I am one of those people who took quite some time before they grew up. And this is the book which patiently waited for me as I did.
And I will. I will remember.
"Is it good? What’s it about?" I asked her. I heard it’s about these two friends in Nazi Denmark."
"It’s great!" she replied, fairly bubbling over. "It’s about these two friends, Annemarie and Ellen. At first they’re coming home from school, and Annemarie challenges Ellen to race with her. Ellen at first refuses, because she knows Annemarie can outrun her, since she’s short and stocky while Annemarie’s rather thin and slender…" My friend suddenly cut herself short. "Sorry. I can tell you the whole story … but you really should just read it!"
And in my mind, I promised myself I would. Despite the fact that my best friend really does have a brilliant memory, the book should be something if she can recite everything inside it to the letter.
It wasn’t long before I got hold of a copy of the book. And by the first two pages I was out of the room and down pat in the streets of Denmark in the late 1930s, walking beside Annemarie Johansen and Ellen Rosen, going to school with them every morning, evading the German soldiers who stood by the lampposts every afternoon.
Their lives weren’t really that bad. Times were hard; but the Johansens and the Rosens, next-door neighbors and good friends, had a roof over their heads, just enough food, and warm clothing. Trouble started to brew however, when the Jews in Denmark were starting to be "relocated" – a subtler term for being sent to the concentration camps – and the Rosens, being Jews, were next in line.
Thus started an elaborate scheme to hide Ellen. The Johansens kept her with them, pretending she was one of their daughters. Eventually, with the help of a family friend, Annemarie and her family executed a daring plan to smuggle the Rosens off to Sweden, which was still free.
My 14-year-old heart was enthralled with Annemarie and her family’s courage. They could have done something less dramatic – like just stay silent in their apartment in Copenhagen while the Rosens escape, maybe – but they chose to go with their friends every step of the way, from the hiding, to lying before the German soldiers’ very faces, guiding the Rosens to the dock, even launching a subterfuge to make sure they wouldn’t be caught.
"That’s what friends do," Annemarie’s mother had said.
I felt blessed that I had friends and family, whom I knew would do the same for me. At 14, there’s not really much in life that I had to fight for.
But it meant the world to me that I knew I was loved.
I meant to read only a few chapters. I ended up reading the whole story again.
Nothing had changed. There was Annemarie and Ellen, wide awake in the deep of the night, ready for whatever that may happen. There was Annemarie, keeping Ellen’s Star of David necklace crumpled in her hand lest the soldiers see it. Ellen, telling the German soldiers upfront that she was Lise, Annemarie’s sister. Annemarie, weeks after, running in the forest in the early dawn to help her Uncle Henrik carry out a secret strategy that would keep the Germans from finding where the Jews were hidden.
Such strength. Such courage.
"That’s all that brave means – not thinking about the dangers," Annemarie’s Uncle Henrik had said. "Just thinking about what you must do. Of course you were frightened. I was too, today. But you kept your mind on what you had to do…"
At 18, all I wanted was to find my place under the sun. I was full of that crazy zeal that teens in general have in abundance.
I wanted to make a difference.
And I faced my biggest enemy – the slow sinking realization that with the vast multitude of people in the city – much more in the world – with the great richness of talent and intellect that abound, I may just well be no different from any other girl on the street.
I started to think that I do not know who I am anymore. I had nothing that I can boast of. I wasn’t intelligent. I wasn’t kind.
I wasn’t really very special.
But I must have courage. Maybe if I can stick out long enough, maybe I can yet make that difference.
Life has not been any easier. I’ve loved, and been banged on the shins. I’ve faced a hundred-and-one odds. And so far I’m still alive.
And at 20 years old, I have to grow up.
By now I’ve read Number the Stars for so many times, I can easily call the images to mind. Annemarie and Ellen talking about the real Lise, who had died years before, when she was just 18. Peter Neilsen, Lise’s fiancé, secretly fighting in the Resistance. Annemarie’s mother Inge, taking the responsibility of guiding the Jews to the harbor. The waiting. The Liberation.
I realize that some of the things you learn in childhood, and in your teens, may actually still hold true even in adulthood. Like stars which shine, ever constant, in the night sky, these are the things that would guide you, if you feel you are losing your way.
That life is fleeting. You should value the love that you receive. Give love, as much as you can, to the people whom you hold important in your life.
I learned that you wouldn’t forget, as long as you don’t want to.
That the heart is made up of stronger stuff than you think. That your capacity for fighting will last as long as you believe you can survive. That sometimes there is no margin for hesitation, but you just have to plunge in, move, as is needed.
I learned that it is love and courage that will keep you on, until the time when things become right again. And the time when things will be right again will certainly, one day, come.
I had to grow up.
I still like dropping by the children’s section at the bookstore though. It’s still magical. Unlike the ever changing outside world, here the wizards still live just beside the farm children, the princesses beside the pig-keepers. Here dreams abound. Yet reality can still be found.
Sometimes I still see that stark red and black cover, with the young wistful girl and the slightly glinting gold necklace.
I may grow up, but I will remember. Oh yes, I will remember.