The Seven Year Dress: A Novel Read online

  “Any vegetables or protein—like meat or cheese?” I waited while he foraged through the provisions.

  “Yes, a few cans of tinned meat. And lima and kidney beans, sweet corn, sauerkraut, tomatoes, peas, Maggi cubes, and,” he shook a can, “soup.” His finger moved over several more cans. “Lots of soup.”

  “Okay, that’s good. Looks like what we have could feed our entire family for a couple of weeks.”

  “There’s more,” he said as his foot kicked a big burlap sack. “Rice, but how can we cook it?”

  “We’ll figure out a way. We could light a small fire or mix it in with some of the soup. I’m just glad there’s hearty food to help us stay healthy until we’re moved from here.”

  “Do you know where?” Ben’s eyes squinted concern.

  “No. I only know that Max said once he brings the rest of our family here, he’d figure out what the next step is. He’ll probably find us a place to relocate to. He’ll be back soon, and then we’ll know.”

  “I hope everything works out.” Ben shook his head. “I’m worried about—”

  “I trust Max!” I raised my voice and, with unconvincing force, said, “We’ll be fine.”

  “I know you want to believe that, Helen, but…” Ben’s cheek muscle tightened into a spasm.

  “Yes, I want to believe that. It makes me feel better. What’s wrong with that? How about you entertaining a positive outcome as well?” Putting a hand on his arm and gently pressing. “Please Ben, what good is worrying about something that hasn’t happened. Soon we’ll all be together.”

  He grabbed for and squeezed my hand. “You’re right, sis. I love you.”

  “I love you too. Okay, then, how about we finish the inventory?” I smiled.

  I took a look at the supplies Max had packed and was happy to find toothpaste and a few toothbrushes, a hairbrush, a mirror, and some deodorant. Also included was a battery-powered radio. “Ben, a radio. Max gave us a radio.” My voice raised a decibel with excitement.

  Ben came to look at it. “This is good.” He picked it up and turned it over. “It uses a lead-acid, wet cell…”

  “Huh?”

  “The battery,” he said, pointing to it. “The only problem is it needs to be recharged every few days.”

  I laughed.

  Ben tilted his head sideways. “What are you laughing at?”

  “I wouldn’t say that’s our only problem.”

  Smiling, Ben said, “Good point.”

  It felt good to have those moments of normalcy: smiling, laughing, and expressing our love for each other.

  “Ah, problem solved. Look,” he pointed to a gas-powered generator that could be used to charge it. “It’ll give us a way to listen to the radio, to hear the news.”

  I felt relief. It amazed me that something so apparently small as being able to stay informed made me feel better. It meant a lot to me. I felt a deep sense of gratitude that, after all the horrifying events I’d seen and the fear I had about the future of my country, my will to live and survive remained strong.

  Feeling a little more hopeful after finding the food and the radio, I allowed myself to relax. That’s when exhaustion overwhelmed me. I lay down on my makeshift bed. The minute my body hit the blanket, I fell asleep. My last thought before I drifted off was hoping I’d awaken to my family’s arrival.

  A loud noise startled me out of my sound sleep. In my groggy, disoriented state, I didn’t know if it was real or nightmare. Looking at the wristwatch I was wearing, I realized I had been asleep a few hours. I heard another sound; it was coming from somewhere outside. At first, I was excited that Max had arrived with my family. I waited quietly, as he instructed. When no one entered the farmhouse in what felt like ten minutes, I started to panic. “Ben.” I shoved his shoulder to rouse him from a sound sleep. “Wake up. Someone’s outside.”

  “Let me sleep,” he mumbled.

  I shook him harder. “Ben,” I whispered right into his ear, “get up! There’s a noise outside.”

  “Fine, all right.” He stirred and sat up. “What’s going on?”

  “Listen.” I barely breathed the word.

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “There’s someone out there. Give it a minute.”

