December 7th, a chilly Chicago Sunday, changed everything. Lena and Karl had put Max down for a nap. Lena decided to make a batch of latkes for Hanukkah, which would start in a week’s time. She was looking forward to the fact that Max might actually understand some of what the holiday was about this year.
Karl was working from home. He was not supposed to bring home any materials from the office, but he never discussed them with Lena, and she didn’t ask. Otherwise, Lena and Max might never have seen him—he was so absorbed in his research. In July, a report from the British indicated that a nuclear weapon was a distinct possibility, and the Brits were going ahead with development.
Their enthusiasm spurred the Americans to re-analyze their findings. In November, Compton’s committee concluded that a critical mass of between two and one hundred kilograms of uranium-235 would produce a powerful fission bomb, and that for fifty to one hundred million dollars it could be built.
Lena, who was chopping onions and enjoying their aroma, turned on the radio. The Bears football game was on. The broadcast was interrupted around 1:30 PM with the news that the Japanese were bombing the Pacific fleet in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Lena clapped a hand over her mouth. Karl stopped working and they remained glued to the radio for the rest of the day. Nearly twenty American ships, including eight enormous battleships, and almost two hundred airplanes were destroyed. Over two thousand Americans soldiers and sailors died; another thousand were wounded.
A day later, while officials were still sorting out the damage, FDR went to Congress and delivered a short speech calling December 7th “a date which will live in infamy.” Barely an hour later, Congress declared war on Japan. Three days after that the country was at war with Germany.
Lena descended into an unremitting state of anxiety. America was on the right side, but nothing was certain. She knew that events could—and did—change in an instant. The anti-Semitic laws in Europe, her flight from Germany, the loss of Josef, her parents’ silence, Kristallnacht. She felt powerless, like a tennis ball buffeted back and forth across the net, with no will of its own. The security she’d been able to create with Karl and Max rested on the precarious feathers of history. The slightest change could scatter everything to oblivion.
Ironically, her mood was at odds with the rest of the country. Bravado and cheerfulness prevailed, as though Americans were relieved, excited, even cocky about going to war. “Slap the Japs” could be heard in bars, people talked about “Jap hunting” licenses, and reprisals against Japanese-Americans began.
Japanese restaurants closed, their shop windows smashed. Americans boycotted everything Japanese, and there was much cheering and jeering from Chinatown, Japan’s sworn enemy. Lena couldn’t help comparing what was happening to what she’d gone through in Germany, although it wasn’t nearly as harsh. She was frightened at the prospect of war, but she couldn’t make herself hate the Japanese people.
Still, as the country geared up, she went through her days silent and brooding, waiting for something else to happen. Something bad was coming. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sit still. Even Max picked up on her tension and grew cranky.
* * *
It happened a week later. A layer of sleet glazed everything with a coating of ice. By evening it was covered by two inches of snow. The roads were covered with a deceptive white shroud. Karl would be walking home from the University, but he had no boots or scarf; the morning had been unusually sunny and mild for December. He was rarely home before midnight since Pearl Harbor anyway, so Lena didn’t wait up.
She woke a few hours later and checked the time. It was one in the morning, but Karl wasn’t in bed beside her. He hadn’t called either, which he usually did if he was going to be very late or decided to spend the night at the office. She peered out the window. More snow. He must be staying overnight at the department, she told herself. No one would be foolish enough to go out in this storm. She went back to bed.
She was startled awake by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. She looked at the clock. Three AM. Did Karl forget his key? He never had before. She wrapped her robe tightly around her, went to the door, and squinted through the peephole.
Two police officers stood outside, stamping their feet in the snow. Her pulse thundered in her ears, coursing through her hands, chest, and head. It was hard to breathe. What did they want? Were they coming for her? Or Karl? Why?
For an instant she was back in Nazi Germany. But this was America. Karl had suggested she keep a gun in the house. She’d refused, telling him they were safe here. That even the thought of a weapon was ridiculous. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
She cracked open the door, her hands trembling. “Yes?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Are you Mrs. Stern?”
She swallowed and nodded.
“I’m Officer O’Grady. And this is my partner, Officer Maywood. May we come in?”
“What do you want?”
“We need to talk to you about your husband.”
Lena’s stomach clenched, and she sagged against the door. Suddenly all she wanted to do was hurry back to bed and pull the covers over her head.
“Please, ma’am. Could you open the door?” O’Grady hesitated, as if he knew she was afraid. “We mean you no harm.”
She sized up the officers. Bundled up in overcoats, boots, and gloves, they didn’t appear to be carrying weapons. In fact the one called O’Grady took off his cap. Snowflakes melted on its brim. She opened the door wider.
“Thank you ma’am.” They came in and stood just inside the doorway. She closed it and planted herself in front of it.
“I’m afraid we have some bad news, Mrs. Stern.”
A steel band wrapped itself around her head.
“Your husband is Karl Stern?”
She nodded.
O’Grady took a breath. It sounded like a sigh. “We responded to a call of an accident in the snow. It was a hit and run. On 57th Street.”
The steel band tightened. Lena felt rooted to the floor.
“About an hour ago your husband was walking east on 57th Street. We believe he was coming from the University. That—”
She cut them off. “What happened?”
O’Grady looked down, away, then met her gaze. “Your husband was hit by an automobile. The driver must have lost control on the ice. The car hit him broadside. I’m sorry, Mrs. Stern, he didn’t make it. He’s dead.”