The Heirloom

“Would you like one?”

Jos was sat on the wiry green bench, his little legs swinging back and forth, when he heard the voice. A small girl was standing outside the bakery opposite. He could just about see her small, pointed face above a mountain of fluffy cinnamon buns. Her eyes were an opalescent brown, sparkling with flecks of gold.

“Hello? Would you like one? They’re about to go bad.”

He spotted his nanny exiting the shop next door and hopped off the bench.

“Maybe next time!” He grinned. Despite her predilection for baked goods, and frankly food in general, Nanny would never let Jos stop at the bakery after school. When he’d pointed this out a few months ago he’d received a clout about the ear. Women were funny about food; that was his analysis.

Father was working late again so Jos and Nanny had dinner together before an early bedtime. Still, he could not sleep. The townhouse was always too hot during summer, yet the noise of the capital deterred him from opening the windows. As he tossed and turned, his thoughts drifted to the small girl outside the bakery. Idiot Josi, why not just take the cinnamon bun?

On the Saturday, he went back to the bench. Sure enough, the small girl came out and offered him another pastry. This time they were made of two layers twisted around each other and laced with apple sauce. He decided to do the gentlemanly thing (as his mother used to say) and give her five reichsmarks.

“It’s alright, I’m doing the gentlemanly thing”, he stated as he waved away her protestations. 

“Do you like the apple sauce?”

“Yes, it’s my favorite. Do you like apple sauce?” Idiot Josi, you can’t just repeat the same question she asked you.

“Yes, very much! Mama lets me do the apple sauce on all the cakes we sell.”

They sat on the wiry green bench in the pale October sun for almost two hours. The girl was called Rosa, her father was a journalist, and her mother ran the bakery. They lived locally but she didn’t go to Jos’ school. Upon arriving home, he proudly announced that he’d made a new friend, but Father was in no mood to indulge Jos’ delighted burbling. 

As the seasons changed, Jos and Rosa became inseparable. In winter, they tobogganed from the top of the hill by Jos’ house down to the main street. In spring, they explored the city playing at being important businesspeople or wealthy bankers. In summer, they’d lie for hours in the park staring up at the sky, speaking of trivial nothings.

Neither had any siblings. Rosa’s father was often travelling but when he returned, he’d regale the two with stories of America, Asia, Africa - the world beyond the city. Her mother was warm and genial, but Jos sensed a queer strain in her smile. She seemed to find his presence uncomfortable, even after he stopped accepting free cakes from her bakery.

Father, on the other hand, did not approve. When Jos first invited Rosa to his house, he had welcomed her with icy courtesy but after she’d gone, he’d calmly informed Jos that she could never return. When he asked Nanny why, she said that Himmich & Co. was losing money thanks to Rosa and her parents. Jos was even more perplexed, but he knew from her tone the matter was closed.

“I like your ring Josi”

The holidays had started, and they were encamped atop a hill overlooking the park, armed with sweetmeats, cheese and a mountain of pastries. 

“Thank you, it’s a falcon carrying a wheel. The symbol of the Himmich family.” His chest puffed out a little as he spoke. 

“Himmich men have worn it for generations. My great grandfather was an industrialist with pretensions of nobility.” He didn’t really know what that meant but his mother used to say it and it sounded impressive. 

“Do you remember earlier when that pigeon stole the custard tart from your plate?”  

“Yes,” he replied, bemused.

“Well, it looks like that!” It didn’t look like that in the slightest. Pigeons and falcons were completely different, but she laughed that manic, musical laugh that lit up Jos’ brain. He grinned.

“I could ask Father to get you one too?”

As soon as he said it, he knew he’d mis-stepped. Idiot Josi, a) only men wore them, b) only family wore them and c) Father would sooner climb the Eiffel Tower singing ‘Rule Britannia’ than buy a ring for Rosa. 

“Or we could get you one ourselves?”

She smiled knowingly but, as she started to diffuse the suggestion, her eyes lit up. 

