“But if we don’t, she’ll die! Come on! The bus is coming!” Through light snow against a quickly darkening sky, the fourteen-year-old pleaded, “You can do something truly great! Like you say, a real mitzvah!”
“Going to the movies was enough, especially that one,” the tall elderly man in long black coat observed with an eastern European accent, his back to holiday shoppers hurrying past. Jacob Janowicz had moved to the small New England town last year, yet despite the welcoming community Joe never saw him smile the few times they met. He had no idea his granduncle, tremendously fit for eighty-nine, in many respects died decades ago in a Nazi camp. Instead of healing wounds, time had extended his loss and regret.
“Come on! Just take one look!”
“I’ve seen dogs.”
In a showcase window of an animal shelter behind them, a small black and white mixed breed with tan patches hopped once like a kangaroo before slowly turning full circle. One paw seemed to wave in front of computer-generated images promoting pet adoption. An identification card taped to the glass estimated her age as five years. Upon seeing her, Joe had taken out his iPhone to record the funny antics when his detective eye spotted a slight bend in her left front leg. She wasn’t waving, just trying not to limp. He approached again, but she backed away, cautious after living on the streets. In a comforting tone he tried to lure her over with “Car accident, huh? Hey, I almost died once, too,” then confided as he would never to any human, “Not a car, but I know what it’s like to… see it coming.” She barked twice and shuffled forward on her three good legs, tail wagging.
Joe turned to the shelter’s glass door and partly opened it, gesturing to a white panel housing a tiny window. “How much?”
A beefy bald man in jeans and black T-shirt mopped the lobby. He spoke without looking up. “One fifty.”
“A dollar fifty?”
“A hundred fifty. Basic fee. I’m not gonna lie to you. I never seen a dog in so much pain put on a show. She must really like you.”
“What pain?”
“Hit and run. Healed wrong before they brought her in.” He approached a utility closet. “I’m goin’ to the game tonight, droppin’ her at a big shelter in Boston. They’ll do some online fundraising for her surgery. They’re better set up for that.”
Joe watched him returning with a white plastic travel cage. “They have pain killers for dogs?”
“The kind strong enough made her sick all morning. Don’t worry, they won’t let her live in pain.”
“Can you wait till my uncle sees her?”
“He wants to adopt her?”
“Sure!”
“No, he does not!” reverberated from the sidewalk.
“Hold on,” Joe instructed the man then ran to the curb. “They’re closing! Come on! I’ll wash your car all year!”
“If I still drove, would I stand in the cold?” Uncle Jake, as Joe’s family called him, held
up a bus pass then gave a quick tug on the left shirtsleeve, concealing a long gray number
tattooed on the outer wrist.
“Just tell ‘em she’s for you. I’ll clean your room at the nursing home.”
“It’s assisted living my wonderful stepson found.”
“I thought you liked it there.”
“Sky-high rent for a two by four room, what’s not to like?”
“Come on, you’ll have like a personal slave.”
Joe didn’t understand why this offer angered Uncle Jake, who glared down from the corner of his eye and muttered, “I think I hear the bus.”
“Didn’t you once say anybody saves one life it’s like saving the world? What the Bible says?”
“The Talmud. They meant human life.”
“Does it say ‘human?’”
“These people love the animals. I’m sure they do their best.”
“Yeah, but she’s in serious pain. We could be her last chance.” What looked like an oversized van pulled up, half full of passengers. The door opened. Streetlights had come on. The snow was beginning to fall steadily. “What about tikkun olan?”
“Tikkun olam.”
“To repair the world, right?”
“Taking on what you are unprepared for is not tikkun olam. To have to bring her back and let go would be worse.”
Joe began to speak again. Uncle Jake cut him off. “Don’t make me regret taking you out.”
“Hey, I took you. Remember?” Last week, the Levys suggested their son invite the reclusive senior to the movies over winter break. Eager to see the new action comedy, Joe called and texted until he finally agreed. This afternoon his granduncle sat silently at Burger Paradise, ate virtually nothing, then didn’t laugh once at the local cinema.
