A Token of Friendship

June 1936

When our train came to a stop at the next station Paps and Mutsch looked at each other sorrowfully. We said nothing as we exited the railcar to begin the search for our next train. I was saddened by my goodbye with Katya and I couldn’t stop thinking of her. The arrow in my heart from our farewell that day is still with me.

There were people everywhere. Paps directed us to a train bound for the Russian border city, our last stop before we crossed into Manchuria. There were no police, so we entered the train swiftly. We were about to board when I noticed the two couples with the jewellery approaching us.

“We meet again,” one of the women said.

“Good day to all of you,” Paps offered politely.

The taller of the two men directed three railway employees to bring their cartfuls of luggage to the train. There must have been two-dozen pieces in all. As the employees struggled with the valises and packages fumbling their way onto the train, the tall man looked at me. “We had quite an enjoyable time at your party,” he said, “right about now I would enjoy another piece of your cake.”

“Thank you again for attending,” I said.

He was sleek in his appearance with his dark gray topcoat and his coal-coloured trousers. His derby was tilted on his head. He had smoky blue eyes. Although he was handsome, his countenance was one of disdain, persisting even when he smiled. For who or for what does he hold such contempt, I wondered.

“Let us be formal for now. Herr Schrader, at your service,” he said to my father, touching his index finger to the brim of his hat.

Paps said, “Our pleasure, Herr Schrader.” Then, turning to Mutsch and me, “My wife, Frau Völker and our daughter, Fraülein Erna.”

“I present my wife, Frau Schrader,” he said. As she extended her hand I heard the clatter of her bracelets and saw the sparkle of gemstones on her lapel. Her beauty was rather unremarkable other than her tight-knit curls that burst from beneath the brim of her cloche hat.

Just then the whistle sounded. Without formally meeting the other couple, the seven of us hastened to board through the rear doorway of the car. A railway employee signalled for Herr Schrader and the couple travelling with him. Their compartment was at the front of the car while ours was aft.

“Please join us for supper,” Herr Schrader said as he and his companions passed us.

“Yes, of course,” Paps said.

No sooner had we opened the door to our compartment than the train lurched out of the station. We were on our way. Although we were looking forward to completing another leg of our journey we were also somewhat dispirited. With every departure came more goodbyes.

The accommodations were very nice. The compartment was tidy, not as large as the last one but with enough room for a bed for Paps and Mutsch, a cot for me, a chest of drawers too large for our meagre belongings, and a bench seat beneath its only window. The lavatory was much smaller.

We went for dinner. Many of the diners looked like business people, perhaps traders or shopkeepers, neatly dressed but with a style of clothing that seemed not European but Asian. Several of the waiters were Russian. Some were Chinese; their distinct facial features a constant fascination to me.

We sat down. A Chinese waiter handed us menus. Mutsch whispered to Paps, “Our first challenge will be to inquire if there’s caviar.” Mutsch said the word in German, French, and then in English. The waiter responded in broken French. “Oui, madame, je vais mettre un peu du caviar.” Then he hustled toward the kitchen to fetch some.

Herr Schrader, his wife, and their travelling companions entered. Paps waved to them then slid an adjoining table toward ours to make room for everyone.

It is shameful of me but I did envy them—their expensive clothes, their shining jewels.

When everyone was seated Paps said to Herr Schrader, “Please be so kind as to introduce your friends.”

“Of course,” he said. “May I present Herr and Frau Beck?” Then he said to them, “The Völker family.” Our waiter returned with caviar for Mutsch. Then in a rather authoritarian tone Herr Schrader said, “I’ll order cocktails for us. Your daughter will have mineral water.” He ordered in French, the waiter nodded and left.

“Your destination, Herr Völker?”

As the women fidgeted with their napkins, their gold and silver bracelets sounded like delicate pieces of glass shattering.

Paps answered. “We’re bound for Kobe, Japan. The company I work for has opened an office there and my services are required. And you, Herr Schrader?”

