A Letter From Munich

by Meg Lelvis

  “She’s offering us coffee, tea, cakes, Jack. Want anything?”

  “How ‘bout whisky?” Sometimes it was an advantage when people didn’t understand English.

  Sherk groaned. “Afraid not. I’ll decline coffee for both of us.” He spoke to the woman, who nodded, chatted, and kept looking at Jack. She took a seat in an armchair close to Sherk and crossed her toothpick legs.

  Jack noticed her bony knees under beige cotton pants. A red blouse highlighted her rosy cheekbones and dark lipstick. Her pale blue doe-like eyes were wide-set like Uma Thurman’s. With her white blunt haircut, she was what his mother would call a well-preserved woman.

  She and Sherk continued their conversation, including more stares at Jack. Nothing like sitting there while people talked about him in German.

  Sherk turned to him. “She told us to call her ‘Renate,’ and said Ariana has lived in the memory care unit for about two years. She started declining quite a while ago, and Renate sees her almost every day. Ariana’s husband died almost fifteen years ago; they had one daughter who visits now and then.”

  Jack nodded as he shifted in his seat, hoping Renate would quit staring at him.

  “She remarked your eyes are familiar, but she can’t place where she’s seen you.” Sherk turned to Jack. “I told her you look like an American actor and lots of folks notice it, but she doesn’t know anybody like that.”

  “Does she get why we’re here?”

  “I’m gonna give her details now. I’ll show her the letter too.” Sherk leaned toward Renate and spoke. He removed the letter from his pocket and handed it to her. She reached for a pair of reading glasses on an end table and held the letter close to her face, reading her sister’s words from long ago. Sherk helped her with the English terms.

  She looked at Jack and gasped. Her right hand flew to her throat, eyes darting to the wall. After placing the letter on her lap, she removed her glasses and covered her eyes with her hands. She sniffled. “Mein Gott.”

  Sherk handed her a Kleenex. “Alles wird gut.”

  Renate took the tissue and dabbed her eyes. “Danke.” She and Sherk exchanged more words as she held the letter as if it were an injured bird.

  She stared at Jack, her blue eyes dinner plates.

  “Oh mein Gott! Du hast seine Augen.”

  Sherk said, “She believes you have his eyes. Talking about your father. Did you look like him?”

  Jack shrugged. “Hell, I dunno. I guess a little. Some people said us kids looked more like him than Ma.” Goosebumps tingled on his arms.

  Renate rose and stepped toward Jack, bending down as she eased herself between him and Sherk. She gently patted his cheeks and ears. Jack stiffened, but allowed her touch.

  She turned to Sherk, went on speaking. “Mein Gott. Du siehst aus wie dein Vater. Wie John. Ach—”

  “She keeps commenting you look like your dad,” said Sherk.

  Taken aback, Jack half-chuckled and nodded. Couldn’t come up with anything else to do but sit and wait until Sherk took a break in his conversation to translate what the hell was going on.

  After several minutes, Renate turned to Jack, leaned toward him, and kissed his cheek. He gave Sherk a helpless look. “How do I react?”

  “Do nothing, Jack. She knows why we’re here, and she and Ariana have always been close, including during the war. Renate got acquainted with your dad, and there’s a long story which she’ll save for another time.”

  “What about us meeting the Frau—Ariana?”

  Sherk adjusted his glasses. “It’s getting close to her dinner time. Renate usually joins her sister, so we can go along or wait till tomorrow morning. We’re allowed to visit, since we’re with Ariana’s sister. What do you want to do?”

  “As long as we’re here, I vote let’s go. We’re on a roll, and I’m anxious to see Ariana, uh Gunther is it?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell Renate we’ll meet her sister today. She’s totally oblivious to everything, so no need to tell her we’re coming. She wouldn’t comprehend it anyway.”

  Ten minutes later, after walking through several halls and an activity room where small, wrinkled men and women painted their little wooden sailboats, Jack determined Renate was in damn good shape for the ripe old age of eighty-four. His curiosity piqued. He asked Sherk what more she’d told him, but no new details were offered. Jack was puffing when at last they reached a room with a laminated picture of a bright bluebird on the door above a nameplate which read ‘Ariana Gunther’.

