Long Way Home(48)

“Are you all right, Vati?” I asked, crouching in front of him. I tried not to let on how frightened I was.

He pulled me close and I could feel all of his bones as I hugged him. “I’m fine, Gisela. Just a little tumble. Nothing’s broken. Not to worry.” But I was worried. How had I lived in the same apartment with him these past months and not noticed how sick he was? I had been too preoccupied with my studies and my precious minutes alone with Sam to take a really good look at my father or to notice that he coughed incessantly.

“Come,” Vati said, pulling himself up from the chair. “Let’s all sit down at the table and celebrate our freedom this night with the people we love.”

I decided not to say anything about his health for now, but I noticed that he sat as if his ribs were hurting him, and he barely ate any food. My sister, Ruthie, hovered close to Vati, not leaving his side. I might not have taken note of our father’s condition, but I could tell by Ruthie’s worried expression that she had. I took a good look at her, too, and my sister seemed as thin and pale as a ghost, more like a young child than a growing thirteen-year-old. She chewed her nails while Vati read the Passover Haggadah and seemed to jump and flinch at every little noise outside the apartment. We had all lost weight because of the food shortages, but fear seemed to be nibbling away at Ruthie from the inside. I chided myself for not paying closer attention to my own family. We were all suffering from the suspense of waiting, just as we had on board the St. Louis, never knowing what tomorrow would bring and always fearing the worst.

As the evening wore on and we relived our miraculous deliverance from slavery in Egypt, I remembered our seder tables in Berlin, set with a white tablecloth, Oma’s silver candlesticks and serving pieces, and Mutti’s special china with the gold trim. Tonight’s improvised celebration, with only a taste of wine for each of us and a few pieces of matzah, seemed sad and shabby in comparison. Once again, we were slaves, held in bondage by Pharaoh Hitler, who wouldn’t allow us to go free. I wondered if God still heard our groaning. How much longer would we have to suffer before He came to our rescue?

I cornered Mutti alone in the kitchen the next morning while Vati was at prayers and demanded she tell me what was wrong with him. “Has he seen a doctor? It’s obvious he’s very sick.” She could see I wasn’t going to let it drop, so she told me.

“The doctor says it’s tuberculosis. He has prescribed rest. There’s not much they can do for him outside of a sanitarium, and we’re not allowed to use any of them.”

“Do you want me to speak with one of the doctors at the hospital where I’m training? Maybe I can get someone there to help him.”

Mutti’s gentle face looked careworn and weary. Her hands felt chapped as she smoothed my hair from my forehead. “It won’t do any good, Gisela. He insists he’s fine.”

The school remained closed for Easter Monday, but I was in my bedroom reviewing my notes that afternoon, preparing to return to school the next day, when I heard shouting and the sound of a commotion outside in the street.

“What’s that noise? What’s going on?” Ruthie asked. She liked to sit beside me on the bed we shared and read while I studied.

“Let’s go see.” I took her hand and we went into the living room, which faced the main street. What I saw made me draw in my breath in horror. The scene below looked exactly as it had two years ago on Kristallnacht. An angry mob, armed with clubs and iron bars, was rampaging through our Jewish neighborhood, attacking and beating anyone unfortunate enough to be in the street. The rioters were pillaging all the neighborhood businesses, looting and ransacking the Jewish-owned shops. They were easy targets because the Nazis had required them to display special markings designating them as Jewish. Our apartment door flew open. Sam stood in the doorway.

“Is everyone home? Are you all inside?” He looked wild-eyed. I did a quick tally and nodded.

“What’s all that noise?” Mutti asked, coming out of her bedroom. She and Vati had been resting.

“It’s a pogrom,” Sam replied. The sound of shattering glass carried up from below, the sound that had haunted my nightmares. Now the nightmare had returned. Before I could blink, Sam turned and ran down the stairs.

“Sam! No!” I screamed, racing behind him. “Don’t go out there! Please! Please!” But he was only making sure the outside door to our building was locked. He hurried upstairs again, taking them two at a time. He herded his family into our apartment and locked our apartment door behind them. We all knew that our enemies could easily smash through both of those doors if they decided to.

Vati stumbled into the living room, holding on to the furniture and doorframes to steady himself. “Not again,” he murmured.

Outside in the streets, the mob grew by the hundreds. They seemed to be mostly Belgian citizens, with Nazi soldiers and policemen standing on the sidelines, doing nothing to halt the rioting. As the chaos grew, thick black smoke began to rise above the treetops, coming from the direction of our synagogue down the block. Bright flames leaped into the air, lighting up the sky. The fire brigade arrived with clanging bells, but the mob refused to move, preventing them from dousing the fire. A dark column of smoke billowed a few blocks away where another synagogue stood. The acrid smell of smoke drifted up to us, even with our windows closed.

Mutti and Ruthie clung to Vati as if afraid he would try to rush outside to save the Torah scrolls again as he had on Kristallnacht, even though he was much too weak to do it. “I never imagined we would have to live through this a second time,” he said. “Is there no place on earth where we’re safe?”