August 19, 1934
Look!” Erna points up to the top of the monkey enclosure. “We’re in luck!”
We prop our bikes next to a bench behind the zoo, where it backs onto Rosental park. A small group of the flat-faced gray creatures sit close to the side of the cage, high up on wooden poles. One of them swings down onto a platform where pieces of fruit are scattered. It grabs a slice of apple, and, clasping it tightly in its little fist, the animal climbs back onto the pole. There it sits, nibbling while its friends squawk and chatter with one another like a bunch of old ladies.
In front of us, small children play on the flat grassy expanse of Rosental in the warm August sunshine and dogs bound in great, loopy circles. From my bag I take out the two slices of linzertorte, wrapped in brown paper, and offer one to Erna. We sit and eat in silence.
A monkey couple crouch apart from the rest, close together, preening and checking each other’s fur. The quiet, gentle movements are broken from time to time as one or the other finds something, a flea or a louse perhaps, and, swiftly grabbing it, pops it into its mouth.
“Imagine if people did that.” Erna suddenly giggles at the monkey couple and wrinkles up her nose. She nudges me with her elbow. “Imagine you doing that with your sweetheart when you get one.”
I almost spit out my mouthful of sweet pastry and jam.
“Erna!” I splutter. “Shhh . . .”
She turns and looks at me, wickedness flickering in her eyes. “Perhaps you already have someone in mind,” she says, nudging me again.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re only twelve.”
“I’m nearly thirteen. Anyway, what about Karl?” She looks at me sideways.
“What about him?”
“He’s awfully handsome.”
“Karl?” I laugh. “He hardly ever washes and almost never changes his pants and vest.” Something quivers in my belly. A snake flickering its tongue. I carefully lick the jam off my fingers. “Reenacting famous battles. Airplanes. Football.” I count them off. “That’s what Karl likes.”
I study Erna’s profile while she chews and watches the monkeys. The delicate sweep of her nose. Her high cheekbones and smooth, milky skin. She really is impossibly pretty.
But Karl’s not interested in girls.
She lets out a long sigh and scrunches her paper bag into a small ball.
“I told my father about you,” she says, turning the ball round and round in her hands. “He said not to be friends.”
“Why not?” I stare at her in surprise.
“It’s not you he doesn’t like,” she says hurriedly, “it’s your father.”
“But he doesn’t even know my father!”
“I probably shouldn’t say,” she says, squeezing the ball to make it flat. “It’s only because he’s wrong. I should be friends with you, and whatever he says won’t change a thing. You’ll always be my best friend, won’t you, Hetty?”
And everything for a moment stands still. Like the most perfect picture. The sun is gloriously golden and warm. The birdsong is brighter and sweeter than ever before, and the monkeys at their most playful and full of joy.
I try to look unruffled, as if people declare me to be their Best Friend every day. “Of course,” I say, barely breathing, and I can’t help smiling. “Always and forever.”
We sit for a moment in contented silence.
“What is it that your father doesn’t like about mine?”
“Honestly. Don’t worry about it.”
“He shouldn’t say things about people he doesn’t even know.” How odd to think of Vati being discussed in other people’s living rooms.
Erna takes a breath. “Something to do with the way he took over the newspaper,” she says in a rush. “But he’s probably got it all wrong.”
Frau Goldschmidt’s wrinkled crone face swims into focus. Your father . . . forced them out . . . all lies and falsehoods . . .
Jealousy. That’s what Vati said it was.
“It’s all lies and gossip. People are jealous of my father’s success, that’s all.”
I meet Erna’s eyes and she looks away.
“Yes. That must be it.” She digs a hole in the gravel with the toe of her shoe. “My father’s a silly old fool for listening.”
“He should be more careful.”
The monkeys have eaten most of the fruit and begin a game of chase, swinging from pole to pole. The grooming couple saunter off and disappear into the covered enclosure.
“I’m going to join the Jungmädel,” Erna says. “Will you come too?”
“Vati won’t let me. He thinks the HJ should just be for boys.”
“But everyone else is. Surely you can persuade him?”
“You don’t know Vati. When he’s made up his mind, it’s impossible to change it.”
Perhaps Erna will find a new Best Friend in the Jungmädel. I scan the flat, green expanse of Rosental stretching out toward the woods in the distance. The sun is suddenly too hot, and the glare hurts my eyes. I can feel a headache developing in my temples.
Erna gently touches my arm. Her eyes are stretched wide open.
“Please don’t tell your father what mine said, will you?” she whispers.
“Of course I won’t.”
“I can trust you, Hetty, can’t I?”
“Erna”—I look straight into her catlike eyes—“I’m your best friend. You can trust me to the ends of the earth. I promise you that.”