Forever Fleeting

by Bret Kissinger

  “We? No, I’ll be inside. Knock on the door when you are done,” Wilhelm said, matching her own sarcasm and raising it.

  Wilhelm used his keys to unlock the door. He was given his own set after he sold his sixth car. He had presented an idea to Hans about buying the same model cars the Nazi hierarchy drove. He had spent hours outside the Reich Chancellery building and could name every car Hitler, Goebbels, Göring, Bormann, and Dönitz drove or rode in. Though Hans was leery of the idea, he agreed to buy one, and after the car sold the same day he had driven it into the lot, he was more open to the idea.

  “It’s cold,” Hannah said.

  Wilhelm turned the lights on. Heat was too expensive for after hours. One of the newer model cars was on display in the building. It was the most lavish car in the entire lot, and Hans hoped one of Berlin’s most affluent citizens would make an offer on it.

  “You are going to learn how to drive,” Wilhelm said.

  He had recognized her shyness in front of others but, now, it was only them—no prying or judging eyes. He opened the car door for her and, like a chauffeur, helped her inside. Hannah sat behind the wheel and put herself at ease. There was no worry of forgetting to break or running through a stop sign. After an hour of Wilhelm calling out scenarios, Hannah was ready for the real thing. He removed the key to one of the older models and smiled.

  “No,” Hannah said.

  “It isn’t driving unless you move,” Wilhelm said, reaching for her hand and pulling her outside.

  “Wilhelm, no,” she insisted.

  But she didn’t even convince herself, for the truth was she was dying to learn. Her father had always kept her sheltered in fear of what the world could do to her. It was not without its merit, as proven true by Kristallnacht (The Night of Broken Glass), but there was so much Hannah wanted to learn but was afraid to. Wilhelm had a fearlessness when it came to doing everything he wanted. His comfort zone was ever expanding and, by association, Hannah’s was forced to grow.

  Wilhelm entered the passenger seat and left Hannah out in the cold. He had no plans of leaving the car, and Hannah loved him for it. She trotted through the snow and around the car and took the driver’s seat. The door slammed shut, making the snow from the roof fall off.

  “I’m only sitting here because it’s cold out,” she said.

  “Fair enough,” Wilhelm said.

  He started the car.

  “I’m not moving,” Hannah said, crossing her arms.

  Wilhelm put the car in drive, and the car strolled forward.

  “Wilhelm!” Hannah yelled, wrapping her hands around the wheel.

  “See, you are doing fine,” Wilhelm said.

  But she was only going five kilometers per hour. She cranked the wheel to turn down the ramp and onto the road, screaming in ecstasy as she did. Adrenaline stormed through her as she pressed down on the gas. They drove all around the city, and by the time Hannah put the car in park at the dealership, she had another love. She could not wait to drive when spring hit. There were so many places they could go. Her dormant wanderlust spirit flickered like an ember.

  Afterward, they walked to Wilhelm’s apartment to help prepare dinner. Erich had had the great idea of doing weekly dinners with Lena, Hannah, Heinrich, and whatever woman Heinrich was dating at the time. The only problem was that neither he nor Wilhelm could cook.

  Wilhelm opened the door and a puff of smoke wafted out. The kitchen sizzled and coughed.

  “Thank God,” Erich said, trying to dodge the smoke and turn the stove down.

  “It looks lovely,” Hannah said, kissing his cheek.

  “Thank you, Hannah. Someone who appreciates effort,” Erich said.

  “Your effort smells like shit,” Wilhelm teased.

  “Well, give me a hand so our effort can taste like shit too,” Erich retorted.

  Though there were no books available that would teach such things, Wilhelm had picked Hannah’s brain on the rules of kosher, and he ensured each meal met the requirements. But Hannah assured him there were worse sins to commit. To guarantee the meat was from an animal slaughtered by a rabbi, Hannah and Wilhelm often “picked it up on their way.”

  “Lena should be here shortly. No doubt her mother is sending her with a dozen pies,” Erich said.

  “And hopefully a bottle of wine,” Wilhelm added.

