The Children's War

by Stroyar, J. N.

  Together Peter and Zosia made their way on foot the mile or so to the Vogels’ house. Even though they carried papers appropriate to being out late at night, they avoided the patrols, dodging into the darkness like cat burglars to avoid detection. The house was as it had always been, and it was easy to enter quietly— he knew all the tricks to the old place. They entered through the back and stood silently in the kitchen, listening to see if they had been detected. Zosia looked around, entranced, as she was finally able to put Peter’s stories into a context. She tugged at his sleeve. “Show me the cellar,” she whispered.

  He agreed to the diversion and gave her a brief tour, even indicating where Karl had bound him to the overhead pipes. “I’ll spare showing you the shovel in the garden shed,” he joked quietly as Zosia looked up at the pipes, then down at the floor where the sweat and blood must have pooled. It all looked so ordinary! They returned to the ground floor, and he silently pointed out the piano, the sitting room furniture, Karl’s walking stick in its stand. Nothing had changed.

  Zosia shook her head; somehow, the physical reality of the cozy suburban house made the horror of his experiences seem less, rather than more, believable. It all looked so normal! Sheepishly, she confessed this thought to him, whispering it into his ear.

  “I know,” he whispered in reply, “that’s what made it all so difficult.”

  As she took it all in, he left to disconnect the phone and unlock the doors. She walked along the hallway, ran her fingers over the wallpaper, the pretty floral print that could hide a multitude of sins. She turned and saw a small table; on the top was a cigarette box and a lighter, on the other shelves were sparklingclean glass figurines. Even in a room of pretty floral wallpaper and delicate glass figurines . . .

  They climbed the stairs silently to the first floor and found the child’s room. They checked in on Magdalena, saw her sleeping soundly in a crib on her own. Zosia began sorting through the items in the room, packing anything that looked useful or might be special to the child. Peter left her to go check the rest of the house and looked to see if anyone was prowling around in a fit of sleeplessness. The children were sound asleep in their beds; the door to the attic was ajar. He peered in and saw a human form huddled under rags in a corner. He blinked into the darkness for a long moment, then resolutely turned his back on his unknown comrade and returned to Zosia.

  She finished gathering the child’s possessions, set the bag down in the child’s room, and together they went out into the hall and over to the master bedroom door.

  “I’ll cover you,” she whispered. “Good luck.”

  He kissed her and pressed on the door handle. It gave way and he slipped intothe room. Both Karl and Elspeth were asleep. Peter watched them in silence for a moment, then he quietly cleared his throat.

  “Who’s there?” Elspeth’s nervous voice asked into the darkness.

  “Hello, Elspeth,” Peter replied softly.

  “Who is that?” She sounded as if she recognized his voice but would not believe it.

  “Have you forgotten me so soon?”

  “Peter?” There was complexity in the tone: fear, reproach, passion.

  “Who else?”

  “What are you doing here?” She sounded terrified but still she whispered; she was more afraid of waking Karl than of what Peter might do.

  He could see she was sitting bolt upright in bed. He went and sat on the edge of Karl’s side of the bed, his back against the headboard, his left side toward Elspeth with Karl in between them. He did not bother to point his gun at her or at Karl, just let it rest casually in his right hand on his lap. Karl snored away, clearly at ease with the world and his conscience. Peter casually brought his legs up onto the bed and crossed one over the other. He leaned his head back against the headboard as if resting after a long day’s work. Even in the dim light he could tell the ceiling was still smoke-stained, still not scrubbed clean. The eagle, its talons wrapped around the swastika, still hovered over the bed.

  “What do you want? Why are you addressing me familiarly? I haven’t given you permission! Why are you doing that? What are you doing here?” Elspeth demanded in rapid succession.

  “Oh, I just came to say hello to my old mistress.” With his left hand Peter reached over Karl’s prone form toward Elspeth. She tensed as if expecting him to hit her, but she did not pull away. He pushed a loose strand of her hair back into her night braid. It still felt like steel wool.

