A Letter From Munich

by Meg Lelvis

  Until later.

  Chapter 11

  I remember Papa and Mutti arguing about things I didn’t understand. They would bicker with Kurt sometimes too. Papa would go out in the evenings to meetings, he’d claim. At the time I thought our family was normal, except Fritz. He was often the subject of quarrels between my parents, and when Kurt got older and joined the Youth, he’d horn in on their disagreements. Sometimes our neighbor, Walter Gunther and his papa would come over to talk privately with Papa. Walter was older than Kurt, and he and Papa seemed to agree on things. I could tell that Walter was sweet on Ariana.

  She and I asked many questions about why Fritz had to be careful of playing outdoors with us, but Papa would never answer. Probably because last month Fritz ran away and hid in the neighbor’s dog house until dark. You girls don’t need to worry; we’ll take care of it; everything will be fine. Fritz is different than you, but we love him the same. We want to keep him safe from certain people.

  Things got more confusing because of the secrets Kurt would tell us. Renate, don’t tell anyone, especially Papa. He thinks the Führer is wrong. Ariana and I promised we wouldn’t tell, so Kurt told us things his school teachers said that we hadn’t been taught yet. He said the Untermensch were inferior and we needed to stay away from them until they were gone. They would ruin the German people because they were born damaged and not true Germans. Some of them were even in school. Last week a Roma boy had his head measured at school to see if he was pure, but we knew that he wasn’t a real German.

  Ariana said she wasn’t aware of that and how was Kurt convinced of these things? Sometimes we got tired of his talking and went back to playing. Besides, I didn’t like keeping secrets from Papa.

  Looking back on those years, it didn’t happen all at once. Like someone said, farmers don’t watch their corn growing, but they know it does. Then one day, it’s over their heads.

  . . . . .

  You might assume the years before and during the first part of the war were terrible for Germany, but for us, we always had enough food, clothes, and toys. I don’t recall having to scrimp. By the time I was six or seven, people got jobs and weren’t hungry any more. Teachers, store clerks, everyone except Papa would pronounce: The Führer is our savior. He gave people food again, put them back to work, Germany’s new order. We have pride once more.

  From the time he turned six, Kurt was active in a boys’ youth group, like Boy Scouts. Fritz couldn’t handle organized activities, so he attended a special school for a while. But he would still scream if we touched his tin soldiers lined in a row. I was a little kid when he was around, so I don’t recall much until later when he was sent away for good.

  I was only five when the Führer came to power. Later I learned the boys’ groups were dissolved and the Hitler Youth took over. Kurt was twelve and excited to join and wear the uniform and be part of the new Germany. He argued with Papa about joining, but after a while things settled down. Several years later, membership in the Youth was mandatory for all Aryans, but of course, Fritz couldn’t join. He would go to a camp for a few days and then come back, but he never got to be normal.

  In fact, Dr. Schmidt talked with Mutti and Papa about sending Fritz to Lucerne so he could stay in a sanitarium. But Mutti didn’t want to break up the family, so she and Papa had long debates about what to do. At the time I didn’t understand about Fritz and the real reason Dr. Schmidt and Papa wanted to send him away. Ariana thought they were being mean, but we learned the truth later.

  . . . . .

  So life drifted on, and we were ordinary like everyone else, other than Fritz. I was the last one in our family to start school. We walked there with Mutti or Frau Hilda, and along the way we’d stop for Judith. In school, I remember a large portrait of the Führer hung in each classroom with the red and black flag. I learned to read, and we studied laws about our country, particularly keeping us pure Aryans. Our room had a big map in front. The teacher let us stick pins on it to mark the front lines after the war started.

  The next year Judith couldn’t go to school any more. No one told me why, but when Kurt wanted to tell me, Papa shushed him. But I still played with her sometimes when Mutti had headaches.

  And then that summer, I was no longer allowed to play with Judith.

