As I near, she curls into a ball. “No, no...” Astrid calls out beside me, over and over, clutching her belly and weeping. I sit down beside her and half lift her onto my lap, cradling her like a child.

Then I turn back toward Herr Neuhoff. There is no sign of a blow. His skin is a deathly shade like ash, though, eyes cast toward the sky. I remember then his cough, his heart condition. Astrid lifts her head, her eyes widening in horror as she takes in Herr Neuhoff’s still body. “We need a doctor,” she says frantically, trying to sit. Then with a moan, she doubles over once more.

I put my arm around her, unsure whether she really believes we can still help him or just in denial. “He’s gone, Astrid.” I hold her tighter as she sobs. Then with my free hand, I close Herr Neuhoff’s eyes and wipe a bit of mud from his cheek. His face is peaceful, as if he is sleeping soundly.

Astrid lies pale and weak in my arms. Her hands are clutched tightly against her stomach. The baby, I think with panic. But I do not dare say that aloud.