  The clattering of garbage cans got Ben’s attention. He jumped up and ran to the side of the cellar where the sound seemed closest. He put his ear to the wall, but he shook his head, indicating that it wasn’t helping. I watched as he took out his pocketknife and carefully plied a knot in the wooden wall. The sounds grew louder while he worked the piece loose. The edge popped up, and we could see through the wall; the view was limited, but we now had a way to discern day from night. We could see outside.

  Ben peered through the hole, and his shoulders relaxed. He moved aside to let me have a look. The commotion outside was not Max, but a bear rummaging through the trash cans.

  The excitement made it impossible for me to get back to sleep. I was on edge again—continuing to check my wristwatch, imagining all kinds of dangers as I listened to the howling wind and animals scurrying around outside. When the sun came in through the hole in the wall, I became even more anxious. Max had had plenty of time to drive to Berlin and return with the rest of my family. By the time my brother opened his eyes, I was pacing the room.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  Looking at my watch for the millionth time, I sighed, “A little after ten.”

  “What? I slept for over eight hours.” He stretched. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Me neither. I’ve been up for hours. Ben, they should have been here by now. I’m really worried.”

  He leaned over to grab the bag that Max had packed from his kitchen. “Bread.” He smiled. “You must be hungry.” He sorted through other packages and found some cooked sausage wrapped in foil. He rolled one in a piece of bread and handed it to me. “Eat this.”

  I was too worried to eat. “I’ll just have some water.” I went to the sink and cupped my hands to drink.

  “You need to eat to stay healthy.”

  “You sound like Papa.”

  “Yes, I do. And he would tell you to stop fretting and eat.” He bit into his sandwich. “It’s good, Helen.”

  He was right. I made myself eat. And I tried to get my attention from the niggling feeling in my bones that something was wrong.

  When two days had passed, I was sick with fear for Max and my family. “Something’s happened to them,” I lamented to Ben.

  Ben kept saying, “It’ll be fine. It hasn’t been that long, Helen.”

  My ears heard one thing, but my body sensed another. A prickly feeling traveled from my head to my toes; it was as if my fear was crawling under my skin. I couldn’t rest or eat properly. I tried to squelch horrifying images of the SS brutalizing my parents, Lawrence and Shana the same way I had seen them attack all those innocent people on the street. Oh God, please let them be safe. Max, please bring them to us. Unbridled thoughts of fire, destruction and death filled in my head. I picked at the skin around my fingernails till they bled.

  Opening a can of soup with a can opener Max packed for us, Ben asked, “Do you think it would help you to talk about what happened that night?”

  “I already told you, no.”

  “It may help to talk…”

  “It’s not going to help, Ben! How can talking help? It won’t bring back the dead or repair the damage to property. It won’t bring back all the disrupted families and ruined lives!”

  “Quiet!” he whispered. “You’re getting too loud.”

  My scalp ached with frustration. I clutched the top of my head. “I don’t care!” I shouted.

  He grabbed me and covered my mouth with his hand. “Yes, you do. And so do I. Now stop acting like a child. We have to stay alive and not expose this hiding place.”

  In the dim light of our lantern, I could see beads of sweat on Ben’s forehead. My fit of hysteria had gravely worried my dear brother. I softly stroked his
arm, and when he released his hand, I broke into crying.

  Ben spoke slowly, calmly. “That’s good. Let it out. However you can, let it out. But do it quietly.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” I sobbed and continued to sob intermittently for two days. Finally, I said, “They’re dead. I know it. I feel it.”

  “Helen, be patient. We were both there that night, so you know as well as I do that Max could have been unable to get away.

  Please God, let it be that. This was our only hope.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I paced and worried about why it was taking so long for Max to return to us. Horrible thoughts ran through my head. Much later, I learned what actually happened while we waited for my family in that cellar. The destructive consequences of Hitler’s wrath over the German diplomat’s assassination in Paris continued to spiral out of control. As if destroying businesses, homes and families weren’t punishment enough, Hitler fined the Jewish community one billion Reichsmarks for vom Rath’s murder. He demanded another six million Reichmarks for property damage to be paid to the state.

