The next morning it was raining heavily. Emil, Karl, and Matilda’s sister-in-law walked under a large umbrella. The umbrella had a few holes in it, and raindrops kept landing on the back of Emil’s neck. No matter where he moved, a drop managed to find him.
Karl began to shiver. He still had no coat to wear. Matilda’s sister-in-law had wrapped a white scarf around his throat, but he still felt cold. The woman said nothing, and neither did Emil or Karl.
Everything had happened so quickly since the night before. Emil was unable to tie it all together. He couldn’t remember when he’d gone to sleep, or even when he’d undressed. Nor could he recall when he’d awoken. He felt as if he were still dreaming, and only the drops of rain falling on his neck every now and then kept him awake.
Quietly he asked Karl if he remembered when Matilda had left, but Karl could only remember that he’d heard her talking to her sister-in-law at night, when he was already in bed. He’d heard her talking about Hans’s arrest. He’d even heard Matilda’s sister-in-law say that they would execute Hans for sure. That was all Karl remembered. He’d been so tired that when the woman woke him he thought he hadn’t been asleep for more than a minute.
Matilda’s sister-in-law bent over, still holding the umbrella, and warned them that it would be better if they didn’t talk, so as not to attract any attention.
Emil and Karl walked along unfamiliar streets. The houses were drenched with the rain, the horses were soaking wet, people looked angry and tense.
Cars raced by and splashed through streams of water. Policemen, their raincoats soaking wet, stood impatiently, directing traffic. Everywhere children who were late hurried off to school.
When Emil saw these children, he let out a deep sigh. Karl knew at once what his friend was feeling. Those children were happy. They tramped through puddles of dirty water with their galoshes.
Matilda’s sister-in-law turned down a small alley. It seemed as though the little street had no space in the middle. The walls on either side almost touched each other. The woman walked up a short flight of iron steps. When she opened the door, Emil and Karl were amazed at what they saw.
There, in a large, dark hall, sat more children than they could count. They sat on long benches and held little bowls on their laps, eating silently. The boys sat separately from the girls.
Immediately Matilda’s sister-in-law turned Emil and Karl over to one of the women who supervised the children. She squeezed the two of them onto a crowded bench and served them hot soup and pieces of bread.
“Do we have milk today?” Matilda’s sister-in-law asked, in a dry voice.
“Maybe we’ll get some later,” the supervisor answered. “There isn’t any just now.” Matilda’s sister-in-law took off her coat, put on a pair of glasses, and sat down at a small table.
The windows were covered with rags and old blankets. Only a few small lamps burned in the large hall. This gave it an inhospitable feeling and caused everyone in there to shiver, as if they were outside in the rain. The silence was broken occasionally by sobbing. The younger children cried loudly, and the women who distributed the soup could barely comfort them.
Four or five women opened the door quietly, but Matilda’s sister-in-law jumped up right away and stopped them at the entrance.
“Ladies, please, you must leave, we can’t make any exceptions. You know our situation.”
The women asked if they could at least have one last look at their children.
“We can’t, it’s not permitted, we mustn’t have any scenes. You can see your children at exactly twelve-thirty, at the train.” And with that she forced them out of the room.
“I’ve told you a thousand times that we can’t allow any mothers inside,” she said sternly to the supervisors. “Our entire office could be shut down. You know the rules just as well as I do.”
When the children finished eating, Matilda’s sister-in-law told them all to remain sitting in their places. She stationed herself in the middle of the room and explained to the children that in a few hours they would be leaving Vienna for good. Calmly she explained that before the train would leave, those children who have parents would probably be able to see their mothers and fathers at the station. The children leaving today would be going to England.
Emil felt cold and then warm at the thought that he was leaving Vienna. He wished he were already at the train. He thought that perhaps his mother might somehow come to say good-bye to him at the station.
Karl wanted to say something, but he felt that Matilda’s sister-in-law was looking at him from behind her glasses.
“You mustn’t cry. Those who feel like crying can remain here. In an hour you’ll go by bus to the train station. If you have any friends here, we advise you to write notes to each other. It often happens that good friends get sent to different cities, even different countries. So it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you wrote each other a few words now.”
Once more it seemed to Karl that the woman was looking at him and Emil. The supervisors gave out pencils and pieces of paper, and many of the children started writing notes.
“But there’s no way that they’ll separate us,” said Emil.
“No way at all,” Karl responded firmly. “I’ll hold onto your sleeve, and I won’t let go. We’ll stick together.”
“Should we write each other a letter?”
“I guess so,” said Karl, and he picked up a pencil.
As soon as he held the pencil in his hand, Karl was overcome with happiness, and he started writing:
Dear Emil,
We’ll never let anyone separate us. We’ll be friends forever.
Your dear friend,
Karl
He held the letter for a while and then turned to give it to Emil. But Emil was still bent over his piece of paper. Tears ran down from his eyes—such big tears that the brittle piece of paper was stained with spots.
“I can’t write any more, I can’t,” he said to Karl, and he gave him the letter, in which he had written only the first few words:
To my only friend, Karl.
I
But the words were spotted with tears, and after the word “I” there were so many stains that the piece of paper was wet.
Now Karl didn’t feel ready to hand over his letter. He wanted to cover it with tears, too, but his eyes felt dry and hard.
Matilda’s sister-in-law raised an old blanket that hung over the window and called out, “We’re leaving!”