Nazi Gold

Chapter 17 — The First Game

Radu ate himself into a stupor. At the hospital he had already wolfed down the bland food of mass prepared trays, but this meal was absolute ecstasy. Even at the hospital he looked forward to meals, having lived from hand to mouth for so long, so he felt like a king when the Hellers sat down to dinner with roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, creamed spinach and sweet carrots. There even was a side salad and pudding as well. Radu could not eat fast enough until his ribs felt like concrete slabs pressing against a swollen tummy.

“What is this?” he asked Greta Heller, holding up a forkful of spinach.

“Just eat it, Radu,” she said through her own chewing and she hastily swallowed to add, “and don’t wave your food around like that. It is very rude and only children with bad manners do that.”

He obeyed, eyeing the floppy dark green strands hanging limply over the silverware, dripping with thick white sauce. Whatever it was, it looked horrifying. Why could they not just give him a loaf of bread — food he recognized — with his chicken?

“What is it, then, Herr Heinz?” the young boy tried his luck with the grouchy alpha male in his best attempt at addressing him with a German title.

Heinz-Karl Heller had to admit that he was somewhat impressed at the child’s willingness to adapt, and even more so at his ability to figure out and make an effort in using linguistic details. Above that, the big old man secretly liked that the boy asked him what Greta would not tell him.

When Greta called Gabi, her housekeeper, to ask for some wine, Heinz shifted in his chair to whisper, “It is spinach. Very good for your health. Eat it.”

“I don’ like it,” Radu admitted whispering as well, and so the big German cast a glance to his wife with her back turned to them, and quickly scooped up the apparently repulsive vegetable from Radu’s plate onto his. Radu smiled, revealing a mouthful of slightly discolored teeth, while he quickly pushed his carrots over the smear left by Heinz’s abduction of the spinach.

Heinz gathered it all up in his fork and shoved it into his mouth just as Greta returned to the table. The two males chewed heartily as she sat down, only rapidly locking amused gazes with one another.

“Have you ever been to school, Radu?” Greta asked as she drank a sip of wine.

“No, Frau Heller. I don’t need school. I know everything there is to know about surviving,” he nodded assuredly.

“Oh, you think so?” she asked. “You know how to survive on the streets, yes, but do you know how to survive in the world you are living in now? This is a different world, with different rules and…” she looked at herself in the wall-mounted mirror behind the child, “…different villains.”

“Yes, if you cannot read or write, you can never learn anything new about places and things you encounter in this world you live in now,” Heinz mentioned, his tone far more amicable than it had been thus far.

“I can read and write. My mother taught me with books before she died,” Radu boasted.

The Hellers looked at each other. Greta, in particular, was concerned about this. She had hoped the boy’s illiteracy would give her a reason to feign his basic tuition, so that she could employ his arcane skills without anyone noticing. But with him knowing what he was writing or reading, the feat proved more complex.

“How much?” Heinz asked. Even he was surprised that he showed interest.

“Enough to sound out words and to write my name,” Radu said, and loaded his tongue with pudding.

“Well, I am going to give you some lessons myself,” Greta smiled.

Her husband stopped eating and frowned with his head tilted to one side. His wife, the socialite, philanthropist, busy business woman…was going to teach a disadvantaged street child to read and write?

“Just some, until he is ready to join others his age in school,” she smiled at Heinz, her tone light and reassuring.

“You want to put him in a public school?” Heinz asked.

“I don’t need school,” Radu said under his breath.

“Why not?” Greta asked.

Her husband tried not to voice his real concern in front of the child, but he spoke through his teeth, “Roma people…”

She knew full well that Roma people in general were shunned by most cultures, and even in Germany he would have a hard time in a public school. But Greta was merely keeping up the ruse she needed to get what she needed from Radu. She had no intention of enrolling him in school. His part in her end game was far too important.

“Radu, we start tomorrow, my dear,” Greta winked. “You will like it, I promise. Just me and you. No other children or stupid recitations. We will begin with picture cards, alright? How would you like that?”

