A Letter From Munich

by Meg Lelvis

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I’ll take that shot now.” Jack took the glass, gulped one drink, then poured another. He sat in the chair and wiped his forehead, crossing and uncrossing his legs. “Okay, tell me the story, which I take it Renate told you when she took you out of Ariana’s room for your private talk.”

  Sherk nodded. “Yes, a real surprise. I thought Monika was younger too. Obviously has her mother’s genes, which many Germans are notable for—”

  “Okay, Führer, don’t tell me about your frickin’ superior race right now.” Jack tried to pull the words back. Too late. Weighed down by shock, disappointment, and now shame, his head dropped.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

  Sherk said nothing, but helped himself to a beer, sat on the bed, and cleared his throat. “All right, here’s the story. I need to keep everything straight, so bear with me.”

  Jack’s pulse quickened as he downed his second shot.

  “When Ariana and your dad were involved, she told Renate almost everything.” Sherk popped the cap off the beer and drank. “When your father left for home, it was around mid-June of 1946, almost two weeks after his last journal entry. A week or so later, she wrote in the last pages and hid the journal away. Then in July, she suspected she was pregnant, and a week or two later was sure.” Sherk adjusted his glasses. “She figured it happened in May. By that time, of course, your dad had left, so she talked to Renate. Of course, Ariana was upset, couldn’t decide what to do. Meanwhile this Walter Gunther, her friend from childhood, had always fancied her and still lived in their neighborhood.”

  Jack stared straight ahead.

  Sherk placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Jack, you following me?”

  Jack nodded.

  Sherk persisted. “But she didn’t have romantic sentiment for this guy, especially after meeting your father. Anyway, he’d been hanging around after John left for the States, and one day she blurted out to Walter that she was in a mess and ended up telling him about the pregnancy. Right away he offered to marry her. Long story short, he accepted the fact she wasn’t in love with him, but he was happy to be her husband and raise her little girl as his own. They kept it a secret, even from their parents. Only Renate knew the truth.”

  Jack frowned. “Didn’t anyone suspect, since she and Walter hadn’t been dating until they suddenly got married?”

  “Renate said her mother and other people just figured they conceived the baby before the wedding. Back then, ordinary couples didn’t have big church weddings with brides in white gowns. They were married in an office somewhere with only the family around. Remember, the whole country was still recovering from the war, and people were walking around shell shocked. Things weren’t back to normal by a long shot.”

  “I’ll be damned.” Jack shook his head. “You sure Monika doesn’t have a clue?”

  Sherk took a drink of beer. “Renate swears she doesn’t. She always thought of Walter Gunther as her father. Ariana was going to tell her someday, but the right time never came. Then after Walter died, she got busy with other things, and later started slipping into dementia.”

  A thought occurred to Jack. His father, who had seen more and loved more than Jack could have ever suspected, had also lost more: a daughter he never knew he had.

  “And Ariana never told Pa.” He spoke his words to the puckered carpet.

  “No.” Sherk replied. “She wanted to, but decided it would hurt him and your mother, and what could he do about it? She didn’t want to ruin John’s family, your family.”

  “What about the letter we found in the box? Did she figure she was pregnant when she wrote it?” Jack was still trying to let this bombshell sink in.

  “Renate wasn’t sure. She thought Ariana told her in July sometime, and the letter was written July 14, so it’s possible. But she didn’t hint at it unless that’s what she meant when she said she was damaged. But I’m positive she meant the assault, not being pregnant. I don’t know, Jack. No one ever will.”

  Jack thought for a minute. “It shouldn’t be a huge surprise, it happens a lot in wartime, but when it’s you, a different story.” He’d tell Tommy for sure. He had a right, but should they tell their other siblings they have a half-sister in Germany?

  “That’s true,” Sherk agreed. “Countless children were left behind in wartime throughout history.”

  “Yeah. And I was ready to take Monika out for a drink. I was sure she was younger.” Then it dawned on him. It had been something about the shape of Monika’s nose, the curve of her jaw, that struck him as familiar. “Oddly enough, or not, her profile kind of resembles Jenny’s.”

  Sherk shrugged. “Could be. I’ve only met your sister a couple times, but perhaps so. He paused. “We should pack and hit the road.”

  Jack stood. “In a way, I’d like to see Monika for a goodbye again. Or do I? Hell, I dunno what to make of all this.”

  “You sure about that?” Sherk frowned. “Remember, she doesn’t know. She might assume you’re seeing her again for different reasons.”

  Jack’s shoulders dropped. Sherk was right. Seeing Monika would be selfish.

  Sherk apparently accepted Jack’s resignation. He opened the door. “I’ll see you in a few minutes after we’re packed.”

  Jack headed for his room. Still hard to comprehend the attractive woman he’d met earlier was his half-sister. One thing for sure, his mother must never discover the truth. It would send her to an early grave. No easy answer. What is the boundary between a person’s right to the truth and the right to keep painful secrets? Damned if he could tell.