I could tell this was going to be a tedious conversation so instead of listening I scrutinized our newly introduced supper guests, the Becks, doing my best to avoid notice.

“We’ll go to Beijing,” I heard Herr Schrader say, “to vacation for several weeks. Frau Beck’s father has an estate there.”

Herr Beck seemed as bored as I was. He said barely more than a few words in passing. His clear, dark brown eyes contrasted sharply with his chalky skin. Spectacles rested uncomfortably on his nose.

“As business partners, Herr Beck and I often travel to find new markets, but at this time, as I said, we will vacation.”

“What kind of business are you in?” Paps asked.

Frau Beck was a mystery to me. She said nothing at all and it was difficult to see her face—the large brim of her hat drooped down over her forehead creating a shadow that lingered at her eyes. I managed to glimpse a rather soft jaw line, her face subtly v-shaped, her hair as black as pitch. It was incredible that her bracelets didn’t slide off her thin, meagre wrists and off her long, thin fingers.

“Diamonds,” Herr Schrader said.

That comment caused Mutsch to cough abruptly. There was a silence lasting several moments. Then the tedium of adult conversation continued.

“I see,” Paps said.

“Frau Beck’s father started the business. The three of us, her father, Herr Beck, and I, have done very well.” Herr Schrader finished his drink and then signalled for our waiter. He again ordered cocktails and more mineral water for me.

Then the conversation turned to me.

“And you, Fraülein Völker, how has the voyage been?” Herr Schrader asked, “Have you seen a great deal? Have you learned a great deal?”

Frau Beck placed her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. With her head tilted back, the shadow on her forehead disappeared. She was a very beautiful woman, strikingly so.

“It’s been difficult at times,” I said, “but we’re fine here and look forward to our arrival in Japan.”

I thought the less I said would be the better.

“Very well,” he said. “And your thoughts on the customs and cultures you’ve witnessed?”

For the first time Herr Beck stopped eating and focused his gaze on me.

“I have a difficult time with the language barrier. We don’t speak Russian nor do we speak Chinese and when we get to Japan . . .”

Suddenly Frau Beck perked up. She leaned back and then stared at me with her head titled even more.

“I do,” she said.

It was then that I noticed the low bridge of her delicate nose and her dark, oval-shaped eyes.

Paps was surprised. “You speak Chinese?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “my father, a government official in Beijing, is Chinese and my mother is French. I lived in China until my twentieth birthday.”

Our meals arrived. Herr Schrader and Paps continued with their questions while Herr Beck ate in silence. I couldn’t refrain from staring at Frau Beck. I dropped my gaze and tried to focus on my meal. After a while I found myself staring again. I couldn’t help it. She noticed my infatuation.

“You have something to say to me?” she asked encouragingly.

“I’m embarrassed to say it but you seem like such an interesting person.”

She threw her head back chuckling. “Well then, we’ll have much to talk about,” she said with a smile.

“Yes, Frau Beck,” I said. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

The next morning we found ourselves at the border station. There was considerable movement on the platform. All but the young and infirm carried parcels and suitcases just as countless others had done at dozens of rail stations over the past month. It was as if everyone’s belongings were physical extensions of themselves, grotesquely attached to and therefore inseparable from their hands.

I was alarmed when I saw the number of policemen at measured distances along the platform, idle yet watchful and vigilant. They were Russian, dressed in the same crisp uniforms as Katya and her charges had been.

We exited our car and proceeded into the station. The Schraders and the Becks were standing in the waiting room. They were fastidiously dressed and looked well-rested, as if they had just come from a leisurely stay in a hotel. We approached them and exchanged greetings.

“The railway employees have vacated our train for a search before we cross into China,” Herr Schrader said. “We’ll be here for a few hours. When we board later we’ll be scrutinized and so will our documents and papers.”

