The Children's War

by Stroyar, J. N.

  “Don’t tell anyone about what I’ve said here,” he pleaded.

  “Why not?” she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.

  “I don’t have time to explain now. Just don’t.” He paused, then added, “Please. At least, not yet, okay?”

  “All right,” Ulrike agreed reluctantly.

  “Your word?”

  “You have my word.”

  He winked at her and left.

  “What took you so long?” Elspeth asked as he entered the sitting room.

  “Sorry, gnädige Frau. Your wishes?” he replied without answering her question. It sufficed. Tossing the keys to the liquor cabinet in his direction, she commanded him to pour them some brandy and so he did.

  Over the weeks his conversations with Ulrike continued, and he covered a range of topics from a perspective she had not even guessed existed. He never got around to explaining why she should keep it all secret, and she did not bother to ask again—it slowly became apparent to her that his worldview could be considered dangerous. Certainly it brought the natural social order into question, and because of that, one evening, she shifted the conversation to a more personal level.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re supposed to be a criminal—that’s what your uniform says. What did you do?”

  He smiled. What hadn’t he done? In Nazi society, it was so easy to run afoul of the law. But she seriously expected an answer, so he explained, “In England, there is a requirement for all men to serve the Reich.”

  “Oh, yes, we have that, too. Two years’ military service for men, or four years’ nonmilitary service. Of course, everyone chooses the military. For women— there is two years’ civic service when they’re eighteen. That is, if they’re not married. Many girls get married then, but I won’t! Not for that reason!”

  “Well, in England, it’s six years, usually abroad, and definitely not military.”

  “Why not?”

  Could she really be so naive? Or was she joking?

  “I don’t think they trust us with weapons,” he responded dryly. This was not exactly true, for there were prisoner battalions scattered across the various fronts. There were also, of course, the collaborators, who saw the military as their best hope of career advancement and redemption from an unfortunate choice of parentage, but such details would complicate the matter unnecessarily, and in general, the choice of two years in the military was not an option.

  “So?” she asked.

  “So?”

  “What about you? You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Ah, yes, well, I was doing my time in a camp and one day we got a new commander, who was a sadist. Do you know what that means?”

  She nodded.

  He wondered if she really did.“He took a particular dislike to me.”

  “Did he mistreat you?”

  “Yes, you could say that.”

  “Didn’t you tell the authorities?”

  “No,” he sighed.“He was the authority.”

  She looked blank.

  “Trust me. There was no one I could tell.”

  She stared at him, unbelieving.

  “Poor little sweet Ulrike. There are things in this world about which you have no idea. Haven’t you been listening to all I’ve said? It’s not abstract history—it’s what is really happening to people. Believe me, I had no one to turn to. The only way to avoid his . . . to avoid his”—he paused, painfully aware that memories were in danger of flooding back—“to avoid him was to leave. So, I escaped. I fled the camp and the country.”

  Ulrike stared at him, fascinated. “What happened then?”

  “Then I was captured and . . .” Again he struggled to suppress images of horrifying darkness; a suffocating tightness threatened to strangle his words. “I was brought back.”

  “And then?”

  The room grew unfocused as he stared into his past. “Then, I was brutally tortured for months.” He licked his lips, his eyes remained fixed on a distant point. “And then released so I could work, as I do here.”

  “But what was your crime?”

  He brought his gaze back to Ulrike’s face. “That was it. I wanted to be free. I didn’t want to be mistreated.”

  “I think you should have told the authorities. I’m sure they would have handled it.”

  “Perhaps. It didn’t seem possible at the time. Maybe I made a mistake.”

  “But imagine! An officer of the Reich mistreating people! It’s hard to believe. Are you sure you didn’t give him cause?”

  “I don’t think so,” he sighed.

  On the following evening he was kept busy and did not have time to talk when he brought her evening drink. She wanted to say something, but she did not know what. As he set her drink down, his face betrayed no emotion. He left before she had a chance even to try to express herself.

