We Hope to See You Soon

“Hello, Dear. What treasures did you find this time?” Naomi asked as Josef, her husband of 62 years, tottered through the front door struggling with a large, wrapped parcel. Although glad he had a hobby, she always was relieved to see him return safely.

“Something interesting, Naomi,” he said while locking the door. “You may like it.” He took a few steps to the kitchen, their old Brooklyn apartment was small, and set the parcel on the table next to her.

Naomi set down her tablet, sipped her afternoon tea, and frowned at the intruding parcel. “Hmm. It’s big, and the guest room is getting full. Not that it matters anymore since my nephew moved away.” She clasped his hand. “I worry you’ll fall in there.”

“Thanks, my Liebchen,” Josef responded tenderly. “Let me show you what I found today.”

Josef went to a cluttered drawer and retrieved a pair of scissors. He cut the parcel’s twine and set it aside. Then he carefully removed and neatly folded the brown wrapping paper.

On the table lay an old hard-sided suitcase, slightly smaller than a modern-day carry-on bag. Its sides and handle were clad in light brown leather, scuffed from use. The locks were brass.

“It smells musty,” said Naomi, wrinkling her nose and putting a napkin over her tea.

“I’ll clean it.”

“Hmm.” Naomi got up to get him tea and a sandwich.

Josef sat down then turned the suitcase to view the locks. Running his hands over the leather, he mused, “Think of the stories this old suitcase can tell. The places it’s seen.”

“Where did you find it, this globe-traveling treasure?”

“In the back corner of an antique shop, behind some rusty tools. The owner said she forgot it was there. It was covered in dust, so she wiped it off for me.”

“Hmm.” Naomi wrinkled her nose again and continued working on the sandwich.

Josef moved his hands down to the handle and the locks. “Oh, it’s missing the brass nameplate under the handle. There are the indentation and screw holes. Too bad, I like to guess who owned it.”

Naomi brought over his tea and sandwich and sat down to resume her reading.

Josef ate some food, then opened the locks and lifted the lid. The interior was lined with fine brown cloth. Elastic-lined pockets were on each inner side, and a large pocket was inside the lid.

Josef felt the liner and checked each pocket. One elastic band was broken. “Great shape. European, maybe from the 1930s.”

He looked closer and noticed a loose edge of the lining in an upper corner of the lid. He retrieved a pair of needle-nosed pliers from the cluttered drawer. “I’ll need to pull it back a little so I can re-glue it.”

“Hmm.”

Josef reached in with the pliers, carefully pulled back the loose corner, and stopped. Behind the lining was a thin panel made of sturdy paper. He pulled the lining back more and found the panel wasn’t glued to the lid. He gently pulled it outward so he could see behind it. His bushy eyebrows shot up. He saw the corner of a book.

“Naomi, I found something!”

“Hmm.”

Josef pulled harder on the lining and peeled away half of it. He grabbed the panel with his fingers, pulled it back, and extracted the book.

Holding it up in the light above the table, he saw it was a small black notebook with an unadorned, pebbled leather cover. It was about eight inches tall and less than an inch thick.

“This was hidden behind the lining.”

She looked up, adjusted her glasses, and set down her tablet. “Is there writing in it?”

Josef set the book on the table and ran his fingers over it. The cover and pages had rounded corners, and a black ribbon from the spine was placed in the pages. A broken elastic band once used to hold it closed hung loose. He opened the pages carefully and heard the crackling of the aging spine. The ivory pages were made of good quality paper and had pale gray lines to guide the writer’s hand.

“Only the first few pages have writing on them. And it’s in English.”

“But I can’t read them from here.”

“Yes, of course.” Josef turned to the first page, sipped some tea, adjusted his glasses, then began to read aloud.

2 January 1940. My beloved children.

Josef looked at Naomi. “1940. That far back.” He continued.

I start this diary to record our preparations to depart our homeland and travel to the new world. We will leave behind many cherished things, the most precious being our cousins in the city and to the south, and a few remaining friends. Also, we leave behind our language, so I will try to use English as best I can.

Josef took another sip of tea.

“Go on,” urged Naomi.

We yearn to see you again. It’s been acht eight years since we sent you to your new home. You must be a mature man and woman by now.

Naomi motioned for Josef to come closer so she could see the pages.

Note, for safety, we are not using names in this diary other than our own. With the greatest love, Your devoted Mother and Father.

“Do you see their names?” she asked.

“No, this is the first page.”

“Keep reading.”

15 January. The times here are troubled. We have lost contact with our cousins in the south, but those in the city remain gut well. We are setting aside possessions most needed for our journey. Your Father continues to work as a foreman at the factory, and his men look up to him.

9 March. Two of our friends suddenly went missing last week. We pray they are well wherever they are.

“Your relatives had experiences like this, right?” asked Josef.

“My parents, before the car accident, of course, God rest their souls, mentioned it only once. My mother would cry when I asked about it, so they didn’t discuss it with my late brother or me.”

