Blaz wiped his bleary eyes. If he was found, he knew better than to be crying. In his hand, the pilfered drops were sticky, the sugar melting into his palm. For the first time, he realized his hand was bleeding. It must have been cut when the jar broke. The sugar mixed with the blood and coalesced into a thick syrup, like sap from a tree.
He shut his eyes tight, hoping if he couldn’t see his father then maybe his father couldn’t see him. How would he get home, though? He couldn’t sleep behind the pub. Even if he did, what then? Would it ever be safe to go home? Perhaps, with so many family members staying for the holiday, Blaz’ father would wait until they had all gone before punishing him. Maybe he wouldn’t want to ruin the holiday. But Blaz had already done that. His only chance was to try to beat his father to the house and seek shelter with his aunt. She didn’t like Blaz’ father and she was the only person Blaz had ever seen stand up to him. Maybe she would protect him. Blaz could only hope.
His nose was running, a thin dribble of snot sat on his upper lip until he wiped it away with his cuff. His father was closer now and just when Blaz thought he had been spotted, his father walked right past the alley. Maybe he could make a run for it. If he could get across the street and through the woods, he might just make it. On his own the woods terrified Blaz. He thought of the ravenous wolves just waiting for a little boy to wander cross their path. What little light the moon offered was strange beneath the trees and Blaz didn’t know for sure if he could even find his own way back. He might get lost and freeze to death. But whatever possibilities lay waiting in the woods did not outweigh the certainty of the bloody beating from his father if he were caught. Blaz decided to risk it. He bolted, making a dead run for the park where he could cut across and find the trail to the forest. He heard his father shout his name but didn’t turn around. His chest hurt, the winter hit his lips and his teeth, the back of his throat, biting all the way down to his lungs.
He had just crossed the park and was on the trail when someone yanked his collar first backward and then headlong into the trunk of tree. Searing pain was followed by utter dark.
When he woke, it was light. He opened his eyes just enough to see his aunt stroking his forehead with a warm wet cloth. He could hear his uncle talking to her.
“Leave him be, Else. You heard what his father said. You keep insisting you don’t want to leave your sister alone with him but you have no trouble making him more angry. The least you can do is abide by his wishes and keep the peace.”
“But look at him, poor babe. He’s so little. How could that man hurt him? Someone ought to bash his skull in.”
“That’s not our business. Now get out of there, quickly, before anyone else sees you.”
The aunt left and Blaz fell back asleep. The next time he woke it was to his cousins, Amos and Curt, sitting atop him.
“See, I told you he’s not dead,” Amos was saying.
“I never said he was dead. I said he looked dead.”
“Blaz. Wake up. Your mum said we could borrow your mittens but we can’t find them.”
“We’re going to play in the snow,” Curt chimed in.
Blaz tried to sit up.
“Is it Christmas?” He asked.
“No,” Amos told him. “You missed Christmas. Actually, we all did. When your father had to pay that shopkeeper all he had was your Christmas presents to trade. Our parents said it wasn’t fair for us to get presents if you and Bita weren’t. We have to wait until we get home.”
“It’s already passed Christmas?” Blaz asked.
“You slept right through it. Where are your mittens? The girls are waiting for us.”
Blaz pointed to his coat and the cousins found them in the pocket. They ran outside and Blaz made it to the window and watched them playing in the snow. His uncle joined them, tossing handfuls of snow as they rolled around and chased each other. Blaz wished his own father would play with him like that, not that he deserved it. What had he done? He’d just wanted one small treat, but his selfishness had cost the entire family. He pressed his head against the window and shrunk back. On his forehead he felt the bump. It felt so hard, not like it should feel but like a round stone had been put just under his skin. Even touching it was painful.
