Read Online The German Girl by Armando Lucas Correa - Free Book Online
Authors: Armando Lucas Correa
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nails, her ringless fingers—not even the wedding band—and stroke them. She leans her head back against me. We’re together again.
“What a gruesome night that was, the ninth of November 1938. Nobody was expecting it.” Mom has a lump in her throat.
As I listen to her recount the terrible drama, I cannot feel sad, because I’m happy to have her with me. I’m scared that this sorrow might send her back to bed. Better leave the photos until she has recovered completely.
But she continues.
“They smashed the windows of all the shops. Maybe one of those ruined stores belonged to your great-grandparents. Who knows. On Kristallnacht, the night of broken windows, they burned down all the synagogues. Only one was left standing, Anna.
“They took the men away, separated families. All the women were forced to call themselves Sarah, and the men, Israel,” she goes on in a rush. “I told my father that if I had to change my name, I preferred to die. Some people managed to escape, others were later exterminated in the gas chambers.”
A horror film. I can’t imagine the two of us alone in that city then. I don’t know whether Mom would have survived. Berlin was a hell for people like us. They lost everything.
“They left behind their homes, their lives. Very few survived. They lived hidden in basements. They fled the country: it was their only chance. They were attacked in the street, arrested, thrown in jail, andnever seen again. Some of them chose to send their children on their own to other countries, so that they would be brought up in another culture, with a different religion, as part of families they didn’t know.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I see Dad in Berlin, Havana, New York. I’m German. This is my family, forced to call themselves Sarah and Israel, whose businesses were destroyed. The family that fled, that survived. This is where I come from.
Mom thinks the saddest photos are the ones of interiors, but they show a well-dressed man and woman, in big rooms in what look like palaces. The woman is tall and elegant, her dress tight-fitting around her waist, and with a broad, tilted hat. She is standing in front of a window. The man wears a suit and tie and is sitting next to an ancient gramophone, with a loudspeaker curved like a gigantic flower. Another photo shows them dressed for a special occasion. He is in formal attire; she is wearing a long silk gown.
“Heaven only knows if they were separated or they managed to die together,” Mom continues, her voice filled with emotion.
My favorite photos are the ones of the boy with huge black eyes. In them he is running, jumping, climbing into a window or up a streetlamp, or lying in the grass. Yes, it’s the same one in all of them. And he’s always smiling.
I get up and stand in front of the blown-up image. We really do look alike. The girl on the ship is the same as the one on the cover of the League of German Girls magazine. I think this weekend, I’ll get my hair cut like her.
“That’s Hannah, the aunt who brought your Dad up,” I hear Mom say behind me. She embraces me and gives me a kiss. “You’re called Anna after her.”
I want to escape from this trap but can’t. I have no idea where I am and try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are sealed. Air! I need air!Is this another nightmare, or am I awake? The weight of my arms drags me toward the abyss. I can’t feel my legs, they’re freezing. All my strength is gone, and just when my lungs are giving out, I lose consciousness and float off to who knows where. I lift my head and my nose appears . . . on the surface? I straighten up, turn my head to the left and right, trying to figure out where I am, while the wind beats harshly against my face.
My face is soaked. My skin burns. My head is so hot it’s spinning; my body is so cold it paralyzes me. I take desperate breaths, and gulp down air and salt water. I think I’m going to drown and I cough uncontrollably until
“What a gruesome night that was, the ninth of November 1938. Nobody was expecting it.” Mom has a lump in her throat.
As I listen to her recount the terrible drama, I cannot feel sad, because I’m happy to have her with me. I’m scared that this sorrow might send her back to bed. Better leave the photos until she has recovered completely.
But she continues.
“They smashed the windows of all the shops. Maybe one of those ruined stores belonged to your great-grandparents. Who knows. On Kristallnacht, the night of broken windows, they burned down all the synagogues. Only one was left standing, Anna.
“They took the men away, separated families. All the women were forced to call themselves Sarah, and the men, Israel,” she goes on in a rush. “I told my father that if I had to change my name, I preferred to die. Some people managed to escape, others were later exterminated in the gas chambers.”
A horror film. I can’t imagine the two of us alone in that city then. I don’t know whether Mom would have survived. Berlin was a hell for people like us. They lost everything.
“They left behind their homes, their lives. Very few survived. They lived hidden in basements. They fled the country: it was their only chance. They were attacked in the street, arrested, thrown in jail, andnever seen again. Some of them chose to send their children on their own to other countries, so that they would be brought up in another culture, with a different religion, as part of families they didn’t know.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I see Dad in Berlin, Havana, New York. I’m German. This is my family, forced to call themselves Sarah and Israel, whose businesses were destroyed. The family that fled, that survived. This is where I come from.
Mom thinks the saddest photos are the ones of interiors, but they show a well-dressed man and woman, in big rooms in what look like palaces. The woman is tall and elegant, her dress tight-fitting around her waist, and with a broad, tilted hat. She is standing in front of a window. The man wears a suit and tie and is sitting next to an ancient gramophone, with a loudspeaker curved like a gigantic flower. Another photo shows them dressed for a special occasion. He is in formal attire; she is wearing a long silk gown.
“Heaven only knows if they were separated or they managed to die together,” Mom continues, her voice filled with emotion.
My favorite photos are the ones of the boy with huge black eyes. In them he is running, jumping, climbing into a window or up a streetlamp, or lying in the grass. Yes, it’s the same one in all of them. And he’s always smiling.
I get up and stand in front of the blown-up image. We really do look alike. The girl on the ship is the same as the one on the cover of the League of German Girls magazine. I think this weekend, I’ll get my hair cut like her.
“That’s Hannah, the aunt who brought your Dad up,” I hear Mom say behind me. She embraces me and gives me a kiss. “You’re called Anna after her.”
I want to escape from this trap but can’t. I have no idea where I am and try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are sealed. Air! I need air!Is this another nightmare, or am I awake? The weight of my arms drags me toward the abyss. I can’t feel my legs, they’re freezing. All my strength is gone, and just when my lungs are giving out, I lose consciousness and float off to who knows where. I lift my head and my nose appears . . . on the surface? I straighten up, turn my head to the left and right, trying to figure out where I am, while the wind beats harshly against my face.
My face is soaked. My skin burns. My head is so hot it’s spinning; my body is so cold it paralyzes me. I take desperate breaths, and gulp down air and salt water. I think I’m going to drown and I cough uncontrollably until
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