transit camp and aboard the train. It was better for a sympathetic fellow Jew to knock upon one’s door and tell them it was time to go, the reasoning went, than a grim, unsmiling, impatient Nazi.
With every trainload of Jews that departed the city, Sara knew the likelihood that she and Natan would appear on the next list sharply increased. She wished she knew how best to prepare for resettlement, for the Berlin Jewish Organization’s packing list had provided frustratingly few clues. She received one letter from Anna saying that they had arrived safely in Litzmannstadt, which Sara later learned was the Reich’s new name for the Polish town of Łódż. Sara promptly wrote back, full of questions, but several weeks passed and no reply came. She supposed that Anna was too busy to write, or the censors had not cleared her letter.
“I wish we knew what to expect in Litzmannstadt when our turn comes,” she fretted one crisp, beautiful day in early November. “A kibbutz? A work camp? It would be less frightening if—”
“Our turn is never coming,” Natan interrupted fiercely, taking her by the shoulders. “Listen to me carefully. If our deportation letter comes, we’re going to ignore it. Whatever else happens, we are not getting on one of those trains.”
Chapter Fifty-four
October–December 1941
Greta
Rain pattered on the windows one evening in late autumn as Greta returned to the living room after putting Ule to bed. She spread out papers and books for a new translation project on the table and settled down to work, all the while glancing at the clock and listening for Adam’s key in the door. He had gone out after supper to meet with Arvid, but she had expected him home thirty minutes ago.
She tried not to worry. Usually the men’s weeknight meetings began promptly and ended quickly, but sometimes an especially critical matter came up, requiring a lengthier discussion. But she could not discount more ominous possibilities. Navigating the city safely during the blackout was difficult in fair weather and nearly impossible in a cold, driving rain. Any envious acquaintance could become an informant, and no one realized they were being watched by the Gestapo until it was too late.
Shuddering from a sudden chill, Greta banished her anxious thoughts and forced herself to concentrate on her work. Even so, it took her an hour to plow through a fairly straightforward paragraph, and she was on the verge of quitting in frustration when at last Adam returned. Breathing a sigh of relief, she met him at the door, but to her surprise, he lingered in the hallway, rainwater dripping from his hat and coat.
“Will you come with me for a moment?” he asked.
“Where?” she asked, bewildered, glancing past him up and down the hallway to make sure he was alone.
“Up to the roof. I have to tell you something important.”
“But it’s raining. Why don’t you come in and tell me here?”
“Because we can’t risk being overheard.”
“But—” She glanced over her shoulder toward their son’s bedroom. “Ule’s asleep. I can’t leave him alone.”
“He’ll be fine. He won’t even know you’re gone.”
“It’s not safe. If there’s an air raid—”
“Greta, please.” His voice was strained. “Put on your coat and come with me.”
Mystified, she pulled on her coat and galoshes, grabbing an umbrella for good measure. “Can we make this quick?” she asked as she stepped into the hall and he locked the door behind them. He did not reply. Taking her hand, he led her upstairs, shoved open the rooftop door, and pulled her outside into the storm.
“What’s going on?” Greta asked, shivering as drops of rain trickled down her collar and ran down her back before she could duck beneath the umbrella.
“You’re not going to like this, but Arvid insisted I tell you.” Adam pulled up the collar of his coat, stalling for time. “Moscow has been in touch with us through their intelligence outpost in Brussels.”
“Finally! Isn’t this good news?”
“Apparently our radio messages haven’t been getting through to Moscow.” He shifted his weight, tense and agitated. “They’ve asked Brussels to help them reestablish contact, so one of their men is driving to Berlin to meet with us. He was specifically told to seek out you and me.”
“Arvid was right to insist you tell me,” said Greta, exasperated. “What would I have done if some stranger showed up at our door claiming to be a friendly Soviet agent?”
“I would hope you’d shut the door in his face if he didn’t offer the proper code name. His