by Jeanne Moran
“The one you brought last week?” She nodded. When I retrieved it, she snatched it from my hand with a briskness I knew well. “What’s wrong?”
“I have questions.” She examined the envelope front and back.
“Don’t you remember what the letter says?”
Her head snapped up. “How would I know what it says?”
“Because you opened it before you gave it to me.”
She sniffed, apparently insulted. “I don’t open other people’s mail.”
“Someone opened it. The seal was broken.”
Her eyes flew to me then down again as she pulled the sheet from the envelope and read it, nodding a time or two. Then she tucked both the note and the envelope into her pocket.
“Mutti, that’s mine.”
She placed her elbows on her knees and leaned toward me. “I’ll destroy it for you,” she whispered hoarsely, “so it can’t be traced.”
“Destroy it? But that letter is mine!”
“Shush.” Her eyes darted around the room. “Things have changed. I need to protect…” She stopped. “All of your father’s letters have been opened before they’re delivered. They’re watching his mail. They’re suspicious of him.”
“Who?”
“This letter,” she patted her pocket and continued in that whisper, “and several others refer to the film he’s used.”
“Of course he uses film. He’s a photographer.”
“The SS tells me some of his film is unaccounted for.”
I gasped. “The SS?” What would they want with my father?
“An SS man came to the bakery.” My mother’s eyes glistened and she blinked the tears away. “Your father signed out twenty-one rolls and has only sent in twelve for developing. The SS wants to know where the other rolls are.”
I couldn’t speak.
“I hope they think…” she trailed off again, her gaze far away. Then she seemed to remember I was there. “Film would bring good money on the black market. Maybe they think he’s selling the extra.”
“Papa wouldn’t do that!” My voice was loud and defensive. A couple of the ward’s visitors glanced our way, and then returned to their private conversations. I took some deep breaths to slow my racing heart, then leaned closer to Mutti and softened my voice. “He wouldn’t steal film.”
She nodded and said proudly, “Your father’s character is above reproach.”
“So what does he say about all this?”
She resumed her whisper. “Since they open his mail, I can’t write him about it.” She leaned toward me, glancing around a little. “You read my note, right? You’re being careful? Staying safe?”
“Of course I’m safe, Mutti. I’m in the hospital.” What was safer than inside a hospital?
I sat alone on the porch, flipping through magazines. I lost myself in the beautiful photos – close-ups of movie stars in sparkling dresses, stunning men in tuxedos offering bouquets to leading ladies. A voice pulled me back to reality. “Hi, Sophie. It’s been a while.”
My heart leapt. There in front of me, grinning and pulling up a chair, was Erich. I placed the magazines aside and stammered a bit. “Erich. It’s good to see you.” I searched his chocolate eyes, wondering what he saw when he looked at me. But I saw only pleasure reflected there. Despite the polio and my scrawny weakness, he was happy to see me. I relaxed.
He drew a wriggling mass of brown fur from inside his jacket and settled it gently in my lap. “I thought you should officially meet Schatzi.”
I stared at the three-legged pup. “Is this…” I didn’t know how to finish my thought.
He grinned and nodded. “The pup you and Rennie saw by that shed. I snuck back there a dozen times during the night to put her on the mother’s teat. I smuggled her home inside my jacket.” He scratched under her dark muzzle. “Hardly even whimpered, she was so weak. Anyway, remember how my Etta had pups just the week before?” I nodded. “She accepted this one and let her nurse.”
I cupped my hands around the pup’s softness as she burrowed into my lap blanket. “Hey girl. It’s good to see you.” I looked to Erich. “Wasn’t her hind leg…”
He nodded again, his expression serious. “Badly deformed. It had to be amputated. But she’s all right now. The vet says she’s healthy.” He touched a gentle hand to the pup’s ear and she nestled her head against his palm.
“Well, little cat. I brought your boyfriend to see you.” Klaus pulled up a chair beside Erich.