Blaz went back to his bed. He imagined what had happened after he blacked out. His father must have carried him back. Knocked him out and then carried him back, how strange. Then he would have had to explain how poor they were, why he couldn’t pay the shop for the damage. His uncles and aunts probably offered to help, but Blaz knew if they had his father would never accept it. That’s why he’d given up the only things he could, their meager Christmas gifts. For a moment, Blaz wondered what they might have been but chastened himself. His father was humiliated, Christmas was ruined and it was all Blaz’ fault.
He wanted to try to make things right, but how? He had no money, nothing to sell. An idea struck him. He’d always wanted to work in a shop. He got on his feet and listened at the door. Everyone was in the kitchen talking. He slipped on his clothes and shoes, tugged his coat over his achy shoulders and slipped downstairs. No one noticed him go out the front door. Luckily, it hadn’t snowed again and the tracks from before were still visible, hardened into ice by the cold. It was still light enough that Blaz didn’t have to be scared of the wolves. He knew they were out there, but in the day he never imagined them scurrying through the trees hunting him. He found the trail they had taken before, could see the park.
He followed the same path they’d taken past the bakery. When he found the sign that said “Trawitz” he went inside. The shopkeeper was busy with a customer. Blaz looked at where the display had been. The shelf had been completely removed and in its place was a sign that read “No candy.” Guilt washed over Blaz and he was about to change his mind and go back when the owner saw him.
“You! You stay away from my store!” Blaz was grateful the counter stood between them, the man looked as if he would pounce.
“Please, sir. I came to apologize,” Blaz used his most grownup words and voice.
“Apologize? The garbage your father gave me is worthless! What am I supposed to do about candy? I’ve got barely any left and no place to put what I do have.”
“Can I work for you?” Blaz blurted.
“Excuse me?”
“Can I work for you? I can sweep and carry. I’ll do whatever chores you want. I’ll work for it. To pay you back.”
“Your father sent you, did he?”
“No, sir. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
The owner’s eyebrows went up. He seemed to be considering Blaz’ proposal. He pointed to the mound on Blaz’ forehead.
“How’d you get that?” He asked.
Blaz didn’t answer. He looked down to squeeze the tears away, embarrassed.
“I see,” the owner said. He had suddenly softened. He thought for a moment and looked Blaz over carefully. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You come see me two days a week after school, uh, do you go to school?”
Blaz nodded.
“Fine, two days a week after school until the debt is paid. I’ll tell your father we’re square. Agreed?”
Blaz nodded again, grateful and relieved.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.” Blaz turned to leave.
“Just a minute, boy,” the owner went behind the curtain. Blaz could hear him moving things around. A minute later he returned with a box. He handed it to Blaz, making sure Blaz could support it before letting go.
“Good luck, son,” he said.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be back tomorrow?”
“Wait until that bump clears up. Don’t want you frightening the customers.” He winked at Blaz and smiled.
Blaz didn’t open the box. He took the trail home, moving as quickly as he could with the burden, trying to beat the sunset. He arrived home just as the cousins were going back inside.
“Was he outside playing?” His father roared when he saw Blaz follow the others inside.
/> “Not with us,” Amos promised.
Blaz handed his father the box. He took it, set it on the table and looked inside. His eyes leapt to Blaz, questioning.
“How did you get these?” He asked.
“I went to the shop. He said he’d let me work to pay the debt. He gave me that when I left.”
“You’re too young to work,” his aunt insisted.
“Quiet, Else. Keep to yours,” his uncle chided.
His father’s eyes half closed, his brows pinched together and his nostrils flexed. He looked terribly angry but he choked on something and cleared his throat. He started taking out the packages and announced that everyone could open presents now. The cousins yelped and ran upstairs to fetch theirs. Blaz’ father gave one to Bita and another to his wife. Lastly, he handed one to Blaz.
“Here, boy. Don’t break it, you hear?”
Blaz pulled at the string and tore off the brown paper. Inside was a box of smooth black wood. It was long and beautifully painted with silver stars and bolts of lightning. Blaz looked up at his father, awestruck.
