Page 62 of Shadows In Paris
Lizzie thought of her welcoming house in London and how there was always someone at home to greet her after a long day. Pangs of loss clutched at her, sinking her spirits even lower. How had she ended up here? Alone in occupied Paris in a spooky farmhouse, frightened she was being watched by the evil eye of the Gestapo. If they were onto her, she would no doubt soon find herself a prisoner on the infamous Avenue Foch.
Lizzie’s mind swirled as she unlocked the back door, her heart chiming like a death knell. She scolded herself to get a hold of her emotions, or she wouldn’t last five minutes alone.
‘Collette?’ Lizzie called out, her voice low as she entered the hallway and walked into the cold, dark kitchen. If this was a trap, she was ready. Collette Simon was her sister, not Hannah Stein.
No response. She fumbled about on the counter and lit the small lamp, followed by the candles nearby. The kitchen didn’t look as forbidding with the glow of the soft light flickering and reflecting on the walls. Lizzie shrugged off her overcoat and lay her beret on the table.
‘Collette, are you home?’ she called again tentatively asshe walked through the ground floor rooms, holding a candlestick, her senses racing as her mind painted hair-raising scenarios of Germans laying wait in the shadows.
She climbed the stairs, her heart thudding so loudly in her ears, she felt faint from the sheer terror. What was it about the dark that was so unnerving? The weight of her foot caused one stair to creak, and she almost dropped the candlestick. Moving slowly through each room, there was no sign of Hannah.
‘Collette, where are you?’ she called, keeping up the cover pretence in case this was some kind of elaborate ruse to lull her into revealing Hannah’s true identity.
Lizzie was impatient with the fearful feelings controlling her. She was being ridiculous. Clearly, no one was here. She went back downstairs, heated some watery broth and devoured it hungrily, her heart still thudding.
Hannah was missing.
Hannah could kick herself for not guessing what Hans was up to. He had ordered her in his usual gruff manner to follow him into his suite of private rooms, saying there were papers to show her, and it would be easier to work in there. No sooner had she entered his lair, he snapped the lock on the door and turned on her, snarling.
Now, she sat writhing on a hard chair, her hands tied behind her back with a thick cord cutting into her wrists. She was angry at him, but even angrier at herself for not spotting something had changed. Hannah chided herself that her hubris knew no bounds. She had a way of thinking she could get out of any situation, no matter how difficult, and this time, her confidence hadn’t served her well. She should have been more alert, but when the guards at German HighCommand greeted her in the morning as usual, and the major general treated her just as he always did, she dismissed her concerns. She concluded Francois had either died from the gunshot wounds, or he had swallowed his suicide pill. Either way, she assumed she was safe to continue with the operation. This undercover work was the most important of her life, and she wouldn’t abandon it unless she was blown.
Hannah’s eyes scanned the unfamiliar room, and what she saw sickened her. Nazi memorabilia lined the shelves and every surface, and photos of prominent Nazis mocked her from the walls. Hitler’s vile face stared back at her from a photograph of the Führerwith a group of serious-looking young men. She immediately recognised them as Hitler Youth. When she was a child in Berlin, she and her friends lived in constant fear of the Hitler Youth bullies, who used any opportunity to taunt Jews who were forbidden to be members. Being excluded left the Jewish youth lost in a precarious wasteland, when in the early days, they hadn’t realised the group was formed to be their nemesis.
In the photo, a young Hans stood straight as a ramrod in his beige jacket with the swastika patch on one arm. His arrogant expression hadn’t changed. In another photo, he was receiving some kind of Hitler Youth award.Hitlerjugendwas engraved on the silver frame. The German name stirred up traumatic memories for Hannah.
In the early days, it was fashionable to be a member, and Hannah had hated that she was forbidden from joining the League of German Girls, the female Hitler Youth group. She had wanted nothing more than to fit in and belong, and she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t classed as a German girl. If she wasn’t a German even though she was born in Berlin and spoke native German, then what was she?
One day, when she was on the way home from buying anewspaper for her father, a crowd of older girls surrounded her and pushed her against a wall. Even now, Hannah could feel the terror shoot through her body at the memory. One of them had pulled her blonde plaits until her eyes watered, one had twisted her fingers back until she screamed in pain, and another had slapped her repeatedly around the face.
‘Juden, Juden, Juden,’ they chanted, encircling her so she couldn’t escape their taunts and sneers. ‘You have no place in Germany,’ they shouted. ‘It’s all your fault we lost the war.’
Eventually they grew tired of bullying her and she stumbled home, her cheeks scratched and bleeding, her little finger broken, and her school shirt ripped across her adolescent chest.
Her mother had taken her in her arms and held her tightly, stroking her hair to soothe her, whilst Hannah sobbed loud racking sounds that broke her mother’s heart. She had been cleaned up in the bathroom and her father took her to the family doctor who expertly bound her fingers, tutting as her father explained what had happened.
‘God knows what is coming if this is how they treat our children.’
Hannah was hurting and in shock as she chewed a biscuit, the kind doctor’s wife gave her, whilst her father and the doctor fell into a deep conversation about how terrible the persecution of the Jews in Germany had become. Hannah still remembered the doctor’s words because they had shocked her to the core. Perhaps that was when it hit her that things would not work out—there would not be a happy ending like in a fairy tale when the villain is brought to justice. German Jews were caught in a living hell, and it was only going to get worse.
Dr Goldberg said, ‘I have secured places on a ship leaving forEretz Israel. You could come too. Have you considered it? The Jewish Agency is buying land from whoever will sell it.Much of the uninhabited areas are swamps, but they are draining them for agriculture.’
Hannah’s father said, ‘The Land of Israel. The Promised Land. What a wonderful dream.’
Dr Goldberg finished tending to Hannah’s injuries and turned to face her father, a disbelieving expression on his face. ‘Surely you see there is no future for Jews in Hitler’s Germany? Get out whilst you still can, Daniel.’
‘Abba, what did Dr Goldberg mean about going on a ship?’
Later that day, her father took her into his study and pointed to a tiny area on a large map on the wall. ‘Hannah, this is the Land of Israel where your cousins live. It’s the Jews’ historic homeland. Dr Goldberg and his family are leaving Berlin and travelling to Eretz Israel.’
Hannah’s father continued, ‘The first Jewish Temple was built in Jerusalem, the capital of the Kingdom of Judaharound 1000 BCE byKing Solomon, the son of King David.’
Hannah hadn’t paid much attention to Bible study, but suddenly the information was no longer just a dull history lesson.
‘Can we travel on the ship to Eretz Israel and meet our cousins?’ Hannah asked, her sweet voice piped with hope even as her bruised eye stung and her finger throbbed. The reminder that her family had a place to call home buoyed her spirits. There was a magical place on the map where Jews belonged, and they could go there like Dr Goldberg.
Her father mussed his daughter’s hair, his eyes shining. ‘Maybe one day, my love,’ was all he said.
Hannah stared at the photo of the young, proud Hans, and wondered, not for the first time, what had made those German children despise her.
