by Meg Lelvis
Several days later, Jack walked through the door of Shinnick’s Pub, eager to meet Tommy and Sherk for an early dinner and talk over the revelations from the Germany trip. As he’d hoped, it was too early for an evening crowd, relatively quiet. A few other customers mingled around the bar area.
“Hey, Bailey, long time no see,” a man of sizeable proportions called out.
Jack headed toward the bar. “Charlie, good to see ya. Got a Guinness ready?” The place was an old-time watering hole, with dark wood, a traditional bar with brass and mirrors, shelves displaying bottles and glasses of all shapes and sizes.
Charlie, the amiable bartender, had poured drinks at Shinnick’s for decades and prided himself in being pals with both Mayor Daleys, who grew up in Bridgeport and were no strangers to the pub.
“Comin’ right up.” Yellow bar lights reflected off Charlie’s glistening head as he filled a mug, foaming brew spilling down the sides.
“The mayor been in lately?” Jack never tiring of reminding Charlie of the good ol’ days when Chicago’s upstanding public servants held sway.
“Nah, haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since he got too uppity for us and moved north, left his old stomping grounds in the lurch.”
“Charlie, that was twenty years ago, not last week.” Jack picked up his glass.
“Harrumph,” Charlie scoffed and glanced toward the door. “Looks like ya got company.”
Jack turned and saw Sherk and Tommy traipsing inside. “Well, look what the cat drug in,” he said to Charlie.
“Hey,” Charlie beamed. “I got two Baileys here. My lucky day. You guys up for a Guinness?”
“Sure thing, Charlie,” Tommy said. “Burgers and fries too.” The men made their way to a booth in the far corner.
“Ma should be home by now, Jack, so brace yourself.”
“Yeah, with luck I’ll get by with just an hour of interrogation.” He admitted to himself that he’d miss the old girl if she weren’t around.
Twenty minutes later, the glasses sat precariously close to empty. Jack turned toward the bar, intending to beckon Charlie. But no need; the cavalry was already on its way.
Charlie ambled toward their booth with plates of burgers, fries, and another round of beer.
Jack half-nodded. God, it was good to be home.
“Sorry we’re all outta kale, Sherk,” Charlie said, setting the plates down. “Just hafta eat unhealthy tonight.” He walked away, guffawing at his own wit.
“Smells great. I was hungrier than I thought.” Tommy took a bite of his juicy burger.
Sherk cut his in half. “You guys help yourselves to fries.”
“Aw, live a little, man. They won’t kill ya.” The words trailed away as Jack immediately regretted his comment. Dumb thing to blab to a man whose wife had cancer.
“I’ll live dangerously and eat a few.” Sherk looked at Tommy. “Have you processed everything you learned from Jack and reading your dad’s journal?”
Tommy finished chewing and set his burger down. “Yeah, I’m getting there. The main question for Jack and me is whether to tell the siblings about Monika. It’s a tough decision.”
Jack said, “I kinda want to tell them. If it were me, and I didn’t know about a half-sister somewhere, I’d wanna find out. Not sure what I’d do with the info though. Look her up?” He shrugged.
Sherk rested his fork on the plate. “The question is are they better off with the truth or not? Did you read where they just launched a DNA ancestry service where you can look up your relatives from far and wide? More and more people will research their families, and Monika could very well do that sometime.”
Jack frowned. “Renate must be aware of DNA, and how Monika could someday find out she had another father.”
“I’m not sure,” Tommy said. “This is a new concept, and if Renate keeps up with the news, she’d be worried. Anyway, it would be her decision to tell Monika, not ours.”
Jack thought. “I suppose. But again, does she have the right to know about her real father?”
“We could debate this forever,” Sherk said. “For now, you need to decide about your siblings. If you wait too long to tell them, they’ll be upset and wonder why you didn’t tell them as soon as you got back.”
