Discarded Memories

“Suche und du wirst finden.”

Laura pulled her nose out of the German immigration index she had been scouring for hours. Head on a swivel, she located the apparent source of the cryptic statement that had so rudely interrupted her concentration. “Excuse me? Are you speaking to me?”

“Oh, no, no. Heh, sorry, no. Did I say that out loud? I’m terribly sorry.”

The young man sitting at the table behind Laura looked abashed, his cheeks flushed with color and his dark hair tousled as if he’d just run his hands through it. He wore a rumpled white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There were ink stains on his fingers and several large volumes strewn about in front of him. He spoke with a faint German accent, though his English was excellent.

“I’m Anton,” the man said. “Again, I apologize for disturbing you. I have a habit of vocalizing my thoughts without realizing it. It gets me into trouble sometimes.”

“I can imagine. Apology accepted.” Laura smiled. “I’m Laura. What are you working on, if you don’t mind my asking? Those texts are huge! I hope you don’t have to lug them around with you.”

Laughing and struggling, Anton lifted one of the heavy books and brought it over to Laura’s table. With a questioning glance, he pointed to the chair next to her. When she nodded, he sat down and placed the tome on the table. Laura immediately recognized it as an early version of the King James Bible.

“Are you in seminary school?” Laura asked. As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she regretted them. “Now it’s my turn to apologize. That was rude and none of my business.”

“It’s alright. I’m not studying religion or anything at all, for that matter. This is my hobby. I’m working to translate, simplify, and condense the New Testament into German for children. The Bibles we use as adults are often too complicated for youngsters to understand. What are you working on?”

“Wow! That’s quite an undertaking.” Laura slid the database over to Anton. “You said, ‘Seek, and you shall find’, right?”

“Yes, I did. It’s part of a passage in the book of Matthew. Do you speak German?”

“Only a little,” Laura replied. “This index is in English, but I would be a lot farther along with my search if I were fluent in German. I’m trying to find my maternal great-grandfather. Even after twenty years of genealogy research, I have no information about him before his marriage in 1899, other than he was a practicing Lutheran, was born in Germany in 1874, and emigrated from there to America in either 1880, 1885, or 1888. Now that I think about it, your phrase is the inverse of my mission—I sought, but did not find.”

“What a coincidence! Maybe I can help you with your quest.” Anton retrieved a briefcase that had apparently been under the table and, after a brief search, produced a business card. Handing it to Laura, he exclaimed, “At your service!”

“What’s this?” Laura scanned the card, immediately registering its meaning. “You’re a professional genealogist. Don’t tell me, you specialize in German research, right?”

“Well, not strictly German.” Anton clarified. “I work exclusively with folks searching for ancestors from Western Europe. But I am most familiar with German sources and avenues of possibility. I grew up in Germany before immigrating to the United States.”

Laura couldn’t contain her excitement. Researching her ancestors was more than a hobby to her; it was an obsession. Years and loads of money had gone into her efforts, which had been generally successful by her standards. But Wilhem Häfner was as elusive as a shadow at noon. She had exhausted the resources available online, perusing multiple websites for hours at a time, to no avail. She purchased marriage and death certificates and searched both American and German newspapers for any mention of a Wilhelm or William Häfner under all the various spellings. The few leads she found led nowhere. Feeling frustrated and defeated, she had returned to the library to search the Germans to America immigration index one more time. Anton’s offer is tempting. But can I afford it? Hiring a genealogist costs a fortune.

Anton could picture the wheels turning in Laura’s head. “What are you thinking? Are you worried about the cost? In my experience, that’s almost always the reason for clients’ hesitation in hiring me.”

Laura nodded. “Spot on, Anton. I can’t afford to hire you.”

“How about this? I am already heading to Germany tomorrow to chase down a couple of leads for a current customer. I’ll be gone for one week. I’d be happy to see what I can dig up on your brick wall ancestor while I’m there.”

“That would be awesome!” Laura wanted desperately to accept his help. “But I really am strapped for funds right now. Besides, we’ve just met. You know nothing about me! I could be a wily con artist or something.” Sighing dejectedly, she continued, “I appreciate your offer, but I can’t justify the expense.”

Anton studied Laura as she stuffed her notebook and pens into her already bulging knapsack. He saw a forty-something woman just beginning to show crow’s-feet at the corners of her deep-set, dark brown eyes. Her reddish-brown hair was styled in a pixie cut that complemented her narrow oval face. Her tortoiseshell-framed glasses almost fell off when she bent to grab a pen that fell to the floor. Pushing her spectacles back onto the bridge of her nose, she grimaced.

“I’ve been meaning to get these glasses adjusted. I never seem to have the time.” Laura grinned as she turned to leave. “It’s been nice meeting you, Anton. Have a safe trip. Goodbye.”

“Wait! Anton called. “I’ve decided that you are definitely not a scam artist and I really want to help you, if I can. Here’s my proposal. If you give me all the information you have about your relative, I will do my best to add to that data. We can negotiate the cost of my labor when I return. I will consider it a random act of kindness if I don’t find anything significant. Deal?”