Paps looked uncomfortable. “Will there be any trouble?” he asked.

“No. We’re Germans,” Herr Schrader said smugly. “Respect has preceded us all the way from Berlin.” Then he smiled at me. “So in the meantime let’s go have some tea or coffee.”

The dining area was small, the few tables occupied. Other customers were standing, straddling their luggage. Smoke from cigarettes and cigars filled the air. “I prefer to wait for a table,” Frau Schrader said. We all agreed. After a while one was vacated. It had five chairs. “For shame, I see there’s not enough room,” she said.

Mutsch quickly offered, “Please, seat yourselves. We’ll wait for . . .”

“Nonsense,” Frau Beck interrupted. “Darling,” she addressed her husband, “you and the Schraders will sit along with them,” meaning my parents, “while Fraülein Völker and I wander about.” Her husband sat down immediately. The Schraders followed suit.

“Is that all right?” she asked Paps.

“Yes, of course,” he replied, “as long as she won’t be a bother.”

“No, surely not,” she said.

Frau Beck took my hand and ushered me out. We found a bench, sat down, and then quite unexpectedly she said, “When we’re alone you’ll call me by my given name. It is Li.”

“Yes, Li,” I said dutifully.

“And I’ll call you . . .”

I caught myself just in time. “Erna,” I said.

For the next hour Li and I chatted. “My family was poor,” she told me, “living on an ancestral farm in the north of China. My mother gave birth to four daughters, my father inconsolably forlorn without a son. The convention then and in some places still was to drown the female babies since they never would be able to do their share of manual work. They’d be useless, only more mouths to feed.”

I was horrified. “That can’t be,” I said, “no one would kill an infant!”

“It was so. But my father is a good man. He would not do this to his children. We left the farm and made our way to a desolate place where he found work in a mine. My mother, sisters, and I laboured alongside him until he earned enough respect to supervise the workings there. Eventually, because of the mine’s overabundance of gems, he made a fortune and took us all to Beijing where his reputation and his wealth procured for us a beautiful home and, very soon, a respectable standing not only in the community but also in the government. I met my husband through my father’s business dealings, he came to Beijing to buy precious stones. It seems you Germans are not happy without your,” she wiggled her arm so her bracelets jangled, “jewellery.” She laughed, and then she said, “Neither am I.”

We saw my parents, the Schraders, and Herr Beck walking toward us.

“The next time we’re together,” she whispered placing her hand on mine, “you’ll tell me all about you, won’t you?”

“Yes, I will. Thank you for spending time with me.”

She smiled. “You are most welcome.”

We walked out of the station. We would board in forty minutes. The Schraders and the Becks decided to stroll along the platform where they stopped to talk with passengers, policemen, and anyone else who would listen. Paps, Mutsch, and I remained within view of our train. Finally, when the whistle sounded, Paps readied our documents and tickets and we proceeded to our car. A Russian policeman checked our papers and then motioned for us to go aboard.

Just as Herr Schrader had promised, there was no trouble.

As the train moved on I sat with my diary and my pad and coloured pencils beside me. I wrote down a few things about my fascination with Frau Beck as well as some of the recollections she had mentioned of her youth. Then I tried to capture her in a drawing. I reproduced fairly well her mysterious eyes but then lost my artistic way with the remainder of her enigmatic yet captivating facial features.

There was little fanfare when we crossed the border into Manchuria. The train’s path raced by an outbuilding of demarcation surrounded by barbed wire fencing that stretched ten metres on each side before it inexplicably stopped. Those barriers wouldn’t deter anyone from crossing.

Herr Schrader came by to inform us that as soon as we pulled into the first station we would need to disembark for as long as it took the Chinese authorities to search the train. “The entire staff will be changed,” he added. “From here on all the attendants will be Chinese.”

Later, the seven of us exited and proceeded to the waiting room in the station. Signs displayed both the Cyrillic alphabet of the Russian language and the ideograms of Chinese.