  “Hallo, Hallo, Ari.” Renate opened the door and peeked in. “Ach, ich—” she spoke as she walked into the room, motioning Jack and Sherk to follow.

  A nurse’s aide sat beside a silver-haired woman perched like a sparrow on the edge of her neatly-made bed. When she discerned Renate’s voice, she looked up, raised her eyebrows, twitched her mouth at the corners. She wore a lavender blouse with lightweight dark pants. Jack noted the sisters’ family resemblance, same wide-apart eyes, and although Ariana was three years older, she had an ageless, ethereal aura about her as if she guarded secrets of the universe. She held out a skeletal arm to Sherk, then to Jack. He bent closer. Her fine cheekbones and Cupid’s bow lips reminded him of an aging Ingrid Bergman. She must’ve been a beauty when his old man met her.

  The aide leaned close to Ariana, spoke to her softly, and left the room. Renate sat on the bed beside her sister, who continued to glance at her visitors, then her eyes stared straight ahead at nothing. Or everything.

  Sherk and Renate talked to one another, while Ariana remained expressionless. Jack perked up when Renate said, “John Bailey” amongst the plethora of guttural words. Ariana jerked her head to the side, then silence.

  The room was cheerful enough; one large space with a bath. No plants or objects adorned the small tables, but Jack noticed the same bluebird image attached on the door was repeated on a wall by a large window.

  “Renate will show her the letter later,” Sherk said, “even though it may not register. She’d like you to sit by Ariana, catch her eye, and say something, doesn’t matter what. See if she reacts to the sound of your voice.”

  Jack felt like a fool, but acquiesced. He took Renate’s place beside her sister, reached for her hands, and held them, catching a scent of rosewater and long-ago memories. He cleared his throat. Her eyes made contact with his before flickering away.

  “Go ahead, Jack. Speak her name. See how she is.”

  “Okay, here goes. Hello, Ariana. How are you doing today?” Jack swallowed his words. He’d stepped outside of himself. “Are you ready for dinner soon?” Hell, when was he ever this nice?

  He looked at Sherk. “Is that enough? She doesn’t seem—”

  Ariana let out a moan as she slowly turned to Jack. “Die Drossel. Die Drossel.”

  “What’s she saying?” Jack gazed at her wide eyes.

  “It sounds like ‘the bluebird’. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, except for the pictures she has.” Sherk looked at Renate and questioned her. She didn’t appear to understand why she’d utter the word, other than mentioning the bluebird had always been her sister’s favorite.

  Jack started to rise, but Ariana grasped his hand, pulling him back, her grip like a vise. “Die—die” her voice trailed off.

  Renate spoke to Sherk, who said to Jack, “She wants you to stay by her.”

  Jack reluctantly sat back down. What he’d give for a shot of Jameson. He glanced at Sherk. “What did she tell you?”

  “Renate can see by the way she’s holding onto your hand. She’s very agitated, but doesn’t want you to leave.” He listened while Renate spoke to him. “You triggered something in her, Jack. Doe
s your voice sound like your father’s?”

  “Damned if I know. Never thought about it. Don’t most men sound alike?”

  Murmuring humming sounds like a bumblebee, Ariana gently rubbed his arm and hands. Her feline gaze unnerved him.

  “Renate informs us dinner time is almost here. We can come back tomorrow morning, and she’ll tell us Ariana’s story.” Sherk rose from his chair. “It’s been an emotionally draining day for Renate meeting you and reliving part of their past. Many Germans won’t talk about the war, but I explained to her why you and your brother want to understand more about your father’s experience.”

  Leaning toward her sister, Renate gingerly pried Jack’s hands away from Ariana’s grasp. She spoke softly in German while Ariana carried on humming a melody known to her alone. Renate looked up at Sherk and spoke.

  Jack stood slowly and waited for a break in their conversation. He wouldn’t tell Sherk he was on pins and needles to find out about Ariana, and was hesitant to leave.

  “Time to go. We’ll come back tomorrow morning.” Sherk led the way out the door.

