Chapter 3 Audrey 
BERLIN, GERMANY | NOVEMBER 1938
That was lovely, Audrey,” Ruth said, glancing up from her embroidery. “What was it?”
Audrey turned on the piano stool. “I’m not sure, actually,” she said. “Just something I’m playing at.”
In addition to her assigned music, Audrey had been chipping away at a little piece of her own for a couple of months. The composition was simple and gentle, yet full of strength. She thought of Ilse when she played it, of her subtle courage and kindness. It at once uplifted and grounded her, like a warm drink. Once she finished it, she planned to give it to Ilse as a parting gift. But something was missing from it still. Audrey glanced over at Ilse, absorbed in her book.
“There’s a contradictory feel to it,” Ruth was saying with a smile. “I think it’s beautiful.”
Ruth was the player in the Kaplan family. She’d never had the opportunity to hone her skill like Audrey had, but she used to play all the time before little Michael died. His death had cut through so many layers of Ruth, scarring her very bones. She didn’t touch the piano anymore, but enjoyed Audrey’s entertainment from a distance, and was pleased to see the instrument used again. It was a rare honey oak baby grand that Ira had commissioned for her.
“Does anyone need anything whilst I’m out today?” Audrey asked, changing the subject.
Lately she tried to run errands for the Kaplans whenever she could, to save Ruth or Ira having to venture out unnecessarily.
“Where are you off to, Audrey?” Ira asked from his seat in one of the large wing chairs. Ephraim was across from him, a chessboard between them.
Ephraim always won, and Audrey never knew whether Ira was in fact terrible at the game or wanted his son to experience a sense of achievement and victory that was—at least at the moment—unattainable to him in any other realm of his life. He was being homeschooled by Ruth now, so he didn’t even have his classmates to compete with in studies, or at recess.
“To the shops,” Audrey replied, a little embarrassed. “I need a dress for my recital. I don’t really have anything smart enough, unfortunately.”
With Ilse’s help, Audrey had narrowed down the style she wanted, but she was miserable that her friend couldn’t join her for the excursion. She felt no small measure of shame at the fact that she could still go about her business without fear of roundups by the Gestapo, or spot checks on her identification papers. She could continue with her studies as though nothing had changed. Audrey had to believe that Ira was right, that this was a terrible season for Jews and Germany. That once Hitler was no longer in power, things would return to normal, and Audrey might come back to Berlin. Surely this climate, these politics, couldn’t be what the people truly wanted.
“I need new trousers,” Ephraim piped up. “Look! They’re inches too short now.”
“I cannot believe how fast you’re growing,” Ruth said from her spot on the couch. “You’ll be as tall as your father soon. But I can mail-order trousers for you. Audrey needn’t bother with that.”
“I really don’t mind—”
“We should all go,” Ira said, eyes still on the chessboard.
Ilse set her book in her lap. “What?”
Ruth gave Ira a piercing look.
“We can go out?” Ilse pressed. “To the shops?”
Ira nodded. “I think so. It would be good for us all.”
“Ira—” Ruth began, but he pressed on.
“We’ll go to Hertie’s,” he said. “It’ll be busy enough there. We won’t linger, and we’ll keep a close eye, as always.”
“I’d love to go,” Ilse said, and grinned at Audrey.
“If we all hide like criminals,” Ira directed at Ruth, “what message does that send? We have already altered our very way of life. If we reduce ourselves even further, then they have already won.”
Ruth returned her gaze to her embroidery, her lips a fine line. “It isn’t a game, Ira,” she said.
“No, my love, it is not a game. But it will almost certainly be a war. And one must stand for what is right in war.”
After lunch, the Kaplans and Audrey set out for Hertie’s on the Liepzigerstrasse. It was one of the two remaining Jewish-owned department stores.
The day was bright, and not too cold, which lifted everyone’s spirits a notch as they made their way from the bus stop to the store one block down. Audrey had only been to Hertie’s once. It was an enormous five-storey building that took up nearly an entire square city block. She glanced at the triangular red flags emblazoned with the store name as they snapped in the wind atop the roof, and an unpleasant image flashed through her mind of them replaced with the swastikas that had overtaken the rest of the city. A frightening sense of inevitability came over her. In front of her, Ira was staring resolutely ahead, chatting to his wife, who was constantly looking over her shoulders, Ephraim’s gloved hand clutched tightly in her own. He was too old to be holding his mother’s hand in the street, but he didn’t protest, and Audrey wondered whether he felt trepidation at being out in public after his ordeal. She reached for Ilse’s hand, who laced her fingers with Audrey’s the way she used to when they were little and were forced to pass the nasty boys as they walked down the street to the main road. They called Ilse names Audrey didn’t understand at the time and tried to stick chewing gum in the ponytail they would eventually cut off.