When we heard the whistle we readied to board. Our car only had two compartments so the seven of us were the sole passengers at the entrance doorway. There, a Chinese guard stood stiffly, his face wooden. Right away I saw the rifle strapped to his back. He looked more like a soldier than a policeman. As we approached he said something to our group. At once Paps handed him our documents, papers, and our Japanese visas. He reviewed them and then signalled for us to board.

As we were about to step onto the train the guard suddenly spewed out a venomous stream of Chinese. Paps, Mutsch, and I froze. I turned to see his face puffed, his cheeks red, the veins of his neck swollen. He was addressing Frau Beck. She looked outraged. She shouted something back at him, waving her hands, her bracelets swirling and clanking, yelling at him in a way I thought was so unlike her. He ranted and Frau Beck ranted back. Finally the guard yielded. Without reviewing the Beck’s and the Schrader’s documents he waved them to board. Frau Beck advanced toward me, pushing me gently onto the train. Her husband and the Schraders followed.

In the corridor, Mutsch asked, “What was that about, Frau Beck?”

“It’s nothing,” she said removing her hat and then raking her fingernails through her long black hair. “They think they can intimidate me.”

Paps asked, “Is it because of us?”

Herr Schrader stepped toward Paps. “No, Herr Völker. Why would that be so?” He looked at Paps, his eyes searching my father’s face. “Every time we come this way there is a bias or let’s say an intolerance.”

“What do you mean?” Mutsch asked.

Frau Beck returned her hat atop her head. “It’s because of me. The provincials are upset that I have a German husband. They consider it treason. They wonder how I, a Chinese, can marry outside my kind.”

“I see,” Paps said. “We sympathize with you. I hope you consider our friendship some sort of comfort.”

With that our companions retired to their compartment as we did to ours. Once inside I said to Paps, “There is bigotry everywhere.”

The Schraders and the Becks were just finishing their meals when we entered the dining car for supper. I had brought my diary and a pencil. Already I had filled several pages with recollections, recording my experiences in great detail so I might relate them in letters to family and friends. Frau Beck looked up and pinched the brim of her hat as if in salute. It was so amusing. As the Schraders and the Becks rose from their table we ambled toward them. The adults exchanged greetings. A waiter was clearing plates and glasses. Herr Schrader asked, “May I remind our waiter to bring you a brick of caviar, Frau Völker?” Everyone laughed. I glanced at Frau Beck. She smiled and then winked at me. “When you have finished your supper may I have the honour of your company in the club car, Fraülein Völker?”

Without hesitation I asked Paps, “May I, father?”

“Yes,” he said, “of course.”

“In fact,” I said, “I’m really not hungry. Can I go with Frau Beck now?”

“You must ask her, Lorechen, not me.”

“Lorechen?” Frau Beck posed. She took my hand and led me from the table. “Lorechen!” she said again. “I’m curious to know how you’ve come to be called by that name.”

In the club car I told Frau Beck, “They say it all the time except when they’re angry with me. Then it’s . . .” I almost said Ingelore.

She laughed. “Then they must never call you Erna!”

Frau Beck took my diary and drew an ideogram. “What does that signify?” I asked. She said with a smile, “Me! It’s the character for “plum,” for Li, for me!”

I began telling her about myself. My story brought her laughter, surprise, wonder, and at times tears to her eyes. She listened intently, cooing every now and then as I blabbered on.

At one point she asked, “Do you have siblings?”

“No, Li,” I said. “Because of the way things were in Germany, I mean in Europe, my parents didn’t want two youngsters to care for. Certainly an infant now would be quite a chore for them. One child is more than enough.”

I might have blundered when I said Germany. Did I hint that we were Jews?

I was ashamed having to continue the charade of concealing my real name, my faith, and my true identity but I remembered Paps’ admonitions—the wolves would always be chasing us.

