Playing with Matches: Coming of age in Hitler's Germany. Page 4

  “Yes, Father?” Did she get sick? Die? Why would his parents care? It’s not like they knew her.

  “She reported her parents to the Gestapo. Apparently they didn’t approve of the Fuehrer. Herr and Frau Ehrmann have been arrested.”

  “Oh.” Now Emil understood. He’d never forget how his parents looked at him that day.

  They didn’t trust him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  1939

  MARCH

  AS USUAL, Moritz, Johann and Emil cut through the park at St. Stephen’s Cathedral on their way to Deutsches Jungvolk.

  Emil spotted Irmgard and Elsbeth dressed in their League uniforms– narrow, dark calf-length skirts, white ankle socks with black flat-heeled shoes and white blouses with dark ties. They were laughing at something. Those two were always laughing. Irmgard tilted her head back to catch a snowflake with her tongue, her long yellow braids hanging down her back.

  “I heard Friedrich and Wolfgang talking about them,” Emil said, pointing. “They think that Elsbeth and Irmgard are pretty.”

  “Pretty?” Johann said, studying them.

  “That’s what I heard them say.”

  “I’m sick of hearing about Elsbeth,” said Moritz. “We should all be so happy to send our parents to prison.”

  “Moritz!”

  He glanced around. “No one heard me.”

  Elsbeth and her little sister lived with her Onkel and Tante now. They were members of the party.

  “I suppose they are kind of pretty,” Johann said.

  “I guess,” Emil said. The girls stopped, like they knew they were being watched. They giggled some more and headed towards the boys.

  “What are they doing?” said Moritz, narrowing his eyes. Johann and Emil just shrugged.

  “Good day, boys.” Irmgard tilted her head and smiled. “Isn’t it great? Don’t you just love the snow?”

  Jaws slacking, Moritz, Johann and Emil were too shocked by the fact that Irmgard Schultz was taking time to talk to them to respond.

  “Cat got your tongue? You boys are nothing like my brothers, all they do is talk. About the Fuehrer, of course, so it’s good talk.”

  The boys also didn't have much experience talking to girls. They cast worried glances at each other, egging each one on with their eyes to say something.

  “I think they’re shy,” said Elsbeth. “Maybe we should meet later, show them how friendly we are.”

  Johann said quickly, “Uh, we’re busy. Later.”

  “Maybe another time.” Elsbeth wiggled her fingers. “Until then.”

  Irmgard waved and giggled.

  When they were out of earshot, Moritz grabbed Emil’s arm. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “Do what? I didn’t call them over.”

  “But you thought about them, pointed at them.”

  “So?”

  “So, I don’t talk to girls.”

  “I do,” said Johann. “My sister’s a girl and I talk to her all the time.”

  “That doesn’t count, you know what I mean. Girls are dumb. Not your sister, Johann, just other girls.” He nodded his head toward Irmgard and Elsbeth. “Like those girls.”

  “All right, I’m sorry,” Emil said. “Let’s get going before we’re late.

  Herr Giesler could have been a movie star. He had perfect Aryan features, blue eyes, a wide, bright smile and a confident bounce to his step. He taught French and geography, and one day he showed up at school wearing his Nazi party uniform.

  The girls giggled and sighed. Irmgard whispered to Elsbeth, “He’s so handsome!” but everyone heard it. And everyone would agree.

  After a chorus of “Heil Hitler,” Herr Giesler excitedly unfolded a map and hung it on the board.

  “Class, our new Germany!” he said. They all leaned forward as Herr Giesler pointed with a long stick to the boundary lines.

  “First the triumphant Anschluss with Austria and now Czechoslovakia, including the piece that had been part of Germany before the Great War!” His eyes sparkled. “Our great Fuehrer has succeeded in getting back what was ours and more. Now we can breathe. Now we have Lebensraum!” Room for the people.

  Moritz raised his hand.

  “Moritz?”

  “Do we have enough?”

  “Enough what?” Herr Giesler asked.

  “Lebensraum?”

  That stopped him momentarily, but his bouncy energy immediately returned.

  “Well, let’s see. What do you think class? Do we have enough Lebensraum for our great nation? Do we need more?”

  A rousing cheer erupted, “Yes! Yes! We need more!”

  “There’s your answer, Emil. Now for French. More good news! No more French. We will study Latin.”

  Wolfgang raised his hand. “Why are we no longer studying French?”

  “Because French and other languages like English are languages for those who lack full intelligence. The French and the British, they can not be trusted. We are not in need of them and do not need their languages.”

  “What about the Americans?” Emil asked. “They also speak English.”

  “What do we have in common with a nation that loves Negroes?”

  “Nothing?”

  “That’s right,” Herr Giesler said, brushing his hands together as if getting rid of dust. “Nothing.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  SEPTEMBER

  “I BOUGHT the last of the rye bread at the bakery this morning,” Mother said as she placed the basket on the table. “It’s seems all the stores are running short of supplies these days. I bought two sticks of butter this time, just in case.”

  Emil joined his family for their morning meal. Outside the clouds blocked the rising sun, casting a cool grey light across the room and marking the end of summer. Father turned the radio on and hummed with the latest Marlene Dietrich song.

  He spread butter on his slice of rye bread, placing a thin slice of cheese on top. His mouth was full when the music ended and an agitated voice broke through the radio waves.

  “In the early morning hours a group of Polish soldiers crossed the Polish-German border and attacked the studio building of the broadcasting station in Gleiwitz…”

  Emil’s father threw his knife down on the table, startling both Helmut and Emil. “We’re supposed to believe that!”

  Emil swallowed his mouthful. “What does it mean, Father?”

  “It means Hitler is going to get what he wanted all along. Now he has an excuse for war.”

