He and Ella both shake my hand, and then they’re gone.
I study the photograph again on my phone. The woman’s face is partially shadowed by the gray shade of a tree, and her arms and legs look pencil thin. I wish I could see her eyes. Hear her story.
I hope Dr. Nemeth finds this treasure for the people who lost it. Perhaps, if he finds Annika’s family, I can return theBambibook and its list directly to them.
I scoop upHatschi Bratschis Luftballonto return to the store.
The magic balloon book is about reuniting people, Fritz and the other children miraculously returning to their families after the wicked man takes them away.
This is a much newer version than the one that Charlotte has on her shelf at home, the one with another name inscribed inside, but instinctively I open the front cover, as if the name is recorded in this magic balloon book as well.
Luzia Weiss.
It’s not there, of course. The only place I’ve ever found her name is in the book in Charlotte’s condo. Weiss is a common surnamein Germany, but in our years of searching, neither Charlotte nor I have found the birth record for a Luzia.
And I wonder again, as I’ve done over the years, how the record of someone’s life can simply disappear.
Anyone who saves a life is as if he saved an entire world.
MISHNAH SANHEDRIN (THE TALMUD)
CHAPTER 16
LUZI
VIENNA, AUSTRIA
AUGUST 1938
Luzi lifted her violin to her shoulder and drew her bow across the strings.Largo.The music called for a slow rendition of the piece, but each note she played, whether slow or fast, seemed to cry out in pain. The music, it wanted her to run away like she’d done that night at the Rathaus, flee from this city that had replaced its own music with a seething hatred against many of its musicians. As if the ears of Vienna were being tainted by the notes played through Jewish hands.
Her father was still trying to obtain visas for them, from any country that would take their family, but as the weeks passed, even fewer Jews were able to obtain visas, and those who left weren’tallowed to carry anything of value with them. Certainly not enough money to support themselves when they arrived in their new homes. She felt as if they were trying to sail in a wild gust of wind, no stretch of land in sight.
Now her father wanted Luzi to obtain a visa on her own—some countries were still allowing Jewish students to attend school abroad—but she didn’t think she could bear to leave her family in Austria.
She collapsed into her chair as if she’d been playing for hours upon hours and rested the violin in her lap. Mutti no longer shouted at her to continue playing, for there was no reason for her to practice. No concerts or balls or even a piece to prepare for school. Music symbolized hope, and these days hope was fleeting in their home.
Her mother had locked herself in her room, sedating the plague of her anxiety with the pills Father prescribed. A dark cloud had settled over their apartment and the increasing fragility of her mother’s mind.
On nights like this, Luzi wished she could take a walk along the Danube, smell the flowers in the palace garden at Schönbrunn, clear the threatening clouds in her own mind. The streets of Vienna, at least those in her district, used to beckon pedestrians outside during the summer evening hours to listen to music in the plazas or sip coffee at an outdoor café. But it wasn’t safe to go out at night anymore. Nor would she after what happened with Ernst in May. Things were only worse now with Hitler’s storm troopers patrolling the streets both day and night.
Still she went out in the morning to find food while Father was visiting the consulate. Her mother refused to leave the apartment, and Luzi was glad Mutti didn’t have to see what hadhappened to their city. Miriam Weiss was a beautiful woman who loved beauty. She should not be exposed to the vile words written on the windows and walls of Jewish businesses. Mutti wasn’t a whore, and while men like Ernst might think otherwise, neither was Luzi.
Their Gentile friends had abandoned them in the past weeks. Even Max, it seemed, had finally given up after her mother refused to let him visit. Luzi had considered going to his house, knocking on his door as he had done with her, but Herr and Frau Dornbach were no longer friendly to her family. Frau Dornbach once referred to Luzi as her niece, but she hadn’t even acknowledged her at the Opera Ball.
Perhaps Max was as afraid as she was about what might happen if they dared to be seen together. Or had he begun to believe that she was nothing but trash as well?
Sometimes she was beginning to believe that she was trash. Someone to be tossed away. Nothing, in the eyes of this new regime, could redeem her and her inferior race.
Luzi locked the violin back into its case and checked the clock. And she pretended that she had a concert to attend tonight. Or school tomorrow. Or that her father, after standing in line today at the consulate, would be able to obtain a visa out of this country for their entire family.
“My God, the soul You have given me is pure. You created it, You formed it, and You breathed it into me.”
She lit a candle near the window and repeated the blessing her grandfather had taught her in Hebrew. Then she said the prayer in German and one more time in the English she’d learned in school.
God had breathed life into her. He had made her and giftedher with a deep love for the music that spilled out of her hands, her heart. What was she supposed to do when it felt as if the very breath He’d breathed into her was being smothered? When she could no longer even play her music?
She switched off the lamp and pressed her hand against the window. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the roll of thunder shook the glass, as if it were announcing its presence. And then she heard something else. The cry of a baby. Her sister had been awakened by the thunder.