Laura argued with herself. I shouldn’t. What if he’s the shyster? Oh, come on, Laura. He’s a nice young man who’s translating the Bible, for Pete’s sake. And I’ve been searching for William for twenty years, with no new clues for the last ten. What can it hurt? He probably won’t find anything anyway. Giving herself a count of five to decide, she made her choice.

“Deal. Let me jot down the facts I do know about great-grandpa Will. It won’t take long—it’s not much.” Ten minutes later, Laura handed the list to Anton. Looking it over, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Whoa! You weren’t kidding,” he said. “Let’s see. Married Elizabeth; sister Marie was living in Leipzig when he died at age 62; four kids; owned a bakery on Long Island, New York. Nothing before he arrived in the United States. Huh. Well, I guess that will have to do. Let’s shake on it.”

After exchanging contact information, the new acquaintances chatted as they exited the library. Dusk followed them to the parking lot, where Laura, still incredulous at her “right place, right time” luck, thanked Anton once again for his generous offer.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be in touch.”

“I won’t be able to accomplish anything this week,” Laura predicted. “I’m anxious to see what you find, and nervous that you’ll come up empty”

“Worry not, my friend,” Anton said with a laugh. “I’m very good at my job.” With that boastful comment and a wave goodbye, he departed.

Laura tried valiantly to concentrate on the mundane, necessary tasks of everyday life. Daily, she rose with the sun, showered, ate her bland breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, and drove to work, cursing the car in front of her going twenty-five in a forty. With a distracted “Hi” to her coworkers, she sat at her desk and did… nothing. For fifteen minutes, she stared at the blank screen of her top-of-the-line laptop until a tap on her shoulder shook her out of her daydream.

“Hello! Are you well, Laura?” her supervisor asked, scowling with a look that could wilt daisies.

“Yes. Sorry, Margaret. I was prioritizing my projects for today,” Laura lied. Powering up her computer, she assured her boss that she was ready to work. Ughh… what a lame excuse. How am I ever going to get through the next seven days?

Time passed—as time always does. By day three, Laura felt like she was a convicted killer on death row. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the inevitable unhappy ending. After a terrible day at the office, she hurried home, ate cold leftover pizza, and retired early. When her cell rang at 1 a.m., she nearly jumped out of her skin. Grabbing the phone, she recognized Anton’s number and answered with a high-pitched voice that betrayed her eagerness to hear anything he had to say.

“Anton? Hi! How are you? Did you find him? What time is it there?”

“Whoa, take a breath, Laura. It’s 7:00 in the evening.” There was a brief pause. “Oh, no! How could I be so stupid?” Anton realized too late that he had forgotten about the six-hour time difference. “I’m so sorry to wake you. Do you want me to call another time?”

“Don’t you dare. I’m wide awake and dying to know what you found out.”

Anton hesitated, unsure of how much to say. Making up his mind, he decided that telling her the truth would be best. “I have leads, some very promising, but have found no concrete evidence linking a Wilhelm Häfner to your family. I know this news is not what you were hoping to hear, but please don’t be discouraged. I spent the first several days of my trip in northern and central Germany, concentrating on Leipzig, hoping to locate information about your great-grandfather’s sister. Unfortunately, that didn’t pan out. My next destination is Württemberg in the south. I have a strong hunch that I will have much better luck there.”

Laura breathed a heavy sigh, trying not to let her intense disappointment show in her voice. “I understand. I know how elusive this guy is. It’s like he crossed the mighty Atlantic Ocean, arrived in the United States, and every part of his life before setting foot on Ellis Island went up in smoke. Poof!”

“That’s certainly an interesting way to put it. But not far off the mark. Sometimes people don’t want to be found. And sometimes they’re just waiting for the right person to look for them. I’ll do my best to find him, I promise. Goodbye for now. I won’t call again. I’ll send you a message when I am back in the States, and we’ll meet then.”

Laura reluctantly disconnected the call. She was more convinced than ever that she would never get the answers she desired, despite Anton’s encouraging words. Hoping sleep would come, she lay back down and gazed out her window at the blue-black night sky, partially illuminated by winking stars and shimmering moonlight. Closing her eyes, she wished harder than she ever had before that William would be found. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. A child’s rhyme, she chuckled to herself. But hey, you never know!

