by Lee Strauss
January 6, 1944
Papa was wrong. The music halls aren’t safe from the bombs. He’s dead now.
My sorrow is suffocating. I feel like dying, too.
February 19, 1944
I hesitated at the bedroom door. When Emil left for the eastern front, we had been good friends. Very good friends. In fact, I thought I might’ve been falling in love.
Now I’m not so sure.
Not about my love for this boy who lay deathly ill on his bed in his parents’ house–that wasn’t what I questioned. I wasn’t sure that I should let myself love. Loving in war time was crazy. Stupid.
If I loved him, I might lose him. Emil had been lucky; many men on the front had died of this pneumonia. I couldn’t bear the thought of him not being so lucky one day, so I hung back. I let Johann take the lead.
“Hey old man,” Johann said to Emil.“Nice of you to make room in your busy schedule for us.”
“Yeah,” Emil said. His eyes darted to me before landing back on Johann. “Yeah, well, as you can see, I’ve been busy. Thanks for coming.”
His gaze returned to me and settled there. My heart raced as I took in his ashen face. It was thinner than I remembered.
“Hallo, Emil.” My voice sounded small and tight. My hand went to my hair, and I smoothed it in vain. I knew I looked terrible with sunken cheeks and dark orbs around my eyes. The war demanded every luxury. Basic toiletries like soap and shampoo were impossible to come by and one could only hope for enough food to dull the stomach pangs that never stopped, much less worry about actual nutrition.
Emil watched me, his eyes soft with yearning, like he didn’t notice my skeletal appearance at all.
“Hallo,” he replied.
“I’m so happy to hear you are feeling better?” I wasn’t sure. He didn’t look well, so thin and pale, and I felt my chest tighten in worry.
His lips pulled up in a weak smile. “It’s good to be home.”
Johann cleared his throat, and Emil looked away. I was glad. The tenderness that I’d seen there was only making my decision to stay distant even harder.
“Don’t get well too quickly,” Johann said. He tugged on the collar of his thread-bare shirt, and then tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. “They’ll just send you back once they get wind of any sign of good health.”
Emil grunted. “I’ll do my best.”
The room was grey even though the blinds were open. Cool air whistled through the window panes. I shivered and stared at the scuffs on my shoes. My pulse roared like the ocean in my ears. The three of us were like strangers in a holding cell, like we hadn’t grown up together. Like we’d never been the best of friends. I willed Johann to keep talking, to do something to break the awkward silence.
“I heard about your father,” Emil finally said, “I’m sorry.” His voice was dry and raspy and I wished I had a glass of water to give to him. Instead I bit my lip and pinched my eyes shut. It hurt too much to think about Papa.
“Thanks,” Johann said. “It’s the irony of war. Those who want to live, die. Those who want to die, live on.”
“I don’t know, Johann.” Emil shifted and caught his breath as if beating back pain. “Death is pretty indiscriminate, as far as I can tell.”
Johann sniffed and drew his fist under his nose. “I wonder what Moritz would think if he were here now.”
“It seems like just yesterday we were at his house listening to the BBC, “Emil said. “Although, I remember us being a whole lot smaller.”
“That’s how I remember him, “I added softly.
“He’s lucky in a way,” said Johann. “He didn’t have to see what’s become of Germany. It would’ve broken his heart.”
I swallowed a hard lump that had formed in my throat. “It breaks all our hearts.”
“I can’t believe we actually did what we did back then,” Johann said.
“If we knew how bad it was going to get,” Emil said, “we probably would have done more.”
“We can’t be too hard on ourselves,” I said. “We were only kids.” I stared out the window, feeling the catatonic state I’d become comfortable with encase my emotions once again. I whispered, “We’re still only kids.”
Silence filled the small room again. I focused on the wallpaper peeling away from the upper corner. You wouldn’t notice it if you didn’t look up. I was like the wall, damaged in places you may not notice. And like the paper, I felt like there was nothing on the other side, just plain, white, lifeless plaster.
“You need your rest,” Johann said. “We will go now.”
Emil’s dark eyes held mine. I longed to go to him, wrap my arms around his chest and promise him that everything would be okay.
It was better if I didn’t. For both of us. In a voice so low I wasn’t sure if Emil heard it, I said good bye. I glanced at him as I followed Johann out and by the pain that flashed in Emil’s eyes, I knew that he had.
March 30, 1944
The SS are too busy with losing the war to bother with random dust checks anymore which is a good thing, since Mama had stopped cleaning the house after Papa died. Dust covered the furniture and spiders spun their webs in dark corners, filth that was unthinkable before.
