A Piece of Blue String Read online

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 first 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.

  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 crusade 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.”

  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.”