Kurt slipped out through the back door of the shop and made his way to the station. Carrying the suitcase Paul had brought, he looked like any travelling salesman. That is, he thought ruefully, until they open it and find nothing but a few crumpled clothes and some toiletries. Not the boiler suit or the tools. They had been left for Paul Schiller to dispose of. The precious passport was tucked safely into the inside pocket of Kurt’s jacket, worn beneath his new overcoat. Darkness had fallen and it was very cold, but for the first time in days Kurt felt warm as he strode along the streets to the station.
The train for Hamburg would pass through Kirnheim in less than ten minutes if it were on time, and that, thanks to Hitler, was something that could be relied on these days. Kurt had timed his arrival so that he would have the minimum time to spend standing on the platform waiting. As he showed his ticket at the barrier, he fought the urge to look round, giving the ticket collector a faint smile and then looking resolutely ahead of him, as if he had no reason in the world to wonder who was watching. The arrivals board told him that the train for Vienna was due about twenty minutes after his Hamburg train had left. Kurt could only pray that those who were hunting him would be concentrating their attention on that platform. Like many another, his scarf was wrapped high around his neck and his hat pulled low over his ears to keep out the cold, and there was very little of his face visible. If he were lucky he would be onto the train and away entirely unnoticed.
The Hamburg train arrived in a cloud of smoke and steam, rattling its way into the station and screeching to a halt beside the platform. Doors opened, people were disgorged onto the platform, and in the bustle of passengers coming and going, Kurt got into the train, found a seat, and opening the newspaper he’d bought outside the station, buried his head behind its pages. As the train drew out of the station, he allowed himself a glance through the window, and his heart froze. A dark-haired man, much of Kurt’s own height and build, was being hustled, protesting, along a parallel platform by two men in dark overcoats.
“Oh God,” Kurt prayed, “let him be able to prove he isn’t me!”
The train gathered speed, and for the time being there was nothing Kurt could do but sit back and go where it took him. He had no intention of going all the way to Hamburg, but he knew he had to stay on the train long enough to escape those looking for him.
It was late when they reached Nuremberg. Kurt had spent the journey considering all his options, but mostly thinking about what Paul Schiller had suggested he do. Make for Holland or England, not for Austria. He went over and over what Paul had said. Hitler will annex Austria. Austria will become part of Germany. It will be run by the Nazis. Laws which now subjugate the Jews in Germany will become law in Austria. “If you go to Austria, you will be trapped there,” Paul had said. Looking at everything unemotionally, there was a great deal of truth in what Paul had said, but Kurt could not look at everything unemotionally. He couldn’t just turn away from his family and run for safety; everything within him shrieked against it. How could he escape to Holland or England and leave them behind to be swallowed up into the new German Empire? Paul’s foreboding about Hitler’s intentions with regard to Austria made it all the more important that Kurt get to Vienna, and sooner rather than later. He had very little faith in English Jewish societies rescuing Jews from Austria, and certainly not Jews of his background. Those societies, no doubt very well intentioned, would work to bring out eminent Jews, educated and highly skilled Jews, not humble shopkeepers like him. Part of Kurt’s brain knew that Paul was right, it would help no one if he went to Vienna and was caught there. The other part urged him to get to Ruth as soon as he could. He didn’t know if Hitler really would try and annex Austria, but it would not surprise him; then Ruth and the children would be trapped again. Would they be of less interest to the Nazis if he were not with them? Maybe. Who could tell?
As the train chugged north, Kurt’s brain churned, his thoughts in turmoil as the plans he had made the night before now had to be completely reconsidered, and by the time he reached Nuremberg the only definite decision he had made was to get off the train and try and speak to Ruth.
He walked away from the station, and found a small hotel in a side street nearby. It had two bow windows that spilled yellow light out into the street, and the rooms beyond looked warm and inviting. Thanks to Paul Schiller he had plenty of money for now, and he thought that a public telephone in a hotel would be safe enough. To speak to his beloved Ruth, Kurt was prepared to take the risk.
He paused and looked around him. The narrow street was empty, though he could hear the traffic on the main road. No one was watching, no one was there to see him, so he took the plunge, walked up the steps to the front door and pushed it open. The lobby of the hotel was small, scarcely more than a passageway with a desk set into an alcove. A young woman sitting behind the desk looked up with a smile.
“Good evening, sir,” she said. “May I help you?”
“Yes, thank you,” Kurt responded with an answering smile. “I’d like a room for the night.”
“Certainly, sir. Just the one night?”
“Yes, thank you, I have a train to catch in the morning.”
“If you’d just fill in the registration card, please.” The girl handed him a card. It asked for his details, and Kurt knew a moment’s panic. Which name should he use? Best to use his own. He would also be asked for his identity card, and it had his true name and address on it… so he would have to risk putting those on the form; he had only a passport in Günter’s name.
When he had registered, the receptionist said, “Room 4 on the first floor.” Kurt thanked her, picked up his suitcase and asked, “Is there a public telephone I can use?”
“Certainly, sir. Just down the corridor.” She pointed along the narrow passage that led into the depths of the hotel. “There’s a booth there.”
Kurt thanked her and went up to his room. It was nothing special, but compared with the places in which he had been sleeping the last few days it looked like heaven. There was a basin in one corner, a radiator under the window, but best of all was a wide, iron bedstead, covered with a folded featherbed. Kurt took off his coat and sorted through his pocket to find money for the phone. Then he locked his door behind him and went back downstairs in search of the telephone. When he reached the hall the receptionist looked up and smiled at him.
“If you just give me the number, sir, I’ll place the call and put it through to the phone booth.”
“Surely,” stammered Kurt, “I can place it myself?”
“Sorry, sir, but all calls have to be routed through our switchboard. It’s no trouble.”
