It Was That Night Read online

  I run to the door and shout for Mum. She comes running.

  “What happened?”

  “Why am I here? I want Mutti. I want Pappi.”

  Mum holds her, sits down with her on the bed and whispers, “Ursula, you do know, don’t you. You must know.”

  Ursula sobs. “I am dead, aber …how can I be dead?”

  Ursula keeps on crying.

  “Where am I? I want Pappi. I don’t want to be dead. I don’t believe you! I am alive. And how can you be my little sister?”

  Mum holds Ursula in her arms, like she did at school. She sits for a long time, whispering to her. I hear her say, “I’ll get Isaac to come over.”

  “Isaac where is he?” Ursula’s face lights up. It is strange. I know she doesn’t really have a body, but her face looks as alive as mine and Mum’s.

  “Isaac lives in Sweden.”

  “And Auntie Hannah and Uncle Ruben?”

  “Aunt Hannah lives in Sweden most of the time. Uncle Ruben lives in Israel.”

  “Israel?”

  The door opens. Dad comes into the room. I squirm.

  “What’s happening, Inga? I have turned down the gas. The food was burning. Why are you sitting like that?”

  “I’ll come in a minute,” Mum says. “Just leave us.”

  Dad leaves, banging the door. This is going to be really nice!

  But I guess it must look very odd. I try holding my arms like I was embracing someone. Weird! Mum looks at me. I take my arms down.

  Finally, Ursula stops crying. She is still sniffing when Mum goes down to the kitchen. She sits still, her hands in her lap, her face twitching with all her thoughts. I can almost guess what she is thinking.

  The voices in the kitchen sound like sharp knives, not raised, just deadly compressed anger.

  I don’t know what to do or say. My thoughts whirl. Why is Ursula here? Why doesn’t she go to the place where dead people go – wherever that is? Then I remember. Until now she didn’t know she was dead. It must be like coming from another planet. It must feel so horrible.

  Ursula breaks the silence. “You look like me. And your mother looks like Mutti. Is her name Sarah?”

  That much I know. “Yes, but now she is called Inga.”

  Mum shouts, “Claire, food.” Ursula walks with me to the kitchen. She holds my hand. I sit down on the bench, Ursula sits beside me. Mum dishes out the food; she nearly puts a plate in front of Ursula. I giggle. Dad glowers. Mum doesn’t eat much. When we finish, Dad opens the parcel Mum fetched at the Post Office.

  “Thanks a lot for getting this,” he says. “I have waited for it to arrive for some time. It is rather important for my lecture tomorrow.”

  He shuffles through some papers, takes out a journal and begins to read. He pushes some of the papers onto Ursula. I stifle an exclamation.

  “What’s the matter?” Dad asks, looking surprised.

  “Err nothing,” I mumble, grasp Ursula’s hand, and flee.

  “The dishes,” Mum shouts. I pretend not to hear.

  “So that is my father,” I say and flop down on my bed.

  “He is very unhappy, isn’t he?”

  I had never thought about it before. “I guess he must be.”

  We sit for a while. Each lost in our own thoughts. I close my eyes.

  Ursula breaks the silence: “I have dreamt so many strange dreams lately,” her voice breaks, “and Mutti keeps calling me and telling me to go to the cupboard.” She falls silent.

  “But isn’t it a good thing that we have met now?”

  “I guess ... I look forward to Isaac coming tomorrow, then maybe I ... I don’t know ... perhaps I’ll figure out what I have to do. Everything is just topsy-turvey right now.” She cries, “And I am dead, but I don’t feel dead.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t, but I ask: "How do you feel, then?”

  Her crying subsides, “Normal, I think.”

  

  Chapter 19

  Claire

  6th April 1983

  I wake up with all my clothes still on. Mum and Dad are having a terrific row. “You’re making her sick, Inga. Pretending to believe all that Ursula-nonsense.”

  “Mogens, it is not nonsense. I see her too.”

  “See her!”

  Mum says something I can’t hear. Dad shouts again: “Isaac? You know I can’t stand that slick little Jew.”

  “Mogens be reasonable. I’m as Jewish as Isaac is. And he’s my cousin.”

