The World That We Knew Page 6

  All through the night they could hear the wheels of the train; the sound soothed them and made them forget everything that had happened. Berlin was far away, it was slipping into the darkness, a tiger of a city filled with soot and ashes, where glass was never swept up, and fires were burned in the hallways of apartment houses, and people disappeared without a trace, and shoes littered the streets, left behind by those who had struggled. The sisters fell asleep in each other’s arms and dreamed of their mother’s kitchen and the babies that had been born there. Lea curled up with her head against the glass. She still had her hand wrapped around the scissors, and in her sleep she saw flowers blooming in their yard, each grown from a murdered girl’s tooth, on a stalk of thorns.

  Heart of my heart, love of my life, the one loss I will never survive.

  Ava felt something dark approaching, a black cloud of angels. Angel of destiny, angel of confusion, angel of crimes and of discovery, angel of rage, angel of the wicked, angel of the fallen. It happened at dawn, just before they reached the French border. The train suddenly stopped, so unexpectedly people were thrown from their seats, roughly awakened from their dreams. In the thin blue light of morning, they could see German army trucks. Soldiers were shouting orders. It was nearly April but frost was still on the ground. Passengers with suspect papers, or those who had what were considered Jewish features, were pulled from the train and led into the field, clinging to their suitcases, their eyes squinting in the new light. Some wore coats, others had their shoes off and were in their socks as they walked through the tall grass. Women and children were separated, and panicked mothers called out the names of their daughters and sons. Men suspected of being Jews were forced to pull down their pants to reveal whether or not they had been circumcised. A woman argued with a soldier, insisting she wasn’t a Jew. In an instant she was knocked to the ground, where she lay sprawled and unmoving, disappearing into the tall grass. A shot rang out. After that, no one in the lineup argued.

  There was a hush as soldiers boarded to go through the rest of the cars, demanding to look at visas and examine faces and identity papers. Ettie reached for their papers only to find the ink had now smeared completely. Her face was hot and she muttered a curse she had never said aloud before. Zum Teufel mit allem. To hell with it all.

  Ava felt the darkness enveloping them. She could see the future as if it were happening in front of her eyes. It was a good thing men and women could not foresee their fates. Even without a heart, without a soul, Ava could scarcely bear to know what was to come.

  “No matter what, do not leave this train,” she told Ettie. She was nothing, mere clay, and her maker was everything, the giver of life and breath, but Ava understood that Ettie was also a headstrong girl. “If you stay I can protect you, but if you leave, I cannot follow.”

  “You’re not made to protect me.” She nodded at Lea. “You’re here for her. That was the bargain.” Ettie grabbed her sister’s hand to pull her into the corridor. “We’re not safe here.”

  “Why? We have our tickets and identity papers.”

  “With running ink and your fingers turning blue? They’re clearly forged.”

  Marta looked behind her, frightened. She had her father’s profile, the sharp nose and high cheekbones. “But the golem said not to leave.”

  Lea was paying attention.

  “She’s a dumb creature,” Ettie told her sister. “We can’t listen to her.”

  They made their way toward the rear of the train. They didn’t speak, they didn’t run, and they didn’t look back at Ava, who’d come to stand in the corridor. She could go no farther, she was born to keep Lea safe. She wanted to cry out her maker’s name, but it was impossible; she had not been made to do as she pleased or come to her own conclusions. There were more gunshots outside. Soldiers went from car to car, asking questions. What church did you attend in Berlin? Recite the Lord’s Prayer. Tell me your address. Your pastor’s name.

  They were not easily satisfied. There were suspicions even when the answers were correct. They looked for dark hair, dark eyes, sharp features, a nervous demeanor.

  Juden müssen die erste Tür benützen, um den Zug zu verlassen.

  Jews have to leave through the first door.

  “Keep walking,” Ettie urged her sister. They went in the opposite direction of the crowd, to the far exit. But when they reached the rear door, a porter was there.

  “My sister is sick. We need some air,” Ettie told him.

  The porter looked them over. He had girls of his own, so he opened the door and told them to be quick about it.

  There was no other way, really, no matter what the golem had said. When they leapt from the train there was a rush of cool air. They could not go backward now. The sisters held each other’s hands as they jumped. The grass was even taller here, and for a moment they were startled as they landed in a pool of mud. There were gnats in the air and swallows rose and fell in the sky. Ettie helped her sister to her feet and they ran. It was like flying as the blades of grass hit against them. They heard shouts from the rear of the train; they were commanded to halt. It was a rough voice, shouting from a distance. But when you are flying, you can’t stop. You don’t dare. Ettie ran so fast she feared her heart would burst. She could hear her sister right behind her, breathing hard, so hard it seemed as if she were crying.

  A story their mother had told flashed through Ettie’s mind. There was a beggar who prayed every day for God to stop his sorrows. He believed no one had a more terrible life and greater losses, and he would do anything, please God, to make them stop. One day the east wind carried him away and dumped him into the sea, where he drowned. Then he had no more problems. So think over what you are complaining about before you do so and be careful, their mother always said. You may look into the world, you may wish you were there, but what if you were? You have no idea of what you might have to face. Their mother, who was so strict, so exacting, so sure of what was right and what was wrong, who loved them so, in some deep place she could never reveal, who loved them now and always.

