by Jana Zinser
Curious, Peter detoured across the street to the shop. He reached up to the windowsill to peer in, but lost his grip and slid back down. He wedged the toe of his shoe into a crevice in the bricks and pulled himself up again to see into the window.
Inside the tailor shop, William held out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Hurry up! Did you get all my documents?”
The man nodded and handed William an ink-smudged envelope.
William opened the envelope and looked inside. He nodded. Then he pulled a key from his pocket, opened the store’s money drawer, and handed the man some money. “You’ll have to find someone else to be your connection. With these papers, I’m out of here.”
William shoved the papers inside his shirt and turned quickly. Peter ducked down, his foot trapped in the crevice, and fell to the ground. His foot was freed by the fall. He jumped up as William opened the door.
“Peter? What are you doing here? Get out of my way when you see me coming.” William pushed Peter out of his way.
Peter limped down the sidewalk, hurrying away from William, who clutched his secret documents that would get him out of Germany inside his shirt.
CHAPTER 5
FEARLESS GERMAN HERO
(November 1938)
Later that day, Peter set off to deliver the lamb chops and roast to the Vogners. He approached the large house, which was fronted by an ornate iron gate. In the yard, Hans and Stephen played football against Otto, seventeen, a strong, friendly boy. Since he was so much older, they looked up to him and his superior football skills.
Eddie Vogner, Hans’s eight-year-old brother, was sitting on the porch with his mother, cheering the other boys on. He was short and stocky, with small hands and feet, his eyes were almond shaped, and his tongue was a little too large for his mouth. He wore a hat that hung down to cover his face, hiding his slight differences from the hatred Hitler had for anyone with a disability. Peter knew that doctors called Eddie a “mongoloid.” But Eddie’s mother never let anyone use that word. He also knew that people like Eddie were often institutionalized, even before Hitler had come to power. But Eddie continued living a relatively normal life with his family, due to his mother’s insistence, Dr. Levy’s medical support, and the fact that Eddie was protected by seldom leaving home.
“Go, Otto!” Eddie called, and then let out a squeaking cheer.
Peter gave the meat to Hans’s mother, who took it inside. He sat down on the porch next to Eddie, out of the way of the ball.
“Go, Otto!” Eddie shouted over and over.
Peter watched the boys play a sport he would never understand. Why would anyone want to run back and forth while kicking a ball? The perpetual uselessness and potential for facial injury made no sense to him. Peter took his yo-yo from his pocket, made it zip down the string, and snapped it back up. A yo-yo was something you could control, he thought. A yo-yo took real skill.
Otto maneuvered the ball down the yard, pushing Hans and Stephen out of the way. Stephen chased after him and jumped onto Otto’s back. Laughing, Otto threw him off and continued down the front yard. He jumped into the air, kicking his leg out in an explosive side-kick, and scored. Then he cupped his hand to his ear.
“I can hear the crowd cheering. Otto! Otto! They love me. I am a fearless German hero!” Otto yelled and emitted his boisterous cheer.
Peter laughed at the competitive nonsense of which he would never be capable. He did not like any game that involved pain. He made his yo-yo leap out and twist around the front porch post, and then snapped it back. No one paid attention to his extraordinary yo-yo talent. They were focused on the football match.
Eddie clapped and cheered. “Otto! Otto! I love Otto!”
Otto bowed to Eddie. “Thank you, Eddie. You are my best friend because you appreciate superior talent.”
Eddie beamed.
“What about you, Peter?” Otto asked.
Peter couldn’t help but smile at Otto’s enthusiasm. “You are a fearless German hero,” Peter admitted.
Otto turned to Hans and Stephen. “It’s officially been confirmed!” He smiled. “I’ll see you at the school field tomorrow. You better practice your side-kicks.” He jumped into the air, kicking his leg out to the side.
They waved. Eddie stood up and waved enthusiastically. “Bye, Otto. Remember, I’m your best friend. You and I have superior talent.”
Hans and Stephen laughed, and Peter smiled.
“That’s right, Eddie. That’s right.” Otto waved and strode off.
Otto’s father, Martin, was waiting for him outside the gate. Peter knew Martin; he was a burly red-faced police officer who was perpetually in a foul mood.
Martin grabbed Otto’s ear and pulled him away. He smacked Otto’s head as the four boys watched.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Martin yelled at Otto.
Otto shrugged. “Just playing football.”
Martin looked at the other boys with narrowed eyes and a pinched mouth. “With them?” Martin hit him again.
Otto raised his hand to protect his head from repeated hits. “They’re my friends.”
“I’ve taught you better than that.” Martin sneered.