  “I don’t care what he is. I don’t want him here.”

  Why does Dad not like Isaac? I’ve only met him a couple of times. He seems Okay. With a long sad, face. Mum likes him.

  I try my old trick, burying my head under the pillow. It doesn’t help. The only thing that happens is that my head gets overheated. Why do they have to fight? And why does Dad have to be so angry? I feel the tears start.

  “He’s my only family, Mogens. And I want Ursula to see him.”

  “See him? You tell me this ..ghost..” he spits the word “..hasn’t got any eyes. How can she see him?”

  Yeah, that’s what I want to know too.

  Dad’s voice rises: “I’m going to stay in town for a bit. This is a mad house.”

  “Mogens, why won’t you listen?”

  “I’ve listened to enough about ghosts. It was bad enough when it was only fairies and elves.” Dad’s voice gets louder, “You ought both to see Doctor Knudsen. This is turning into mass hallucination. Now Ellen involved is too.”

  “Ellen can’t see anything; but since Claire saw Ellen’s dead brother, Ellen believes what Claire tells her.”

  How did Mum know that?

  “Well of course she can’t see something that’s not there.”

  “Mogens, I’ve spent all my childhood, all my youth suppressing this gift. I will not have Claire thinking she’s weird or mad just because she has abilities other people do not.”

  Dad mutters something.

  “Why are you so against it? All over the world there are people like us.” Mum’s voice has a catch in it.

  “Freaks you mean. Seeing things.” Dad’s voice sounds scornful.

  “What’s got into you? When we first met, you weren’t like this.”

  “That was before Clara died.” Dad’s voice sounds like it’s breaking.

  “What has that got to do with anything? Please try to understand that I see myself in Claire. She is so much stronger than I was. And I think that is thanks to Ellen. Mogens, I really don’t want her to suppress this gift.”

  Is that what Mum thinks? I begin to get out of bed, but the voices have lowered to a murmur. Maybe it’ll be all right. In the end I fall asleep. I fall into a terrible nightmare about a headless man with gigantic eye sockets in his stomach. He is throwing large stones at me. I run and run to get away. I wake up with a start when Mum comes in and tells me Dad has gone to Copenhagen for a few days, and that she has phoned the school to say I am not coming in today.

  “Why not? We’re in the middle of something interesting and I want to see the new classroom properly.”

  Mum smiles. “Have you forgotten about Ursula?”

  Holy Cow! I look around. “Where is she?”

  “She’s in the kitchen,” Mum says.

  “But …” My whole life seems to be made up of buts right now. “How did she get to the kitchen?”

  I hadn’t heard the door and I am a light sleeper. My face must show some of my thoughts. Mum sighs, “You forget who she is.”

  Three times Holy cow! This isn’t for real, is it? Am I having a conversation with my Mum about ghosts, like we were talking about buying a new pair of shoes?

  “Get dressed and come and have breakfast. Isaac will be here soon.”

  Isaac! I had forgotten about him too. I go to my washbasin and splash some water on my face.

  “Mum when did you find out that …”

  “ … that I was different?” Mum folds a blouse I had thrown on the chair. “I had many dreams when
I was little. But I felt that Granny became sad when I told her about them. Especially when I told her about the lady who asked me to find Ursula. Now I know it must have been Leah, my mother.”

  Strange that Mum and I dreamed the same dream.

  “If you have lived with this your whole life, how come you didn’t go bananas?”

  Mum sits down. “Sometimes I thought I had. I believed I was the one who was weird when I saw dead people. But my grandmother, Ingeborg, who was Granny’s mother – it’s a pity she died before you were born -she understood and told me not to be scared – and that there were more things between heaven and earth than we knew. Whenever it got too weird, I went to her. And I learned to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Wasn’t that difficult?” I ask, retrieving a sock from under the bed.

  “Almost impossible. But I learned to cover up – make some excuse – when I had let something slip, or the person I was talking to was not really there. Also, I’d see the sadness creep into my mother’s eyes when I mentioned ‘unusual’ phenomena. It took me many years to understand that she was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  Mum looks sad: “I really don’t know, since we never talked about it.”

