Without a Country Read online

  “Don’t worry, dear. Nothing will happen to us.”

  His words rang hollow, even to himself. Not so very long ago, he hadn’t hesitated to sound off at the bar after his third beer, had thought nothing of sitting in the university cafeteria with a colleague reading an opposition newspaper, and hadn’t been afraid to warn a National Socialist student to check his politics at the laboratory door. But now he was scared. As scared as a rabbit being chased by wild dogs. Was this what life would be like from now on?

  “It’s all my fault,” Elsa had said. “I wanted to move here.”

  He put his arm around her shoulder and led her to the bedroom.

  “Don’t be silly. We’ll forget all about it by tomorrow.”

  But the fear continued to gnaw at him. He kept bracing himself for a knock on the door, suffered restless nights punctuated by vivid nightmares, and woke up each morning exhausted and anxious. And yet, a normal, happy sight, like that squirrel nibbling at an apple core on the green lawn, could still lift his spirits.

  Spring was on its way. Trees would be in flower before the week was out, transforming the university gardens into a paradise. He should think about good things, and then good things would come. Any day now, he would be named chair of the pathology department. The current head, Herman, had already tendered his resignation and would be leaving at the end of the month for a new life in America. Everyone knew Gerhard had been recommended as his replacement, so he should be thinking about—

  “Oh!” he exclaimed at the touch of a hand on his arm.

  “Gerhard, did I scare you?”

  “Ah, Rudolf, it’s you. No, I was just thinking,” he said to his colleague. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Come with me for a moment.”

  Slipping his arm through Gerhard’s, Rudolf led him under a chestnut tree, cast a quick glance around, and whispered in his ear. “Gerhard, get out of here. Right now. I found something out at dinner last night. My brother-in-law’s a policeman. You know him. We’ve played tennis together. Anyway, he’d had a few drinks when he let it slip that they’re planning detentions at the university today. If I were you, I’d get my wife and kids and go to another city, or even abroad, if you possibly can.”

  “What are you talking about? Are you sure?”

  “Remember that department meeting Herbert called, the one about organizing against the suspension of constitutional protections?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you sign the petition?”

  “Yes, of course I signed it. Most of us did.”

  “I missed that meeting, so I never signed. Everyone who did is about to . . .”

  “About to what?”

  “They’re all getting rounded up today.”

  “Did your brother-in-law name names?”

  “No, he didn’t. But when I ran a few by him, he just glared at me. Don’t lose any time, my friend. This is serious. You need to get out of here as fast as you can. And I need to hurry and warn some of our other colleagues.”

  Gerhard stood stock-still for a moment, watching as Rudolf rushed off. He broke into a sweat. Then he clutched at the nearest branch and bent over, the boiled egg he’d had for breakfast coming back up. Pulling himself together, he ran to his office. The first thing he did was reach for the telephone to inquire about trains to Switzerland, but he jerked his hand back as though from a flame. What if someone was listening in? He pulled a sheet of paper out of his drawer, scribbled a quick note, sealed it in an envelope, and called for a clerk. He handed the envelope to the man, along with a small tip.

  “I’ve just realized that I forgot a file at home this morning, the one with my exam questions. You know the address, Helmut. Could you hop on your bicycle and fetch it before Frau Schliemann goes out to the market? Take this note telling her where to find the file. Be quick about it, please. I need those questions before my class starts.”

  As the clerk hurried away, Gerhard shouted out after him, “If I’m not in my office when you get back, leave it on my desk.”

  Gerhard turned to the papers on his desk, selected his most recent research notes, placed them in his briefcase, and left the building. Walking briskly in the opposite direction to the one Helmut had taken, he reached the street and hailed a cab. Once he was settled with his briefcase on the seat next to him, he gave the driver the address of a bank. If he withdrew everything in his account, would it attract attention? It would be prudent to withdraw only enough for the journey. Not that he had much in his account to begin with.

