Soldier Doll (11 page)

Ilona had been cast in a play before, at the orphanage in Prague with her brother, Emil. Ilona and Emil had been separated from their parents early on in the war, a fate Eva and her parents had managed to avoid. Eva knew her family was lucky, and she was grateful. “Prominents,” people called them. Prominent Jews, the kind Franz had mentioned that day on the road.
Professors, artists.
People like Hans Krása and Papa
, thought Eva
. Papa was famous. His medical textbook has been translated into German, French, and English.
Eva recalled how, after the occupation, he would leave early in the mornings so that the other men in their building, who were mostly Jewish and no longer allowed to work, wouldn't see him off to his job. “So they don't feel shame,” Papa would say. Remembering this, Eva didn't often mention Mama and Papa in front of Ilona, as her friend hadn't seen her own parents in years.

Of course, that didn't stop Ilona from speaking about them constantly. “When the war is over,” she told Eva, sounding confident, “I'm going to find my parents, and then we're going to move to America! Emil and Felix, too. I have an aunt there, and cousins. They live in a place called Chicago.” She pronounced it very carefully: Shee-ca-go. “They say it's wonderful there. Everyone is allowed to go to school and have a job. And they have a pet cat. My parents might even be there already.”

At the mention of the cat, Eva felt wistful. She had had a pet cat, Acedia, whom she missed very much. As an only child, Eva had sometimes felt lonely. Her pet had been good company. When they were forced to leave Prague, Eva had given Acedia to loyal Piotr, who promised to take good care of her while they were gone. “You'll be back soon,” he'd said. “I know it. And Acedia will be right here waiting for you.”

Eva wondered if Acedia remembered her and felt a pang of sadness. Then she felt ashamed.
Ilona has no idea where her parents are
.
You have no right to cry over your cat
, she reprimanded herself.

. . .

Ilona's chatter had earned them many disapproving looks during
Brundibár
rehearsals. Both girls were in the chorus. Although Eva was perfectly happy just to be a part of the show, Ilona felt she deserved a better part: she wanted to play the cat.

“I would have been a better choice than that
pitomec
Ella.” It was a Monday, and hot. Waiting for Mr. Krása, the children fanned themselves as they got into their places. “My hair is much nicer.” Ilona scowled and pointedly tossed her blonde curls.

“Ilona, sh!” Eva looked around, scandalized. “People can hear you!”

“I don't care.” Ilona sniffed. “This is ridiculous.”

One of the older children in the chorus turned to glare at them. “The two of you are always talking. You need to be quiet.” He sounded angry. “Don't you understand? The Red Cross is coming in a week. We need to perform well.” There were murmurs of agreement.

“Why?”

The voice came from the back. Heads swerved to see who was talking. It was another boy. He was tall, with a shock of tousled black hair. His eyes were almost as dark, his complexion was sallow, and his expression surly. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Eva tried to remember his name.

“What do you mean?” The first boy looked at him, uncertain.

“And why do we have to do well?” asked Eva.
Adam. His name is Adam.

Someone else spoke up. “So that they'll help us!” It was Ella, the girl playing the cat. “So that they'll help us leave here. Help us find our parents and go home.” Others nodded.

Adam gave an empty laugh. “You think that giving a good performance will get us out of here? Are you serious?” He motioned around him. “Look at what's going on here. They're making this place nice. And we all know it's hell.” His expression was fierce. “You do understand, don't you? They're making it nice here so that the Red Cross will leave them alone, and they'll leave, and we'll never get
any
help. We're never getting out of here. You can bathe a corpse, but even after scrubbing it, perfuming it, it's still a corpse.”

