Page 39 of Library of Forbidden Books

“I don’t know how to . . .”

“Every now and then, not very often, we come across someone who lights up our way. Helene, you’re one of those people. You’re always concerned for the well-being of others and, of course, for your books.”

Ruth handed Helene the two volumes she had loaned her weeks prior.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Helene objected, though she was touched. But Ruth insisted, and Helene finally accepted the tomes and nestled them under her arm.

Helene had almost closed the door behind her when Ruth remembered something. “Wait!” she called out, “I have something else for you.” She ran to her room and pulled out a heavy suitcase.

Helene thought it might be things for the baby, though she still had a few months to go. The old brown suitcase Ruth held out did not seem special or important in any way. Helene clicked it open, and there before her were about thirty books of various sizes and shapes.

She gasped in surprise. “Where did you get these?”

Ruth straightened up and, in remembering, her face took on a look of grief.

“Not long ago a woman named Gudrid passed away here. She was an elderly professor and had come to Moringen just about six months ago. Her own students, whom she had taught for years, denounced her as an enemy of the state. She never got over it. They sent her to Moringen as a prisoner, and she worked in the kitchen, but her health and mental state were not strong. She fell ill soon enough and was brought to the infirmary. I was taking care of her until just a few days before you showed up. To tell the truth, taking care of you has helped me get over Gudrid’s death.” Ruth was tearing up.

Helene took her hands and said, “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, this world has gone mad. What’s the point of living in the kind of place we’ve turned it into?”

Helene, who wondered the same, had no answer to offer.

“I know you’ll use the books well. Give the women in your barrack a bit of hope.”

They embraced. There was nothing sweeter in that horrible camp than the proximity of another kind soul. No blanket or coat could offer a warmth to match it.

Helene dragged the suitcase out as best she could. Anna and Alice were waiting outside for her and helped her carry it to the barrack.

“What have you got in here, boulders?” Alice asked.

Helene smiled. “No, something much better!”

Most of the women were at work, so the barrack was empty when they entered. They hoisted the suitcase onto Helene’s bed. She sighed deeply at the dust that wafted up, already missing her clean sheets and mattress in the infirmary. Then she opened the suitcase and reveled in the oohs and aahs of her friends.

“Books!” Anna and Alice exclaimed in unison.

“Yes, but no one should know about it. We’re going to make a little library with these books, but we can’t let word get out, or they’ll get confiscated. We can only tell the women we trust.”

Alice and Anna were delighted with the idea. They pulled the books out gently and examined each one. Most were novels, but there was one volume by Sigmund Freud and another by Immanuel Kant.

“Look at all this,” Helene said. “The Iliad and The Odyssey by Homer, Hamlet by William Shakespeare, Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, Goethe’s Faust . . . .”

Anna picked up a few and chimed in, “Pride and Prejudice, Moby Dick, Les Misérables. . . . Have you read all these before, Helene?”

“Oh yes, and they’re wonderful. We’re going to make the first library Moringen has ever had. We’ll help our fellow prisoners escape a little, even if only in their imaginations.”

Chapter 22

Stolen Books

Berlin

May 24, 1935

In his letters, Derek had not mentioned to Helene any details about his efforts to get her freed. He did not want to raise her hopes.

Rommel had agreed to speak with a high-ranking government official, though he did not say who. Weeks went by and then months, and there was no word.