Playing With Matches

by Lee Strauss

  It was a vain effort to forget. People didn’t speak as freely or laugh as loudly as in previous years. The merchants’ supplies dwindled quickly, and they offered careful apologetic smiles to those not fast enough at finding what they wanted.

  The last Advent Sunday before Christmas arrived, and the Christmas market and all the town shops had closed. Everyone who could go to church went. Father was needed at the factory, so it was just Emil with Helmut and Mother.

  “Hurry up, boys!” she admonished. Their boots crunched on the newly fallen snow as she prodded them toward the entrance of St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church.

  Moritz and Johann were there, seated with their families when they arrived.

  St. Matthew’s lacked the ornamental flare of the Catholic Church, and the pipe organ wasn’t even in the same category. St. Stephen’s had the largest pipe organ in Europe, taking up a whole wall. Emil thought their organ was a humiliation in comparison. Fraulein Post played it gingerly as everyone sang along; hoch die Tür, die Tor macht weit, Make high the door, throw the gate wide.

  Pastor Kuhnhauser approached the podium adorned in his white clergy gown, a crimson scarf draped over his shoulders. A mural of the risen Christ was painted on the wall behind him, high above his head.

  Helmut and Emil sat stiffly, not making a sound. They knew Mother would smack them on the side of the head on the way home if they disturbed the service. Johann and Moritz sat across the room stiff as posts, too.

  “Dear fellow believers in our Lord Jesus Christ,” Pastor Kuhnhauser began. “As we complete our observance of Advent let us reflect on how God our loving Father sent his son to be light in this dark world. Especially at this dark moment in history, may God be your comfort and light.”

  It was brave of him to call the war a dark moment, Emil thought. Or was it foolish? According to Nazi propaganda it was their brightest moment ever.

  At that moment, the rear door opened. Who would come so late to the service? Emil wondered. They were apt to get Mother’s eyebrow of disapproval. The small congregation shifted before gasping.

  Black coats!

  The SS had dared to enter a holy place. The sanctuary. Emil whipped his head to look back at Pastor Kuhnhauser, who blanched and swallowed. Emil imagined that this would alter his sermon somewhat.

  Mother continued staring straight ahead, her shoulders pressed back, her lips pursed in an angry knot.

  Even God’s house belonged to Hitler now.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  1941

  MAY

  THE FIRST months of 1941 crept by with simple routines. School, Deutsches Jungvolk Mother making the most out of smaller quantities of food, Father working long hours, Helmut banging on the piano. And twelve and a half-year old Emil had added a new routine: watching for Katharina Ackermann.

  Katharina had the same blond wavy hair as Johann which she wore shorter than most young German girls. She looked to Emil like she would rather be wearing trousers, and he was sure she was capable of taking most boys in a wrestling match if she had to.

  Chance had him peering out of his bedroom window early one February morning, when he’d spotted Katharina lugging a tin milk jug into town, obviously full by the way her body leaned heavily to one side. Emil assumed she was taking it to the market to sell. Something about the way her brow was furrowed, pure determination on her face as she went about her mission, drew him to keep watching her.

  She wasn’t anything like Irmgard or Elsbeth. Emil tried to put his finger on the difference. For one, Katharina didn’t seem to care about how she looked, and Emil couldn’t imagine Irmgard on an errand like this.

  Every day she made the trip to the market with her heavy jug of milk, and every day Emil sneaked to the window to watch. As the seasons changed, she’d discarded her winter coat, her spring dresses revealing a more feminine figure than Emil had expected. Seeing her made his heart race. What was it about girls that caused that?

  Or rather, this particular girl?

  It was a warm day in May when Emil made his slip. The birds were causing a commotion–the swallows had built a nest in the roof, just above his bedroom window. Emil watched them and Katharina at the same time, which is why his reflexes were off. She noticed the birds, too and looked up.

  She saw him. And waved.