“Tell your parents I said thank you for the lunch and movie and next time they – ”
The bus driver, trying hard to sound polite, shouted, “HAVE TO G-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O!”
Uncle Jake headed toward the idling vehicle. Joe whipped out his cell phone and speed-dialed his mom. It went straight to voicemail. The same happened when calling his dad. He tried the office.
“Hi, I’m calling for Daniel Levy. It’s his son. I need to talk to him, fast!”
“Regarding?”
“I’m his son! His cell is going to voicemail!”
“He’s in the field. If you tell me what it’s regarding – ” Joe hung up then texted both parents. “CALL ME! IMPORTANT!” He knew if busy at work they may not notice until later.
“Joe.” Black overcoat, charcoal pants, and blacker shoes had returned. They appeared to be death itself, peppered with snowflakes. In the showcase window, the dog kept licking her shoulder more rapidly. Any second she would be gone. “You’re holding everyone up.” With that, the old man turned away, eager to return to his single room, silent as a tomb.
Joe raised both hands in defeat and pressed them to the window of the shelter. He predicted as cheerfully as possible, “Hey, somebody will fix that leg.” When the dog barked once, he added, “Sorry about my uncle. I can’t even get him to smile.”
Uncle Jake climbed the stairs of the bus, turned back, then froze. The boy with face and hands against the glass to bid a fond farewell released ghostly images from the depths of a deceptively calm surface. Once more, he became transported to a living nightmare.
Hungary, late June, 1944. Under gray skies, over a thousand men, women, and children from Jewish ghettos are marched to a small-town railway station, all informed they must relocate for their own safety and make weapons to help Germany win the war. Each passenger wears a yellow cloth Star of David and carries up to 25 kilos of luggage in a time before wheels and long handles helped suitcases roll. Those who move too slowly down the road are beaten with clubs by accompanying soldiers. Hungarian gendarmes with rifles, single feathers in their caps, patrol the platform. In the outdoor waiting area, Jews from the suburbs and countryside wait to be crammed into cattle cars never intended for human cargo. Orders are barked quickly and repeatedly. A low-flying American B-24 buzzes past like a giant hornet.
Among the torrent of people flooding the station, a trim, nineteen-year-old Jacob, just over six feet, carries in his arms a small but weighty metal trunk containing clothes, books, and some tools he thinks may be useful at the camp. White shirt, rolled up sleeves, and black suspenders covering a muscular frame give the impression of a farm worker or manual laborer. Numerous sunburns from sweating sunrise to sundown have made the ruggedly handsome face appear significantly older. A satchel slung over his right shoulder holds food and canteens.
Jacob stays close to Elise, a beautiful fair-skinned eighteen-year-old with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. A white blouse is visible under a light tweed jacket which matches the skirt. Her left hand grasps the handle of a large blue and white suitcase, her right a wooden violin case. The crowd slowing, Elise puts down the cases then rubs her thumb against where her wedding band and engagement ring were. She looks up at her husband, ten inches taller.
“My finger still thinks they’re on. It misses them.”
“We’ll see them again,” he assures her, glancing at a line of light skin on the back of his heavily tanned ring finger. Like his face, the voice too has matured ahead of its time.
“I hope papa’s getting enough to eat,” Elise tells Jacob for what seems to him the hundredth time. “I don’t believe he was ‘eating fine’ before they left. I bet he’s thin as a rail.”
“I’m sure seeing you will pick him right up. He’ll wolf down everything in that suitcase. I just hope you got enough from those black-market vultures.”
“Who knows when there’s a chance to buy anything again?”
“Your mother.”
“Very funny. You didn’t turn away the sweaters she bought you, nu?”
“After she called me the real bargain?”
“Can’t be right all the time,” Elise quipped. “She and Katalin better have a good excuse not writing. I hope they let us see them right away. You really think they’re okay?”
