30.06.2013 Views

Dance on the Volcano, A Teenage Girl in Nazi ... - The Book Locker

Dance on the Volcano, A Teenage Girl in Nazi ... - The Book Locker

Dance on the Volcano, A Teenage Girl in Nazi ... - The Book Locker

SHOW MORE
SHOW LESS

Create successful ePaper yourself

Turn your PDF publications into a flip-book with our unique Google optimized e-Paper software.

In 1930's Germany, a popular teenage girl becomes <strong>in</strong>creas<strong>in</strong>gly aware of <strong>the</strong><br />

<strong>Nazi</strong> regime's brutalities and f<strong>in</strong>ds many of her prec<strong>on</strong>ceived ideas and ideals of<br />

humanity shattered. <strong>The</strong> manuscript has received excellent recommendati<strong>on</strong>s<br />

from noted scholars, critics and historians.<br />

<str<strong>on</strong>g>Dance</str<strong>on</strong>g> <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> <strong>Volcano</strong><br />

A <strong>Teenage</strong> <strong>Girl</strong> <strong>in</strong> <strong>Nazi</strong> Germany<br />

Order <strong>the</strong> complete book from<br />

<strong>Book</strong>locker.com<br />

http://www.booklocker.com/p/books/4598.html?s=pdf<br />

or from your favorite neighborhood<br />

or <strong>on</strong>l<strong>in</strong>e bookstore.<br />

Your Free excerpt appears below. Enjoy!


<str<strong>on</strong>g>Dance</str<strong>on</strong>g> <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> <strong>Volcano</strong><br />

My Fears and Challenges<br />

A Young Anti-<strong>Nazi</strong> German Woman<br />

<strong>in</strong> Hitler's Germany<br />

A Memoir<br />

Revised


Copyright © 2012 Renata Zerner<br />

ISBN 978-1-60910-114-5<br />

All rights reserved. No part of this publicati<strong>on</strong> may be reproduced,<br />

stored <strong>in</strong> a retrieval system, or transmitted <strong>in</strong> any form or by any<br />

means, electr<strong>on</strong>ic, mechanical, record<strong>in</strong>g or o<strong>the</strong>rwise, without <strong>the</strong><br />

prior permissi<strong>on</strong> of <strong>the</strong> author.<br />

Pr<strong>in</strong>ted <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> United States of America<br />

Names of, and some pers<strong>on</strong>al details about, various pers<strong>on</strong>s depicted<br />

<strong>in</strong> this work have been changed to protect <strong>the</strong>ir, or <strong>the</strong>ir heirs’<br />

identities.<br />

Cover art © Vicki Schmidt, used by permissi<strong>on</strong><br />

RenataZerner.com<br />

2012<br />

<strong>Book</strong><strong>Locker</strong>.com, Inc.


For Chull Wan Ihm,<br />

In friendship


ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS<br />

I wish to thank first of all my teacher and editor, Edward<br />

Sweeney. From beg<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g to end he was always ready to help me<br />

with his support, <strong>in</strong>put and guidance. Without his suggesti<strong>on</strong>s,<br />

sensitivity and encouragement I could never have written this book.<br />

Very special thanks go to Vicki Schmidt who, with much<br />

patience, designed <strong>the</strong> cover and prepared <strong>the</strong> photographs for<br />

pr<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g. Her help was <strong>in</strong>valuable.<br />

I also thank David Pabian for fur<strong>the</strong>r edit<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> manuscript, and<br />

for his valuable suggesti<strong>on</strong>s regard<strong>in</strong>g Germany’s history dur<strong>in</strong>g<br />

World War II. I am grateful for his help with <strong>the</strong> overall design and<br />

publish<strong>in</strong>g procedures. I could not have completed this book without<br />

his assistance.<br />

My thanks go to Chull-Wan Ihm <strong>in</strong> South Korea whose<br />

encouragement was immeasurably helpful to carry out my project,<br />

and to Dana Wats<strong>on</strong>, PhD (Literature) for her support. Thanks go to<br />

Gedda Ilves and Laurel Ornitz for <strong>the</strong>ir <strong>in</strong>put, and f<strong>in</strong>ally, to my many<br />

American friends who gave me <strong>the</strong>ir enthusiastic support while I was<br />

writ<strong>in</strong>g my story.<br />

Los Angeles, California, 2009


<str<strong>on</strong>g>Dance</str<strong>on</strong>g> <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> <strong>Volcano</strong><br />

My Fears and Challenges<br />

A Young Anti-<strong>Nazi</strong> German Woman<br />

<strong>in</strong> Hitler's Germany<br />

A Memoir<br />

Revised<br />

Renata Zerner


CONTENTS<br />

FOREWORD............................................................................................... xi<br />

INTRODUCTION ....................................................................................... 1<br />

1 A FIRESTORM OVER BERLIN.......................................................... 3<br />

2 LIFE IN TURMOIL...............................................................................12<br />

3 LOOKING FOR SAFETY ....................................................................17<br />

4 ARRIVAL IN BAD WILDUNGEN....................................................30<br />

5 FEELING LONELY AND HOMESICK............................................39<br />

6 HITLER SYMPATHIZERS AND ANTI-­‐SEMITES......................44<br />

7 A DIFFERENT CHRISTMAS ............................................................58<br />

8 SETTLING IN ........................................................................................66<br />

9 WALKING TO SCHOOL WITH GERDA .......................................80<br />

10 SAD NEWS FROM BERLIN...........................................................92<br />

11 HITLER YOUTH .............................................................................135<br />

12 A NOT SO LEISURELY WALK...................................................144<br />

13 A DATE WITH AN SS SOLDIER ...............................................151<br />

14 DARK NEWS FROM BERLIN ....................................................159<br />

15 THE INVASION, V1 ROCKETS FALL ON LONDON..........170<br />

16 ERIKA’S BOYFRIEND ..................................................................174<br />

17 MY MOTHER UNDER SUSPICION..........................................178<br />

18 FORBIDDEN NEWSCASTS ........................................................189<br />

19 A DANGEROUS TRAIN RIDE....................................................195<br />

20 REMEMBERING THE PAST ......................................................208<br />

21 A WOUNDED SOLDIER RETURNS.........................................211<br />

22 A QUIET CHRISTMAS..................................................................221<br />

23 SKIING IN THE HILLS .................................................................228<br />

24 EVENINGS WITH FRIENDS ......................................................234


25 A DEATH IN THE FAMILY......................................................... 243<br />

26 MY MOTHER’S LONG WALK.................................................... 253<br />

27 MY MOTHER RETURNS............................................................. 275<br />

28 THE ALLIES CLOSE IN................................................................ 278<br />

29 THE GERMAN ARMY RETREATS........................................... 284<br />

30 THE AMERICANS ARE HERE! ................................................. 289<br />

Epilogue.................................................................................................. 293