“I see,” she mused. “I have no children. None of my sisters have children. We all are barren. I’ve often thought that it is our punishment for escaping the fate of drowning. My husband wishes for sons. But as you know, to wish is not to receive.”

“I’m sorry, Li.”

“Well,” she said, “we’ve been together for quite some time. Your parents are missing you by now.”

We walked to our railcar holding hands the entire way. I had a deep liking and a great respect for Li. When I first saw her I imagined her to be arrogant and pretentious, pompous and overbearing. Again, my first impression deceived me. Herr Bayern, our landlord in Berlin, Herr Langer, who pretended I was his granddaughter on the trip to Amsterdam, Herr Zurinoff assisting Paps and me in Moscow. There were others too. I resolved, that in the future, I would not be so hasty in that regard.

After leaving the club car with Frau Beck and then returning to Paps and Mutsch, a curtain of malaise descended upon me. I was drowsy and achy. My nose leaked like a rusted faucet. My throat was sore. My fever caused me to have faces flash before my eyes. Mutsch immediately put me to bed. Paps placed a cold cloth at the back of my neck, Mutsch fluffed my pillow, and Frau Beck brought me soup.

I’m told that Mutsch and Frau Beck tended to me. I remember drifting in and out of sleep all the while thinking I could hear Gerta reading to me. I thought we were in the library in Wilmersdorf. But when I finally opened my eyes I saw that it was Frau Beck who was seated beside me, her long shapely legs crossed, her soft voice expressively recounting the story of Rapunzel.

Noticing her wrists were bare I asked her, “Where are your bracelets?”

“You’re awake!” she chirped looking up from the book. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you,” I said. “But where are your bracelets?”

“Don’t fret. We are stopped in Harbin. Your parents are in the station with my husband and the Schraders. I wanted to stay with you. The bracelets? Rather than chance to wake you with their clatter I removed them.”

I smiled at her. “You’re very kind, Frau Beck.”

She reminded me. “When we’re alone, I am Li.”

“Yes, Li.”

She placed her palms at my temples. “You’re quite cool. No fever. That’s good, isn’t it? You’ll be up and about in no time.”

“Have I been a burden to my parents? To you?” I wondered.

“No,” she said, “it’s only that we are downcast because you’ve been sick. You do look better now. The colour has returned to your cheeks. You’re as beautiful as before, as good as new!”

Just then Paps and Mutsch came in. The Schraders and Herr Beck were peeking in from the corridor.

Frau Beck stood up. “Her fever has passed. She seems much better.”

Mutsch leaned down and put her lips to my forehead. “Yes, Lorechen, I think Frau Beck is right.”

From the hallway Herr Schrader said, “It’s time to eat. Shall we proceed to the dining car?” At that, he and Herr Beck were on their way.

“Can we interest you in some sweets?” Frau Beck said teasingly.

“As soon as I freshen up I’ll be ready.”

Mutsch applauded. Frau Beck kissed my brow asking, “We’ll meet shortly then?”

On the way Paps said, “At the next station we’ll linger for provisions and supplies to be brought aboard.”

I was looking forward to wandering around somewhere, anywhere. I hoped Frau Beck would accompany me whenever there was an opportunity.

We were in the club car when the train slowed on its approach into the next station. My parents were thumbing through some newspapers. Written in Chinese, they offered no enlightenment but Mutsch said she enjoyed looking at the ideograms. “There are thousands of them, some different, some remarkably alike,” she commented. “I can see the subtleties. It must take years to master the drawing of them.”

Before long we were on our way again, this time to what Frau Beck said would be a quick stop in Mukden, an old Chinese city.

I could see that Paps’ brow was tensed. Mutsch was wringing her hands. “What is it?” I asked.

“Lorechen,” Mutsch said, “shortly we’ll arrive at Mukden so it’s time to pack. We will be changing trains.”

“I understand,” I said.

As my parents arranged their belongings, I placed my things in my rucksack, thinking again of Gerta. I double-checked to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind.