“I’m sure Kalman’s right. The censor’s so tough right now, almost nothing’s getting through.” Another plane soars high overhead. “Can’t those bombers take out that bridge just sitting there? Nearly two years in the honorable ‘Hungarian Jewish Labor Service,’ I wish they would blow up every rotten bridge I worked on, and road.” He looks upward. “I give permission!”
“Shhhhh. Would you rather go with Lev and Mr. Kronberger to clear minefields at the Russian front?”
Jacob nervously glances around to make sure no one heard. Elise notices his calloused hands balancing the crate on his left shoulder. The two share a quick kiss. “I’m sure they’re fine,” he offers reassuringly. She begins quietly humming, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”. He smiles, knowing how her favorite song comforts her.
Pushed from behind, Elise turns to see an older man who bumped a leather suitcase into the hard-shell one she carries. He keeps stepping side to side rather than shoving through the horde of surrounding parents and children. Seeing his nervousness, she turns and swings her luggage to the side, allowing him to move ahead between her and Jacob, who reaches out to pull her toward him. Unfortunately, the crate begins to slip, causing him to grab it with both hands, the anxious passenger separating them. She starts to lift and swing back her suitcase, but before she can, another man quickly squeezes his wife and three children between the young couple, other families following.
Jacob makes his way to where he and Elise were. He calls her name while inching ahead on the platform and gets glimpses of a scrawny, middle-aged Hungarian officer overseeing the transport. Through the noise he hears only bits of what the Nazi collaborator is saying. The young man continues trying to shove through the mob then hears the officer shout, “Take your Jew bag and go where you are told!” In less than a second, through several gaps in the milling mass, a blue and white suitcase can be seen falling backwards but not the person it hits.
Struggling to move forward, Jacob repeatedly shouts for Elise. Four Hungarian guards shout over him and each other, ordering families to get onto the train immediately. Pleas to help find his wife fall on deaf ears. The largest guard forces him to climb portable wooden steps. The wide entrance of the car is lined by a wall of people trying to avoid the sweltering heat inside and growing smell of sweat.
Jacob puts down the steel trunk and frantically scans the platform. It seems a little less crowded than when he arrived. Clearly much of the train has filled, despite guards trying to pack more into a line of cars so long he cannot see the end, only passengers moving toward it. He turns to three men standing together.
“Are they breaking people up? Some on the next?”
One of the men shrugs.
“I can’t leave my wife!”
“Tell them,” another suggests.
After what seems like forever, Jacob spots Elise moving down the busy platform, looking up at open doorways. She hobbles toward her husband, who waves both arms high above his head. Seeing him, she smiles and picks up the pace, unaware her heavy suitcase is slamming into men, women and children, or nearly bumping the Hungarian officer she fails to notice walking through the thinning crowd. He turns sharply and shouts “Halt!” twice, unheard in the din of families ordered by roving guards to board. Elise remains focused on Jacob. When she doesn’t slow, he pulls a Luger from his coat, waves and screams for people to move, fires.
The young woman drops to her knees. Many at the station turn toward the blast. Some viewers nearby gasp or cry out in disbelief. Jacob rips off the satchel and leaps down. He forces his way through pockets of people, not caring if he gets shot. The officer has turned and continues in the direction he was headed. Startled passengers are ordered by guards to keep moving.
Reaching Elise with what seems to be one giant scream, Jacob shoves past shocked spectators. She lies on her back. A red stain grows underneath. Another slowly darkens the front of her tweed jacket, the bullet having torn through. Viewers stare in fright and confusion. Overwhelmed by a riptide of panic, Jacob kneels and violently shakes her by the shoulder.
“Leesie! Breathe! BREATHE!” All sounds of the station seem to vanish. Jacob attempts to lift her, but her limp arms and pained cry make it clear she cannot be moved. He drops to both knees and cradles her. “I’m not leaving you!”
“Kincsem…” She begins to raise her right arm over his back. Jacob leans in to hear her. “Promise – you have to live.”
“We’ll both live! Nothing can separate us! Nothing! We’ll get through this,” he assures, stroking her hair. “You’ll be a wonderful mother. The kids will all learn to ride Prince Vazul along the Danube.”