  He slid his hand into an oven mitt and loaded a pan of Kartoffelpuffer—potatoes mixed with eggs, spices, and served with either meat or applesauce—into the oven. They were one of Wilhelm’s favorites and something he was actually good at making. They were also another thing that reminded him of his mother. He would sit on the kitchen counter and watch her make it at least once a week, but after she passed away, it was made only once or twice a year.

  Erich flipped the flank steaks and dodged clouds of smoke like a boxer avoiding jabs and hooks.

  “Thank God you two are not in charge of rebuilding the Reich,” Lena said.

  Neither had heard her knock or enter. She held a cherry pie in one hand and two bottles of wine in the other. Hannah took the pie from her and placed it on the counter, and Lena set the two bottles of wine on the table.

  “It is fun to watch them struggle, Hannah,” Lena joked.

  Hannah shimmied past Erich and Wilhelm to the cupboard and removed two wine glasses for her and Lena.

  “Mother says to…” Lena started.

  “Let it breathe,” Hannah finished.

  They hurried out of the smoky kitchen to the couch.

  “It is excellent,” Hannah said after getting the okay from Lena to drink.

  “I wonder how many Jews are celebrating Hanukkah,” Lena said, rolling her eyes.

  It was only when Lena went off on one of her Jewish tirades did Hannah remember she could not fully trust her. But besides that, there wasn’t a single occasion Hannah did not enjoy her time with Lena and, apart from Lena’s anti-Semitism, their interests were extremely similar. The Nazi propaganda had portrayed Jews as having hooked noses and greasy black hair and olive skin. It was a stereotype Hannah defied with her porcelain skin, blue eyes, and light blonde hair. Luckily, the topic changed quickly when Heinrich entered without a knock.

  “We are not going to want to eat, are we?” he asked, tossing his coat on to the edge of the couch.

  Heinrich was with another woman, and though it seemed mean, none of the others took much effort in getting to know her, as they were usually gone after a few days. But they certainly weren’t rude. Lena poured a glass of wine for her and finally, after getting dirty looks from Lena and Hannah, Heinrich introduced her. Her name was Eva, and she had moved to Berlin from Frankfurt.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats at the table. Dinner will be served shortly,” Erich announced, taking a bow.

  Lena and Hannah exchanged looks and laughed.

  “Tonight’s dinner is brought to you by Erich Brinkerhoff and Wilhelm Schreiber. If you feel the desire to tip, please do so,” Erich said.

  “I have a tip. Don’t burn the food,” Heinrich teased.

  Eva punched him on the shoulder, garnering respect points from Hannah and Lena. They both liked Heinrich, and he definitely had his charm, but he also had no problem breaking hearts.

  “We are going to need more wine,” Lena said as the plates of food were set before them.

  “A toast,” Wilhelm said, standing over the table and raising his glass, “To friends who are like family and to these nights.”

  The others raised their glasses and nodded at each other.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Heinrich said.

  But there were no complaints to be made. Erich and Wilhelm nodded at each other victoriously. The wine went down smoothly and, once again, Ida Hauser had perfectly paired the wine with the food. Her pie was even more delicious, and it was a struggle to fight off the feeling of an on-setting food coma. Hannah had volunteered to wash the dishes. Lena dried them while Heinrich told one of his famous stories. Even if they w
ere hardly appropriate, especially in front of a date, they were usually funny at his expense.

  “I think Erich may propose soon,” Lena said with a hopeful smile on her face.

  “Really?” Hannah asked, handing over a washed plate needing to be dried.

  “He has been talking with my father a lot lately. My father likes him,” Lena continued.

  “That is so exciting, Lena. I’m happy for you,” Hannah said.

  “You will be there, won’t you?” Lena asked.

  The wedding was sure to be populated with Nazi elites and Jew haters. There seemed no possible way she would ever be able to.

  “Of course,” Hannah said as it was easier to lie—something to worry about down the road. Hannah often wanted to know if their relationship would change if Lena found out she was Jewish—would it end? Or would Lena’s outlook on Jews change?

  “Say what you want about the French, but damn do they make great wine!” Erich said after finishing his glass.

  Wilhelm reached into the kitchen drawer and removed five spoons. The gesture did not go unnoticed, and the others, apart from Eva, hurried to the table.