  She stared after him. He had looked tired. How did they manage to keep him so busy? When did he eat? Or sleep? She knew he was up early in the morning; sometimes she heard him moving about as she lay warm and comfortable in her bed, and he stayed up until the last person was in bed, sometimes longer—she had heard him late at night finishing whatever job was still unfinished. Did he have any time to himself?

  She felt a sudden cold chill. Why had she never asked herself these questionsbefore? If he were not a lesser being, if he were just like she was . . . The thought made her uncomfortable. She sipped her cocoa, turned her attention back to her schoolwork, but that night, as she lay in bed, her thoughts returned to him. To the hollowness of his expression sometimes. What did life mean to him? Would he live with them until he died? What would his old age be like? Would they take care of him if he became ill? Would he never have a life of his own? Or a family? What if he had aspirations? Had he really done something so evil that he could never have a life of his own?

  Or were some people truly destined at birth to always serve, to never, ever have anything else in their future? If so, couldn’t they, shouldn’t they, make him part of the family? Acknowledge his feelings? But even Ulrike knew that his feelings were that he wanted to leave, to be anywhere else but in their control. What should be done about that? Was it moral to keep him there? She felt her thoughts were driving her into a trap, and subconsciously she searched for a way out.

  She turned over in bed and rearranged her pillow—somehow it had suddenly gotten-lumpy. After a few pounds, she found it still did not feel right. She got up and paced the room a bit. She went to the window and listened to the cold rain drumming softly against the pane. She felt chilled and the bed beckoned. She crawled back in and tried to snuggle under the covers, but after a while she felt driven to get up again.

  Quietly she pulled on her robe and slipped out into the hallway. Her parents’ door was closed—they would be asleep by now. She slid past their door and up the stairs. The door to the attic was open; that surprised her, but then she realized that he would leave it open since it would be warmer that way. Oh, if only her parents knew, they would be furious at the wasted heat! Her intention never to tell them made her feel like a conspirator.

  She hesitated, then plunged into the darkness. Even the coolness of the hallway felt warm compared to the chill inside the attic room. She stood for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dark, and after a moment she spotted him against the wall amid a bundle of old, worn blankets and rags. Really! Couldn’t they even afford a mattress?

  She went up to him, found his shoulder buried among the rags. She was taken aback to feel bare flesh, wondered why he did not wear clothes to keep warm, but then realized he probably did not want to wear the same clothes day and night if he could avoid it. Somehow, the feel of his warm, bare skin excited her in a way she had not expected. His shoulder felt hard and muscular; she wondered what the rest of his body felt like. She suppressed an urge to find out and instead shook his shoulder lightly.

  “Peter,” she whispered.r />
  He groaned and murmured, “Allie?”

  Ulli. He had called her by a nickname. So gently! And in his sleep! What could it mean? She struggled to restrain her excitement.A little squeak escaped her lips anyway.

  “Peter!” A little louder this time.

  He tried to turn, mumbled, “Allie,” again. Suddenly he awoke, looked at her blearily.

  “Ulrike.” His voice was completely devoid of emotion. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “Asleep.”

  “Oh, Ulrike, go back downstairs. Now.”

  “But I just want to know some things.”

  “Please leave. If your parents find you here now, they’ll be furious. They’ll send me to a concentration camp. Please, Ulrike. Please leave. Quietly.”

  She felt slighted. Is that all he could think about? She hadn’t meant to seduce him, the thought had not even crossed her mind, but she was only wearing a robe and her nightgown, and she was not unattractive! Certainly he should have noticed! He should have hesitated, looked at her longingly, stroked her arm, and then . . . She let the daydream slip away. It was stupid of her to have come into the attic, but then again, he had called out her name in his sleep!

  He was staring at her. “Please leave, we can talk tomorrow,” he insisted, then added quietly, “It’s worth my life.”

