He would talk again to Ingrid. She would listen. After all, he was her uncle. He would explain about the danger in the simplest of terms. He would make her see. He had to make her see. Poor Ingrid with her simple, gullible ways. All she really wanted was to be loved. No wonder the striking officers with their slick boots and glossy propaganda had lured her. She was easy prey for evil.
A blast of frigid air moved through the kitchen, lifting the corners of a pile of student papers stacked on his table. It ruffled his hair, causing him to shiver. Then Mrs. Epstein’s music began. Its familiar presence pacifying him like a child hearing a favored lullaby. He opened his eyes, and tears brimmed for the beauty of the music that filled his kitchen and gave him hope. It was a tune she’d been practicing for weeks, he didn’t know it, but the notes were soothing and lyrical, rocking and comforting him. As he absorbed the music, a wave of reassurance flowed over him. It would be all right; it had to be.
All at once, sharp claws extended and retracted through the thick woolen fabric of his trousers, and he couldn’t help but smile at the expectant, purring gray head. He reached down to pick up Kat.
“I guess you are hungry, my friend.”
Slowly, he moved about the kitchen as the music turned his soul from night to day, hopelessness to quiet strength. He placed food in Kat’s bowl then made himself a cup of tea. By the time Mrs. Epstein had moved on to Beethoven, he had settled in his chair by the window as the gentle strains surrounded him once more. He closed his eyes again, his heart and senses smoothed to an even keel.
Chapter 5
Professor Held observed his diminished classroom. So many empty desks. How was it that so many people were now unacceptable to the Nazis? He thought of some of the students who were now gone, good students, quiet, pensive souls who had only wanted to learn. What was so threatening to the Third Reich about someone wanting to understand the fundamentals of calculus? What terrible threat could a young person educated in adding and subtracting be to the world?
He thought of Michael Blum. Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out Michael’s assignment, carefully smoothed it out and puzzled over the poem he’d transcribed, which was about a powerful animal being kept behind bars. In that instant, something in Rilke’s words struck a chord in him—after many years of feeling trapped in his own emotional cage, he found himself understanding the plight of this panther Rilke had written about.
He placed the paper back in the spot where the book had been and closed the drawer. He wasn’t sure why he had kept it. Perhaps some vague hope of satisfaction that would arise from giving it back to the student when this was all over, when everything was back to normal and the assignment could be finished. Somehow that appealed to him, being able to make things right in his own world. He closed the drawer and looked out once again at the empty desks. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes, then carefully replaced the glasses, and cleared his throat.
“Class dismissed.”
The classroom emptied, and the room fell silent. There was a gentle knocking at his door, and he thought that maybe one of his students had forgotten a math book or pencil, but was surprised instead to see Hannah Pender hovering in the doorway. He beckoned her to enter.
She strode into the room, and once again he was struck by her beauty, her dark hair had recently been cut into a new shorter style and it emphasized the loveliness of her blue eyes. As she entered, he was quite captivated by their color and realized he had not looked into a woman’s eyes in a very long time. He stood respectfully to greet her and there was that scent again. Definitely lilacs.
“Professor.”
“Mrs. Pender.” He noted his voice sounded strange, almost high-pitched and shrill. He coughed to clear it and disguise his discomfort.
She hesitated for a few seconds, as she weighed her words before she spoke.
“I believe you have a wireless.”
Held drew himself up to his full height before answering. “Yes, why?”
Hannah shifted her weight her eyes cast downwards. “We have been ordered to collect all wirelesses.”
For a second Held was speechless. “Ordered?”
“By the Third Reich.”
Held continued to stare. “Why do they need my wireless?”
Nervously Hannah smoothed her skirt with her hands. There was an intense moment between them as their eyes met and he tried to process the information and the implications of giving up something so precious to him. He noted she looked—or perhaps was pretending to look—just as sad to be asking.
Hannah continued, “I’m sorry.”
Slowly, he walked to the back of the classroom. His hands shook as he found the appropriate key, not only with what she was asking of him but also with the encounter; he reminded himself she was a married woman.
Turning the key in the lock, sadness struck him. Opening this one door had always been preceded by joyous expectancy until now. He pulled it open and lifted out the wireless. He could smell its polished wood as he carried it to Hannah and placed it in her expectant arms.
As he handed it over their hands grazed each other momentarily and he tried not to think about it as she started to apologize again. “I know how much your wireless means to you.”
He shook his head, unable to speak. Unwilling to connect with the pain of losing his wireless, and thrown off balance by the softness of her skin brushing his and how aware he seemed of her.
He turned quickly, walking to his desk, and sitting down, he pretended to be busy marking papers.
Hannah followed him and appeared to want to say more but seemed lost for words. She hovered above him nervously, that scent of spring flowers permeating his whole space. He glanced up and she gave him a reassuring smile. It was as if she wanted to say something more, but for whatever reason didn’t seem to have the courage. He looked back down and tried to focus all of his attention on his desk as she lingered a little longer than was necessary before finally leaving, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
As Held walked home that evening, he bought a bottle of wine with his groceries as he dwelled on his day. The loss was acute. He knew it was just a wireless, a thing, an object, but it was what it represented to him. Hadn’t the Nazis already taken so much? Their town, their way of life, their hope. Why was one more thing so important? They were already stripped and surrendered. What was the point of taking even more? And what would they do with his wireless? The sting of resentment coursed through him as he imagined it taking pride of place in some Nazi’s home or, worse, getting dusty on some German requisition shelf. What harm could come to Germany from a mathematics professor with a wireless tuned to a classical music station?
As he rounded the bend of his road, a German soldier approached and asked for his papers. For a second, he wondered if the officer had read his mind, sensing the seething anger he felt for that uniform right then. But the tired-looking soldier just inspected his papers as he waited, sickened by this day. He wanted to be home. After passing inspection, he walked to his door and thought of the bottle of red wine he carried in the cloth bag by his side. Not a regular wine drinker, he had decided he needed a glass or two this evening.
He was fumbling for the keys at his door when he heard a piercing scream coming from close by. Turning quickly on his heels, he could see nothing. Then, bursting through the hedge came his neighbor, Mrs. Epstein, clutching a pile of papers to her chest. The look of panic in her eyes was terrifying. Running straight up his steps toward him, she threw the whole weight of her body at him, grappling for his arms with her free hand. Held was frozen in terror. With her great fear of the outdoors, he had never seen her outside in the street before and knew that the situation had to be desperate in order for her to leave the safety of her home.