  Stunned and abhorring the thought of being caught watching her, Emil dropped to the floor. He remembered how mad Johann got when he thought he was watching her hang the laundry on the line that day.

  Emil hoped she wouldn’t say anything to him.

  Yet, a grin tugged on his lips unbidden. She had waved.

  On June 22, 1941, Germany invaded Russia. This seemed unbelievable at first because Germany had signed a non-aggression pact with the Soviet Union, yet more than three million German troops had lined up, stretching from the Arctic Circle, south to the Black Sea. It was no secret that Hitler hated the Communists and there was no shortage of propaganda spouting fear about a possible attack on Germany by them. A pre-empted strike made sense in light of that.

  Even though Russia had the largest air force in the world, the surprise attack by the Luftwaffe crippled them. In just three days, more than 2,000 of Russia’s planes were destroyed. Onkel Rudi was flying over there and Emil hoped he was okay.

  When they heard the news, Emil’s parents didn’t say anything. He knew what they were thinking though: Don’t say anything around Emil.

  Emil felt like yelling, I’m not going to report you! but he kept silent. He couldn’t be seen to take sides.

  Next, Hitler bombed Moscow. When news of the Luftwaffe’s huge success aired from the radio, Emil was divided. He still loved the Luftwaffe.

  His parents were worried. Emil overheard them saying that many Germans thought the attack on Russia was a big mistake, even those devoted to the National Socialist Party. It’s a big country. Surely they’ll fight back. And besides that, no one had ever beaten the Soviets before.

  What if they did fight back? What would happen to them then?

  Then one day Emil, hopped onto his bike and headed to Johann’s farm. It was mostly an effort to escape boredom because sometimes wartime was just plain boring. Frau Ackermann answered the door and to Emil’s disappointment, told him that Johann wasn’t there.

  “Where is he?” Emil asked.

  “With Moritz.” Frau Ackermann frowned. “They’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. I hope they’re not getting into trouble.”

  They’ve been spending a lot of time together? Without me? Emil wondered.

  “If you see him,” Frau Ackermann said as Emil turned to go, “tell him to come home. He has chores to do.”

  Emil rode directly to Moritz’s house. It was quiet when he got there. No sign of Moritz or Johann in the yard. He knocked on the door not expecting his mother to answer as he knew she’d be at work. Mothers didn’t normally work outside the home, but because she was a widow, it was acceptable. When Moritz didn’t answer either, Emil turned the knob and let himself in.

  “Moritz?” he called softly. Emil considered Moritz’s house a second home, he’d been here tons of times, but no one had turned on the lights since dusk descended and the shadows were eerie.

  It was weird to be in someone’s house when they weren’t there. Emil decided he’d check Mortiz’s room and if he wasn’t there, he’d hurry out again and just go home.

  Emil quietly took the steps up to Mortiz’s room in the attic, unconsciously avoiding the ones he knew from experience would announce his presence with a loud creak. If Moritz and Johann were up to something, he didn’t want them to know he was there until he could see what it was.

  The door was ajar just a fraction. Through the crack Emil saw his friends huddled around the desk. He could hear talking, not from them, but from a radio.

  Why were they listening to the radio like that? Had another German city been bombed?

  “What’s going on?” Emil said walking in.

  Moritz and Johann both
jerked back, startled. Moritz quickly turned the knob, cutting the program off.

  “Emil?” he said with odd stiffness. “What are you doing here?”

  “Johann’s mother said you were together. What are you guys doing?”

  “Nothing,” Moritz said too quickly. “Nothing much.”

  “You were listening to something on the radio. Why did you turn it off?”

  Johann and Moritz gave each other strange looks. Johann went to Moritz’s bed and lay down. Moritz stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood awkwardly in front of his desk, like there was something there he didn’t want Emil to see.

  Which made Emil want to see what was there even more. Mortiz stiffened as Emil walked toward him. “Emil?”

  “What is the matter with you guys? You’re acting crazy.”

