Seven Hundred Kilometres,
More Goodbyes

May 1936

Paps and Mutsch had been holding hands for a long time. They decided to stretch their legs. “We’ll walk along the aisle, Lorechen,” Paps said. “We won’t leave the car.” They traversed the length of it several times continuing to hold hands.

Not more than a minute after they sat down the train reduced its speed. Father looked tense, “We’re near the Austrian border.”

The door of the car opened. Two uniformed men entered. One was fair, of average height. The other was swarthy and heavy around the midsection. Their uniforms were similar but not identical. Each had an official-looking emblem sewn onto the sleeve. Father noticed. “They’re police,” he whispered. “See the colours of the badges? One is with the Italian authorities, the other is Austrian.”

The taller man, the Austrian, addressed the passengers in German. “You will have your tickets available for review.” The other officer repeated the instructions in Italian.

“Lorechen,” Paps said, “get your document ready. If you’re approached don’t speak unless I indicate that you may.” Paps held our train tickets. It was not long before the Austrian came to us.

The man’s facial features were pronounced. “Your tickets, please,” he said. He took a moment to review them. “Very well. We will cross the border soon. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Paps exhaled in relief.

“Why does the train slow down to verify tickets?” Mutsch suddenly asked. This made Paps and I snap our heads in her direction.

“Excuse my beloved, sir,” Paps said haltingly, “but she’s inquisitive, more so than is necessary.”

The policeman stared at Mutsch. My hands shook in my lap.

“What’s your name again?” he asked.

Mother swallowed hard. “Ernestine Völker.”

“It’s routine, Frau Völker,” the officer said, “if we need to remove undesirables who are trying to enter Austria we can stop the train quickly and escort them off at the border.” He studied her for a few more seconds. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. Then he continued on his way.

Paps stroked his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. Then he said, “In the future, my dear, in a similar situation you won’t speak unless I indicate that you may.”

Well that was a first, Paps admonishing Mutsch and me with the same words!

I must have been asleep when we crossed the Italian border into Austria. We disembarked in Vienna and then walked to the main section of the station. We stopped at a bistro for something to drink. Paps ordered tea for himself and coffee for Mutsch. All I wanted was cold water. After studying the train schedule posted on the wall, he said, “I’ll go to the ticket booth now. You will both stay here. Don’t leave one another’s sight. Be alert, watch our baggage.”

The lobby was busy. I tried to guess who was late and who was early. I silently wished them a pleasant welcome on their return home rather than for safe travel away from it.

Father returned hastily. “There’s a slight problem.”

“What is it?” Mutsch asked almost losing her breath.

“The agent informed me that all persons desiring tickets must be present at the time of purchase. We must go to the booth together. We’ll need to show our papers to the agent.”

“Will there be trouble?” Mutsch asked.

“I don’t think so,” Paps said. “Just follow my lead and try to relax.”

As I looked into father’s eyes I knew he was suffering from one of his headaches. I saw lines of stress in the skin at his temple. His right eye was beginning to tear, blinking more rapidly than his left. He sensed my concern. “I’m fine, Lorechen, just a slight headache. Gather your rucksack. Let’s go.”

At the booth my father requested three tickets to Prague.

“Your papers?” the agent asked.

I took mine from my pouch and gave them to Paps. He reached into his jacket and found his and Mutsch’s. He handed them to the agent who studied them for a few moments, looking at each of us as he perused them. Then he slid the papers back to Paps.

“What’s your destination?”

“We request passage to Prague.”

After Paps paid the fares the agent produced three tickets. “Proceed to track four and ready your papers and tickets for boarding.”

I looked to Mutsch. She seemed poised to inquire again about procedure but her look suddenly changed to one of resignation. I’m sure she heard Paps’ admonishment in her head.

As we turned away the agent asked, “Your purpose in Prague?”

Again I heard my heartbeats. Paps appeared dumbstruck.

“Sir?” father asked in disbelief.

“Your purpose in Prague, Herr Völker?” the agent persisted.

Mutsch approached the booth. “We’re going to a specialist. My husband suffers from severe acute headaches and will undergo a day or two of tests. Don’t you see his discomfort?” She edged Paps closer to the agent’s window, pointing her shaking finger at Paps’ face.