How embarrassing. I opened my mouth to speak, but Erich lifted his hand to stop me. He spoke first. “Klaus, Sophie’s been sick. Please don’t make things hard for her.” Amazingly, Klaus leaned back, quiet.
Erich faced me again. “So, let’s catch up.”
“You first.”
While I snuggled Schatzi, Erich told stories full of fun about the trip to his grandmother’s – how his younger brother let a frog loose in the train’s dining car, how his grandfather’s parakeet perched on his eyeglasses and moved its head as if reading the newspaper over his shoulder.
Then Klaus chimed in with Youth business. I hadn’t spoken with Erich about the book burning or the crucifix incident but with Klaus listening to our every word, this wasn’t the time to ask.
I decided to ask for an update. “What about that Youth horsemanship program you applied for, Erich?”
He grinned broadly. “I leave next week.”
Erich would be gone too. Everyone was leaving. No one would be around to visit me. I gulped. “How long will you be away?”
He shrugged. “They say between three and six months. First we learn some basics of horse care and riding, then we learn how to train them. I’ll be in charge of two or three horses.” His eyes brightened as he spoke, his excitement obvious.
“What are the horses being trained for?” Klaus wanted to know.
“Parades, mostly. Maybe some police work in the cities.”
I smiled at him. “You’ll be good with horses. Look how good you’ve been with Schatzi.”
At her name, the pup’s black head lifted and her stubby tail waggled. I handed her over. She nuzzled Erich in complete trust.
Erich kept his face down toward Schatzi, but raised his deep brown eyes and watched me from under his eyebrows. I couldn’t get over my good fortune, having Erich the Beautiful visit scrawny weak little me.
Klaus snorted. “Horses. As if we’re going to advance the Fatherland with parades and police and old-fashioned cavalry.” He glanced at his watch. “We don’t have much time. Youth meeting tonight.”
Erich sighed. “Ten more minutes.”
Klaus excused himself, to use the lav I guess, and I was glad. It gave Erich and me a chance to speak alone. “Sophie, I wanted to tell you about, well, you know…” he hesitated.
I perched my elbows on my thighs, angling close enough to enjoy that distinct earthy scent I knew as Erich. I was almost close enough to touch him. “Tell me what?”
He had trouble starting again, as if he lost his train of thought. I hoped I was the cause of that. He cleared his throat. “I love animals, always have. When I heard about this horse training unit I thought – now there’s a way I can be a Youth member and take care of animals too.” He shrugged. “Maybe Klaus is right, maybe it is old-fashioned like the cavalry. It’s just that…” he trailed off.
He scratched Schatzi under the chin, and the dog’s muzzle tipped upward, begging for more. “If I’m with animals, I’ll be watching out for them instead of, well, you know. Sometimes when I’m with the other boys, I get carried away and do things…” he glanced at me, then looked at his shoes and shook his head, “things I regret.”
I thought of my broken promise to Papa. “I’ve done things I regret too.”
“You?” He seemed surprised. “That’s hard to believe. You don’t do anything risky. You just run away and hide.”
I’d heard it often enough from Klaus but hearing it from Erich was different – his words stung like a thousand bee
s. I dropped my head.
He stammered. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I didn’t mean anything. It’s just that, oh…” he stood, cradling Schatzi and pacing.
That’s when Klaus returned. “Ah, trouble in paradise I see. Let’s go, Erich.” He patted my head. “Goodbye little cat. I’ll write if you’ll write.”
Erich shuffled his feet nervously. “Just when I thought I could stop regretting things, I go and say something stupid. I hope you’ll forgive me, Sophie.” They left without another word.
Part of me wanted to yell at Erich’s retreating figure, to tell him how rude it was to speak that way to a sick person, to someone he seems to care about. But another part of me knew that what he said was true.
When I crawled into bed that night, I tugged the blanket up over my head. The dark heavy silence it brought left me with only my own thoughts for company. I barely slept for all the noise.
The next morning before breakfast, I penned a note I didn’t intend to send.