She manages to smile. “I pity Prince Vazul.”
Jacob forces himself to smile back. “Remember picnics on the hill, under the tree?”
“Our tree.”
“Our tree,” Jacob echoes, holding her gently. She shuts her eyes and breathes deeply. The arm slips downward. He squeezes her hand.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
“Move!” the Hungarian officer shouts. Jacob looks up and to the right. His wife’s killer has reappeared through an opening in the crowd, about ten feet to the side. Waving his gun back and forth, the officer storms over to some weeping women, a few still screaming in horror.
“Do you think you’re on a holiday?! NOW!”
Jacob thinks about rising up, rushing from behind, and throttling him before he can shoot. As if reading his thoughts, a large hand covers his mouth. He struggles to crane his neck. One eye stares up at a kneeling man with gray hair and black hat. A deep voice whispers in Yiddish, “Silence!” Unable to break free from the powerful grip, Jacob keeps staring down, arm across the back of his neck.
Gendarmes shout in Hungarian for everyone to keep moving. Rifles prod the slower ones. The officer doesn’t bother looking over at Elise’s body. He turns and heads toward the edge of the platform, people separating to let him pass.
As quickly as he was held in place, Jacob is released. On his knees, he turns to see the back of a tall older man in black coat and pants disappearing into the crowd. He recognizes the religious clothing and realizes a stranger just risked his own life to save another.
Jacob looks down at Elise. Blood seeps across the blouse and jacket, through the yellow star turning red. He continues cradling her upper body.
“LEESIE! LEESIE!”
“Now we have to get rid of it,” a gruff voice approaching complains. A higher pitched one replies something about “surprise package” at the other end and adds something about not making it tougher on themselves.
Two gendarmes, one the huge guard who previously brought Jacob to a cattle car, start dragging him back. Not wanting to leave Elise, he considers shouting and fighting so he will be shot, but he recalls his promise.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see her soon,” the brawny guard jokes.
“Good news! Her last ride is free!” the smaller adds. “I know what’s important to Jews, huh?”
Tossed all the way up the portable wooden stairs, Jacob lands face first. “Any more problem, I break your skull,” the large one warns before he and the other stroll away. A short middle-aged man in the crowded entrance helps the young man stand then recoils. Only then does Jacob notice large red stains soaking his shirt and pants. He sticks his head out to watch the men return and pick up his wife, carrying her through the open doorway two cars down. Muffled screams from some passengers can be heard. Several appear from inside, trying to shove past a small group getting on. An approaching gendarme shouts at them to go back up. A few moments later, the two guards exit, minus the body.
The train whistle blows. Heavy wooden doors start rolling shut. Jacob’s car is so full there is barely room for the door to close. Another Hungarian guard has already swooped down on Elise’s luggage, rifled through its contents, then flown off with the violin. A large blue and white suitcase in disarray, lying near a pool of blood and trail of dark spots, is all that remains.
The screech of a second whistle merges with Jacob’s shrieking. A passing guard shoves him back with the butt of his rifle. The stifling hot car goes dark with rumbling and a thud. He continues screaming, slamming fists against what is now the wall of a rolling prison. In defeat, he presses face and raised hands against the door then drops to the floor, wailing.
Defeated, Joe lowered his hands and turned away from the dog. His eyes widened. The bus was gone. A timeworn face remained in fast-falling snow, revealing barely a hint of emotion.
“Let’s see if they can hold her until your parents come.”
“I’m sure my folks will pay for her leg, once they see her!”
Uncle Jake almost hesitated at that remark and the obscure path on which he now found himself. “If they want her, she’s your dog. I am not involved in any capacity beyond this. Understand?”
Joe’s ear-to-ear grin belied his, “Of course!” He turned back to an empty showcase. The identification card in the window was gone. Inside the lobby, the door to the travel cage was locked, dog whining within. Joe burst in and ran to a white plastic crate, card taped to its side, and peered through the metal grid. The little dog stopped whimpering and let out a single bark, tapping the door of the cage repeatedly with her good front paw. Around the horizontal bars, Joe curled fingers which she rubbed her head against.