Jack and Tommy glanced at each other, nodding their agreement. Tommy wiped his mouth with his napkin. “We need to set a deadline. Either tell them in a week or two or forget it.”
“Okay,” Jack said. He glanced at a calendar on his phone. “Let’s agree July fifteenth at the latest.”
“Right,” Tommy said. “Sherk, you’re our witness. By the way, how did your relatives cope after the war? Jack’s told me about your grandfather and his family. How nice they were to him.”
Sherk pushed his plate aside. “They did okay, no worse than lots of folks. Like a lot of Germans, they don’t talk about it. Opa won’t reveal anything at all, but Oma will talk about waiting in lines for food, and drinking a kind of tea she didn’t like. She still has the old red stool she’d bring to sit on in the queue. Actually, Renate spoke more about her life than anyone I’ve met from that generation.”
Jack waved a fry at Tommy. “You’d be amazed. Germans back in the thirties were just like us. They went to school, played games, had friends, but I’m not sure about those fairy tales. Pretty dark.”
Sherk chuckled. “Ah, the Struwwelpeter stories…But Pauline said, oh what a pity, for when they burn it is so pretty. It sums up people giving in to false promises.”
“So, I guess most Germans were aware of what actually happened?” Tommy said. “But figured they couldn’t do anything about it?”
Sherk nodded. “The age-old question. It depends who you talk to. Many people didn’t consider Nazism as evil, after 1933 in particular. Their lives were better after the economic depression, far worse than it was here in America. Their economy improved, largely due to rearmament and construction, people could work again, have better housing, even go on vacation, and could see doctors. Plus, the biggie of having their national pride restored after the humiliation of the Great War. People were ready for the rise of Germany. The New Order.”
“Sounds like Ariana’s family was happy then,” Tommy said. “Other than their pa who knew and hated the truth about the Nazis.”
“Yes,” said Sherk. “People like him, the Social Democrats, were the ones who rebelled and were imprisoned or killed for it. Of course, they were anonymous, so no one found out about their sacrifice. Some boys in the Youth saw the experience as summer camping, parades, and the camaraderie of the Boy Scouts. The Nazis were experts at camouflaging their heinous beliefs behind carnivals, parades, rallies, things that everyone roots for, like our sports events.”
Tommy drained his mug. “I don’t get it. How? How could people not realize what was happening to the Jews and other so-called undesirables? They’d see them being carted off and put on trains.”
“More propaganda.” Sherk straightened his glasses. “There were newspaper reports that claimed Jewish men were taken into custody for their own protection, and were sent away for relocation.”
Jack scoffed. “Who would buy that?”
“People who wanted to believe, or for whom it was convenient to believe,” Sherk said. “Some insisted that Jews taken to the camps were traitors to Germany. The others were allowed to take their property or sell it at a fair price and leave the country. The Jews that were killed committed treason, in some Germans’ minds.” Sherk gave a slight cough. “I read where a good many citizen said the whole thing didn’t happen. Even with photos of bodies, it wasn’t proof. They claimed that Hitler had nothing to do with it. The violence was done by thugs, not him. One guy said that it was wro
ng, if it happened, but he wasn’t convinced it happened.”
“Yeah, totally amazed people can deny the Holocaust,” said Tommy. “Takes all kinds.”
“As for collective guilt,” Sherk went on, “we should examine ourselves. Would you stand up and protest in those circumstances, risking your life, or would you choose to live? Your martyrdom wouldn’t have helped the anti-Nazism, regardless.”
Tommy shook his head. “People swear it couldn’t happen again, and I tend to agree, but—”
Sherk said, “People are convinced the Nazi regime was an entire country gone mad, which makes it a little easier to agree it can’t happen here. All we can do is hope, and do what we must.”
“This has been very interesting,” Tommy said. “Jack learned a lot from the trip, not only about our pa and Monika, but about ourselves too.”
Sherk stood. “How about another round?”
“You bet,” Jack said, and watched Sherk head toward the bar.
