Page 64 of Library of Forbidden Books

This new information deflated the spirits Helene was only starting to recoup. She did not want all their hard work and sacrifice to disappear in an instant.

“Maybe we could spread the books out?” she wondered aloud, but even as she said it she knew it was impractical.

Lena cocked her head, thinking. “Or perhaps we could bury them underground?”

“No, if the bombs didn’t get them, the humidity and mold would. You know that those two, plus fire, are the greatest enemies of our . . .” She did not finish that phrase because her mind had jumped ahead. “Oh, a living library.”

Lena raised her eyebrows. “I don’t follow you.”

“A human library. Hundreds of people memorizing each book. If the books fall into the hands of the Nazis or go up in flames in the bombings, they’ll survive in the minds of hundreds of people who could write them down again.”

Lena smiled at the delightful, but impossible, idea. “Where will we find that many people willing and able to memorize books?”

“Well,” Helen said, her thoughts organizing themselves as she spoke, “we could start with all the librarians and bookstore owners the Nazis have fired and ask them to choose one book to commit to memory. It’ll become the largest living library humanity has ever known.”

Just then, Gabor walked back in with Mark and said, “Oh, Lena, this letter came for you earlier today. I can’t make out who it’s from.”

Lena studied the handwriting. It looked vaguely familiar but was slanted and uneven, as if the person writing were either in a big hurry or could not hold the pen straight.

Helene glanced at the envelope and caught her breath.

“Wait, I think it’s from Derek!”

Lena’s eyes bulged, and she handed the envelope to her friend without a word.

Helene took a deep breath, opened it, and pulled out the single sheet of paper. She read it first to herself then aloud.

Dear Lena,

I trust this note will find you. The children and I are well. We’ve decided to return to my hometown. You know how fond my parents are of Mr. Schafhof. I must have told you about him at least twenty-five times. His place is always open to visitors.

Take care,

Krede

“Mr. Schafhof?” Lena said. “Who in the world is that?”

Helene was struggling to make sense of things. On the one hand, she knew Derek was alive; he was with his parents; Alexander and Matilde were with their father when they were taken out of Berlin; and he was trying to get in touch with Helene. On the other hand, the contents of the letter were a mystery. Helene felt like the answer was staring her in the face, but she could not grasp it.

“It must be a code,” Gabor said. “Krede is Derek, and Schafhof is clearly a clue about where he’s staying.”

Helene started, and Kaiser meowed in protest. “Maybe it’s not a person.” Her words came tumbling out. “Of course they went back to their house in Königsberg, but I’ve never been there and don’t know the address. So maybe Schafhof is a place, or a street. And the number twenty-five—it could be the street address.”

Lena nodded. “Yes, yes, that makes total sense. He wrote it to me because he had no way of getting in touch with you, thanks to the dead phone lines and you living out in Grunewald. But he had to make sure no one like Kummer could figure out who he was or where he was going.”

Helene’s brain felt like it was exploding with so many new facts, possibilities, and emotions.

Chapter 37

Imminent Danger

Berlin

October 16, 1942

The war continued its slow march. German troops had been stalled in Stalingrad and had not been able to invade Moscow. It seemed like the Nazis were no longer winning, but their mechanisms of death were still in full swing. Hitler had promised that if Germany entered into total war, he would wipe out all the Jews in Europe. Berlin was no exception. Since the beginning of the year, Jews had been rounded up en masse and deported to Auschwitz, Sobibor, and Treblinka.

In the months following Derek’s first cryptic note, Helene had managed to make contact with him. She had been right about the address, and they had written countless letters. Not all of them made it to their destination, but enough did that they could rest easier at night, knowing the other was alive and as safe as possible in the given circumstances. Alexander and Matilde sent pictures and short notes, and Helene made up silly poems and stories for them. She had tried every possible means of traveling to Königsberg, but each option was a door slammed shut.