  “Did you think I would hit you the way you hit me?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what to think. The way you abandoned me! After all I did for you!”

  “Abandoned,” he laughed. “Abandoned. Heh. Now there’s a discussion point! But I’m afraid I don’t have time to chat. I’m here to do you a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your husband has made a mess of things at work, hasn’t he?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied cautiously.

  “Yes, you do. You’re aware that he’s in trouble, but you’re probably not aware quite how deeply. He’s a dead man. If they don’t leave a pistol on his desk soon, they’ll just arrest him for something. In any case, you’ll be a disgraced widow. Impoverished.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Abandoned,” Peter repeated, and laughed again. “God, what a world you must live in! Anyway, I’m going to save you from all that.”

  “Save me?”

  “Yes. I’m going to kill him for you. He’ll be murdered by a disgruntled exslave; he’ll be a martyr and you’ll get to keep his pensions and honors and probably even the house and slave.”

  Elspeth studied him as if considering the implications. As she determined that he was serious, her expression altered and she weighed the consequences of his planned actions. Then she came to a decision. It was clear from her mien that she had decided to accept his offer and provide whatever assistance was necessary, but she was careful; first she asked, “Why would you do this for me?”

  “Because of my undying love for you,” he lied convincingly, then after a brief pause, he added, “And . . .”

  She had expected that. “And what else?”

  “My daughter. I’m taking her with me.”

  Again she hesitated. He could see her weighing his words and her own reaction: as a matter of form, she should argue for Magdalena—it would appear unmotherly not to do so, and she could gain some extra influence over him if he felt he were tearing her daughter away from her. Perhaps she should indulge in a bit of crying? But then again, there really was no time to fool around. He was right, Karl was already as good as dead, and she had to look to her future and her other children’s futures. If she was to be a widow, a baby could be a burden, an impediment to a good marriage. And the sympathy factor after a kidnap could be enormous! He counted down mentally and reached one just as she compromised, “Will you give her a good home?”

  “She’ll be loved.”

  Elspeth nodded. “You always were kind to the children.” She then added, almost as an admission,“No matter what we did to you.”

  He did not reply to that.

  “Where will you take her?”

  “Away from here. Overseas.”

  “All right, but promise me you’ll tell her about me.”

  “I will,” he replied without hesitation. He felt no compulsion at all to examine whether he was telling the truth. He would do what was best for Magdalena, independent of promises made to Elspeth.

  “Do you dream of me?”

  “Yes,” he answered truthfully, choosing not to elaborate.

  “Do you remember that night in Dresden?”

  “Yes. I remember it well.”

  “I watched you sleep that night. I woke up in the middle of the night and sat up and just watched you sleep.”

  He smiled slightly. “I didn’t know that.” He wondered what else he was supposed to do with the information. Was it to show her kindness in contradistinction to the times she had kicked him awake
when he so desperately needed to sleep?

  “And do you remember that nice meal we had?”

  “Yes, steak.” He didn’t add that he also remembered the time she would not give him the old bread that was to be thrown to the ducks. Even if she remembered, she would not understand his point.

  “And the time we went to buy you some tea and a teacup?”

  “Yes, the day you hit me in the plaza, in front of all those people.”

  “Did I? Oh, yes, that’s right, you were so rude! I’m surprised you remember that,” Elspeth pouted.

  Peter realized he was straying from his plan and he amended his words accordingly. “Only because I felt so awful that I had offended you, my beautiful, merciful lady.”

  “So you still love me?”

  “Of course, until the end of time. But I can’t stay, I have to do this, then I must go.”

  “What am I going to say to the authorities?” she suddenly fretted. “I’ll have to turn you in for my husband’s murder. They’ll hunt you down!”

  “They’re hunting me anyway. Their plans for me are sufficiently gruesome that there’s nothing I can do that will make it worse.”

  “But you might betray me!”