  Chapter 33

  Chicago – late June 2012

  A week later, Jack sat in his living room waiting for Tommy to show up. Boone, his aging yellow dog of mixed heritage, lay at his feet snoring gently. Jack and Sherk had arrived in Chicago after the long flight, during which they sat mostly in silence, a comfortable silence achieved only by friends who had transcended awkwardness. The Germany trip had certainly broadened and transformed Jack’s perspective of the world and human nature.

  Although the trip was an eye-opener, and successful because it had solved the mystery of Ariana’s letter, Jack was glad to return to his comfortable duplex in Bridgeport, a once-working-class Irish community on Chicago’s south side.

  The Uber ride from the airport had been a real culture shock. As they sped along the freeway, all he saw were Home Depot and Best Buy mega stores. Twenty minutes later, the old Sears Tower, now the Willis, loomed high, piercing the skyline, and as they approached Bridgeport, the modern glass and chrome architecture of the Illinois Institute of Technology gleamed in pale orange sunlight.

  Yes, he would miss the ancient churches and fortresses of Munich, not to mention the hospitality of Sherk’s relatives. He’d wanted to buy them a gift of appreciation, but Sherk dismissed the idea. Just treat them to dinner sometime, Jack. They don’t need a thing.

  The last day they had planned to visit the Dachau museum and camp, but as they approached the area, Jack had said, “Sorry, pal, gonna have to bail. Just can’t hack the idea of walking through the place. I’ll tell Ma some general things about it. God knows, I learned plenty from the journal.”

  . . . . .

  Leaning back on his well-worn leather recliner, he thought of the knowledge Sherk had bestowed upon him. Yes, he would miss the old cathedrals and palaces of Munich.

  Sherk had spoken about the collective guilt and denial of many German people that exists even to this day. He had absorbed many comments through past years from his relatives and friends, and said how complicated it all was and still remains. “It’s always a sore spot with me,” Sherk had told him, “when people allege the Germans had to know the tru
th about the Jews and camps, and how could the country allow such horror to come about?”

  Jack had responded, “Yeah, what could ordinary people do if they saw the violence? Call the cops, who were the Gestapo? Then they themselves would’ve ended up like Ariana’s dad, thrown in Dachau or worse.”

  Sherk had explained that people who opposed the Reich chose to be killed or imprisoned, and the world didn’t learn who they were. People like Ariana’s father. But most folks back then didn’t go out and protest in the streets when their Jewish neighbors were beaten or carted away. They chose to live. Live for themselves and their families.

  Jack recalled Sherk’s words. “I’ve wondered myself if I’d risk my life, knowing my death wasn’t going to save anyone else’s life. Did Emil Schröder’s death help anything? It didn’t save the life of any Jew, gypsy, gay person. Perhaps he thought he had to sacrifice his life for his principles. I don’t have the answer. Did that make him a hero or a fool?”

  “Damn good question,” Jack had said. “But I don’t have the negative view I once had of the Germans. The criminals were individuals. Not a whole country.”

  . . . . .

  Deep in thought, Jack sprang to life when Boone’s thunderous bark broke the silence. Tommy had rung the doorbell, right on time as usual. Although the dog was nearly thirteen years old, he guarded the house like an armed sentry.

  “Come on in.” Jack shook his brother’s hand and gave his back a light slap. This was the typical extent of the Bailey show of affection, but now, Jack hesitated and gave his brother an actual hug.

  Obviously surprised, Tommy backed away. “Welcome back.” He came in and headed for the sofa. Slightly shorter than Jack, he was heavier around the middle. His black hair, liberally salted with gray, was shaved close to his head. People spotted the family resemblance between the two, since they both looked rugged and world-weary at times.

  “Is Ma back from Saint Paul yet?” Jack led Tommy into the living room.

  “No, next week. Tuesday, so you have a little time before the inquisition,” Tommy joked.

  “How ‘bout a Guinness?” Jack made his way to the kitchen, glancing back at his brother.

  “Sure,” Tommy answered as he rubbed Boone’s back and settled on the couch. “Been chomping at the bit to discover everything and read the journal. I get the drift there’s something you haven’t mentioned.”

  “You’ll see. Patience, my man.” Jack returned with the dark beer and set the bottles on the pine coffee table on coasters he’d swiped from the Hofbräuhaus. He sat beside Tommy, journal in hand. “Well, where do you want to start?”

  Tommy nodded at the journal. “I’ll start with that, since you’ve kept me posted about Renate and her story.” Jack handed him the notebook. Tommy stared at its worn brown cover, turning it front to back. He opened the beginning pages. “Yeah, that’s Pa’s handwriting.” He took his eyes from the page and gazed straight ahead. “I can’t wrap my head around this. Like his ghost has come back.”

  “You’re tellin’ me.” Jack reached for the worn black-and-white photo on the end table. “By the way, here’s the picture I told you about.”

  Tommy held it close and squinted at the image of a young soldier, his arm around a lovely girl. “So that’s Ariana. Gotta admit, she was a good lookin’ broad. I can see why the old man wanted to—never mind. Better hide this where Ma will never see it.” He handed the snapshot back to Jack.

  “Yeah, it’ll be hidden away with the journal.” Jack stood. “I’ll take Boone out for a short walk. Let you read in peace. See ya in a while.” He looped the dog’s leash around his neck, took one last glance at his brother who had already become lost in their father’s words. Jack let the door click to a close behind him.