1<br />

A FIRESTORM OVER BERLIN<br />

Berl<strong>in</strong>, March 1, 1943<br />

Sirens shattered my sleep. Half awake, I got up and stumbled<br />

<strong>in</strong>to my mo<strong>the</strong>r’s bedroom. I had heard <strong>the</strong> sirens go off many times,<br />

but I had been <strong>in</strong> such a deep sleep that I was c<strong>on</strong>fused and asked,<br />

“What’s this noise?”<br />

“It’s <strong>the</strong> alarm, get dressed,” my mo<strong>the</strong>r called back.<br />

<strong>The</strong> reality slowly came <strong>in</strong>to focus. Back <strong>in</strong> my room, I pulled<br />

<strong>on</strong> my old clo<strong>the</strong>s reserved for nights <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> shelter, and toge<strong>the</strong>r with<br />

my sister, I followed my parents to <strong>the</strong> basement.<br />

It was certa<strong>in</strong>ly not <strong>the</strong> best place for protecti<strong>on</strong>—a direct hit <strong>on</strong><br />

<strong>the</strong> five-story apartment build<strong>in</strong>g made of brick and plaster could be<br />

fatal, but <strong>the</strong>re were no fortified shelters <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> area, and <strong>the</strong> subway<br />

stati<strong>on</strong> at <strong>the</strong> Bayerische Platz where we lived was not deep enough.<br />

Not like <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> L<strong>on</strong>d<strong>on</strong> tube.<br />

So far, <strong>the</strong> air raids <strong>on</strong> Berl<strong>in</strong> had not caused much damage. In<br />

all of 1940, Berl<strong>in</strong> had about thirty air raids; <strong>in</strong> 1941, <strong>the</strong> number<br />

dropped to seventeen without damages <strong>in</strong> our area. And <strong>in</strong> 1942, <strong>the</strong>re<br />

3


DANCE ON THE VOLCANO<br />

were <strong>on</strong>ly two raids <strong>on</strong> Berl<strong>in</strong>, <strong>on</strong>e by a s<strong>in</strong>gle British plane and<br />

ano<strong>the</strong>r by <strong>the</strong> Soviet Air Force, both <strong>in</strong>effectual. Generally, <strong>the</strong> air<br />

raids <strong>on</strong> Germany c<strong>on</strong>centrated <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>dustrial areas <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> west, <strong>the</strong><br />

Ruhrland, and <strong>on</strong> Hamburg and Lübeck, where <strong>the</strong> warships were<br />

built.<br />

Although <strong>the</strong> Berl<strong>in</strong>ers did expect that <strong>the</strong> attacks <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong>ir city<br />

would <strong>in</strong>crease, <strong>the</strong>y still believed, as <strong>the</strong>y had all al<strong>on</strong>g, that <strong>on</strong>ly<br />

specific sites would be bombed: railroad stati<strong>on</strong>s, <strong>the</strong> government<br />

build<strong>in</strong>gs <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> center, and perhaps some factories <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> east of<br />

town. Never <strong>the</strong> residential areas, <strong>the</strong>y thought, except for an<br />

occasi<strong>on</strong>al stray bomb that had missed its target. <strong>The</strong>n, <strong>in</strong> January<br />

1943, Berl<strong>in</strong> experienced its first daylight attack, and nearly two<br />

hundred people were killed, although not near us. Yet we still thought<br />

it an anomaly, or a terrible show of force that would probably not be<br />

repeated. We were wr<strong>on</strong>g.<br />

It was still quiet outside as we crossed <strong>the</strong> backyard to <strong>the</strong><br />

entrance of <strong>the</strong> basement. C<strong>on</strong>trary to <strong>the</strong>ir access to <strong>the</strong> coastal cities,<br />

<strong>the</strong> British planes had to cover well over <strong>on</strong>e hundred and fifty miles<br />

of German territory to reach Berl<strong>in</strong> and were picked up by <strong>the</strong> early<br />

warn<strong>in</strong>g system so<strong>on</strong> enough to give us time to reach our shelters.<br />

On <strong>the</strong> way down, doors slammed as <strong>the</strong> families from <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r<br />

apartments started <strong>the</strong>ir trek <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> basement. Most of <strong>the</strong> tenants<br />

took <strong>the</strong> servants’ stairway that led directly to <strong>the</strong> basement door. No<br />

<strong>on</strong>e used <strong>the</strong> elevator <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> fr<strong>on</strong>t entry; it was much too slow. My<br />

4


RENATA ZERNER<br />

parents, my sister Jutta, and I jo<strong>in</strong>ed <strong>the</strong>m. So<strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> basement rooms<br />

filled and <strong>the</strong> tenants began to chat.<br />

Berl<strong>in</strong>ers do not make friends easily with <strong>the</strong>ir neighbors. <strong>The</strong>y<br />

greet each o<strong>the</strong>r as <strong>the</strong>y pass <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> stairway or stand toge<strong>the</strong>r <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />

elevator, make polite c<strong>on</strong>versati<strong>on</strong>, and <strong>the</strong>n disappear <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong>ir<br />

apartments. Now this had changed, because so much time was spent<br />

toge<strong>the</strong>r <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> shelters.<br />

Some tenants stayed <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> large room, while we young people<br />

went to <strong>the</strong> sec<strong>on</strong>d smaller room to sit toge<strong>the</strong>r and play cards. We<br />

knew each o<strong>the</strong>r well; we were <strong>the</strong> same age and some of us went to<br />

<strong>the</strong> same school. I was sixteen, tall and slender. Everybody said I<br />

looked like my fa<strong>the</strong>r. I had his brown, deep-set, alm<strong>on</strong>d-shaped eyes<br />

and his straight nose. I wore my ash-bl<strong>on</strong>d hair <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> popular<br />

pageboy style, just below <strong>the</strong> ears. I was quite fashi<strong>on</strong>-c<strong>on</strong>scious, but,<br />

of course, <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> basement, dur<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> air raids, I wore old<br />

comfortable clo<strong>the</strong>s like every<strong>on</strong>e else.<br />

<strong>The</strong> two rooms <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> basement were equipped with old tables<br />

and chairs that had been sitt<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> tenants’ attics, about to be<br />

discarded. Like <strong>the</strong> two shabby maro<strong>on</strong> colored armchairs with worn<br />

and faded upholstery <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> larger room and a small rock<strong>in</strong>g chair, its<br />

white pa<strong>in</strong>t chipped. Various straight chairs were placed around two<br />

kitchen tables, <strong>on</strong>e table for each room.<br />

Some<strong>on</strong>e had decorated <strong>the</strong> walls with large posters of grimac<strong>in</strong>g<br />

Soviet soldiers. Why? I w<strong>on</strong>dered, to frighten us? <strong>The</strong> situati<strong>on</strong> was<br />