  Ettie wished for the east wind as they ran from the train. If only they could rise into the air and not come down until they reached Paris. A few more steps was all it would take. The forest was before them, a dark bower of pines. They simply needed to keep their eyes open and not look back. They must run, say farewell to everything they had ever known. They were racing so fast they lifted into the blue air. It was a miracle, it was more than anyone could ask for. They were nearly to the woods and the horizon shimmered. France was in the distance, in that pale horizon.

  And then it happened. Ettie stopped in her tracks when the shot rang out, but her sister had already entered into the World to Come. It was not a miracle, it happened every day, it was the rising of a soul. That was how quickly a life could be lost, in the time it took to breathe in and breathe out. All that was left was the beautiful husk of who she had been, crumpled in the grass.

  Ava could not follow them into the field with a slingshot or an ax. Instead, she had jammed down the window and called to the birds in their language, inspiring a band of crows to fly directly at the soldier who fired his gun in the girls’ direction. He got off one shot, then ducked to avoid the crows’ attack. The soldier cursed and shot again, squinting in the sun, but the other girl was gone. It was as if she had never existed, so he fired into the mass of crows that had ruined his aim, striking nothing but the sky.

  Ettie was in the woods by then, stuffing down her sobs as if there was a bird in her mouth. She swallowed the bird of sorrow and it sang a mourning song inside of her. It was too late to turn back, too late to climb back through the kitchen window and find themselves in bed, alive and warm in each other’s arms as their mother called for them to see to their chores and start breakfast. It was too late to stop the angel in the black coat from writing down Marta’s name in small black script as he walked among the trees. Some things hold on to you forevermore: the sharp crack of sound, the whirl of insects rising
from the grass, the birds disappearing into the trees, their feathers falling to the ground like black rain. Afterward, Ettie would recall the moment when her sister fell again and again, each and every night at the same blue hour. She would never forget her sister’s face or her mother sitting beside her on winter nights; she wouldn’t forget the morning when they dug earth from the river, or the tall grass that reached almost to her waist as she ran, faster and faster, into the forest, her heart hitting against the cage of her ribs, until she found the east wind and at last disappeared, wondering how she would ever find a reason to live.

  Through the window Lea saw one sister fall and the other run into the forest. She saw the cloud of crows and heard a strange rustling as Ava leaned out the window to call to the birds in a language that was too mysterious and beautiful for mortals to understand. Lea had heard what the younger sister had said. She had called Ava a golem. She had no idea what that might mean, but the word stayed with her.

  Do not worry about who she is, but know she will always protect you. That is all I want and all I ever wanted.

  Those detained in the field were being led to waiting trucks. Lea and Ava could hear women weeping as their children were taken away. A young soldier came to their compartment to examine their papers. He was impatient and he snapped his fingers at them. He looked like the one in the alleyway. His eyes were pale blue, but Lea was certain that it was just a matter of time before they turned red. She slipped her hand into her pocket to feel for the scissors. When the soldier asked her name, she could not remember what she was supposed to say. Again, she was unable to speak. She gazed into his eyes. If she had to, she would stab him in the neck or the heart. She would have to do it quickly, reaching upward, he was so very tall.

  “What’s wrong with you?” The soldier wanted an answer when he spoke to someone, and when she was silent, his eyes began to change. He grabbed Lea and pulled her toward him, but all she could do was stammer. The scissors were cold against her fingers. She jerked away so that she could attack him, and when she did the clasp of her necklace unfastened and her birthday charm fell to the floor. The engraved Jewish symbols were there for him to see should he look down.

  Ava was between them now, visas and tickets in hand. She was as tall as the soldier and for some reason he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t her long black hair or her wide beautiful mouth that mesmerized him. It was her gray eyes; he fell into them, unable to resist. He was drowning, silent, confused by his own reaction.

  “We have all the necessary documents,” Ava told him.

  Lea went down on her hands and knees. The locket lay open, and a slip of paper had fallen out. Lea was not meant to read the message. She had been told not to open the locket until the war was over and she was safe. But as she collected the message to return it to its proper place, she was drawn to her mother’s familiar handwriting. Without thinking she read the inscription. Do what I tell you, do what you must, all things that begin must end, all things that you know, you cannot unknow.

  Lea’s heart hurt, as it had in the alley, before life had changed forever. She stuffed the folded paper back into the charm and slipped the chain around her neck. Lea could barely breathe. She knew she would never be herself again. That girl was gone.

  The soldier was satisfied that nothing was amiss with their papers. He nodded and moved on, although clearly he wished to stay.

  “Will you be back in Berlin?” he asked Ava.

  “Perhaps,” she said, though the answer was no, she had learned not to say too much. Her maker had taught her this lesson.

  When they were at last alone in the compartment, Ava turned to Lea. “Give me the weapon,” she said.

  “There is no weapon.”