“For me?” He asked.
His father cleared his throat again. “It’s not much. I just cleaned it up and decorated it a bit. You’ve been talking about the Roman gods and you seemed to really like one in particular.”
“Jupiter,” Blaz offered.
“Jupiter, that’s right. So,” he looked away and patted his fists together, “Take care of it. Someday you can pass it on to your son. Merry Christmas.”
Blaz couldn’t believe it. He carried the box to his room, tracing the lightning and stars with his finger. His father had given him a present. And not just any present, but one made especially for him. His father had listened to him. Blaz didn’t think anyone had listened to him, but his father had. Not only had he heard, he remembered. Blaz pulled a heavy book from under his bed. The illustrations of Juno, Apollo, Venus and Mars were brought to life in vivid color. Blaz turned the pages to find Jupiter, king of the gods. Blaz marveled at the picture. Jupiter’s white hair and beard blew gloriously around his face as he stretched back a mighty, muscled arm to throw the radiant white lightning bolt. His face was dark and powerful, terrifying but inspiring. The book was a prize, his only treasure until now. Blaz turned the key on the box and opened it. It was empty, but that was good. He would fill it and someday he would give it to his own son.
CHAPTER 16
October 1944
Blaz
The anger was choking him. This was meant to be the greatest achievement of his life, and now all was lost. The son he had prayed for, ached for, was a misshapen thing. His wife, the woman he had been faithful to and treasured was dying.
Blaz stood in the hallway just outside the nursery, dazed. He looked at the doors lining the hall and pictured their occupants. Through the large brown door across the hall to the left was Giselle, lying unconscious in fresh sheets that Theatrice had been good enough to change. Down the hall on the far end was Cora’s door, safely shut for the night. He imagined her sleeping in her bed, cozy and dreaming, unlike her pale and emptied mother. A brutal part of him wanted to wake Cora, force her to suffer the way they were all suffering now, envious of the ease of youth. But he found himself again and turned his thoughts instead to Theatrice. Instantly he was grateful to have her there and sorry they had argued. She was his only source of comfort for the time being and he felt compelled to set things right. He tried to move his legs and they responded grudgingly, still recovering from their collapse in the nursery.
When he knocked on her door, Theatrice was already up and in her night robe. She answered with the look of someone anxious, troubled.
“You can’t sleep either?” Theatrice asked.
“No. I was just on my way to the kitchen. I haven’t eaten since early this morning. I thought I might think more clearly with a full stomach. My mind’s a sewer right now, all sorts of horrible things running through it.” He rubbed one weary hand over his face.
Theatrice kept her hands on the doorknob as he spoke, clinging to it like a friend’s hand for support.
“Of course you should eat. I’m so sorry. It’s been an awful day. Perhaps I could join you?”
They went downstairs to the kitchen, Theatrice following Blaz in silence. Blaz found some venison and rolls and set about making sandwiches while Theatrice put the kettle on to make tea. Anyone looking in would assume they were a married couple settling down after an argument. They moved around each other without speaking or making eye contact, both needing to say something, neither prepared to speak first. After the tea and sandwiches were made Theatrice put them on a tray and carried them into the dining room. They sat down, Blaz in his usual seat at the head of the table and Theatrice where Giselle usually sat. She quickly realized what she had done and started to apologize.
“No, it’s all right,” Blaz insisted. “It would feel more awkward if her chair was empty and you were sitting over there. It would just feel like she’s gone already.”
“Dieter would never be as worried as you are. I don’t think he has it in him to love anyone like that.”
“Neither do I really. I mean, I do love her. Of course I do. But women, you tend to say it more, express it more. Men don’t need to say it. We feel it and that’s enough.”
“How did the two of you meet?”
“We met in school. Our fathers were both members of the Blood Order. They sort of encouraged us.”
“An arranged marriage? I didn’t realize.”