Everyone was quiet. Eva thought about corpses and shuddered, trying to block out the unpleasant imagery Adam's words had evoked. It was true that Terezín had dramatically improved over the last several weeks. There was grass and flowers. And food in the shops! Just yesterday, an empty café had been scrubbed clean, then stocked full of mouth-watering confections to look like a candy store. Brightly colored macarons, chocolate bonbons, pastel gumdrops—everywhere you looked, mountains of sweets. In the center of the display was the most beautifully crafted gingerbread castle Eva had ever seen. It even had a little prince and princess on the top, their carefully iced crowns dotted with red and yellow jewels fashioned from cubes of chiseled sugar. Surrounding the castle were little animals, trees, and cottages made entirely of marzipan: perfect miniature replicas of rabbits, dogs, cats, and evergreen trees. Flowers. Eva had stood and stared at the window for a long time. There had been candy stores in Prague, but nothing like this; the castle was like something out of a fairy tale.

“Like the candy shop,” murmured Eva to herself. She remembered how she had felt when Ilona first told her that the Red Cross was coming.
Propaganda.
She felt her stomach sink.
Adam is right.

Adam had heard her and snapped his fingers. “Exactly! Like the candy shop.” He looked at the others. “Haven't you seen it? Do you really think we'll be allowed to eat that beautiful candy?” He snorted. “The guards will eat it all once the visitors are gone. And they'll probably do it in front us, laughing.”

Just then, Mr. Krása entered. The room was silent. They were all thinking about what Adam had said. Mr. Krása looked at them with surprise, because usually he had to shout to get them to quiet down.

“Can this be my cast?” he said, eyes twinkling. “Surely not. My singers are much louder than this!”

His smile faded as he noticed the somber faces of the children around him. He looked at them, concerned. “What is the matter, boys and girls?”

A girl called Rosa, who always wore her bright red hair in two thick braids, one on either side of her head, raised her hand.

“Yes, Rosa?” They all waited.

“Mr. Krása, some people are saying it doesn't matter how well we do when the Red Cross is here.” She was tearful. “They think that it's all for show, and we won't get any food, and the candy is not for us, and if you bathe a dead person he's still dead.” She said it all in a single breath, choking back sobs.

Mr. Krása looked sad. “Listen, my children.” As usual, his voice was kind. He took off his cap and looked out at them. “I cannot promise you that the visit of the Red Cross will bring us the help we've all been hoping for. Nor can I tell you whether you will eat any of the food that has been magically appearing in shops—”

“See? I told you.” Adam cut him off. He took off his own cap and threw it on the floor.

“But,” Mr. Krása continued, ignoring Adam. “But, what I was going to say is, it doesn't matter.” His voice was firm.

“It doesn't matter?” Adam interrupted him again. “It doesn't matter if we eat or starve, live or die?” Others echoed him, murmuring to each other in disbelief.

“That's not what I was going to say, Adam.” Mr. Krása admonished him gently. “What I meant to say was that we do our best because if we don't—if we put in a poor effort—then the Nazis have already won the war.” He paused for effect and took a deep breath. “It means we've given up our belief in ourselves. We have to be like the brother and sister in our opera: we have to sing in the market square, despite the evil Brundibár.”

Hans Krása's voice warbled with emotion. “You've worked hard,” he went on. “Now, the Nazis say that we are inferior. A subhuman race.” He looked at them, eyes blazing. “Well, I say that's a load of
pitomost
. We are going to go out there and perform brilliantly, because we can. We are going to show the Red Cross, the Germans, and everyone else what great performers we are.”

Someone started clapping. Soon, the whole room was alive with thunderous applause. Only Adam failed to join in, his hands firmly at his sides. His eyes flashed with contempt.

“Now, children, if you please.” Mr. Krása clapped his hands. “Let's take it from Act Two.”

. . .

The lists went up that afternoon.

Eva emerged from rehearsal to discover throngs of people moving frantically about, trying to get a glimpse of papers posted on the walls of the buildings. There were wails and sobs as people got close enough to read them. One young woman clutched at her hair and screamed as she sank to the freshly planted grass in horror. A very small boy hovered anxiously about her, grasping her skirt.

Deportations. It had been a month or so since the last round, and Eva had felt relatively safe. “There won't be any before the Red Cross visit,” people had been saying. “There won't be any more lists until after they've gone.”
They were wrong,
she thought. A wave of despair washed over her and left her as cold as if she'd bathed in ice.