  “What did Renate just whisper?” Jack said as they headed down the corridor.

  Sherk paused. “After all these years, the time has finally come to tell Ariana’s story.”

  Chapter 9

  At 10:00 the next morning, Jack and Sherk settled in on Renate Hahn’s velvety couch after declining coffee and pastries. Jack’s mouth was a cotton ball, so he told Sherk he’d like water. Renate seemed happy to oblige, and returned with three water glasses clinking on a silver tray.

  Sherk stood, took the tray and placed it on the doily atop the rectangular oak coffee table, while Renate walked to the piano to retrieve several framed pictures. She slowly placed them in front of the men.

  After easing herself onto a lavender brocade chair near Sherk, she handed him one of the photos, its silver frame, tarnished on the edges. As Renate spoke to Sherk, Jack leaned over and took in the black-and-white picture of a somber, but nice-looking family, the man and woman seated in tufted chairs surrounded by three children, and a baby reclining on its mother’s lap. The woman wore a long, dark dress with puffed sleeves with a cameo brooch at her neck. Two boys, dressed in dark vests, suits, and bow ties, stood behind a little girl in a layered lace dress with a dropped waist. An oversized white bow rested on top of her straight pale hair. A light, flowing gown clothed the baby. A christening perhaps?

  Sherk turned to Jack. “This is a portrait of the Schröder family. Renate is the baby, Ariana the girl, Fritz and Kurt, her older brothers, along with parents, Emil and Erna. They’re all deceased except the sisters.”

  Jack noted a resemblance between the girls and their father, who boasted the same wide-set eyes. “Yeah, these pictures are like some of Ma’s old family photos. All black and white and everyone looking sober.”

  Renate placed the picture on the table and handed another one to Sherk. She continued pointing at the photos. Jack thought he recognized “Sie war zehn Jahre alt” and “Bund Deutscher Mädel” amongst the rapid-fire words. Sounded familiar.

  Two young girls in the next photo beamed at Jack, one with blond braids, the other’s hair a shade darker, cut short and blunt. Standing side by side on a porch step of a modest, light-colored house, they wore identical uniforms of white blouses, long neckties, and dark skirts. Both held up small swastika flags. The girls, fresh-faced and the picture of innocence.

  Jack’s jaw clenched at the sight, but he resisted the urge to speak aloud. He noticed lush flowering bushes flanking the steps next to the flags. Besides the girls, a sinister contrast not lost on him.

  Sherk said, “I’m sure you guessed the girls are Ariana and Renate around ages ten and thirteen in this picture. They joined the German League of Girls, which was the female counterpart of the Hitler Youth. Renate said their father was against their enlisting, but more of that later.”

  Jack grimaced. “Gives ya the chills just to look at them. Those happy faces. Didn’t have a clue what the flags really meant.”

  Sherk spoke to Renate and then turned to Jack. “Their brother, Kurt, took the picture. He was in the Youth, and argued a lot with their father over it.”

  Jack shook his head. “God, can’t imagine what they went through.”

  “Me neither. Sometime I’ll tell you what little I’ve gleaned from my relatives. Not much though. Their lips are sealed.”

  Renate showed them several more family photos, all fascinating to Jack in an uncanny way. These people could’ve been his relatives. Except his never lived under the Third Reich. What shadows hid behind the pleasant veneer on the Schröders’ faces? What did they know? Or not know?

  After Renate returned the pictures to the piano, she sat again, sipped her water, and kept speaking to Sherk. “Sind Sie so weit?”

  He turned to Jack. “She’s ready to tell us Ariana’s story. But she wants us to be patient because it’ll take awhile. She may need a break now and then.”

  “Okay. Are you gonna stop her every few minutes to translate?”

  Sherk nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see what works best. If it gets too intense, I’ll let her go on and not interrupt. I’ll tell you later.”

  Jack’s pulse raced. He took a gulp of water. Was he ready for whatever this tiny woman would reveal about his old man? Wonder if he did something in the war. Something underhanded? Jack wondered why that idea popped into his head.

  Sherk went on. “Renate also said that in order for you to understand what your father saw and did back then, you need to understand Ariana and their family.”

