by Lee Strauss
Moritz was right, of course, but I’m not like him.
I am afraid of prison and death.
February 2, 1943
The unthinkable has happened. Stalingrad has fallen! This is the beginning of the end for Germany, I’m sure of it.
April 13, 1943
School’s canceled!
No more blathering from that deplorable Herr Bauer. No more daily doses of force- fed propaganda. I’m especially thankful to get away from the stupid girls who continued to fawn over the Fuehrer like he was a film star, or the ignorant boys who actually believed, even with the damaging loss to Stalingrad, that Germany could yet win this war.
Classes ended because of the severe shortage of soldiers. All hands were needed to fight the war effort, even those belonging to children. Teachers now donned army uniforms and students became farm hands.
My back ached as I plucked weeds with my hoe. The regime demanded that we provide a bumper crop of potatoes, yet I knew we’d be lucky to keep much for ourselves. The harvest would be shipped to the men on the front lines.
Johann and Emil worked the row beside me.
“Two weeks until I leave for flight school,” Emil said. I knew he was excited. Flying had been a long standing dream for him, and the Luftwaffe was a spectacular air force.
“We just missed being called into action,” Johann said grimly.
“Yeah?” Emil responded.
Johann tugged on a stubborn weed. “So, what happens this summer, when we turn sixteen?”
“Maybe the war will be over by then.”
Johann shook his head. “Emil, my friend, sometimes you are very naïve.”
Emil blushed but said nothing.
Johann dropped his hoe and brushed the dust off his hand. “Nature calls,” he said, excusing himself.
Emil and I continued to work silently side by side, though I couldn’t help sneaking glances at him. He’d filled out in the last year. Taller with broader shoulders and a stronger jaw with blond bristles forming on his chin. I had changed, too. Despite the food shortage, I’d gotten rounder and softer. I wondered if Emil had noticed. He did seem to stare at me a lot lately.
He was staring now.
“Emil,” I said. “I’m going to miss you”
His eyes snapped up to meet mine. “What?”
“I’m going to miss you when you go to Nuremberg.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” I drew a hand across my damp forehead and leaned on my hoe. “I hope you will be okay there.”
“I’m just training at the flight school. It will be quite awhile before I actually fly, if ever.”
“Will you write to me?”
A smile spread across Emil’s face. “Of course.”
I blushed a little and went back to attacking the soil.
May 16, 1943
Dear Emil,
How are you? Is life exciting for you in Nuremberg? I am doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. I get up before dawn to work on the farm, and work until dusk. Not a lot of time for fun. I haven’t gone to the theater since you left. Once a week my mother and I go to the spoiled food depot hoping to get a bag of sugar or block of margarine with our food rationing coupons. Those things are really worthless, but I will refrain from saying more. We get up very early to stand in line because if we’re lucky enough to get something, it’s better than a bucket of money. We can trade with a bag of sugar for weeks.
Johann is at an army base in Regensberg. We don’t hear from him enough, and I worry about him. I worry about you, too, Emil. I wish you were here.
Please be safe.
Love Katharina.
June 11, 1943
Dear Katharina,
It is so good to get a letter from you. I miss everyone so much. We work hard here, too. Up early for breakfast and exercise and then to train with the Flak guns. In the afternoons, we study flight training. Haven’t flown yet. It’s surprising how few planes are actually stationed here.
Mostly, it’s the agony of just waiting for something to happen.
We were bombed the first day…
…but I’m fine.
Chances are we won’t get hit again, but that’s why I’m here. To man the Flak. Just in case. So every day I get up wondering, will it just be training today, or the real thing?
I wish I were there to go to the theater with you, or just be together.
My best regards,
With love
Emil
November 29, 1943
Not a day goes by where I don’t think about Emil Radle. My heart aches with longing. I miss his friendship and his smile. The way he looked at me before he left made me feel like I was the only girl in the room.
I keep his letters under my pillow and every night I pray that the war will end before Emil will have to fight. That the allies wouldn’t think to bomb Nuremberg again.
December 20, 1943
Christmas approached and with it came endless grey skies, but today the sun broke through. I bundled up before heading outside, grabbing the slop pail on my way. I leaned up against the house and closed my eyes, letting the sunshine warm my face. I imagined that the war was over and that Emil had returned home. I could almost hear his voice.
“Hey, Johann!”
I froze then peeked around the corner.
I wasn’t hearing things! It was him! Emil stood across from Johann by the hay pile.
“Emil, my friend!” he said.
Emil shook Johann’s hand enthusiastically.
“I missed you,” Johann said. “I mean, I was kind of sick of you when you left…”
Emil punched him playfully in the arm. “What’d you mean? I was the one that had to stare at the back of your head every day.”
“What? This handsome head. It was a privilege for you.”
Laughing, Emil followed him to the barn.
I felt weak in the knees. I wanted to run inside, brush my hair, change my dress, but I had to feed the two pigs we had left in the hog stall before they keeled over from starvation.