“It’s an international call,” began Kurt. She had caught him completely off balance; unused to hotels, it had never occurred to him that the public phone would not be connected directly to the exchange.
“That’s no problem, sir,” replied the woman smoothly. “Just give me the number and wait in the booth.” She picked up a pencil, poised to write down the number she required. Kurt had to make an instant decision; give her the number and risk her listening in to his conversation with Ruth, or not give her the number, and say he’d changed his mind, at the risk of arousing her suspicions. The longing to hear Ruth’s voice was overwhelming. He gave the number and the woman wrote it down.
“Now if you wait in the booth, sir,” she said, “I’ll place the call, and when the phone rings in there, you’ll be connected.”
Kurt thanked her and went along the passage to find the phone. The phone booth was a small, glass-fronted cubby hole under the stairs, but it had a light, a stool to sit on and seemed to be completely private. As he waited for the call, Kurt was assailed by fears and doubts. He should have gone to the station or somewhere completely anonymous. He should have found a reason for changing his mind. Had there been a flicker of interest in the woman’s eyes when he’d said he wanted to make an international call? He had to assume that she would be listening in, so he must make it clear to Ruth that they were being overheard without actually saying so. Would Ruth understand his warning? Be cautious in what she said? He could only pray that she would.
The phone jangled in his ear and he snatched up the receiver.
“You’re through, caller,” the operator told him. “You have three minutes.”
Then another voice said, “Good evening. Herr Doktor Bernstein’s residence.”
“Please may I speak to Frau Ruth Friedman?” Kurt’s breath caught in his throat, he could hardly get the words out.
“I’m sorry, but there is no Frau Friedman here.”
“Frau Edith Bernstein, then. Please hurry, this is an international call.”
“Whom shall I say is calling?” asked the voice, unhurried.
“Kurt Friedman, her brother-in-law. Please hurry.”
“Please hold the line,” said the voice, and then there was silence.
“Come on, come on,” muttered Kurt as the seconds of his precious three minutes ticked away.
After what seemed like ages he heard another voice. “Hallo. Edith Bernstein speaking.”
“Edith, it’s Kurt.”
“Kurt! How are you? Where are you?”
“Edith, never mind that, I’m running out of time. Is Ruth there?”
“No, I’m afraid not, she…”
“Where is she? How can I contact her? Has she got a phone?”
“No, she hasn’t. Look, can I take a message for her?”
Kurt tried to keep his voice steady. “Please ask her to be at your house this time tomorrow. I will phone again.”
“But Kurt…” Edith began
“Please, Edith, this time tomorrow,” Kurt managed to say before the operator said, “Time’s up, caller,” and the line went dead.
Kurt slumped down onto the stool, his head in his hands. He could have wept with frustration and disappointment. Ruth wasn’t there. He had so longed to hear her voice and she wasn’t there. She had said in her letter that she was going to move the family out to a place of their own, and she must have done so.
“For goodness’ sake,” he admonished himself, “you’ve only got to wait one more day. Edith will surely have her there tomorrow.”
With a sigh, Kurt got to his feet and went out into the hall. With the exception of one light at the foot of the stairs, all had been switched off, and the hallway was in semi-darkness. The reception desk was empty.
Kurt paused for a moment, looking at the empty desk. Where had the receptionist gone, he wondered, cold fear flooding through him – had she been listening in to his conversation? Was she even now reporting that he had phoned Austria to the authorities? Had she passed on his registration card? Was someone, somewhere checking his name against a list? His heart was pounding as fear tightened its grip. Should he leave the hotel, now, before they came for him? Where would he go? He glanced over the front of the desk and saw his registration card on the top of a pile of similar cards. It was still there, the young woman hadn’t passed it on. The panic subsided a little. Why should she, he argued with himself as he crept back up the stairs – what suspicions could he have aroused? Surely his name and identity could not have been circulated this far yet. He reached his room, and closing the door firmly behind him turned the key in the lock.
There could be any number of reasons why she wasn’t at the desk, he told himself. A call of nature, duty somewhere else in the hotel. Perhaps she’d gone home. It was unlikely such a small hotel would keep a receptionist on duty throughout the night. Surely he was as safe here as anywhere else, and a lot safer than in most places. He would leave first thing in the morning. But he was only half-convinced and the fear did not leave him; despite the wonderful warmth and softness of the bed, he slept little, dozing and waking until it was daylight.
In the morning he shaved carefully with the razor Paul had provided, packed his few belongings into the case and got ready to leave. He knew that he must keep moving. To stay in one place for too long was to invite discovery, and he felt that he had stayed too long here already. Picking up his suitcase he went downstairs. A different woman sat at the reception desk.
“I’d like to pay my bill,” Kurt said, taking money from his coat pocket. “Room 4.”
The woman wrote out his bill and as she handed it to him she pointed to an added figure just above the total and said, “That last amount is for the international phone call you made to a number in Vienna last night.” Written beside the amount was Edith’s phone number.
Kurt looked at it and said quickly, “Yes, yes, that’s quite right. Thank you.” He proffered the money for the bill, but the woman did not take it straightaway.
“If you need breakfast,” she said, “we can serve you in the dining room.”
“Thank you, no.” Kurt replied, “I have to catch the Hamburg train.”
At this the woman finally took the notes he held out, tucking them into a cashbox with the carbon copy of the bill. Kurt bid her good morning and picking up his suitcase went out into the street.