The train arrived at the station. I saw throngs of people scampering about, the same view I had witnessed at countless other stations. I noticed that there were no carts readied on the platform for the dozens of pieces of baggage belonging to the Schraders and the Becks. That was odd, I thought. It would be quite a task to transfer all their things by hand.

We stepped onto the platform inching our way through the crowds to the place from where our next train would depart. Still, I didn’t see the Schraders or the Becks or their belongings.

When we came to the train, my parents put down their suitcases. “We have about ten minutes before we leave.”

“Where is Frau Beck?” I asked with sudden distress.

Mutsch and Paps looked to each other and then to me.

“I’m sorry, Lorechen,” Mutsch said, “but the Schraders and the Becks aren’t coming this way. They won’t be on this train.”

“Where is Frau Beck?” I demanded.

Paps said, “They’ve remained on our former train. Their travels will take them to Beijing.”

I was overcome. With tears in my eyes, I screeched, “We didn’t say goodbye!”

Mutsch embraced me. “She couldn’t bear it, Lorechen.”

I recoiled from her clutch. Paps said, “Frau Beck is immeasurably saddened. She refused to leave her compartment. She asked us to tell you that she feels tremendous loss and that your leaving will scar her heart forever.”

I was about to collapse. Paps reached me just before my knees gave way. “I’m so tired,” I said.

After a few moments, I recovered. I asked Paps if we could board our train as soon as possible so that I might sit down. He said we could. On our way to the train, Chinese and Japanese police officers were monitoring everyone’s movements. Their vigilance was noticeable. I imagined we would be lost without Frau Beck and her ability to speak the language. Luckily, some of the officials spoke French. Paps offered our credentials to the guard. We boarded without any trouble.

The railcar was nothing like our previous one. There were no compartments, just bench seats. We plopped down. I leaned my head against the window.

“We’re sorry, Lorechen,” Mutsch said. “We’ll miss her as well.”

Even now, a decade later, I remember that day. I remember feeling so tired. I was exhausted from the life of a nomad and angered by the relentless hunt and chase that necessitated our journey and consequently resulted in the devastating partings from the few friends we did make. I was dejected by the loss of my relatives and friends in Berlin, dispirited by our wayward wandering, frustrated from having to hide behind our forged documents which didn’t give due to our real names, so outraged that we couldn’t go about as Jews for fear of reprisals and weary of continuing on. I could no longer recall a time when the wolves had not been at our shadows. I was so very tired of it all.

Mutsch handed me a small box. It was wrapped in a napkin from the club car on our previous train and secured with a blue ribbon, one I recognized had been tied around a section of Frau Beck’s hair.

“In her misery,” Mutsch said, “Frau Beck begged me to give this to you. It’s a token of her friendship and enduring admiration.”

I tugged on the ribbon and peeled back the folds of the napkin. I opened the box. Inside was one of Frau Beck’s bracelets, a beautifully ornate yet tasteful band of attached silver squares. Inside each one was a polished piece of jade. It was magnificent. I slid my wrist through it. I could feel Frau Beck’s presence. Paps and Mutsch were glowing. “It seems you’ve touched her in a very special way,” Paps said.

At the bottom of the box there was a coiled piece of paper also secured with a blue ribbon. I untied the knot and unrolled a sheet of pure silk. On it was something written in Chinese characters and an address.

“That’s where Frau Beck will be staying for the next month or so,” Paps said, “she requests that you write to her at your first opportunity.”

“But what’s this marking?” I asked.

Mutsch said, “Frau Beck considers you her ‘pearl’ and asks you to practice writing the word in Chinese.”

I could not stop the tears that slid down my face. Mutsch handed me a tissue. Paps held my hand. I placed my head on Mutsch’s shoulder. I fondled my bracelet, slowly gliding my fingertips over its smooth stones.

Within a few moments I was asleep.