18. Helaine
18
Helaine
Paris, 1944
Inspection.
The word reverberated through the dormitory, loud enough to wake Helaine from sleep before roll call. “Inspection” meant that one or more high-ranking officials would be visiting Lévitan, led by Oberführer von Behr, who was in charge of the department store. They came ostensibly to view operations, but the real purpose was to sift through the plunder and take the best of what was there.
Despite the alarmed state of those around her, Helaine roused slowly. Her days had settled into a gray haze since the day Gabriel had come and gone again. She felt his absence more acutely than ever. Without him, there seemed no future, no hope.
“Inspection,” Miriam hissed, her voice a mix of anticipation and terror. “Get up! And look sharp, if you hope to still be here by day’s end.” In theory, the inspections were supposed to be unannounced, but von Behr always sent a warning so that the workers could have things in order and put the very best appearance on the shop for whoever accompanied him.
Helaine joined the other workers as they dressed quickly and silently in the semidarkness. They hurried from the dormitory, but instead of going to the warehouse to sort with the men, the women walked down another flight of stairs to prepare the main floor of the department store for visitors.
“You help with the china,” Miriam instructed. Helaine obeyed and joined a woman she did not recognize to polish and carefully arrange the dishes. They worked quickly, but precisely. Everything had to be perfect.
When the shop was in order, most of the women started toward the loading dock to begin their normal sorting duties. But when Helaine went to join them, Maxim grabbed her arm.
“You!” he yelled. A knot of dread formed in her stomach. Had she done something wrong in the preparation of the shop? “One of the shopgirls is out sick. A replacement is needed. You are to go get ready.”
“Shopgirls” were the ones who had to work on the department store floor when the Germans came. Until now, Helaine had always managed to remain in the warehouse, out of sight. She had not planned to be seen on inspection day.
“Come, we must get you dressed,” Miriam whispered, leading Helaine to a room adjacent to the dormitory where clothing hung from a rack. She gave Helaine a proper dress, folded but still smelling of its previous owner, as well as powder for her nose. Helaine went to the sink to wash and fix her hair carefully in the cracked mirror above it. She paused, studying her reflection. To the outside observer, she looked like a normal sales clerk, a little thin perhaps. They couldn’t know that she lived and worked under harsh conditions and had almost no food. No, they would not see the differences. But Helaine herself was acutely aware of her gray skin color and sunken eyes and the way her cheekbones protruded too sharply. The woman in the mirror was someone she did not recognize anymore.
Helaine hurried downstairs. “Go to porcelain,” the shop over seer, an older woman named Deidre, instructed. Each woman had a station, and she was responsible for cleaning and polishing the goods until they looked like new and displaying them artfully, showing them if a visitor asked. Helaine stood behind the display, repeating the instructions she’d heard several times in her head: Smile, but do not make eye contact. Your chin should be at a proper height, deferential but not subservient. Become part of the scenery, yet draw no attention.
Helaine had barely gotten settled at her station when the front door to the department store opened and von Behr strode in, flanked by three other men in uniform she did not recognize. The men walked through the shop, talking as they studied the goods. They carried with them the cold, sooty smell of the outdoors, the smell of war but also of the freedom beyond Lévitan. They ran their hands crudely over delicate dishes and other goods. But they did not see the history of the belongings, any more than they saw the women selling them.
“Face them at all times,” Miriam whispered, “even if you have to turn around.” Helaine recalled hearing once that von Behr did not like when prisoners had their backs to him. She hurriedly tried to comply. As she did, she noticed that one of the porcelain vases was very close to the edge of the counter, about to fall over. She lunged for it, and as she did, the display rattled, sending two other vases crashing to the floor. Both shattered into a million bits.
The store grew silent. All heads swiveled in Helaine’s direction, and she willed the earth to open up and swallow her whole. She could feel the stunned horror of the other women, waiting to see what would happen next. She knelt hurriedly to pick up the pieces with her bare hands, heedless of the way the porcelain shards cut into her skin.
“Halt!” von Behr shouted. Helaine looked up to see him looming over her, his face twisted with anger. It was the first time he had ever spoken to her. Helaine braced herself. Surely, she would be beaten or worse.
