It Was That Night Page 5

  I stop walking. “I wanted to know if other people exist who are as weird as me.”

  “You’re neither weird nor a freak. You just have an unusual gift.” Mum sounds extremely emphatic.

  “Gift!”

  “Claire, I’m sorry we haven’t talked about this before. I was going to talk to you about it once you got older.”

  “Same as Granny and Granddad, eh?” I sniff.

  Mum smiles her wry smile. “Point taken,” she says.

  We continue walking when something that’s been turning around in my head lets itself out: “Mum, when Granny and Granddad were telling the story I saw what they said like a film. I never experienced that before, how come it suddenly was like that?”

  Mum stops and looks at me: “Maybe because you're not so close to people, or perhaps because you’re older and the hormones change everything.”

  “Yeah, but I never see Ellen’s stories like films. Nor yours or Dad’s. I only hear what you say. I don’t see any pictures or anything.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. I don’t really want anybody to see my thoughts. But I honestly don’t know why, Claire. Read a few more of Dad’s books, listen to what they say and maybe they have an explanation.” Mum walks faster. I almost have to run to keep up with her.

  “Mum, why does he have all those books, if he thinks it’s totally crazy?”

  “I wish I knew,” Mum sighs and looks sad.

  When we pass our house, we hear the phone ring. Mum rushes in to answer it. When she comes out again, she says:

  “Claire, I’m sorry I have to go to the Post Office before it closes to get a parcel for Dad. Something important he’s been waiting for. I’ll be quick. Wait for me in the house.”

  Mum rushes towards the Post Office. I run in and race back up into the attic. I just want to finish the part of the diary I was reading. It is too thrilling. “Mum doesn’t know how far I read – does she?” I tell the voice that’s still trying to dissuade me.

  Where did I get to? Yes, here it is, May 6th 1957, where Mum shouts that she damn well is not a boy.

  I stop reading. Granddad has just told me all this. I skim the pages.

  I stared at him. He was not my Father and Mother not my mother. I had another mother. When I asked where my real mother was, Mother gave a start. Father answered that my real mother had developed pneumonia and had died the day after giving birth to me.

  I couldn’t breathe. It was too brutal. He should not say it like that. Father continued, “Her name was Leah.”

  I had a name. My mother was called Leah. Just like it said on the birth certificate. I asked, ‘Is my father’s name Jacov? And where is he?’

  Mother’s voice faltered when she answered: “We do not know if he is still alive, but we could not send you to Sweden. The Germans were here. So we adopted you.”

  I didn’t understand anything. Why Germans? Why Sweden? Mother said: “Don’t you understand? You’re Jewish.”

  Jewish. Am I Jewish? Is that why I can’t eat sausages. Dear friend Diary, it’s all too weird. And the dreams? The woman with the wild eyes in my dreams calling ‘Find Ursula.’!

  My thoughts take a sliding dive: Did Mum dream my dreams too back then? And what about all that Jewish business? Am I Jewish too? This is too exciting. I continue reading.

  It said that in the birth certificate another name was written. And the birth certificate was dated 1946. I asked, “When am I born? Is the date wrong too?”

  Father said that the date was right – that I was born on first October, 1943. He continued to say that I must understand … but I interrupted him and asked why they’d never told me? If I was not me, who was I? And why had they lied? I saw Mother had started to cry. I didn’t understand why. Surely, I was the one who should be crying.

  Father said:

  “Your aunt and uncle …”

  “Aunt and Uncle!” I shouted. “Do you mean I have a family?”

  Mother’s face was white. “They lived in Sweden but have moved to Israel.”

  The letters! “You have been corresponding. Why did you not tell me? What more haven’t you told me?”

  All at once I remembered: The foreign family visiting. I was almost three. The strange atmosphere in the room. Ursula. The woman had called me Ursula.

  “Is my name Ursula?”

  Mother shook her head. “No, Ursula disappeared during the escape.”

  I started sweating. I wanted to scream, smash things. Instead I rushed out of the house. I walked for hours while my thoughts tried to find a way out of chaos. So, I am Jewish. Does that make me different? But why did they never tell me? In the end I went to see Granny Ingeborg. When she saw me, she held out her arms and said: “They should have told you years ago.”