At Hertie’s, there was a distinct strain about the customers, who were shopping with a harried determination rather than enjoyment. After half an hour of searching in the ladies’ formal wear section, Audrey hadn’t found anything suitable for her recital. Frowning, she turned to Ilse.
“Do you think we could pop across the street? There’s that dress shop not a block down. It might have more selection.” She was eager to get this sorted, and wasn’t sure if Ilse would be able to come back out with her some other time.
Ilse nodded, wiping her dewy brow. “I’m over-warm in here anyway. We’ve been so cooped up, I’m not used to any sort of crowd anymore.” She breathed an uncomfortable chuckle. “I could do with some air. Let’s ask Papa.”
They wove their way through racks of men’s garments until they located the others. Ephraim was in a dressing room, and Ruth stood nearby with several sets of trousers slung over her arm. Ilse pled their case as Ruth’s brow knit tighter and tighter.
“I don’t think it wise to separate,” she said. “It’s already—”
“Ruth, they’re only going over the street,” Ira said. “We’ll be a few more minutes here with Ephraim, and then we’ll join them. Perhaps we could all get a cup of hot chocolate from the cart on the corner, as a treat for the way home.”
“Yes!” Ephraim called from the dressing room.
Audrey suppressed a laugh. Ruth’s face softened.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s difficult to feel at ease right now.”
“I know, my dear,” Ira said. “Have fun,” he added, pulling Ilse’s head toward him and planting a kiss on her hair.
He was an affectionate man, generally. He didn’t shy away from embracing his children, which had always made Audrey a little jealous. She couldn’t recall the last time her father kissed her. A surprising lump formed in her throat, and she was gripped with a homesickness for him that she hadn’t felt in the three years since she’d seen him.
Outside, the sky was clouded over and the temperature had dropped. Audrey and Ilse crossed the busy road to the dress shop, the bell above the door jingling when they entered. It was a small store, nice and quiet. There was only one other patron poking through dresses, which were organized in a rainbow of colours on crisscrossed racks throughout the shop. It gave Audrey the feeling of being trapped inside a kaleidoscope.
“Guten Tag, ladies,” a light voice called from within.
“Hello,” Audrey and Ilse said together, searching for the speaker.
A slight woman with light brown hair and a long neck emerged from behind the cash desk. “Heil Hitler. How may I help you?”
She smiled at them both. Her eyes loitered for a moment longer on Ilse, taking in her features from hair to collarbone in an instant, but her expression remained pleasant. Still, it left Audrey with a lingering disquiet, that they had both been analyzed and Ilse had clearly been noted—or suspected—in some way. It shifted something in the interaction.
Audrey forced a smile. “I have a piano recital coming up, my graduation. I was thinking something like this,” she said, withdrawing the folded magazine page from her pocketbook. “But I need something with tighter sleeves than that.”
The other patron left, and over the next five minutes, the woman pulled a series of gowns from the racks, holding them up for Audrey and Ilse to assess. Ilse sighed wistfully at a navy piece that Audrey didn’t care for, but that was more Ilse’s style.
“I wish I had somewhere to wear something like this,” she said.
The familiar twinge of guilt struck Audrey. “You will. Someday soon,” she said, hoping that was the truth.
With a flourish, the saleswoman plucked a floor-length crimson gown from a nearby rack. It had a plunging neckline, but the slim sleeves Audrey was looking for.
“What about this?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “It is daring, but I see you have the lipstick to match,” she added, nodding at Audrey’s mouth.
Audrey pictured Herr Fogel’s face if she were to turn up in something as flashy as this dress, and nearly laughed. The wrong outfit threatened just as much of an impact as the right one.
“I don’t think it’s quite what I’m looking for,” Audrey said. “I don’t want it to detract attention from my playing, you see. I think I’d prefer something more subdued. Pastel. A soft blue, or yellow perhaps?”
A sudden shouting from out on the street made all three women startle. The proprietor brushed past Audrey to the window.
“What is it?” Audrey asked, foreboding flickering inside her.
“The police,” the saleswoman said quietly. “Gestapo, I think. Again.”
Audrey went to the window, Ilse behind her. They peered out and Audrey’s stomach plummeted. Ira was standing on the pavement across the street, facing a uniformed officer.
“Papa!” Ilse gasped. “Good God, what’s happening?” Her eyes were wide and round, like prey that knows it’s been cornered. Knows what’s coming next.
“I don’t…” Audrey trailed off. She scanned the crowd as the Gestapo officer continued to shout at Ira. There were more policemen. Four or five that Audrey could see.