  Mutti said her family wasn’t a good influence, whatever that meant. Besides, she wasn’t allowed to go to any parks or lakes anymore. She’d just started to ride her new red bicycle when it was taken away. I could not understand why Judith was different from us. Ariana and I bothered our parents with lots of questions, but they never gave us a much of an answer.

  Papa just looked sad. I’m sorry, girls, the world isn’t safe for Judith, or for you if you’re with her. It’s not fair. I hope her family can go somewhere safe before too long.

  Ariana said even though Judith would ruin the German blood, she wasn’t like the rest of them our teachers warned us about. Judith was normal, like us.

  What became of her? Perhaps it’s better not to know.

  Chapter 12

  Weimar

  Renate took a sip of water, eased herself from the chair, and stretched. “Ich werde uns Kaffee holen.”

  Sherk offered to help her with coffee, but Renate shooed him away and headed for the kitchen.

  Jack stood and yawned. “That was quite a spiel. You ready to tell me what she said?”

  “Yeah.” Sherk bent his neck, gazing toward the kitchen. “She’ll be busy making coffee for a few minutes.” Sherk pointed to the piano. “That was their mother’s, who studied music at university; it sounds like she could’ve been a concert pianist. But marriage and kids put an end to that.”

  “Guess ya can’t have everything. Surprised I understood a few names here and there, like Kurt and Fritz.”

  “Ja, before long, you’ll be fluent in German.” Sherk retrieved the family pictures from the piano and brought them to the sofa. “You can kind of see that Fritz is a little different, after what Renate said. A tough situation, especially back then.”

  Jack flopped down and peered at the photo. “What’s the problem with him?”

  “Let me bring you up to speed.” Sherk summarized the information Renate revealed, emphasizing her insistence the Schröders were everyday citizens, living a decent life in a small town. “As for Fritz, I’d guess he had autism or ADHD. You may presume autism wasn’t labeled back then, but a Swiss psychiatrist used the term in the early 1900’s.” Sherk cleared his throat. “I’m guessing Fritz’s parents were afraid he’d end up in the T-4 program, which—”

  “The what?”

  Sherk glanced toward the kitchen. “Hate to talk about this, but when the war started, the Nazis were determined to get rid of people who were unfit, like the chronically sick or disabled, both mentally and physically. Their notion to attain a pure race. So, Renate’s parents wanted to hide Fritz away in Switzerland so he’d be safe.”

  A chill ran through Jack. “So, what happened to the kid?” He was familiar with the despicable Nazi decree, but hadn’t known its name.

  “Nothing’s been said. Haven’t reached that part of the story.”

  “Unser Kaffee und Kuchen.” Renate chirped as she glided into the room holding a silver tray, tarnished in one corner. It looked heavier than she was.

  Sherk rose, took the tray and placed it on the coffee table. Whiffs of cinnamon and apple floated in the room like a gentle breeze. He carefully placed three china plates covered with golden strudel beside the tray, along with shiny forks and flowery cloth napkins.

  “Greift zu!” Renate indicated white dainty cups of steamy coffee.

  Why did women have to fuss over food? When it came to grub, presentation was way over-rated. J
ack would be happy to scarf down the pastry with his hands. Why drag out the good china and silverware? Typical of women in that generation, he guessed.

  They settled on the sofa. Renate and Sherk added sugar cubes and cream to their coffee and stirred it with tiny silver spoons.

  Jack took a bite of warm strudel. “Mmm. How do you translate ‘delicious’ in German?”

  “Sehr lecker.”

  Repeating the words, Jack nodded at Renate and grinned. She thanked him, her blue eyes glimmering. She seemed pleased he made an effort in pronunciation.

  Sherk proceeded to pepper Renate with questions, and he in turn translated answers to Jack.

  “What about Judith’s family?” Jack said. “I get they were Jews, but I thought doctors couldn’t practice at all.”

  “After a while, Jewish doctors were forbidden to have Aryan patients. Jews were banned from medical, dental, and law schools, but doctors still saw patients on the sly later on.”

