A Piece of Blue String (Playing with Matches)

  A Piece of Blue String

  A companion short story to Playing with Matches

  Lee Strauss

  ESB Publishing

  A Piece of Blue String

  * * *

  Lee Strauss

  Excerpts from Katharina Ackermann's diary marking the turn of WW2, and her heart for the boy heading for battle.

  May 2, 1941

  From the Diary of Katharina Ackermann

  Now that the weather is warmer our cow has more to eat and finally we had extra milk to sell. Mama asked me to haul a jug into town each morning to sell to the bakery. Our wagon had lost a wheel so it meant I had to carry it.

  The shortest route took me down the cobblestone street in front of Emil Radle’s flat-faced stucco row house. A couple days ago I noticed that he watched me from an upper floor window. I stared the other way pretending not to see him.

  At least before, when it was cold, I felt hidden in my winter coat and could pull the wagon with a measure of dignity. Now I wore a light spring dress, which was too tight. My body had changed over the winter and my new breasts were hard to get used to and equally hard to hide. I lugged the full jug, leaning heavily to one side feeling not at all like the young lady I’d apparently become.

  Today Emil once again watched me from his window and I pretended not to see him, until the swallows nesting in the rafters of his house made a commotion.

  We both glanced up as the birds chirped and flew away and then our eyes met. There was no pretending now. Emil’s stunned expression made me smile. He was cute.

  I waved and he ducked out of sight.

  I continued into town pondering this strange boy whose behavior around me I could no longer predict.

  June 24, 1941

  Even though I was only a little child, I remember when Grandfather Ackermann died. His heart gave out on the same day that Adolf Hitler became the Chancellor of Germany in 1933. Some say it was a coincidence; after all, he wasn’t the only one to die on that day. Others argue that it was not, that somehow Grandfather knew.

  But as a family we didn’t take a stance, we just acknowledged that Grandfather’s passing was sudden and sad. Besides, we had enjoyed a measure of the prosperity that the Fuehrer had promised, and we were grateful for an easier life. We paid little attention to what had been going on outside the solitude of our farm in those days.

  Obviously, that had been a mistake.

  I felt terrible coming to the kitchen today with only three eggs in my hands. The hens were revolting against the cold and the lack of food.

  Mama was bent over a sink with raw hands in soapless water. Her bony shoulders poked through the thinning fabric of her dress. Her dark hair was mixed with grey and loose strands fell out of the bun she’d worked it into that morning. She sighed. “How are we supposed to feed four people with three eggs?”

  “We have potatoes, Mama,” I said. “We can fry slices with the eggs.” I said this like it was a new idea, and not one we had done many times before.

  Papa joined us, whistling. Despite the meager breakfast or the cool weather he always managed to keep a smile on his face and a song in his heart. His presence was like sunshine on a cloudy day. He sat in the chair at the head of the table and I bent down to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Good morning, Papa,” I said.

  “Good morning, treasure,” he replied. The morning news was on the radio, the broadcaster proclaiming great German victories in the east. Papa reached over to turn it off. “No need to spoil breakfast.”

  Johann joined us, taking his place beside Papa. Mama poured us all a cup of weak coffee.

  “We don’t have any sugar,” she said.

  “What do we need of sweetness when we have you and Katharina,” Papa said.

  Mama’s face broke into a smile as she took her seat. I grinned too, and gazed admiringly at Papa. Even with all the awful things going on around us, I felt safe and happy when he was home. I only wished he didn’t need to travel so much with the orchestra.

  Papa insisted that he was safe. At least he wasn’t fighting in the war.

  Still, a music hall had been hit and many musicians killed.

  Papa said that was a fluke. The music hall had been mistaken for a government building.

  Johann remained stern faced throughout breakfast. He took after our mother in that way–always worried with a hint of sadness. He wasn’t fooled either by the propaganda on the government issued radio.

  August 19, 1941

  Oh, dear Lord.

  I never meant to snoop in Johann’s room. Well, maybe a little. He’d been acting odd lately, more reserved than usual and exceptionally busy with Deutsches Jungvolk.

  I only meant to do him a favor by hanging his duvet out the window to air. I confess I was tempted to have a look around while I was there. I thought the paper sticking out from under his bed was trash.

  Until I read it.

  What has Johann gotten himself into?

  August 20 1941

  I knew Johann would be angry when I confronted him about the paper I’d found under his bed. It looked as though his eyes would pop out of his head. He was excessively agitated, but calmed down a little when I said I’d never tell. I told him he could always confide in me and I was sorry that he hadn’t.

  He crumbled on his bed like his knees had given out. I could hardly believe the story he proceeded to tell me.

