in the national holiday celebrating Adolf Hitler’s fiftieth birthday. Every German household had been ordered to fly the swastika flag in honor of the occasion—Jews were prohibited from doing so—and more than fifty thousand troops would march in a grand parade before an anticipated two million spectators. It was expected to be the greatest event the Nazis had ever staged, an elaborate spectacle of historic significance, and the Weitzes were all too happy to miss it.
They tried to hail a cab; several sped past without slowing down, discouraged either by their luggage or their suspect Jewish appearance. Eventually one halted and they piled in, and as they drove to the station, Sara’s mother inclined her head toward the ubiquitous swastika banners they passed. Leaning closer to Sara, she murmured, “I certainly won’t miss all this.”
Sara pressed her lips together to hold back a sob and forced a smile, turning quickly away so her mother would not see her tears.
All too soon they were standing on the platform, awaiting the arrival of the train. Natan paced nearby, his hands thrust in his pockets, working off his agitation. A distant whistle caught his attention, and the announcement that their train was approaching brought him to a halt. He threw Sara a despondent look, and she knew it was time.
“The tickets,” Sara’s mother exclaimed suddenly, clutching her pocketbook to her side. “Sara, do you have them?”
“I have them,” said Natan, taking from his coat pocket a thick envelope, which he gave to his father. “The visas are here too. You should carry them the rest of the way.” He raised his eyebrows at Sara, urging her to speak, as they had planned, before time ran out.
“Papa, Mutti—” Sara cleared her throat. “First, I love you both very, very much. Second, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth any earlier than this. Third—”
“She could only get two visas,” Natan broke in, impatient. To Sara he added, “They’ll miss the train if you drag this out any longer.”
For a moment her parents stared at her, dumbfounded, until realization dawned. “So, this is goodbye,” her father said, with false heartiness. He came forward and embraced her. “That’s fine. We’ll be all right. Kiss your sister for me.”
“No, Papa. The visas are for you and Mutti. You two are going. Natan and I are staying here.”
Their parents protested, as Sara and Natan had known they would. As the conductor called all aboard, Sara quickly explained that she might be able to get two more visas soon, but not before the two they already had would expire. They must go in pairs. It was the only way. Then their father and mother pressed the visas and tickets upon their children, and Sara had to point out that they were in their parents’ names. No one else could use them. Even the suitcases belonging to Sara and Natan held their mother’s and father’s clothing. Sara had emptied and repacked them the night before while their parents slept.
“You did all of this without our knowledge or consent,” her mother said tearfully.
“Yes, because otherwise you wouldn’t go.” Sara embraced her. “You have to go. Now. You can’t miss this train. We’ll see you again in Switzerland.”
Natan hauled their luggage toward the train, his jaw set as if he were prepared to carry his parents aboard too if he must. With minutes to spare, they embraced on the platform, distraught parents and resolute children saying farewell for no one knew how long.
At the last moment, Sara’s mother gripped her tightly by the shoulders. “Sell the silver. The utensils and smaller pieces are stored in two brown leather cases at Schloss Federle with the other heirlooms. Phone Herr Albrecht, the groundskeeper, and arrange for him to deliver them to you. It was going to be yours someday anyway. Sell it piece by piece. Find a good, safe place to live and don’t let yourself go hungry.” She released Sara and turned to embrace her son. “Please watch over her. She has a way of stumbling into trouble.”
“Don’t I know it,” Natan replied gruffly, holding his mother close and kissing the top of her head.
The whistle blew. Their parents hurried aboard the train and quickly appeared at a window. They waved, their eyes bright with tears, until the train pulled too far ahead and Sara and Natan could not see them anymore.
“They might forgive you someday,” Natan remarked as the train disappeared into a tunnel.