  “Okay.” Jack loosened his collar. Might as well try and relax. Might take a while.

  “And she swore us to secrecy.”

  Jack was puzzled. “Wonder why. People realize what went on back then, what the Nazis did.”

  “It seems more private than the war issues, so I promised everything she said would be confidential.”

  Jack leaned back, attempting to make himself comfortable. Renate gave him a Mona Lisa smile. What was her big secret? Why would it still matter?

  Chapter 10

  Renate – near Munich, 1930s

  You may wonder why I’m about to tell our family’s story, and not just Ariana’s. I must tell you because the war changed us. It changed John Bailey. How could it be otherwise?

  I’ve never told another living soul. But I must. I must for Ariana’s sake. And for John’s as well. For his sons. So they can truly understand him, what he witnessed.

  Our awareness of impending evil began with Papa. Then our friends. Then the schools. Then the girls camp. We were living under a deepening shadow. But we didn’t notice.

  We were the Schröders, an ordinary German family, two boys, two girls, Papa a dentist. We lived near Munich in the peaceful village of Dachau. Our house was a gray brick bungalow with white trim, five steps to the porch spanning the front of the house. Small by today’s standards

  Flowers bloomed in every yard on our street. Oh, the blue cornflowers were exquisite. And the lilacs; I can still smell their fragrance by the porch. Mutti loved the blossoms and greenery, but Frau Hilda did most of the gardening.

  Mutti studied piano at the University of Music and Performing Arts and played with the Munich Philharmonic before marrying Papa. He said she was never the same after having children and leaving the orchestra. I later understood what he meant.

  I can still see her sitting in the parlor at her piano. She’d play Beethoven’s sonatas by the hour. Number Eight and Opus Thirteen haunt me to this day. Frau Hilda cooked and cleaned for us. She was a widow who needed a place to stay.

  My brother Fritz was the oldest, then Kurt. Ariana was
born in 1925, and I came along three years later. We all had fair hair, the boys were hazel-eyed like Mutti, Ariana and I with Papa’s blue eyes. But Fritz was different. Papa and Mutti would tell us to leave him alone, to ignore him. It was hard to do when he yelled if we touched him. He rocked back and forth a lot. He can’t help it. It’s a sickness. He was ten years older than me, but he didn’t go to school with us.

  Papa told us fairy tales at bedtime, but Fritz couldn’t sit and pay attention. He made strange sounds like quacking or barking, so he went with Mutti in her room. Like most German children, Ariana, Kurt, and I listened to the horror tales of Struwwelpeter. I can still recite Pauline and the Matches…. but Pauline said, oh, what a pity, for when they burn it is so pretty…

  Years later, I realized Papa read the tales to teach us lessons. Not only the obvious, to obey our parents or we’d burn up like Pauline did, but subtle messages. Don’t be tempted by what sounds or looks good. Be careful. Careful of matches, the woods, and gingerbread houses.

  Yes, our childhood was ordinary to me, because that’s what I grew up with. Mutti had her headaches and would disappear in her room for hours. Frau Hilda watched Fritz most every day until he was older. We grew up that way, like everyone else. We thought.

  Looking back, though, we missed the signs.

  My best friend, Judith, lived down the block in a big two-story home. We played with our dolls, went on picnics, swam, and rowed in her father’s boat on the lake. Her dolls were nicer than mine; Ariana and I had one Kestner porcelain doll, but Judith had five. Her little Spitz dog named Heidi looked like a fox with long golden fur around her sharp little face. Ariana and I loved playing chase with her, Judith’s mother yelling not to run in the house. I begged for a dog, but Mutti poo-pooed it. Quit pestering me, Renate. You children are enough for me to bear.

  Judith’s father was our doctor until one day Papa said we needed to find a new one. But why can’t we keep going to Dr. Friedman? I don’t recall what Papa and Mutti responded, but after that, Dr. Schmidt became our doctor. His office was farther away, and smaller. Mutti complained that we had to ride the bus to see him, since we didn’t have a car yet. If we were too sick, then he made a house call. But we still played with Judith, so I didn’t think much about it.