  Moritz found a short wave radio in his attic, brought from Holland by his brother who was in the army. When he discovered BBC broadcasts in the German language, news reports that told both sides, he’d become fanatic about exposing the truth.

  Johann, Moritz and Emil (my heart jumped a little when Johann mentioned Emil’s name) had been meeting secretly to listen to the broadcasts and write notes on what they heard. The news was so contrary to what was being announced on our government approved radio stations.

  “The British tell about their own losses, too, Katharina,” he said animatedly, “not just their victories. How likely is it that Germany wins every single battle?”

  I found my knees were growing weak, too, and sat beside him. “Not very likely.”

  Once Johann realized I was on his side, he recited everything he’d heard on the BBC. At first I didn’t want to believe what he said because it meant that the war wasn’t going as smoothly as we were led to believe, that it wouldn’t be over soon and quite possibly, we wouldn’t win.

  I heard myself say, “Let me help.” I wasn’t sure this was a good idea, or even if what they were hearing was the truth, but even though Johann was only younger than I by one year, I felt responsible for him. I wanted to watch over him.

  Johann snapped, “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s dangerous.”

  “So, it’s dangerous for you, too. The war is dangerous for everyone. If you think that what you and your friends are doing will make a difference for good, then let me help.”

  I gave him my sternest big sister stare, one that Johann has never been able to defy. It worked again. His chin fell to his chest as he said, “Okay.”

  August 22, 1941

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

  Banners with slogans like this cover every free wall and fence space in the center of Passau. Hitler is coming through with his promise to the people about creating a greater Germany by colonizing the East. I just wish I could believe it really was for the good of all people.

  I felt nervous when Johann led me up the stairs to Moritz’s bedroom. He hadn’t told them he was bringing me.

  The firs
t face I saw was Emil’s.

  He stared hard at Johann. “Are you crazy?”

  “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….”

  At that point, I stamped my foot. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

  “It’s very dangerous.” Emil said. I tried to stare him down, but he avoided my eyes.

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

  “But this is really dangerous,” Emil said again.

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

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

  Moritz stated the obvious. “Three.”

  I smiled, hoping to warm them over. “So, now there’s four.”

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

  Then he spoke directly to me, “Okay, but you must swear, swear, to keep everything you see and do here an absolute secret.”

  “I swear,” I said.

  January 12, 1942

  I’ve never experienced such a difficult cold winter before. We have to work hard to keep the farm running, to keep from going hungry every single day. It’s dark before I even have a chance to write and we can’t spare the oil or even candles for light. Besides, all my “spare” time is used to meet with the boys to listen to the BBC. After writing out all those flyers my hand is cramped. I’m surprised I even got to this.

  January 16, 1942

  Mama sent me to the market again today. I didn’t see the point and I told her so. There wouldn’t be anything left to buy on the shelves, anyway. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw a supply truck drive through Passau.

  I complained to her about the frigid weather, but she didn’t seem to care about that, only that we might miss a chance to buy something if someone from our family didn’t go every day. And with Papa and Johann caring for the farm animals and Mama making the most of what we did have at home, the chore fell to me.

  I squeezed the coin in my hand, which was balled up into a fist in my mitten. The pfenning was cold, but with the holes in my jacket pocket, I couldn’t very well put it in there. I pushed my scarf up over my nose–I could see it was bright red when I crossed my eyes–and tried to warm my face with my breath.

  War had made us busy and lazy at the same time. Busy trying to stay alive and lazy because we were stripped of resources and opportunities to go on with our business. The streets of Passau were full of people moving slowly. I stubbed my toe on a lose cobblestone hidden in the snow and hopped around like a crazy person making a fool of myself. It was bad enough that my feet already tingled with cold. The wind had picked up too, and the hair that had escaped my winter cap around my face, blew about in an unruly manner. Not unlike the fluttering of the Nazi flags that lined the building fronts.

  I saw Emil huddling against the cold with his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets.

  I called for him and he looked at me with raised eyebrows and then a lop-sided smile crossed his face.

  “Hallo, Katharina!”

  For a moment I didn’t know what to say. Questions about health and well-being seemed redundant. No one is healthy and well.

  “Mama sent me to buy some flour for bread,” I said to break the awkward lull. I fiddled with one of my braids. “Do you think there will be any left at the market?”

  “I don’t know.” Emil kicked at the snow. His boyish face was a red as mine, and he ran a sleeve under his nose. “Doesn’t hurt to check, I guess.”

  I blinked the snowflakes off my eyelashes and tugged on my cap. Emil’s elbows tightened against his sides. His eyes skimmed over me then scoured the pallid streets. I couldn’t stop shivering and I noticed that Emil shivered as well.

  “We’d be warmer if we ran,” I said. “Do you want to race me?”