  Then he saw the radio. It didn’t look like anything he had seen before.

  “What is it?”

  Moritz took a deep breath and looked a Johann. “We might as well tell him.” Johann nodded, okay.

  “Tell me what?” Emil’s mind raced. What could Moritz and Johann be hiding from him? And the bigger question was why?

  “It’s a radio,” Moritz said.

  “I can see that,” Emil replied impatiently. But it wasn’t the standard utility radio that was permitted by the Nazis that could only pick up German news reports.

  Moritz continued, “It’s called a Rola. It has shortwave. My brother brought it back from Holland.”

  “Does he know you have it?”

  “No, I found it in his room. I didn’t mean to…” he shrugged. “Anyway, it runs on shorter wavelengths than German radios.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “With short-wave you can pick up Britain. The British Broadcast Corporation gives news reports in German, because they know people here are listening.”

  Whoa, Emil thought. “But that’s illegal.”

  “Yes” Johann broke in. “We know.”

  Moritz handed Emil a piece of paper marked with his handwriting. “Here, look at this.”

  Germans suffer heavy casualties…

  “What is this?” Emil said, dread creeping steadily up his chest.

  “We heard it on the BBC. I wrote it down.”

  Emil read more. “But, it can’t be true. It’s completely opposite to our military broadcasts.” He tossed the paper back onto the desk. “It must be propaganda.”

  “Propaganda? I’ll tell you propaganda.” Moritz stabbed the paper with his finger. “Our troops march into Russia, and the number of ‘enemy’ soldiers killed or captured, according to our military report, is phenomenal, but no mention is made of our own losses.”

  “Listen, Emil,” Johann sat up on the bed. “It doesn’t make sense. They have guns. They must be fighting back. The British reports give their own casualties, too, not just the enemy’s.”

  Emil slowly sat down on the chair vacated by Johann. “Why didn’t you guys tell me about this?”

  “To be honest,” replied Moritz. “We didn’t know for sure if you could handle it. You seem really, well, taken in by, uh, everything.”

  Because I wanted a better Germany? Emil thought. How was that wrong?

  “I’m not going to turn you in, if that’s what you’re worried about. You guys are my best friends, no matter what. But are you sure? Are you really sure?”

  “You can hear it for yourself if you want.”

  What if it was true? What if the German people were being fed a pack of lies on their state commissioned people’s radio? Emil almost didn’t want to know. Life was already hard enough.

  Emil felt his head nodding, but his heart raced. He knew listening to enemy broadcasts was strictly forbidden. When the BBC tones came through the cracking reception, he could barely hear because of the blood pulsing through his ears.

  The BBC reports completely contradicted everything Emil had ever heard. They provided battle details from all sides. The German news reports said they had light casualties. The BBC said the German army had lost hundreds of thousands.

  Emil didn’t want to believe it. “They’re lying!”

  “Really?” Moritz challenged. “How can it always be so good for Germany, and always so bad for everyone else?”

  “Britain is our enemy. They know some treasonous Germans will listen to illegal radio. They can say anything. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

  Johann countered, “But what if it is?”

  “It just can’t be.”

  “Why?” Johann said. “Because you don’t want it to be? Is that enough for you?”

  “It can’t be true.” Emil covered his face with his hands. “Because if it is, we are in so much trouble.”

  “Emil,” Moritz said softly. “I’m afraid we are in trouble.”

  Emil groaned. “Everything we’ve believed, wrong?”

  “It’s not the first time you’ve thought it, though,” Moritz said. “Is it?”

  No, it wasn’t. Terrible little thoughts had often wormed through Emil’s mind, thoughts that he tried to beat down, push away. Terrible, tortuous thoughts that grew more frequent and frightening as the months passed by. Terrible, treacherous thoughts. Doubts. About Hitler and the Reich. He remembered what they did to Anne, to Frau Kreutz and to Elsbeth’s parents. He’d hoped that if he ignored them long enough, maybe the horrible little thoughts would go away.