Mama and Papa.
She scanned the crowds, frantic, searching for their familiar faces.
What if they're on that list?
Frightened, she began to push her way into the mob, elbowing others in an effort to get closer. Lunging forward, she tripped and tumbled facedown into the dust. It was some moments before she realized, shocked, that she was being stepped on.
I'm going to be trampled to death.
Her mind went numb. She gave a small cry of desperation. “Help,” she croaked, but no sound came out. Her mouth was full of dirt, and someone was standing on her hair. She gave another muffled cry and twisted her body in an effort to get back up. She was trapped. She winced as someone else stepped on her left hand.

“Eva, dear, you must get up.” A familiar voice, urgent, speaking German. She looked up. “Franz!” His name came out as a strangled cry. Swiftly, he bent down and picked her up, whisking her to a more secluded spot. She coughed and spat out dirt as Franz set her down on the grass. He patted her gently on the back.

“Oh, Franz.” She was tearful. “It was terrible. I wanted to check the lists, and I got pushed, and I fell, and…” her voice trailed off. “I never even got to see them!”

“You don't have to worry,
Liebchen
.” His voice was dry. “The children were mostly spared, this time. Particularly the ones in the performance. I believe you are in the play?”

Eva was startled. “Me? Oh! I was thinking of my parents.”

It was Franz's turn to look surprised. “Your parents?” he said. “They're still here, then? You're still all together?”

Eva nodded. “We were lucky.” She was quiet for a moment. She plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger. “Papa was a famous professor at the university. He taught medicine.”

“Ah,” said Franz. “One of the Prominents. I'm afraid it doesn't mean anything anymore.” His face twisted. “Well, at least not for me.”

“Oh no, Franz!” Eva's face crumpled with realization. “You're not on the list?”

“I am.” He said it without emotion. “But don't cry for me, Eva. I gave up a long time ago; I am an old man now. But you, you're young. You fight as hard as you can to get out of here.” He lowered his voice. “They say the war is going to be over soon. The Americans are coming, and the Russians. It's only a matter of time.”

“So it's true, then?” Eva spoke in hushed tones. “I never know whether to believe it or not. America is so far away, Franz. How will they ever find us here?”

Franz turned away.
Was he crying now?

“They will find you, Eva,” he said finally. He turned back to look at her. “I know it. But you have to be strong. You have to make sure you are found.” He motioned toward her skirt pocket. “Do you still have the soldier doll I gave you?”

“Yes, Franz.” Eva nodded. “I've named him Piotr.”

“A good name.” Franz stood up. “I should go,” he said. “I haven't much time now. But keep the doll safe, and he will keep you safe.”

“Are you—are you sure you wouldn't like him back?” Eva's voice was small, and she tried not to look sad. She was, of course, reluctant to part with Piotr, but did not want to seem rude.

“Of course not,
Liebchen
.” Franz shook his head. “He's yours.”

“Thank you, Franz,” she said. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I will pray for you. And for Hanna.”

Eva gave Franz a final wave as he walked away. She knew she would never see him again. She stood back up, brushing dust and pine needles off her worn skirt. Catching sight of the mob as she turned, she felt a renewed sense of fear.
Mama and Papa!
Her heart pounded.
What if they're on the list?
She took a deep breath. She'd have to fight her way back through the crowd. She clenched her fists in determination.

“Eva?” A voice, the most wonderful voice in the world! Eva whirled around. “Mama.” With a small cry, she stumbled forward into her mother's open arms. She inhaled deeply. Her mother's scent, although faint, was still there. She buried her head in her mother's shoulder. Her father was there, too, and he put his arms around them both.

“Eva.” Her mother's voice broke as she stood back to look at her daughter. “You're growing into a beautiful young woman.” Her father nodded his head, beaming with pride. “You've been so brave,” he said. His voice quavered slightly. He ruffled her hair.

Eva felt the bottom of her stomach fall out. “You're on the list, aren't you.” It was more of a statement than a question. Her voice was dull, flat. She looked up at them, expectant.