5


DANCE ON THE VOLCANO<br />

scary enough without a poster to help us th<strong>in</strong>k about be<strong>in</strong>g c<strong>on</strong>fr<strong>on</strong>ted<br />

by a Russian soldier.<br />

In <strong>the</strong> smaller room, two bunk beds with wool blankets rough as<br />

sandpaper stood <strong>in</strong> a dark corner. I sometimes stretched out <strong>on</strong> <strong>on</strong>e of<br />

<strong>the</strong>m, but I could never sleep. It was always dusty down <strong>the</strong>re, my<br />

sk<strong>in</strong> itched, and <strong>the</strong> <strong>on</strong>ly air supply came through <strong>the</strong> l<strong>on</strong>g corridor<br />

that led to <strong>the</strong> backyard. Usually <strong>the</strong> door to <strong>the</strong> entrance was closed,<br />

though not locked, so <strong>the</strong> air was dank and stale, smell<strong>in</strong>g of mildew.<br />

Eventually more furniture would be added. <strong>The</strong> rooms were brightly<br />

lit by pla<strong>in</strong> light bulbs that hung from <strong>the</strong> low ceil<strong>in</strong>g. We must have<br />

been about twenty people. <strong>The</strong> janitor, his wife and daughter never<br />

came down.<br />

One of <strong>the</strong> tenants, a dentist, was <strong>the</strong> air-raid warden. He took his<br />

job seriously—dressed <strong>in</strong> jodhpurs and boots—and he carried a huge<br />

flashlight <strong>in</strong> his hand. So<strong>on</strong> he became so officious that he caused<br />

resentment. If a tenant decided to stay <strong>in</strong> bed after <strong>the</strong> sirens had g<strong>on</strong>e<br />

off, which a few did dur<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> first air raids, he rang <strong>the</strong> doorbell and<br />

ordered him to come down immediately. Every<strong>on</strong>e objected to his<br />

bully<strong>in</strong>g, and <strong>the</strong>re were arguments. F<strong>in</strong>ally, <strong>on</strong>e tenant, a lawyer, was<br />

fed up, and <strong>in</strong> a dark corridor with no <strong>in</strong>c<strong>on</strong>venient witnesses, he<br />

slapped <strong>the</strong> warden briskly across <strong>the</strong> face and sharply rebuked him<br />

for his self-importance; after that, <strong>the</strong> warden kept a low profile.<br />

However, to everybody’s amusement, this m<strong>in</strong>or <strong>in</strong>cident ballo<strong>on</strong>ed<br />

6


RENATA ZERNER<br />

<strong>in</strong>to a full-fledged neighborhood rumor that a murder had been<br />

committed <strong>in</strong> our shelter.<br />

Hardly any strangers from <strong>the</strong> street came at night, except <strong>the</strong><br />

taxi drivers from <strong>the</strong> stand at <strong>the</strong> park across <strong>the</strong> street. <strong>The</strong>y watched<br />

us kids play Skat, <strong>the</strong> popular German card game. Taxi drivers were<br />

known to play a good game; <strong>the</strong>y passed <strong>the</strong>ir time that way while<br />

wait<strong>in</strong>g for customers at <strong>the</strong> stands. <strong>The</strong>y taught me to play. Many<br />

times <strong>on</strong>e of <strong>the</strong>m stood silently beh<strong>in</strong>d my chair and po<strong>in</strong>ted to <strong>the</strong><br />

card I should play and I became good at <strong>the</strong> game.<br />

Though we were relaxed and play<strong>in</strong>g cards, at <strong>the</strong> same time we<br />

were wide awake and alert. So<strong>on</strong> we heard sounds of shoot<strong>in</strong>g, some<br />

yak-yak-yak from <strong>the</strong> flak, and <strong>in</strong> between <strong>the</strong> hum of <strong>the</strong> airplane<br />

eng<strong>in</strong>es.<br />

“<strong>The</strong>y’ll go to ano<strong>the</strong>r part of town.” Some<strong>on</strong>e was optimistic,<br />

but t<strong>on</strong>ight his voice was tense.<br />

So far, <strong>the</strong> east side of <strong>the</strong> city, where <strong>the</strong> factories were, had<br />

gotten <strong>the</strong> worst of it. But now we heard more airplanes and more<br />

flak, and <strong>the</strong>n explosi<strong>on</strong>s.<br />

As <strong>the</strong> sounds became louder, we youngsters grew anxious and<br />

moved silently <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r room to sit close to our parents. We had<br />

l<strong>on</strong>g stopped our chatter and games, listen<strong>in</strong>g to every sound. I<br />

huddled toge<strong>the</strong>r with my parents and my sister Jutta. <strong>The</strong> bark<strong>in</strong>g of<br />

<strong>the</strong> flak became steadily louder, <strong>the</strong>n a det<strong>on</strong>ati<strong>on</strong>, and nearby ano<strong>the</strong>r<br />

<strong>on</strong>e. It had never been that close.<br />

7


DANCE ON THE VOLCANO<br />

People talked <strong>in</strong> low voices, but at each blast, <strong>the</strong>y fl<strong>in</strong>ched and<br />

<strong>the</strong>n <strong>the</strong>y stopped talk<strong>in</strong>g. Some<strong>on</strong>e whispered, “<strong>The</strong>y are close now,<br />

right above and around us.” My mo<strong>the</strong>r pressed her lips toge<strong>the</strong>r, her<br />

eyes star<strong>in</strong>g straight ahead. She looked at my fa<strong>the</strong>r and whispered,<br />

“Hans?”<br />

He nodded, want<strong>in</strong>g to calm her, and said, “It’ll be over so<strong>on</strong>;<br />

we’ll be all right, Liska.” A young woman, try<strong>in</strong>g to overcome her<br />

fear, kept play<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> solitaire she had started earlier. She dropped a<br />

card and listened. But after a moment, she picked it up and c<strong>on</strong>t<strong>in</strong>ued<br />

to play.<br />

I c<strong>on</strong>centrated hard <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> sounds outside and did not notice how<br />

tense I became, my arms wrapped tight around my body, lean<strong>in</strong>g<br />

forward as if I could hear better that way. I waited for each explosi<strong>on</strong>,<br />

each crack of <strong>the</strong> flak, waited for it to stop, waited for silence. But it<br />

did not end.<br />

Suddenly, <strong>the</strong>re was a whistle, and <strong>the</strong>n a loud bang and <strong>the</strong><br />

whole build<strong>in</strong>g shook. With <strong>on</strong>e violent sweep, <strong>the</strong> woman play<strong>in</strong>g<br />

solitaire pushed her cards off <strong>the</strong> table and screamed. Cries cut<br />

through <strong>the</strong> air—<strong>the</strong>n stillness. My heart thumped; I could hardly<br />

brea<strong>the</strong>. Terrified and speechless, I looked at my mo<strong>the</strong>r, and she saw<br />