I set a piece of dried toast and a poached egg on a plate and placed it in front of Mama. “Mama, you must eat something.”
Mama glanced at the plate and then continued to stare blankly out the dirty window. I sat with her small plate of food and began to eat.
It was cold in the house and Mama and I rarely removed our winter jackets, even while inside. Mama looked like a broken doll, hair all askew, skin smudged with dry tears, sunken hollow eyes.
A lump formed in my throat. It was too much. With Papa gone and Johann away in the army, how were Mama and I to survive? Even the foreigners had left for the winter.
I washed my own dish, leaving Mama’s untouched plate in front of her.
“I’m going out to check the chickens,” I said. I’d already been out early that morning to gather the handful of eggs, but I needed to get out of the house, away from the hopelessness that filled every crevice.
When I buttoned up my coat the lowest button came away in my hand leaving blue strands dangling like veins. I pocketed the button knowing I didn’t have any thread left to re-attach it.
Outside the autumn wind blew through the trees, showering dry and cracking leaves down on my head. I kicked at piles that scuttled around my boots.
The piercing wail of sirens broke the silence. In the distance I saw a patch of grey in the sky, like a flock of giant geese. The RAF always targeted the larger centers, but Passau could be next. One could never be too sure.
I ran back to the house, to Mama who had remained at the table by the window.
“Come, Mama. We need to go into the basement.”
“Oh, we’re fine,” she said, not moving. “They don’t care enough about our little farm to waste a bomb on us.”
I didn’t know about that, but I didn’t have the energy to argue with her. I sat at the table and cupped my hands as if I were about to pray.
And thought about Emil.
He would be hiding in his cellar, with his mother and little brother.
The sirens stopped and I made a decision.
March 31, 1944
I tightened the scarf around my neck and marched down our long drive determined to see Emil again. I only hoped that he wouldn’t turn me away.
I knocked on the Radle family door. My nerves shot off like a flak gun, and my neck felt sweaty. I loosened my wool scarf.
Emil opened the door, his face expressing his surprise at seeing me.
“The planes are gone,” I said. “I wondered if you’d like to go for a walk.” I nibbled my lip before adding, “That is if you feel up to it.”
“Yes,” Emil said to my relief. “I feel fine.”
He grabbed a jacket and soon we walked west down the cobbled street.
“How is your health?” I said. Emil looked to
o thin, but his color had returned.
“Better.”
“Good.”
We walked slowly through the neighborhood towards the Danube River. People were daring to return to the outdoors in ones and twos, continuing whatever task they were in the middle of before the sirens sent them scurrying away.
“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.” My throat was dry and scratchy. I forced a swallow.
Emil’s gaze moved from the street to my face. “I’ve noticed that,” he said kindly. “Why?”
I shrugged. “People are dying, Emil. I just thought that maybe it would be better not to get too close.”
Emil stopped. “You miss your father.”
I let my gaze fall. “Yes, I do. Very much. I think of him every day.”
“He was a great man.”
I let my eyes lock onto his. “I’m afraid of losing the people I love.”
Emil reached for my hand without breaking his gaze. “I understand, Katharina, but there are no guarantees. Besides, you really have no choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve been through too much already. Been friends too long. The damage has already been done.”
I smiled. “I see.”
We walked hand in hand to the end of the street; I matched his gait, comfortably silent.
At the end Emil turned to me.
I tilted my head up to his and he leaned in and kissed me. His lips were rough yet sweet. He cupped my face with such tenderness that my whole body quivered.
I pulled away and smiled shyly. “I should go back.”
We walked to Emil’s house, holding hands. I felt truly happy, pretending for a few moments that the war wasn’t going on at all.
“Will I see you tomorrow?”Emil asked.
I nodded. “Yes.”
May 01, 1944
I see Emil nearly every day. We are at war, and so there isn’t much time for leisure. We spend most of our time working together, usually on the farm. The Reich had supplied us with more hens and an extra milking cow, but most of the goods are still shipped out of town. There is a thriving black market going on as well. Eggs and milk slipped away out of the view of the officers who milled around. Most of them are locals, and turn a blind eye, knowing that an extra egg or two could end up on their table.
At the end of each day, I walk with Emil to the end of the drive and he kisses me good night.
“Do you think they’ll let you stay?” I whispered today after a lingering kiss. Emil’s cough had subsided and the doctor had declared him well. The army would want him back.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not fit for the front, but I’m still useful to them, I think.”
“I hope you don’t go.” I embraced him, holding tight. Emil held me back and kissed the top of my head.
“I’m not gone, yet.” Emil lifted my chin. “Let’s not worry about tomorrow, okay?”