During his wakeful night, Kurt had decided what he should do next. He still intended to go to Vienna, but he knew he was going to have to take a circuitous route. He found a small bookshop, bought himself a train timetable, and took it to a café he had seen, where he studied it over his breakfast. He would keep well away from Munich while still heading east. He was determined to get into Austria, and decided that he would try and cross the border at Passau. He would take the train to Regensburg and spend the night there. From there he could phone Ruth again, to tell her of his plans and then the next day he would use Günter Schiller’s passport and try and cross into Austria. Once he was over the border, he could get another train to Vienna. It was Thursday 10th March; with luck he should be in Vienna with his family by Sunday the 12th at the latest. It would be exactly eight months since the night of the riot.
Kurt finished his breakfast and walked back to the station. It was busy and he hoped that one more man wearing a nondescript hat and coat would pass unnoticed among the crowds. He knew from his timetable that there was a train for Regensburg in half an hour, so he bought himself a ticket and a newspaper and sat on a bench reading until it was time to board the train. There were some uniformed men around the station, but most were the civil police, who seemed to be on normal duty. As the departure time approached, Kurt got to his feet and walked purposefully across to the platform where the Regensburg train stood, its engine blowing smoke and steam as it prepared to leave. He showed his ticket to the collector at the platform entrance and was passed through without a second glance. With his heart still pumping, Kurt walked along the train until he came to the third-class carriages. Choosing one that already had an elderly couple sitting in it, he opened the door and got in.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked politely, indicating one of the empty corner seats.
“Please,” the old man said, and waved his hand towards it.
“Thank you.” Kurt placed his case on the rack above his head, carefully laid his hat on top of it and sat down. The couple were watching him, so he smiled politely and opened his paper.
No one else came into the carriage and within minutes the whistle blew and the train drew slowly out of the station. It was not an express train, and it had no corridor. He and the elderly couple were on their own until they reached the first station. It stopped at several small stations as it headed south towards Regensburg, but that suited Kurt very well. He thought that the Gestapo or SS might take less interest in a slow, local train than an express. At each station he was alert to what was going on outside, trying to look at ease while being ready to leap from the train if there was any sign of police or storm troopers. He watched the country slide past the window, but all the time he was aware of the couple in the compartment with him. They didn’t speak to each other, or to him, and something told him they were as nervous of him as he was of them.
When the train eventually reached Regensburg he got out. He had half a day to kill before he could make his second call to Ruth, but he felt safer here, in a different place. If the hotel had reported his call, if they were indeed looking for him, the receptionist would report he’d said he was going to Hamburg. If his fears were unfounded, then he was still as safe here as anywhere. He would phone Ruth from here at the appointed time and just pray that Edith had given her the message.
Eight months since his arrest! The thought of speaking to her after so long made his heart pound in his chest. He walked out of the station into the city and wandered the nearby streets in search of another small hotel. He found one, ten minutes’ walk from the station, and arranged to take a room. As of the previous evening he had to fill in a registration card, giving his name and address.
The receptionist looked at the card. “What brings you to Regensburg, Herr Friedman?” she asked.
Kurt managed a smile. “Just some business… for my mother.” It was all he could think of as he realised that his papers named him as a grocer, not a travelling salesman.
The girl handed him a key. “Room 3 at the top of the stairs.”
Kurt took the key, thanked her and made his way upstairs. The girl watched him disappear round the turn in the stairs, then picked up the registration card and looked at it again. She glanced at the stairs again before lifting the receiver of the telephone on her desk and making a call.
Kurt left his case in the room, and went out to find something to eat. He’d had nothing since his early breakfast, and he was feeling hungry. He found a small café and ate a plate of cold meat for his lunch, and then decided to spend the afternoon in the anonymity of a cinema. When the film was over, there was still some time before he could ring Ruth, so he strolled through the town until he came to one of the canals that linked with the River Danube. As he walked along the towpath he watched a string of barges being towed out from the canal into the main waterway, heading east. He wondered where they were going and what they were carrying. He crossed a bridge and watched as the barges slipped away beneath him, like so many ducklings strung out behind their mother. He found a bench and sitting on it watched the barges disappear slowly into the dusk. He looked at his watch. Nearly time to make his call, to talk to Ruth. He must find a public phone, somewhere where he was sure he couldn’t be overheard. He walked back past the station. There, in the ticket hall, were three telephone booths.
I’ll ring from there, he thought, and turned into the entrance.
At exactly the time he had arranged with Edith, Kurt went into one of the telephone boxes and placed his call. He was lucky and the operator was able to put him straight through. His heart was thumping as he heard it ringing at the other end.
“Good evening. Herr Doktor Bernstein’s residence.” As before the maid answered the call.
“Please may I speak to Frau Ruth Friedman.”
“One moment, please.”
Then he heard her voice, breathless, shaky. “Kurt? Is that you?”
“Ruth, my darling Ruth!” He had planned exactly what he was going to say in the precious three minutes allotted to him, but when he heard her voice everything flew out of his head and he could only say her name.
“Kurt! Where are you?”
“Ruth? It’s really you!”
“Kurt! Yes, yes, I’m here! Kurt, are you all right? Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you that. I’m so glad you’ve got the children safely to Edith’s. Are they well? Are they all right? Are you all right?” Now Kurt’s questions came tumbling out.
“We’re all fine,” Ruth assured him. “Did you get,” she paused before saying, “what I sent you?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure I can use it. They’re looking for me.”
“Oh God!” Ruth cried. “Can’t you come?”
“Darling Ruth, I will if I possibly can, but it’ll be dangerous.”
“Then don’t!” Ruth spoke sharply “Don’t come. We’re fine. We’re all fine.”
“I want to be there with you all.”
“Please, Kurt, don’t come if it is too dangerous. I’d rather you were free, and alive and somewhere else.” Ruth’s voice shook as she added, “You should go and visit Berta.”
“Berta?” For a moment Kurt was bemused. Who on earth was Berta?
