“Hitler was looking for an excuse,” Hermann said, his bottom lip quivering, “and the Grynszpan boy has given him the perfect excuse.”
Wagner nodded. “They’re talking about bringing him back to Germany to make an example of him, whatever that means.”
Jacob had a good idea what it meant. His father looked like he’d aged ten years in the past few seconds. “Let’s go home,” Jacob said. “There’s no sense in staying in the cold.”
Wagner nodded and walked solemnly off in the opposite direction. Jacob and his father set off along the cobblestoned street, all the shop windows now dark. They passed the Berliner Gasthaus, one of the few places where light shone from behind the windows. A few tables were occupied, the people enjoying simple suppers of sausage and bread.
“I’m worried about Goebbels,” Jacob said, breaking the silence. “Do you think this means they’ll make us close the pharmacy?”
Hermann shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s no telling what they’ll do. We’ve been lucky to stay open so far, I guess.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see what happens the next few days,” Hermann continued. “There’s not much we can do about it.”
They walked home in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
Jacob’s mother always made sure there was a hearty meal waiting for her men at the end of the day. Elsa Kagan cleared the empty plates from the table, and Jacob followed to help her wash the dishes in the small kitchen.
The Kagans lived in a modest house that had been in the family for generations, and while they could certainly afford to move to a larger home, they preferred to stay in Kreuzberg. Elsa always said the house had the sort of character which couldn’t be bought. Jacob agreed; there were so many memories here that he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
“Just hand me those, Mama.”
Jacob rinsed the plates before plunging them into the scalding water. His mother joined him at the sink and started drying the dishes while Hermann sat down with a newspaper and switched on the radio. Goebbels’ voice boomed from the speakers.
“I hope they keep him there,” Elsa said. “Who knows what will happen if he’s handed over to the Nazis. I doubt there will be a trial at all.”
Goebbels was calling for reprisals after the assassination of Ernst vom Rath and added that the German government demanded the extradition of Herschel Grynzspan from France.
“He’d probably receive a one-way trip to an SS basement,” Jacob said. Rumors about the makeshift prison under the SS headquarters circulated Berlin, those unfortunate enough to earn an unsolicited invitation were never heard of again.
“It’s such a shame. The boy must’ve been so desperate to do what he did,” Elsa said, placing the dry plates in a cupboard.
Jacob drained the water and dried his hands with a small towel. “This gives the Nazis more incentive to blame all of us, even though we had nothing to do with it.”
He put the towel down and yawned. “I’m going to go upstairs and study a bit.”
Hermann smiled. “I should have the exam for you next week.”
Jacob stopped. “Herr Lughart at the university came through?”
“He did. He’s smuggling the latest exam out for you.”
Jacob saw his mother smile. Even though he wouldn’t be able to formally take the exam, this was as good as it got these days.
“I’ll be ready, although this first book is quite tough,” Jacob said as he bound up the stairs with a spring in his step. He closed the door to his room. He wasn’t just going to be ready; he planned to ace the exam.
Jacob awoke in the middle of the night. It was dark, and it felt like he’d slept for only a few minutes. His eyes needed a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. He squinted at his watch on the bedside table—one in the morning.
He switched on the night light and got out of bed. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he felt his senses switch on. He heard angry voices outside and smelled smoke. He quickly dressed and opened his bedroom door. His father stood in his nightclothes in the hallway, a surprised look on his face.
“What’s going on, Jaco? Is there some kind of protest outside?”
“I don’t know, but I smell smoke.”
Jacob raced down the stairs and looked out into the street. A dozen or so people stood outside, the small bakery across the street was ablaze. Angry bursts of fire shot from the bakery window, smoke billowing from all sides of the building.
Hermann appeared next to Jacob. “Oh no! Midas must’ve had an accident. Let’s help him put out the fire.” He went for the door before Jacob stopped him.
“Wait,” Jacob said, a hand on his father’s arm. “Look at the people around the bakery.”
Their neighbor was frantically pleading with the growing crowd to help him fight the fire. The people didn’t move as the baker rushed between his burning bakery and a well, carrying a small bucket. It was useless; the fire had engulfed the shop.
“It doesn’t look like an accident,” Jacob said.
One of the men said something to Midas, prompting a chorus of laughter from the others. Midas looked distraught and ceased his attempts to put out the fire. The crowd stood by idly as the flames consumed the building.
“We can’t just stand here and do nothing,” Hermann said, opening the door to the street. Jacob followed him, and they rushed toward their neighbor.
A few paces down the street, a jewelry store had its front window smashed, and several looters were running away, dropping necklaces as they went.
On the other side of the road, two men doused the front of a small butcher shop in gasoline while another man held a blazing torch. The men stepped away from the shop window, throwing the now-empty jerry can on the ground. The man with the torch casually lobbed it at the window, and the fire roared to life with a loud whoosh—the butchers was engulfed in flames within seconds.
Jacob looked around, their peaceful street transformed into a war zone.
What’s wrong with these people?
“They’re targeting Jewish businesses!” Hermann said, fear rising in his voice.
Papa is right, but what about—“I’ll check on the pharmacy,” Jacob said, rushing back to their home to grab the keys from just inside the door. “You stay here with Mama and don’t go anywhere. Lock the doors!”
His father nodded and disappeared back inside the house.
Jacob ran down the street, reaching the intersection with the larger Gitschiner Straße. The mayhem was even worse here, with half the buildings on fire. A large man took a loose stone from the street and launched it at a shop window. The window exploded into a thousand pieces. Further down the street, a group of firemen stood working a large hose. Jacob was relieved; maybe they could salvage some of the damage?
As he got closer, he overheard who he assumed was the owner of the store, pleading with the firemen.
“But my building is burning down. Please help me!”
“I’m sorry, we can’t,” one of the firemen said. “We’re only here to make sure it doesn’t spread.”
The plumes of smoke increased, obscuring the view of the surrounding buildings as pieces of stone crumbled down haphazardly.