by Kip Wilson
until further notice
that the strength of the National Labor Service
is prescribed to be
200,000 men.
The Führer and Reich Chancellor
Adolf Hitler
OUR PARENTS
Vati disapproves of
the service decree like
he disapproves of
everything else
this regime
does.
Mutti
presses her lips
together, shakes
her head, does the
only thing she can: prays.
1937
Leaving Home
Hans stands
frozen,
surrounded by so many boys brushing
past us, so many bags heaved
up the steps, so much
enthusiasm
energy
testosterone
that the rest of my family and I step
back, blend
into the brick wall with
other well-wishers, lift
our hands in goodbye
as Hans boards
the train bound for Göppingen
for Reichsarbeitsdienst—
national labor service.
I picture my brother’s circle of
admiring friends
here in Ulm, hope
his natural charisma will
attract new ones wherever
he goes,
no matter
the circumstances.
One last distracted look
over the crowd, and
Hans’s smile breaks
through his cloud of hesitation
before he moves
forward
leaving life with us
behind.
POETRY AND PROSE
Letter from Hans, October 1937
Dear family,
The duties here are monotonous,
the days long.
At least in the evenings, a respite
from the ominous thrumming
that comes with the buildup
of so many young men.
We sit around the big table
in the barracks and read, read, read.
I’ve just finished an exciting novel
by Knittel,
but I’ll have to wait
to read Stefan George
until I have the
solitude I so badly need
to let his words
sink in.
CHRISTENING
We’ve lived
on Olgastraße in
Ulm for a few years now,
in a rented flat
in a lovely building
owned by Jakob Guggenheimer,
a Jewish businessman.
Peppered with
homes, churches, shops,
Olgastraße is
an immense serpent circling
the center of the
city, which means it’s
important enough to get
a new name
this year.
They tear
down the old signs, raise
the new ones pronouncing
it as
Adolf-Hitler-Ring
outside our very doorstep,
despite the fact that our building
houses
several Jewish families
including the Guggenheimers,
the Einsteins.
The Führer makes
no secret of how
much he despises
the Jews, but for our
neighbors to see
this clear sign when they step
outside each morning must
be a baton to the back.
We non-Jews are meant to celebrate
the new name, but this feels
more like a
funeral than a
birth.
RIPPLES
The signs begin
to appear like
mushrooms after a rain.
On the Stuttgarterstraße bridge:
Juden in Ulm nicht erwünscht!
(Jews not wanted in Ulm!)
On park benches:
Nur für Arier
(Only for Aryans)
On Jewish storefronts:
Hier kauft kein Deutscher
(Germans don’t shop here)
As if Jews
aren’t people like us
at all.
DANCE PARTNERS
Some girls I know take
dancing lessons, curl
their hair, paint
their lips as red
as the flag.
Not me.
My short-as-a-boy’s hair flops
over my eyes as I feel
this music, razzle
this jazzy beat, shaking
my hips as I move
across the floor toward him
and the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen.
Everyone else admires
those who know
how to foxtrot
how to waltz
how to tango
but Fritz—
this boy, a
freshly minted officer—
seems instead entranced
by strange, ridiculous
me.
ROUNDED UP
Thud, thud, thud.
It’s them: the Gestapo.
A blur of black boots and
uniforms sweeps inside, searches
our home, their presence pressing
us against the walls with
no escape.
Boom-boom,
boom-boom.
Vati stands strong as a
fortress, distracting
them while Mutti secrets
away incriminating
books by banned authors—
Heinrich Heine
Stefan Zweig
Thomas Mann—
but the officers are still
suspicious, and they herd
Inge and Werner out the door.
Boom-boom,
boom-boom.
My sister, my brother, scrunched
together in the back of the patrol car,
heads turned toward
home as they’re carted
away, away, away.
Boom-boom,
boom-boom.
Boom-boom,
boom-boom.
AFTERMATH
We soon learn there’s been
an enormous wave
of arrests throughout Germany
of hundreds of teenagers
including Hans, on his military base
all of them accused
of getting together
in youth groups other than
the Hitlerjugend
singing banned songs
reading banned books
things we do
because
ideas
cannot
be
banned.
Everyone knows
the Hitlerjugend
is the only legal
youth organization in
Germany,
just like everyone knows
the National Socialist Party
is the only legal
political party in
Germany,
but we never expected
our own to get
caught in this trap.
When they ask
me at school if
I’m embarrassed about
my brother’s arrest,
my face flames,
not with embarrassment
but with indignation.
A WALK IN THE WOODS
It’s a good day to disappear
into nature, to become
one with
the trees
the hills
the sky.
I wouldn’t mind slippin
g
away all by myself, but when
Fritz stops by—
home for the weekend from
his first command—
Liesl and I can’t tumble out after
him quickly enough.
We amble away
from the city, away
from all angst, into
the heart of a fairy-tale
forest that reminds
me how very
lucky
we are to live
and breathe
on this great Earth
flourishing
with wonder.
