that before? But first she must get well.
“Well, now I can tell you,” says Kirschbaum. “Things looked rather bad for this young lady. But when young ladies do as they are told it is usually possible to achieve something. We have pretty well repaired the damage. Take a deep breath and hold it!”
In the cupboard, right at the bottom, is an old book, a travel description of Africa or America that would do quite nicely for learning to read; it even has a few illustrations. Somehow the idea must be made appealing to her, for if she doesn’t feel like it, you can talk until you’re blue in the face. As soon as it’s possible I’ll adopt her, after searching for her parents first of course, without her knowing about it. They say adoption is not so simple; there are a whole lot of formalities and authorities if someone at an advanced age comes by a child. The Germans have their share of responsibility, and the Russians have theirs; who has the greater? I’ll tell her that we’re finished now with forever telling fairy tales, that there’s more to life than princes and witches and magicians and robbers; reality looks quite different, you’re old enough now, this is an
A
. She is bound to ask what that means, an
A
, she will want to know what it’s for, she has a very practical mind, at her age questions are half of life. He can see difficult times ahead. As a child she is already eight years old, and as a father I am barely two.
Kirschbaum is holding the stethoscope to her chest and listening intently. Suddenly he registers mock surprise, looks at Lina with wide eyes, and asks: “Dear me, what have we here? Do I hear some whistling in there?”
Lina throws an amused glance at Jacob, who doesn’t stop; he didn’t realize he’d started, but now he carries on, not wanting to spoil Kirschbaum's meager joke, and Lina laughs at the silly professor who hasn’t understood that the whistling comes not from her chest but from Uncle Jacob.
W hy, one wonders, did anyone say that coming events cast their shadows before them? Far and wide no shadows, a few uneventful days pass, uneventful for the historian. No new decrees, nothing visibly happening, nothing you can put your finger on, nothing that would seem to indicate change. Some say they have noticed that the Germans have become more restrained; some say that, because nothing at all is happening, it is the calm before the storm. But I say the calm before the storm is a lie, that nothing at all is a lie, the storm, or part of it, is already there: the whispering in the rooms, the fears and speculations, the hopes and prayers. The great day of the prophets has arrived. When people argue, they argue about plans: mine is better than yours. They have all packed their belongings, all are aware of the inconceivable. Anyone who is not must be a hermit. Not everyone knows the source of the report, the ghetto is too big for that, but the Russians are on everybody’s mind. Old debts raise their heads again, diffidently the debtors are reminded, daughters turn into brides, weddings are planned for the week before New Year’s, people have gone stark staring mad, suicide figures have dropped to zero.
Anyone executed now, so shortly before the end, will have suddenly lost a future. For heaven’s sake, give no cause now for Majdanek or Auschwitz (if causes can be said to have any meaning); use caution, Jews, the utmost caution, and make no thoughtless move.
Two parties soon form and divide every building — not every one is Jacob’s friend — two parties without statutes but with weighty arguments and a platform and the art of persuasion. One group is feverish for news: what happened last night, how high are the losses on each side? No report is so trivial that one conclusion or another can’t be drawn from it. And the others, Frankfurter’s party, have heard enough; for them this radio is a source of constant danger, and it would be so easy for Jacob to put their fears to
“Well, now I can tell you,” says Kirschbaum. “Things looked rather bad for this young lady. But when young ladies do as they are told it is usually possible to achieve something. We have pretty well repaired the damage. Take a deep breath and hold it!”
In the cupboard, right at the bottom, is an old book, a travel description of Africa or America that would do quite nicely for learning to read; it even has a few illustrations. Somehow the idea must be made appealing to her, for if she doesn’t feel like it, you can talk until you’re blue in the face. As soon as it’s possible I’ll adopt her, after searching for her parents first of course, without her knowing about it. They say adoption is not so simple; there are a whole lot of formalities and authorities if someone at an advanced age comes by a child. The Germans have their share of responsibility, and the Russians have theirs; who has the greater? I’ll tell her that we’re finished now with forever telling fairy tales, that there’s more to life than princes and witches and magicians and robbers; reality looks quite different, you’re old enough now, this is an
A
. She is bound to ask what that means, an
A
, she will want to know what it’s for, she has a very practical mind, at her age questions are half of life. He can see difficult times ahead. As a child she is already eight years old, and as a father I am barely two.
Kirschbaum is holding the stethoscope to her chest and listening intently. Suddenly he registers mock surprise, looks at Lina with wide eyes, and asks: “Dear me, what have we here? Do I hear some whistling in there?”
Lina throws an amused glance at Jacob, who doesn’t stop; he didn’t realize he’d started, but now he carries on, not wanting to spoil Kirschbaum's meager joke, and Lina laughs at the silly professor who hasn’t understood that the whistling comes not from her chest but from Uncle Jacob.
W hy, one wonders, did anyone say that coming events cast their shadows before them? Far and wide no shadows, a few uneventful days pass, uneventful for the historian. No new decrees, nothing visibly happening, nothing you can put your finger on, nothing that would seem to indicate change. Some say they have noticed that the Germans have become more restrained; some say that, because nothing at all is happening, it is the calm before the storm. But I say the calm before the storm is a lie, that nothing at all is a lie, the storm, or part of it, is already there: the whispering in the rooms, the fears and speculations, the hopes and prayers. The great day of the prophets has arrived. When people argue, they argue about plans: mine is better than yours. They have all packed their belongings, all are aware of the inconceivable. Anyone who is not must be a hermit. Not everyone knows the source of the report, the ghetto is too big for that, but the Russians are on everybody’s mind. Old debts raise their heads again, diffidently the debtors are reminded, daughters turn into brides, weddings are planned for the week before New Year’s, people have gone stark staring mad, suicide figures have dropped to zero.
Anyone executed now, so shortly before the end, will have suddenly lost a future. For heaven’s sake, give no cause now for Majdanek or Auschwitz (if causes can be said to have any meaning); use caution, Jews, the utmost caution, and make no thoughtless move.
Two parties soon form and divide every building — not every one is Jacob’s friend — two parties without statutes but with weighty arguments and a platform and the art of persuasion. One group is feverish for news: what happened last night, how high are the losses on each side? No report is so trivial that one conclusion or another can’t be drawn from it. And the others, Frankfurter’s party, have heard enough; for them this radio is a source of constant danger, and it would be so easy for Jacob to put their fears to
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