  Jack shook his head. “What about Fritz?”

  Sherk straightened his glasses. “Like I suspected, he had some form of autism, and the older he got, the harder it was for the parents to conceal his problem without isolating him. Renate will tell the rest of his story later.”

  After finishing their coffee and strudel, Sherk offered to clear the table, so he and Jack returned the tray and dishes to the small, tidy kitchen.

  Back in the living room, Renate was ready to tell them more, but she informed Sherk it would take one or two more days to finish the story.

  “Must be some saga,” Jack said. He hoped her family had been spared at least some terrors of the war. How did things end for Ariana? Their father? Fritz?

  Renate smoothed her silvery hair and sank into the soft brocade chair. Through the window, sunshine created a veil of light on a potted floor plant, turning its leaves vibrant green and casting long shadows on the hardwood floor.

  “Fühlt euch wie zuhause.” She cleared her throat and began to speak.

  Chapter 13

  Renate – 1930s

  What do I know about memory? When you become old and used up like me, it’s easy to allow the past to take over. Some memories are sharp as teeth, others like gauzy clouds floating in your brain. Others flutter around like a trapped moth; others are right on the edge of remembrance. Like a familiar melody you can’t identify. And it’s only now, years later, that I recognize these scenes of the past for what they were. So, I grasp onto the good memories for dear life. As for Ariana, who can tell where her mind takes her now. I’m sure she’s happy enough, wherever she is.

  I told you about Fritz and then Judith. In time, more decrees against the Jews came out, and then things got worse. I begged Papa to let Judith come and hide in our house. Oh, please, please, Papa, she can stay with me and Ariana. We have room. And Heidi the dog, could stay too.

  The sorrow of the world was etched on his face. How to make us comprehend?

  In another year or two, Ariana and I joined the BDM, or the Band of German Maidens, which you recall was the female branch of the Hitler Youth. Of course, Papa and Mutti argued bitterly over this, and he eventually agreed our family would be safer if we joined. It must have broken his heart, but he didn’t want to draw attention to us. You see, our father’s beliefs were different from our teachers’ lessons on racial hygiene, which caused him to fight with Mutti and Kurt. It was hard for Ariana to keep her opinions to herself because she had a mind of her own. But she was smart enough to take Papa’s advice. Until this is over, girls, we need to live in a world of silence and secrets.

  Yes, silence and secrets. All of Germany lived those words. They are forever engraved in my brain. In my soul too, because I loved Papa. But we usually enjoyed our time in the BDM. We got to wear uniforms like you saw in the photo, and we played sports, did gymnastics, enjoyed camping and swimming and canoeing. We’d sit around the campfire singing patriotic songs. It wasn’t all fun though. When we were older, we learned how to sew, cook, and make beds. Ariana and I hated that. But we had to grow up to be the best German wives we could and have a lot of children. Oh yes, we were also taught to stay away from people who were different from us, like Jews and people with darker skin, especially boys, so they couldn’t do things to German girls to make babies. Ha! Ariana and I secretly made fun of all that. One of our leaders was a huge woman with a granite face. You must avoid racial defilement at all costs. Ariana said that surely anyone would avoid that woman.

  One day Papa sat me and Ariana down when I was ten or so, and told us he was in the Social Democratic party, which was not the party of Hitler. He told us his views in simple terms, how dangerous racial hatred was, but he pounded into us that we must not talk about his ideas and opinions to anyone, not our friends, teachers, anyone. He reminded us of the Struwwelpeter tale of “Hans Look in the Air”, how we need to be on guard at all times. I remember to this day, Hans looking at the sky and the clouds that floated by—once he walked beside the river, one step more, oh sad to tell—headlong in poor Hans fell.

