Page 9 of The Last Safe Place

Since her narrow escape, Leonore had begun taking precautions. She left a suitcase with Rexograph copies of important documents and a change of clothes with Birgit. Aside from that, she had no intention of allowing the Gestapo to intimidate her. On the contrary, the incident had brought home how suddenly her current life could end at any time. She resolved to enjoy every moment to the fullest, since nobody knew for how much longer she might have that opportunity.

Finally, Friday evening arrived, and the date with her friends to go dancing. It went without saying that people wearing a star weren’t allowed in, but Leonore wasn’t going to be deterred by such a minor detail.

On her way to the tram stop, she paused for a moment to glance over her shoulder, then with a swift movement, she tore the yellow star from her jacket and stuffed it deep into an inner compartment of her purse.

Fastening it to her coat with snap buttons was illegal, of course, but she had found an ingenious solution: first, she had sewn around the edge of the star with white thread, so that even under close inspection it would appear to be firmly sewn on. Then, on the back, she had applied the tiny snapbuttons attaching it to her jacket. To conceal them, she had sewn decorative buttons in a heart shape; the telltale fasteners sat inconspicuously as part of its edging. Only a very close inspection would reveal their hidden purpose – and what SS man took any interest in sewing? This way she was able to slip into an Aryan identity anytime.

Her only difficulty would come if someone demanded to see her identity papers, but she had developed various strategies to avoid that as well. One of the most important was to be in a group of friends whenever possible. Particularly if some of the men were wearing uniforms, their companions were rarely checked.

Leonore smiled at the thought of how many of her male friends she had already wrapped in a fake intimate embrace to avoid being asked for her papers. It had been worth it. She was only twenty-six, far too young to live a lonely spinster’s existence in her room. When war and persecution could end her life any minute, she wanted to have as much fun as possible while she still could.

The tram arrived, and as she stepped on board, she spotted a friend sitting in the agreed carriage. He waved. “Leo!”

“Martin.” She walked toward him with a confident stride, to leave no doubt in the minds of curious passersby that she belonged.

“Are you looking forward to the dance?” He squeezed her elbow and sat closer to her. Like most of her remaining friends, he hated the Nazis and did his best to protect Leonore. She was deeply grateful for her small circle of friends. In their midst she felt a sense of belonging and could forget the everyday harassment of the world outside.

“Of course. Ever since Birgit told me about the plan, I’ve been counting the hours.”

“Well then, we’ll see how well you can swing a leg.”

Gradually, they were joined by other friends, until they reached their stop. From there, it was just a few minutes’ leisurely walk to the sports hall.

Leonore noticed immediately that they were checking not only tickets but also identity papers at the entrance. Her knees began to tremble in terror and she wondered whether it would be better to slip away quietly.

Martin had noticed too, and put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “Let me handle this.”

Arriving at the door, he held out his Wehrmacht papers, and said, “Soldier on home leave from the front. Taking my girl out to a dance.”

The older woman checking tickets looked at him wistfully. “My son wrote to me, saying he won’t get leave until New Year. Have a good time!”

“Thank you. And my best wishes for your son.”

The woman stamped the two tickets he held out to her, and Leonore was in. The shock dissipated and a pleasant tingling began pulsing in her veins. Now the danger was over, she could enjoy the thrill. It was proof she was alive.

“Let’s dance!” she cried enthusiastically.

Martin waved her suggestion aside. “You’ll have to find someone else. I have two left feet.”

“Oh, come on.” She laughed and pulled him behind her toward the dance floor, which was already crowded with couples swaying to the waltz beat. Contrary to his assertion, Martin was a very passable dancer.

Later, Leonore and Birgit were sitting at a small table drinking lemonade.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea?” Birgit asked.

“What?” Leonore was distracted, staring at a handsome Wehrmacht soldier on the other side of the hall.

Birgit followed her gaze. “Please tell me you’re not making eyes at him! That’s an even worse idea.”

Reluctantly, Leonore detached her gaze from the magnificent specimen of manhood and looked at Birgit. “What are you talking about?”

“You coming out without a plaster for your rash.” Plaster was the code word they used for her yellow star.

Leonore rolled her eyes. “Because I can’t go anywhere when I’m wearing a plaster. What should I do, in your opinion? Lock myself in my room and mope?”

Now it was Birgit’s turn to laugh, since that didn’t sound like Leonore at all. But her face soon became serious again. “It’s dangerous. What would you have done if they’d asked you at the door,” she lowered her voice, “for your papers?”

“Well, they didn’t.” Leonore ignored the queasy feeling in her stomach. Martin’s little act had saved her, but things could have turned out very differently. And then it would have meant trouble not only for her, but also for him.