Page 18 of The Last Safe Place

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END OF JANUARY 1942

Dieter lay pale in his bed, apparently asleep. For once, Michaela’s husband was breathing freely, and the furrows of pain had left his face. He looked so… content.

Michaela swallowed the tears and gazed at her beloved husband. She had known for months that this moment would come, and yet it still hit her unprepared.

The force of her feelings was so strong that her knees buckled and she had to sit on the edge of the bed. She took Dieter’s warm, soft hand in hers, holding it to her chest so he could feel her heartbeat.

“I love you so much. I want you to know that I’ve loved every minute of our marriage: both the good times and the bad.”

His eyelids opened, and the steadiness of his blue eyes told her he understood her words.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she assured him, wanting to make it as easy as possible for him to say goodbye. For weeks he had spoken with difficulty, and two days ago he had closed his eyes as if he was asleep. Only the gentle movement up and down of his ribcage showed that he was still alive, half in this world, half already in the next.

Michaela wished she could have fetched their two daughters to say goodbye. But the journey to Berlin would have been too dangerous, especially since Michaela didn’t want to leave her husband alone for long and Carola wasn’t free to accompany the girls.

Dieter blinked at her to show he understood. Michaela could no longer control her emotions and the tears tumbled down her face, falling onto the bed sheet and wetting his neck as she bent down to kiss him.

“I love you. Forever.”

As if his soul had been waiting for her declaration of love to find its peace, Dieter wheezed, then closed his eyes for the last time. His suffering was over. Sobbing uncontrollably, she sat by his side, his hand clasped to her heart.

At some point, she found the strength to stand up. She was a doctor; she cared for many people as they died. She knew what to do, which authorities she needed to inform. Her subconscious mind automatically took over the formalities, leaving most of her conscious self trapped in overwhelming grief.

Two days later, the doorbell rang, and the postman handed her an envelope stamped with the imperial eagle. An ice-cold shiver ran through Michaela’s veins. A horrible premonition seized her as she took the letter from his hand.

“I hope it’s not overly bad news.” He gazed at her with sympathy.

Thanks to her marriage to an Aryan, Michaela didn’t have to wear a yellow star, but of course the postman, a man in his early sixties with thinning hair, was well aware of her heritage. He had never spoken a bad word or treated her unkindly, however he hadn’t ever said anything encouraging either. When she thoughtabout it, today was the first time he’d ever said more than good day.

“We’ll see. Thank you very much.”

Without another word, he turned and disappeared through the front garden of the small, terraced house where the Kronberg family had lived for almost twenty years.

Michaela turned the envelope this way and that, testing the weight of it in her hand. She already feared what it contained, but couldn’t bring herself to open it, to read in black and white what the authorities demanded from her. And yet she knew there was no way around it. One didn’t simply ignore an official order – certainly not if you were a Jew.

Back in the house, which had been terribly empty since Dieter had been taken away, she put the letter on the dining table and made some coffee. After pouring herself a cup, she sat down at the table and stared at the Imperial Eagle like a rabbit staring at a snake.

Nothing would make this go away, she must face reality. She took a kitchen knife, slit the envelope open and unfolded the message.

Frau Michaela Sara Kronberg,

An impotent rage flared in her chest as she read the detested middle name all Jews had been forced by decree to adopt: Sara for women, Israel for men.

By order of the authorities, we hereby instruct you to make ready for relocation from your house on Monday February 2, 1942, from 8 a.m., and hereby serve you with the declaration of assets to be completed by yourself before your relocation.

Michaela’s hands began to shake so hard that the sheet of paper floated to the ground. The Imperial Eagle stared up at her as if to taunt her. A thousand feelings washed over her all at once, leaving her unable to formulate a single clear thought.

After several minutes, she knelt down to pick up the letter. There was nothing she could do, except to read it to the end.

Upon serving the declaration of assets, your assets are regarded as confiscated. Accordingly, you must refrain from any disposal of the same; in particular, you are strictly prohibited from giving away, selling or giving custody of any items in your possession to a third person.

A hoarse gasp escaped her throat as her eyes wandered around the room. They had achieved a modest prosperity before Dieter became ill and could no longer work. They possessed nothing of great value, although she was surrounded by many cherished items: his mother’s antique bureau; jewelry that had belonged to Michaela’s mother and grandmother, which she had been allowed to keep under the privilege of her Aryan husband, souvenirs from trips to France and Spain years before the war. And of course, their little house.

She continued reading:

Each person may not take more than fifty Reichsmarks in cash. Taking any higher amount is strictly prohibited. Violations will be subject to the harshest state police measures.