<strong>the</strong> fear <strong>in</strong> my eyes. She murmured, her face white and dead-serious,<br />

“It’s all right; I th<strong>in</strong>k <strong>the</strong> bomb dropped very near us.” My fa<strong>the</strong>r<br />

stood up and said, “It must be <strong>the</strong> house beh<strong>in</strong>d us.” Though he<br />

looked c<strong>on</strong>cerned, his voice was steady and calm.<br />

8


RENATA ZERNER<br />

I always felt safe when he was <strong>the</strong>re. He had g<strong>on</strong>e through it<br />

before and survived. I thought of <strong>the</strong> story he told us when he was <strong>in</strong><br />

Bulgaria dur<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> First World War. A grenade hit <strong>the</strong> mess hall<br />

where he was hav<strong>in</strong>g lunch with his fellow officers, and <strong>the</strong>y were all<br />

splattered and soaked with food, but no <strong>on</strong>e was hurt.<br />

F<strong>in</strong>ally, some<strong>on</strong>e said, “That was a close <strong>on</strong>e.” It broke <strong>the</strong><br />

silence. People started to talk frantically, “Where did it hit?” “What<br />

do you th<strong>in</strong>k it was?” “One of those large explosives…some<strong>on</strong>e<br />

really got it.” <strong>The</strong>n <strong>the</strong>y quieted down aga<strong>in</strong> and listened. It was not<br />

over yet. <strong>The</strong> flak was still go<strong>in</strong>g str<strong>on</strong>g. I had heard that bombs never<br />

fall twice <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> same spot, and I mumbled <strong>the</strong> thought to calm<br />

myself, w<strong>on</strong>der<strong>in</strong>g at <strong>the</strong> same time if it were true, and where I had<br />

first heard it.<br />

Eventually <strong>the</strong> sounds moved far<strong>the</strong>r away, <strong>the</strong>n it became quiet<br />

and so<strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> all-clear siren sounded.<br />

“Let’s go,” my fa<strong>the</strong>r said as we rose and brushed ourselves off.<br />

Every<strong>on</strong>e l<strong>in</strong>ed up, and we filed down <strong>the</strong> narrow corridor and <strong>in</strong>to<br />

<strong>the</strong> street.<br />

What a sight! <strong>The</strong> rooftops of most of <strong>the</strong> houses around us had<br />

been hit by <strong>in</strong>cendiaries, and <strong>the</strong> unchecked fires burnt like giant<br />

torches. A firestorm blazed <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> sky that blew <strong>the</strong> sparks <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> air<br />

from rooftop to rooftop and covered <strong>the</strong> black sky with a p<strong>in</strong>k cloud.<br />

An explosive bomb had <strong>in</strong>deed hit a house beh<strong>in</strong>d ours. People<br />

were rush<strong>in</strong>g around, shout<strong>in</strong>g or stand<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> small groups look<strong>in</strong>g at<br />

9


DANCE ON THE VOLCANO<br />

<strong>the</strong> fiery spectacle. “Fireworks,” some<strong>on</strong>e murmured, “this is <strong>the</strong> real<br />

th<strong>in</strong>g.” But mostly <strong>the</strong>y did not say much.<br />

<strong>The</strong> men organized to take turns stand<strong>in</strong>g guard <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> attic so<br />

that any fires caused by sparks could immediately be doused. I was<br />

glad that my fa<strong>the</strong>r was not chosen. He was already <strong>in</strong> his sixties. As<br />

a physician, he had to be <strong>on</strong> call anyway. Besides, I thought that my<br />

fa<strong>the</strong>r would be pretty useless should a fire break out. He was not<br />

good <strong>in</strong> practical matters.<br />

I did not hear or see any fire eng<strong>in</strong>es—too many fires. <strong>The</strong>y<br />

burned unchecked for a l<strong>on</strong>g time.<br />

“Take <strong>the</strong> dog for a walk. He needs to go outside,” my mo<strong>the</strong>r<br />

said after we came upstairs. We could not take Tommy, our Welsh<br />

terrier, to <strong>the</strong> basement. No pets were allowed <strong>the</strong>re.<br />

I w<strong>on</strong>dered how he felt when <strong>the</strong> bomb hit. I loved that little dog.<br />

Suddenly, I was filled with such pity for him that my chest ached. I<br />

saw him shak<strong>in</strong>g underneath a couch look<strong>in</strong>g at me for help. At least<br />

now, he seemed glad to have us all safely home aga<strong>in</strong>.<br />

With Tommy <strong>on</strong> his leash, I crossed <strong>the</strong> street and went <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong><br />

little park. <strong>The</strong> view was horrify<strong>in</strong>gly spectacular. Huge flames<br />

reached <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> sky everywhere and caused such a storm, as I had<br />

never experienced, never could imag<strong>in</strong>e. It roared and howled. <strong>The</strong><br />

fire w<strong>in</strong>d tore through my hair, my eyes began to burn, and <strong>the</strong> smell<br />

of smoke penetrated my clo<strong>the</strong>s and sk<strong>in</strong>.<br />

10


RENATA ZERNER<br />

Tommy was unruly and pulled at his leash. He stopped<br />

frequently to relieve himself and <strong>the</strong>n tore ahead aga<strong>in</strong>. He was a<br />

small high-strung terrier, but he had a lot of strength for such a little<br />

fellow. F<strong>in</strong>ally, hav<strong>in</strong>g had enough of <strong>the</strong> hellish scene, I took him<br />

back to <strong>the</strong> safety of our house.<br />

From <strong>the</strong>n <strong>on</strong>, everyth<strong>in</strong>g would be different. I did not know it at<br />

<strong>the</strong> time, but <strong>the</strong> life I had known had changed forever.<br />

11


9<br />

WALKING TO SCHOOL WITH GERDA<br />

February 1944<br />

<strong>The</strong> cold lasted for weeks. <strong>The</strong> icy air penetrated <strong>the</strong> s<strong>in</strong>gle<br />

w<strong>in</strong>dowpanes <strong>in</strong> our room and let <strong>in</strong> a freez<strong>in</strong>g draft. <strong>The</strong> bit of<br />

warmth that spread from <strong>the</strong> radiator was barely noticeable. Only <strong>the</strong><br />

small electric heater helped a little, and we put it close to us wherever<br />

we sat. Still, <strong>the</strong> room was not much warmer <strong>in</strong>side than it was<br />

outside. To stay comfortable, we went to bed early with a hot water<br />

bottle and read until late.<br />

My mo<strong>the</strong>r cooked <strong>in</strong> our room <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> hotplate, which rested<br />

precariously <strong>on</strong> a cardboard box. We wore our w<strong>in</strong>ter coats when we<br />

ate d<strong>in</strong>ner.<br />

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t give away your fur coat?” I asked<br />

my mo<strong>the</strong>r.<br />

I was referr<strong>in</strong>g to an appeal that went out after <strong>the</strong> German<br />