“Bubba Blissenbaum can make jewelry.” Werner stared blankly. “My Grandmother, she’s visiting in October. I could ask her to make me one.”

“Yes, this would work. We could be matching.” Werner paused thoughtfully. “Does she know how to do falcons and wheels?” 

“Perhaps not, but I’m sure she could manage a pigeon with a custard tart.”

Over the years they grew ever closer despite the noise around them. Rosa’s mother eventually warmed to him, and he would often stay over during the long summer nights. Rosa even stayed with Jos when Father was at a conference or a rally. 

Elsewhere, things were going well. Having always preferred the athletic to the academic, Jos had been selected for a fast-track scheme to a prestigious military school. Meanwhile, Father’s factories had seen an upsurge in demand. 

“The Fatherland is back on its feet, boy!”

Though his mood always mirrored the Himmich & Co balance sheet, there was something more, an inexplicable zeal that Jos hadn’t seen before. 

One night, Jos was sat in the backroom of the bakery with Rosa and her mother playing cards when they heard loud voices in the street. Her mother smiled nervously.

“Someone’s had a good night.” They continued to play as the din steadily grew louder. 

“Should I ask them to leave Mama?” 

“No, but we should take precautions. Remember your father’s instructions.”

Jos watched puzzled as the mother and daughter scrambled to shut the door and switch off the lights. He began to speak when he was cut off by the sharp sound of breaking glass and the cacophonous cheer of the mob as they breached the front window of the quaint little shop. Rosa pulled him to the ground, and they stayed there all night as her world was torn apart.

Over the next few years, Jos would see the very worst of humankind. He saw the destruction of the beautiful; the tears of the violated; the ashes of the innocent. He stood guard whilst faceless masses were sacrificed at the altar of the evil crusade, but he never again felt as impotent as he did on 9^th November 1938.

After the Kristallnacht, their bond grew stronger still. Jos swore that when he became an officer, he’d return to destroy her tormentors and she would smile wanly before changing the subject. For Rosa, Jos was her only light in what was the darkest of times. When he was called to the front, the light was snuffed out.

On the evening of his departure, they met for the last time, reminiscing on the years they’d spent together roaming the city, when it had seemed so big. Rosa too was leaving. Her family were being transferred to a different area of the city. Jos didn’t really know why. Or maybe he did. Cognitive dissonance is a powerful thing. 

Rosa didn’t cry. She was terrified Jos would be driven by guilt to do something rash, derailing his career and his future. Jos didn’t cry either. Tears were for goodbye, and this wasn’t goodbye. As he held her hand he noticed the crudely wrought golden ring on her smallest finger.

“You must keep wearing that. I’ll have to identify you when I return.”

She smiled playfully as a rogue tear threatened to escape. “Won’t you recognize me Josi?”

“Most likely I will but I’ll be away for a while,” he explained. “You will be older.”

She loved him but sometimes she wondered what level of reality he was operating on. 

“Alright Josi, I’ll wear it always I promise.”

A few moments later they embraced, and he turned and marched back towards the car with the bag of pastries her mother had given him. Don’t look back Josi, she’ll see your eyes and think it’s goodbye.

Jos was a good soldier. He fought valiantly during the Blitzkrieg and was honored for his bravery. He believed in the Third Reich and was grateful to play his part in the destruction of the external foes who had bankrupted the Fatherland. He also despised the foes within, the lessers who had conspired to keep true Germans down.

People, especially soldiers, can believe two things at once. He’d been taught to lament Rosa’s presence in Germany, yet he loved her. He’d been taught to understand the steps being taken back home but he’d slay a thousand comrades and the Fuhrer himself to see her safe. The two impulses writhed and churned against each other, like two currents of magma beneath the unflappable exterior, for five long years.

He was in the officer’s mess when it happened. Since being transferred he hadn’t looked for her once. He refused to believe she was here. When the lists came through, he didn’t look for her name and nor did he see it. Then, one day, the orders came through to destroy the records. By then, the fiery conviction inside Jos had cooled. They’d lost the war. He’d lost Rosa, probably.

