Chapter 5 Audrey

BERLIN, GERMANY | NOVEMBER 1938

Ouch!” Audrey swore under her breath. She quickly withdrew her hand from the stream of hot water pouring from the bathtub faucet. She turned the cold tap to temper it and then fumbled with the jar of salts on the tub ledge.

Behind her, Ilse leaned against the doorway with a vacant expression.

“Come here,” Audrey said gently.

Ilse startled as though surprised to see her there, then moved into the bathroom.

She had cried herself sick at the dress shop, and in the hour it had taken for them to get back to the house, her spirit seemed to have left her body. A sort of mental paralysis had overtaken her, which, in a way, allowed Audrey to guide her easily onto the bus. The vehicle had been full of commuters with shopping bags, children, small dogs. People laughing and chatting to their travel companions, carrying on with cheerful nonchalance. When they’d finally arrived back home and Audrey slid the lock into place behind them, Ilse had looked around, disoriented.

“Let’s get you into the bath,” Audrey had said. It was the first thing she thought of, to help fight the lingering shakes and thaw the numbness that had settled over her friend.

Now Audrey reached for Ilse and helped her with the buttons on her dress. Something flipped in her gut at the sight of Ilse’s breasts, and she averted her eyes as Ilse stepped into the tub. They’d been so close for so long, had seen each other dress, but something about Ilse’s nakedness was particularly vulnerable in this moment. Audrey half-expected to see her shattered heart through the layers of skin, as red and raw as her eyes.

Audrey had always responded well to stressful situations and pressure—she was never nervous onstage—though she hadn’t experienced anything like this before. So far, her adrenaline was helping her manage Ilse, but beneath it simmered the shock and grief, the encroaching sense of panic at the questions that swirled in her mind.

“Thank you,” Ilse muttered, staring straight ahead at the porcelain tub.

“You’re welcome. When you’re ready, come down, and we’ll…” What happens now? “I’ll make some tea,” Audrey finished, then left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Downstairs, the lamps were off, but a dim afternoon light cast a grey aura over the sitting room. Audrey could still smell the lingering aroma of potato soup from lunch. She glanced behind her into the dining room. Ira, Ruth, and Ephraim had all sat around that table together only hours ago, discussing their shopping needs. But the house was silent now. They were all gone, taken, in one way or another, in a matter of minutes. It was unfathomable. Audrey expected them to appear suddenly, around the corner from the foyer or through the doors to the dining room.

Matya hadn’t worked today, given her mother’s illness. Audrey wondered vaguely how they would continue to pay her, and then the questions all began to flow at once. Her mind flicked through the realities of their situation like pages in a book, marking the ones that would require solutions in the short term, wondering what the answers could possibly be in the long run.

How would they pay for anything at all, with Ira dead, and Ruth gone? Would Ilse be able to access their bank account? What did it mean if Ruth was missing, or in custody, but not dead? And—Audrey felt bile rise in her throat at the idea—what if she was? And Ephraim, too? Where did people go once they were rounded up? Audrey had heard Ira speak of holding sites, but had no idea what they entailed or where they were located. How could they find out where Ruth and Ephraim had been taken? And what had they done with Ira’s body?

I fear this is only the beginning, the saleswoman had said. The beginning of what? Things were already horrible.

As she waited for the kettle to boil, Audrey leaned against the counter, struggling to fend off mental images of the afternoon’s events. Her world was spinning, and her instinct was to clutch the mundane, grasping at trivialities that were familiar and stable. To convince herself that some things hadn’t changed, no matter how inconsequential. So she made the tea, and set a small tray with some biscuits and Ilse’s favourite blackberry jam to try to tempt her to eat. A while later she heard the tub drain above, and braced herself for the conversation she knew they must have.

Upstairs, Audrey found Ilse in her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed, staring dreamlike into the cold fireplace. Her dark hair fell into little damp tentacles over her broad shoulders, and her face was flushed from the hot water.