“It was more complicated than that. Our fathers pressed it at first, but when I saw her, that was it for me. And after we started to see one another our fathers changed their minds. Suddenly it was forbidden. She was even sent away at one point. But it all worked out in the end.”
“Love conquers all?” Giselle teased and Blaz smiled.
“You could say that. Do you remember the Night of Long Knives?”
“Of course.”
“I was there. I’d never been part of anything like that before. I always felt odd somehow, out of place. But that night, taking commands was so,” he searched for the right word. “Liberating. And it was frightening but in a good way. We were taking the city back, rescuing the people from tyranny. I’ve never liked it when things were out of control. That night was about organizing, setting things right. Wiping the slate clean so our country can make a fresh start, just like what we do at the camps. And I wanted to be part of it. I wanted to be part of it and I wanted Giselle at my side. So, I went to her house and proposed. We’d gone through years of preparing, waiting-”
“What were you waiting for?”
“For me to be a man, I suppose, to be ready and worthy of her.”
“And were you?”
“Was I a man?”
“Were you worthy?”
“After that night? Yes, yes I was. We got married right then and there.”
Blaz smiled a little, but then, as if suddenly reminded of the day let out a shuddering sigh and pinched the tears from his eyes with one hand.
“I’m so sorry, Blaz. What you must be feeling right now, I can’t imagine.”
“You’ve lost people in your life,” he shrugged. “I’m sure this is nothing new for you.”
“But I’ve never lost anyone I really loved. My sister died when I was a baby, but of course I don’t remember her. That’s actually how I got my name. Did I ever tell you? My real name is Beatrice. But my sister was a toddler and she couldn’t say Beatrice. So instead she called me Theatrice. Not long after I was born she became very sick, pneumonia. Since she couldn’t be near me, my mother had to take me away while Anna recovered. Only she didn’t recover and my mother wasn’t there the night she slipped away. My father said it changed my mother. He said a lot of things changed, including my name. My mother wanted to keep it the way Anna had said it. I don’t know if she blamed me or what. Maybe she thought if I hadn’t been born then she could have been there for Anna, could have saved her. All I know is I never fe
lt truly loved by my mother. There was always a memory, a wish keeping her away from me.”
“Has it made you hate her, your mother?” Blaz asked, ignoring the plate of sandwiches.
“No. Especially now that I’ve lost a child and even with that I can only experience a small portion of her loss. I lost my baby, but not one I’d ever held or cradled or taught to walk. I lost a hope, but my mother lost a life. I can make guesses about what it would have been like to be a mother, but she knew. I don’t think I could bear that, letting go of someone who I had nurtured and cared for.”
“Will you hate me when I do that to you?” Blaz asked, taking her hand.
“Do what?”
“Take away the child you have nurtured?”
“So you’ve made your decision then? To be fair I’ve barely touched him.” Theatrice sat up straighter, displaying her indifference.
“You know what I mean.”
“I could never hate you,” she finally replied.
“Do you think I’m a monster to slaughter my own child?” His eyes were brimming with tears as he expelled the words he had been chewing on and buried his face in his palms, his fingers curled into his hair, tugging it.
“Oh, Blaz,” she sighed, getting up to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders trying to cradle him the way she saw Giselle had. He didn’t seem to notice, too lost in his grief. She put a hand tentatively on his head. When he didn’t react she began stroking his hair gently. “Listen to me. Do not doubt what you believe is right. I admire you for so many reasons, but above all for your great courage to do what so many others cannot.”
“I don’t know what I believe anymore. I know what I feel. I know what I think. But I do not know what is right.”
“It’s the great question isn’t it? The duality of humanity? A double sided coin?”
He looked at her, bemused at her choice of words. He couldn’t help but think of Grey again and sat up in his chair.
“Isn’t that what Nietzsche tells us?” She explained. “That the superman must embrace both good and evil within himself? That what may seem monstrous to the average man is allowed, even required of the advanced species?”
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