Then, there she was. He saw it in passing when flicking through the fifth record book on his pile. In his eagerness to get to the canteen early he’d been ploughing through the paperwork, but he didn’t miss the name. At the bottom of page 62…

Blessenbaum, Rosa – 301225 – Born: 08/01/1918 – Died: 04/26/1944.

The world stopped for about ten to fifteen minutes. Then an inhuman wail burst forth. Fists, animated by something beyond his comprehension, pummeled the old mahogany desk until it lay shattered around him. He turned, half-dazed, as his junior entered the room.

“Sir, what...”

“She was here, Herman.” 

“Who was here?”

Jos shoved past the red-faced young officer and sprinted, a man possessed, towards the other side of the complex. Jos had been transferred to Auschwitz at the start of last year. Unknowingly, for three months they were both there. Until, one day, she wasn’t. Idiot Josi.

He burst into the warehouse to find a sparkling mountain. Countless treasures and trinkets ripped from the bodies of the condemned. He fell to his knees and began his search. At one point his junior came in and begged him to leave but to no avail. Days passed and boundaries moved yet still he searched.

When the 322^nd Rifle Division arrived, they found the place abandoned, for the most part. In the warehouse where the savages had stored all the valuables from their victims, a soldier could be found. He had close-cropped, blond hair and the sort of angular face that Goebbels put on the recruitment posters. The similarities to Nazi propaganda ended there. When the Soviet soldiers found him, he cut a pathetic figure, shuffling around on his knees, completely silent but for the occasional whisper.

“She said she’d wear it always...”

Luca was nervous. The dissertation was due at midnight, and it was currently 7pm. This meant he had to write 1000 words per hour to get it over the line. If not, it was goodbye Goldman Sachs, hello summer job at Dad’s factory. He knew he should start writing but there was a complication. There was an even more pressing matter at hand. There was a pretty girl opposite him.

She’d been in the library for thirty-six minutes and Lucas could swear she’d looked up at him at least twice. That said, there was the not inconsiderable possibility that she was here to work and would not necessarily welcome a clumsy opening line from the random guy opposite. He considered starting a conversation, but inspiration eluded him so, reluctantly, he dragged himself back to quantitative easing. 

“Hey, sorry to bother you! Just wanted to say I really like your ring.”

Luca looked up. She’d said something to him. Ever-so-slightly taken off guard he smiled.

“Thank you, it’s a family heirloom... reminds me of home I guess.”

“Oh awesome.” 

He grinned, desperately scrambling for a way to prolong the conversation. Thankfully she rescued him.

“You know I actually have something similar.” 

She reached across to show Luca a gold ring on her smallest finger. Upon inspection it was very similar. It wasn’t quite a falcon carrying a wheel, but it was certainly a bird above a circle. He leaned in to examine it more closely.

“I guess mine’s also an heirloom. My great grandma gave it to grandma just before she was sent to Auschwitz.”

“Wow, that’s crazy.” 

Idiot Luca, that is not an appropriate response to such a tragic and serious subject! Once again, he searched for a line. This was trickier. He had to say something sufficiently smooth and light-hearted to steer the subject in another direction yet, tonally, he couldn’t sound dismissive of the tragic family history she’d just shared with him. Once again, she rescued him.

“Sorry, way too much information! I promise I don’t normally talk to strangers about the Holocaust.”

Brilliant, even she knew that was a hardball! He laughed and looked from the ring to her eyes. They were opalescent brown, sparkling with flecks of gold.

“Anyway, I was just going to grab a coffee.” She looked at him expectantly.

Oh dear, she’d opened a second front. Luca was fairly sure this was an invitation but not certain. After his sub-par conversation and emotional illiteracy, this could plausibly be her was of leaving the table having thoroughly failed to connect with the oddball opposite. That said, her eyes said otherwise. Lucas was preparing to rise above the parapet when, with just a hint of exasperation…

“Would you like one?”