  He told the bank teller that his mother-in-law had fallen ill, so he had decided to send his wife for a visit, and, depending on hospital costs, he might be back in a few days to withdraw more. He noticed the teller seemed a bit taken aback by this unsolicited chatter, and he shut his mouth.

  When Gerhard came out of the bank, a streetcar had just pulled up. He jumped on it, questions swirling in his head all the way back to campus. Could this be an elaborate ruse hatched by someone who coveted the chairmanship of the pathology department? No, that was ludicrous. But what if Rudolf was mistaken, and it was just a baseless rumor? If Gerhard rushed off in a panic only to slink back a few days later, he would become a laughingstock. How could he be certain? But better a laughingstock than to endanger his family. The prudent course was to leave at once, knowing he could always return if no arrests were made. Elsa would get to visit her parents, and they would be delighted to see their grandchildren. Yes, there was no harm in claiming that his mother-in-law had suddenly taken ill.

  The envelope containing his passport was on the desk when he got back to his office. He slipped it into his inner jacket pocket. He gathered up more of his research and, briefcase in hand, went to get his coat from the hook behind the door. But his coat wasn’t there. Could someone have taken it? His hands turned clammy, and he wiped sweat from his brow. He was searching desperately when he came face-to-face with his reflection in the glass door. He was wearing the coat. Gerhard left his office, made certain the door was closed behind him, took the stairs two and three at a time, and scurried toward the main gate. Eyes on the ground and without glancing at the guard in the sentry hut, he dashed out into the street and hailed the cab rounding the corner.

  “The train station,” he told the driver, and collapsed into the backseat. His heart still racing, he closed his eyes and tried to remember the prayer his mother had made him say at bedtime every night.

  “May the angel who redeems from all harm bless the children . . .” He couldn’t remember the rest. Would God protect those who prayed only in times of need?

  A traffic cop stopped the cab to let a squad of SA troopers pass. Gerhard thought he heard the driver mutter an expletive. He would have liked to join in, but restrained himself.

  The train station was crawling with police. Gerhard stalled for a few moments, slowly counting out coins to pay his cab fare. But he had to go through that entrance sooner or later. Looking straight ahead, he nonchalantly strolled past the policemen, even pausing to reach into his coat pocket, pull out his cigarette case, and stick a cigarette between his lips. He considered asking for a light, but decided not to push his luck. Once he was safely inside the yawning space of the hall, he lit a match. His hands were trembling, and he shook his head in disbelief. Here he was, quaking in fear, just seconds after imagining himself audaciously asking a policeman for a light. It reminded him of how, when he was young, he would nearly wet himself in fear while on the high branches of the trees in his grandfather’s garden, but he’d nonetheless keep climbing to the top.

  After a few soothing drags on his cigarette, he glanced around the neoclassical hall as though seeing it for the first time. So many details were missed in the bustle of daily life. In all his previous visits to the station, he’d been either rushing to catch a train or completely preoccupied with the children and his family’s suitcases.

  Today, the cigarette dangling from his lips, he looked up at the iron-and-g
lass ceiling and down at the gleaming floor. There were long lines in front of the ticket counters. When it was his turn, he calmly asked for a seat on the next train to Zurich.

  “There’s a nonstop departing in an hour,” the clerk said, “and then another one in the evening, but that one has a connection.”

  “The next one, like I said. The one leaving in an hour.”

  “Would that be first class, sir?”

  Gerhard hesitated, but this was no time to fritter away money on luxuries.

  “Second class,” he said. “One way.”

  Putting his ticket in his pocket, he quickly walked over to his platform. The train hadn’t pulled in yet, and there were only a few people waiting. Could that woman with a child in her arms be Elsa? No, Elsa didn’t own a green coat. A little boy was running toward him, his hair a shock of corn silk, but it wasn’t Peter. He walked along the platform and entered the waiting area. The only person there was an old woman hunched over her knitting. He paced the length of the platform, back and forth, dozens of times. Every so often, he’d walk over to check at the main entrance and the ticket counters. The platform grew increasingly crowded, but there was still no sign of his wife and children. The minutes grew shorter, and he seemed to feel each tick and tock of the enormous clock suspended from the middle of the vaulted ceiling.

