CHAPTER THREE

Imprints of the child’s nose, mouth, and hands were on the window. “Mamma, Mamma, Mamma,” she whispered, her breath forming little clouds on the glass. There were no tears, just big eyes peering out into the darkening sky.

Three hours had passed since her mother had been taken away. Lars checked on her often. That is to say, he looked at her often. What should he say? An apple sat in her lap. “Would you not like to eat your apple?” he asked. She said nothing. He offered her part of his lunch, a pickled egg. She nodded politely, then nibbled on it like a little rabbit.

The tram pulled into the depot. Despite being very fussy about the state of their tram—they took great care with the sweeping, polishing, and checking of the electrics—Hans and Lars completed their duties in record time.

The child sat in her seat, holding the apple, swallowing hard over and over. Hans and Lars stood by the tram’s controls and considered. Lars might have taken this time to ask the child if she had any family. Was there some place they could take her? Perhaps a father, brother, sister, or grandparent awaited her return? He could have asked these questions, and more, but he did not. He remained locked in shock.

Hans might reasonably have used this moment to be angry with his brother for being so foolish as to challenge a Nazi soldier, but it did not occur to him. Never, not even when they were boys, had they said a cross word to each other.

They had put off the decision long enough. Lars took a deep breath and spoke in a low, quiet voice. “What should we do?”

Hans had been thinking about this for some time. “We could take her to the Lost and Found Department,” he whispered. For a moment they both breathed a sigh of relief, until Lars asked, “Do they take people?” Neither knew the answer. What did it matter? The Lost and Found was closed.

And then a new idea. “We shall take her to Mrs. Vos!” suggested Lars.

“Yes! Mrs. Vos will know what to do,” Hans agreed.

They immediately cheered up. Mrs. Vos had been born in the minty-green house across the road from their own little house, eighty years ago. She had been married. Alas, within days of their marriage, her husband had promptly caught influenza and died. She had no children of her own, but she was once a girl, and that had to count for something!

Lars said to the child, “Come, now. We are at the end of the line.” She looked terribly hot to him, rather sweaty, which was curious given that there was a chill in the air.

The little girl, who had yet to say a word, slid out of the seat, followed Lars, and stepped down out of the tram onto the cement floor of the tram depot. Weary-looking trams lined the dark tracks. She gazed up to bald, dim lights hanging from a vaulted ceiling. Her eyes widened, her lips quivered, she crossed her legs. This was a scary place.

Hans and Lars walked out of the depot fully expecting the child to follow, which she did not. Instead she stood still, legs still crossed. Lars and Hans shuffled back toward the girl.

“We have to leave now,” Hans said, gently.

“I have to go pee-pee,” she whispered.

Pee-pee? They thought for a moment. Ah! Yes. Of course they knew where the women’s toilet was—hadn’t they directed thousands, perhaps millions, there over the many decades? They had just never been there.

“It’s down that hallway,” whispered Lars.

“Yes, I know,” Hans whispered back, although there was no need to whisper. There were no more than a dozen or so people milling about the entire depot. And so the three set off down the hall.

They stood at the door. “It’s in there,” said Lars. He pointed.

The child didn’t move.

Both men shifted on their feet. “Shall I hold your apple?” asked Lars.

The child considered. She searched his face with two big brown eyes as if trying to see inside him. And then she gave it to him. “It’s for my mamma, when she comes back,” she said solemnly. Lars nodded and put it in his pocket. Still, the child pondered.

“Can you go in by yourself?” asked Hans. What would they do if she said no?

“Mamma doesn’t let me go into a public toilet alone,” said the child.

What to do? “Men are not allowed in there,” whispered Lars. They were close to panicking.

“Can I help?” A glamorous woman wearing a fur collar, high-heeled shoes, and startling red lipstick stopped and gazed at the three. She looked amused.

“Our… niece… needs to… and we…” Lars stumbled over every word.

The woman laughed. “Come along, sweetheart.” She held out her hand. It was only when the toilet door closed that both men realized that the woman spoke Dutch with a German accent.

Hans slumped against the wall. Lars dabbed his forehead with a large handkerchief. They waited, and waited. The child and woman finally emerged, both smiling.

“Enjoy your evening, Beatrix,” she said.

Beatrix?

“Thank you,” said Beatrix.

“You are very welcome, my dear.” She beamed at Beatrix, then turned and faced the brothers. “Your niece is a delightful child, such a pretty face. But I do believe she may be coming down with something. She seems hot.” The woman placed the back of her hand on the child’s forehead. And with those words the woman glided down the hallway and took the arm of a man dressed in black.

Sweat beaded on Lars’s forehead. Hans took in a deep, halting breath. The color drained from their faces. The man was wearing the uniform of an SS officer.

“Come… Beatrix.” Lars motioned to the child. The three left the station.

Hans and Lars came to a large street, waited for the traffic signal to turn green, and started out. They were midway across the intersection when Lars turned around. Beatrix had stopped on the curb.

“Hans, Hans!” Lars hustled back to the child. Hans quickly followed. “What is wrong?” Lars asked Beatrix. She whispered something that neither could hear. Lars and Hans bent down.

Beatrix stood on tiptoes. “I’m too little to cross a busy street by myself.”

Hans and Lars shared a glance. What to do? They stood on the street corner, confused and befuddled. It was Beatrix who solved the problem. She stepped between Hans and Lars, reached up, and slipped her hands into theirs. For the first time in their lives Lars and Hans felt a small, warm hand holding their own. To Lars it was as if the curl of a wave had come to rest in his palm. To Hans it felt as if the gentlest creature on earth—a baby bird, perhaps—had nestled in his hand. In that moment both felt the intense pride that comes with great responsibility as they guided the child safely across the street.