Page 67 of The Last Safe Place

“Pardon?” Her head shot up and she stared at him in horror. Surely he wasn’t insinuating she had to leave the country without underwear?

The man was holding one of her pairs of passion killers aloft, a monster her grandmother had given her for her dowry. He seemed unaware of how grotesque he looked. He stared at her in accusation. “You have packed eight pairs of underpants.”

“That’s what I wrote on the list.” Leonore swallowed hard. She hadn’t expected the postcards to be counted, and had simply given a number that she couldn’t remember afterward. But she was sure she’d counted her underwear correctly.

“That’s as may be.” The customs officer was positively puffing himself up. “However, only everyday items may be taken with you.”

Leonore was taken aback, what exactly was it about underwear that made it not an everyday item? She bit back a sarcastic remark – since she didn’t want to endanger her emigration at the last minute.

“All items that exceed the usual requirement for a week are to be regarded as luxury goods and for this reason may not be exported.” The customs officer shook his head in disgust. “The week has seven days, so seven sets of underwear are permitted. Under no circumstances may you take eight. Do you understand?”

Leonore bit back another pointed remark. Instead, she gave a small nod of the head, and said with fervent submissiveness, “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I must have missed the paragraph with the rule on a week’s needs. The surplus item will of course stay here and go to theWinterhilfecharity.”

He seemed placated, folding her passion-killers neatly and placing them on the windowsill next to the postcard.

Leonore silently sent an apology to her deceased grandmother, biting her lip tensely, waiting to see whether the customs officer would discover any further offenses against some absurd guidelines.

Fortunately, he found nothing else, and thirty minutes later he signed and stamped the list.

“If you’d pack everything up again,” he instructed her.

“Now?” Leonore’s eyes widened. She’d never be able to close the suitcase on her own, and she certainly didn’t dare ask the customs officer for help.

“Yes, now. I need to seal the luggage so that no unauthorized items can be added after the inspection.”

She set about packing everything up again. Even if she’d wanted to, it would have been impossible to smuggle even a hairpin into the suitcase. Groaning and gasping, she threw herself on top of the case, but it was simply impossible to close the lid.

After watching her struggle for a while, the customs officer snapped, “Step aside, let me do it.”

Fascinated, she watched as he unpacked everything, then painstakingly refolded each garment – including her underwear, but she was far beyond the point of shame – and deftly stowed them in the case. Once he was done, he closed the lid and snapped the locks shut effortlessly.

“That’s how you do it. But you can’t expect neatness from a Jewish Fräulein.”

She let the insult wash over her. “Thank you very much for your help.”

He sealed the case with a label, handed her a copy of the list, and said, “Take good care of it. You must show this list at the German border on request.”

“Certainly.”

As soon as he’d left, she folded the list several times and stowed it in the bag around her neck before falling backward onto the bed and laughing out loud. Never in her life had she undergone such an absurd experience.

In her mind, she was already writing an article about it for a foreign magazine.

33

Carola had taken it upon herself to see her sister-in-law and nieces off in person.

It was not something Michaela was particularly happy about. She hated goodbyes –every goodbye was like a small death, and she dealt with death often enough in her work. But Carola had insisted, so Michaela was now waiting for her sister-in-law to arrive.

“How much longer before she gets here?” asked Ilse impatiently, who was very attached to her aunt. She’d made pancakes especially for Carola’s visit. Where she had gotten the two eggs she needed was something she preferred not to tell her mother.

Michaela sighed. She hoped the eggs weren’t stolen. What counted as excusable petty theft among Aryans was punished as a serious crime among Jews – it might even endanger their emigration if it were discovered.

Every day, Michaela realized that life with two girls complicated every activity. It was so much harder than she had imagined. The two were all but bursting with tension. The girls were particularly upset by the strict order to not discuss the circumstances of their emigration with anyone. It was anadvantage that they no longer had friends in Berlin. At least it minimized the risk of them blurting out something they shouldn’t.

Finally, the doorbell rang. Before Michaela even managed to stand up, Ilse had pulled open the door and thrown herself into her aunt’s arms. Eva wasn’t far behind, attempting at least a show of decorum.

“Ilse. How have you got so tall? And Eva, you’re looking quite the proper young lady.”