A Castle in Brooklyn(3)
“Mama had kept Stefan’s soup warm all night. But when he hadn’t come home that night, we knew that he had been taken. Papa said it had only been a matter of time, and sat down at the kitchen table, covering his face with his hands. Mama just went into her room and cried. After that, she was always crying.”
Jacob caught sight of the boy’s eyes, which were brimming with tears, and he envied him.
And then the story came fast, as if the child had tamped it down so long that the words exploded in a flurry. Stefan had, in fact, been put on the train, the event confirmed by Stefan’s best friend, Sammy, who had managed to escape and stopped by the house the following morning. He, too, didn’t know what would become of Sammy, perhaps flight into the woods like some of the others.
Zalman confessed that as he listened to Sammy’s tale, he’d wanted to cover his ears, to stop it all, to go back in time when the world had been somewhat normal, but he’d known, even at his young age, that this was impossible. He became a voyeur of sorts, no longer a participant in his own life. Just like watching an old movie reel, not being a part of anything, not feeling. That was the only way to exist, to cope.
And that was what he did when the neighbors arrived with news that the Nazis were coming. House by house, taking them all; not a mouse, a bauble, or a speck of bread was to be spared. Zalman allowed himself to be hugged by each of his parents before going up to the pirates’ place, where enough cans of vegetables, some baked potatoes, hard cheese, stale bread, and water had been stored. There were the books, too, even Treasure Island, which lay unopened on the floor along with a couple of broken toy boats and the useless treasure chest.
He heard them arrive the next day. And, like a moviegoer, he watched the corners of the room and listened to the sounds. The angry voices, the cries that made the walls tremble, a shot, then another, his mother’s scream. And just as quickly, there was the silence. He listened to it for days as he ate some cheese and potatoes, peed into the enormous kettle in the corner. The books still lay unopened as Zalman crept downstairs, only to discover his father kneeling against the closet door as if he were praying, impaled by a single gunshot through his head. And then his eyes still dry, Zalman opened the door, and ran.
Zalman met Jacob’s face. Tears slid down Zalman’s cheeks.
“And you, Jacob, what’s your story?” It was his boldest question yet. As Jacob pondered how he was going to answer the question, or if he was going to answer it at all, a sharp light invaded the barn, illuminating the skinny chickens in a cage, a tired pig that was opening one lazy eye.
Zalman jumped up against the wall as if stricken by a bayonet. The barn door squeaked shut, merging with the sound of Jacob’s laughter.
“Don’t be afraid, Zalman. That’s just Frau Blanc, the widow who owns this barn, this farm, what is left of it, that is.” He addressed the squat woman, who bore a heavy bag in both her arms and, expressionless, settled it down on the floor.
“Frau, this is my friend Zalman, who has also escaped from the town and found his way here.” Then, turning to the boy: “Zalman, meet Frau Blanc, my savior, and soon to be yours too.”
Zalman looked at the woman, then followed Jacob down the ladder. The Frau stood silently as the boys ripped open the cloth sack, laying bare its contents. Soft-boiled eggs, a loaf of black bread, five knockwurst sausages, a container of fresh milk still cold from the freezer. A trove of riches!
Zalman watched as Jacob cracked open one of the eggs and sucked the juices out. Zalman took the loaf of bread in hand, tore off a piece, and let the starchy taste fill his mouth before swallowing. As they ate, Frau Blanc stood in heavy black boots and a gray coat, watching them. Then she walked over to the cage of chickens that, filled with anticipation, were running frantically from corner to corner. She took a handful of seeds and scattered them in the cage as the chickens fought for their share. Then she walked over to the pig, which didn’t bother to raise its head, patted its side where the bones protruded, and lay down a carrot, leaves and all. She approached the boys and watched as they ate.
“Smakuje dobrze?” she asked, her voice flat, heavy. The two nodded that all was good, not stopping to answer, as they relished the victuals.
Zalman now had a good view of her round face, or rather the wrinkles, for there were so many folds in the cheeks that one could barely make out a face, just watery green eyes, an upturned nose, thin lips whose inscrutability evoked the Mona Lisa. The woman stood for a while, staring at the two. Then, without a word, she left the barn, pulling the door shut behind her.
The boys, their bellies full, followed the shaft of sunlight as it sparkled, then disappeared, as the door creaked shut. All that was left now was the single beam that flashed from the hole in the roof, and, in a matter of hours, that, too, would be extinguished.
Later, Jacob explained that his father’s cousins had been neighbors once to Frau Blanc and her husband. They were fine people, quietly sympathetic to the plight of the Jews. Jacob himself had never met the couple, didn’t even remember the cousins, and yet his father had instructed him, repeating the admonition as the times grew more perilous: If anything should happen, make your way to the farmhouse at the edge of the woods. If anything should happen . . .
Jacob wasn’t sure how long it had been since he arrived, sweating and out of breath, at the Frau’s door, just a few yards from the decrepit barn. Without question, she had taken him in, shown him where to hide, how he could stay silent. There had been others before him, she revealed, but never told him who they were, how they had found her, or, more important, what had become of them. And Jacob didn’t ask. In the same way she had accepted their presence then, it was no surprise that she acquiesced at the sight of Zalman. Frau Blanc was a woman of few words, but her actions, at least the way Jacob saw it, were thunderous.