Besides, I didn’t have anything nicer to put on.
I picked up the bucket of slop and carefully carried it away.
Emil emerged from the barn as I returned.
He gasped when he spotted me. His eyes bore into mine with such intensity; I felt the world had stopped.
“Hallo,” he said, softly.
I gushed, “It’s so good to see you.”
Emil strode to my side. “It’s really great to see you, too.”
“Well, aren’t you two a sight,” Johann said joining us. “If you don’t mind, and I’m sure you don’t, I’ll just make myself busy, over here, in the chicken coop. Just in case you’re wondering.” He laughed and sauntered off.
Emil stroked my arm before taking my elbow and I felt giddy with happiness. We walked slowly down the drive, and I asked him about his time in Nuremberg. He gave me a vague report about how it was boring and lonely then he asked about my family and plans for Christmas.
“Pretty simple, like most folks, I imagine,” I said. “A small meal. Worship. We’re just happy to be together.”
Emil nodded. “Us, too. Except, you know, Father is still away.”
“I’m sorry he couldn’t get leave,” I said. “Is he well?”
“Yes, at least I think so. Mother received a letter from him recently, but it was written some time ago.”
Emil’s gaze was drawn to movement in the field. He pointed. “Who’s that?”
“That?” I said. “Two Frenchies, POWs sent to help with the farm. They’re everywhere now, alien helpers from France, Belgium, and Holland. Even some from the east. Because of the shortage of manpower.”
Worry pinched on Emil’s face. “Is it safe? I mean for you?”
I laughed. “I’m never alone with either of them. My mother sees to that. But it is disgusting how some of the girls flirt with the foreigners.”
A look of alarm crossed Emil’s face.
“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “I’m not like that. Besides it’s against the law. Fraternizing with the enemy is a criminal offense. I’ve heard that some unscrupulous farm wives have been arrested.”
“Where do they stay?”
“In the loft.”
“Our loft?” The loft where we met as children, where we scribbled out the truth on scrap paper. A well-intentioned effort that had proved useless in the end.
“I know,” I said. “I’m sad we can’t go there anymore, too.”
“I want you to keep your distance from them, okay?”
I smiled and grabbed his arm. “You’re worried about me. That’s so sweet.”
“Just promise me.”
“I promise, Emil.”
I wore a thin winter jacket over my dress. It was chilly enough to see my breath and I could help but shiver.
“You’re cold,” Emil said. “We should go back.”
“I’m okay.” I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want this moment alone with Emil to end.
“No, you’re shivering. At least let me give you my coat.”
“Then you’d be cold, and you’d have to go. How about we just walk a little closer together?”
Emil put his arm around my shoulder. “Like this?” he said. “Is this okay?”
“That’s fine,” I said, smiling widely. “Thank you. I’m much warmer now.”
January 6, 1944
Papa was wrong. The music halls aren’t safe from the bombs. He’s dead now.
My sorrow is suffocating. I feel like dying, too.
February 19, 1944
I hesitated at the bedroom door. We had been good friends when Emil left. Very good friends. In fact, I thought I might’ve been falling in love.
Now I’m not so sure.
Not about my love for this boy who lay deathly ill on his bed in his parents’ house–that wasn’t what I questioned. I wasn’t sure that I should let myself love. Loving in war time was crazy. Stupid.
If I loved him, I might lose him. Emil had been lucky; many men on the front had died of this pneumonia. I couldn’t bear the thought of him not being so lucky one day, so I hung back. I let Johann take the lead.
“Hey old man,” Johann said to Emil. “Nice of you to make room in your busy schedule for us.”
“Yeah,” Emil said. His eyes darted to me before landing back on Johann. “Yeah, well, as you can see, I’ve been busy. Thanks for coming.”
His gaze returned to me and settled there. My heart raced as I took in his ashen face. It was thinner than I remembered.
“Hallo, Emil.” My voice sounded small and tight. My hand went to my hair, and I smoothed it in vain. I knew I looked terrible with sunken cheeks and dark orbs around my eyes. The war demanded every luxury. Basic toiletries like soap and shampoo were impossible to come by and one could only hope for enough food to dull the stomach pangs that never stopped, much less worry about actual nutrition.
Emil watched me, his eyes soft with yearning, like he didn’t notice my skeletal appearance at all.
“Hallo,” he replied.
“I’m so happy to hear you are feeling better?” I wasn’t sure. He didn’t look well, so thin and pale, and I felt my chest tighten in worry.
His lips pulled up in a weak smile. “It’s good to be home.”
Johann cleared his throat, and Emil looked away. I was glad. The tenderness that I’d seen there was only making my decision to stay distant even harder.
“Don’t get well too quickly,” Johann said. He tugged on the collar of his thread-bare shirt, and then tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. “They’ll just send you back once they get wind of any sign of good health.”
Emil grunted. “I’ll do my best.”
