It was nearly six o’clock when they crossed the border from Czechoslovakia into Austria. Seeing the name of her homeland triggered a surge of adrenaline. As the light faded, she had a sense of hurtling toward a place where nothing would be as it was supposed to be—a city of shadows and half-remembered dreams.
“How long is it since you left Vienna?” Charlie was sitting beside her. Close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body—but not touching her. He seemed to sense that this wasn’t the right time to try to kiss her, or even take her hand.
“It’s been almost seven years,” she replied. “The Germans had already taken control—but the real trouble started in November ’38, when people went round one night throwing bricks through the windows of Jewish shops. My father had to put up a sign above the shop saying it was a Jewish business. We used to have customers from all over the city, but non-Jews weren’t allowed through the doors after that. I even overheard our neighbors saying there were not enough lampposts in Vienna to hang all the Jews. I got the feeling they said it deliberately loud so I could hear.”
Charlie shook his head. “That must have been terrifying.”
“It was. Soon after, curfews were imposed. Jews were not allowed on the streets at night or in the movie theaters, concert halls . . . most public places, I think. At school, I wasn’t allowed to talk to my non-Jewish friends.”
“How did you feel when your parents said they were sending you to England?”
“I was a little bit afraid—but not like it was the end of the world, because I thought they’d be coming after me. I thought it would be straightforward for them to get jobs and visas. If I’d known . . .”
“Do you think they knew the odds were against that? That they didn’t tell you in case you wouldn’t go?”
“I don’t know.”
“They were incredibly brave. I can’t imagine what it must have been like, putting you on that train.”
Kitty closed her eyes. No matter how many times she tried—it must be thousands—she couldn’t retrieve that memory. It was as if grief had burned a hole in her mind’s eye. “They were brave. I used to say that to myself. I know it sounds awful, but sometimes, when I was in England, I felt angry with them for letting me go. I always felt like an imposter when I lived there. No matter how hard I tried, I was never really accepted.”
“My grandma used to say that.” Charlie nodded. “When they came to America, she learned English, wore Western clothes, but she couldn’t change how she looked. White people looked down on the Chinese. Some still do.”
Kitty thought about Mrs. Ho, the Chinese lady her mother had made dresses for. She had been beautiful, elegant. It was hard to imagine that any Viennese citizen had looked down on her. But then, she had been a diplomat’s wife, which brought wealth and status—very different from the position Charlie’s grandmother would have been in as the wife of an immigrant laborer.
“When I changed my name, I felt guilty about it,” she said, “like I was betraying my parents—but it made life more bearable. I worked really hard to lose my accent, which was the other giveaway.”
“You did a good job.” He smiled. “I had you down as either British or Canadian when we met.”
“It’s funny,” she said. “The camp is the first place I’ve ever really felt I fitted in. I think it’s because in Britain, I was living in a country where it seemed like everyone belonged except me. But at Seidenmühle I’m living alongside people like myself—people in a land that’s not their own.”
Charlie glanced out the window. Kitty wondered what he was thinking, whether he was worried about how she would feel when she stepped off the train—and how she would react to whatever news Clara might have. Just thinking of that meeting made her sick with anticipation.
“We’re slowing down.” He turned back, searching her face. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m ready.”
The first person they encountered when they got off the train was a Russian soldier who wanted to know why they had come to Vienna. Kitty explained, in German, that they were in the city on official business after accompanying DPs to Poland. It was easier—and safer—than trying to explain the real reason.
She didn’t recognize the district they’d arrived in. There were no streetlamps working, which made it very dark. They walked for a while until they spotted a taxi parked on the road ahead.