The German Wife(79)

She watched to make sure I read the note, and when I nodded, she ripped it up and tossed the pieces into the fire.

I hesitated at her side, but her expression became even more impatient as she waved at me and mouthed, “Hurry, Sofie!”

I went briskly toward the bathroom, my footsteps clumsy because of the heavy boots. The bathroom door was closed, the room dark. I reached inside and pulled the string and gasped.

Mayim was sitting on the closed toilet lid. When the light came on, she jumped, clearly startled, and then she burst into tears and pressed her shaking finger over her lips. I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. I turned the bath on as if to fill it, then fumbled for the wireless—trying to fill the air with sound.

Mayim and I threw our arms around each other. All I could do was ramble and all she could do was cry, and we were struggling to be quiet as we did so. Mayim was trembling, and so cold her skin felt like ice. I pulled my coat off and slipped it around her shoulders, then buttoned it for her, right up to her chin. She watched me, silent tears still pouring down her face. Her skin was etched with new lines that did not belong on the face of someone so young.

“What’s happened?” I whispered.

“Papa is gone.”

She was struggling to breathe between her sobs. I pulled her close again, squeezing her tightly, as if I could somehow absorb her pain. But the thing about grief is that even when it’s shared, the weight is not relieved.

“It was the first night of the violence. Papa told me to hide under the kitchen sink. They knew my name...about my passport... They said they were going to deport me. Father wouldn’t give me up and they shot him. When I came out from under the sink there was blood everywhere. Mrs. Elsas next door said they dragged him down the stairs and threw him into the back of the truck and if he wasn’t already dead...”

“Oh, Mayim! I’m so sorry.”

“I went to Adele’s friend’s house and she hid me there, but yesterday someone came to warn her that they were coming for me. She sent me to the next woman in the chain, but the same thing happened—that time there was no warning, and I only just made it out the back door before I heard them at the front. I’m sorry to make trouble for you and Adele, but I don’t know where Martha lives, and there was no one else.”

“Don’t be silly,” I whispered. “You’re my family. You always will be. Is there a plan from here? Can I help?”

“Adele called Martha a little while ago. She asked her to borrow her son’s car and come for a visit early tomorrow to help with errands. When she arrives, Adele is going to ask her to drive me to the Polish border...but I don’t know what happens after I get there. The border is closed and I have no passport. Adele said she has a little money...”

“There is more in your pocket,” I said. She reached into the coat pocket, and I knew her hand had closed over the wad of notes when her eyes welled with relief.

I suddenly realized why Adele had gone to such pains to ensure I wore warm clothing. Mayim was already wearing my coat, but now I took my hat and gently pulled it over her hair, and then I undid my boots. She passed me her shoes—worn flats, desperately in need of a new sole. They reminded me of the shoes I’d worn to the Nazi rally in 1933, and how frustrated I’d been that we had been unable to afford to repair them, or even to replace them. Looking back on that time, I saw myself as a foolish, spoiled stranger.

“Go,” she whispered. “Keep the children safe.”

“I’m trying,” I said, and my voice broke. In that instant, Mayim and I stared at one another—each of us completely unashamed of our distress. That was what I’d missed the most. I could always be myself with Mayim. I no longer had that luxury with anyone else, not even with Jürgen, because we could only connect on an insecure phone, and not even with Adele, because of her increasing frailty.

We embraced one last time before I left the bathroom. Mayim closed the door behind me. I heard the bath shut off, and then the wireless, and then finally, the light seeping beneath the bathroom door was gone too. It felt as if she’d disappeared in an instant, or I’d imagined her.

Adele’s tea was still steaming by the time I returned to the kitchen. A bottle of her heart medication was on the table next to it, full to the brim with little white tablets.

“Ah, there’s your medication,” I said lightly, even as I wiped the tears from my face. “Thank you,” I mouthed. Adele shook her head, as if to say, Don’t mention it. She pointed to the notepad in front of her.

If anything happens, there is a letter for you buried in the jar of sweets.
I opened my mouth to protest, but Adele pressed a finger over her lips, then pointed toward the back door, stubbornness in her eyes. “I’m better now and your children are in that house alone.”

I bent and, for the first time in all those years I had known her, kissed her cheek. She caught me as I moved to straighten, held me close for just a heartbeat, and then I felt her lips against my cheek. Up close, I could see a purple tinge to her lips and her eyelids seemed heavy, as if she were struggling to keep them open. Her breathing scared me most. It was ragged, as if every breath were an effort, not a relief. I was gripped by a sudden, terrible fear.

“Oma,” I whispered. “Why don’t you come home with me?”

“I’m needed here. I’ll be fine,” she whispered dismissively. Then she straightened and, for the benefit of an audience that may or may not have even been listening, added loudly, “Thank you for coming over to help me.”