  “But you never said anything to me.” I begin brushing my teeth.

  “No, partly because of your Dad. And like I said yesterday, I thought you knew. You are very lucky to have Ellen.”

  I begin dressing and say: “Didn’t you have anybody?”

  “Not really. Only grandmother Ingeborg and an elderly man she introduced me to. He was seeing ghosts all the time after coming back from a concentration camp.”

  Another thought creeps through my sleepiness:

  “But why is Dad so angry about it?”

  “I don’t know. I think it confronts something he does not want to see. You know I met him on Bornholm. Back then he thought I was cute, pretending to see things he couldn’t. Only of course, I wasn’t pretending.” Mum straightens one of my ornaments. She looks sad.

  “But that shouldn’t make him angry. He’s always on about how one should be tolerant to everybody.”

  Mum sighs again. “That’s right. Claire, you know how much you get teased at school. But there are many places in the world where you and I would be considered normal, but then again …”

  I stare at her – the sock I was putting on forgotten: “Where are all those places you’re talking about?”

  “Iceland for one.”

  I think about it.

  “Would people in Iceland really think I was normal?”

  Mum gets up, “Not only that – they would respect you for your unusual gift.”

  Gift. Wow. That’s what Mum called it yesterday too. Then and there, I decide to live in Iceland when I grow up. The bliss of being considered normal.

  “Mum, didn’t you think it could be Ursula when you heard about the skeleton?”

  “No, I’d sort of forgotten. Isaac never speaks about it. Finish dressing and come down for breakfast.” Mum reaches for the door handle. She leaves which is good. I don’t want to talk anymore. Too much is happening. My mum can see things too – and she never told me. My – what is she? – Aunt I guess, has never properly died or at least she didn’t really know she was dead. And now Mum’s cousin is coming. I wonder will he be able to see Ursula?

  It is all too much. My stomach growls. Stomachs are down-to-earth things. You can fill them. Ghosts don’t eat, do they? Must be strange not really being here. I wonder how it feels. Not that I really want to find out.

  Ursula is sitting in the kitchen when I come down. She and Mum are talking about Isaac.

  “Isaac is fifteen, almost sixteen,” Ursula says. She sits very straight like she did yesterday.

  I forget all about her being a ghost. She looks my age, I think. “How old are you?” I ask. Then, “Sorry, I don’t …”

  “I am twelve, almost thirteen,” she says looking at the packet of cornflakes. I put some in a bowl and reach for the milk.

  “Awesome. So am I. I’ll be thirteen in August.”

  Ursula looks confused. Mum sends me one of those looks and says:

  “Eat your food, Claire.”

  To Ursula she says, “Isaac is a grown man now. It might be very strange and difficult for you to see him again. You might not recognize him as the boy he was.”

  “Can he … see things too?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. When we lived together, I sometimes felt that someone else was in the room, but Isaac could never see them. I don’t know who they were. Auntie Hannah said it must have been people who had lived in the flat before.”

  “Your aunt could see them?” I ask.

  “Yes, but we didn’t talk about it. Mutti was scared of them.” Her voice broke. Mutti was not very happy in Denmark. She didn’t know anybody. She was mostly with Auntie Hannah. She was very happy when she knew she was having a new baby.”

  Mum smiles.

  Chapter 20

  Isaac

  Lund, Sweden

  1946, Spring

  The light flickers. The room goes dark. I am sixteen. I grope in the dark for candles. My shin hits a chair that shouldn’t have been there. Where are the wretched candles? The flat is empty. My parents are out. The only thing reminiscent of them is the homely smell of sauerkraut that permeates the flat. From upstairs come faint voices from a radio. I walk to the sideboard. There must be candles. Jewish homes always have candles. My shoes squeak. The sound is eerie, like music from a horror film.

  The panic comes in a flash. I’m in the ship’s hold; hear my mother whisper, “Ursula?” Hear the sound of waves slapping the ship, a command from above. Boots tramping. The rancid smell of fear makes me gasp for air. The bile rises in my throat. Where is she? She can’t still be in that cupboard, can she?