Anna was watching from the porch window, her mouth open. She frantically waved the boys inside, motioning directly at Eddie.
Peter saw her and wanted to run inside to the safety of their big house, but he could not pull away from the terror of what he was seeing. He had the urge to throw his yo-yo at Martin with full speed. Maybe it would wrap tightly around the man’s neck, as if it were a porch post, he thought. But Peter’s violent shaking and all-encompassing fear made it impossible.
The next day, Peter hurried up the school steps with Becca close behind. Olga walked a few steps away. Eva waved, but Olga hurried on, pretending she didn’t see her.
Hans and Stephen approached Otto, as he strode up the stairs. “You won’t win today, even if we both have to hang on your back,” Stephen said, laughing.
“And Eddie, the traitor, isn’t here to cheer you on,” Hans said, as he slapped Otto on the back.
Otto looked down at the ground. “I can’t play today.”
“Why? Did we hurt you yesterday?” Stephen teased.
Peter paused and pulled Becca back, so he could hear what Stephen and Hans were saying, but Becca wasn’t paying attention. She was watching a defiant butterfly dance on the cooling fall wind.
“What happened to your superior talent?” Hans asked. Stephen laughed, as he exaggeratedly mocked Otto’s football side-kick.
Otto didn’t laugh. “I won’t be able to play with you anymore.”
Stephen and Hans looked at each other. “Ever?” Hans asked.
Otto looked down, unable to meet his friends’ eyes. He slowly shook his head. “My father says I can’t even talk to you.”
“Why?” Stephen asked.
“You’re Jews.” Otto’s voice cracked.
“We know,” Hans said, trying to make a joke.
“We’ve always been Jews,” Stephen said.
“It’s different now. Now,
there’s Hitler.” Otto paused again. “My father has become a Nazi.” Otto shrugged. “I’m a kid, and he’s my father.”
Otto’s eyes filled with tears. Pursing his lips, he finally looked up. He had a black eye and a swollen lip. He quickly turned and walked away.
Becca looked at Peter. “Why don’t you play football?”
“Hush, Becca. Don’t you know when to be quiet?” Peter grabbed Becca’s hand and pulled her toward the school, frightened that a father would do that to his son.
“But why? Why don’t you want to play football? All the boys play.”
“Because it’s stupid. I don’t care about football. Now, hush up, Becca.”
Later that day, Otto and Wolfgang, the same boys had who taunted Peter over his violin, played football with the other boys on the school field. Hans, Eva, Peter, and Stephen stood against the fence, watching them, unofficially banned from playground games.
Peter didn’t care. The fence was where he usually spent his time, watching the other children play while making music in his head, wishing he could spend this useless time instead in the music room with his violin.
Otto brought the ball down the yard, as Wolfgang tried to take it away. Otto twisted the ball around with his foot and faked out Wolfgang. He side-kicked the ball, shooting his leg into the air and falling to the ground, but he scored.
Hans and Stephen cheered and clapped. “Goal!” Stephen yelled. Peter smiled.
Wolfgang suddenly whipped around and unexpectedly hurled the ball at them. It hit Stephen in the face, and blood gushed from his nose.
Otto instinctively took a step toward Stephen to help him, but Wolfgang held him back, laughing. “Look, they do bleed!”
Stephen wiped the blood from his face. Peter looked away, as if he didn’t see it, but he didn’t know what was worse, the fact that no one stood up for Stephen or the bloody injury.
The bell rang, and the football players all rushed past, intentionally pushing and knocking into Stephen, Hans, Eva, and Peter. Otto stopped uncertainly, and waited, caught between allegiances.
As they entered the school lunchroom, the Wehrmacht marching music, so popular with the Third Reich, played from a phonograph in the corner.
A thick plain teacher clapped her hands loudly. “Quiet down! Eat your food, and enjoy the music!”
Hans, Stephen, Peter, and Eva sat at one table. Olga sat behind Eva at another table. Eva turned around and leaned toward Olga. “Olga, what’s wrong? Why won’t you play with me?”
“Things have changed,” Olga said.
“But—”
The teacher hit Eva’s injured head with a book, and Eva cried out.
“I said shut up, and eat your food!” The teacher loomed over the children, the book ready to strike Eva again.
Footsteps stomped in the hall outside the lunchroom, and then the door burst open.
Karl Radley strode in, wearing his police uniform. He stomped into the lunchroom. The nauseating aroma of his cologne swirled around him.
Radley’s boots clicked to the front. “Attention, kinder! I have an announcement from the mayor of Berlin. Jewish children are no longer welcome in this school. They must leave, immediately!”
All the children turned and stared at Hans, Stephen, Peter, and Eva.