The agent saw the manifestations of pain on Paps’ brow and eye.

“Very well. Proceed to track four.”

We withdrew from the booth and made off through the crowds.

Paps said, “Thank you, my darling. Your quick thinking was—”

She interrupted him. “You’re welcome. I needed to protect my husband.”

When the train arrived we stepped back to allow passengers to exit. As the last few disembarked a soldier appeared at the doorway. He looked menacing, another man with pungent leather boots and the frightening swastika on his sleeve, another reminder that we were being watched, shadowed, our every move regarded with suspicion.

The soldier demanded our tickets and papers. He studied them all the while looking at Mutsch. Father was getting impatient.

“Is there a problem?” Paps demanded.

“We verify everyone’s identity,” the soldier said matter-of-factly, “so no one leaves our country who should not.”

Paps reiterated what Mutsch had told the ticket agent. “Shall I not proceed to Prague to try to find relief from what afflicts me?” I thought Paps was being too brazen. I was nervous. “I suffer,” he added.

The soldier tensed. “We scrutinize everyone leaving our country,” he said. “You are German, you understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Paps said, “I apologize for being meddlesome.”

With that we inched passed the soldier, entered the railcar, and found seats. The exchange had been exhausting and we exhaled with overdue relief.

We continued our odyssey, the monotony of travel taking hold of me. It was now early evening. The train pressed on to Prague. The panorama flitting by was that of thick darkness interspersed with needles of light from villages and outposts. Black clouds hid the stars.

I asked Paps if he too felt the tedium of our travel.

“Yes, Lorechen, I do,” he said, holding my hand. “But it’s necessary. We must remain positive and dedicated. It’d be perilous to be in Germany now. The Nazis are looking for both of us. They’re making life miserable for Jews. There’s persecution everywhere. Our trip to Japan will be long but when we arrive I’ll be able to resume my work and provide for you and Mutsch, and we will live in relative comfort, free from oppression.”

“I’m starving,” Mutsch interjected.

“Yes,” Paps said, “let’s go to the dining car. I have our tickets handy. We’ll need to take our belongings.”

When we came to the dining car several groups of people were seated. Our presence didn’t interrupt the diners. The aromas in the car were pleasant. I recognized sauerbraten, the billowing smoke of cigars. We found an unoccupied table and sat down.

We decided on simple but filling meals. I didn’t know how hungry I was until I began eating. Our schedule had only allowed for breakfast and supper, we had to forgo a midday meal because of haste and expense. Paps told us we would need to monitor our expenditures and use restraint so that the money he possessed would see us all the way to Japan.

During our meal Paps said, “We’ll have travelled approximately seven hundred kilometres from Merano to Prague.”

“It has already been a long journey,” Mutsch said, “travelling across Europe. Now together, we continue on.”

After supper we returned to our railcar. I tried to read my book but soon dozed off. A few hours later, Paps woke me. “We’re here, Lorechen, in Prague.”

We encountered no resistance or inconvenience in Prague. We bought tickets to Warsaw and then proceeded to the platform.

The architecture of the station was remarkable. Its cavernous lobby had a lofty dome, sculpted busts and statuary, and magnificent stained glass windows.

There were no police, no Nazis, and no questions about who we were or where we were going. There were no blatant or probing stares. In fact, it was as if we were invisible. The only request casually made of us was, “May we see your tickets?”

We were now on our way to Warsaw to see family and rest for a while before our pilgrimage would take us out of Europe and into Asia where we would begin our trek across Russia to the Orient.

Sleep came easily to me once we left Prague. When I awoke I saw slivers of light on the horizon. Paps was asleep, Mutsch leaning against him. They were holding hands.

The passengers near the front of the railcar began to stir. We must be close, I thought.

The train coughed, waking Paps and Mutsch.

Even before the train came to a stop I saw Aunt Irma wandering along the platform’s edge looking into every window as the cars went by. I could hear her high-pitched voice yelling for her sister, “Doris! Doris!” It was so amusing, Aunt Irma lost in a sea of people, everyone else knowing exactly where they were going. When we got off the train she ran toward us. She was just as I had remembered her, a fat little lady with big brown eyes and a warm engaging smile.