  “Just tell me one thing, and I’ll go,” she bargained. Maybe he was different: surely a German man would never have been so indifferent to her! Or maybe she wasn’t attractive. Either way, she felt irritated with him.

  “What?”

  “Do you have a family? Back in England, I mean?”

  “No. None.”

  “How can that be? Everybody has family!”

  “That’s just the way it is. Now will you please go back to bed before your parents catch you up here? We can talk tomorrow. I’ll find time. I promise.”

  “Oh, all right.” She squeezed his shoulder slightly, she had held it the entire time, then she let go and left the room.

  He stared after her, an ache in his heart. He hadn’t failed to notice that she was indeed quite pretty, that she was nearly a woman. It had added a measure of desperation to his pleas for her to leave. But that was not why his heart ached. She was too young, too naive, too dangerous to be appealing to him. No, his heart ached because of her question, and because he knew he had hurt her feelings. And because of her touch. When was the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness?

  46

  NEVER MIND WHEN HE had last been touched gently, when the hell had he last heard a civil word? Elspeth had been snapping at him all day and now this! He stared morosely and shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other,watching the glasses to see when they were emptied. He thought of the conversation he had promised Ulrike as he saw Frau Schindler’s mouth moving rapidly with her yapping complaints. Elspeth finished her drink and he moved quickly to refill her glass, topping up everyone else’s as he did so. He returned to his position near the door and waited. The Schindlers had hardly been in the house twenty minutes, but already the visit seemed interminable. He chewed on nothing, his mouth working mindlessly in search of food, but his dinner was in the kitchen, abandoned at the sound of the doorbell, growing cold. Karl motioned for a cigarette. Peter lit one for Karl and for Herr Schindler as well.

  Again he returned to his square foot by the door. If only he could talk to someone! Anything to relieve the monotony! He breathed out, trying to calm his growing anger. They were talking about him now, as if he weren’t even there, as if he could not understand. To an extent, they were right. He did not care what they had to say, and he listened only enough to recognize a commanding tone.

  “Your boy looks uncomfortable, is something wrong with him?” Frau Schindler asked snidely.

  “Nothing is wrong with him,” Elspeth retorted, then pointedly asked, “Do you want something?”

  It took a moment for him to realize she was talking to him, but he immediately decided to grab the opportunity her question presented and answered,“Yes, gnädige Frau. There’s some work upstairs I’d like to finish. I’ll still be within earshot.”

  “You’ll do it later,” Elspeth snapped in reply.

  He had to take a deep breath before he could bring himself to answer, “Yes, gnädige Frau.”

  Later, after he had helped the guests into their coats, Herr Schindler wagged a finger in his face and admonished, “I hope you realize how lenient your master is, boy. If you were in my household, I’d teach you a thing or two.”

  Though he knew he shouldn’t, Peter looked at him, wondering what it was that made some people act so stupidly.

  Herr Schindler tilted his head mockingly, “Did you hear me, boy? Are you deaf or stupid?” He turned his attention toward Karl, who was standing beside Peter. “Probably both,” Herr Schindler joked. “Give him to me for a few weeks, and I’ll beat some sense into him.”

  Peter decided to stop looking at him, preferring to view the floor rather than his stupid face.

  “There’s no need for that,” Karl returned, distinctly offended. “I can take care of my own.”

  Laughing his usual loud, boorish laugh, Herr Schindler clapped Karl patronizingly on the shoulder. “Of course! Of course! No offense intended!”

  Karl grinned in reply as his guests made their way out, all laughter and smiles. Peter raised his eyes from the floor to stare dismally after them, thinking there had to be a special place in hell for such people.

  It was not very late, but there was still a mess to be cleaned. After everythinghad been cleared up, Peter sat on the kitchen step stool, staring out the window into the night, holding his plate in his hand, chewing his cold dinner. He wondered if he had enough energy to talk to Ulrike, as he had promised, as well as slip out late at night to make a meeting, as he had also promised.

  Elspeth surprised him by coming into the kitchen. He leapt to his feet.

