The Shadow Place

By kladner

When half-German, half-Iranian Jewish brothers Rahim and Kamal travel from Tehran to Berlin for school in 1936, they are quickly drawn into the deteriorating climate. As Iranians - true Aryans - with blonde hair, they successfully hide their Jewish identity. Those around them are not so fortunate. Rahim escapes a Nazi raid, but leaves behind his best friend, Mishael, prompting feelings of guilt that torment him. When Rahim's girlfriend, Elisabeth, is taken by the Nazis in a disastrous synagogue raid, the last remnant of Berlin's resistance calls on them to infiltrate the SS.

Rahim and Kamal soon find themselves on the other side of the fence at Auschwitz, as guards. They track down Elisabeth and her sister, prompting plans of an elaborate rescue. Mishael, who is also at Auschwitz as a dreaded kapo, blames Rahim for his capture and the murder of his family. Mishael blackmails the brothers by planting evidence of their Jewish identity, which is found by other SS guards. However, in order for Elisabeth's rescue to be successful, they must enlist Mishael's help. Mishael may turn them all in, but it is Elisabeth's only chance for survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: kladner
• Release date: Apr 27, 2018

Book preview

The Shadow Place

© 2018 Dreamsky Press

For Granny

There are some things that Alzheimer’s can never take away

Like my memory of you

And I know that, deep inside your heart,

You never did forget me

It wasn’t enough time

But I got the best part of you

I was your last memory.

The Home We Once Knew

1936

Rahim looked down at the jagged cuts on his hands, then at the meadows dotted with fields of poppies that sped past in an ethereal blur. The train rattled and clacked loudly, making its way westward from Iran to Germany. His grandfather, a German diplomat to Iran, and his grandmother, a native of the Iranian village of Damavand, had sent his mother on this journey many years ago, to get a European education in Berlin. He had spent childhood evenings dreaming of when his turn to travel to Germany would come, but now that it was here, sadness and longing for home already gripped him.

Across from him, his identical twin brother, Kamal, was dozing, his golden brown hair falling down his face, his cheek pressed against the window. Beside him, their older brother, Habiib, was snoring so loudly that Rahim could hear him over the train’s roar. How anyone could sleep in this train car was beyond his comprehension.

He looked back down at his marred hands and grinned woefully. They were a marker of his last day at his village in Iran, at the base of the nation's highest mountain. Damavand. The thought of his home, where the mountain air blew down on the village and brushed against his face, cooling his sweat-drenched body, already filled him with nostalgia.

Yahud! Yahud! Rahim could still hear the sound of Abdel taunting his brother during a soccer game ringing in his ears. It pulled him into the memory of his scars.

Kamal appeared to remain calm and collected at the jeering directed at him, but Abdel’s taunts made their way under Rahim’s skin, where they boiled and singed. He was accustomed to the insults and ridicule directed at him for being a Jew. But when it came to Kamal, his frustration point was much lower.

Yahud! Can’t even kick the ball! Can’t score a goal, can you, Yahud!

Other boys joined in. The only girl here plays better than the Jew!

You and your girlfriend should both be at home, playing with dolls and make-up!

The memory blended with the rolling hills as the train made its way into Turkey, then faded into the sunset.

Where are we? Kamal croaked, jolting Rahim from his reverie.

Rahim moved his gaze from the poppy fields rushing past the window to his brother. Drunk with sleep, Kamal’s eyes were narrow slits, his cheeks and brows puffy. Rahim was still trying to get used to the sight of his brothers without side locks. Kamal's cheekbones now appeared rounder and fuller. Their father had insisted that they shave their side locks until they knew that they were safe. As for himself, he felt incomplete without them.

You look awful, Rahim said.

So do you.

Rahim scowled at his brother. We should be in Turkey in an hour. Go back to sleep. Your face makes my head hurt.

He looked back out the window, where a clear, darkening sky was adorned with diamond-like constellations. He felt for the Star of David that he wore on a chain around his neck and closed his eyes. His father had told him that he was to never tell anyone that they were Jews, but for now, he was unwilling to part with this keepsake.

Once again, memories of Damavand filled all of the spaces inside his mind. The bright Iranian sun beat down as they kicked the soccer ball up and down the field. Homa, Kamal's not so secret girlfriend, was goalie for the other team. Rahim passed the ball to Kamal, and Kamal threw his foot up and kicked the ball so hard that he fell over backwards. Its trajectory was heading straight to the goal, over Homa’s head…

Yahud! Can’t even stay on your feet!

A soldier’s job is to survive. He has to survive so that he can keep fighting.