Josef read on.

15 March. The Authorities installed a new overseer at the factory. Your Father doesn’t trust him, but he seems to know how to increase work on the new munitions, something most factories are making now.

2 April. Food is becoming more expensive each day. Your Father is worried when I go to the market since I must carry so much money to buy the necessities. Not what they promised.

12 April. We contacted the Travel Authorities to get permission to leave. We’ve told them we are taking a trip to see relatives in Switzerland and shall return in sieben seven weeks.

22 April. Our cousin in the city has a friend in the central bank who exchanged our hard-earned savings into a form safer to carry and more useful for our journey. We look forward to buying the apartment you are renting and together starting the restaurant we’ve dreamed of for so many years. We’ll put the money in this diary to be safe with us until we see you again.

“What money?” Naomi asked.

“I didn’t see any.” Josef fanned the pages. Between the pages separated by the ribbon, he found two small locks of hair wrapped in delicate white ribbons: one lock with black, straight strands, the other with dark brown curls. He showed them to Naomi. “Their children’s hair?”

“Probably. I still have a lock of my nephew’s hair in an old diary.” She absently reached up to twirl the curls in her soft gray hair. Josef smiled. He liked when she did that.

“Keep looking,” she said.

Josef opened the back cover of the diary. Inside was a pocket to contain loose papers, but it was empty. “Nothing.” Then he remembered the panel in the lining.

He pulled the panel out and reached in. His bushy eyebrows went up again. “Naomi…”

Josef brought out a small, handmade envelope. The old brown paper was waxed and sealed with glue.

“Open it,” urged Naomi.

Josef took out a table knife and opened a flap.

They peered into the envelope and saw the green edges of a thin stack of bills.

Josef wiped his hands then took out the bills. In the front were several small US currency denominations: four $5 silver certificates, three $10s, and three $50s. All from the 1930s. “Collectors would love these,” he said.

“Yes, yes. Keep going, Josef.”

After the third $50 bill were eight $100s. “Oh, my,” said Josef on seeing the next two bills were each $500. Then his fingers stopped moving. The face on the next bill was that of Grover Cleveland.

“Oh, dear God…” Naomi exclaimed. Naomi didn’t notice the portrait, for the amount in the corner caught her eye.

“One thousand? Do I see that right?”

Josef nodded, stunned at the find. “1934A. Rare. Valuable…”

His fingers moved to count through the next bills. “There’s… eighteen more, and they’re consecutively numbered. Extremely rare.”

“That’s… twenty THOUSAND dollars?”

Josef looked at her and nodded. “Face value. But now worth several times more.”

“We could use that to move near my nephew and his family,” said Naomi.

Josef put the bills back in the envelope. “This was their new start. Their dream. But their children never saw it.” He picked up the diary again, held it so Naomi could see, and read the next entries.

4 May. Good news at last! Tomorrow afternoon at 1pm we have an appointment with the Travel Authorities to confirm that we can begin our journey.

5 May. This morning a messenger came by and told us to bring only one small bag to the appointment and to join other travelers on the street in front of the courthouse. Your Father asked about the rest of our bags, but the messenger said they would be taken to the train for us. Father was not pleased. But now we are ready to depart!

Before your Father hides this diary in the suitcase, one last thought. We are nervous about stepping into the unknown, but we have faith that Gott will provide and that His blessings will find our family.

“Oh, Josef,” Naomi breathed and put her hand over her mouth. Tears welled up as she looked at the last entry:

We hope to see you soon, providing they let us leave Deutschland.

Their eyes met.

“Do you think…” Naomi began, “were they one of the many…”

Josef took the diary and touched the suitcase where the nameplate used to be. “Possibly. This could have been taken from them that afternoon before they were…” He noticed Naomi’s face had gone pale.

“I’m so sorry this reminded you of your family’s past,” he continued as he examined the diary, “I just wanted to – what’s this?”

“What’s what?

“There’s a page stuck to the cover. It must be the title page.”

He took the table knife and gently slid it between the sheets. The stuck page crackled, and a small part tore, but the page separated from the cover. His mouth dropped open. “Naomi…”

Josef slowly read the words aloud:

In case of loss, please return to: Itzhak und Esther Greenbaum 107 Otterstraße, Leipzig, Deutschland 242 Decatur Street, Apt 1, Stuyvesant Heights, Brooklyn, New York, USA.

Naomi’s eyes widened in shock, then filled with tears. Her hands fluttered over her mouth.

Josef’s words stumbled out. “Weren’t they… that’s OUR address…”

“Yes. Itzhak and Esther were…” she choked with emotion. “My grandparents. I never knew them or what happened to…” Sobs overwhelmed her.

Josef got up and wrapped his arms around her, holding his gray head next to hers.

“Oh, my precious Liebchen,” said Josef as he wept, “I’m glad that, in a way, I could bring them home to see you.”