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Authors: Irene N.Watts
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had been clumsily bandaged; a little trickle of blood had seeped through the material and dried.
Mr. Altmann unlocked the door, and then quickly bolted it again.
“I don’t know why I do that; habit I suppose. Don’t look so worried, Marianne, it’s nothing.”
“Did they close you down?” Marianne asked.
“Temporarily. It’s not so easy to close me down, even if they do break the glass. Close me down? No. Your mother, is she well? And your father, he is away on business, I hear.”
“The Gestapo came last night, looking for something, but we are all fine now, thank you. What happened to you, Mr. Altmann?” Marianne said.
The baker began to sweep the floor.
“The usual things. This time a little more boisterous, perhaps. So they break a little glass, smash an old man’s head. Mostly, the police look the other way. This morning they joined in.”
Marianne said, “Some people leave.”
“Not me. My grandfather built this shop. I use the same oven he did. I was born here, and here I stay. I can wait out a little madness, wait for things to get better. Don’t look so sad. I’m going to fetch your breakfast rolls right now. The Gestapo didn’t spoil everything.”
When Mr. Altmann came out of the back room, he held a brown bag in one hand, and a triangular-shaped pastry in the other. “A little taste – warm from the oven.”
“That’s a hamantasch,” said Marianne, “Purim’s three months away. Why are you baking those now?”
“Because from now on the festival of Purim will be celebrated in my shop all year round. I want my customers to remember the brave Queen Esther and her cousin, Mordecai. I want them to remember how a tyrant, who tried to kill the Jewish people, was defied.”
Marianne interrupted, her mouth full of the pastry Mr. Altmann had given her. “I love Purim. It’s such fun to shout and clap in the synagogue, and wave noisemakers when Haman’s name is mentioned. What a wonderful idea,” said Marianne, licking the last of the jelly from her fingers.
“Exactly,” said Mr. Altmann. “After the cruel Haman’s death, the Bible says, ‘The Jews had light and gladness, and joy and honor.’ I wait for that time to return.”
Marianne said, “I know a boy who has a motor-horn. It would make a wonderful noisemaker, but he’d never let me borrow it. He can’t wait to join the Hitler Youth. I thought he was nice at first – kind, and fun – but they’re all the same.”
Mr. Altmann smiled at Marianne, and his eyes looked very bright, even through the cracked lenses of his spectacles. “It’s hard to speak out, to be one voice against so many, but there are always some if you listen hard enough. Not everyone is a hoodlum.
“Keep well, child. My regards to your mother. And Marianne, remember what happened to Haman? We know another tyrant whose name begins with the same letter, don’t we?”
Mr. Altmann made the sign of the letter
H
on the damp counter, and then quickly erased it with his cloth. He winked at Marianne. Marianne winked back, and stood on tiptoe to kiss Mr. Altmann’s lined cheek.
“Good-bye, be careful,” she said.
Marianne walked out of the shop, her head held high, and Mr. Altmann watched her until she was out of sight. Then he turned the CLOSED sign to OPEN , and waited behind the counter for his customers.
W hen Marianne came back with the breakfast rolls, her mother was still sitting at the kitchen table. Her eyes were red. She pushed Mrs. Schwartz’s note across to Marianne. It read:
AS OF DECEMBER 10, 1938
JEWS ARE PROHIBITED FROM LIVING IN THIS BUILDING.
PLEASE VACATE APARTMENT TWO BY DECEMBER 9TH.
AT TWO O’CLOCK.
HEIL HITLER
HELGA SCHWARTZ
Marianne said, “She can’t do that. That’s just a few days away.”
Mrs. Kohn blew her nose. “Sorry, darling. She can. It solves some problems, really. I’ve been thinking we should visitDüsseldorf – spend some time with Oma and Opa. They’d feel safer having us there. You can
Mr. Altmann unlocked the door, and then quickly bolted it again.
“I don’t know why I do that; habit I suppose. Don’t look so worried, Marianne, it’s nothing.”
“Did they close you down?” Marianne asked.
“Temporarily. It’s not so easy to close me down, even if they do break the glass. Close me down? No. Your mother, is she well? And your father, he is away on business, I hear.”
“The Gestapo came last night, looking for something, but we are all fine now, thank you. What happened to you, Mr. Altmann?” Marianne said.
The baker began to sweep the floor.
“The usual things. This time a little more boisterous, perhaps. So they break a little glass, smash an old man’s head. Mostly, the police look the other way. This morning they joined in.”
Marianne said, “Some people leave.”
“Not me. My grandfather built this shop. I use the same oven he did. I was born here, and here I stay. I can wait out a little madness, wait for things to get better. Don’t look so sad. I’m going to fetch your breakfast rolls right now. The Gestapo didn’t spoil everything.”
When Mr. Altmann came out of the back room, he held a brown bag in one hand, and a triangular-shaped pastry in the other. “A little taste – warm from the oven.”
“That’s a hamantasch,” said Marianne, “Purim’s three months away. Why are you baking those now?”
“Because from now on the festival of Purim will be celebrated in my shop all year round. I want my customers to remember the brave Queen Esther and her cousin, Mordecai. I want them to remember how a tyrant, who tried to kill the Jewish people, was defied.”
Marianne interrupted, her mouth full of the pastry Mr. Altmann had given her. “I love Purim. It’s such fun to shout and clap in the synagogue, and wave noisemakers when Haman’s name is mentioned. What a wonderful idea,” said Marianne, licking the last of the jelly from her fingers.
“Exactly,” said Mr. Altmann. “After the cruel Haman’s death, the Bible says, ‘The Jews had light and gladness, and joy and honor.’ I wait for that time to return.”
Marianne said, “I know a boy who has a motor-horn. It would make a wonderful noisemaker, but he’d never let me borrow it. He can’t wait to join the Hitler Youth. I thought he was nice at first – kind, and fun – but they’re all the same.”
Mr. Altmann smiled at Marianne, and his eyes looked very bright, even through the cracked lenses of his spectacles. “It’s hard to speak out, to be one voice against so many, but there are always some if you listen hard enough. Not everyone is a hoodlum.
“Keep well, child. My regards to your mother. And Marianne, remember what happened to Haman? We know another tyrant whose name begins with the same letter, don’t we?”
Mr. Altmann made the sign of the letter
H
on the damp counter, and then quickly erased it with his cloth. He winked at Marianne. Marianne winked back, and stood on tiptoe to kiss Mr. Altmann’s lined cheek.
“Good-bye, be careful,” she said.
Marianne walked out of the shop, her head held high, and Mr. Altmann watched her until she was out of sight. Then he turned the CLOSED sign to OPEN , and waited behind the counter for his customers.
W hen Marianne came back with the breakfast rolls, her mother was still sitting at the kitchen table. Her eyes were red. She pushed Mrs. Schwartz’s note across to Marianne. It read:
AS OF DECEMBER 10, 1938
JEWS ARE PROHIBITED FROM LIVING IN THIS BUILDING.
PLEASE VACATE APARTMENT TWO BY DECEMBER 9TH.
AT TWO O’CLOCK.
HEIL HITLER
HELGA SCHWARTZ
Marianne said, “She can’t do that. That’s just a few days away.”
Mrs. Kohn blew her nose. “Sorry, darling. She can. It solves some problems, really. I’ve been thinking we should visitDüsseldorf – spend some time with Oma and Opa. They’d feel safer having us there. You can
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