“You know Berta, Edith’s daughter. Listen, Kurt, write to me,” Ruth said, “our new address is…”
“No,” Kurt interrupted, “don’t say it! I’ll write care of Edith.”
“All right. Oh Kurt, I do miss you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, darling.” There was a break in Kurt’s voice as he went on, “Always and ever, whatever happens, remember I love you!”
“If you can’t come, Kurt, don’t! Stay safe. We’re safe. Just try and keep in touch somehow!”
“I’ll ring again… same time next week.”
“Time’s up, caller.” The line went dead.
Kurt stood with the silent telephone receiver in his hand for a long minute. Had Ruth heard his last promise, to ring again next week? Who else had heard it? Who else had heard the whole conversation? Had the operator listened in? Was someone even now reporting a strange conversation to the authorities? One of the Nazis’ triumphs was to make informers of everyone.
Time to get off the streets, he decided, and take shelter in his hotel, ready to move on again in the morning. He replaced the receiver in its cradle and walked quickly away from the station. Once out on the busy pavements, he slowed his pace and headed back towards the hotel, just one more nondescript man in a crowd returning home from work. As he approached the corner of his street, a car swept past him and turned down towards the hotel. Kurt had seen cars like that before, and a chill ran down his spine. When he reached the corner he paused, looking along the road towards the hotel. The car had passed it and pulled up a hundred yards further along, but he saw that the hotel door was closing behind someone. Someone had just gone into the hotel. Kurt waited in the shelter of a shop doorway and watched. After a few moments a man came back out of the hotel, looked both ways along the empty street and then hurried to the parked car. He spoke to someone in the car and a second man got out. Both hurried back into the hotel, and the car eased off down the road and disappeared round a bend. Men like these were all too familiar. Despite his warm clothes Kurt felt suddenly cold. If he hadn’t stopped to make the call from the station, he would have been at the hotel when they arrived. Even if they had not been looking specifically for him, he would have been discovered. He stepped out of the doorway and walked briskly back the way he had come. Whether the men in dark coats were looking for him or not, he would not go back to the hotel. There was little there he needed, everything of importance was with him; his money was hidden about his person and both passports were in the inner pockets of his coat. He had his watch on his wrist and Ruth’s letter in the inside pocket of his jacket. Shaving kit, vital to keeping himself looking respectable, he could replace.
He headed back to the station, but the crowds returning home were thinning out now, and he walked past. He glanced in through the main entrance, and what he saw made him want to break into a run. It took all his willpower to keep walking at a steady pace as if he had somewhere special to go. Standing at the ticket office was a man in the uniform of an SS trooper. Two more were standing at the entrance to the platforms, stopping everyone going through to the trains. They were looking for someone, and although Kurt had no idea if it was him, he was taking no risks.
Fighting the instinct to run, he continued to walk away from the station. How had they caught up with him so quickly? One of the receptionists must have suspected something and handed his registration card to the police. How had the police known that he was on the run? Someone very important must be determined to find him, someone who was powerful enough to have his details wired to main police stations, Gestapo offices… and, he thought, to all border crossings. Wherever he went they might have his passport details, be on the lookout for him. Was it because Loritz had been tricked out of his property, or simply because he refused to allow a Jew to get the better of him? Once he was away from Kirnheim, he had thought he would be safe enough, he had never truly thought that the net would be cast this wide. By pure chance he had escaped that net just now, but he knew he was not safely away yet. He had to get out of the town, disappear again, and not risk moving about openly.
He walked purposefully along Bahnhofstrasse and then cut up through the maze of smaller streets that led back towards the river. Here the streets were darker and there were few people around. Kurt tried to keep to the shadows; and more than once he reached a dead end and had to turn back, but at length he crossed the river. Somehow putting the river between himself and the railway station made him feel a little safer. He continued, more slowly now, with no particular direction in mind. He was looking for somewhere to spend the night, before he headed for Passau and the Austrian border in the morning. Tall buildings loomed on either side of the streets, warehouses, their windows dark, their gates locked, but Kurt continued to walk, searching for a doorway, or sheltered alleyway where he might take refuge for the night. He turned into another lane, twisting its way between blank-faced warehouses, but he found it ended in high metal gates, secured by a strong padlock and chain.
He was about to turn back when he noticed there was a smaller, Judas gate in the main gates and it was slightly ajar, allowing access into the yard beyond. Cautiously he looked around him. The lane behind him was in shadow, but the yard on the other side of the gate was lit by a lamp fixed high on the corner of a large building, some sort of warehouse, Kurt assumed. Another lamp, atop a tall stanchion, spilled light across the rest of the yard, glinting on the dark water of the canal beyond. All along one wall of the warehouse were large crates, stacked neatly as if ready to be loaded onto something, and beyond stood several machines of some sort, still and silent, waiting for morning.
All was quiet; no sign of guards or a watchman. Perhaps there was somewhere here he could spend the night. Kurt eased the small gate open. It moved surprisingly smoothly, with no hint of a squeak or rasp, as if the hinges had been recently oiled. Stepping through he moved quickly into the shadow of the warehouse. Still no sound. Taking care to stay in the patches of shadow, he edged his way along its wall, hands outstretched against the brickwork. He was looking for a door or window that might let him into the warehouse. As he moved he strained his ears for any sound that would warn him someone else was there, but there was nothing. He reached the front of the warehouse, and found that it had huge wide doors, which would slide open along a track in the ground. These were tightly closed and well lit by the overhead lights, and he shrank back into the sheltering darkness.
