Now the officer was trapped. Faced with a direct accusation, he couldn’t ignore it. “Are you a smuggler, young lady?”
“No, sir.” My voice was weak.
“Then you wouldn’t mind a search.”
The Volksdeutscher grinned and took a step toward me.
“I’ll take care of this,” the officer growled. “Lift up your skirt.” Men in the crowd pressed forward. Women looked away. I stood still, my face afire with humiliation.
“Lift it,” the officer repeated, “or I’ll do it for you.”
I scanned the crowd, hoping that miraculously father or Jozef would rescue me. But of course they were not there. Shame overwhelmed me and I began to cry.
The officer stood in front of me. I raised my head to look at him, seeing—what?—some sort of odd pleasure in his eyes? Deliberately, he caught the hem of my skirt with his riding crop and raised it over my hips. He ran his free hand up and down the inside of each of my thighs, then let the skirt drop.
“Everything’s in order,” he barked hoarsely, turned on his heel, and parted the crowd just as Moses had parted the Red Sea.
I arrived home to a commotion. The entry doors to our house on Sophienstrasse were wide open and a horse-drawn cart was backed up to the porch. Papa, who had evidently arrived moments before me, raced across our lawn, where the horse was tearing up mouthfuls of grass.
“What’s going on?” he demanded of the driver seated on top of the cab. “Remove this cart immediately!”
“I was hired for this,” the driver said. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Who am I? I own this property, that’s who I am. You have exactly two minutes to leave these grounds before I—”
“Put that down!” a familiar voice bellowed.
Papa ran into the house where Stasik, our butler, was brandishing a kitchen cleaver above the head of Maria, the maid. “There’s the doctor now,” he shrieked. “You’ll drop it now, all right!”
“What the devil’s happening?” my father demanded. “Why is that cart on my lawn, and what’s Maria doing?”
“She’s stealing Mrs. Levy’s silver,” Stasik wailed, tugging at the box under Maria’s arm. “Drop it, I say.”
“Let go,” Maria shrieked, digging her nails into his hand. Abruptly, the box sprang open, and silver scattered over the hall floor. “Don’t come near me.” Maria shrank from my father’s approach. From the look of him, he could have killed her.
Papa seized her wrist and dragged her outside to the rear of the cart, where a half dozen chairs and several paintings had been hastily stacked. “You mean to rob us, Maria? In the name of God, why?”
“Let go of me!” The girl kicked at his shins. “Let go or I’ll report you to the authorities.” Maria looked at my mother. “For rape.”
“But that’s disgusting. Absurd. Mrs. Levy and I just this minute arrived.”
“Who’ll believe you?” Maria’s voice was filled with contempt. “Who’ll believe a Christ-killer? A lousy stinking Jew?”
A loud roar like an ocean in turmoil filled my ears, and I flew past my father and clawed at her eyes. “You bitch!” I shrieked. “You bitch, you bitch, you bitch!” I flung her to the ground, kicking her as hard as I could.
It was my mother who rescued her. With a strength neither Papa nor I could have imagined, she pulled me off the maid and held me until I stopped shaking. Maria lay curled at our feet, whimpering, and it took an enormous effort to keep me from kicking her again. At last I became aware that my mother was kissing my head, and I heard my father’s calm voice reassuring someone that everything was under control.
“It’s taken care of, officer,” he said, producing a wad of zlotys for the policeman by his side. “A disagreement with the help, that’s all.”
The policeman extended a hand. “Let me know if you need me,” he said, evidently anxious to be off. “This is a peaceful neighborhood, and I wouldn’t want it disturbed.”
“Thank you.” Papa escorted him out the gate then returned to his reclaimed possessions, a trembling Stasik, and Mama clinging to me as if I might erupt again. But my fury was spent.
My father lifted Maria up and placed her gently in the back of the cart. He handed the driver some money. “For a doctor,” he explained, “not for you. Understand?” He slapped the horse’s rear to get him moving. We stood and watched it go, too numb to say anything. My mother released me but kept kissing my hair. My father put his arms around both of us.
“We shall never discuss this moment again,” he said, leading us to the front steps.
The facade of our house on Sophienstrasse had always seemed beautiful to me, but now, in the twilight, it was forbidding, and I was loath to cross the threshold, afraid of what we’d find inside. I had been born in this house, grown up in this house, endured my father’s tantrums, my brother’s teasing, my mother’s scolding—and experienced their love. Now as we entered it motes of dust flew around our head like flies and the air smelled musty. The joy each of us felt at being reunited—imagine that, joy because we all made it home from the train station!—was replaced by intense melancholy. Even Stasik, who had preceded us inside, was somber, not at all pleased to see us again.
“The piano,” I gasped as Mama and I entered the drawing room. “Where’s the piano?” It was where I had spent my happiest hours.
Behind me, Mama reeled as if my words had physically struck her. “And the Monet?” she shrieked.
“Maria stole them,” Stasik said. “And the silver candlesticks. Her family came and took them yesterday. I pleaded with her, Mrs. Levy. Begged her not to take them. But the girl wouldn’t listen and I couldn’t stop her. She said if I tried, she’d report me to the authorities.” He lowered his lead. “At least I kept the silver menorah.”
“You did your best, I’m sure,” Mama said. “Dr. Levy and I are very grateful.”
“I’ve worked for the doctor’s family for fifty-two years. I started out in Mr. Levy Senior’s stables….”
“We appreciate that,” Mama said, exhaustion etching her face. She turned to climb the stairs.
The old man wrung his hands. “I watched Jozef and Mademoiselle Mia grow up. I know every nick and swirl of the banister there. I’ve polished the door knocker so many times that—”
Mama turned to face him. “We appreciate it all,” she said warmly. “And in view of the difficulties, I’m sure you earned a vacation. Perhaps you’d like to visit your brother in Zakopane.”
“A vacation?” Stasik dropped into one of the chairs at the foot of the landing and began to sob. “After so many years, something more should be said. Surely Dr. Levy’s father would have wanted a lifetime employee to….”
“What’s the problem?” my father asked, appearing at the top of the stairs.
“Dr. Levy. This house. It’s the only life I know. My wife, Bertha, died under this roof. And now, to be sent away without any ceremony. It doesn’t seem right.”
“Who said anything about sending you away?” Mama seemed to be struggling to understand. “I offered you a vacation.”
“But what else could you mean?” Stasik stared at her as if she’d gone mad. “Is it possible that Madame and the Doctor have not read the notices? The ordinances?”
“Of course not,” Papa said. “We just arrived.”
The old man shook his head. “The new German governor of the Wartheland says it’s illegal for Jews