  Being with Granny Ingeborg helped. She told me not to judge. That’s a hard one. The atmosphere at home is very cold and polite.

  Monday, 13th May 1957

  Dear friend diary, something amazing happened today. I went to the beach to clear my head. I have done that every day since that day I found out. I let my feet walk while looking at the sea – maybe to find an answer. That’s why I didn’t look where I was going and bumped right into a young man. He stared at me as if he had never seen a human being before. Then he asked me if my name was Sarah.

  I gaped at him and asked how on earth he knew that my other name was Sarah when I myself had only just found out.

  Then he said that he was my cousin, Isaac. He had decided to come and visit me to see how I was. He told me everything. It was difficult for him to talk about Ursula. He also told me a very important thing, namely that my father might still be alive.

  I hear the front door and race down to my room. Mum comes up. Looks at me.

  “Claire, are you all right. You look flustered.”

  I bend down fiddling with my shoelaces. Whatever happens don’t look up: “It’s all a lot of things to take in, Mum. I’m scared. Do you think I’m going crazy?”

  Mum gives me a hug. “Claire, like I said before, you have an unusual gift.”

  “Whatever,” I mumble. “Why did you never tell me?”

  “You know Mogens …Claire, I really am sorry we didn’t talk about this before. I thought you knew I also saw things.”

  The incidents crowd into my head. I remember how often in Bornholm I sat in my windowsill in the evening waiting for the moon. One evening Mum came in and she asked: “What are you doing? You should be in bed, you know.”

  “I am waiting for the elves to dance. Look, there they are.”

  Mum nodded. Dad heard us talking and came in. “What mad pranks are you two up to?” He asked.

  “We’re watching the elves dancing,” I said. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “It’s the moonlight,” Dad smiled, “And it’s time for little girls to go to sleep.” He carried me back to my bed.

  Later I heard him talk to Mum in that voice where the nose disappears into the mouth.

  “Don’t put all those ideas into her head. It’s not normal.”

  And Mum’s answer: “She is only a child, Mogens.”

  Only a child. And an only child. I’ve wished for a sister or brother all my life. Instead I played with the elves and fairies. But I do wish Dad wouldn’t be so angry about it. Am I really not normal? What’s normal anyway? I remember when he was just my big strong dad, laughing when I saw things he didn’t.

  Another incident knocks at my memory. A couple of years earlier I was watching TV when a programme with people dancing was showing. I’d never seen a ballet before and rushed into the kitchen where Mum and Dad were sitting having their after-work glass of light ale.

  “Come and look. In the TV they are dancing just like the elves.”

  Dad said, “It’s a ballet, Claire.” But Mum smiled and nodded, “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  “I guess I should have understood,” I tell Mum. “Well, I didn’t.”

  Mum looks sheepish. She scratches her ear again: “I am really
sorry. Maybe because I’ve tried to close myself off from these experiences. You know both Granny and Granddad got worried when I told them what I saw.”

  “Just like Dad. Mum, Granddad and Granny never told me about Ursula. Who is she?”

  Mum’s face looks excited and scared at the same time, she says:

  “Let’s get going.”

  Why doesn’t she answer? This is too weird. I am walking beside my mum on the way to see a ghost! The wind has started up again. I wrap my scarf around my face, while my thoughts drum in my head: What if Ursula is not there? And what if she is? Will Mum really be able to see her? And if she isn’t there, will Mum still believe me?

  Fortunately, it’s a short walk or I would be smashed to smithereens by all the thoughts grinding in my head. Being a school librarian Mum has the key to the school. Nobody is there. We go up to my new classroom. It’s empty. I walk to the cupboard. It’s shut. Will the girl be there? My head feels like it is full of meteorites orbiting at full speed. My hands shake as I slowly open the cupboard. At first, I don’t see anything. It’s dark in the cupboard. Then I see her. She is sitting on the floor. Hunched up, holding her knees, her long black plaits trailing down her back. There is a faint smell of apples in the cupboard. I recognize it. That’s how the girl smells. I turn to Mum. I am totally freaked out. Will Mum be able to see her? And Ursula. Will she be fine with me bringing Mum?