Then he heard them, soft voices behind him. He pressed himself flat against the warehouse wall, hoping that he would be invisible in the shadows if he stayed completely still. Looking back across the yard, he saw two men had come in through the small gate, one leading the other to where the canal boats were tied up to the wharf. There were three barges waiting there, and the man leading went straight to the last. He jumped down onto the broad flat deck, and then beckoned the second man to follow. This he did, though with far less agility than the first. Indeed he almost fell, and it was only the first man grabbing him by the arm that stopped him from falling headlong into the water. Again there was the murmur of talk, but Kurt couldn’t hear what was being said. Then the first man leaned down and twisted something before heaving open a hatch. He lowered the cover quietly to the deck and then both men disappeared below. Clearly, Kurt thought, they don’t want to be heard, which means they shouldn’t be here. In a matter of minutes, the first man reappeared on deck, quietly closing the hatch behind him. For a moment he paused, looking across at the warehouse, and Kurt thought with a jolt of fear that he’d been seen, but after another moment the man climbed up onto the wharf again and left the yard as silently as he had come, pausing only to lock the small gate with a large padlock. Within a minute he had disappeared into the darkness of the lane, leaving Kurt locked inside the boatyard.
For a long moment Kurt stared at the locked gate, and then ran swiftly over to it, wondering if he could climb over; but the main gate, he saw now, was topped with barbed wire. The yard was bounded by the warehouse on one side and walls too high to scale on the others. The only other way out was the canal. Kurt moved back into the shadows again. He didn’t want to be caught there if the first man came back. For a long while he leaned against the warehouse wall considering what he should do. It was very cold, and he shivered. A thin mist was rising from the water. There was no escape that way. He would have to wait until morning and try and slip out of the gates when they were opened by the men coming to work in the yard. In the meantime, perhaps he could find shelter on one of the moored barges… and that was when the idea struck him.
Barges from here travelled east, down the canals and the Danube, he’d seen them earlier in the day. They would pass through Passau, through Austria and beyond… and through Vienna. His mind teemed with questions as he considered the idea. Was it possible that he could stow away on one of these and travel safely down the river until he reached Vienna? How long did barges take to go from Regensburg to Vienna? Certainly days, but how many? Maybe he could stow away just until they had crossed the Austrian border. Surely he could remain hidden until then, Passau wasn’t that far away, was it? What about food? What about water? What about calls of nature?
He edged his way round the yard, keeping to the shadows, until he came to the wharf on the far side. Here the lamps were brighter, shedding light onto three heavy barges that waited to make their journey east. They were long and low, and lay silent in the still waters of the canal. Although there was living accommodation aboard there were no lights showing from below. He looked at the one the men had entered, the last in the string. There was no light from that one either, though he knew that one man, at least, was inside. Perhaps that man was an illicit passenger as well. Perhaps he was trying to get out of Germany… another Jew on the run? Kurt moved to the next barge and stepped silently down onto her deck. He found a similar hatch, and, grasping the wheel as he had seen the man do, tried to open it, but the wheel wouldn’t budge, and the hatch remained locked. Kurt moved softly aft along the deck, and came to the wheelhouse door, but that too was locked, as was the aft hatch. There was no way of getting inside this barge. He moved to the third one, but had no better luck there. The only barge that might carry him along the river was the one that already had a man hidden aboard.
Kurt thought of the soldiers at the station, of the Gestapo at the hotel, and of his desperate need to get to Ruth and the children, and made his decision. If the man in the last barge was on the run, then he was hardly likely to question the arrival of another fugitive. If he was hidden somewhere below decks, Kurt was determined to hide there too. He didn’t know if the bargee would be aware that he had passengers hiding on one of his barges, but, even if he did, it was unlikely he would check on the man before taking his string of barges out onto the river. If he did, Kurt would try offering the man money to allow him to stay on board. If he regularly smuggled men across the border, he would almost certainly take the bribe… but whether he would betray him when he got there was another matter.
Kurt stepped quietly onto the deck of the last barge and crept towards the hatch. He hoped that if the man below had heard him he would think it was his friend coming back. He twisted the wheel, which turned easily, and pulled the hatch open. Darkness and silence greeted him, but he didn’t wait, simply slid over the edge and dropped down into the space below pulling the hatch closed over his head. At first the darkness was complete, but as his eyes grew accustomed to it, he realised that faint light was coming in through two grimy portholes. He stood quite still, straining his ears for sounds of the man already hidden, but there were none. He had no idea where the man was, all he knew was that he was somewhere down here. As he gradually began to make out more of his surroundings, Kurt edged away from the hatch and ran his hands along the curved sides of the barge. He was in a cabin. It was very small, fitted out as living accommodation for crewmen. His fingers felt a folding table with a bench seat on each side. These had padded tops and clearly doubled as bunks. Above each was some sort of locker or cupboard, but there was little else and no sign of the man he had seen climb down earlier.
Kurt sat down on one of the benches and considered his position. He was out of sight, and he was out of the cold. What would happen when the crewman came and found him there he didn’t know, but for now he could do no more, so he wrapped his coat more firmly around him and lay down on the bench bunk to wait for morning. He was almost asleep when he felt the bunk shaking beneath him, for a moment or two he lay between sleep and wakefulness, wondering what had woken him. Then he felt it again, the bunk was shaking. Kurt got up quickly, and as he did so the bunk was heaved up and from underneath it a man’s voice spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Heinz, is that you? Heinz?”
Kurt didn’t answer. He moved silently away from the bunk, so that he was standing below the hatch. The voice came again. “Heinz? Who’s there?”
“Me,” replied Kurt. “Who are you?”
“Did Heinz bring you?” A man’s head appeared from below the bunk, which had opened like a window seat. “Who are you? Heinz didn’t say there’d be anyone else.” The voice was quavering now, uncertain and afraid.
“Didn’t he?” Kurt was thinking fast. Clearly Heinz must be the other man, the one who had brought this man to the barge, and Heinz must be smuggling men across the border. “Well, he didn’t tell me about you either.”
