Deception and Dismay

1929

One day early in November of 1929, Gerta and I were playing on the sidewalk in front of my house. Gerta was looking after me because Mutsch had gone to the grocery store. We decided to walk up the street to look at the stately trees. Gerta reviewed them with me: some oaks, a maple, a chestnut, and two magnificent lindens with intricate webs of branches.

At one point Gerta stopped to look at a poster tacked to the trunk of one of the linden trees.

“What’s that?” I asked her.

She explained to me that it was a notification for a rally held in Nuremburg several months before. She told me that she’d heard gossip and rumours about it and that most of her family and friends had considered the rally an omen of a strange villainy looming.

On the poster I saw a black cross emblem in a circle of white which for some reason I perceived as a bird with broken wings struggling to fly. It was the first time I had come to recognize the Hakenkreuz, the swastika. The symbol appeared to be moving, rotating slowly near the top border. I saw the words “Freedom and Bread!” and “Our Fateful Hour!” At once the poster frightened me.

Gerta assured me. “Don’t worry, the meeting was quite a distance from Berlin and from us, far beyond the shadows of these trees.”¹⁰

I would often stare at Gerta. She was in her late teens then, tall, blonde, with enormous green eyes, exquisitely beautiful. Her father, a German Army officer, had died in Belgium during the Great War. She lived several kilometres from us. To earn money for her mother and her two younger siblings she came to us as a housekeeper shortly after I was born. Paps worked long hours and was away often on business and Mutsch needed a helping hand to maintain our home and to assist with my care. Gerta arrived late on Sunday night and stayed with us until late Friday afternoon at which time she returned to her mother and brothers for the weekend. Paps paid her well and she earned every pfennig since our home was large and needed a great deal of attention.

And, I’m told I was quite a handful.

We’d been playing for an hour or so oblivious to passersby while we sat and chatted, about nothing really, just silly things, enjoying the crisp air and sunshine.

Suddenly I noticed surprise in Gerta’s eyes. I turned to follow her line of sight. A short and overweight man was standing near us. His thin-framed spectacles rested on the tip of his stubby nose, enlarging his beady eyes. Well dressed with shiny shoes, he appeared to be a professional, maybe a doctor or a banker.

He spoke to Gerta in a gruff voice.

“Are you Fraülein Rothschild?”

Gerta looked afraid. “No, I’m not. Who are you? Why do you ask?”

He turned to me.

“And you?”

“My name is Ingelore.”

As he reached into his pocket, Gerta edged closer, putting her arm around me. She barked at him, “Go away. We’re not interested in anything. Leave us alone.”

From inside his suit he retrieved a paper, its folded edge secured with a wax seal. He extended it to me.

“I’m Wilhelm Bayern. Herr Rothschild and I have been in touch over the past few days.” He cleared his throat with a raspy gurgle and then pointing to the paper he said, “It’s imperative your father receive this.”

He shook the paper in front of my face making sure I focused on it. “This is very important. See to it that he is given this document as soon as possible. Do you understand?”

Gerta snatched it from his hand. “I am the housekeeper. I’ll see that Herr Rothschild receives this.”

With that, Herr Bayern tipped his bowler and hastily waddled down the street.

“Can we open it?” I asked.

Gerta snapped, “No, of course not. This isn’t for you, nor is it for me. It’s for your father.”

She dragged me into the house. Inside, she ordered me to the kitchen table. She placed the sealed paper on the countertop. She looked nervous, pacing back and forth, wringing her hands. Worry draped her face like a leaden veil.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her.

“Be quiet!” she growled. “It’s not your concern. Go to the library. Use your easel. Draw for me.”

Quickly, I went to the library. I busied myself with colouring pencils trying to make pleasant pictures for Gerta.

Not long after Mutsch came home. She walked past the library without looking in and then went into the kitchen. As she was putting the shopping bags down on the table I heard her ask Gerta about me.

Gerta spoke so softly I couldn’t hear her words. I remained motionless and I began to wonder if the incident with Herr Bayern had something to do with me. I was searching my memory for any misdeed or misconduct I may have committed. What was in the document for Paps? Was it a report of my misbehaviour? What had I done? What had I failed to do?

Mutsch and Gerta continued whispering. There was anxiety in my mother’s voice and I was scared witless when she became short of breath. I heard her gasp, “Is it an eviction notice?”

I didn’t know what eviction meant.

Soon, Gerta went to her room. Mutsch unpacked her bags and placed the items in the cupboard.

Doom huddled around me. I knew father would be home soon.

I don’t know how long it was before I heard Paps come in the door. I looked at my easel. I’d completed dozens of drawings for Gerta. Now I waited. I felt an anguished despondency for whatever wrongdoings I had committed.

Paps and Mutsch whispered to each other for a few moments and then I heard Mutsch say, “If it is, then what are we to do?”

Paps was not upset. In a calm but stern voice, he said, “It’s not a question of heritage or honour. It’s a question of survival.”