The room was grey even though the blinds were open. Cool air whistled through the window panes. I shivered and stared at the scuffs on my shoes. My pulse roared like the ocean in my ears. The three of us were like strangers in a holding cell, like we hadn’t grown up together. Like we’d never been the best of friends. I willed Johann to keep talking, to do something to break the awkward silence.
“I heard about your father,” Emil finally said, “I’m sorry.” His voice was dry and raspy and I wished I had a glass of water to give to him. Instead I bit my lip and pinched my eyes shut. It hurt too much to think about Papa.
“Thanks,” Johann said. “It’s the irony of war. Those who want to live, die. Those who want to die, live on.”
“I don’t know, Johann.” Emil shifted and caught his breath as if beating back pain. “Death is pretty indiscriminate, as far as I can tell.”
Johann sniffed and drew his fist under his nose. “I wonder what Moritz would think if he were here now.”
“It seems like just yesterday we were at his house listening to the BBC, “Emil said. “Although, I remember us being a whole lot smaller.”
“That’s how I remember him, “I added softly.
“He’s lucky in a way,” said Johann. “He didn’t have to see what’s become of Germany. It would’ve broken his heart.”
I swallowed a hard lump that had formed in my throat. “It breaks all our hearts.”
“I can’t believe we actually did what we did back then,” Johann said.
“If we knew how bad it was going to get,” Emil said, “we probably would have done more.”
“We can’t be too hard on ourselves,” I said. “We were only kids.” I stared out the window, feeling the catatonic state I’d become comfortable with encase my emotions once again. I whispered, “We’re still only kids.”
Silence filled the small room again. I focused on the wallpaper peeling away from the upper corner. You wouldn’t notice it if you didn’t look up. I was like the wall, damaged in places you may not notice. And like the paper, I felt like there was nothing on the other side, just plain, white, lifeless plaster.
“You need your rest,” Johann said. “We will go now.”
Emil’s dark eyes held mine. I longed to go to him, wrap my arms around his chest and promise him that everything would be okay.
It was better if I didn’t. For both of us. In a voice so low I wasn’t sure if Emil heard it, I said good bye. I glanced at him as I followed Johann out and by the pain that flashed in Emil’s eyes, I knew that he had.
March 30, 1944
The SS are too busy with losing the war to bother with random dust checks anymore which is a good thing, since Mama had stopped cleaning the house after Papa died. Dust covered the furniture and spiders spun their webs in dark corners, filth that was unthinkable before.
I set a piece of dried toast and a poached egg on a plate and placed it in front of Mama. “Mama, you must eat something.”
Mama glanced at the plate and then continued to stare blankly out the dirty window. I sat with her small plate of food and began to eat.
It was cold in the house and Mama and I rarely removed our winter jackets, even while inside. Mama looked like a broken doll, hair all askew, skin smudged with dry tears, sunken hollow eyes.
A lump formed in my throat. It was too much. With Papa gone and Johann away in the army, how were Mama and I to survive? Even the foreigners had left for the winter.
I washed my own dish, leaving Mama’s untouched plate in front of her.
“I’m going out to check the chickens,” I said. I’d already been out early that morning to gather the handful of eggs, but I needed to get out of the house, away from the hopelessness that filled every crevice.
When I buttoned up my coat the lowest button came away in my hand leaving blue strands dangling like veins. I pocketed the button knowing I didn’t have any thread left to re-attach it.
Outside the spring wind blew through the trees, whistling through skeletal branches tipped with green, a promise of warmer times to come. I pinched the collar of my jacket tight to protect my neck.
The piercing wail of sirens broke the silence. In the distance I saw a patch of grey in the sky, like a flock of giant g
eese. The RAF always targeted the larger centers, but Passau could be next. One could never be too sure.
I ran back to the house, to Mama who had remained at the table by the window.
“Come, Mama. We need to go into the basement.”
“Oh, we’re fine,” she said, not moving. “They don’t care enough about our little farm to waste a bomb on us.”
I didn’t know about that, but I didn’t have the energy to argue with her. I sat at the table and cupped my hands as if I were about to pray.
And thought about Emil.
He would be hiding in his cellar, with his mother and little brother.
The sirens stopped and I made a decision.
March 31, 1944
I tightened the scarf around my neck and marched down our long drive determined to see Emil again. I only hoped that he wouldn’t turn me away.
I knocked on the Radle family door. My nerves shot off like a flak gun, and my neck felt sweaty. I loosened my wool scarf.
Emil opened the door, his face expressing his surprise at seeing me.
“The planes are gone,” I said. “I wondered if you’d like to go for a walk.” I nibbled my lip before adding, “That is if you feel up to it.”
“Yes,” Emil said to my relief. “I feel fine.”
He grabbed a jacket and soon we walked west down the cobbled street.
“How is your health?” I said. Emil looked too thin, but his color had returned.
“Better.”
“Good.”
We walked slowly through the neighborhood towards the Danube River. People were daring to return to the outdoors in ones and twos, continuing whatever task they were in the middle of before the sirens sent them scurrying away.