  “You’re not supposed to sit there,” she stated.

  “My apologies, gnä’ Frau.”

  “And what are you doing eating up here? This is our kitchen—not your dining-room!”

  She knew he frequently brought his food upstairs, and he was therefore quite taken aback by her question. All he could manage to do was to swallow his food and utter his formulaic “Forgive me, gnädige Frau.”

  She shook her head angrily. “That won’t do this time! You made a fool out of me in front of the Schindlers! Where the hell did you get it into your head to act like that in front of them!”

  “My apologies, gnädige Frau.” He knew that would not placate her, so he quickly added, “I didn’t realize I was behaving inappropriately.”

  “You didn’t realize?” Her voice grew loud and she repeated in disbelief, “You didn’t realize!” She shook with anger. “I put up with far too much from you, boy, and now you’ve made me look foolish in front of my guests! Well, it’s going to stop, do you understand?”

  “Yes, gnädige Frau.” He was not sure what line he had crossed, but it was clear Elspeth was furious. He set down his food in preparation for her next action, yet she made no move to strike him.

  She simply stood quaking with rage. Then, as if she had reached some sort of decision, she said much more quietly, “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “I said, get out!”

  He shook his head, perplexed. Should he leave the kitchen? Was that what she wanted?

  Elspeth quietly clarified, “If you can’t follow the rules of my house, then you can just leave.” She pointed toward the back door.

  He turned to follow her gesture, then he looked back at her in utter disbelief. “What?” he stammered again.

  “You heard me, get out!”

  “Frau Vogel, I can’t leave.” He saw she looked unconvinced, so he added, “It’s illegal!”

  She grabbed his arm and pu
lled him toward the door. “Get out.”

  “Where am I supposed to go?”

  “You should have thought of that earlier. Out!”

  “It’s not permitted!”

  “That’s not my problem. If you want to enjoy our hospitality, you will abideby the rules of this house, and you will behave respectfully at all times, especially in front of my guests!”

  “Yes, gnädige Frau. Of course, gnädige Frau,” he agreed readily. He had let her pull him as far as the door, but he stopped short of opening it. Surely, she had made her point.

  “No. That’s just not going to do this time. Now get out!” She unbolted the lock and opened the door.

  “Gnädige, please don’t do this.” Cold, damp air drifted in.

  “I’ve had enough already. Out!”

  “Gnädigste, I said I was sorry. Surely—”

  “I’m sick of your apologies. Now, out!” She pointed out into the night.

  He stared out at the freezing drizzle. The orange security lights reflected off the mists with an eerie glow. Reluctantly, he reached for his jacket and documentation.

  “Leave those,” she said with cold determination. “They don’t belong to you.”

  His eyes narrowed with a look of disgust, as though she, too, had crossed some line, but he did not take the items and instead stepped outside without further protest. He stood still, staring straight out into the yard, as the door snapped shut behind him and the bolt was thrown.

  There was no awning over the door and the eaves were insufficient to shield him from the icy drizzle. He crossed his arms in defense against the cold, but otherwise he stood unmoving, staring sightlessly out into the yard. He felt she was watching him, and he did not want to give her the satisfaction of his reactions.

  Eventually though, the cold and the rain grew to be too much, and he began to try to warm himself, breathing on his hands and pacing back and forth. He thought about going back inside, but he could never let Elspeth know how easy it was for him to overcome her locks. No, as long as she knew he was outside, he had to remain outside.

  He continued to pace back and forth, swearing quietly under his breath, tryingto keep warm. The wind picked up and slammed the tiny crystals of ice into his cheeks with a stinging ferocity. His hair grew heavy, and he shook his head periodically to remove the accumulated ice. The sleet landed on his clothes, formed a thin crust, which then melted with his body’s heat and soaked in until he was completely drenched. Cold water dripped down his face like tears. He thought about just walking somewhere, anywhere, but he knew she could reappear at any moment, and if he was gone, then there would be hell to pay.