By the time Anton and I had left the Restaurant, Orlando was nowhere to be seen, so I tore back to our apartment, desperate to talk to him. It was half an hour before supper and I knew that Mama would be getting ready for the theater and that Papa would not be home from the paper yet. Orlando was in the conservatory, patting down the earth around one of Mother’s plants.
“Where is it?” I panted.
“Where is what?” snapped Orlando, who, along with turning eighteen, had developed an irritating habit of treating me like a child.
“The gun!” I almost shouted with excitement.
Orlando reached out, grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me to him. “Listen, Bamse, there is no gun, right? If you want to help, then the first thing you need to do is learn to shut up.”
“You boys all right?” Papa stood in the doorway, looking at us. We hadn’t heard him come in.
Orlando put me down and ran a rough hand across my hair. “Just playing.”
Papa frowned. “Right, well—Bamse, go and wash your hands for supper. Then go and say hello to Uncle Johann. He’s just arrived.”
Both Orlando and I groaned out loud. Uncle Johann was not a favorite and his visits never went well.
“Oh, Papa, no. I—” I began, but Papa gave me a look and I scuttled off. I could tell Orlando was in trouble. I went to wash my hands but I left the bathroom door open so I could hear Papa asking questions.
“What is this, Orlando?” I heard a rustle of paper.
“All the boys are putting them up.”
“I do not want it on my front door. I will not have you provoking trouble. We don’t want to provide any excuse to arrest the Jews, or us for that matter.”
Orlando was almost in tears. “Papa, why do you want to be Hitler’s Canary? We can’t just tweet for him and do nothing for our pride.”
“I know you are angry, Orlando, but this is the best way. Don’t cause trouble.”
I heard Papa crumple up the piece of paper he was holding, throw it into the wastepaper basket, and say they would talk no more about it.
Uncle Johann was pacing about in the drawing room. Although he was Papa’s brother, he was nothing like my gentle father, and I think the whole family had all always been slightly scared of him. He lived out in the country in southern Jutland, and when he came to Copenhagen, he always stayed with us. He was a big, bluff man with a bright red face, as if he had always just stepped out of a high wind. As soon as he saw me, he slapped me hard on the back.
“Ah ha! Bamse, my boy. Not growing any bigger then, you little runt? They ever going to make a man of you? You w^ant to come out on the farm with me for a few days—that’ll toughen you up.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, and thanked God when the call came for supper.
Mama’s show was at nine so we ate at six. Papa found all mealtimes very trying. Lisa, our housekeeper, had been with us forever. She was a big round woman from the country. She was probably only fifty but she seemed ancient. She also came from southern Jutland and had an accent as thick as the black bread she cut for us. Papa would sit at the head of the table, pressing and pressing the bell under the carpet with his foot to signal that the next course should be served, unaware that Lisa had disconnected it years ago. She served what she wanted when she wanted, and if Papa did manage to complain, then he never understood her reply. As usual, Mama seemed unconcerned and smiled brightly at everyone. That particular evening she was dressed as an Edwardian English gentlewoman. She looked stunning in the candlelight and she knew Uncle Johann was drooling over her because he always did. Even though he was disgusting she seemed to like it, and she had clearly decided to play the great society hostess that evening.We would have a meal with amusing small talk to accompany her delightful outfit.
She sat smiling while we waited for Papa and Orlando, who were arguing in the hall. I could hear Papa being unusually firm.
“He is your uncle. You will sit down and be pleasant.”
“Tell me—has everyone had a pleasant day?” Mama inquired with a slight trill as Papa and Orlando took their seats.
“Not as pleasant as the evening,” replied Johann and raised his glass to Mama. He was a clumsy man and looked out of place at Mama’s elegant table as he swallowed his wine in one gulp and broke bread into crumbs all over the table.
“Brought you kids a duck for dinner. Shot it myself. Right between the eyes.” Uncle Johann raised his hands above his head as if holding a rifle.
“Bang!” he exclaimed, and Mama gave a little start.
“Heavens. Poor thing,” she remarked quietly.
The bang reminded me of Anton’s and my adventure in La Tosca.
“Oh Mama,” I burst out, “it was ever so exciting today. Orlando took me to—”
Before I could get any further, Orlando gave me a sound kick under the mahogany dining table.
“Ow!” I cried.
“Bamse, whatever is the matter?” asked Mama.
“Gr-gr-growing pains,” I managed as Orlando threatened my shin again.
“So what did Orlando take you to that was so exciting?” asked Papa while he pressed impatiently with his foot at what he thought was the bell. Behind him the rest of us could see Lisa through the small glass pane in the kitchen door. She was simply waiting till my father stopped trying to call her.
“Masha, please go and see what that woman is up to, will you?” requested Papa quietly, trying to be calm. Masha sighed the sigh only sixteen-year-old girls manage for their fathers and went off to the kitchen. Uncle Johann watched her go.
“Hell of a pretty little thing, Peter. You want to keep an eye on her.”
Papa ignored his brother and turned calmly to me. “Now, Bamse, what was it—?”
Mama suddenly clapped her hands and squealed with laughter. “Oh, I have such a funny story from last night. Masha, come and hear this!” she called through the kitchen door.
Lisa swung through the door and began serving food in great dollops. Mama didn’t seem to notice how the meatballs bounced down onto the plates. She continued her story.