  “What is it?” Eva asked.

  It was one of the minor annoyances of Heinrich bringing new dates. They had to go over the rules of most games they played, including the agreed alterations to standard rules.

  “It is a card game. Get four of a kind, reach for the spoons. See somebody else grab one, you grab one. There are only five spoons and six of us,” Heinrich explained.

  Though Wilhelm considered himself a gentleman, there was no gallantry in spoons. The game began in silence and then turned into hushed whispers, which was followed by false alarms being shouted when the players intentionally motioned for the spoons. Erich had tried to vote for the action to be punishable with the banishment of a hand. He had even written up the rules and regulations. But it was almost always Erich who fell for the bluffs and grabbed a spoon prematurely. Nobody had a great poker face and, often, their blank faces cracked with smirks and laughter. The game had the distinction of not rewarding the winner but punishing the loser. Erich lost game one, and as punishment, he had to down his glass of wine.

  “Do we have another bottle?” Erich asked.

  “Yes. It’s in the fridge above the lettuce,” Lena answered.

  “We have lettuce?” Erich asked, bewildered.

  She knew more about what Erich had than Erich did, and it wasn’t hard to imagine them as an old couple shouting at each other from other rooms. Erich opened the next bottle of wine and made everyone else finish their glass before topping them off. Heinrich lost the second round and Wilhelm, the third. The girls did not miss an opportunity to brag about being undefeated. But through silent communication, the three men decided to work together to end the streak. They played thirty games, and each acquired enough losses to make the room spin.

  “Do you care if I stay here?” Heinrich asked, already making the couch his bed.

  “No. You are all welcome to stay,” Erich said.

  Erich raised his glass to his mouth, but Lena stopped it from touching his lips.

  “You have had enough, handsome,” she said.

  She did not feel like taking care of him again. Her father had gotten Erich drunk on whiskey once, and Erich had vomited all over the bed. He vowed it would never happen again, but he had also sworn off drinking.

  Hannah had gotten permission to stay the night. She told her parents drinking would be involved, so it would be safer if she stayed at Wilhelm’s. Again, it was her mother who had won the argument for her.

  “Let me know if you need anything, Eva,” Lena said as she helped Erich to the bedroom.

  Heinrich had passed out face first on the couch, so Eva would get no help from him. Erich and Wilhelm used the closet to store extra pillows and blankets, as it was common for Heinrich to sleep on their couch on Friday and Saturday nights. Hannah gave Eva a pillow and a blanket, and Eva moved to the chair.

  “Good night, Hannah,” Lena said from behind the door.

  “Let me know if you need help,” Hannah said.

  “If he starts puking, I will need your help dragging him into the bathtub. He can puke as many times as he wants then,” Lena said, cracking a smile and closing the door.

  Erich and Heinrich were not the only ones feeling the agony of defeat. Wilhelm blinked slowly and sat on the edge of his bed, the room spinning violently. Hannah gave him a glass of water, and he drank it in three gulps.

  “Poor loser,” Hannah teased, wiping his chin.

  As they lay in bed, Hannah gently scratched his back. Wilhelm and Hannah assumed they were the first to wake in the morning, and both experienced varying degrees of a hangover. But when they opened the bedroom door, they discovered they were not the first to wake. Heinrich was in the kitchen, frying eggs and buttering toast.

  “Lena and Erich still sleeping?” Hannah asked.

  “Still sleeping? They were up for at least an hour last night,” Heinrich said.

  “Good or bad?” Wilhelm asked.

  “Two minutes of good. Fifty-eight minutes of bad,” Heinrich answered.

  Wilhelm laughed, and the uneasy queasiness sped vomit up into his throat like an erupting volcano. Heinrich smiled both at his joke and the sudden disappearance of color from Wilhelm’s face. Heinrich was the type of guy that instilled envy. He was good-looking, charming, and the man did not fall privy to such a mortal thing as a hangover. And, apparently, he made a good breakfast.

  He, Wilhelm, and Hannah had finished eating by the time Eva, Erich, and Lena stumbled awake. They ate their breakfast, lukewarm by that point, then Eva and Heinrich left.