Rahim head-butted the ball just as Kamal leapt up. Kamal kicked the ball,

sending it sailing to the goal and victory.

Yahud! Yahud! I bet you enjoyed scoring that goal! You think you’re a hero now, don’t you?

Kamal picked up a rock and flung it at Abdel. Abdel ducked, missing the rock, and laughed.

The Jew can’t even throw a rock! Your brother has to do everything for you! I think that we should teach the Jew a lesson. Come here. He sinisterly motioned for Kamal to come to him.

Vai khoda ye man. Abdel didn't know when to stop.

Kamal picked up another rock and pulled his slingshot out from his pocket.

Minutes and seconds determine the world's greatest battles. Rahim did not have that long. He ran towards Abdel, knocked him to the ground, and pounded on his face with his fists, over and over again. He easily overwhelmed Abdel, who was younger and smaller than him.

Abdel's attitude more than made up for his small stature. You think you’re a hero? he sputtered between Rahim’s punches. Standing up for your idiot brother?

Shut up! Shut up! Rahim said with every swing. I am a hero! And so is my brother!

The other boys backed away. Kamal put away his slingshot, hurried over to Rahim, and tried to pull him off of Abdel. But the more Kamal pulled at Rahim, the harder Rahim hit Abdel, until Abdel’s blood filled the cuts on Rahim’s hands.

Abdel’s mocking words turned into tears that mixed with the blood that covered his face. His nose was bent awkwardly, and some of his teeth were knocked out.

Kamal used all of his strength to try to rip Rahim from Abdel. When Kamal and Habiib's joined strength finally broke him away from Abdel, his face was covered in dirt and tears.

Rahim was sad to be leaving. And scared. He was scared.

Outside the train, the sky was now pitch black. Rahim opened and closed his hand around the Star of David. The cuts had barely scabbed over by now, and soreness shot through every time he moved it. He looked back out the window, the last he would see of Iran for a long time.

He had earned the stripes on his hand. They would serve as a lasting reminder of his last day in Damavand. He curled up against the window, closed his eyes, and managed to fall asleep.

The train jolted, waking Rahim. His head and neck were sore from sleeping against the window. He rubbed his neck groggily, trying to ease some of the tension.

He looked around the dim train car. Habiib was still sound asleep, but Kamal was wide-awake, shifting around uncomfortably. The train turned, making its way past an Anatolian village. Soon they would be starting their new lives in Germany, at a boarding school in Berlin.

Will you miss it? Kamal asked.

Miss what? Iran? Rahim turned his head from the window momentarily. Maybe. You?

I’m worried about everything I’m leaving behind. Mama and Baba. Homa.

There will be plenty of new adventures in Germany.

Kamal sighed. That's what I'm afraid of. I like the old adventures. I'm not sure that I want a new one.

Stop being sentimental.

You mean that you're not at least a little bit anxious?

He was, but he wasn't going to admit it. I bet Germany's not as hot as Iran.

Kamal chuckled. Yeah. Everything is going to be different from now on.

You're probably right. Rahim turned once again to look out the window. The moon was a tiny sliver of light; already, it seemed smaller and farther away. Nothing will be the same.

Ancient Runes

The next afternoon, in Istanbul, Rahim, Kamal, and Habiib changed into a train that would take them all the way to Berlin. The wood-paneled cabin on this train was draped with bright red flags inlaid with a hooked cross rune. It was more comfortable than their previous one, but something about it seemed... odd, strange, confusing. They set down their bags and sat down.

Look at all these runes, Rahim mused, pointing to the red flags bearing a hooked cross that lined the inside of the train. I wonder what they’re hanging in here for.

Swastikas, Kamal said, fingering the flag that covered an entire wall of their cabin. A Sanskrit rune. Strange that Germany's new leader would be using it.

Adolf Hitler, Habiib whispered. I heard some of his speeches, and he's full of shit. But don’t forget what Baba said. His voice became stern and forceful. We can’t tell anybody that we are Jews. Just like Queen Esther.

You don’t have to babysit us, Kamal retorted. We can take care of ourselves.

The sun was setting outside. Rahim stretched out on the seat and closed his eyes. Wake me up when we are in Germany, he said, then turned over and fell asleep

Rahim straightened the lapel of his snazzy new sports jacket as he, Habiib, and Kamal stepped off the train into the crowded Berlin station.

Rahim’s legs were so cramped from the long train ride that he nearly stumbled over his brothers as they made their way onto the platform. He tried to stretch them out, walking slowly, but was instantly disoriented by the overwhelming scene filled with noise.