  I am never going to forget That Night. Never. Fear cuts like icy needles into my skin. My stomach is nauseous: We are on the beach. Some people have begun wading through the water to the rowing boat that will take us to the big trawler.

  The alarm sounds. “Gestapo-Lund is here!”

  We are quickly shepherded back towards the school attic. I see Auntie Leah falter in the water and a man helping her. I am numb with shock. My father pushes me, “Come on Knabe.” My mother is holding on to Ursula.

  We are back in the school attic. Everybody. We escaped the Germans. My father whispers that Auntie Leah probably went with the man who helped her out of the water. We are told to be absolutely quiet. I hear tramping German boots in the street outside. How many knots can a stomach have?

  At one point I notice Ursula feel her way to the toilet. I see her come out again and brush against a cupboard door. I get up to help her. She goes into the cupboard. Softly I call to her. She is sitting on a sack munching an apple. She smiles and hands me one. I go back and tell Mutti that Ursula has found a nice spot to sit. It is very quiet in the attic, just a few muffled sounds when people move their feet or go to the toilet. I try not to make a noise when I bite into the apple. It’s very juicy. The chewing sounds so loud in the quiet room. I’m afraid it will attract the Germans. I leave the apple half-eaten. The black fear reaches far into the corners.

  I nod off. A sound like a door slamming wakes me with a start. People rustle around. Are we finally going to the beach again? It is very dark now. I can just make out Mutti’s form. Where is Ursula? I go to the cupboard. The door is shut. I knock and whisper: “Ursula.”

  The man behind me shoves me on. “Be quiet, boy. You can’t stop here. Move.”

  “But …” I try to explain. A hard shove pushes me forward. I want to go back to make sure Ursula is out of the cupboard. But I move on. My legs seem only to be able to move forward. Will we make it this time? But Ursula? I try to see ahead. Is she there? It is so dark. The pinpoint from the guide’s torch barely shows.

  We creep along the streets. The sound of boots comes nearer. I am biting my knuckles, drawing blood. A woman falters. Everybody stops. We are w
aved forward. It is dead quiet. I know that the babies have been given a second injection to keep them silent. We are at the beach. The first group is in the rowing boat. Now the second group. I climb onboard. Where are Mutti, Pappi and Ursula?

  I am pushed down into the hold of the trawler. ‘Let the ship sail soon’; I feel that silent prayer is being said in everybody’s heart. A command? A German? I am going to bolt, like I told Ursula I would. I also promised to take her. But where is she? My stomach heaves. The boat shakes when the motor starts.

  Will we really make it? I hear my mother whisper: “Isaac? Ursula?”

  “I am here.” I whisper back.

  “Ursula?”

  Nobody answers. That’s when my never-ending nightmare starts.

  My mother tiptoes around in the dark, asking everybody for Ursula. “Did you see her, Isaac?”

  “I think I saw her with somebody else.” What made me say that? The darkness hides the blush I feel spreading all over my face.

  “Well, go and get her then.”

  I fumble around. Maybe she is here. Hope is a candle in my stomach.

  “I can’t find her. It is so dark here. Maybe she’s fallen asleep.”

  Into my memory comes a sudden flash of the sound that woke me in the school attic. That sound could have been somebody accidentally shutting the door to the cupboard. But why didn’t Ursula just push the door open? She who is so good at hide and seek.

  It gets worse when we arrive at Raa in Sweden. I am caught in a white web of lies squeezing me from all sides. My mother wails. My father talks to the skipper. The skipper consults a piece of paper, “Twenty seven adults and five children.” The children are counted. There are five.

  “But Ursula, where is she?” My father is confused. “Isaac,” he says sternly. “Didn’t you say you saw her get onboard?”

  I mumble, “I thought so. It was so dark.” It is vital to look down, study my unpolished shoes, and not, for God’s sake, look up.

  My mother continues to moan. The skipper is in a hurry. “I cannot wait any longer. I have to sail back, otherwise I will be in deep trouble if the Germans suspect where I have been. I’ll talk to your sister-in-law and find out what has happened.”

  The white web of lies and guilt obscures everything. We are taken to a big house, given food. I cannot eat. Cannot sleep. End up looking like I feel. After a few days my father forces me down beside him.