  “Does anyone else know about this?” he asked. His chest felt so tight he could barely breathe.

  The two boys shook their heads.

  “Good, that’s good. We can’t tell anyone. We’d be arrested.”

  Johann said, “Let’s not do anything for now.”

  Emil and Moritz were quick to agree with that.

  Listening to the BBC at Moritz’s became like an addiction for the three of them. Emil’s parents never asked him what he was up to. They had learned not to question his activities with Deutsches Jungvolk and mistakenly thought that was where he went.

  One time after the ten o’clock report ended, Moritz turned to Emil and Johann. “We need to do something.”

  “What do you mean?” Emil said.

  “We need to get the truth out somehow.”

  “How?”

  “Flyers. We can write out flyers and drop them in mailboxes and phone booths. People need to hear the truth.”

  “Do you know what you’re suggesting?” Johann said. “We would be sent to prison if we were caught.”

  “Then we don’t get caught.”

  The first time they did it, they just made small cards, with some bit of news. Thousands of German soldiers dead in Russia. We’re fighting an impossible war.

  With three cards stuffed in his pockets, Emil felt like he was holding that grenade again. He wanted to throw them off his body! Fortunately, it was a moonless night, and blackout conditions gave a fair amount of cover. He slipped into the lobby of an apartment block and delivered his cards. His stomach was in such a nervous state by the time he got home, his bowels had turned to water. Emil decided then and there he would never do that again.

  But by the morning, it didn’t seem so bad. And so their campaign for truth had begun.

  Those of the Same Blood belong in the Same Reich. Make this land German for me again!

  Banners with slogans such as these by Adolf Hitler covered every free wall and fence space in the center of Passau. The summer Emil turned thirteen, he was kept busy with Deutsches Jungvolk activities supporting the war effort. Hitler was coming through with his promise to the people about creating a greater Germany by colonizing the East.

  This didn’t keep the boys from meeting at Mortiz’s room to write out flyers, to expose the truth, whenever they could find some free time.

  “Where’s Johann,” Emil asked when he met Moritz for their next covert writing session.

  “He’ll be here.” Moritz put the paper and pens out on his desk in preparation. As if on cue they heard the squeak in the stairs.

  But that should’ve bee
n their first clue, since Johann knew about the squeaky step, and always avoided it.

  Johann had brought his sister! Emil’s face mirrored Moritz’s shocked expression.

  “Are you crazy?” Emil spit out.

  “Relax,” Johann said, waving his arms about, not looking relaxed at all himself. “She knows.”

  “How does she know?” Moritz said pointedly.

  “She found a flyer in my room. I was meaning to hand it out, but….”

  Katharina stomped her foot. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

  “It’s very dangerous.” Emil said, avoiding her eyes.

  “I know the risks.” Katharina said. “I agree with what you’re doing and I want to help.”

  “But this is really dangerous,” Emil said again. He didn't want anything bad to happen to her, not that he liked her or anything.

  “Everything is getting dangerous,” Johann added. “Access to the truth is more important now than ever.”

  “How many of you are writing out flyers?” Katharina asked.

  “Three.”

  She smiled. “So, now there’s four.”

  “Well, she’s here now,” Moritz said with a deep sigh. “And another writer would be helpful,”

  Then he broke his own pact about not talking to girls and said to Katharina, “Okay, but you must swear, swear, to keep everything you see and do here an absolute secret.”

  “I swear,” she said.

  Their small cards gradually became larger, full-length pages, with nearly entire newscasts transcribed. They didn’t have a typewriter, or a way to make copies, but they each committed to writing out three by hand and finding new places to drop them. It wasn’t much but it felt good to do something right, and maybe something good would come of it.

  They never went out together. They always made their deliveries alone, and always in a different part of town. They had also made a pact. If one of them was caught, he or she, (God forbid, thought Emil) wouldn’t implicate the others. As far as anyone else was concerned, they each acted alone.