Page 3 of The Last Safe Place
“Nothing else?”
Her disappointment must have been clear on her face. “No. It’s almost impossible to shop at that hour. But you can take something of mine, and I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“Thank you so much!” Leonore hugged her friend. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d have starved a long time ago,” laughed Birgit, before her smile froze as she realized how close to the truth her words were.
“Damn Hitler!” Leonore wished she could leave the country. But she had neither sufficient money, nor the guarantor required for an immigration visa to a neutral country. These days, the only country not charging an exorbitant amount for an entry permit was China, but Leonore wasn’t that desperate yet. Under Herr Balsen’s protective hand, surely she would somehow survive these times.
“You can say that again. I really don’t know how this can continue.” Birgit sighed deeply before staring at Leonore. “I didn’t want to tell you, but the clique plans to go dancing this weekend.”
“I’m in,” Leonore said quickly.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Birgit and Leonore had known each other for many years. They had attended school together, and even after the Nazis had seized power, Birgit and their friends had remained loyal to Leonore. But Birgit constantly feared for Leonore’s safety, to the point where Leonore felt like a chick being mothered by an overzealous hen.
“Of course it’s a good idea! After the week I’ve had, I’m in urgent need of some relaxation, and what could be better than an evening out dancing with friends?”
“You know I’d love for you to come along, but what will you do if they catch you?”
“Pfft. No one’s going to catch me.” Leonore twisted her dark blond curls around her index finger, pouting and fluttering her eyelashes. “What SS officer could resist this lovely girl?”
Birgit shook her head. “One day you’ll run into someone who’s immune to your flirting, and he’ll arrest you for not wearing the star.”
“I’ll worry when that time comes. Until then, I want a taste of life.”
“Sooner or later, that attitude is going to get you into trouble.”
Leonore’s chin jutted out as she gazed at her friend. She loved Birgit beyond words, but sometimes – like now – she found her infuriating. It was all very well for Birgit to talk: she was an Aryan, allowed to do just about anything she wanted, despite the war and all the deprivations it caused. She wasn’t subject to any of the stupid rules created exclusively to persecute Jews. “What if it does? If my attitude were any different, I’d already be walking dead. Apart from breathing and working like a slave, I wouldn’t be allowed to do anything else. That bloody little dictator has even as good as denied us food! Does he think we can live on fresh air and love?”
Birgit had to laugh. “You should write for the tabloids.”
“Maybe when all this is over.” For as long as she could remember, Leonore had wanted to become a journalist – a serious reporter, publishing well-researched articles on weighty topics. In her current situation, she’d have gladly reported on Leni Riefenstahl’s latest affair in the schmaltziest terms imaginable, if only she’d been allowed to write at all.
“I’m sorry.” Birgit pulled a rueful face. “You’d better get going or you won’t make it home before curfew.”
Leonore rolled her eyes. “The curfew is only for people with a star on their coats, and mine is safely stowed in my jacket pocket.”
“Please take care. It’s bad enough that you walk around without a star, but after dark?”
“On the contrary. At that time of night, Jews aren’t allowed out on the street. So it’s not going to occur to any police patrol that I might be one.” Leonore was fond of boasting she could smell a patrol from a mile off, which was why she’d never been asked for her papers.
“It’s dangerous, all the same.” Birgit hugged her goodbye. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Always. See you at the weekend then?”
“You’re incorrigible.” Birgit accompanied her to the door, and Leonore went out into the almost deserted street. The sun had set hours ago, and the blackout ensured no one was outside for no reason. She pulled up her coat collar as a cold rain whipped her face. Her threadbare woolen coat had seen better days, but Jews weren’t given clothing cards, so she’d have to keep on wearing it until it fell apart.
Shaking her head to dispel the gloomy thoughts, she dreamt of the potato soup waiting for her at home.
Since Jews had been forced to move into so-called “Jewish houses” more than two years ago, she had found shelter in a room she sublet from another family. Leonore went to work early and returned late, so she had little contact with the other residents. Besides, they were all a decade or two older than her.
With her head hunched down, she hurried through the streets. An unremarkable white delivery van was parked near her apartment block. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She knew this kind of vehicle. They were only unremarkable to those who’d never witnessed Jews being dragged from their homes and shoved inside. Leonore had no desire to discover first-hand what happened next.
Equally, she couldn’t stop and wait to see what would happen: she was out at night without a yellow star. Nor did she wish to find out which of her crimes would be deemed worse: not wearing the mark of shame, or not complying with the curfewfor those forced to wear it. Wasting no time to think, she turned on her heel and walked away at a measured pace, since she absolutely couldn’t afford to attract attention.
She only paused to reconsider her options once she was two blocks away. She couldn’t return home while the SS were there, nor could she hang around on the street – the danger of being picked up by a patrol was too high. Her first thought was the office, but she didn’t want to put Herr Balsen in the awkward position of hiding her. There was only one thing left she could do: go back to Birgit.
Birgit’s face dropped when she answered the door. “What happened? You’re shaking. And you’re soaking wet, too.”