The man hauled himself up from the bunk and peered in Kurt’s direction. “He told me to hide in the bunk if I heard anyone coming,” he said.
“He told me that, too,” Kurt replied.
“It’s my hiding place,” the man snapped.
“I expect there’s space under the other bunk,” Kurt said and pulled up the padded seat to look. It was dark inside and he could see nothing, but he leaned forward and groped round with his hands. The space was empty. “There you are,” he said reasonably. “A place for each of us.” He kept his voice even, afraid that if he antagonised this man he would betray him to Heinz… whoever he was. “Just as long as…” He broke off suddenly as the sound of voices came from outside.
“Someone coming,” hissed the man, and slipped back inside the bunk, pulling the top down over his head.
Kurt slithered into the space below the other bunk and just had time to close it before the hatch above opened and someone dropped down into the little cabin. Kurt heard a soft tap on the other bunk and an answering tap from the man inside, then the scrambling of feet as whoever it was clambered back up on deck, and the thud of the hatch cover coming down.
There was more shouting from outside, and then Kurt felt the barge lurch forward as the towline tightened and they began to move along the canal. It was smooth enough at first as they moved slowly along the canal, but the motion changed abruptly as they joined the surge of the river, and the barge began swinging and rolling in the swirl of the Danube, before settling to a more even motion.
It was impossible to remain crammed into the tiny space below the bunk, and as soon as he realised that they were underway, Kurt heaved himself upward, lifting the bunk and hauling himself out. He sat on the edge, with the top still raised so that he could dive for cover again if they heard footsteps approaching on the deck. It was still dark outside, but occasional lights from the shore illuminated the cabin briefly, and he took stock of his surroundings. He took off his coat, and, rolling it carefully, stowed it deep in the hiding place under the bunk. It was bulky and might hinder him getting in and out swiftly if the need arose.
The other man also pulled himself out, and as a light caught his face, Kurt knew he had guessed correctly. His companion peered across at him and demanded, “Who are you?”
“I might ask the same of you,” Kurt replied, but he already knew. “Are you just going across the border, or all the way to Vienna?”
“What’s that to you?” snapped the man.
“Nothing, but once we’re out of Germany, we may not have to hide.”
“You’re a Jew!” stated the man, defiantly.
“So are you,” answered Kurt. “So we both need to get out. If one of us is caught, we both shall be.”
The man did not reply. He stared across at Kurt, trying to see his face in the passing lights. “Heinz said to stay hidden till he came for me,” he said, “but I hate it in there.”
“We should hear them coming in time,” Kurt said. “I’m not staying in there all the time either. Just keep away from the portholes and listen out for footsteps.”
As daylight crept into the sky, they sat in silence, each deep in his own thoughts. When he could see properly, Kurt inspected the space under the bunk. It was about six feet long and two feet deep, and was clearly storage space for the crew who lived aboard the barge. Surely only two men could live on each barge, simply there to keep the boat in line with the others in the string as they were towed down the Danube, a river busy with steamers, boats and barges.
It was full daylight before they heard the footsteps approaching the hatch again. Both men were under the bunks in a trice, the tops lowered, holding their breath. Kurt could hear his heart pounding and wondered if the person who had slipped down into the cabin could hear it too. Then he heard what he’d been dreading. Whoever it was had opened the other bunk and was speaking to the man inside.
Within moments the top of the bunk was jerked open and Kurt was staring up into the furious face of the bargee.
“Ho yes!” growled the man. “And what have we ’ere then? Who the ’ell are you? And what are you doing ’ere?”
“He said you told him to come here, Heinz!” squeaked the other man.
“Shut up, Max,” snapped Heinz.
Kurt started to get out of the hiding place but a knife appeared from nowhere in the man’s hand. He was gripping it tightly, caressing the wicked blade with his thumb and pointing it straight at Kurt’s throat.
“No, no,” he said, “you stay put where you are, mate. I think you’re a Gestapo spy.”
Kurt gave a bitter laugh. “Gestapo! You couldn’t be more wrong! Ask your friend Max.”
“Max doesn’t know who you are!”
“No, he doesn’t know who I am, but he knows what I am!”
“Another dirty Jew,” said Max flatly. “You’ve got two for the price of one.”
Heinz leered at them. “No I bloody ’aven’t,” he said. “I’ve two for the price of two… maybe.” He gave a chuckle. “Or none for the price of two. Depends if you’ve got any money, don’t it?” He nodded meaningfully at Kurt.
“How much do you want?” asked Kurt, his brain racing.
“All you’ve got,” answered Heinz cheerfully. “And if it’s not enough, well, our tug captain don’t like Jews much. If I tell ’im I found you two stowed away on my barge, well I reckon he’ll ’and you over at Passau. We’ll be there late this evening. There’s Gestapo there.”
Max gave a wail. “But I’ve paid you, Heinz, you can’t betray me now!”
Heinz did not reply, simply gave a wolfish grin and turned his attention to Kurt. “So ’ow much can you pay for a safe passage into Austria?”
“Let me up and I’ll give you the money,” Kurt said. “I can pay.”
“First of all, mate, tell me what made you get on this barge, eh? Who told you where to come?”
“No one told me,” answered Kurt. “I saw you. I was in the boatyard, and I saw you bring him,” he jerked a thumb at Max, “and leave him on board.”
“And what was you doin’ in the yard, then?” demanded Heinz suspiciously.
“Looking for somewhere to sleep the night. The gate was open, I thought maybe the warehouse was too.”
Heinz looked at him, considering his answer, then he gave a curt nod, accepting it. “Let’s see the colour of your money then.”
The knife, which up till now hadn’t wavered, was withdrawn but not sheathed, and Kurt was able to scramble out of the hiding place.