Audrey set the tray on the bedside table and went to Ilse. She wrapped her arm around her, pulling her close. The spell Ilse had been under finally broke, and she began to sob once more, pouring out her grief into Audrey’s shoulder as the tea grew cold and the room dark.

“Mama was right,” Ilse said finally, taking a shaky breath. “We never should have gone.”

“No, we shouldn’t have,” Audrey whispered. “And it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

“It was my—” Ilse coughed, clearing the phlegm in her throat. “My father’s decision, Audrey. Not yours. You went to buy a dress. You didn’t ask us to join you. We all came willingly. I just wanted to feel normal for an afternoon. That’s no fault of yours. But why did they shoot him?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t see what happened beforehand. I heard him say something about shopping not being a crime. It could have been nothing at all. They can do whatever they want, can’t they? Maybe they just wanted a fight.”

Ilse sat up straighter. “But why are we in this fight? What will become of us?”

Audrey wasn’t sure if by us Ilse meant the pair of them, or Germany’s Jews. Maybe both. But Audrey had no answer for any of it.

She stood and turned on a few of the lights. They both blinked as their eyes adjusted. The bright light felt incongruous with what was sure to be the darkest day of their lives. But it relieved Audrey in a way, and she hoped that perhaps the light might help them see things a little clearer.

“What do we do now?” Ilse asked, voicing Audrey’s thoughts as she sat down again next to her. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to bring up the urgency of their circumstances when Ilse’s grief was so fresh, and was grateful for the segue.

“In the short term, we’re going to need money,” she said. “For electricity, coal, groceries. Do you have access to your father’s account?”

“I—I don’t think so. Mama did, but…” Ilse trailed off. “And you don’t have your own money either, do you?”

“No.” Ira had held funds from Audrey’s father in trust, paying her tuition at the konservatorium and doling out an allowance. “You’ll need to come back to London with me. It’s the only—”

“I can’t. We aren’t allowed to travel, remember? Not legally, anyway. Hitler’s made it impossible for us to go anywhere except by his own orders.” She choked on the last word.

Ruth’s and Ephraim’s names lingered, unspoken, in the beat of silence that stretched between them. Ilse’s grief was deep, as was Audrey’s, for the loss of Ira, but his death also posed a massive problem for their survival.

“I’ll write to my father,” Audrey said. “For a start. He might know someone who can help. In the meantime, maybe there’s another way for him to send money.”

“He’s going to tell you to come home. He might even try to come fetch you.”

Audrey gripped Ilse’s hands. “I know. But I won’t leave you. Not now. Not like this.”

Ilse said nothing.

“I think you should try to eat something. I brought toast and—” Audrey stopped, her ears pricking at a noise in the distance. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“I thought I heard something. A shout.”

“I don’t know,” Ilse said, sounding drained.

Audrey strained her ears again, but all she could hear was the ticking of the clock. She shook her head, then went to the tray on the bedside table. The pile of magazines was still stacked there. Only days before, they had sat here perusing them, irritated by Ephraim’s interruption. What Audrey wouldn’t give to see him climb down from the attic now, mischief sparkling in his eyes. In the span of an afternoon, their lives were set on an entirely different course.

“So,” said Ilse dully, taking Audrey’s proffered plate of toast. Her hair was beginning to dry, curling up at the ends. “What do we do for money right now, before we hear back from your father?”

Audrey had been thinking about this as she made the tea. Any job she might be qualified for—a salesgirl, probably—would barely put food on the table for the pair of them. She understood now, more than ever, that women’s financial dependence on men was a prison. It wasn’t just unfair. It could be catastrophic. She steeled herself. “Well… I was wondering if we could sell some things. I don’t have any jewellery or anything, but—”

“My mother does.”

“Yes.” Audrey felt anguished at the thought. “Or your father’s books—”

“No.” Ilse’s tone was firm. “Not the books. Not…” Her breath hitched. “Not yet.”

She was quiet for a while. Audrey thought about Ira, wondered where his body had been taken, and fought back her own tears. He was such a good man. A second father to her.