Dear Erich,
What you said upset me, but you were right. I do run away and hide when trouble comes. But now I have polio and I can’t hide from that.
The Youth leaders say that all of us here at the hospital are useless to the Reich because of our weakness, and I’d be useless too if it weren’t for my photography skills. But look at Schatzi – she’s not useless! She can grow up and live happily as a three-legged dog.
You said you’re tired of living with regrets. I’m tired of living in hiding. I wish I had the courage to
I stopped mid-sentence. If I had courage, what exactly would I do? Since I didn’t know the answer, I folded the letter and tucked it under my mattress.
18 May, Wednesday
Frau Berkheimer watched over my shoulder as Marla and I varnished a wood shelf. “Is your camera in the ward, Sophie?” I nodded. “Go get it.”
I was back in no time and showed her which buttons, dials, and levers I needed to work. She looked me square in the eye. “You’re ready to do this yourself.” Her voice was certain.
My heart raced. “My Papa asked me to take photos of people who help me. I’d like you to be first.”
She beamed. “I’d be honored.”
I placed the camera on a table and pressed a tiny button to release the bellows. I tugged and gradually the bellows expanded and locked into place. I moved buttons and dials to adjust my settings and even had enough strength to hold the camera while I peered through the viewfinder. I fingered the jagged shutter lever. “Ready?” Click.
I was a real photographer again. We both wiped away tears.
I spent the rest of the week arranging photo shoots of the patients and staff. I jotted down the details – the camera settings, angle, lens used, and lighting. Once I saw the developed shots, I’d learn from my successes and my mistakes. I was back on track with a plan.
Chapter Seven
Composition
23 May, Monday
F ritz stared at his oatmeal. “What’s wrong?” I asked him.
“Every day it’s the same thing – eat, wash, and exercise,” he said. “Over and over. Nothing fun.”
Marla looked up. “We need something to look forward to.”
“Like what?” I couldn’t imagine anything to look forward to in a hospital, except for visits, letters, and getting discharged of course.
“How about a contest?” Anna said, “Relay races with prizes.” Leave it to Anna to come up with a competition.
Herr Franken scowled. “Anna, we’re all at different stages of our rehabilitation. It wouldn’t be fair to pit a big clumsy adult like me against speedy little Fritz.” He tousled the boy’s blond head.
Marla brightened. “How about a sing-a-long?”
“Or a talent show.” I ventured.
Fritz tipped his head. “What kind of talent?”
“I play the zither,” Herr Franken said softly.
“I dance,” Elisabeth said, then abruptly closed her eyes. “At least I used to.”
I pushed on with the idea. “What about you, Marla?”
“I don’t know how to do anything,” Marla said, slouching a bit in her wheelchair.
Herr Franken turned to her. “You don’t need to perform. There’s a lot more to a show than the performances.”
“You’re good at sewing, Marla,” Elisabeth offered.
Herr Franken smiled. “Maybe you could make Elisabeth a costume.”
Elisabeth’s face brightened. “Or a tiara.” Marla didn’t look convinced, but Elisabeth squeezed her arm and gave a wide-eyed nod to show her excitement.
Anna pointed to little Fritz and me. “What about you two?” Fritz’s lower lip began to quiver.
“You could do sound effects,” I told him. “You’re good at car and truck noises.”
“And trains,” he added, cheering a bit.
Anna looked pleased. “That leaves you, Sophie.”
“I’ll photograph the show. I have my camera now, and some film.”
“Great,” she said. “I’ll notify the staff and set a date. So glad I thought of it.”
She never changed.
24 May, Tuesday
It was quickly decided that our talent show would be in two-and-a-half weeks, on 11 June. With my father away and in some kind of trouble, I couldn’t ask him for photography pointers. So between therapies, I stopped at the hospital library to study magazine photos. I grasped a shelf with one hand and stood to reach a pile of magazines. My balance was a little off which made my arm flail, and I knocked half a dozen magazines to the floor. I groaned at my clumsiness and started to sit so I could clean up my mess when something caught my eye. Tucked at the back of the shelf, now partly exposed by the shortened magazine stack, was a bundle wrapped in brown paper. Curious, I pulled it out and plopped in my wheelchair. A couple dozen photos spilled out.