  Emil’s eyes widened in surprise and I was worried that he’d say no, and shrug off my spontaneity as childish, but he answered, “Sure. Where to?”

  “From here to the end of the street.”

  We took the pre-racing position–left foot back in a lunge, arms stretched out.

  “Eins,” Emil began, “Zwei, Drei, Los!

  I loved running and I felt a surge of adrenaline blast warmth through my body. A woman frowned as she stepped out of our way. Another one smiled a little as if remembering what it was like to be twelve.

  We ran along the park by the St. Stephen’s cathedral, its ice encased domes shimmered in the weak winter light.

  I was aware that Emil was on my heels and for a moment I thought I should slow a little. Maybe let him win. It wasn’t necessary. We reached the bench at the same time.

  I dropped onto it, and found myself giggling.

  Emil puffed, taking a spot beside me. “Why—are you—laughing?”

  “Because it was fun, Emil,” I said in between breaths. “I haven’t had fun in a while.” I smiled at him and Emil broke into a grin in return.

  “I’ll walk with you to the market,” he said. I was surprised by his offer, but pleased.

  We entered the store and as I imagined, the shelves were empty. Even though I’d expected it, disappointment weighed heavy in my chest. I hated going home empty handed. The cupboards there were as bare here as the ones in the store.

  “I’m sorry, Katharina,” Emil said.

  “I know.”

  Emil’s expression was kind and I knew he felt as hollow as I did at my failed mission.

  Across the street from the market where we were standing, we spotted Heinz Schultz. He was fifteen and a Hitler Youth unit leader. All the girls liked him. He always walked tall and straight with the authority leadership gave him, and the fact that he was a son of a Nazi Party official was certainly a feather in his cap. He had his arm around a girl who flirted and giggled, and pushed up against Heinz’s body to keep warm.

  “Elsbeth will be so jealous,” I said. “She has a big crush on him.”

  Emil stared at the couple, too, like he was studying a science experiment gone wrong.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He held a bare hand to his mouth and coughed. “Um, yeah, I’m fine. Just the usual. Hungry, cold.”

  I couldn’t help but think that it would be nice to have the arm of someone special around my back to help keep me warm.

  Emil seemed so uncertain the way he just stood there, staring and shivering, that I was glad when Heinz and his latest girlfriend disappeared around the corner. I reached for Emil’s red, cold hand and rubbed it. The way he caught my eyes, I believed he thought about how nice it would be to hold someone, too.

  February 5, 1942

  HITLER YOUTH GUILTY OF TREASON

  This is directly from the paper, and I have no reason to believe it’s not true.

  Helmuth Huebener of Hamburg, a seventeen year old member of Hitler Youth was arrested for treason. He and three others were caught listening to forbidden radio broadcasts and copying and distributing lies about the Reich.

  I know what it feels like to be afraid. My pulse pounds every time I go out into Passau and tack a forbidden sheet to the community billboard, or drop one on an empty seat in the train station. And it’s getting harder to stay inconspicuous. The SS police in their intimidating long black coats are everywhere now, in groups of twos and threes, scouting public places, making random demands for personal identification.

  Reading about the Huebener group brought on a cold fear that made my insides turn to mush.

  July 5, 1942

  I’m so glad school is finally out for the summer. It’s becoming unbearable. All the terrible things they say about the Jews and not even letting them come to school anymore. I really detest Herr Bauer.

  Our crusa
de continues with increased earnestness. Moritz is fanatic about it. I’m proud to be part of something so important, even if it’s just a small wave in a big ocean.

  And I’ll admit it here, but nowhere else–I’m glad that this mission allows me to see Emil Radle so often!

  October 27, 1942

  I almost collapsed from raw terror when I’d learned that Helmuth Huebener had been executed.

  I was with Johann, Moritz and Emil in the loft and we poured over the newspaper Emil had brought with him.

  “They chopped off his head!” I said. My heart almost exploding in my chest.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Johann.

  “He was only seventeen.” I wrapped my arms around my stomach, feeling faint. We were only fifteen. It could be us.

  Emil rubbed his face vigorously which did nothing to erase the blue half-moon shadows of worry under his eyes. “Maybe we should take a break,” he said. “You know, for a while.”

  “No!” Moritz was adamant. “Now is the time to turn it up, not turn it down.” He paced the loft almost bumping his head on the slanted ceiling. “Don’t you see? People are listening. They may pretend not to agree, but the more people talk about it, the more likely they will be to see the lies!”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Emil said, “but do we really want to risk prison? I’ve heard stories. Prison isn’t a playground.”

  “I’m not afraid of prison, or death,” stated Moritz calmly. “All great revolutionists faced the danger of death. People deserve to know the truth.”