  “Have a good Christmas, Hannah,” Lena said, holding out a bottle of wine she had removed from her purse.

  “Lena, thank you. That is so thoughtful,” Hannah said graciously.

  “Just remember…” Lena started.

  “To let it breathe…” Hannah continued—it was a commandment in the Hauser house.

  “It is a Malbec. A good Christmas wine,” Lena added.

  Hannah wrapped Lena in a hug, and the small gift of wine and holiday wishes only reiterated her belief Lena was a good person, not deep down, but on the surface even with her anti-Semitic comments—Hannah knew it was the product of years of government propaganda. They were only twelve or thirteen when Hitler and his anti-Semite agenda rose to power—still children.

  Wilhelm walked Hannah home and then returned to his bed for a much-needed nap. He had been invited to Hannah’s house for dinner to celebrate the eighth day of Hanukkah and Christmas Eve. He had started saving for Hannah’s gift weeks earlier and could not wait to see the look on her face when she opened it. He had arranged his own bouquet for Emma and had a box of chocolates for Josef.

  Hannah waited by the locked shop door for him. She wore a deep garnet, velvet dress with white shoes, and to Wilhelm, Christmas had never looked better. Emma’s talents knew no limits. She had made the dress based solely on a passing glance while she and Hannah were window shopping. The shop looked as it had before the fire, except for the color. But apart from fellow Jews and the occasional oblivious person who came in as customers, business was drastically down.

  The smell of Christmas wafted off an evergreen-scented candle as they walked up the steps. Josef and Emma were dressed in their best and greeted Wilhelm with a handshake and a hug.

  “Thank you for having me,” Wilhelm said.

  He handed the chocolates to Josef and the flowers to Emma.

  “They are beautiful,” Emma said.

  “The chocolates more so,” Josef quipped.

  The Menorah, a candelabrum of nine candles, four on each edge and one lone candle in the middle, burned brightly and cast dancing shadows on the wall. Hannah eyed the present in Wilhelm’s hand but made no mention of it, as it would have been rude. But as she took it from him and set it down next to the lamp and they moved to the table, her eyes moved back to it. Her mind scrambled to find out
what it was.

  Emma had made braised brisket with root vegetables and spiced apple-pear sauce. Wilhelm found the meat to be perfectly tender and spiced but absolutely loved the apple-pear sauce. While Josef and Emma ate theirs warm, Emma had placed Hannah’s bowl in the freezer.

  “What are you doing?” Wilhelm asked.

  “Hannah is a bit of a strange duck. She prefers hers cold. Blame Emma’s family,” Josef joked.

  “Finally, the kink in the armor I have been searching for,” Wilhelm teased.

  Hannah waited ten minutes before removing the bowl and bringing a spoonful to her mouth. It was chilled to her liking, but the skeptical look on Wilhelm’s face lessened her enjoyment. She slid her bowl over.

  “Try it,” she offered.

  Wilhelm had found his bowl of hot apple-pear sauce to be mouth-watering and had no problem accepting another spoonful. Yet, he could not deny the apple-pear sauce tasted even better chilled—somehow refreshing like a tall glass of ice water.

  “It is okay,” Wilhelm lied.

  “Liar,” Hannah sneered.

  His eyes had lit up too much for her to believe his lie.

  As Hannah and Emma washed and dried the dishes, Josef and Wilhelm sat in the living room as the record player played Christmas music. Josef grabbed a gift box from beside the couch and held it out for Wilhelm. Emma and Hannah paused to watch. Wilhelm lifted open the box and unfolded a black suit coat and black pants that were perfectly hemmed and tailored.

  “This is more than I could ask for,” Wilhelm said.

  The jet black looked sleek and elegant, and he would feel like a better man in it. It was the type of suit that made a man stand tall and proud. The inside of the coat was inscribed with a ruby-red thread, like the first coat they had made him, with the letter J & E and a G overlapping the two.

  “I remember you saying you liked black, and Hannah told me it was your favorite color,” Josef said.

  “Let me pay for at least half of this,” Wilhelm insisted.

  Josef put up his hands. “Wilhelm, it is a gift.”

  “But I only got you chocolates and flowers.”