  Calm down, he told himself. You’ll be on the train soon. Calm down. You’ll be safe.

  But what was taking Elsa so long? What if they missed the train? They should have been here by now. Then came the horrifyingly familiar sound of heavy boots. He instinctively headed for the shelter of the waiting area. The old woman was gone, replaced by a rowdy group of students. After a moment, Gerhard peered outside. Swarming the platform in their hobnail boots, lederhosen, and feathered alpine hats was a contingent of Bavarian tourists. He’d been spooked over nothing.

  He went over and gazed up at the train bulletin again, even though he had long since memorized that day’s two scheduled departures for Zurich. He went back to the platform.

  Why wasn’t his train here yet?

  At that very moment, the ghostly, cool wind rushed against his face, heralding the approach of a train. He grabbed his ticket, and, as he was rechecking his carriage number, the train rounded the bend, belched a puff of coal smoke, and shuddered to a screeching halt. The platform started bustling. Gerhard anxiously waited for all the passengers to disembark. He had barely clambered into his carriage when someone called out from below.

  “Excuse me, sir. Hey, you!”

  He had a split second to decide. Should he pretend not to hear, continue into the carriage, and hide in the restroom?

  He turned and looked.

  An elderly man was holding up a boy of about three or four. Gerhard took the boy, set him down, and offered a hand to the man.

  “These steps are so high,” the man said with a bashful smile as Gerhard hoisted him aboard.

  The pair headed down the aisle in search of their seats, and Gerhard was grateful when the boisterous child ducked into a different compartment. In his, a young man and a middle-aged woman had already taken their seats. Gerhard placed his briefcase and coat on the luggage rack, then began roaming the train in search of his wife and children.

  They were nowhere to be found in second class.

  He got off the train and ran to the first-class carriage. The conductor stopped him and asked for his ticket. Gerhard’s stammered explanation was rejected. Giving up, he walked along the platform, scanning the windows on both sides. They weren’t in first class either.

  Defeated, he reclaimed his seat and pressed his face against the glass, doing some rough calculations in his head. Unlike him, Elsa wouldn’t have been able to head straight for the station. Only after waking their baby, changing her diaper, dressing her, and feeding her would Elsa have been able to go pull Peter out of school. Then she would be held up by a dozen inquisitive teachers and administrators. What scared him most was the thought of his wife packing her bag. She’d agonize over what to take. When they’d moved to Frankfurt, she’d insisted on bringing a bulky hatbox of old letters. What if she’d refused to leave it behind again? He moaned in frustration, provoking a startled stare from the lady next to him. He knew his wife. She’d arrive late, dragging that hatbox and God knows what other sentimental nonsense.

  The steam whistle sounded. He stood up, opened the window, and leaned out for one last look at the platform.

  “Please close the window,” someone said. “It’s windy.”

  Gerhard shut the window and sat down. He didn’t recognize any of the stragglers hustling past his window. His wife and children were not on this train. He was sure of it.

  What if the police, having failed to find him, had taken Elsa to headquarters?

  What if they turned her back at the border?

  What if he never saw his wife and children again?

  His plan had seemed so reasonable that morning, but now he wondered how he could have ever left them behind. He imagined the worst: Elsa’s interrogation.

  What would she do if they said, “Confess! You were one of the agitators behind the arson, weren’t you?” She wouldn’t know what they were talking about. Her left eye would twitch; her hands would tremble. “Agitators?” she’d say. “Arson?”

  That ominous fire had been a turning point. Gerhard had heard so many accounts and seen so many photos that he felt like he’d been there.

  It had happened less than a month ago. Not long after nine in the evening, a passerby heard breaking glass. Shortly afterward, flames shot up inside the Reichstag. The German parliament building was left in smoking ruins.