<strong>in</strong>vasi<strong>on</strong> <strong>in</strong>to Russia: D<strong>on</strong>ate warm cloth<strong>in</strong>g, especially furs, to help<br />

<strong>the</strong> German soldiers withstand <strong>the</strong> cold of <strong>the</strong> Russian w<strong>in</strong>ter. <strong>The</strong><br />

German Army Command never planned for w<strong>in</strong>ter uniforms, never<br />

82


RENATA ZERNER<br />

expected that <strong>the</strong> Russian campaign would last <strong>in</strong>to fall and certa<strong>in</strong>ly<br />

not <strong>in</strong>to w<strong>in</strong>ter. But that was a gross miscalculati<strong>on</strong>, and <strong>the</strong> German<br />

soldiers faced harsh wea<strong>the</strong>r, as cold and mean as <strong>the</strong>y had never<br />

experienced it <strong>in</strong> Germany. <strong>The</strong> bit<strong>in</strong>g air penetrated <strong>the</strong>ir summer<br />

uniforms and <strong>the</strong>ir th<strong>in</strong>-soled boots. Many thousands froze to death.<br />

<strong>The</strong> newsreels showed us <strong>on</strong>ly some of this—soldiers stamp<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>ir<br />

feet <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> icy ground, <strong>the</strong>ir breath turn<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>to white clouds of<br />

c<strong>on</strong>densati<strong>on</strong>—never<strong>the</strong>less, <strong>the</strong>y smiled and waved to <strong>the</strong> camera as<br />

if it all was great fun. We could not hear what was said; <strong>the</strong> sound of<br />

<strong>the</strong> film was march<strong>in</strong>g music, and an official <strong>in</strong>formed <strong>the</strong> audience<br />

of a successful advance.<br />

On <strong>the</strong> day of <strong>the</strong> appeal for warm cloth<strong>in</strong>g—we were still <strong>in</strong><br />

Berl<strong>in</strong>—our friend Mr. Becker rushed to see my parents, “D<strong>on</strong>’t give<br />

<strong>the</strong>m anyth<strong>in</strong>g.” he urged, ”Sad as it is, you would <strong>on</strong>ly extend <strong>the</strong><br />

war if you do, and <strong>the</strong> so<strong>on</strong>er it’s over <strong>the</strong> better.” Of course, my<br />

mo<strong>the</strong>r never <strong>in</strong>tended to give her coat away. She kept it because she<br />

needed it herself.<br />

***<br />

One morn<strong>in</strong>g, my mo<strong>the</strong>r said to me, “It’s time for you to go to<br />

school aga<strong>in</strong>.” Her remark did not sit well with me. I never was an<br />

enthusiastic student. When <strong>the</strong> matter was brought up earlier, I tried<br />

to wriggle out of it, with little hope for success. My disenchantment<br />

with school started already <strong>in</strong> first grade and did not change much.<br />

<strong>The</strong>re were certa<strong>in</strong>ly f<strong>on</strong>d memories of all <strong>the</strong> friends, but not so f<strong>on</strong>d<br />

83


DANCE ON THE VOLCANO<br />

memories of certa<strong>in</strong> teachers and <strong>the</strong> discipl<strong>in</strong>e. I thought—and I<br />

knew this was n<strong>on</strong>sense—that I was through with school when I left<br />

Cottbus. But I also admitted to myself that deep down, I really wanted<br />

to f<strong>in</strong>ish high school and <strong>the</strong>n enter college as every<strong>on</strong>e I knew had<br />

d<strong>on</strong>e, or planned to do.<br />

Still, now I asked my parents if this was really necessary. My<br />

fa<strong>the</strong>r settled <strong>the</strong> matter, “Rubbish! You’ve got to go to school and<br />

learn someth<strong>in</strong>g.”<br />

***<br />

February 1944<br />

For two m<strong>on</strong>ths, I went to a girls’ high school, which had been<br />

evacuated from Kassel to Bad Wildungen. I liked it <strong>the</strong>re…and <strong>the</strong><br />

students and <strong>the</strong> teachers. Except for <strong>the</strong> pr<strong>in</strong>cipal, Dr. Carsten. He<br />

was our history teacher, a heavy-set man <strong>in</strong> his fifties of impos<strong>in</strong>g<br />

height and girth. His hair was gray and thick, his eyebrows black and<br />

po<strong>in</strong>ted. On his lapel sh<strong>on</strong>e <strong>the</strong> <strong>Nazi</strong> Party butt<strong>on</strong>. I was surprised<br />

when he lit a cigarette dur<strong>in</strong>g class. That was unheard of…a teacher<br />

smok<strong>in</strong>g while lectur<strong>in</strong>g! I had never seen a teacher do that, and I<br />

always thought it was not permitted. But, of course, no <strong>on</strong>e said a<br />

word about it. I was afraid of him. We all were. He was serious and<br />

never smiled—not like our pr<strong>in</strong>cipal <strong>in</strong> Berl<strong>in</strong>, who had been a young,<br />

cheerful man with always a k<strong>in</strong>d word for <strong>the</strong> students.<br />

One day Dr. Carsten came <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> classroom and announced,<br />

“Today I want to expla<strong>in</strong> to you <strong>the</strong> new world order after <strong>the</strong> German<br />

84


RENATA ZERNER<br />

victory.” He proceeded to lecture us <strong>on</strong> how Germany would divide<br />

up Europe. I w<strong>on</strong>dered if he could ignore how badly <strong>the</strong> war was<br />

go<strong>in</strong>g. Did he believe <strong>the</strong> German propaganda? And who thought up<br />

<strong>the</strong> plan he was present<strong>in</strong>g to us, anyway?<br />

Once, after <strong>the</strong> war, I met him <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> street. He had lost much<br />

weight. His shirt collar drooped from his neck, and his jacket hung <strong>on</strong><br />

his shoulders as if <strong>on</strong> a clo<strong>the</strong>s hanger. Suddenly he stooped down<br />

and picked up a cigarette butt some<strong>on</strong>e, probably an American<br />

soldier, had dropped <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> gutter. Cigarettes could <strong>on</strong>ly be bought<br />

<strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> black market at a high price. <strong>The</strong> scene was pitiful. I had<br />

known him as a proud and arrogant man, and now he was reduced to<br />

pick<strong>in</strong>g up <strong>the</strong> butts of his former enemy. He did not see me, and I<br />

quickly walked away.<br />

In retrospect, I am sorry that I did not c<strong>on</strong>fr<strong>on</strong>t him about his<br />

lecture of “<strong>The</strong> New Europe” and ask him if this was what he had<br />

imag<strong>in</strong>ed.<br />

***<br />

March 1944<br />

Eventually, <strong>the</strong> school from Kassel was relocated to a village,<br />

and to my regret, I had no choice but to jo<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> local co-educati<strong>on</strong>al<br />

high school. I had so much more <strong>in</strong> comm<strong>on</strong> with <strong>the</strong> girls from <strong>the</strong><br />