The next day, having completed the original assignment that prompted his overseas trip, Anton traveled via Germany’s high-speed Intercity-Express train from Leipzig to Stuttgart. The five-hour ride took him through rolling green hills, great tracts of farmland dotted with ancient castles, dense forests, and deep river gorges. Arriving in Schorndorf, a small, picturesque town east of Stuttgart, Anton checked into his lodgings and headed for the town's Protestant churches. Finding nothing of note in the birth registers at the first one, he moved on to the next. Reading down the list of names, he saw “Haeffner, Wilhelm A.” Could it be? Running his finger across the page to the birthdate, he read 1. März 1874. Checking the torn notebook page he got from Laura, he confirmed the date—March 1, 1874. Bingo! Ok, Bill—who’s your old man? The parents’ names were smudged on the 152-year-old parchment; he could just make out “Karl Wilhelm Haeffner, Vater” and “Gretel Schm—”. “Gotcha!” Anton let out a whoop that drew a censorious look from the church historian. Apologizing profusely and thanking the man for his help, Anton left the chapel with a bounce in his step, knowing that this newfound information was key to discovering the rest of the details of Wilhelm’s early life.

Anton spent the next few days gathering more records. Strangely, after identifying Wilhelm’s parents and place of birth, he discovered that he instinctively knew the answers to each subsequent part of the puzzle before actually seeing a source that confirmed it. As his time in Germany drew to a close, he began to understand. It was the stories—and memories —tantalizingly close.

Laura spent most of her Sundays at the research library, hanging out with dead people. This Sunday, however, was different. This day, she hoped, would be the wonderful, magical day she’d wished for, for most of her adult life. The text she received from Anton this morning was short and blunt: "Meet me at the library at noon.” Impatient, she wolfed down her oatmeal, jumped in her car, and sped across town, arriving at the designated rendezvous two hours early.

Immersed in her research, she didn’t hear the jingling of the door chime and nearly jumped out of her skin when Anton spoke.

“Hello, Laura, it’s good to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too, Anton.” Having dispensed with the formalities, Laura blurted, “Did you find him?”

“Yes.” Handing her a written document, Anton waited while she read the words that outlined the vital details of Wilhelm A. Häfner’s life.

“This is amazing! I can’t believe you uncovered all of this information in just a few days. It’s all here—parents’ names, birthplace, siblings, even Wilhelm’s grandfather’s name. Now, I can add at least two more generations to my family tree. I can’t thank you enough! What do I owe you?”

“You’re welcome. We can discuss compensation later. Tell me. Is this what you’ve been looking for? Is it enough to fill the hole in your history? Anton stared at Laura, willing her to understand, to recognize the truth.

“Well, yes, of course. The whole point of genealogy is to trace your lineage as far back in time as possible, right?”

“For some. But what about you? Do you measure your life by dates, places, and names?” Anton prompted.

“What are you getting at, Anton?” Laura was still for several minutes, trying to figure out what he wanted her to say. “I guess maybe people's lives are full of events and…stories?”

“Yes,” Anton shouted. He jumped up, over the table, and wrapped Laura in a bear hug.

Startled, Laura gasped. “I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her from his grasp. Watching Anton walk back to his chair, Laura was astonished to see a faint iridescent glow surround his body.

“What the hell?”

“Laura, just listen to me. Please. Let me tell you a story.”

“Wilhelm Häfner was the son of Karl, a baker. Karl, and later Wilhelm, secured an apprenticeship to learn the baking trade. Karl eventually became a Meister, or master, and life was good for the Häfner family. Until one day, Karl was tragically killed in a flour dust explosion that destroyed his bakery, leaving Gretel and the children destitute. Out of necessity, Gretel remarried a man named Otto. Unfortunately, Otto was a mean, violent, abusive bully who relieved his frustrations and anger by terrorizing his new family. Wilhelm suffered the most, as he often stood up to the man, despite knowing that pain would follow his defiance. Will and his sister Marie were home the day that Otto, in an alcohol-fueled rage, slaughtered their mother. Grief-stricken and not knowing what else to do, the teens gathered their belongings and went to stay with an uncle. It wasn’t the best of situations, but they survived. Eventually, Marie married. Wilhelm continued his apprenticeship with his uncle and became a journeyman baker. With nothing left to hold him there, and conscription into the military looming, Wilhelm left Germany for a new life in America.”

Laura was quiet as Anton finished speaking. “That is a very disturbing story,” she said. “But how did you come to know all of this?”

Anton took a breath. “Ellis Island is well-known as a historic destination for immigrants. It operated from 1854 through the early twentieth century. But few were aware of the real magic that existed there. When folks arrived, they were processed and evaluated to determine, among other things, their medical fitness. If a person appeared to be very depressed, they were taken to a special area. After a brief examination to determine the root of their unhappiness, they were asked if they wanted to remember their past or let it go. If they chose to leave their memories behind, they would pass through the door and begin the rest of their lives.”

“So Wilhelm, alone and haunted by his past, walked through that door and became William, with no memory of where he came from.” When Anton nodded, she continued. “So what happened to the memories?”

“Laura, do you know what the initial ‘A’ stands for?”

“No.”

“ It stands for Anton. When Wilhelm walked through that door, his memories remained. I am the keeper of his discarded memories, just waiting for the right person—someone yearning to know his story—to awaken, with a wish, the magic of remembering.”

Laura stared at him, speechless.

“Ich bin das, wonach du gesucht hast.”

Smiling through her tears, Laura translated, “I am that which you’ve been seeking.”