Radley turned on his heels and glared at them. “Now!”
The four banished children stood up. Otto looked at them, his eyes wide like a frightened animal not knowing which way to run from danger. Olga kept her eyes on her food.
“You may take nothing with you. Go,” Radley shouted. “Schnell!”
The Jewish children walked toward the door, looking back at the children who used to be their friends.
Otto suddenly stood up. Hans, Stephen, Peter, and Eva stopped and stared at him.
“Why do they have to go?” Otto said, his voice wavering. “They’re students here. We have known them all our lives.”
Radley glared at Otto and marched over to stand in front of him. “Because they are contaminating this school. Sit down, you idiot!” Radley spat out each word.
Otto glanced at his friends, and then slowly sat down, his allegiance chosen reluctantly by an unspoken threat of force.
The three boys, and Eva with tears in her eyes, turned back around. Their football friend could not help them today. With their heads down and shoulders slumped, they shuffled to the door, exiled from their school.
As they passed by, Wolfgang stuck out his foot. With the same leg sweep he’d used to get the violin, he pulled Peter’s legs out from under him. Peter stumbled and fell, his arms and legs flopping as he tried to hang on to his violin.
The students laughed, mostly from nervousness, but Radley laughed the loudest, with real ridicule. “Well, look, it’s the butcher’s boy.”
Otto unknowingly grunted, as he clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. His face turned red, but he did not speak.
Splayed out on the floor, Peter could see all the children’s feet under the lunch table. Their feet look no different from mine, he thought. He pulled himself up, but refused to look at Wolfgang. He wouldn’t give Wolfgang the satisfaction of acknowledging his humiliating fall.
Eva swallowed hard to force back her tears. She quickly glanced at Olga, who sat still, not breathing, and stared at the table.
The children turned and walked out. The door clanged shut behind them. Peter lingered and could still hear the others through the door.
“Thank goodness, they’re gone. I can breathe fresh air again,” the teacher said, sighing.
“Continue your lunch, please, kinder.” Radley paused. “You, Otto, isn’t it? Watch yourself, Jew lover. I know your father.”
The four rejected students walked out of the school they had attended since they were small. Peter looked for Becca. He warbled three shrill whistles, the way he always did.
Becca, her friend Charlie Beckman, whose father would not be waiting for him this early, and a few other younger Jewish children ran out of the other school door and joined them in the group of ejected kinder.
Becca looked up at Eva, her eyes wide. “They don’t want us here.”
Eva wrapped her arms around Becca, something Peter would not do in front of his friends. “Don’t worry, little spitfire. We will be okay.” She kissed Becca’s head.
The school’s librarian, dressed in a tailored suit and heels, held her head high as she marched out the school door.
Becca looked at Peter. “Oh, Peter, what will we do now?” Tears started to spill from her eyes.
“I don’t know. Don’t cry, Becca, because then they win,” Peter said.
“They always win,” Charlie said.
“Why do they hate us?” Becca asked, as she wiped the tears away furiously.
Hans flipped his hand. “Because we’re Jews.”
“Why don’t we ever fight back?” Becca asked.
Eva nodded. “We should.”
“If you want to die. There are too many of them, and not enough of us. You know that, and they have guns,” Peter said.
Eva touched her injured head and looked away.
“I don’t want to be a Jew anymore,” Becca said.
“Shhh,” Peter hissed, as the school librarian marched toward them. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying.
“Go home, kinder,” she said. “Go home. This is not a good place for you anymore.” She quickly scurried on.
“She isn’t even Jewish,” Eva whispered.
“Her husband is,” Stephen said. “That’s enough.”
Slowly, the group of children moved away, down the street toward their homes.
As they turned the corner, they spotted a crowd gathered around a fire raging in a barrel in front of the city library. Policemen were feeding books into it.
Peter thought of the book burnings when he had been only six. He wondered: How are there even any Jewish books left to burn?
A policeman threw more books onto the fire, and the small crowd watched and cheered.
The school librarian screamed and ran to the flames. She knocked over the barrel, kicked the burning books out, and stomped on the flames, trying to put them out. “No! No! Not the books!”
The policeman grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away from the burning pile of books. “They are only a few Jewish books. Stop!”
She continued to kick the books from the fire. Peter turned away and spotted Karl Radley. He must have followed them from the school. Now he stared at them as they watched the books burn.
Becca gripped Peter’s arm. “Peter, that mean man from school is watching us.”
“I know.”
“What does he want?” Becca asked. “We already left.”
“Shut up, Becca, he might hear you,” he said, as Radley walked toward them.
The police officer burning the books held up his hands, his palms toward the irate woman. “Stop, lady, what do you care?”