  And a missive was sent to Goebbels, which he read in part at a meeting. "I have received a letter written on the Fuehrer's orders requesting that the Jewish question be now, once and for all, coordinated and solved one way or another…I implore competent agencies to take all measures for the elimination of the Jew from the German economy…" The purpose of that meeting with the high-ranking Nazi leaders was to make the Jews responsible for Kristallnacht. It set in motion laws to totally remove the Jews from the economy.

  The era of voluntary Aryanization had ended, and the era of forced Aryanization had begun. Jews were to turn over precious metal to the Reich. Pensions were reduced from civil service jobs. Bonds, stocks, jewelry, and artwork were confiscated. Driver’s licenses were suspended. Radios were seized. Laws pertaining to tenants no longer applied to Jews. A curfew was set to keep Jews off the streets between 9:00 p.m. and 5:00 a.m. in the summer and 8:00 p.m. and 6:00 a.m. in the winter. And to ensure that the Jews could not retaliate, regulations were issued against them owning or carrying weapons and ammunition; they were ordered to surrender all firearms to the local police authority. Immediately. It was a devastatingly dangerous time of public humiliation and degradation for the subjugated Jews in Germany and other German occupied territories. The path that would ultimately lead to Hitler’s Final Solution had been set and put in motion.

  I doubt that knowing any of this while in the basement with Ben would have mattered. All that I cared about was the safe arrival of my parents, Lawrence, and Shana.

  Two days moved into three, and we continued to wait. With my attention riveted on my watch, I obsessed over the fate of my family. I picked at my fingers, my legs, and dry moles on my arms. My oozing, raw skin bled as my unabated nervousness—and bad habit of digging into my flesh—worsened. I was distracted only by Ben’s deathly pale appearance. When his body started to shake, I felt his forehead. “Ben, you’re burning up.” Frantically trying to find something to soak in water, I resorted to my undergarment. I saturated a pair of underpants with cold water from the tap and applied the makeshift compress to his face. Remembering that Max had left us with supplies from his apartment, I rummaged through his bags, hoping to find aspirins. There were none. We had no medication of any sort.

  Although it was cold in the cellar, Ben’s clothes were soaked with sweat. I feared he would dehydrate if I couldn’t get fluids in him. I opened a can of soup. “Here,” I handed it to him. “Drink this.”

  “I feel nauseated.” He pushed it away.

  “We’re a stubborn lot, aren’t we?” I smiled. “Just force it down and if you vomit, you vomit.”

  “Water,” he grunted.

  “Ben, you need something with salt in it.” I remembered from a first aid class in school about how sodium in salt helps keep fluids in the body, especially when in shock. He wasn’t in shock, but I feared he could head in that direction.

  As sick as he was, he smiled and said, “You’re a pest.”

  I laughed. He was right. When I wanted my way, I was a nuisance. My eyes welled up with tears as I recalled my mother saying, don’t be a pest, when I’d bother her. Being strong-headed may have helped me then with Ben, but it sure hadn’t helped me win friends in school. Aside from my family, Max, and Isaac, I’d been a loner. I had to wonder if it was because of my bullheadedness. What was happening now—being in hiding and the reason for it, being stigmatized a Jew—was degrading. For the first time in my life, I felt helplessly out of control, and I despised Hitler and all his vile puppets. No self-righteousness or assertive protestations could change any of it.

  The sound of Ben slurping the soup made me feel better. I hated that sound when we were at the table having meals, but now it was music to my ears. “How’s the nausea?”

  “Not as bad.” He looked up at me standing over him.

  “Finish it, and I’ll get you some water.” I kept plying him with water to drink and continued to moisten the cloth on his forehead as soon as it became warm. Tending to Ben brought back memories of when we were younger and home from school. Sick. First, one would catch something and then, one by one, the whole family went down. My mother cared for us with chicken soup and loving attention. I ached for her attentiveness now—her eyes upon us and her soft words, always comforting us through the worst of fevers, coughs, aches and pains. I saw her beautiful face in my mind’s eye. Whenever I envisioned my dear mother, my father was always close to her, love for his wife radiating from him. I wanted what they had. They touched each other with gentle pats on the back. My father would tenderly move a strand of hair from her face. Their simple gestures were made with warmth and compassion. Although the pressure of making a life together sometimes brought out anger and frustration, I loved my family and wouldn’t change a thing about them for all the money in the world.