Habiib, what do you-, he started, then looked at his brother. Wait, no, where was Habiib? Kamal? Rahim felt his heart pounding hard and fast. His brothers had been swallowed up into the boisterous crowd.

Habiib? Kamal?! he shouted, but he could not even hear his own voice in the din.

A quartet played a loud, upbeat march, drowning out the din of the parade of trains. Dozens of people brushed by them every second, some only barely not knocking him over. The train that they had been on pulled down the tracks, and another one approached with a deafening roar.

Rahim struggled to catch his breath. He spun around, hoping for a glimpse of the blonde hair that stood out so much in Iran. But nearly half the people here had blonde hair.

More people shoved past him. He moved to the back of the platform, out of everyone’s way. If he stayed here, on the platform, maybe Kamal and Habiib would find him.

German was blaring over the intercom and from a myriad of conversations around them, but to his dismay, he could not understand any of it. He and his brothers were accustomed to speaking the language with their German mother at home, but the fast-paced, garbled roar was too much for him.

Rahim was on the verge of tears. Kamal? Habiib? he whimpered.

A hand fell on his shoulder and jerked him back. He spun around. What were you thinking?! he saw Kamal mouth. Beside him was Habiib.

Thank God, he breathed. He held onto Kamal’s shirt with one hand and pulled his trunk with the other as they made their way out from the platform and into the station.

All around the train station hung bright red banners blaring the strange-looking rune, the swastika, that Rahim saw on the train, along with an emblem of an eagle that bore a disconcerting resemblance to an ancient Zoroastrian symbol, the farvahar. With every step that he took, his life in Damavand seemed to be another world away, yet whispers of Iranian folklore followed him. He couldn’t help but wonder why.

Rahim caught Habiib fishing in his pocket. Checking for those tickets again?

Habiib grinned. Everyone back home will be so jealous.

Kamal's face gleamed with excitement. Our first day in Germany, and we are going to the Olympics!

Rahim ran his fingers through his hair. He felt incomplete without his kippah on, but Habiib and Kamal would not allow him to wear it until they knew what Germany would be like.

They wheeled their trunks through the crowd and out onto the street, where the sun shone directly on them. A line of taxis was picking up passengers exiting the train station. Habiib hailed a taxi, and they all climbed into the backseat.

Boulevard Unter den Linden, Rahim said, hesitant to use his German now that he realized it was far from perfect. Berlin Boys’ School.

The taxi driver laughed. You are not from here are you?

Heat and shame flooded Rahim’s face. Nein, he said meekly. Our mother is German, but we grew up in Iran.

The taxi made its way through the heavy traffic. On every building hung the same red banner and star-like rune, and the bird symbol. What is that? Kamal asked.

Kamal knows more about Iranian folklore than anyone, Rahim mused. Of course he knows what the symbols are. The question was what they were doing here.

Never seen a swastika, eh? You must be another couple of idiots coming in for the Olympics. I bet you don’t know anything about the Nazis, either. No matter, they are hiding everything for the games. It’s a propaganda. The taxi driver chortled. But you know where the swastika comes from, right? It’s an ancient rune. I’m not a superstitious man, but you shouldn’t play around with runes.

Rahim listened hard to try to understand the taxi driver’s fluent, colloquial German as he stared out the window at the massive Gothic buildings that they drove past. Berlin was every bit as magnificent as he imagined it, but he wondered what secrets lay under the surface. Why the obsession with ancient Iranian and Sanskrit symbols. Still, he was unconcerned about one discontent’s raving. What do you mean? he asked blithely.

The taxi driver lit a cigarette. Just take my advice on this: Don’t ever say anything bad about the Nazis. As long as you aren’t Jews, you should be fine. He rolled the window down and puffed out a cloud of smoke. Here we are.

They turned a corner and found themselves in front of a large green, surrounded on three sides by a palatial building. That’s impressive, Kamal muttered.

Rahim had to agree. The building, which he immediately knew to be the Berlin Boys' School, rivaled the Qajari and Pahlavi palaces of Iran.

They paid the fare and got their trunks out of the back. Thanks. Habiib waved goodbye to the driver, then patted his pocket.

Tickets still there? Rahim led the way, dragging his trunk behind. I think our dorms should be over…there! He pointed to a building across the street.

Kamal looked down at his heavy trunk, then across the street, where Rahim pointed. He moaned loudly. You couldn’t have figured that out earlier, so that the crazy conspiracy nut taxi driver could take us up there instead of us dragging these heavy trunks all around?