  When Hitler had arrived at the scene, Goebbels, his minister of propaganda and the man who purportedly said, “If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it,” was watching the blaze.

  The Nazis now had the lie they needed to crush the Communist Party and consolidate power. Civil liberties were suspended, and the reign of terror began. Hitler seemed unstoppable.

  Gerhard sighed. Days earlier, he had listened to Hitler’s speech on the radio. That voice shaking with rage was still ringing in his ears:

  “The honor of the nation, the honor of our army, and the ideal of freedom—all must once more become sacred to the German Volk! The German Volk wishes to live in peace with the world.”

  He pressed his hands against his ears and flushed in shame as he remembered his reaction when poet and playwright Bertolt Brecht fled with his family to Denmark shortly after Hitler took power. He’d criticized Brecht for abandoning his country and scolded Elsa for overreacting to the Nazis’ thirst for power, warning her to hold her tongue before it got them into trouble. Yet here he was, fearful and jittery, on a train bound for Switzerland, with no idea where his wife and children were.

  Gerhard was furious with himself. How could he have deluded himself into thinking things would be okay? The Nazis had just opened a camp to hold all their political prisoners, and surely things wouldn’t stop there.

  How foolish and how human, he thought, to believe that trouble will never come calling, right up until it knocks on your own door.

  Farewell, Homeland

  After crossing the Swiss border without incident, Gerhard leaned back, closed his eyes, and surrendered to the gentle rocking of the train. But whenever he managed to nod off, he was jolted awake by nightmares or by the train’s frequent stops.

  As the train finally approached Zurich sometime after midnight, Gerhard suddenly realized that Elsa’s parents had no idea they were coming. He decided he’d better call from the station. The doorbell might not rouse them, but a ringing telephone should.

  Once he was off the train, he realized that he had neither a phone token nor the Swiss currency to purchase one. None of the exchange bureaus were open this late, either. He dashed back to the platform and found a conductor. Explaining that he needed to make a call, Gerhard opened his wallet to demonstrate the currency pro
blem.

  “You’re in luck,” the conductor said, reaching in to snatch a couple of bills with one hand as he produced a single token with the other. “I always keep a few in my pocket for this very reason. Nothing wrong with making a bit of a profit as we help others out, now is there? Our wages don’t go very far these days, you know.”

  Gerhard smiled his thanks while inwardly cursing the man’s greed. He ran to a phone booth, pulled a small notebook out of his bag, and found his in-laws’ number. After the fourth ring, his father-in-law picked up, his voice going from confused to alarmed when he realized who was calling. Gerhard spoke in reassuring tones.

  “I’m in a phone booth at the train station here in Zurich. I’m sorry I woke you up. I left Frankfurt in such a hurry that I didn’t have a chance to call . . . Yes, that’s right. I’m in Zurich . . . Don’t worry, they’re fine. They’re coming on the next train . . . I’ll explain everything when I get there . . . I only have one token, and it’s about to run out. See you soon.”

  He ran out to the taxi stand. At least there wasn’t a line at this hour. As the cab sped through the empty streets, he wondered how to explain why he had left Elsa and the children behind.

  There was nothing to do but tell the truth.

  He’d feared for his life.

  Anyway, Elsa would be on the next train. There was no reason to panic. The fascists were coming after men; they didn’t bother with women who didn’t hold an important position of some kind. Ever since Peter was born, Elsa had devoted herself to domestic duties. Nobody could claim she was competing for work with Aryan women. And as for Susy and Peter, they were children. Not even Nazis could take issue with children.

  Less than half an hour later, Gerhard was sitting in the Hindbergs’ kitchen, munching away on a slice of apricot jam–slathered toast to quiet his grumbling belly.

  “I still don’t understand how you left Elsa and the children behind,” his mother-in-law was saying. “I wish you’d all come together.”

  “I thought they’d catch the train I was on.”