Jacob’s mama settled into another kitchen chair and opened one of her old movie magazines. “Clark Gable is such a handsome man!” she exclaimed, half to them and half to herself. Jacob had a vague recollection of her using those very words to describe the movie icon yesterday and the day before that as well. She had only a couple of the magazines that she recycled for reading each day, and there was only one Clark Gable, after all.
His papa hummed an old Polish tune to himself as he sat intently carving the edge of a small object. This time it was a fruit bowl; there were many such objets d’art scattered about the apartment: a replica of a shoe, a large stirring spoon, a wide pot for the sad rubber plant in the corner of the living room. Now that he was out of work, his hands seemed eternally busy with new projects. Jacob decided that he’d had enough self-reflection for the day and was just reaching under the bed for his stamp collection when he heard a sharp knock at the door.
Unlike most of their neighbors, the family did not jump at such disruptions. Because of Mama’s job, their refrigerator was always well stocked with meats, cheeses, and even the occasional bar of German chocolate. So they weren’t frightened when Papa casually wiped the wooden splinters from his hands and opened the door—that is, until they saw the face that waited on the other side.
It took Papa a minute before he could find his voice.
“Herr Reichert! To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit on this fine morning?”
At the sound of the German words leaving his papa’s mouth, Jacob came swiftly out of his room. There Reichert stood, somehow more stooped than he remembered, the face etched with jagged lines. Nevertheless, he was a commanding figure as he filled the doorway with his polished boots and shiny medals.
“Just a matter of business, dear sir,” he said in German, a language that had become all too familiar, as he strode into the small apartment as if it were his own. Meanwhile, Mama’s face took on such a deathly pallor as the colonel smiled (or perhaps sneered) down at them. Jacob, who long ago had learned to tamp down his feelings, sensed his heart quicken. Almost immediately, though, Mama’s face resumed the mask of friendliness as she dropped the magazine onto the table and stood up. Never before had Herr Reichert visited the apartment in the little town whose walls now embraced a fearful silence. But soon, Jacob realized the colonel’s eyes had set upon him, seeming to analyze each pore of his skin.
“My, my, Sarah! How your son has grown!”
Jacob realized he was expecting some response, but like his papa, he could muster only a glob of saliva, which stuck in the bottom of his throat. But soon his mama’s voice captured the awkward silence.
“Yes, he is quite a tall one. He takes after my brother, God rest his soul. Certainly, my husband and I are no giants.” Her response triggered the colonel’s attention, and remembering the reason for his visit, he cleared his throat.
“Sarah, you are wanted back at the office. It seems a virulent flu, what with the change of seasons, has swept across the staff, and the girls, neither Vera nor Bertha, can lift a head from the pillow. And, as you well know, with the war effort surging, swift correspondence to the front is of the utmost importance. So since, dear Sarah, my typing skills are not nearly as proficient as yours, I’m afraid that you are urgently needed at this moment.”
Jacob cringed inwardly at the endearment referenced toward his mama, but when he glanced at his papa, who still stood fixed next to the shut front door, and could detect no flicker of a response in his eyes, Jacob felt his own face redden with a burning resentment. At that moment, he did not know which one of his parents he despised more. He heard his mother’s voice then, softly placating, rising into the still air.
“But, Fritz, tomorrow is the Sabbath. And even though there is no need of attending synagogue any longer, might I not have one day with my husband and son?”
The corners of Herr Reichert’s lips dipped slowly downward, the pits in his cheek deepened, and his eyes emptied of color and darkened toward black. It was then and only then that Jacob felt his first premonition of the tragedy that would soon befall them all.
“Sarah, you are needed.” Four words only. Low and swift. The imperative was set.
Mama’s face looked on the verge of collapse.
“I’ll just get my purse,” she said, and disappeared into the bedroom. When she next appeared, she was wearing her cotton tan coat, a small black purse draped across one shoulder, her red lipstick impeccably applied.
“No! She is not leaving.” His voice, his legs that had sprung up, had him glowering directly above the colonel, seeming to come alive as through a will of their own.