GUILTY
Letter from Hans, December 1937
Dear family,
Danke, Vati,
for coming
to visit me.
I’m so sorry
you have to endure a child in prison,
so sorry
to have brought this
suffering to the family.
But I am who I am and I promise you:
I’ll make everything good again.
TRUTH AND LIES
After whirlwind weeks of
arrests
accusations
realizations
lies begin to settle on the ground
while the truth rises, high
and bright and undeniable.
First Inge, then Werner:
released
cleared
not
guilty.
But Hans still sits
in prison, can’t
even come home, though
it’s almost Christmas. I send
him a gift, they refuse
to let him have it.
I want to zoom
across the miles, slap
the warden, rescue
my brother from
this trap.
At home, secret
glances between
Mutti and Vati make
me wonder if there’s
something
they’re not telling me,
but everything pales
in comparison to
the injustice of
my brother locked
away, and I’m left
with the same indignation,
bubbling
blistering
burning
inside.
BADLY NEEDED ESCAPE
The next time I see
Fritz, winter accompanies
him, coating
the hills with
fresh powder, sending
us indoors, down to a
smoky
buzzing
room
humming with accordion
music and
wine and
song, and Fritz and
I are dancing so
close that a
circle forms
around us, staring
at the two of us,
lost
in each other.
1938
Waiting
Hans is finally released
back to his unit
while awaiting
his court date.
I’m positive
they’ll find him
not guilty
when the time comes.
Until then, I wait,
pacing, fists
clenched, mind
racing.
PEN PALS
Letter to Fritz, April 1938
Dear Fritz,
The best thing about
faraway friends is
the letters you can
exchange, but still,
visits
are better.
If you’re not coming
home to Ulm this
weekend, then write to
me and let
me know, would you?
Sometimes I imagine
flying over the
woods
trees
hills
from me in Ulm to
you in Augsburg.
Is it the same for you?
If it is, take the
time right now—
you can,
you’re a lieutenant—
and
write
me
back.
THE VERDICT
Acquitted
of
all
charges!
My parents don’t share
any details, but I don’t care
because Hans is free—
as he should be.
Still, I won’t forget
how my brother was
treated.
I pay close attention to
Vati when he calls
the Führer a wolf, ready
to devour our
country whole.
A SURPRISE VISIT
Fritz comes to Ulm
when he can, but I’m too
impatient
bored
reckless
and decide
to sneak off with
my friend Lisa
to visit him on
his base in Augsburg.
The look of surprise
on his face that evening
when he sees
the two of us is
worth all the effort—
until the reality of
nightfall hits
and we admit we have
nowhere to sleep.
I know
he won’t leave
us out on the street,
and he doesn’t, smuggling
us to his room, matching
my boldness with a share of
his own.
But once there, I can’t help but think
how my brother was arrested
on a base just like this, and
the injustice of it all rises
up in me once more, driving
a thick wedge in my
mind between
us Scholls
and
them.
THE NORTH
A summer trip up
north with
Inge
Werner
my friends Annelies
and Lisa
means
adventure
over the
swelling waves
and chilling breeze of the
North Sea
inspiration
among the artists at the
colony at Worpswede
escape
from the once overwhelming
civilization of Ulm, now
eroding
at its very
foundation with
soft music turned harsh
beloved books burned
true art marked degenerate,
all hints that a terrible future
presses close,
and I fling myself
into nature,
the trees
so immense
and me
so very small.
SNAPSHOTS
Fritz loves
the snapshot I send him
from our holiday,
writes back,
You should see me now.
I’ve grown a beard and
some say I look like a saint,
some a mutineer from the Bounty,
some Rasputin.
Fritz tells me
not to work too hard
on my return to
everyday life in Ulm,
but I already know
the idyll of
my childhood is
fading away, stomped
flat by something that feels
like doom.
ART CLASS
Back home, holidays over,
and the only thing that has any
appeal is art.
I’d like to become
an
artist, but anyone
who wants to do that
must become a fully
realized human being—
something that feels
out of reach
now.
I’ve got to
work on
myself.
SPILLING THE TRUTH
Letter to Fritz, August 1938
Dear Fritz,
I have to be
honest and
tell you
I can’t stay in this relationship as it is now.
I’m too
young
I’m not
ready.
I was so happy on
holiday away from home,
but now that I’m
back in Ulm, everything’s
heavy
dark
depressing.
I’m sure you know
what I mean.
DEUTSCHLAND ÜBER ALLES
Sometimes I stop, think, wonder.
It’s been five years since
Herr Hitler’s thundering rise
to power, and
in that time so much has
changed in our small city:
red flags draped
over offices, schools, homes
armed soldiers blocking entrance to
Jewish businesses
thick, hard dread
spilling over the streets
sharp as glass.
I shudder, ponder, frown.
What will the
next
five
years
bring?
THE END
FEBRUARY 18, 1943
My Brother
Hours later, with my head spinning