“Right, let’s see what you’ve got,” said Heinz. “Slow, now!” he added as Kurt reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small roll of marks. Heinz snatched the money and counted it quickly. Kurt watched him, praying Heinz would think it enough. He glanced across at Max, who sat white-knuckled, watching. Surely the man would decide that it was enough, and not turn them in. Now he’d been amply paid for both.
“So, across the border, then. No further,” said Heinz, pocketing the roll of notes. “There’s food and water in that locker,” he pointed at the locker above Kurt’s head. “You’ll have to share. Heads in there.” He opened a small door that Kurt had assumed was another locker to reveal a tiny space with a lavatory bowl. “Now,” he went on, closing the door again. “Stay below and leave these drawn.” He pulled some flimsy curtains across the portholes. “Stay away from the portholes, specially when we’re going through a lock. You should be safe enough down here until we get to Passau, but if I bang on the hatch, get straight into them bunks and stay there until I say you can come out again. You’ll have to get into them later anyway… for the border, but I’ll warn you if there’s any danger before that… and if you’re caught I don’t know nothing about you, right?”
The rest of the day they moved slowly along the waterway, the barge obediently following the tug. There was no bang on the hatch cover and they were able to sit at the cabin table. They shared a meal of very stale bread and some hard yellow cheese, but otherwise Max and Kurt spoke little. They had been thrown together by circumstance, but neither wanted to know more about the other. Knowledge could be dangerous, and each had withdrawn into his own thoughts. They simply sat in the stuffy cabin, the hatch closed, and waited.
It was early evening when Heinz opened the hatch and dropped down into the cabin. “We’ll be at Passau soon, and then it will be on over the border. Usually they don’t bother much with us, but in case they decide to come aboard this time, you get in them lockers.”
“What? Already?” Max sounded panicky.
“Now.”
“But how long for?” asked Max, his voice shaking.
“Till I come and tell you you can come out again,” snapped Heinz. “Now, get in there, the both of you.”
Kurt slithered into the hiding place, and to his horror heard Heinz slide the catch closed. He was locked into the space under the bunk, and there was no escape. He heard a cry from Max as he realised what Heinz was doing.
“Shut up!” growled Heinz. “I’ll be back to let you out when it’s safe and not before.” Kurt heard him clambering up through the hatch and then the thud of the cover dropping back into place. He could hear Max whimpering, and fought to keep his own panic at bay. The space was tiny, and although he soon realised that air holes had been drilled in the corners, he still felt as if he were suffocating. He drew deep, slow breaths, forcing himself to believe that air was coming in from the outside. As he gradually became calmer, it struck him that Heinz must regularly smuggle people out of Germany like this. The hiding place was prepared, with air holes drilled; the food, though dry and unappetising, was stashed in the locker, the lavatory provided. Others must have escaped this way before without being caught. Heinz must have a way of getting them off the barge once they were over the border. They’d had to trust him… because continuing to trust him was their only option.
“Be quiet, Max!” Kurt hissed, as Max continued to whimper. “Someone will hear you. There’s air, just breathe.”
“It’s all right for you,” moaned Max, “but I’m claustrophobic.”
Anyone would be, thought Kurt, crammed into this wooden box, it’s like a coffin, and at that thought he had to begin his own deep breathing again to calm his taut nerves.
Gradually Max’s whimpers subsided and the cabin was quiet. Kurt strained his ears to see if he could hear what was going on outside. He could hear the water slapping against the hull of the barge, and felt a change of motion as the river took hold of the barge on the end of its towline. Something was happening, but it was impossible to tell what. From outside came the sound of a horn, and loud voices shouting, and then the barge jolted sideways.
“What do you think is happening?” whispered Max. “Are we stopping?”
“I don’t know,” Kurt answered softly. “Maybe.”
“I want to get out of here.” Max’s voice held a note of hysteria. “We’re trapped, and we don’t know what’s going on!”
Kurt felt the same panic welling up in him. Turning awkwardly in the confined space, he managed to press upward on the roof of his prison. It did not move. He tensed his muscles and pushed harder, but to no avail. The top would not budge.
“What are you doing?” cried Max from the other bunk. “Can you get out?”
“No, at least not yet. Can you? Try and push up the lid.”
While he continued to struggle against the top of his own prison, Kurt could hear Max doing the same with his.
“It’s no good,” Max cried. “He locked it. I can’t shift it.”
“Nor can I,” said Kurt.
He heard Max begin to mutter, and, straining his ears, Kurt realised that he was speaking in Hebrew; a continuous murmur in Hebrew. He was praying, repeating over and over again, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.” Kurt, giving up on his efforts to force his way out of the bunk, lay still, listening to the words; but even as he did so, he found himself wondering if there was any point. He had prayed to his God every day of his life, even in Dachau and while he was on the run, but it seemed to him that God was no longer listening… if he was there at all. How could God ignore the prayers and pleas of his people and allow the persecution that was their lot now? How could God allow his children to be hounded from place to place, little children who had done nothing wrong? Kurt wanted to shout at God… to make him listen. But now, he continued to pray in a repetitive mantra: “Lord, keep my family safe.”
The hatch opened with a crash and there was a thud as Heinz dropped down into the cabin. Suddenly the bunks were opened and the two men inside stared up in terror.
“We’re being pulled over,” growled Heinz. “The place is alive with soldiers. Out with you! You’re on your own.”
“What!” shrieked Max.
“Shut up!” roared Heinz. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Place is crawling with soldiers. Now get out, or I’ll say I found you stowaways and hand you over.”
Kurt clambered out of the bunk, pulling his coat on.
“We’ll be moored alongside another barge train in a minute,” said Heinz. “Then, over the side with you and across to the quay. It’s dark, you should make it.”
