arrived, Hitler's anti-Bolshevism appealed to him. But not now."
"Then what is he telling me?" I crossed my arms and braced myself.
My aunt pushed her coffee away and steepled her hands to her lips. "Jews are supposed to register. It's a terrible rule. We don't want any of the Germans' rules. But he's worried about that one. About breaking it. And now with the new restrictions ... I can talk to him, though."
"No, don't," I said.
***
As soon as the housework was done, I telephoned Isaak at work. "Meet me. I need to talk with you."
"Cyrla, I can't. Where would we meet?"
"The park on Burgemeester Knappertlaan," I suggested. It was a beautiful day; we would walk.
I heard Isaak sigh and then I remembered: There was no place Isaak could go without breaking the new restrictions, except within the Jewish quarter. And he didn't want me to go there. But he couldn't keep me away.
"I'll come to the Council now," I told him.
"No, that's not good, you know it. We can talk on the telephone."
"Isaak, wait. My uncle's shop is closed today. Meet me there in an hour."
"Cyrla, no. I put a lot of people in danger if I get caught...."
"The back door," I said. "Just this once."
As I dropped the receiver into the cradle, I was struck by something: I always needed a reason to see Isaak, a problem for him to solve. I presented my problems to him like coins to pay for my admittance to him.
Isaak was irritated, I could tell when I opened the door for him. He walked in, and just as he did I realized what he would see: counters covered with bolts of brown wool. It would be so easy for him to ask what such a big order was for.
"The roof. It's safer." I took his hand and led him to the stairs, and for an instant I felt him stiffen. Isaak didn't understand touch. How much having no family had cost him. He'd been raised by good men, he told me; he'd spent the first few years of his life in an orphanage, but then the elders in the synagogue of his town had seen to him. No one had held him at night, though, to explain to him through his skin how he was loved. Isaak never pulled away when I touched him. But he never returned the touch.
He relaxed on the roof. We walked to the edge and gazed out. The brick houses with their stepped roofs glowed ocher in the afternoon sun, the canal was a cool ivy green, and the trees were turning gold as far as we could see. It was quiet and peaceful above the sounds of the street, and when I looked at Isaak, I could tell he was wishing he had brought his sketch pad.
"Listen, Cyrla," Isaak said. He crossed to the other side of the roof. "An oriole. I think he must be in those pear trees. But that's his mating song. I've never heard it so late in the season."
"He has no mate yet?" I thought of Rilke's poem about the coming of autumn, the one that haunted me. I recited the lines to Isaak.
He who has no house now, will no longer build.
He who is alone now, will remain alone.
"Like your oriole." I said. Like us.
"Well, not exactly. It's more likely he had a mate and she died. And if she died their babies most likely didn't live. If she even had a chance to lay eggs."
I saw Isaak's face close, and knew we had stopped talking about birds. We settled ourselves on the sun-warmed gravel, our backs against the short wall.
I told him about my uncle's threat and what Mrs. Bakker had said. That Anneke had told Karl about me. There was no point in hiding it anymore. "You're right," I said. "It's time to leave." I stole a secret glance at his face, to see if he felt pain at the thought of my leaving. But of course he was careful to hide his feelings.
"I'll start making arrangements. The
Verzet
are good at this. I trust them."
"No. I'm going to move, but not too far. Not out of the Netherlands. There's no need."
I told him my plan, about how I would move to Amsterdam or Rotterdam and take a new identity. He could help me with that, I said. He only listened, nodded. Until I mentioned that An-neke would be
"Then what is he telling me?" I crossed my arms and braced myself.
My aunt pushed her coffee away and steepled her hands to her lips. "Jews are supposed to register. It's a terrible rule. We don't want any of the Germans' rules. But he's worried about that one. About breaking it. And now with the new restrictions ... I can talk to him, though."
"No, don't," I said.
***
As soon as the housework was done, I telephoned Isaak at work. "Meet me. I need to talk with you."
"Cyrla, I can't. Where would we meet?"
"The park on Burgemeester Knappertlaan," I suggested. It was a beautiful day; we would walk.
I heard Isaak sigh and then I remembered: There was no place Isaak could go without breaking the new restrictions, except within the Jewish quarter. And he didn't want me to go there. But he couldn't keep me away.
"I'll come to the Council now," I told him.
"No, that's not good, you know it. We can talk on the telephone."
"Isaak, wait. My uncle's shop is closed today. Meet me there in an hour."
"Cyrla, no. I put a lot of people in danger if I get caught...."
"The back door," I said. "Just this once."
As I dropped the receiver into the cradle, I was struck by something: I always needed a reason to see Isaak, a problem for him to solve. I presented my problems to him like coins to pay for my admittance to him.
Isaak was irritated, I could tell when I opened the door for him. He walked in, and just as he did I realized what he would see: counters covered with bolts of brown wool. It would be so easy for him to ask what such a big order was for.
"The roof. It's safer." I took his hand and led him to the stairs, and for an instant I felt him stiffen. Isaak didn't understand touch. How much having no family had cost him. He'd been raised by good men, he told me; he'd spent the first few years of his life in an orphanage, but then the elders in the synagogue of his town had seen to him. No one had held him at night, though, to explain to him through his skin how he was loved. Isaak never pulled away when I touched him. But he never returned the touch.
He relaxed on the roof. We walked to the edge and gazed out. The brick houses with their stepped roofs glowed ocher in the afternoon sun, the canal was a cool ivy green, and the trees were turning gold as far as we could see. It was quiet and peaceful above the sounds of the street, and when I looked at Isaak, I could tell he was wishing he had brought his sketch pad.
"Listen, Cyrla," Isaak said. He crossed to the other side of the roof. "An oriole. I think he must be in those pear trees. But that's his mating song. I've never heard it so late in the season."
"He has no mate yet?" I thought of Rilke's poem about the coming of autumn, the one that haunted me. I recited the lines to Isaak.
He who has no house now, will no longer build.
He who is alone now, will remain alone.
"Like your oriole." I said. Like us.
"Well, not exactly. It's more likely he had a mate and she died. And if she died their babies most likely didn't live. If she even had a chance to lay eggs."
I saw Isaak's face close, and knew we had stopped talking about birds. We settled ourselves on the sun-warmed gravel, our backs against the short wall.
I told him about my uncle's threat and what Mrs. Bakker had said. That Anneke had told Karl about me. There was no point in hiding it anymore. "You're right," I said. "It's time to leave." I stole a secret glance at his face, to see if he felt pain at the thought of my leaving. But of course he was careful to hide his feelings.
"I'll start making arrangements. The
Verzet
are good at this. I trust them."
"No. I'm going to move, but not too far. Not out of the Netherlands. There's no need."
I told him my plan, about how I would move to Amsterdam or Rotterdam and take a new identity. He could help me with that, I said. He only listened, nodded. Until I mentioned that An-neke would be
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