“You’ve got a good friend there, Jack.” Tommy glanced away.
“You have no idea.” A flush rose on Jack’s face. “Told ya, he’s a wise man. We plan to get together for drinks now and then. Don’t wanna lose touch with him. I just hope his wife gets well.”
They sat in silence for several seconds. Jack shifted in his seat. “Are you ready to let Pa off the hook for what kind of father he was?”
Tommy shrugged. “I guess a little. I figure seeing the gore and the shock of the camp, plus his combat, and then meeting a girl to ease the pain, then leaving her. I dunno. Was it the real thing with her, or was it because of the war?”
“Guess we’ll never know. I never thought he and Ma had a marriage made in heaven.”
“Right now, I do have a sense of relief or something. Knowing the old man suffered through that hell. I mean, not that I’m glad he experienced it,” Tommy clarified. “But there was a reason for him becoming…” Jack waited as Tommy struggled for words. “The real shame is he never got help. He always refused to go to AA when Uncle Hank brought it up. He could’ve used a shrink too. But back then, veterans were heroes in the minds of America. They were tough. Didn’t need help. The greatest generation, and all that.”
“It’s high time to give the past a rest, Tommy. And I reckon we’ve both put Pa to rest too.
We’ll leave it to Renate to tell Monika or not. But Jenny and Andy and Mike have a right.”
Sherk arrived with their drinks on a tray, and sat. “Charlie put me to work. The place is filling up.”
“We’ll have to do this again, Sherk,” Tommy said. “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Jack raised his glass.
“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”
Chapter 35
The next morning Jack awoke to his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He glanced at the caller ID, groaned, and punched the speaker button. “Yeah, Ma. Do ya have an idea what time it is?” His digital clock glowered red in the dark.
“Don’t get smart with me, Jacky. You know I just got back from Saint Paul yesterday. I was exhausted, but didn’t sleep a wink last night, so I—”
“Okay. Okay What’s on your mind?” As if he didn’t know.
“Guess I can’t expect you to casually mention, ‘how was your trip?’ Or ‘how is Aunt Betty?’ You haven’t seen her in a coon’s age.”
Jack wanted to bury his head in the pillow. “Sorry, Ma. How’s Aunt Betty?”
“Oh, don’t ask. She’s got a bad hip that really needs—never mind. I know you’re bored.” She paused to take a breath. “So why am I calling? When can you come over? I can’t wait for you to tell me all about Germany. Did you visit Dachau? How was Sherk’s house? Oh, did you—”
“Hold on, Ma. I can’t talk now. I’ll be over this afternoon. How ‘bout around five?”
“How ‘bout this morning? You can stay for lunch.” Jack visualized her smoothing her bottle-fed henna hair.
“Yeah, okay. See ya at eleven. Bye, Ma.” He clicked off before she could respond. Oh well, she was used to his impertinence. Wouldn’t take it personally.
. . . . .
Jack parked his used black Beemer in front of his mother’s house in an older neighborhood near Pershing Road, the southern boundary of Bridgeport. The day was typical for late June, the sun bathing a blue sky and cool breezes floating through maple and oak trees lining streets and sidewalks.
Jack grew up in the three-level house, once dark green. Updated through the years, it now featured pale gray siding with light trim, a newly-painted white picket fence surrounding the small front yard. It struck him how much the place had transformed over time, similar in nature to his memories of his father evolving into something fresh and brighter.
Reaching the shiny black front door, Jack knocked twice and let himself in with the key he kept in his possession. “Home, Ma,” he called out as a whiff of roasted chicken drifted from the kitchen.
“There you are, Jacky,” Maureen Bailey warbled, as she bustled to the door to give Jack a hug. As though in a dream, he was transported back to Germany. What was it? Jack struggled to make the connection. Then it struck him. His mother sounded like Renate, the same welcoming sing-song voice.