Kassel school. <strong>The</strong>y, too, came from a city that was heavily bombed.<br />

I didn’t much like <strong>the</strong> local youngsters, though I had never really<br />

met or talked with any of <strong>the</strong>m. I c<strong>on</strong>sidered <strong>the</strong>m country bumpk<strong>in</strong>s<br />

85


DANCE ON THE VOLCANO<br />

with small-town mentalities, and I felt much worldlier and a little<br />

superior as youngsters all too typically do. Worst of all, I was far<br />

beh<strong>in</strong>d schedule, hav<strong>in</strong>g missed a lot of school because of <strong>the</strong> air raids<br />

and <strong>the</strong> move to Bad Wildungen. <strong>The</strong>re would be much extra study.<br />

I told my mo<strong>the</strong>r, “I d<strong>on</strong>’t know how I can possibly pass <strong>the</strong><br />

Abitur (f<strong>in</strong>al high school and college entry exam<strong>in</strong>ati<strong>on</strong>) next year.<br />

Perhaps I should enter a class below my grade. It would give me <strong>the</strong><br />

time I need to prepare myself for <strong>the</strong> Abitur. I’ve just missed too<br />

much.” To my relief, my mo<strong>the</strong>r agreed, “Yes, I thought about it<br />

myself, and I’m sure <strong>the</strong>y’ll let you do that so you can catch up. One<br />

year doesn’t matter.” <strong>The</strong> pr<strong>in</strong>cipal accepted my petiti<strong>on</strong>.<br />

<strong>The</strong> first time I entered <strong>the</strong> Bad Wildungen School, I was<br />

shocked. It was noth<strong>in</strong>g like <strong>the</strong> high school <strong>in</strong> Berl<strong>in</strong>, a handsome<br />

build<strong>in</strong>g with three w<strong>in</strong>gs surround<strong>in</strong>g a well-kept, spacious<br />

schoolyard, bright hallways with circular water founta<strong>in</strong>s made of<br />

decorative st<strong>on</strong>e, large w<strong>in</strong>dows…and no boys. It was a girls’ school.<br />

In c<strong>on</strong>trast, <strong>the</strong> Bad Wildungen School was an ugly redbrick structure<br />

<strong>in</strong> need of repair, and <strong>the</strong> presence of boys made <strong>the</strong> atmosphere<br />

somewhat rowdy and loud.<br />

Every morn<strong>in</strong>g from <strong>the</strong>n <strong>on</strong>, I entered this pla<strong>in</strong> build<strong>in</strong>g with<br />

its dark corridors, poorly lit from narrow w<strong>in</strong>dows <strong>on</strong> ei<strong>the</strong>r end. <strong>The</strong><br />

musty smell <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> drab hallways, which had not been pa<strong>in</strong>ted for<br />

years, l<strong>in</strong>gered <strong>on</strong>. And when it ra<strong>in</strong>ed, which was often, <strong>the</strong> odor<br />

mixed with <strong>the</strong> unpleasant smell of wet coats.<br />

86


RENATA ZERNER<br />

<strong>The</strong> yard, unfenced and unpaved, was muddy when it ra<strong>in</strong>ed.<br />

Across from <strong>the</strong> ma<strong>in</strong> build<strong>in</strong>g stood two round, small, but compact<br />

bunkers, built at <strong>the</strong> start of <strong>the</strong> war when <strong>the</strong> town was thought to<br />

become Gör<strong>in</strong>g’s headquarters. A few steps beh<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong> shelters, stairs<br />

led up to <strong>the</strong> street and from <strong>the</strong>re to <strong>the</strong> old center of town.<br />

To my surprise, I liked <strong>the</strong> teachers and n<strong>on</strong>e were disagreeable.<br />

After a few weeks, I made friends with <strong>the</strong> girls and boys <strong>in</strong> my class.<br />

Still, school did not motivate me and I had little use for<br />

homework. But this was noth<strong>in</strong>g new. I c<strong>on</strong>sidered homework an<br />

<strong>in</strong>trusi<strong>on</strong> <strong>in</strong>to my free time, and I got away with a m<strong>in</strong>imum of study.<br />

When my mo<strong>the</strong>r asked, “Have you d<strong>on</strong>e your homework?” and I<br />

nodded, “Yes,” it was most of <strong>the</strong> time—nearly always—half <strong>the</strong><br />

truth. I did <strong>the</strong> written work, but left much of <strong>the</strong> read<strong>in</strong>g assignments<br />

to <strong>the</strong> recess before <strong>the</strong> specific class. <strong>The</strong>n I quickly scanned over <strong>the</strong><br />

text. I wr<strong>on</strong>gly assumed that if I would show <strong>in</strong>terest <strong>in</strong> class, be<br />

active and participate, it would be half <strong>the</strong> battle and I would get<br />

away with a fairly good grade. Actually, it was less than “half <strong>the</strong><br />

battle,” but enough to pass.<br />

Ma<strong>the</strong>matics rema<strong>in</strong>ed a problem. To me, it was a vile m<strong>on</strong>ster<br />

with a thousand heads I could never slay. I resented it like an<br />

irritat<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>sect buzz<strong>in</strong>g around my head. I did not know why I had to<br />

learn so much more of ma<strong>the</strong>matics than I thought was necessary. I<br />

was certa<strong>in</strong> that it would be useless <strong>in</strong> my future life, and <strong>in</strong><br />

87


DANCE ON THE VOLCANO<br />

retrospect, I was correct. But despite it all I did make some progress<br />

because of an energetic young teacher who had a sense of humor.<br />

I had never been an ardent student, and now <strong>the</strong> upheaval of <strong>the</strong><br />

times added to my lack of <strong>in</strong>centive and c<strong>on</strong>centrati<strong>on</strong>, ra<strong>the</strong>r than <strong>the</strong><br />

school or <strong>the</strong> teachers. Underneath it all, <strong>the</strong> disrupti<strong>on</strong> of an orderly<br />

life, a sense of unease and c<strong>on</strong>fusi<strong>on</strong>, caused me to spend less time<br />

than ever <strong>on</strong> my schoolwork. I excelled <strong>on</strong>ly <strong>in</strong> English because of <strong>the</strong><br />

private less<strong>on</strong>s my parents arranged for me <strong>in</strong> Berl<strong>in</strong> <strong>in</strong> order to<br />

become fluent <strong>in</strong> that language, and when I started school <strong>in</strong> Bad<br />