“How are you my dears?” she said embracing Paps. “And how are you, my sick little sister!” She hugged Mutsch and then kissed her cheeks. Without waiting for an answer she chirped, “You look so well! Merano has done wonders for you!”

She then turned her attention to me. “Here’s my favourite niece!” she said, bending slightly to crush me in an excited embrace. After kissing me, she stepped back to look at us, and her eyes clouded. I knew she was happy to see us yet she looked so sad.

Aunt Irma came to Berlin only a few times a year so I didn’t know her well, but I felt her warmth and sincere concern for us.

At a dinner in Berlin a few years earlier, I had learned that before I was born Irma had married a Pole and then moved from Berlin to Warsaw. He died shortly thereafter so I never knew him. She remained in Warsaw in the home that he had built. Whenever she came to visit she would bring chocolate tarts filled with fruit. They were delicious. I had always liked my Aunt. She was jolly and cuddly.

I noticed a girl standing behind her. My parents embraced her. “This is Stella,” Irma said to me, “you two have never met.” She was Irma’s daughter, older than me, just as plump as my aunt and as shy as her mother was gregarious.

Stella said hello, we smiled at each other, and then the five us went to the waiting room. “We have two hours before our departure,” Paps said.

As we were making our way Stella asked, “Are you excited about going to Japan?” She spoke perfect German even though Polish was her native language. “It’s so far away,” she mused.

“Yes,” I said, “I’m very excited. Wouldn’t it be fun if you and Aunt Irma came to visit after I learn Japanese? Then I could teach you both!”

Stella said, “Yes, I’d love that!” Paps, Mutsch, and Aunt Irma, like most parents, preferred not to make decisions without careful thought, and they told us we’d have to wait and see.

All of a sudden I saw Uncle Sieke! I jumped into his arms and hugged him with all my might. Paps said to me, “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, Lorechen. We knew of his plan to come here but we didn’t say anything for fear of disappointment. At the last minute the German government granted him permission to come to Warsaw, but only for two days.”

I was so excited to see my Uncle Sieke. I adored him. I have fond memories of Uncle Sieke taking me for rides around Berlin in his big, black shiny car. He was the first person in our family to own an automobile. I thought he was the most handsome man I had ever met, after Paps, of course.

“Please, come with us to Japan!” I begged.

He laughed. “Maybe soon. Then we’ll have a big reunion!”

Fate was not that kind.

Several years later we learned that when Uncle Sieke returned to Berlin from Warsaw he was arrested and sent to a concentration camp. As it turned out his wealth made him one of the fortunate Jews. The Nazis wanted his factory. By that time Uncle Sieke’s factory had diversified to include the production of miner’s helmets, lights, and other equipment used by workers in the extraction of iron ore and other minerals necessary for the manufacture of steel and armaments. They offered to release him on condition he leave Germany after selling his factory to them for ten Deutschmarks! It was worth ten thousand times more! Further, he could obtain an entrance visa to any country that would have him. The Nazis acquired his enormous factory, his life’s work, for almost nothing. He obtained a visa to Australia and left Germany several weeks after his release from the camp, penniless but free. I remember seeing a picture of him in Australia, a haunting photograph of him sitting on a park bench dressed in linen trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. On the inner part of his lower left arm a striking, dark blue six-digit tattoo is visible. We were relieved to hear that Uncle Sieke eventually became an Australian citizen. Although he started with nothing he established a career and an affluent business. He lived there until his death many years later.

Aunt Irma died in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising of 1943. Stella survived, but her husband perished during an air raid. Months later, having begun her pregnancy a matter of weeks before her husband’s death, Stella gave birth to a son. When the little boy was three he died after stepping on a land mine buried beneath the road near their house.

But that day at the Warsaw station we didn’t know any of this. Amid tears and promises to meet again soon, we said our goodbyes to Aunt Irma, Stella, and Uncle Sieke, and we unenthusiastically boarded our train to continue the long journey to Japan.