Jack stepped back as his mother released him from the embrace. He looked at her with a new appreciation, something he couldn’t explain. A woman of medium height and generous proportions, Maureen took pride in assuring her unnatural red curls were just so, and her clothes bright and colorful. No drab black or beige for her.
Taking in her emerald green top with sparkles round the collar, Jack said, “Just as beautiful as Ms. O’Hara.”
Maureen harrumphed. “Well, I must declare, I try.” Her lifelong comparison to the famed actress was a family joke. She enjoyed bragging they were born the same year.
Jack followed his mother into the kitchen, where the table was set for two. “We’ll sit in here since there’s only you and me. Tommy couldn’t get away from work, or so he said.”
Jack glanced at the bowls of steaming mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans with sesame seeds, soda bread. “Jeez, Ma, ya didn’t have to make enough for an army. It’s just lunch. What’s wrong with a sandwich?”
She waved a dismissive hand at him and hustled about the stove and counter, then took a roasting pan of golden chicken from the oven. “Well, I always like lots of leftovers, and I’ll send some home with you.”
“I’ll get the wine.” Jack retrieved a bottle of chardonnay from the fridge, along with two glasses. He watched Maureen fussing over savory-looking chicken as he poured the wine. For no apparent reason, thoughts of Erica’s battle with cancer and of Ariana’s dementia entered his mind. Today, he decided, he would sit back, enjoy the meal, and count himself lucky his mother was still cooking at her age.
. . . . .
Thirty minutes later they sat in the living room finishing cherry pie, vanilla ice cream, and coffee. Maureen dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Well, that’s all about my trip and Aunt Betty. Now what I’ve been waiting for. Tell me everything about Germany.”
Figuring that wasn’t going to happen, Jack said. “Okay, but I can’t sit here all day, Ma. Got things to do.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Like what?”
“Nothing.” He paused. “Sherk’s folks’ house is right in Munich. Very handy to everything.” Jack continued, but the description of his sightseeing and his visit to Sherk’s grandparents in Regensburg struck him as superficial, a travel brochure without a mention of the destination’s true purpose and ultimate revelation.
“Did you visit Dachau?” Maureen sipped her coffee.
“Ye
ah, but it’s changed since Pa was there. Built up. A lot of it’s a museum now, but some buildings are still standing.”
She cringed when Jack mentioned the gas chambers and crematoriums. “Your father never would talk about it, but I know it stayed with him.” Her gaze turned to the window. She was somewhere far away. “All his nightmares, you know.”
Jack nodded. “Not to mention the booze and the belt on our backsides.”
“Jacky.” She looked at him with utter reproach. “You should realize the war caused all that. It wasn’t his fault.”
Jack dropped his head. “Yeah, okay.” He had momentarily slipped into his former mindset of anger toward his pa. Now his mind had changed, but he’d always keep the journal with its details of the horrors of Dachau and Pa’s affair with Ariana forever shielded from his mother.
Maureen stood and walked to an end table across the white and navy living room. It struck Jack like him, the room had changed. The shiny hard floors were a far cry from the avocado green shag carpet of Jack’s boyhood.
“This is my favorite picture of your father and me.” Maureen reached for a pewter-framed black-and-white photo of a young man in a long-sleeved shirt, his arm around a slim, attractive woman with shoulder-length curls. They stood in the front yard beside the same lilac bush that blooms today.
Jack drained his coffee and thought of another black and white snapshot of the same young man in his Army uniform, arm around another pretty girl.
“Yeah, I know, Ma. It was taken right after the war.” The picture had been displayed on various tables in the house since Jack could remember.
“Is there anything else about Dachau to report or any other information?”
Jack avoided her gaze. Was she fishing? Did she suspect more?
“Nope, that’s it.” He stood and picked up his dessert place. “I’ll see you soon. Gotta go.”
He made his way toward the kitchen.
“Are you sure there wasn’t anything else?” Maureen followed him, carrying her cup and plate.