Wildungen, I spoke English quite well.<br />

***<br />

It happened that Mrs. Block’s daughter, Gerda, was my<br />

classmate. Gerda was as devoted to Hitler as her mo<strong>the</strong>r, our<br />

landlady, and I despised her from <strong>the</strong> start. Her dark-brown, k<strong>in</strong>ky<br />

hair—a fuzzy mop—covered much of <strong>the</strong> left side of her face. An<br />

unfortunate hairdo, I thought. She could improve her looks, could<br />

even be pretty, if she changed it, but her figure was dumpy and her<br />

legs were short. Her small, black, pierc<strong>in</strong>g eyes were c<strong>on</strong>stantly <strong>on</strong><br />

<strong>the</strong> move, dart<strong>in</strong>g here and <strong>the</strong>re, as if she did not want to miss<br />

anyth<strong>in</strong>g. She often wore <strong>the</strong> Hitler Youth uniform to school.<br />

I told my mo<strong>the</strong>r, “She talks like an old woman, as if she has all<br />

<strong>the</strong> answers. She’s self-righteous, ambitious, and seldom smiles or<br />

laughs. Did you see her <strong>in</strong> uniform? She, too, is a little leader. And<br />

88


RENATA ZERNER<br />

<strong>the</strong> way she struts down <strong>the</strong> street <strong>in</strong> her black boots, stuck up and<br />

self-important, with that awful hairdo.”<br />

My mo<strong>the</strong>r laughed, “True, but I th<strong>in</strong>k she is cute.”<br />

“Cute? With that hair? No, never! And I d<strong>on</strong>’t like her!”<br />

Though my hair was f<strong>in</strong>e and th<strong>in</strong>, it was quite wavy, so it<br />

appeared fuller than it really was. I was proud of it; it always fell<br />

nicely al<strong>on</strong>g my face. A slightly reddish t<strong>on</strong>e appeared <strong>in</strong> sunlight.<br />

My sister had <strong>in</strong>herited my mo<strong>the</strong>r’s looks, her large blue eyes, her<br />

aquil<strong>in</strong>e nose, and her dark, straight and thick hair that also had a<br />

reddish t<strong>in</strong>ge. As a child, she wore her hair l<strong>on</strong>g, often braided <strong>in</strong>to<br />

thick pigtails, while m<strong>in</strong>e was always short, and for a while, I even<br />

had a boy’s haircut that was fashi<strong>on</strong>able for girls and women <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />

thirties.<br />

“Just d<strong>on</strong>’t make any trouble. Be nice, we are <strong>the</strong>ir renters.”<br />

“I know, I know,” I sighed.<br />

In <strong>the</strong> beg<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g, Gerda and I walked to school toge<strong>the</strong>r. But<br />

so<strong>on</strong> I avoided her. I preferred to go al<strong>on</strong>e, and apparently so did<br />

Gerda. I could tell she did not like me ei<strong>the</strong>r.<br />

However, <strong>the</strong>re were times when we could not avoid each o<strong>the</strong>r,<br />

and <strong>on</strong>e morn<strong>in</strong>g I ran <strong>in</strong>to her at <strong>the</strong> fr<strong>on</strong>t door. <strong>The</strong>re was noth<strong>in</strong>g<br />

we could do but walk toge<strong>the</strong>r mak<strong>in</strong>g polite c<strong>on</strong>versati<strong>on</strong>. Am<strong>on</strong>g<br />

<strong>the</strong> people rush<strong>in</strong>g to work, I recognized a shop girl com<strong>in</strong>g toward<br />

89


DANCE ON THE VOLCANO<br />

us. I said a friendly, “Good morn<strong>in</strong>g,” and <strong>the</strong> girl answered with a<br />

smile, “Good morn<strong>in</strong>g.”<br />

Gerda frowned and jo<strong>in</strong>ed <strong>in</strong> with a loud Heil Hitler, but <strong>the</strong> girl<br />

had already passed. Gerda’s frown deepened, and she silently stared<br />

ahead of her. <strong>The</strong>n she said as if to no <strong>on</strong>e, but I knew it was meant<br />

for me, “<strong>The</strong> people from out of town never say Heil Hitler.”<br />

I was startled. Her remark put me <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> alert. But I <strong>on</strong>ly<br />

mumbled vaguely, “Oh, really?”<br />

Gerda blurted out angrily, “It is all <strong>the</strong> fault of <strong>the</strong> Jews. I mean<br />

<strong>the</strong> war and <strong>the</strong> bombs and what’s happen<strong>in</strong>g now.”<br />

“Were <strong>the</strong>re any Jews here?” I asked.<br />

“Yes, two families.”<br />

“And what happened?” I w<strong>on</strong>dered what she would answer. I<br />

was not sure if she knew anyth<strong>in</strong>g about c<strong>on</strong>centrati<strong>on</strong> camps.<br />

It was dangerous to menti<strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> camps to a devoted <strong>Nazi</strong>. <strong>The</strong><br />

exterm<strong>in</strong>ati<strong>on</strong> program of <strong>the</strong> Jews, Gypsies and o<strong>the</strong>rs <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />

c<strong>on</strong>centrati<strong>on</strong> camps was a deep government secret. One could be<br />

denounced as a liar, <strong>on</strong>e who denigrates <strong>the</strong> government, and be<br />

thrown <strong>in</strong>to such a camp. Officially, <strong>the</strong>y were called “re-educati<strong>on</strong><br />

camps.”<br />

“One family left, and <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r …” Gerda hesitated for a moment<br />

and <strong>the</strong>n said with a sneer, “Well, <strong>the</strong> man jumped out of <strong>the</strong><br />

w<strong>in</strong>dow.”<br />

90


RENATA ZERNER<br />

<strong>The</strong>re was such hatred <strong>in</strong> her voice it frightened me. It’s <strong>the</strong><br />

propaganda, I thought, where else did she get all that? And what can I<br />

answer without giv<strong>in</strong>g myself away? I swear this will be <strong>the</strong> last time<br />

I’ll walk with her. I became more careful. <strong>The</strong>re was someth<strong>in</strong>g so<br />

forceful <strong>in</strong> her pers<strong>on</strong>ality that I feared she would report any<strong>on</strong>e she<br />

suspected of be<strong>in</strong>g anti-<strong>Nazi</strong>. She could be dangerous.<br />