  “Ursula,” Mum says.

  The girl looks up. It’s scary seeing someone without eyes. Even if you know they are dead. Mum gasps, but she reaches out and takes Ursula’s hand.

  “Come,” she says.

  Ursula follows her and we sit down on some chairs.

  Mum asks gently, “Why are you here, Ursula?”

  

  Chapter 10

  Ursula

  5th April 1983

  Ursula looks at Mum. Her empty eye sockets widen.

  “You look like, you look like …”

  “I think I know,” Mum says. “But why are you here?”

  “We are waiting to escape to Sweden. We went to the beach, but then we had to come back and wait here.”

  Ursula looks around, “Where are the others?”

  “The others?” Mum asks.

  “Mutti, Uncle Ruben, Auntie Hannah and Isaac. Pappi is not here. He will come.”

  I can’t help asking, “But how come you are here?”

  “Morten fetched us. He said the Germans were going to take all the Jews in Denmark and send them to Germany.”

  Ursula’s blank eyes widen in fear. “I will never go back to Germany again. Not after That Night. Everything changed. You know we lived in Heidelberg above my father’s antique shop. I was eight. It had just been my birthday. I remember being sad that not many children came to my birthday party.”

  At first Ursula’s voice sounds like a small lost child. As she speaks it gradually changes to that of an older girl. She speaks perfect Danish.

  9th November 1938

  “We have a beautiful garden with a big apple tree. Always I love to sit under the tree. The tree sings for me when I am swinging on the swing.

  One night I woke up. What was all that shouting and banging going on in the street? I went to the window to see what was happening. I still remember how icy the floor was. The cold crept into the soles of my bare feet; I almost went back to my nice warm bed.

  Outside the house there were many screaming and shouting people. One of them was the blacksmith, my friend Wilhelm’s father. All of a sudden, they started hammering on the shop door and throwing stones at our house. One of the stones flew through my window over my head with a big crash. The window clanked and shattered. The stone landed on my rocking horse before hitting the floor with a big thud. I remember laughing when the horse started moving.

  Something hit my face and I felt a burning on my cheeks. My eyes felt like bees were stinging them. I started crying and shouted for Mutti. She and Pappi came running. Mutti picked me up. Her heart was galloping wildly.

  Another loud bang came from outside, a bit further away, like something was exploding. I could hear the sound of feet running away from our house. The shouting wasn’t so loud anymore.

  ‘Thank Heaven they went away,’ Mutti said. I felt her hands shaking as she held me.

  I rubbed at my eyes and howled.

  ‘Let’s get those glass splinters out of your face,’ Pappi cried. His voice shook. Splinters? I felt my face. Big pieces of glass were sticking out of it like I was a porcupine. I started pulling at some of the pieces. My eyes hurt as if they were on fire. I screamed.

  ‘Remove as many as you can Leah. No, don’t touch your eyes, Ursula, I’m going to phone Doctor Heinz.’ I heard Pappi running to the phone.

  ‘He’s coming as soon as he can.’ Pappi was back in the room. He helped Mutti take the splinters away.

  The banging and hammering noises from outside got fainter. Now the racket sounded as if it came from around the corner, near Abraham’s bookshop.

  Waiting for Doctor Heinz took a very long time. Mutti had to hold my hands so I didn’t use them to rub my burning eyes. I felt sticky blood on my face. I cried. That made my eyes sting even worse. Mutti held me tight. She was dripping tears on my face. That hurt too. I couldn’t see anything.”

  I try in vain to shut my mind to avoid seeing the confused dark grey pictures from Ursula’s story. She’s describing the situation as if it has just happened.

  “Finally Doctor Heinz came. By now I was screaming so loud I didn’t even hear him enter. ‘Gott im Himmel,’ he said and some words I knew were very bad swear words. I wanted to giggle. But my eyes hurt too much. ‘Let me see your face. You’d better come back with me to the surgery so I can get those nasty splinters out of your eyes. Hurts, doesn’t it?’ he’d said. I cried and I asked him ‘Why did they throw stones?’

  Pappi answered, ‘We don’t know, maybe they were seeing who could throw the furthest?’ His words hung in the air like undrawn curtains.

