Number the Stars

For a moment no one spoke. Then Annemarie, watching in panic, saw her father move swiftly to the small bookcase and take out a book. She saw that he was holding the family photograph album. Very quickly he searched through its pages, found what he was looking for, and tore out three pictures from three separate pages.

He handed them to the German officer, who released Ellen's hair.

"You will see each of my daughters, each with her name written on the photograph," Papa said.

Annemarie knew instantly which photographs he had chosen. The album had many snapshots—all the poorly focused pictures of school events and birthday parties. But it also contained a portrait, taken by a photographer, of each girl as a tiny infant. Mama had written, in her delicate handwriting, the name of each baby daughter across the bottom of those photogrpahs.

She realized too, with an icy feeling, why Papa had torn them from the book. At the bottom of each page, below the photograph itself, was written the date. And the real Lise Johansen had been born twenty-one years earlier.

"Kirsten Elisabeth," the officer read, looking at Kirsti's baby picture. He let the photograph fall to the floor.

"Annemarie," he read next, glanced at her, and dropped the second photograph.

"Lise Margrete," he read finally, and stared at Ellen for a long, unwavering moment. In her mind, Annemarie pictured the photograph that he held: the baby, wide-eyed, propped against a pillow, her tiny hand holding a silver teething ring, her bare feet visible below the hem of an embroidered dress. The wispy curls. Dark.

The officer tore the photograph in half and dropped the pieces on the floor. Then he turned, the heels of his shiny boots grinding into the pictures, and left the apartment. Without a word, the other two officers followed. Papa stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

Annemarie relaxed the clenched fingers of her right hand, which still clutched Ellen's necklace. She looked down, and saw that she had imprinted the Star of David into her palm.

6. Is the Weather Good for Fishing?

"We must think what to do," Papa said. "They are suspicious, now. To be honest, I thought that if they came here at a1l—and I hoped they wouldn't—that they would just glance around, see that we had no place to hide anyone, and would go away."

"I'm sorry I have dark hair," Ellen murmured. "It made them suspicious."

Mama reached over quickly and took Ellen's hand. "You have beautiful hair, Ellen, just like your mama's," she said. "Don't ever be sorry for that. Weren't we lucky that Papa thought so quickly and found the pictures? And weren't we lucky that Lise had dark hair when she was a baby? It turned blond later on, when she was two or so."

"In between," Papa added, "she was bald for a while!"

Ellen and Annemarie both smiled tentatively. For a moment their fear was eased.

Tonight was the first time, Annemarie realized suddenly, that Mama and Papa had spoken of Lise. The first time in three years.

Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten. Mrs. Johansen went to the kitchen and began to make tea.

"I've never been up so early before," Annemarie said. "Ellen and I will probably fall asleep in school today!"

Papa rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking. "I think we must not take the risk of sending you to school today," he said. "It is possible that they will look for the Jewish children in the schools."

"Not go to school?" Ellen asked in amazement. "My parents have always told me that education is the most important thing. Whatever happens, I must get an education."

"This will only be a vacation, Ellen. For now, your safety is the most important thing. I'm sure your parents would agree. Inge?" Papa called Mama in the kitchen, and she came to the doorway with a teacup in her hand and a questioning look on her face.

"Yes?"

"We must take the girls to Henrik's. You remember what Peter told us. I think today is the day to go to your brother's."

Mrs. Johansen nodded. "I think you are right. But I will take them. You must stay here."

"Stay here and let you go alone? Of course not. I wouldn't send you on a dangerous trip alone."

Mama put a hand on Papa's arm. "If only I go with the girls, it will be safer. They are unlikely to suspect a woman and her children. But if they are watching us—if they see all of us leave? If they are aware that the apartment is empty, that you don't go to your office this morning? Then they will know. Then it will be dangerous. I am not afraid to go alone."

It was very seldom that Mama disagreed with Papa. Annemarie watched his face and knew that he was struggling with the decision. Finally he nodded, reluctantly.

"I will pack some things," Mama said. "What time is it?"

Papa looked at his watch. "Almost five," he said.

"Henrik will still be there. He leaves around five. Why don't you call him?"

Papa went to the telephone. Ellen looked puzzled. "Who is Henrik? Where does he go at five in the morning?" she asked.