Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 5 of a new online serial novel, Nine A.M., by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications.
Located in a quiet suburb of Vienna is the small factory belonging to the Wangel family, which produces Wangel furs. These furs are known around the world for their exceptional quality. The Wangel family is rather quiet, and resides in a secluded estate located on the tree-covered hillsides of the northern Alps. The family members do not like visits, not in their small factory near Vienna, nor in their estate in the Alps, in order to preserve their production secrets, which, naturally, makes them a draw for information spies. As such, the factory has preserved a tradition wherein only family members are employed there, and there is no entry to strangers at all. At the same time, it should be noted, that despite the small number of workers—only around fifteen people—they are able to maintain a remarkable pace and scope of production that does not affect the quality of their products. One thing is clear: If you are a journalist, you might be able to get into the factory or the remote estate, but that is only after you make an appointment in advance and answer countless questions from them—and even then, your tour will be very limited.
The interesting thing is that despite the bad name that the family has earned, because of their lack of openness to the public, for almost fifty years they have managed to earn a certain status among the manufacturers’ associations. This is both due to their luxury products, which has vaulted them high in the ranks of the wealthy in Europe, and because of their intentional distance, which has generated a halo of mystery and admiration around them.
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“Chani, did you see?” It was less than two hours later, and the door to the storage room had opened again, with Gefreiter Theresa standing there. “I’m not the only one who loves your coffee cake! That busybody also enjoyed it very much, and maybe because of it, she’ll write a complimentary article about us. So it’s all good. My father, the Hauptmann, can now relax, despite the mistake we had about the date of this visit…”
“She told you what she’s writing about?” Chani asked as she stood up. The loudspeakers were already playing Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony instead of Schubert’s Ninth Symphony. That was the official all-clear signal; the journalist had departed.
Meir was already in the kitchen, standing obediently near the cabbage that had been taken out of the fridge and cutting it. Eli continued scrubbing the large soup pot.
“She only wrote her opening lines of the article here, and left us a copy. She’ll send the rest in a fax later on. Go on, read it.”
Chani read the German words with great effort, her eyes slowly scanning the handwritten lines. “So they noticed the camp,” she said, with some anxiety.
“What do you think?” The German woman laughed. “But they believe us, fortunately for you. We invest a lot of effort in generating a reputation for ourselves as people who like secrecy and isolation.”
“It…it’s…really a big risk on your part.” Chani took a deep breath, and without meaning to, began tearing up. “G-d will repay anyone who protects His children, you…you will yet see.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Theresa said lightly. She looked pointedly at the two children.
Chani turned to the boys. “Children,” she said, “aren’t we grateful to the managers of the Samson Lager? With all our hearts?” That’s what they liked to hear, so that’s what she would say.
“Right,” Meir and Eli declared together.
“They are the chassidei umos ha’olam, the righteous among the nations,” Eli announced.
“Not true!” Meir scowled at him. “Tatte said that the chassidei umos ha’olam are those goyim who keep the sheva mitzvos Bnei Noach! Not someone who helps Jews in general; it has nothing to do with that!”
Chani hastily stepped in to stop the argument. “It doesn’t make a difference. What is clear is that the Wangels are very good people. Right? They save our lives.”
“Right,” her two sons repeated obediently and continued their work. Theresa smiled from ear to ear. Chani already knew her; she liked these expressions of gratitude.
And then came the part that Chani liked less: The younger woman pulled out her camera and aimed it at the work station. The children smiled dutifully, which made the gap in Meir’s front teeth more noticeable. His tooth had broken four years ago.
“Great picture,” Theresa said, and then disappeared.
***
Two hours and a few minutes after entering Shelter A, they were allowed out. The children shot outside like bullets and ran back to the kindergarten. Naomi waved to her mother and grandmother and followed the kids, carrying a two-year-old child who had fallen asleep in the shelter.
“That was a nice story,” Bilhah said to her as she sank down onto her chair. “Can you please bring me a cup of water, Naomi?”
“Sure,” Naomi replied.
Bilhah quietly made a brachah and took a sip. “My head hurts a little,” she said.
Mila approached. “Are you okay, Bilhah? Do you have fever or something?”