Unfazed, the man peeled off disposable rubber gloves, dropped them in a trash bin, and announced, “We’re closed.” Uncle Jake entered and removed a credit card from his wallet. “To cover the fee.”
“I’m sorry. They’ve already made arrangements in Boston. I’m running late. You can see her there.”
“That’s over two hours away!” Joe nearly shouted. “Both my parents work. By the time we get there, she could be gone!”
“She can’t go out like this,” the worker explained “They would have to sign an agreement and show proof they’ll fix that leg, a few thousand, at least. We’re getting ready for a truckload of – ”
A tall young woman, no older than eighteen, hurried in from the back room. “Mr. Muller, I locked the back.”
“Have a good night. Thank you for volunteering!”
“I loved it! Have fun at the game!” The front door quickly opened and closed.
“Muller…” Uncle Jake pronounced the “u” as in “June.”
“Hey, you said it right!”
“I knew a Kurt Muller. Liked to boast he was from Stuttgart.”
“Sorry, no relation.”
“Don’t be. A very… unpredictable man. May I see the director, please?”
“I’m assistant director. Come back tomorrow. I’ll be glad to help you.”
Joe squinted. “You’re the boss and you mop the floor?”
“We all pitch in.”
Uncle Jake turned to Joe. “I’ll see what we can do about Boston.”
Muller reached down for the cage. The older man quickly slid the credit card back into his wallet, which slipped out of his hand. Both men bent down to pick it up. In the process, a shirtsleeve rose slightly. The two stood, one clearly aware of a past he had neither expected nor wanted to discover. In the other, pangs of regret remained seventy years later for pulling away as the needle approached, butt of a rifle slamming against the side of his head, rough hand crushing his forearm so he could still feel it, guard ordering the number be placed lower.
Muller hesitated. “Maybe – maybe we can make an exception. I could hold her a few more days, if they might want to take her on.”
Uncle Jake bristled. “We are not looking for exceptions.”
“Yes, we are!” Joe protested.
Upon the tiny door being unlocked by the man, the animal hobbled out. Uncle Jake became nervous.
“Might she bite?”
“She doesn’t bite.” Both men watched Joe sit by the cage, carefully holding the dog, who rubbed her head under his chin. The younger man turned. “Some things are worth an exception. Don’t you think?” Jacob continued watching the boy and dog before turning back. The most he could afford Muller was a quick formal nod.
Joe had noticed an awkward pause but from his distance couldn’t see or hear what changed the man’s mind. He sensed it was something Uncle Jake wouldn’t want to talk about, which made his curiosity that much greater. After a few moments, he turned. The assistant director was holding a brown nylon leash. “Take her for a spin around the room. Just be careful of that leg.”
Muller grabbed the vacant cage and returned to the back room. Its previous inhabitant turned to the long black overcoat approaching from across the lobby. Uncle Jake stopped and looked out the storefront window displaying heavy snow illuminated by the warm glow of a streetlamp on the corner. Joe thought it must be similar to the dog’s previous view from inside the showcase. He had a feeling his granduncle was thinking the same. Worried there might be second thoughts about helping to adopt, he clutched the wiggly furriness in his arms.
“ARF! ARF! ARF! ARF! ARF!”
Uncle Jake turned and stared, expressionless, then began to approach. When he came within a few feet, the little dog broke free and scurried over despite her bad leg. She barked at the intruder four times, as if to protect her new owner. The shadowy figure bent down and gently patted her. She instantly returned the gesture, rubbing the side of her face against the back of his hand. After a few strokes he stood upright. For barely a second, a shocked Joe witnessed the faintest of smiles.
Barney Lichtenstein has been a staff story analyst for Amblin Entertainment, Imagine Entertainment, New Line Cinema, and Sundance Institute. Teaching story analysis at UCLA Extension Writers’ Program, he has been honored with The Writers’ Program’s Outstanding Instructor Award and served as a Writer in Residence in 2024.