I actually looked at the map while you slept on the train. I knew where we were headed to all along. I just like to hear you whine.

Like you were whining in the train station? Kamal pretended to cry. I just lost my brothers and don't know what to do, he mocked.

Rahim glared at his brother. At least I don't look like an donkey.

You look exactly like me.

Come on. I'm tired of dragging this heavy trunk around.

Dumb little brothers, Habiib said under his breath. They have no idea what they're in for.

Scorpion

Rahim's stomach knotted as they crossed the busy street and entered the dorm building. He had never seen so many cars on one street, and all of the black fumes that they produced made him cough and sputter. Kamal's grumbling and complaining amused him and helped shake the trepidation from his mind, but he couldn't deny that he was scared. Terrified. Habiib stayed in the taxi to go on to his apartment near the university; now, Rahim and Kamal were alone in an increasingly bizarre city.

Inside the dorm building, swastikas draped the walls inside and out. An information table was set up downstairs to help new arriving students get situated.

Rahim waited at the door while Kamal walked up to the information table. He came back a minute later. Upstairs, to the left. Room 203.

Their dorm room was sparse, just two beds, a dresser, a desk, and a dusty window. All of the walls were white and bare, except for a red banner with a swastika that overwhelmed one wall.

Cozy, Rahim said sarcastically. Everything we dreamed of. He opened his suitcase and hung some clothes in the closet. Kamal plopped on the bed and closed his eyes. The bed creaked loudly. Kamal jumped up. Is that thing going to break?!

So this is our new home, Rahim thought. Despite the imperial grandeur of the school, their room was nothing like their comfortable house in Damavand.

A loud shriek from Kamal made Rahim jump.

Kill it! Kill it!

Rahim spun around. What is your problem? You sound like a scared little girl!

It's a scorpion! There, on the bed!

There are no scorpions in Germany, dummy.

Kamal took off his shoe. Apparently there are! He used his shoe to guide the curled up, white scorpion to the floor. But in just a moment, there won't be. He raised his shoe to smack the scorpion.

What are you doing? Rahim grabbed Kamal's arm before he could bring his shoe down on the scorpion. The scorpion quickly scuttled under the bed.

He got away, you idiot! That thing is probably poisonous. I hope he bites you while you are asleep!

Far more accustomed to the outdoors and desert fauna of Iran, including the scorpions that roamed the countryside, Rahim was less than afraid than his brother. He's probably harmless. And this dorm was probably also built over his home. We can't take away his home and then kill him for it.

I'm not sleeping in here with that thing, Kamal muttered.

I told you, he isn't poisonous. Stop being a baby.

Beer

The energy of hundreds of thousands of cheering people, gathered from all across the world, electrified the cool night air. Rahim gawked as hundreds of athletes paraded around the track that circled the interior of the stadium, carrying flags from their home countries, to the tune of upbeat German marches. The sky exploded with colorful fireworks, lighting up the swastikas that were draped all across the stadium with brilliant blues, yellows, and greens. Chills went up his spine as the light from the fireworks rained down. He reached up his hand, almost feeling that he could touch the sparks.

The stadium was larger than any structure Rahim had ever imagined. There were enough seats for tens of thousands of people, and the field was large enough to hold ten thousand more. He had seen pictures of the Roman Coliseum, but he never imagined seeing anything like it with his own eyes. And now this, surely the Coliseum could never compare to the place where he, Habiib, and Kamal now stood.

Habiib pulled out their tickets again. Seats 3376, 3377, and 3378. They made their way to their seats.

Look over there. Rahim nudged Habiib, grinning mischievously. That guy walking around, he’s selling beer! None of the brothers had ever drank a sip of alcohol before, and the prospect of defying the longstanding, upright Iranian tradition thrilled Rahim. He fished in his pocket for a handful of German marks.

A man sitting nearby raised up two fingers, prompting the vendor to bring him a couple of beers. Kamal jumped up, holding three fingers. The vendor came to them and handed each of them a beer.

Rahim took the ice cold drink and handed the vendor the marks to pay for the beers. The lid came off with a magnificent pop, releasing a geyser of foam that ran down the sides of the bottle. He relished the moment before bringing it to his lips, prepared to savor every bit of his beer. It felt smooth and creamy, fizzing beautifully as it slid down his throat.

Beside him, Kamal took a huge gulp and immediately spit it out. Ugh! he exclaimed, standing up to shake off the foam that had run onto his clothes. It tastes like pee!

Rahim fell back in his seat, laughing at him, swallowing a large gulp of beer. His bottle was already nearly halfway empty. What’s wrong? You can’t handle it? He took another large gulp to mock his twin.