But then, seeming to remember the other officers and the need to give the best impression of Lévitan, von Behr knelt and offered her a hand to get up. “Accidents happen,” he said. Helaine could see him seething beneath, faking civility for the sake of the visitors. She knew that there would be hell to pay later, out of sight.
One of the other Germans stepped forward. He looked older than von Behr and more senior in rank, with graying temples beneath his hat and an array of medals and ribbons affixed to his uniform. “You look familiar. What is your name?”
“Helaine Weil.” Helaine gave her maiden name, the one she had been imprisoned under.
“Weil,” he repeated, seeming to recognize her surname. “Any relation to Otto?”
Helaine dipped her chin in acknowledgment. “He is my father.”
“I knew him before the war, did business with him.” The officer’s tone was amiable, as though they were speaking to one another on the street. “I saw a photo of you in his office once.” Helaine had not known that her father displayed a photo of her. She wondered what had become of it, of Papa’s office. Of everything. “He is well?” the German asked.
The question was so ridiculous that Helaine nearly laughed aloud. “He was abroad when the war started.” But for the grace of God , she wanted to say, or he would be in Drancy with my mother.
“Please give him my regards if you speak with him. Oberführer Frantz.”
“I shall.” Did the man not realize that Helaine was a prisoner here, who had little communication with the outside world, much less her father, who was abroad? Still, Helaine’s hopes rose. This man knew her father. Perhaps he could be an ally. Helaine imagined that he would help her, and maybe even help her mother. Helaine considered throwing herself at his feet for mercy, asking for aid for her mother and herself. But she did not dare. If she was wrong, it would spell the end for their whole family.
“You see,” von Behr interjected, turning to the other officer. “We have the finest of Jewish aristocracy working here.” There was a note of mocking in his voice. But when he turned back to Helaine, his expression was serious.
“I haven’t seen you before,” he said accusingly.
Helaine fought the urge to correct him. He had seen her a dozen times when he passed through the store. Only this was the first time he had noticed her. “I’m normally in the warehouse.”
“Someone as beautiful as you should not be in the warehouse,” von Behr said. Helaine recoiled. She had heard stories of Germans using their power to coerce young women into affairs. She would sooner die than betray Gabriel with this Nazi scum. But she didn’t want to make things worse for the other prisoners, so she stood motionless, lips pressed in a fake smile. “You will work on the showroom floor from now on instead,” von Behr announced.
Helaine waited until the Germans had finished shopping and had left the store before running over to Miriam. “The shop floor?” she said with disbelief. “I can’t possibly.”
Miriam shrugged. “It’s not so bad. The work is not as difficult, and there is sometimes a bit of extra food to be had. Anyway, it isn’t as if you have a choice.”
The next day, Helaine rose as usual. However, instead of going to the loading dock to sort with the others, she put on the borrowed dress and combed her hair, then made her way down to the shop floor. Deidre told her to go work in cutlery. As Helaine straightened up the counter, she realized that she should not mind so much. Despite the aching in her feet from the too-tight dress shoes she’d been given, standing behind a counter for hours each day was better than the backbreaking work of lifting and sorting the boxes.
Among the cutlery, Helaine spied a tiny spoon, designed for a baby. She imagined the child and the mother so carefully feeding them. She could not help but wonder what had become of the child, whether they were still with their mother, or somewhere alone—or worse.
Once Helaine had her counter ready, there was nothing to do but wait. It was hardly a normal department store with the usual flow of customers. An officer browsing, a courier with a special order for someone’s wife or girlfriend. Other than that, there was too much time to stand around and worry and think. The hours stretched long.
After that, Helaine found herself on the shop floor every day, part of a small group of women who manned the stalls even when there were no customers. Though the work was less taxing on her body than the warehouse, she longed for the camaraderie and conversation of the sorting line. Occasionally, Helaine would talk to one of the other shopgirls quietly across the distant counters. But they were too spread out for real conversation. Helaine missed sorting the newly arrived items, when she could still see the scratches and imagine who might have owned the objects. Though the work had been unfathomably sad, it had provided a kind of connection to other Jews. By the time the items reached the displays here, buffed and polished, they were indistinguishable, all signs of the past gone. They might have belonged to anyone—or no one at all.