  “No, I won’t. They wouldn’t even ask about you. They’ll be relieved to have him out of their hair. I’m doing them a favor as well.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Frau Schindler.” He winked at her. “But don’t tell anyone.”

  “But . . . but how can I explain your taking Magdalena? I can’t tell them she’s your daughter!”

  “No, but you can tell them that I said, ‘An eye for an eye, a daughter for a daughter.’ They’ll understand.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, unsatisfied with the quote.

  “They’ll understand.”

  “But I don’t! What do you mean?”

  He cocked his head to the side to study her. She was telling the truth—she didn’t know. He considered a moment, then explained, “They murdered my daughter.”

  “What?”

  “To punish me for speaking out, as I did in America, they took my five-yearoldadopted daughter and they strangled her in front of me.”

  “No!” Elspeth hissed her denial.

  “Yes,” he asserted quietly.

  “They wouldn’t do that! Not to a child!”

  “Oh, grow up!” he snapped. “Listen to your mother! Listen to your conscience! You’ve tied yourself in with a bunch of murderous thugs. What’s one five-year-old to them?”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Ask him”—he nodded toward Karl—“he knows.”

  “What? How would he know?”

  “Just ask. It doesn’t matter what he hears since I’m going to kill him anyway.”

  Elspeth stared at Karl for a moment, utterly terrified at the thought of him waking up.

  Peter decided to assist her and poked the gun into Karl’s ribs.“Hey, you, wake up, sleepy.”

  “Hunh?” Karl tried to turn over. Elspeth waved her hands frantically for Peter to stop.

  Peter jabbed Karl again. That didn’t work, so he smacked him across the face. “I said, wake up, you fat moron!”

  Karl jumped up onto his elbows. “What? What?” He turned to see Peter staringat him and his mouth dropped open. Despite his confusion, he had obviously noticed the gun.

  “So you still recognize me? Even with brown hair? Even without my uniform?”

  “You again! What are you doing here? Elspeth?” he snarled, looking to his wife for an explanation.

  “Did you kill his daughter?” Elspeth asked immediately.

  “Me? His daughter? No. No, I had nothing to do with it.” Karl turned back toward Peter.“Honest, it wasn’t my doing. I had nothing to do with that.”

  “So you knew about it,” Elspeth concluded.

  “Well, yes, but I didn’t do it.”

  “I know,” Peter assured him quietly.

  “How did you know about it?” Elspeth insisted. “There was a videotape,” Karl explained, wondering why Peter was being more understanding than his wife. His situation was beginning to sink in.

  “They taped the murder of a child?” Elspeth asked, aghast.

  “No, no, no. Just his reaction,” Karl tried to reassure her. Somehow though she seemed even more appalled. “And you watched it?”

  “Yeah, it was good for a la—” Karl realized his mistake. He looked at the gun Peter held and pleaded, “I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!”

  “I know,” Peter repeated with such calm disinterest that it was not reassuring.

  Karl stared trembling and sweating at the gun Peter held so indifferently. Elspeth’s face was like a stone. She looked at her husband as if judging all their years together: the uncontrolled rages, the way he had pummeled his sons, the brutal punishments he had meted out to the servants, the unending tension he had caused. “For laughs” he had watched a videotape of a child being murdered, he had reveled in the torture and deaths of prisoners in his charge, he had chosen to follow in his father’s footsteps, knowing exactly what it meant.

  “I’ll tell them what you said,” she told Peter.

  Peter smiled enigmatically. He had never intended to get Elspeth’s permission, and her consent was irrelevant to his intentions, but still it amused him.

  Karl looked from one to the other in confused terror and growing anger.

  Were they conspiring against him? His automatic mode of dealing with either of them was to issue commands, and without that option he was left helpless. Rage began to well up inside him, but then his eyes were drawn again to that gun sitting there. He was the master here! He was an Übermensch! The one was his wife, the other his chattel, but still he could not take his eyes off that gun. The natural order was disturbed, but he could not find the courage to demand the obedience and respect that was his due.