“No, it’s not fever, but I think that spending so much time in that closed-up space is not good for me. It began a while ago already, and it’s getting worse… At least now we don’t have real babies in our group. With them, there’s always the pressure of them crying and making noise, and that really is not good for me.” She passed a finger over the red cheek of the child who was sleeping on Naomi’s shoulder. “But now it’s not emotional pressure; it’s this physical feeling. I really feel choked.”
She looked at the group of children making noise like only a group of children forced to be silent for two hours could make, and smiled as she took a deep breath. “There’s nothing to do. It’s a miracle that we only have to go into the shelters on rare occasions.”
“Once, when I was much younger, I wrote a story about a girl who didn’t want to go into the shelter,” Naomi said. She smiled a bit sheepishly. “So the girl climbed up and lay down on the roof of the kindergarten building and talked to the birds there, while everyone else went to the shelter. Not that I would suggest that you do that, Bilhah, but maybe it would be possible to ask Hauptmann Katarina if there’s a possibility of you hiding out in an airier place.”
“I’m not finding out anything from anyone,” Bilhah murmured with closed eyes, rubbing her forehead. “I don’t want to report that it’s hard for me, or anything. Forget it, Naomi. It’s always better to pretend that everything is fine. Mila, can you tell the kids a story now?”
“After Naomi’s amazing story, who will listen to me?” Mila laughed. “I can play a game with them, though. Hey, one minute, they didn’t eat lunch yet!”
“Right, I completely forgot!” Bilhah’s eyes opened wide. “Naomi, can you please go to the kitchen and ask your grandmother when the food will be ready?”
“I’ll sit everyone down,” Mila said. She clapped her hands briskly. “Kids, who’s coming to sit nicely around the table? Where are our big girls? Girls, we need you to give out the plates and bring the food for everyone!”
Three of the oldest girls in the class went over to the cabinet where the plates were kept. These girls were already nine or ten years old; they were more like assistants than actual students in the class.
One of them joined Naomi to bring the food from the kitchen. “Are you going to be the new teacher after Bilhah?” the girl suddenly asked.
Naomi paused at the last second before entering the kitchen. “What? Who spoke to you about this?”
“My mother. She said…” The girl hesitated for a moment. “She said that when I finish the kindergarten, she’s not ready for me to come and work there for even one hour, because that might lead them to put me there permanently. Supposedly, it’s better to work in the cowshed, or in the medical clinic, or in the factory, or in the kitchen, or anywhere else. The main thing is not to get a permanent job in the kindergarten.”
“But you like little kids, and they like you too, no?” Naomi forced herself to smile.
“Okay, but if your family hardly gets any coupons from this work, then what does it help if you like the kids and they like you?” the girl asked rhetorically, shaking her braid. “But you never know; maybe you’ll marry someone who has good work, and then you’ll be fine together.” She shrugged and walked into the kitchen.
Naomi took a deep breath and followed her—and nearly bumped into her grandmother, Sara Liba, who was standing there and who had surely heard every word.
“How are you girls?” she asked warmly, without batting an eyelash.
“Baruch Hashem,” they replied in unison.
Babbe smiled and pinched the younger girl’s cheek. “The truth is that if you would have lived seventy years ago, you’d be a student in school, not in kindergarten,” she said. “A girl of ten years old is already very big.”
“So do you think I can come to your shiurim on Shabbos?” the girl asked, a sparkle in her eyes. “Because if you say that I’m big, and that I don’t really fit into a kindergarten anymore, then maybe I can already understand the stories and stuff that you tell the mothers!”
“Maybe,” Sara Liba replied. “But first, show us that you really are mature, and take this pan of chicken patties to the kindergarten room.”
Naomi’s gaze followed the girl as she left the kitchen, standing tall and straight. “It’s gotten around very fast who the shlemazel is who can’t do much else than tell stories to kids, huh?” she said bitterly.
“It’s a lot more than that, Naomi, and you know it,” her grandmother said.
She might have said more, but just then, the girl dashed back into the kitchen, still carrying the pan of food. “Naomi, Naomi, Bilhah feels very unwell! Mila said that your grandmother should come right away, and that you should run to call Dr. Katzburg!”
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