  . . . . .

  Within half an hour, chilled from the wonderfully familiar Chicago wind, Jack and Boone returned from their walk. Tommy still sat with the journal in his hands. “God, that’s some story. I had no idea the old man lived through all that. The Dachau camp was unreal. To see it first-hand like that. No wonder he drank like an effen’ fish.” Tommy’s eyes drifted somewhere far way. “How would you ever erase that stuff from your mind? Even as cops, we never saw anything close to that. Hell, no wonder you didn’t visit the camp. Got more than enough reading this.”

  “Beats me. I’ll tell ya, man, I learned more the last three weeks than the last ten years.”

  Jack unleashed Boone, gave him a milk bone treat, and brought two more beers to the table, ignoring the empty bottles. Plenty of German coasters on hand.

  Tommy handed Jack the journal. “Can you remember much about Ariana’s writing in the back? You said Sherk could translate for me some time, but wonder if you could recall any of it.”

  Jack thumbed through the pages. “You can see Pa’s name off and on, and here’s Bing Crosby’s name when she’s talking about songs they liked. Pa sang to her sometimes.”

  “You’re shittin’ me,” Tommy exclaimed. “He sang to her? Jesus, all I remember is him on a bender, stumbling around belting out “Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling. Then he’d forget the words and get pissed about it.”

  Jack scoffed. “Yeah, then he’d start wailing, ‘I’ll take you home again Maureen, across the ocean wild and leave ya there.’ He’d roar like hell, and Ma would pretend to get mad, and he’d get more off-key.”

  “Those were the days.” Tommy gazed at the last page. “What does the signature part read?”

  “Guess what. They’re lyrics from “April Showers”. She writes she’ll always—wait, let me see. I can translate this, because I remember the words. Here goes:

  So keep on looking for a bluebird

  And list’ning for his song

  Whenever April showers come along

  John, my darling, may we always see a bluebird.

  My love, always and forever,

  Your Sweetheart”

  “Holy crap,” said Tommy. “That was written for John Bailey? Our old man?”

  “I told ya. We’re in the twilight zone.” Jack looked at his brother shaking his head in disbelief. This was as good a time as any. “I still haven’t revealed the real deal. Are you ready?”

  “What else could there be? On second thought, did Pa leave any, ah, souvenirs behind?”

  “Well—”

  “Come on, Jack, out with it.”

  Jack closed the journal. Should he spit it out or do a prologue? “You remember when I gave you updates on Renate’s diary, and that Ariana had a husband and daughter?”

  Tommy nodded slowly, grimaced. “How old is her daughter?”

  “I met her the last day in Weimar, her name is Monika, and I thought she was younger than me.”

  “But,” Tommy said, his impatience growing.

  “You guessed it. She’s actually a few months older than you.” Jack raised his brows.

  Tommy inhaled. “Christ. She’s John’s kid. Our half-sister.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yup. Hard to pull the wool over your eyes,” Jack said. “You don’t seem as shocked as I was.”

  “Well, it was war. Not unusual. Anyway, did you get a picture of her? Monika?” The diatribe of questions poured from him. “What does she look like? Does she know Pa was her father?”

  “Whoa, you’ll find out everything, but no picture, and she reminded me of Jenny after I found out. She’s totally unaware of the affair, so she’s in the dark about, well, about everything.”

  Jack explained the timeline to Tommy, how Walter Gunther wanted to marry Ariana, raise the baby as his own, how they never had more children. How Renate had always wondered about that, but Aria
na had told her Monika’s delivery was difficult, and she didn’t want to go through childbirth again.

  Tommy rubbed his forehead. “Okay. We need to decide whether to tell the others. Not Ma, of course. I’m still not sure she never saw the letter. But she’d keel over if she got wind of Monika. Pa with another daughter. Holy shit.”

  “Yeah, I’ll keep the journal under lock and key. I can’t decide about telling the kids either. Sherk and I talked about it a little. I’d wanna be told. Andy and Jenny would be okay with it. Mike hasn’t been around for years, and that’s not something you text about.”

  “We’ll contemplate it. No need to make a quick decision,” Tommy said.

  “Right. I’ll see if Sherk can meet us next week. We can run things by him, and I want him to tell you more about the trip.”

  Tommy raised his eyebrows. “You taking life advice from Sherk now?’

  “Sherk’s…” Jack paused. There was no way to explain the bond he and Sherk had formed on their trip. “He’s a wise man, good common sense, plus he’d be more unbiased than we are. I’d like to know his thoughts.”

  “Okay, it’s getting late.” Tommy stood and stretched. “Time flies when you find out you have more relatives than you thought.”

  Night had closed in and darkness wrapped itself around the city as Tommy left for his house.

  Jack watched his brother drive away. Would Tommy be more sympathetic and forgiving after discovering what their father had gone through? He hadn’t addressed the topic, but Bailey men weren’t renowned for their emotional disclosure.

  Perhaps both he and Tommy could now see John Bailey as a young soldier who saw the worst of humanity, a scarred liberator, unable to exorcize his own demons until death.

  Chapter 34