The boy nodded indifferently. He would be willing to appease his new keeper as long as she kept feeding him the delicious yellow cream pudding they called custard. Radu had no intention of staying long, certainly not indefinitely. Much as they spoiled him, much as he enjoyed not having to suffer the cold or struggle for food, it was simply not in his nature to be domesticated like a puppy. He was a wolf. Always, since he was a little boy, he likened himself to a wolf, a wild and free creature that would rather suffer the elements and roam where he wanted, than to be kept as a pet and have no choice in his own fate.

His bedroom was not to be altered, Frau Heller told him. She would have it decorated according to the things she taught him and nothing else. No childish nonsense or celebrities. Radu thought the German was a little off her rocker. Why would she be so concerned what he made of his room? But she insisted that his bedroom be decorated only with what she put there, so, with a shrug Radu agreed.

Soon, however, Radu discovered just how pedantic Greta Heller was about his surroundings, especially after their first day. It was a sunny Saturday, but instead of letting him go for a swim in the indoor heated pool as he wished to, Frau Heller sat him down in the seclusion of her office and study.

Her massive mahogany desk by the window was covered by a lacy white cloth, resembling some sort of Catholic altar he had seen in Cluj before. Nothing was on it and two beautiful wooden chairs were placed on the left and the right of it. The tall window ushered through the morning light that illuminated the edges of the drawn drapes like a halo.

“Come. Sit on that side. I’ll sit here,” she invited, but her tone was undeniably rigid. He knew he had no choice.

“Can I go swimming after this?” Radu asked, his hands fidgeting.

“If you complete the lesson. Maybe. But you have to concentrate on your work first,” she said plainly as she seated him. She walked around to the other side of the table and sat down with a shoe box full of teaching aids.

In their first tutoring session she started with cue cards. No words were written on them, which was a major relief for the boy. Each card had a picture on it, depicting one or the other scenario or item.

“Now, are you ready?” she smiled. He nodded while leaning forward curiously to see over the edge of the shoe box. Greta wanted to make it exciting for the child, so that he would pour more passion into it. Nothing would come of all her teaching if he stayed this indifferent to it as he was. One by one, slowly she laid out four cards.

“Now we will see how smart you are,” she said, deliberately using reverse psychology to challenge him effectively. It worked.

“I am smart. I’ll show you,” he defended eagerly. “What do you want me to do?”

Greta was thrilled at his response.

“On each card there is a picture, correct? I want you to rearrange them so that they make a story. Can you do that?” she asked gently, keeping her demeanor positive and supportive.

Radu leaned on his elbows and scrutinized the colorfully sketched options. In front of him the cards depicted a boy, a car, a tree and a ball. It was dead silent in the study where Greta had disconnected her landline from the wall to give them uninterrupted privacy. She watched the Roma boy zealously, his black eyes darting from one card to another, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his fingers twitching slightly as he contemplated his move.

There was no rush. Excited as she was to see what he came up with, she gave him time on the first try. By the fourth or fifth round she was certain that he would be more familiar with the game and would react faster.

Suddenly he started arranging the cards. He placed the car first, next the tree, then the boy and finally the ball. When he was done he cast his eyes up to her in anticipation. Greta looked at the order in which he had arranged them and asked, “Why did you decide on this sequence, Radu?”

“Is it right? Did I get it right or is it wrong?” he asked.

“There is no right or wrong, silly,” she played, hoping the lack of specific answers would encourage him. “Look at your cards. Now, tell me the story you made from it.”

“Well, the car drove up to the tree, like the park where I used to play, and the boy climbed out of the car and played with his ball.”

“Well done!” she cheered, clasping her hands together favorably, although she was hoping for better, darker, stories. “Rearrange them to make another story — a different one.”

Radu frowned at the request, but then put his mind to task. A shorter time passed before he replaced their positions. The boy, the ball, the car and the tree came in sequence.

“Tell me the story,” she said in the same tone she ordered him with. “Make it interesting.”

“The boy kicked the ball into the street. The car swerved to miss it and smashed into the tree,” he said hesitantly. It was all he could think of at the time and hoped that she would not be angry because of the accident. But she was very impressed. Greta jumped up and applauded.

“That is a very interesting story!” she laughed. Radu beamed at her, proud of himself at her reaction. It was wonderful to be able to entertain Frau Heller like this! For the first time in his life he felt intelligent and important, that such a high class lady would be so impressed by something he created. Radu liked this game. He could not wait to play more.