  Doctor Heinz picked me up and carried me outside to his car. A lot of smoke filled the air. Mutti cried out. Pappi swore. ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘The synagogue is burning,’ Pappi said. The smoke made us all cough. For a moment I forgot the pain in my eyes and asked, ‘How can it be burning?’ Nobody answered.

  Doctor Heinz drove away from the smoke. Normally, I could walk from our house to his in five minutes when I went to play with Ingela, his eldest daughter. But it took a really long time to get there. I don’t know why he turned so many times. When we got out of the car the air was still full of smoke creeping down our throats. We all coughed. Doctor Heinz carried me inside and put me on a table. It smelled like the hospital I went to when I had cut my finger. ‘Let’s get these splinters out’, he said. ‘Can you count to ten?’ Then he put a wet handkerchief over my mouth and nose and suddenly I was sitting under my apple tree with a blue pixie. It kept changing colours. So did the tree, whenever I moved. The leaves played a beautiful tune. The pixies danced with the sun, and the wind had a very interesting toffee smell.”

  I don’t understand anything. I glance at Mum. She is totally engrossed in Ursula’s story. So, I just listen. Ursula continues.

  “I woke up. Something heavy on my face was stopping me from opening my eyes. I screamed and tried to tear it away. Mutti was holding me. Pappi said, ‘Uncle Heinz has taken the glass splinters away. Your eyes need to rest that’s why he has put a bandage over them.’

  I felt Mutti’s tears on my cheek. ‘Why is Mutti crying?’ I asked. ‘She hurt her knee when we came here’ he answered. Again, that funny silence like a forest full of unspoken words. ‘..we are still at Uncle Heinz’s’. Pappi said. ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘So your eyes can get better,’ Doctor Heinz answered. ‘You need to be brave and don’t cry or try to open your eyes. The bandage must stay on for a couple of days more. Does it still hurt?’

  ‘A little,’ I answered.”

  Ursula looks at us. “
You know I still believed my eyes would be Okay. So even if it did hurt, I didn’t mind too much.”

  Mum puts her arms around Ursula. Mum has tears in her eyes. “You must have been so brave,” she says.

  I can’t help thinking: That must be weird, just like holding on to air.

  “It was a bit like a game, trying to do things without seeing. It was fun touching things and figuring out what they were. Walking up the stairs and guessing when the last step was coming. Very boring, though, having nobody to play with. We didn’t go back home. Ingela was away in the country with her mother and sister. It was not fun at all playing with her toys by myself when I couldn’t see anything. Mutti wasn’t any good at playing. She cried a lot. Pappi didn’t say much. He only muttered. I heard them talking about ‘Kristallnacht’. I thought it sounded beautiful. A night full of crystals. I tried to imagine it. Suddenly, I realized I was able to see coloured shapes and patterns inside my closed eyes. It was fun watching them.”

  I wish I could do that. I see a bright light sometimes and now all these pictures that suddenly have started to appear in my mind from other peoples’ thoughts.

  “The strangest thing, though, was eating. I remember asking: ‘How can I eat when I can’t see?’ Doctor Heinz put something hard in my hand. ‘What is it’? I asked. ‘Sniff,’ he said. It smelled very much of chocolate. I licked it. And it was! ‘See, your mouth and hands know exactly what to do’.”

  Ursula grins. “You know, a piece of chocolate was easy, but finding the food on the plate and trying to keep it on the fork until it reached my mouth was something else. In the beginning I had to hold the food with my hands.” She wrinkles her forehead at the memory.

  “Pappi and Doctor Heinz fetched my doll, Charlotte. I kept asking why we just couldn’t go home again, why did we have to stay with Doctor Heinz? They told me something about the windows having to be repaired. Again I felt that funny heaviness of unspoken words. After a couple of days, I asked to have the bandages removed.’Not right now’, Doctor Heinz said. ‘We have to play a game. You and Pappi have to wear bandages. And Mutti must wear a yellow wig. And we will go for a long ride in my car.’ ‘why’? I asked. ‘We’re playing this game’, Mutti answered me, ‘where we are pretending that we have to hide from some horrible trolls who are trying to find us!’