I glanced at her angry red face as she marched at my side. Her<br />

mouth tightly closed and her eyes squ<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g, she stared straight ahead<br />

of her. She had no idea how much I knew, and she probably did not<br />

suspect it. We went <strong>on</strong> without speak<strong>in</strong>g.<br />

I thought, what would Gerda th<strong>in</strong>k of Elsali’s family, of her<br />

sister Edith and her mo<strong>the</strong>r, old Mrs. P<strong>in</strong>csohn? She would probably<br />

th<strong>in</strong>k it served <strong>the</strong>m right, be<strong>in</strong>g Jews. What would Gerda do if she<br />

knew about <strong>the</strong> day when Edith came to see my mo<strong>the</strong>r when we<br />

were still <strong>in</strong> Berl<strong>in</strong>?<br />

It must have been a year or two earlier. I was <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> liv<strong>in</strong>g room<br />

with my mo<strong>the</strong>r when suddenly <strong>the</strong> door opened and Edith burst <strong>in</strong>.<br />

Anxious and out of breath, she had rushed through <strong>the</strong> entry hall full<br />

of wait<strong>in</strong>g patients and entered without knock<strong>in</strong>g.<br />

Before we could say anyth<strong>in</strong>g, she gasped, “Nobody saw my<br />

star; I hid it under my coat collar. I d<strong>on</strong>’t want to give you trouble.”<br />

Her mouth trembled and she had tears <strong>in</strong> her eyes. ”I pulled my hat<br />

91


DANCE ON THE VOLCANO<br />

<strong>in</strong>to my face when I came <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> hallway. Can you trust your<br />

housekeeper?”<br />

“Edith, what’s wr<strong>on</strong>g? Please, sit down. And d<strong>on</strong>’t worry about<br />

Hella. She’s a Communist anyway. What has happened?”<br />

“Mo<strong>the</strong>r got <strong>the</strong> card.” Edith blurted out, “<strong>The</strong>y are com<strong>in</strong>g<br />

tomorrow morn<strong>in</strong>g to pick her up. It’s <strong>The</strong>resienstadt.”<br />

Edith was cry<strong>in</strong>g softly, wip<strong>in</strong>g her tears. ”Mo<strong>the</strong>r w<strong>on</strong>’t go, she<br />

is eighty-four, and she knows she will never survive <strong>the</strong> trip.” She<br />

caught her breath. ”She wants to die here at home with us near her,<br />

and she wants to take <strong>the</strong> pills t<strong>on</strong>ight.”<br />

My mo<strong>the</strong>r reached for Edith’s hand. ”Oh, Edith, what can we<br />

do?” she murmured.<br />

“Could your husband come over tomorrow morn<strong>in</strong>g very early,”<br />

Edith asked, “before <strong>the</strong>y pick her up, to see if she has died? She<br />

wants to be sure, because if she’s still breath<strong>in</strong>g, <strong>the</strong>y’ll take her.<br />

Maybe she needs a shot to help her end it,” Edith sobbed, “Will he do<br />

that?”<br />

“Yes, I am sure he will.”<br />

“But he must come early; <strong>the</strong>y must never f<strong>in</strong>d him with us—<br />

that would be terrible for him.”<br />

“Of course, Edith, of course, he’ll be careful. Wait here, I’ll get<br />

him.”<br />

<strong>The</strong> next day at lunch, my fa<strong>the</strong>r told us, “Mrs. P<strong>in</strong>csohn was<br />

still alive, but unc<strong>on</strong>scious, when I arrived. I gave her an <strong>in</strong>jecti<strong>on</strong>.<br />

92


RENATA ZERNER<br />

<strong>The</strong>n I left right away.” He sighed, “I am a physician; I am supposed<br />

to make people well. Instead, I had to do this.” He shook his head. ”I<br />

liked Mrs. P<strong>in</strong>csohn; she was a grand lady.”<br />

“Did any<strong>on</strong>e see you?” “No, and <strong>the</strong>y w<strong>on</strong>’t see <strong>the</strong> mark <strong>the</strong><br />

needle made.” He paused for a moment, “Edith said her mo<strong>the</strong>r was<br />

calm last night and even c<strong>on</strong>soled her. She was a courageous<br />

woman.”<br />

A week later, Edith came aga<strong>in</strong> and told us of <strong>the</strong> death of her<br />

elder sister, a physician who was no l<strong>on</strong>ger permitted to practice <strong>in</strong><br />

Germany. She was found <strong>in</strong> a Catholic church where she had g<strong>on</strong>e to<br />

take pois<strong>on</strong>. Aga<strong>in</strong> tears rolled down Edith’s face when she told us,<br />

“Most likely she felt no <strong>on</strong>e would notice her <strong>in</strong> a church, and <strong>the</strong><br />

Catholic churches are always open. She could not bear our mo<strong>the</strong>r’s<br />

death, and she was so al<strong>on</strong>e. <strong>The</strong>y would have picked her up, too. I<br />

am protected because of my husband, but she had no <strong>on</strong>e.” <strong>The</strong>n she<br />

c<strong>on</strong>t<strong>in</strong>ued, “You know, my husband is so w<strong>on</strong>derful. After mo<strong>the</strong>r<br />

was evicted from her own house and came to live with us, we had to<br />

put up a sign <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> fr<strong>on</strong>t of <strong>the</strong> build<strong>in</strong>g: her name with a Jewish star.<br />

I came home from work when I first noticed it and ran upstairs <strong>in</strong><br />

tears. But he took me <strong>in</strong>to his arms and said, ‘Come…come with me.’<br />

He led me <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> street, and fac<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> sign, he said, ‘Look at it, this<br />

is a beautiful star, it is a Jewish star, and it is lovely.’ ”<br />

<strong>The</strong>se thoughts flashed through my m<strong>in</strong>d until Gerda and I were<br />

at <strong>the</strong> school. Dur<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> rest of our walk, we had not said a word to<br />

93


DANCE ON THE VOLCANO<br />

each o<strong>the</strong>r. Now I w<strong>on</strong>dered—but could not imag<strong>in</strong>e—what Gerda’s<br />

thoughts were. We entered <strong>the</strong> build<strong>in</strong>g, and I followed her <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong><br />

classroom.<br />

94


In 1930's Germany, a popular teenage girl becomes <strong>in</strong>creas<strong>in</strong>gly aware of <strong>the</strong><br />

<strong>Nazi</strong> regime's brutalities and f<strong>in</strong>ds many of her prec<strong>on</strong>ceived ideas and ideals of<br />

humanity shattered. <strong>The</strong> manuscript has received excellent recommendati<strong>on</strong>s<br />

from noted scholars, critics and historians.<br />

<str<strong>on</strong>g>Dance</str<strong>on</strong>g> <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> <strong>Volcano</strong><br />

A <strong>Teenage</strong> <strong>Girl</strong> <strong>in</strong> <strong>Nazi</strong> Germany<br />

Order <strong>the</strong> complete book from<br />

<strong>Book</strong>locker.com<br />

http://www.booklocker.com/p/books/4598.html?s=pdf<br />

or from your favorite neighborhood<br />

or <strong>on</strong>l<strong>in</strong>e bookstore.

Hooray! Your file is uploaded and ready to be published.

Saved successfully!

Ooh no, something went wrong!