I didn’t wait any longer. I ran into the kitchen pleading. “I’m sorry! I don’t know what I did but I am truly sorry! Whatever the paper says, I’m sorry!”

Paps reached down, grabbed me, and lifted me high into the air. He burrowed his nose into my stomach making me laugh uncontrollably.

“No, Lorechen! It’s not you! Did Herr Bayern frighten you today? No, it’s all right. He’s our friend. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

Mutsch went to the cupboard. She handed me a few pfeffernüsse, a luscious nut-filled cinnamon cookie that Gerta made.

My dread had passed. I was relieved. I no longer felt guilt and shame.

Paps continued to hold me. “How would you like to play a game, Lorechen?”

“Yes!” I beamed. “What kind of game?”

“It’s a name game. We’ll play it only when people we don’t know come to the house.” This sounded so mysterious to me! I wanted to play so badly!

Paps explained, “When a stranger asks we’ll tell them our surname is Völker and we’ll use the given names of our ancestors, too! I’ll be Leopold Völker, named for my father, Mutsch will be Ernestine Völker, named for her mother, and you, my angel, will be special. You will use your middle name Erna, to be Erna Völker. It’s like a trick. We’ll pretend we’re someone else. Won’t that be fun?”

“Yes! We’re all Völker!” I thought for a moment. “Will Gerta be Völker, too?”

“No dear, Gerta will be who she is. She needn’t play the game, do you understand?”

Years later I learned that the purpose of Herr Bayern’s visit that day was to let father know he had officially changed our names on our apartment’s lease. He had conferred with Paps on several occasions, warning him of the rising Nazi influence. “The black horde is defiantly and overtly anti-Semitic,” he explained.

A full-blooded German and a Christian, Herr Bayern sympathized with us because his younger brother had married a Jew. He destroyed the original lease and created a new one, delivering a copy to us and a copy to the Records Hall so that in the event of law enforcement inquiries or a governmental review of real estate records we wouldn’t attract attention. It’d be dangerous going about with the surname Rothschild. That day, I pledged I’d be ready to play Paps’ game whenever necessary. Later, at one time or another, all of us needed to so that our true identity wouldn’t betray us. For years I was frightened even to say the name Rothschild.

The night after Herr Bayern’s visit, I woke in darkness. I could hear foggy voices coming from my parents’ bedroom. I recognized Paps’ voice, then Mutsch’s, and I thought I heard Uncle Sieke’s voice too. But there was also a fourth voice, a man’s, one I didn’t recognize. It was nasally and scratchy. Whoever this man was he was rude. He didn’t stop talking when Paps was speaking. He spoke over my mother’s words, too.

Hoping to hear better, I sat up. At the foot of my bed was a pinwheel and a package laced with ribbons. It must be Uncle Sieke! He always brings me toys! I was about to open it when instead I got up and tiptoed into the hallway gradually making my way to a corner in the kitchen. I could hear the conversation clearly now.

“It continues to be bad, Sieke,” my father said. “Unemployment will worsen. Many of the factories are already closed. Farmers are unable to make a living in spite of their hard work. The people have nothing and now they’ll have less!” He implored, “Even in America, they’re drowning in destitution! Everyone wants for bread!”¹¹

Sieke said, “It all stems from the Treaty. No wonder the Nazi ranks are swelling. It’s the martyrdom they play on, revenge for the economic edicts from Versailles against our people.” He went on trying to reassure them, “But we’ll be all right. My business has been good even through these hard times. Kurt, you continue to do well. If not, then I’ll help you all I can.”

“I’ll do my part as well,” Mutsch added, “in regard to our expenses. We’ll tighten our belts just in case.”

I feared this meant Gerta would be dismissed. I was being selfish but I couldn’t help it. I loved Gerta as a sister. A part of my heart and a part of my life would be missing without her.

The man’s voice, which I still didn’t recognize, kept on speaking without regard to my family’s conversations. It was bizarre not only because he remained ill-mannered but also because he now was talking about the Buddha! I was so confused!

“That’s something we’ll maintain,” said Paps. “Gerta will stay.”

A flare of static startled me. Then it dawned on me! The reason my parents’ bedroom was off limits was because Paps’ radio was in there on a nightstand. I was told never to touch it. He told me it was a lifeline for us to hear news affecting our family and our daily lives. I remember calling it der sprechen Kasten, the talking box.

The nasally voice coming through the static was reporting on the situation in America which had recently worsened. The voice described the stock market collapse: businesses failing, banks closing, nonexistent credit, and families leaving their homes to live on the streets. Soup kitchens and long bread lines were everywhere. It sounded like chaos.

Paps said, “It’s horrible everywhere.”

Sieke exhaled. “This is more fodder for the Nazis. The newsman was right when he quoted Buddha. We’ll rue these hard times and not just for economic reasons. What was it he said? When the student is ready, the teacher appears! We must be careful and vigilant in all things.”