  Ben’s ashen-like skin took on a pinker glow, and I thought he might be getting better. He certainly looked like he had more life in him. Life. The idea reminded me of my father’s words: Life is precious. It is the most important thing. How right he was. It was then I made a silent vow to do whatever I must to stay alive.

  Breathing a sigh of relief that Ben looked more like himself, I covered him with all the blankets and turned off the lantern. Wearing two coats, I nodded off only to be reawakened by his tossing and turning. Ben’s body was trembling, and he had developed a gurgling cough. When he sat up to try to catch his breath, he hyperventilated. I panicked. Unsure of what to do, I patted his back, hoping to clear the rattling and wheezing coming from his lungs. I could feel the beat of my pounding heart. My chest hurt as I watched his efforts to take in air. I hoped he wasn’t dying. Finally, his breathing slowed; so did my heartbeats. When he fell back to sleep, I wiped a pool of sweat off my face.

  Poor Ben! Too much had happened. The war on Jews. Worry about our family and Max and this cold, damp basement. No wonder he got sick. I stayed up with him as he slept fitfully, tossing and turning. Finally, a few hours later, he relaxed into a snoring slumber.

  I was not able to rest that night as disturbing images returned. Men in suits and the SA in their brown shirts during that night of hell kept coming back to me with my unanswered question, why? Why did the paramilitary help the SS? They were local Germans, so why would they destroy property and neighborhoods? Why would they go along with killing Jews? I was not raised to believe in or understand evil. What Jewish child is prepared for a world where a monstrous man exists who wants to kill Jews? To that vicious, dictatorial despot, a drop of Jewish blood was a death sentence. The question why reverberated in my head until it hurt. I felt like I was going to throw up.

  Watching my vulnerable, innocent, loving brother sleep, I realized that evil has no explanation. Hitler’s profoundly immoral and malevolent actions were as much of a mystery to me as the alchemy of love. The fact that good German people were falling under his spell of hatred was even more confo
unding to me. Like it or not, I had to accept that depravity exists. But my father gave my siblings and me an antidote to this kind of poison. He taught us that life, and living a life of peace and kindness, is what’s most important. I needed to keep my focus on staying alive and keeping my family alive, no matter what. And no matter how. And, somehow in the process, maintaining my humanity.

  Daylight came, and, with it, Ben’s fever broke. That day there was something to be grateful for. I hoped it would also be the day my family would arrive.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The day proceeded, and, although Ben was coughing up some yellow gunk, his fever didn’t return. Worried that, as night approached, he might take a turn for the worse, I suggested we sneak upstairs to look for medication. I also wanted to see if there was a phone to try to contact our family.

  Ben pushed the palm of his hand out in front of me. “No! Helen. Stay put. We’re going to do what Max told us to do.”

  “What about your cough?” I pleaded. “If it gets worse…”

  “I feel better,” he croaked. “Um. Right now, I’m okay. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  To avoid aggravating him more, I yielded. But I insisted on continuing to force fluids down his throat. “I’ll agree to this if you don’t fight me over drinking liquids.”

  “You’re going to make me use up all the rations,” he joked about the multiple cans of soup I made him eat.

  “Very funny, Ben,” I gave his arm a gentle smack. We were always playful—teasing each other. Although I loved Lawrence and Shana, Ben was my favorite sibling. He was closest to my age, four years older, plus we had a friendship with Max in common. My other siblings never took to Max like we did. And vice versa. I also suspected that Max had a crush on Ben, so handsome with his big, dark-brown eyes and infectious smile.

  For the twentieth time, I scrounged the cellar looking for anything I might have overlooked that could help Ben. For the twentieth time, I found nothing new. I noticed the radio on top of the workbench, and, for the first time since Ben became ill, I thought of turning it on.