She darted through the streets, avoiding any lit areas or passing vehicles. When she rounded a corner, she bumped into a small child, knocking the unsuspecting toddler onto the snow-covered sidewalk. He just lay there, paralyzed with fear, eyes wide and unblinking. His little arms and bare hands stretched by his sides as if he were trying to squeeze himself into a casket.
Traudl-Maus was startled by the collision and fought to gather herself. Any bump in the night meant she could die or be kidnapped. She squinted her eyes to focus. The little boy didn’t speak or utter any evidence of being in pain. She knelt down to reassure him that she was not a threat and to determine where his mother was. Then the dim light emitted from a gas lamppost reflected off his chest. That was when she saw it.
A yellow star was sewn on his left breast, glimmering ever so slightly in the light. Traudl-Maus covered her mouth and gasped. She froze, her head on a swivel and eyes darting around the empty street. The young boy was a German Jew.
During the war, Nazi party officials implemented the Jewish badge. It was a way of identifying Jews for deportation or to persecute them in the eyes of their neighbors. The six-pointed yellow Star of David on a black field was required to be worn on the chest. Within the star itself, the word Jew was inscribed.
The fact that the young boy was Jewish didn’t frighten Traudl-Maus. What concerned her was that the boy was left alone in the snowy streets of Berlin without his family. The eleven-year-old tried to comfort the younger boy.
“Come here. Let’s get you out of the snow.” She helped him to his feet and knelt down in front of him. She gently brushed the snow and slush off his clothing and then grabbed him by both shoulders to inspect his appearance. After one last glance at his yellow star, she asked, “What are you doing out here in the dark and alone?”
“My mother didn’t come home from work. I came to look for her because I am hungry.”
Traudl-Maus shook her head and choked back a tear. German Jews who didn’t unexpectedly return from work were usually sent someplace they’d never return from.
“It is very late for you to be out of doors, young man,” she admonished him with a smile.
“You are outdoors, too. Did your mother not come home from work either?”
Traudl-Maus laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth as she looked around to determine if she’d drawn any attention to them.
“Where does she work?” She looked around at the nearby storefronts, all of which had Nazi flags hanging over their entrances.
“At the old-stuff store,” he replied innocently as he pointed down the street. Traudl-Maus knew there was an antique store frequented by the Nazi Party wives. “It’s next to the rathskeller with the bright red door.” In Berlin, bars and restaurants were often found in the basements of buildings. She knew the building he was referring to.
“Come with me,” she said as she reached for his hand. At first, he hesitated. He was barely five or six years old, but he was certainly aware that come with me oftentimes meant a one-way trip to somewhere.
He hesitantly took her hand and the two walked together toward the antique store. “What is your name?”
“Horst.”
“Do you have any family living near here?”
“Yes, Tante Helga lives above the store. She got my mother the cleaning job.”
The two walked swiftly along the street. A convoy of infantry trucks rumbled past them at one point, splashing slush mixed with road grime on her wool coat. She swiped it off and pulled the boy against the wall to avoid being washed in the trucks’ headlights.
When they reached the store, Traudl-Maus peered through the windows and found the inside to be dark. A closed sign was hanging from a nail on the wood door. She led Horst by the hand to the rathskeller entrance. That door was locked also.
It was Christmas Eve, so that didn’t surprise her. In Germany, families generally celebrated gift giving and a meal with their loved ones on Christmas Eve. The Splinter family, however, had nothing to celebrate, nor did they have any of their Christmas decorations anymore. They had been lost in an October bombing raid, along with most of their furniture. They only had each other, mostly.
She looked above the red door and saw the gentle flickering of a candle in a second-floor window. She pointed to the window, and young Horst’s eyes followed her finger.
“Is that your aunt’s apartment?”
“Yes. She lives there with my cousins.”
Traudl-Maus took the boy by the hand and led him up the stairs. She quietly knocked on the door, being gentle so as not to startle the occupants or attract the attention of their neighbors on the second floor. Seconds later, the doorknob turned and the hinges creaked ever so slightly. A small pale face peered through the crack.
“Horst? Is that you?”
“Jah. Do you know where my mother is?”
The door opened wider, and a girl of about eight revealed herself. She’d been crying.
“My name is Ella.”
Traudl-Maus introduced herself and was invited in. She explained how she’d run into Horst. Ella listened and then motioned for her to join her in the kitchen. It was devoid of food, just like the Splinters’ home was. Once they were alone, Ella broke down crying and explained.
Just as the two mothers were closing up the store for the night, a group of soldiers pulled up to the entrance and grabbed them. They were knocked to the ground, kicked and then forced into a military truck. Ella had observed the events from the bedroom she shared with her sisters. She’d been sitting there since the store closed