“But what happens when Mama and Ephraim return?” Ilse said finally. “She’ll be devastated, won’t she?”

Audrey lowered the bite of bread that was halfway to her mouth. “I suppose she will find it to have been… resourceful,” she said. “Will she not just be overjoyed to be reunited? I can’t see her being angry at you for doing what you must to survive.”

The family had never discussed this possibility. Ira had been too optimistic. It seemed foolish now that they hadn’t talked about what to do in the event any of them were arrested, let alone killed. But Ira had been steadfast in the hope that things would get better. It was a harsh lesson.

The abduction had been so violent and chaotic, right in the aftermath of Ira’s murder. But perhaps Ruth’s and Ephraim’s detention would be over in short order. An intimidation attempt to incite fear and acquiescence. It was possible. But a dark voice inside Audrey reminded her that that type of optimism had already burned them. They should prepare for the worst, she thought, though she couldn’t bring herself to say that to Ilse.

“Where are they, do you think?” Ilse asked.

Audrey inhaled deeply. “I assume at one of those holding centres your father was talking about. Or these ghettos that have sprung up, like that one near the border with Poland.”

“But how do we find out?” Ilse set her plate aside, then rubbed her temples. “I can’t even think straight.”

By the time they finished eating, it was mid-evening. Audrey took the tray downstairs and did the washing up whilst Ilse went across the hall to her parents’ room to peruse Ruth’s jewellery. When Audrey returned, Ilse was standing in front of her own dresser, fingering a simple silver pendant necklace that was now slung around her neck. In front of her lay several sets of sapphire and ruby earrings, a diamond bracelet and necklace set, two spectacular emerald broaches, three gold rings, and some reichsmarks.

“I’ve collected everything except the pearl necklace and her wedding ring. She was wearing those today.” Ilse’s voice was weak. “And this”—she touched the pendant—“was the first piece of jewellery Papa gave her. It’s not as valuable as the others. They were younger, not as well established as now.” She forced a smile, which Audrey attempted to return.

“She’ll be glad you saved that, I think.”

“I don’t know—” Ilse began, but what she didn’t know, Audrey never found out.

A thunderous banging sounded from downstairs, followed by male voices shouting.

Audrey’s heart pounded against her tonsils. “What was that?”

One spectacular bang and the sound of splintering wood confirmed that someone had broken through the front door.

“Good God, someone’s in the house!” Ilse hissed.

Audrey’s mind flew to images of the roundup, of guns and blood and Ruth mouthing I love you. She could not let them take Ilse. Her eyes flashed around the room, the lock on the door, the window. And then they landed on the ceiling.

“The attic!” she said. “Go!”

Ilse struggled on the rope ladder, feet slipping in her haste to climb, but she made it to the top. Audrey scrambled up next and hoisted the rope, tossing it into a pile beside her. There were two different male voices on the stairs now, taunting, somehow simultaneously jovial and angry. Audrey rushed to lower the door back into place and her eyes fell to the glittering array of Ruth’s jewels on the dresser below.

“No,” she breathed, a new horror overlaying her acute fear.

“What?” Ilse whispered.

“The jewellery.”

Ilse’s hand flew to her mouth.

In the briefest wild moment, Audrey debated retrieving them, but the men were in the hallway. They could either risk immediate death at the hands of violent intruders or gamble their future survival by losing their most valuable assets.

Audrey pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling. Closing her eyes against what might prove to be a calamitous loss, she shut the attic door.

“They’re here for me, aren’t they?” Ilse whispered, fear keen in her eyes. “The Gestapo?”

They both jumped as the bedroom door sprang open below and instinctively retreated a few paces from the attic hatch.

“Ha!” one of the men called. “Lars! Right here!”

The other man let out a satisfied sigh. “Christ, it’s like they just left it there for us.” A nasty chuckle. “Grab it all, and we’ll head downstairs for the silver.”

“Best score of the night so far though,” the first one said.

