Feeling his breath hitching in his throat, Tadek pawed at his pockets in desperation. It was in vain and he knew it, for the cigarettes had been long gone, given to some Nazi’s son who made away with them and now Tadek couldn’t buy the only thing that still reminded him of the past, of his own past in this alien Germany. The very thought of it was so painful, he thought he would fall over with grief before this wrinkled, toothless man.
“I have five hundred Reichsmarks,” he whispered, imploring the man with his eyes.
The latter only bared his gums at him in laughter. “And what am I to do with that useless paper? No, my good fellow. Coffee or cigarettes – or gold – or no business, as the Yanks say.”
The Yanks… Tadek patted himself some more despite knowing that he had nothing of value on him whatsoever. Suddenly he remembered Gerlinde and looked at where he had last seen her standing just to see unfamiliar faces around.
Lost… Everything was lost. He felt his face twisting into a painful mask.
“This is gold. It costs twice as much as your little candlestick.”
Tadek nearly jumped as the wristwatch, the one that he’d seen so many times on Gerlinde’s delicate wrist, landed onto the merchant’s crate right next to the menorah. Gruppenführer Neumann’s daughter stood right behind him, her expression impenetrable and aloof once again.
The merchant picked up the watch, fingered at it with suspicion, brought it to his ear.
“It’s working perfectly, you miserable halfwit!” Her arrogant tone was back as well. “No one shall buy this thing from you, not for cigarettes, not for Reichsmarks even! Everyone who could put it to any use is dead! Dead, do you hear me?” A few heads turned to them in alarm but Gerlinde didn’t pay them any heed. “Now take the watch and get lost, you pitiful profiteer, before I report you to the Amis and make them ask you wherever you stole this thing from! Clearly, it’s not yours, you arch-crook!”
The man was on his feet, along with Gerlinde’s watch and with the crate under his arm before Tadek knew it. In her hand, Gruppenführer Neumann’s daughter held a menorah, with the look of a true Feldmarschall who’d just won a battle.
“Here.” She thrust it into Tadek’s hands. “All yours now. Let’s get moving. Jergens, or whatever his name is,” she purposely distorted Johnson’s last name, “will be here soon and we won’t be able to tell the time anymore.”
Her crooked grin reflected on Tadek’s face. He felt himself glowing, almost flying, his feet barely touching the ground as he walked.
“Why did you buy it for me?”
“Why did you give your cigarettes to the little boy?”
“He was clearly starving. It mustn’t have been easy for him, to part with his father’s Cross.”
“You were starving too. Just not for food.”
He pressed the menorah tighter to his chest and smiled wider.
8
Another month had passed. During her last interrogation, Gerlinde had told Morris for the millionth time that she had not the faintest idea where her father was and this time Morris had actually believed her.
“Will you tell me if he reappears though?”
She thought about answering truthfully but then realized that he wouldn’t allow her to resume her studies and ended up saying nothing at all.
“It won’t change my decision about the school, Gerlinde. I’m just curious.”
His smile was unexpectedly kind and somewhat disappointed. It was that disappointment that struck in Gerlinde’s gut like a knife. She looked away. It was much better when they were enemies, when everything was much clearer than this.
“Tadeusz said he’ll be going to school with me as well,” changing the subject.
Morris let her and didn’t press with his original question. “Yes. He never finished school. He was only fourteen when their family was sent to the ghetto. They had a makeshift school there but of course, it couldn’t come close to the actual education. He needs a real diploma.”
From Gerlinde, another pensive nod. “He’s twenty years old.”
“One is never too old to learn.”
“No, it’s not that,” she explained quietly. “I mean, it’ll be strange for him, sitting there with us, children. I would feel strange if I were to return to kindergarten now.”
Morris snorted softly. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I expect he won’t be the only adult there.”
Gerlinde only understood what he’d meant when she took her seat in front of two very much grown men, both still dressed in the faded and patched-up Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe uniforms with all the insignia torn off. Last year’s Hitlerjugend conscripts, Gerlinde had guessed; perhaps, even the year before that. Half of the class was full of them, talking to each other in their deep voices and looking ridiculously large behind their desks. Some smoked through the open window, regular shirts tucked neatly into military khaki trousers. Some argued loudly about something she didn’t understand, something to do with the Amis and the pension and the military status and the Potsdam conference. Some compared their prosthetic limbs and exchanged addresses of the specialists who were still alive and working.
A short, pudgy man walked in with a stack of books under his arm and stopped in his tracks at the sight of the smoking Wehrmacht near the window. Less than half of the class rose reluctantly from their seats. The group of former soldiers, by the window, didn’t seem to even notice him.
“Smoking!” The voices had gone quiet at the sound of the wooden rod against the desk. Having spilled his books from under his arm, the new teacher was clasping at it with such force, his knuckles had turned white. “Smoking in the classroom! Have you no shame at all? Put that out at once and stand to attention when a teacher speaks to you! Where are your manners?”
The
