Echoes

“We did it,” she whispered, and he nodded and put a finger to his lips. You never knew who might be listening. The essence of the masquerade was to consistently play the part. They spoke to each other comfortably in German. He discussed vacation plans with her and what she wanted to see in Paris. He told her about the hotel where they would stay, and chatted with her about her mother in Munich. As the train pulled out of the station, Amadea watched with haunted eyes as Prague slowly drifted away. All she could think of was the day she had come here in the cattle car. The agonies and the miseries they had endured, the slop buckets and the people crying and eventually dying all around them. She had stood up for days. And now she was sitting in a first-class compartment wearing a hat and white gloves, traveling with a freedom fighter in an SS uniform. All she could conclude was that, for whatever reason, thus far at least, the God she loved so profoundly had wanted her to survive.

The trip to Munich was uneventful and took just over five hours. She slept part of the way, and woke with a start when she saw a German soldier walk by. Wolff, the man she was traveling with, or the name he was using anyway, laughed at her and smiled at the soldier, and through clenched teeth told her to smile as well. She went back to sleep after that, and eventually dozed with her head on his shoulder. He woke her when they pulled into Hauptbahnhof station in Munich.

They had two hours to spare between trains. He suggested dinner at a restaurant at the station, and said it was a shame they didn't have time to go into town. But they agreed that they were anxious to get to France. Paris was a major holiday destination for Germans these days. With the Germans occupying it, everyone wanted to go to Paris. In the restaurant, Wolff talked to her about the fun they would have. But even as they chatted, she noticed that he was ever vigilant. He seemed to keep an eye on everyone and everything, all the while seeming to chat effortlessly with her.

Amadea didn't relax till she got on the train to Paris. They had a first-class compartment again, and she had scarcely been able to eat dinner, she was so worried that something terrible would happen and they'd get arrested on the spot.

“You'll get used to this eventually,” he said in a low voice as they boarded the train. But with luck she wouldn't have to. She had no idea what they were going to do to hide her outside Paris, but the idea of circulating among German officers, pretending to be the wife of an SS officer on vacation, nearly made her faint with terror. It was almost as frightening as the night she had fled Theresienstadt. That had taken courage, but this took rigorous composure. She sat rigidly in her seat once again until the train pulled out. And this time they would be traveling overnight.

The attendant opened the beds for them, and after he left, Wolff told her to put on her nightgown, as Amadea looked shocked.

“I'm your husband.” He laughed. “You could at least take off your gloves and hat.” Even she laughed at that.

She turned her back to him and put her nightgown on, pulling her dress off underneath it, and when she turned, he was wearing pajamas. He was a strikingly good-looking man.

“I've never done this before,” she said, looking embarrassed as he smiled at her, and she hoped he wouldn't take the charade too far. He didn't look like that sort of man.

“I take it you're not married?” he asked softly. The noise of the train covered their conversation, and he was no longer worried. No one was listening to them now.

Amadea smiled in answer. “No, I'm not. I'm a Carmelite.” He looked shocked for a minute and rolled his eyes.

“Well, I've never spent the night with a nun before. I suppose there's always a first time.” He helped her onto her bed, and sat looking up at her from the narrow bench across from it. She was a lovely looking girl, nun or not. “How did you get to Prague?”

She hesitated for a moment before she answered. There were no simple explanations anymore, for anything. Only hard ones. “Theresienstadt.” It explained everything with a single word. “Are you married?” she asked, curious about him too now. He nodded, and then she saw something painful in his eyes.

“I was. My wife and two sons were killed in Holland during the reprisals. She was Jewish. They didn't even bother to deport them, just killed them on the spot. I came back to Prague after that.” He had been back in Czechoslovakia for two years, doing what he could to put a stick in the Germans' wheels. “What are you going to do after you get to Paris?” he asked, as they rode through Germany. They would be in Paris by morning.