The photographer had an expensive camera and a keen eye. Some shots were scenic – a hillside covered with wildflowers, a narrow valley dotted with homes, a lone church spire reaching bravely into the sky. There were farm folk with crooked-toothed smiles and dirty hands, panoramic mountain vistas, and close-ups of everyday rural life.
Partway through the pile, farmhouses gave way to townhouses, and storefronts lined bustling streets. One shot showed a crowd cheering and waving as Wehrmacht soldiers marched past.
In the hall, voices drew my attention. Two men. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, not really, but I was snooping. Hurriedly, I shaped the bundle of photos to its original size, stood, and tucked it behind the magazines. I had just plopped in my chair when the door opened.
“And then we can…” It was Doktor Vogel. He froze, his hand still on the doorknob while Herr Franken plodded in a few steps behind, one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question.
I smiled my most innocent smile. “Dropped these,” I said, picking up the scattered magazines and piling them on my lap. The two men watched me silently until I pushed away.
27 May, Friday
Gisela lowered the needle on a gramophone. Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Flowers. “Plié.”
Elisabeth swept one arm wide while the other held her crutch, bending her knees about halfway and working hard to maintain her balance.
“Relevé."
Elisabeth’s weak right leg, braced below the knee, couldn’t rise onto toes, but she managed to rise onto the toes of her left foot. She swept her right arm into a delicate arch while she balanced on one crutch. Her whole body was curved into a C and holding it seemed impossible. But hold it she did, while Gisela counted, “One, two, three, and down.” Elisabeth returned to a standing position, right hand curled daintily in front of her hips, left hand trembling on the crutch.
Gisela applauded and I raced over. “That was fantastic!” I told Elisabeth, noting the sweat on her brow.
She collapsed into a chair, obviously pleased and proud. “Not like it was before the polio, but I’ve still got a few moves.”
“Now we have to put those moves together into a
dance,” Gisela said. “Just two or three minutes long. Want to start tomorrow?”
Elisabeth ran a hand across her forehead then wiped her palm on her skirt. “Give me five minutes rest. Then I’ll be ready.”
And she was. I admired her.
That afternoon, I pulled out the unfinished letter to Erich and continued where I left off.
I wish I had the courage to do what my friend Elisabeth is doing. She’s going to dance in our talent show, brace and crutch and all. She sure doesn’t hide from trouble!
Sophie
P.S. How is Schatzi? Who’s caring for her now that you’re gone?
I mailed it.
A couple letters arrived for me that day. The one from Papa had a broken seal, tiny shreds of paper stuck where the envelope had been opened and poorly re-glued. Papa didn’t say if he knew his mail was being opened, and I had no way to warn him.
The second letter disturbed me as much as Papa’s.
Use the film to photograph the talent show.
Until the 11th,
Scharführer Werner Müller
1 June, Wednesday
Marla guided doe-brown fabric through a sewing machine in OT, creating a small mound at her feet. “What are you making?” I asked.
She lifted her foot from the machine’s pedal and looked up, her expression anxious. “Can’t you tell?”
I tipped my head to one side to examine the pile from another angle. “A costume of…”
She glanced at Frau Berkheimer then looked back at me. “It’s the lion,” she said, “the lion Hercules meets.” A play for the talent show.
“Oh, I see it now.” I pointed to the fabric that hung from the machine’s needle. “That’s a leg.”
Marla dropped her hands, letting the cloth puddle on the floor. Frau Berkheimer hurried over and said, “Actually, that’s the tail. We’re going to stuff it with goose feathers.” She nodded at me, urging me to see what she saw.
“Oh, of course,” I said trying to smile. “That’ll be a great tail.” But I pushed to a different workstation in a hurry.