Kamal turned around and poured his beer on Rahim’s head. Rahim jumped up and let out a high-pitched yelp.

Habiib howled with laughter. Sit down, you idiots! He grabbed their shoulders and yanked them down.

Feeling his insides grow warm and his mind mellow and content from the alcohol, Rahim turned his attention back to the events unfolding on the stadium field beneath them. A parade of red flags with swastikas emblazoned on them made its way into the stadium. On the field, the men carrying the flags marched into a formation so that the flags turned into one giant swastika. It circled around, taking up half of the field. Cheers erupted from the crowd, in an ear-shattering roar.

These Germans sure love their runes, don’t they? Habiib jabbed at Rahim’s side. I wonder why. It’s, it’s strange.

I don’t know, but I can tell you something for sure. Beer and foam dribbled down Rahim’s chin.

Kamal laughed. You look like you have never had a beer in your life. He turned to Habiib. This must be what they mean by ‘cheap drunk.’

Rahim went on, unfazed. They turned the rune upside down. If they knew anything about runes, they would know not to mess with them.

Habiib shoved his half-drunk beer to Rahim. Shut up and drink some more beer. Kamal was right. This stuff tastes like pee. I don’t see how you can stomach it.

The air was thick and muggy when Kamal and Habiib half-carried, half-dragged Rahim to a taxi.

This is definitely what they mean by cheap drunk. Habiib heaved Rahim up so that his arm was around his shoulder. After only one and a half beers?!

This aroused Kamal’s twin brother protective instinct. Give him a break. He’s only 14. You couldn’t even stomach the stuff. Rahim is way more of a man than you are!

Habiib groaned. The kid doesn’t even have facial hair yet. But you win. Swallowing that much beer on his first time has to count for something. Hey-

His sudden stop caused most of Rahim’s weight to fall on Kamal. Why did you do that? Kamal protested.

Shh, shh. Look over there. Habiib pointed to a small shop two blocks down.

Kamal looked in the direction his brother pointed in time to witness a brick sailing through the front window. The glass shattered. A torch cast a silhouette of a man being thrown down onto the ground.

Kamal nearly dropped Rahim. What- what’s going on?

Rahim slid down to the ground and moaned.

After a passing glance to ensure that his brother was still breathing, Kamal fixated on the shopkeeper being lynched. A crowd now gathered around him, making it more difficult to see what was happening. But he could hear the indistinct, cacophonous shouts, growing louder.

When Habiib touched his shoulder, he jumped. Let’s get out of here, Habiib whispered.

Together, they hoisted Rahim off the sidewalk and carried him down to the nearest taxi.

Maybe the raving taxi driver from that morning, and Mishael, maybe what they said was true.

The Mischlinge

Rahim didn't begin to wake up until noon. The sun streamed in through the window, casting a warm ray on his bed. He cracked his eyes open. The sunlight hurt.

A knock came on their door, making his dull headache throb. Rahim turned over and pressed his head into the cool side of his pillow, willing whoever the unwelcome visitor was to go away.

Kamal climbed out of bed and opened the door. Rahim reluctantly sat up to greet their visitor. Into their room came a walking corkscrew with hair, and too much of it. His ears were too big for his face, like he was still trying to grow into them, while he outgrew his nose a long time ago. His thick, curly side locks fell from above his kippah to his shoulders. Rahim wasn't sure that he was fully awake as he gazed at this awkward, lanky teenager.

You guys goin' to live here? He extended his hand. I’m Mishael. My roo' is right nex' door. I ha' to come by and mee' you. You are twin'? I can' tell you apar'! Even though today was only their second day in Germany, Mishael's distinct accent told Rahim that he was not from Berlin or the surrounding area.

Irritated, Rahim dragged himself out of bed shook Mishael's hand. Rahim. This is my brother, Kamal. He has a freckle on his cheek. That's how you can tell us apart. His flat, monotonous voice would have told anyone else that he wanted to be left alone.

Kamal ran his hand through his messy hair cockily, then shook their visitor's hand. Mishael, is it?

Mishael nervously ran his hand over his kippah before shaking Kamal’s hand. It’s my second year here, but I still ge' homesick. My home is really far away, all the way in Bavaria. I’m gla' to make a frien'.

Despite his hangover and irritation at their visitor, Rahim felt the exact same way. In addition to the fuzziness that blurred his thoughts.

Where is Bavaria? Kamal asked.

"It's all the way on the eastern end of the country. I spent the whole morning on a bus