“You know how the Gestapo take all the best seats at the theater—at the front in the stalls? Well, they are always late and make a great noise when they come in to get everyone to look at their uniforms, and they put their shiny black boots up on the stage. So last night Torvald had gone out onstage to do his opening routine when in come all the soldiers; so he waits. He lets them all get settled and then he suddenly puts his arm straight up in the air like that horrible salute they do to the Fiihrer. Well, I was in the wings and I couldn’t believe it. Was he going to salute those hideous men? The audience was shocked—you could hear it. Of course, all the Germans leaped to their feet, thrust an arm in the air, and shouted, ‘Heil Hitler!’Then they all sat down again, and still Torvald hadn’t said a word and was just standing there with his arm in the air. There was a terrible silence and then he turned to the audience and said, ‘You know, last winter the snow outside my house was this high.’ The Germans were furious and everyone else was crying with laughter.”
Papa shook his head. “He shouldn’t do it.” But he laughed as he said it.
“Very good, very funny,” Uncle Johann nodded, helping himself to more wine. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t have to think about the Jewish problem.”
There was a silence. Papa frowned at Orlando but he couldn’t leave the matter alone.
“What Jewish problem, Uncle?” asked my brother.
“Come on, Orlando, don’t be naive. Something has to be done about the Jews.”
Papa shook his head. “I don’t understand you.”
His brother looked at him. “The Jews are ruining our businesses. They have to go. It’s nothing. What are there? Maybe eight thousand at most.” There was silence at the table. Uncle Johann looked at us all. “If we help the Nazis with this, they will leave us alone,” he persisted. “Some of my neighbors have joined the Schalburg Corps. It’s not a bad idea.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Papa. The Schalburg Corps was a Danish Nazi SS volunteer force. Rumor had it that the Germans used them to terrorize local people into doing whatever was wanted.
“Are you mad? You can’t just call people Jews and then throw them out of the country. They’re Danes as well,” exploded Orlando furiously. “Some of them have been here for centuries. What about the Viking Jews? Christian the Fourth invited Jews here in the seventeenth century, offering them freedom of religion and the right to trade. Frederick the Fourth gave them full equality in eighteen fourteen. They’re as Danish as the rest of us.”
Mama beamed at Orlando. “That was very good, darling. Wasn’t that good, Peter?”
Orlando blushed and looked down at the table.
Papa nodded. “Orlando is right. Johann, there is nothing to be afraid of. No one is going to take anything from you. The Jews have as much right to be here as anyone, but in a way it is not a question of Jews and their rights. It’s about us and who we are as a nation. There’s never been a ghetto in Denmark. We don’t characterize people by religion or anything else. Everything we do is based on equality and human dignity.” Papa seemed almost to be pleading with his brother. “Johann, you know that.”
Johann snorted. “All I know is that I will be glad when they make them wear the yellow star so at least you can spot them.”
Orlando turned to Papa, pleading, “Papa, how can you let him sit here?”
“He’s my brother,” replied Papa quietly. “You don’t understand, Orlando. Johann, can’t you—?”
I didn’t understand at all. “Uncle Johann,” I asked, “if you can’t spot them without the yellow star on, then they must just be the same as us. I mean, otherwise you would know them without the star, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d know them anyway,” mumbled Uncle Johann. “They look different. People shouldn’t look so different.”
Mama reached out and put her hand on Papa’s, but I ploughed on.
“Why are the Germans so afraid of the Jews? My friend Anton is Jewish and he’s not scary at all.”
Uncle Johann put down his knife and fork with a bang and looked straight at me. “You have a Jewish friend? Peter, how can you let him?”
“I am not going to sit here and listen to this.” Orlando threw down his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair so violently that it fell backward on the carpet.
Fortunately, Lisa chose that moment to bring in the duck.
“Sit down, darling,” said Mama quietly but firmly, “or we’ll all get indigestion.”
Orlando glowered at Papa but the smell of the roast duck was probably too much, because he picked up his chair and sat down. The whole table went silent: I think everyone was wondering whether you could still see where it had got Johann’s bullet between the eyes. If Johann had had any sense he would have realized that it was a good moment to change the conversation, but he didn’t.
“The Jews in Germany wear the yellow star. In fact, they wear it in all the occupied countries and you don’t hear them complaining.”
“You don’t hear them at all,” muttered Orlando.
“They say if the Germans bring in the yellow star for the Jews, then the king will wear one,” I contributed.
“That old fool,” sneered Johann.
“If they make Anton wear one, then I will too,” I said, thinking I wouldn’t mind at all if he didn’t.
“I don’t think yellow is a good color for anyone,” contributed Mama. “Makes one look so pale. I remember a production of All’s Well when dear Thomas—”
Suddenly Papa put down his knife and fork. “Where the hell is Masha? I send her to get the dinner and we get the dinner and lose her. What the hell is going on tonight? Masha!”
Masha came stumbling through the door looking bright red and flustered. “Sorry, Papa. I … I—”
“All right, all right, sit down. Now let’s stop talking about stars and Jews and the color yellow and get on with our dinner.”
“Just vegetables for me, Lisa,” whispered Mama, clearly still worried about the way the duck had lost its life.
Uncle Johann toasted Mama again with his wine. “Beautiful woman. I never married because I never found anyone as beautiful as Marie. You’re a lucky dog, Peter—family, Marie, this home … ”
He had had quite a bit to drink by now, and when Lisa brought in the dessert, he got to his feet and pretended to chase after her. She escaped shrieking to the kitchen, with Uncle Johann hot on her heels. Everyone was embarrassed.
“‘Exit pursued by a bear,’” said Mama, quoting her favorite line of Shakespeare, and we all laughed.
I remember that night. Mama looking so beautiful in the candlelight and Papa sitting at the head of the table. Even Masha and Orlando laughed at one of Mama’s stories, and Papa held her hand while they drank their coffee. Uncle Johann was right about something. We were lucky.