He hustled the two men up onto the deck. Night had fallen, but the lights along the shore showed them another barge train already lying alongside the wharf. There was no sign of the bargees, but dim lights showed through some of the cabin portholes.
“When I tell you, you jump,” ordered Heinz. “If you’re quick you’ll be across the next barge before they know you’re there, then up onto the dock.”
“But how?” began Kurt.
“There’s ladders along the wall. Up one of those. Ready?”
They were closing in slowly on the moored barge train, and as they drifted alongside Kurt could see down onto the deck of the last one. It was slightly lower than the barge he was on, and the only way to reach it was to jump. The two barges bumped gently together.
“Now!” hissed Heinz.
Not allowing himself time to think, Kurt launched himself onto the deck of the other barge, hearing as he did so Max wailing, “I can’t! I can’t jump that far.” Kurt landed awkwardly, and felt pain in his ankle, but he scrambled to his feet and moved softly across the deck, the barge rocking gently beneath him. He strained his eyes looking for one of the iron ladders clamped to the stone wall of the wharf, reaching to the quayside above. There was one several yards to his left, but as he crept along the deck, the moored barge rocked, bumping against the harbour wall, as it was once again nudged by the incoming barge. Behind him there was a sudden shrill scream and then a splash. Kurt spun round and saw the burly shape of Heinz peering over the barge’s rail, before he turned and disappeared into the darkness. The barges bumped together yet again, and Kurt realised, with sudden horror, what Heinz had done. Max had not jumped when told to, so Heinz had pushed him. He had fallen between the two great barges and was either struggling in the water below their hulls, or had been crushed between them. Either way Heinz had left him to die. Kurt took a step back the way he’d come, but froze as a hatch opened and a man stuck his head out.
“Hey!” he called. “What’s going on?”
There was no reply to his question, and he climbed up onto the deck as if to investigate further. The two barges continued to bump gently as they settled together in the water, and the man went across to look at the newly arrived barge beside his own. Kurt turned and crept away towards the ladder he had seen in the light from the quay. He reached it and grasped its lower rungs. He was just beginning to climb up when he heard a cry from the deck. “Hey! There’s a man in the water here. Get a boat hook. Quick!”
Kurt didn’t wait to hear more, but scrambled up the ladder onto the dock. There were people around, but no one paid any attention to a bargee climbing up from a moored barge, and Kurt was able to move away unchallenged. He walked quickly from the quayside towards the dock gates. They were open, but standing outside them in a pool of light cast from an overhead lamp was a uniformed guard. Kurt ducked back into the shadows while he considered what to do. Would he be challenged leaving the docks or was the guard only interested in people coming into the dockyard? Boldness was his best option, he decided, and he was about to stride purposefully forward when there was a shout from the moored barges below. The guard moved inside the gate, pausing to listen, and the shout came again.
“Hey, anybody up there? Hey, we need help!”
The guard hurried to the edge of the dock and peered down to see what was going on.
“There’s a dead man down here!” called the voice. “We need help to get him up on the quay.”
“Who is it?” called the guard, leaning over the wall to get a better look.
“How should I know?” called the man below. “We found him in the water. Are you going to help or not?”
Kurt didn’t wait to hear the answer, but slipped silently out of the unguarded gate into the street beyond.
Once in the town, he found to his horror that Heinz had been right. Even at this hour, there were soldiers marching down the streets. There was the roar of motorised transports, lorries filled with troops, staff cars flying swastika pennants and the rumble of tanks. Townspeople were standing at the side of the road watching in awe as regiments of the German army passed by, heading for the Austrian border. There were some cheers from above him, and Kurt, who had joined the bystanders, looked up to see people in their windows waving to the troops.
“Its the Anschluss,” said someone behind him. “Hitler has done it! He’s really done it! We shall all be united with our German brothers across the border!”
“Will they fight?” asked a nervous voice.
“Why would they fight?” demanded the first voice scornfully. “Austria will welcome them. We shall all be part of the great German Empire! Heil Hitler!”
“Are you sure that’s what’s happening?” asked a third voice.
“Quite sure,” asserted the first voice. “I heard it from my sister-in-law’s husband. The troops are going to cross the border during the night.”
“You mean they’re invading Austria?”
“It’s not an invasion,” said the first man, “they are simply going in to help the Austrians deal, once and for all, with the Communists and the Jews that have been causing all the trouble.”
“How does your sister-in-law’s husband know all this?” asked someone else.
“Because, he was home on leave, but has been recalled to his regiment for duty.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re going to invade Austria,” pointed out a doubter.
“Well, it does,” insisted the man. “They were told to be ready to cross the border during the night.”
“Pretty poor security if people like you know all about it,” remarked another man.
“We don’t need security,” replied the first man. “There won’t be any resistance. Why would there be? The Austrians will welcome our troops… and the Führer when he goes to Vienna.”
Kurt slipped away from the group before he was noticed, but his heart was pounding. Hitler was going to invade Austria, tonight, and even if the Austrians put up some resistance, they wouldn’t have a hope against the might of the German army. Paul Schiller had been right, overnight Austria was going to become a vassal state to Germany, and Kurt’s beloved family would be trapped in Vienna. Despair flooded through him. Even if he were able to slip across the border into Austria, which would be almost impossible in the circumstances, then he would be trapped as well. Paul had been right; right about the Anschluss and right in telling Kurt he would be far better able to help his family as a free agent in a free country.
He thought of the two names Paul had given him, Hans Dietrich in Hamburg and James Daniel in London. Perhaps he would have to call on them after all.
As the night lengthened, Kurt sat quietly in the porch of a church, huddled in a corner, his mind warring with his heart, but as day broke and streaked the eastern sky with golden fire, he made his way into the town to look for the station… and to buy another ticket to Hamburg.