  While Karl stared entranced at the gun, Peter reached into his jacket and removed his stiletto. He held it discreetly out of sight and whispered into Karl’s ear, “By the way, do you remember Julia Hoffmeier? Her son sends his greetings.”

  Karl snapped his head away from the gun to look in horror at Peter. Karl was whiter than his sheets.“How, how . . . ?”

  “Don’t worry, old boy, I won’t give your secret away.” Peter casually swung his left arm around as if in a friendly gesture to give Karl a hug. The stiletto disappeared into Karl’s fleshy neck even as he began to wonder at Peter’s chumminess. He burbled incoherently and collapsed forward.

  “Oh, dear,” Elspeth muttered, looking at her dead husband.

  Peter’s hand was still on the knife and it was still deep in Karl’s brain. He spent a moment in quiet admiration of the neat job he had done, then twisted the knife and sliced downward to make the opening bigger, more jagged, and less expert. Although it did not really matter given Elspeth’s future testimony, there was no point in letting them see he was professionally trained. A coroner who really cared might work it out anyway, but he doubted the coroner would care or would be allowed to care.

  He removed the knife, wiped the blade, and put it back into its scabbard inside his jacket. He grabbed a bit of Karl’s hair and pulled him back until he was lying flat again. He looked sort of peaceful there albeit a bit surprised. Peter closed Karl’s eyes and held them in place; then to be sure, he felt for a pulse at the neck. There was none, Karl was dead. It was that bloody simple. All those years and here the bastard was, a tiny stain of blood on his silk pajamas, dead. Peter missed the opportunity to have pummeled him a bit, to have inflicted just a taste of his own medicine, but Peter had promised himself he would do it professionally and as dispassionately as possible, and he congratulated himself on his success.

  Other than that, though, he felt nothing: no thrill, no pleasure. The skies did not open up for him, his soul was not suddenly calmed. There was no great release from the burden of his past. As he looked at the body, Katerina’s words of long ago returned to him:
Unjustly condemned, you are innocent of any blood in a time when innocence is in itself guilt. You will know no peace until you accept the guilt of war. You cannot stand idly by. She was right, he thought, he could not stand idly by any longer, but she was also wrong, for even accepting the guilt of killing had provided him no solace. There was no peace in his land, and until there was, there was no peace to be had.

  “Oh, dear,” Elspeth repeated. “What should I do?”

  “Wait about an hour, then call the police. Tell them it happened some indeterminate time ago, perhaps half an hour, and that you were too stunned and afraid to move. Say that I threatened that I would kill you if you moved.”

  “You’d never do that!” Elspeth admonished.

  “You can say I said it,” he assured her as he stood up. He had already disconnected the phone to slow Elspeth down a bit, but he saw no reason to tell her that. “Make it simple: you woke up, saw me, wanted to scream, but I threatened you. I killed your husband, told you ‘an eye for an eye, a daughter for a daughter,’ and then after telling you not to move, I left. Got that?”

  She nodded.

  “Repeat it to me. Everything that happened.” She did and, at his orders, repeated it several times and answered his questions.

  From his point of view, it really did not matter what she said as long as it was clear he was driven by personal motives, but for the children, it was necessary that she not betray her collusion. Once he was satisfied that she knew what to do, he went over to her side of the bed and sat down by her. “Don’t worry,” he assured her, stroking back her loose hairs, “you’ll do fine.” He held her chin gently cupped in his hands and, turning her face upward, kissed her full on the lips.

  As he walked toward the door, she stared after him in bewilderment.

  At the door he stopped to say, “Remember, Elspeth, I’m already wanted. There’s absolutely nothing more they can do to me so don’t try to protect me, it will only get you arrested.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t. I’ll do exactly as you said.”

  “Exactly?”

  She nodded.

  He blew her a kiss and turned to leave. “Peter?” Her voice quaked with emotion.