  Ava held out her hand. “I speak to you as if I were your mother.”

  “You’re not, and you won’t ever be.”

  Lea had no idea why she was crying. Ava was not like other women; she likely didn’t even have feelings. Why fight with her?

  Ava reached into Lea’s pocket and brought forth the scissors. “That’s not how you kill a soldier.”

  Lea was interested despite herself. “How would you do it?”

  “Quietly. Without blood.”

  Lea scowled. She’d seen a murder. “There has to be blood,” she said knowingly.

  “Sometimes yes, sometimes no.”

  Ava was becoming more fascinating all the time. Lea felt the silver locket, cold against her chest. She didn’t understand Ava, yet she felt comforted by her presence. “What will happen to the girl who ran away?”

  To that there was only one answer. “Whatever is meant to happen.”

  “And do you know what that is?”

  “Can anyone know?”

  “I think maybe you can.”

  “It’s best to get some sleep,” Ava advised, for this is what Lea’s mother would have said.

  “And what will happen to me?” Lea ventured to ask.

  The train lurched forward. They were leaving behind scores of people in the tall grass. Some were living, some were dead, some would be arrested, some would do anything in order to survive, and one was in the forest, running toward the blue mountains. Ava looked out to where her maker had disappeared. She saw the souls of the lost in the trees, side by side with the angels. She saw the future, but the future could change at the angels’ commands.

  “We must hope for the best,” she told the girl.

  She might have said more if she’d had the freedom to speak her mind, but in her formation she hadn’t been given the choice to confide what she felt. If she could do so there would have been much she would have said: how green the verdant countryside was, how bright the light had become, how grateful she was to her maker each and every minute, how the birds in the treetops could be heard even when the train rumbled by, how the first of the season’s bees hit against the windowpanes as if searching for flowers, how absolutely marvelous it was to be in the world.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IN ANOTHER COUNTRY

  PARIS, SPRING 1941

  THE FRENCH COUSINS LIVED IN a tall stucco house that had been in the family for three generations. There were two yellow brick chimneys, a wrought-iron fence, green shutters on every window, and an enormous garden, now in ruins. No one had time to take care of a garden, for there was no help and no money to pay the gardener, a fellow named Edgar, who had worked for the family for over a decade. France had declared war on Germany in September 1939, and by June 1940, the Germans had entered Paris. By that time two million Parisians had fled, and those who stayed saw the city grow dark and silent, with food shortages. Of the 150,000 Jews in Paris, a third were foreign refugees, but soon enough that number dropped by two thirds. Many people fled or were arrested. For those who remained, there was no fuel or coffee or soap or shoes, and the increasing fear and hatred of the Nazis was expressed behind closed shutters.

  This past winter the Lévis had been forced to cut down the lime trees to burn in the fireplace. There was no coal, and bundles of wood were no longer sold on the streets. Even in spring the world was surrounded by gloom. Markets were closed, people didn’t venture outside, parks were empty.

  The Lévis had not been among the hordes of people who left the city when a radio announcement was made by the government that accepted France’s collusion with Germany. The local politicians knew Professor André Lévi and made an allowance, permitting him to keep his house and go on with his work, which might be useful to the military. Many residents went west and south, many to Toulouse, where the archbishop, Monsignor Jules-Gérard Saliège, was one of the first Catholic priests to speak out against the treatment of foreign-born Jews. The government itself had moved to the center of France in the city of Vichy, which they promised would remain an unoccupied area. Yet people wondered what that freedom meant. Free to do as they were told? Newspapers were censored, a curfew was put down, and residents were lifted off the street and never seen again.

  For three generations, the Lévis had
never thought of themselves as anything but French. Their tall house had a fish pond and, until they had recently been cut down, the oldest lime trees in Paris, and was hidden away on a tiny street on the Left Bank. The third Monsieur Lévi, André, was a mathematician who had been a child prodigy in the field of rational numbers and algebraic geometry and for two decades had been an eminent professor at the École Polytechnique, until Jews were asked to leave. He thought the next few years under the Germans must be navigated as a maze would be, and at this he was expert. There was a small maze of hedges in the garden, and it was here the professor first taught his son Julien about spatial analysis. He had often brought him to the garden at the Château de Villandry, where a Renaissance maze signified the progression of life. He would blindfold Julien so that the boy could feel the geography and learn to visualize spatial relationships. In time Julien became astoundingly good at running the maze without stumbling over the hedges, excellent practice for a mathematician who must be willing to believe there is a logic to all things.

  In his everyday life, André Lévi continued to think of number theory, the study of whole numbers that traced back to the Babylonians. His special professional interest was the speed with which the universe was expanding, in part by refining the use of Cepheid stars as yardsticks. For him the world was divided, and because of this he often didn’t see human beings, not even those he knew intimately, whether they were his wife or his two sons, Julien and Victor, or the young housemaid, Marianne. Professor Lévi had managed to keep the house by paying off a local magistrate. Each week more of their belongings were sold in order to do so, first the paintings off the walls, then silverware from the table, then the cameos in Madame Claire’s mirrored jewelry box.