Audrey’s eyes found Ilse’s and she was sure that she, too, was picturing this fiend stuffing Ruth’s jewels into some dirty sack.

“How many houses left on the list?” the second man asked.

“Not sure. Three or four?”

More thuds and grunts told them that the rest of Ilse’s room was being ransacked. A minute later they retreated, their voices on the stairs, and Audrey’s breathing slowed a little. She held on to Ilse, whose limbs were curled in on themselves. She felt so frail. Just when it seemed no more could be taken from her, here were two bandits to strip her family home of its heirlooms and valuables. Audrey worried this latest assault would break her.

“He said something about a list,” Ilse said, pulling away. “Papa had to register our property back in the spring. Do you think they’re going to all the Jewish houses? Or was this just because they think we aren’t here? After what—what happened today?”

Audrey thought of the shouting she’d heard earlier. “No, I think this is all some sort of plan.”

“A plan for what?” Ilse asked.

Audrey swallowed. Her arms wanted to hold Ilse again, to touch something solid and familiar, because everything was terribly, terribly wrong.

Half an hour later, after the noise had ceased and they could be sure the men had vacated, they emerged from the attic. Audrey’s jaw dropped at the sight, astonished at how much damage had been wrought in a few minutes’ time. Ilse’s drawers were all open, the bedclothes torn off and tossed to the floor. The large brass lamp on the dresser was overturned. They found a similar sight in the other bedrooms.

Downstairs, Audrey went to the front door and listened, picking up the sounds of banging and shouting in the distance. She peered outside, but their side street was deserted, quiet, and there was no sign of broken doors or windows in any of the neighbouring houses. It confirmed her suspicions that the attack on the Kaplans was targeted: they were the only Jewish family on the street. The realization trickled down her spine like cold water. She withdrew into the house, shutting the door against the terror outside, but the lock was broken. Together she and Ilse dragged the heavy coat tree over and shoved it against the door. It would have to do for now.

In the dining room, the curio cabinet had been emptied of its silverware and some of the crystal. The silver candelabras were gone from the sideboard and shards of china plates encrusted the floor. In the sitting room, the large front window that overlooked the street was shattered. It wasn’t even for entry. It was purely for sport. Mercifully, Ira’s book collection appeared intact. The thieves, it seemed, did not understand the library’s value.

Ilse stared at it all with blank eyes, still wrapped in her robe. Her mother’s necklace glittered at her collarbone. “We aren’t even safe in our homes anymore,” she said.

Audrey had no response.

Ilse gestured at the mess. “We have to clean this up. But I can’t do it tonight.” She said it dully, as though she were simply too tired, or had other commitments. As though it didn’t matter either way. And that made Audrey fear for her mental state. There was only so much a person could absorb in one day. Audrey nodded. Better they try to get some sleep and approach these tremendous hurdles with rested minds tomorrow.

They trudged back upstairs. After a brief discussion, they agreed that the house was not secure enough for them to sleep unprotected in their bedrooms. It was cold, but the attic felt safer. Seizing some blankets and pillows, they dressed themselves in their heaviest clothing, then scaled the ladder with a pair of candles. The room felt much smaller than it had when Audrey and Ilse played here as children, but the low, sloped ceilings, yellow warmth of candlelight, and piles of quilts exuded a much-welcome sense of security.

They’d nearly drifted off when another loud noise in the distance jostled them.

“What now?” Audrey muttered. Wrapping a quilt around her shoulders, she walked, ducking against the slope of the ceiling, to one of the two small windows. In the moonlight, she could see into the neighbouring street, and beyond that, the peaked roofs of buildings and churches and—her stomach plummeted—the unmistakable orange glow of fires burning. She creaked open the window. The sounds of screams, crashes, booming echoes and harsh laughter rose up in the night air. It sounded like a riot, like animals tearing each other apart.

I fear this is only the beginning.

Audrey felt Ilse at her elbow. “That’s the synagogue,” Ilse said, her voice brittle. “They’re burning the synagogue.”