  Shortly after that, the Gunthers next door came over, and Herr Gunther was all excited about something. He and Walter looked so worried, I was afraid. Mutti wanted me and Ariana to go to our room, but Ariana said she was old enough to listen to things. Usually we were punished if we didn’t obey, but the grownups were too distracted to care. They talked about how Jewish stores and synagogues were burned and smashed up all over Germany. A lot of Jews were taken away to prison or even killed. Later Kurt told us that Hitler didn’t condone the violence, that they were just groups of street thugs that were causing all the damage.

  And now, memory becomes hazy. The years blend together like watercolors on paper. But all of the horror wasn’t covert. It was hiding in plain sight, under our noses, like the day a policeman shoved Mr. Aarons out of his butcher shop, yelling “filthy rodent” at him.

  If Papa had joined the Party, our family would have fared better. But he had to follow his conscience. Ariana used to comment he was too nice a man for his own good. She may have repeated it from Mutti, who wasn’t like Papa. Oh, she had mental problems, but children don’t catch onto such things as melancholy until years later. Mutti should have been a pianist in an orchestra, but then Ariana and I may not have happened.

  . . . . .

  We vaguely became aware of doom around the edges of our lives. During those times, Papa spent more and more evenings away, and many of his patients left him for other dentists. The Fischers and Leibmanns were forced to leave, but Kurt said others deserted him because Papa wasn’t loyal to the Party. Meanwhile, bit by bit our neighbors would tell stories, but we saw things too. We’d walk past empty storefronts, delicatessens, dress shops with new owners. Judith’s house looked vacant, and then one day two strange boys played ball in the front yard. Ariana asked Papa where the Friedmans were, and to this day I remember his answer. It’s best we don’t know such things, Ariana. We hope they are safe wherever they are.

  . . . . .

  And then it happened. Sitting in the parlor before bedtime one night, we jumped at the sound of brakes squealing and car doors slamming in front. Papa walked to the window and peeked through the curtains. Shoulders drooped, he scuffled to the door and opened it. Two surly-looking men in long black coats spoke in muffled tones and stepped inside. Papa talked in a low voice.

  He and Kurt expected it to happen; they just didn’t know when. Papa trudged to his room along with one of the hatchet-faced men, while the other one stood watching us. No one spoke.

  A couple minutes later, they returned, Papa carrying his small, worn leather suitcase. They’re taking me in for questioning, maybe for a couple days. Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon.

  He hugged Mutti and kissed us goodbye. The men nodded at us, a
nd I watched Papa smile and march out the door like he was going on vacation.

  Later Mutti commented how calm the policemen were. We were lucky they didn’t tear the house apart. And how polite they were to me and you children. Who’d have thought?

  We never saw Papa again.

  A week later we were told that Papa was taken to the Munich Prison located at Gestapo Headquarters in the former Wittelsbacher Palace. He was detained for several days and then transported to the detention center built five or six years ago from an old munitions factory at the edge of Dachau, our once-lovely, quiet village.

  So, we carried on without Papa. Frau Hilda took over the household while Mutti gradually faded further into herself. Our Opa, Emil, Papa’s father, often helped us out. He and Oma lived in Munich, and sometimes Fritz stayed with them for a few days, since he was happy at their house.

  After months floated by, we quit badgering Mutti about when Papa would come home. We were busy at school and the BDM. But Ariana didn’t accept everything our teachers and leaders taught us because Papa had told us many times about the difference between facts and opinions. Papa was gone, but he left his warnings behind for us. We kept our thoughts to ourselves and said nothing about our father’s beliefs. As for Mutti, she played the piano hour after hour, lost in her world of Beethoven.

  All I can comment once again, is the horror was stealthy, like a fog rolling in. Most of us turned a blind eye at the violence, the smashing of store windows by street thugs we thought were not under Hitler’s orders. Besides, his dreams for a new Germany promised intelligent, healthy citizens. And many saw nothing wrong with taking back territories that belonged to the Fatherland. On September first of 1939, our friends and neighbors welcomed the news of Germany’s invasion of Poland. Our teachers told us that Polish land was really on German soil. We needed to take back what was rightfully ours.