“Only shopping,” she heard Ira say. “Not a crime…”
There were Ruth and Ephraim, just behind him, off to the side. As Audrey watched, the crowd of shoppers and pedestrians dispersed, melting into the ether before the soldiers turned hungry eyes on them too. Audrey couldn’t process what she was seeing fast enough, and then the officer in front of Ira raised his gun.
The saleswoman screamed as the shot cracked through the cold air and Ira dropped to the ground in a burst of blood.
“Papa!” Ilse cried. “Papa!”
“No!” Audrey shouted.
“Oh God,” the saleswoman murmured. She looked at Ilse, then at the street and back again. “Is that—”
Ilse made a dash toward the shop door.
“Ilse, no!” Audrey lunged forward and seized her around the shoulders. “You can’t! You must stay here!”
But Ilse squirmed, trying to shove her off. “No!” she screamed. “No! Papa!”
Audrey wrapped her arms around Ilse as tightly as she could and Ilse stopped fighting, collapsing into her. She could feel her friend’s heart pounding as sobs racked her body.
This could not be happening. It couldn’t.
Audrey glanced out the window again, blinking at the sight of Ira’s prone body. Blood was pooling. She pivoted her body to block Ilse’s view.
“They’re rounding people up,” the saleswoman said, her face wan.
Audrey watched over Ilse’s shoulder, sickened by the scene unfolding in front of her. A large black van had pulled up. The soldiers were still shouting. Another shot rang out, and a renewed wave of screams crested. Ilse turned around to face the window before Audrey could stop her.
At the sight of her father, she let out a strangled cry.
Audrey’s heart was racing. The back doors of the van opened as officers began seizing anyone within reach and shoving them inside. Two more shots, and another body crumpled to the ground. But Audrey’s eyes were locked on Ruth, who was kneeling over her husband, tears streaming down her red face as chaos reigned around them. Ephraim approached her from behind, a paper shopping bag still clutched in his hand. A soldier grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back toward the van. Ruth rose, shouting something at the soldier, a plea, and Audrey felt a surge of terror. He waved his gun in Ephraim’s direction and Ruth stepped between the pistol and her son. Ilse wailed.
The soldier indicated the van, and then Ira’s body. Ruth nodded. As she turned toward the vehicle, her eyes scanned the street, searching, finally landing on the dress shop window and Ilse, who pushed back against Audrey.
The pandemonium seemed to fade into the background in those few seconds when Ruth locked eyes with her daughter. The look in them seared itself on Audrey’s memory; the blistering anguish of a woman who knows this may be the last time she will ever set eyes on her child. But there was a softness there too. In what she knew might be her final act as Ilse’s mother, Ruth Kaplan’s deepest instinct was to comfort.
I love you, she mouthed.
A soldier pushed her toward the van. She took Ephraim’s hand, climbed in, and disappeared.
“No!” Ilse cried. “No! Mama! Mama! Ephraim!” She made another attempt for the door. “Where are they taking them?!”
“No!” Both Audrey and the saleswoman said together, reaching for Ilse. They held her back as the van doors slammed shut.
“Ilse, you’re no good to them if you get taken as well,” Audrey pled. Tears were running down her own face now. “Stay here. You must stay here, I beg you!”
The saleswoman darted to the windows and pulled the curtains shut with a sharp swish, then locked the door.
Ilse moaned like a wounded animal and leaned against Audrey. They heard more vehicle doors slamming in the distance, a few men’s voices, then eventual silence.
Audrey twitched her head toward the window. Is he still there? she mouthed to the saleswoman, who, to Audrey’s surprise, had tear tracks on her face.
The woman pulled the edge of the curtain aside an inch. She peered out, then shook her head. “No one.”
After nearly half an hour, Ilse coughed herself into silence, her bloodshot eyes staring down at the dress shop floor as she wrung her hands. Audrey followed her gaze. At some point, the deep crimson dress had fallen and now lay in a puddle. Audrey blinked rapidly to dispel the image of Ira and the blood that had pooled on the ground behind him moments before.
She brushed the hair back off Ilse’s wet, swollen face. “Ilse?” she whispered.
But Ilse continued to stare, unresponsive. Suddenly, she began to shake.
“She’s in shock,” the saleswoman said, and her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she hurried away, returning a moment later with a glass of water and two large woolen shawls, which she tenderly wrapped around Ilse’s shoulders.
“You need to get out of here,” she said to Audrey once Ilse had finally ceased trembling. “I can let you out the back way, into the alley. But you must go. It isn’t safe.”
Audrey stood, supporting Ilse. The woman led them to the back of the shop and opened a door into a dim, odorous alleyway.
“Thank you,” Audrey offered, but the woman shook her head.
“Get her out of Berlin. Out of Germany, if you can,” she said, meeting Audrey’s eyes with a hard compassion. “I fear this is only the beginning.”