A few weeks after Helaine began working on the shop floor, the bell over the front door tinkled unexpectedly one morning. Helaine lifted her head from the scarves she had been arranging, startled, as two Germans walked in. Helaine could tell from the insignia on their uniforms and the medals on their chests, as well as the overconfident way they carried themselves, that they were high-ranking Wehrmacht.
Helaine looked around for von Behr, or another German, to come and greet them, but there was no one. “May I help you?” Deidre asked from her place at the porcelain counter.
The officers ignored her question. One walked to Helaine’s counter and picked up a scarf with rough hands. He pushed it in Helaine’s direction. “Wrap it and send it here,” he ordered rudely, scribbling an address in Germany. The name he scrawled was a woman’s and the surname different than the one on his uniform. Helaine suspected that he was sending it not to his wife, but to his mistress.
As she wrapped the package, the officer turned his back to her, addressing the other man. “Did you hear about the melee at the base near Koln?” Helaine’s ears pricked up. Gabriel had mentioned a Wehrmacht base near Koln during his visit to see her. Surely they were referring to the same one. “There were several spies arrested for treason during a supposed performance. One was even a musician. Who would have thought?”
She cleared her throat, unsure if she dared to ask. “Excuse me, sir. But I was wondering, what kind of musician?”
He turned to glower at her. “A cellist. Not that it is any of your concern.”
Her heart pounded. A cellist playing at the base near Koln had been arrested for treason. They could only be talking about Gabriel. The news hit her like a rock. She was filled with terror for Gabriel and the fate that would surely befall him. Reprisals against those who were found to defy the Germans were swift and severe. And the Germans shot traitors without exception. His arrest was nothing short of a death sentence. Was he even still alive?
Helaine recalled how Gabriel would not tell her what he was doing in Germany, how he had steadfastly refused in order to protect her. Now she understood, at least in part, his mysterious behavior and why he could not explain it to her. He was playing for the Reich, but he really must have been helping the POWs or the Allies in some way. Helaine filled with pride. Gabriel had been fighting for the right side all along, using his position to work against the Germans.
And in the midst of all of that, he had still found time to come see her, to check on her and reassure her that he was all right and had not forgotten her. Her response had been to accuse him of collaborating. Helaine’s guilt rose. How could she have doubted him?
Helaine finished wrapping the package and showed it to the German for inspection. He nodded, satisfied. “The men who were arrested,” she managed, “do you know what happened to them?” She prayed he would not be angered by her question—or want to know why she was asking.
“The article says they were taken to a POW camp called Wann.”
She hoped the men would not shop further. When they left the store, she sank into a chair, overcome by all that she had learned. Gabriel was not a traitor.
Miriam, who was passing through the shop with an armful of cookware, saw Helaine sitting and came over. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Quickly, Helaine relayed the new information about Gabriel. “I don’t know whether he is all right,” she finished, her voice frantic. Or even if he is alive , she finished silently, unable to share the thought aloud. Gabriel was hers and true, but at the same time she recognized the awful reality that she might not see him again. She looked up at Miriam. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“I will make inquiries, of course.” Miriam’s husband had been highly placed in the French army before his death and Miriam still had a network of contacts who could sometimes be helpful in procuring needed items and information.
“Can you do that?”
“Yes. Because Lévitan is not a typical camp, but here in the middle of the city, we have many more connections with the outside world. As I’ve mentioned before, some of the men from the moving companies can be bribed. But if he was deep inside Germany when he was arrested, the chances I can learn anything are slim. I would not get your hopes up,” Miriam added.
Hope. The word seemed ironic, the furthest thing from what Helaine was feeling. Her thoughts turned to Gabriel’s visit and his promise that he would return for her. All of this time, Helaine had assumed that to be true and that the safest thing was to wait in the store until Gabriel came for her. Now, in addition to her sheer worry for him, another realization crashed down upon her: his arrest meant that no one was coming to rescue her. If she were to survive, it would be up to Helaine to save herself.