  “Oh, no,” Mother said pinching her eyes tight.

  So, Moritz was right, Emil thought. They were being trained for battle. But still, something in him wanted to defend their nation and their Fuehrer. Why were they assuming the radio announcer wasn’t speaking the truth?

  “It must be necessary,” Emil said. “You know how the Poles have been mistreating our people there.”

  “I know no such thing!” Father snapped.

  “But the newspapers…”

  “Don’t believe everything you read and hear.”

  “What about Danzig?” Emil referred to the port city on the Eastern Sea that had once belonged to Germany. It was a major import and export city and lay in the narrow corridor of land in Poland that separated Germany from German East Prussia. Its inhabitants were mostly Germans. It made sense to Emil that at least that city should be returned.

  “Besides, Hitler wouldn’t lead our nation to war if it wasn’t in our best interest,” Emil insisted. “He wants a Glorious Greater Germany for us all!”

  “Emil,” Mother said, “war means one thing: death. Young men who should be living and dreaming about their futures will die instead.” She threw her arms into the air. “God help us.”

  “Father, it doesn’t really mean war, does it?” Emil said, ignoring her. “We’ve taken Austria and Czechoslovakia and nobody’s cared. If they didn’t do anything then, they probably won’t do anything now.”

  Father shook his head and sunk deeper into his chair. Helmut cl
imbed onto his lap, whimpering.

  “Son, the world won’t watch forever. England promised to defend Poland. If they don’t, Hitler will not stop at invading them one day as well.”

  “Invade England?”

  He wondered what this would mean, if war with Poland would really affect their lives in any practical way. Would they really go to war? He couldn’t imagine it.

  They left the table, and rushed upstairs to get ready for the day: Emil and Helmut for school, Father for his job as an office administrator at the clothing factory.

  Emil passed Helmut, taking the steps two at a time, giving him a good nudge as he went by.

  “Hey!” Then sensing their father coming up behind them, he whined. “Father, Emil pushed me.”

  “Emil,” was all he said. That’s when Emil noticed the dark circles around Father’s eyes. His father hadn’t been sleeping well.

  Emil brushed his teeth and hair. His parent’s bedroom door was cracked open and he could hear their worried voices. He pressed himself up against the wall of the hallway and peeked in. Father was dressed in a nice suit. That was the good thing about his job; the whole family always dressed respectably with quality clothes well ironed by Mother.

  “I had to let all the Jews go. These are people I respect; they were hard workers and some of them I counted as friends. I could barely look them in the eyes; I was so ashamed. Now with this shortage of workers, it’s very difficult to keep up with the orders.” He shook his head. “And, Leni, they want me to join the party. If I refuse, I may lose my job.”

  “Oh, Peter. This is terrible.” Mother was trembling. Father straightened his tie. Emil sneaked back to his room and waited for Father to leave. When he walked by their room again, Mother was kneeling by the side of the bed, praying.

  Two days later, Herr Bauer made a big announcement.

  “Britain has declared war on Germany!”

  Gasps filled the air of their small class room, and Emil’s stomach sank. His father and mother had been right.

  “What does this mean for Germany?” Friedrich asked.

  “It means that Britain will get what she deserves.” Herr Bauer touched his nose then thrust his arm up high. “We will show her and the whole world how magnificent Germany is. We will triumph!”

  Before the day ended France, India, Australia and New Zealand had joined Britain.

  Emil bit his bottom lip nervously. War wouldn’t come to their small corner of Germany, would it? Passau was as far away from Britain as you could get. Surely he and his family would be safe?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  1940

  FEBRUARY

  ANYONE WHO owned an automobile had to turn it over to the state. All gasoline was reserved for the war effort now.

  This created a situation not yet faced by the citizens of Germany. No vehicles to remove the snow or men to operate them, which resulted in snow piling up in the streets and walkways. The Nazis had a solution for this problem. Send out the women and give them shovels. Or more precisely, the Jewish women.

  Emil had worked hard at not thinking about the horrible things that had happened to Anne and her family since the night of the broken glass, and so to come across her so abruptly one day was a shock. She and her mother were out in the cold, wearing only dresses with stockings and thin coats, shoveling snow off the walk a block away from the bakery they used to own. Their hands were bare and cherry red; their knuckles and tips of their fingers where swollen and blackish. Frostbite.

  An officer stood guard nearby and showed them no pity. He saw Emil stop and stare, and with a subtle nod of his head, warned him to keep going. Anne saw him, too, and Emil quickly averted his eyes which started to pinch and sting. Walking away, Emil was overcome with emotion. Anger mostly. And confusion. Why should he care about Anne and her mother, they were just Jews.

  But he did care. Anne had been his friend once. He had to do something, but what?

  Emil’s hands were warm, he had gloves. And he had an idea. Just before Emil entered the bakery, which was now run by a new non-Jewish family, he bent down and untied one boot.

  Moments later he returned to the street with a warm sweet pastry in his gloved hand. He carried it down the street and when he came to the officer watching Anne and her mother he stopped. Out of the corner of his eye he could see them; shivering, cold, sunken eyes staring at his strudel.

  Emil chatted with the guard.

  “Heil Hitler!” he said.

  “Heil Hitler!” The guard responded his eyes darting to Emil’s pastry.

  Emil took a bite. “Um, it’s delicious. Warm. Sugar and cinnamon. There’s only a couple left.”

  The guard understood the food shortage.

  “Only a couple?”

  “Yes,” Emil took another small bite. “It’s so good. Well, Heil Hitler.” He turned away and before long the officer left, no doubt headed for the bakery, Emil thought.

  He had only a short time to do what he planned to do next. He caught Anne’s gaze.

  “Oh, my boot is untied.” Watch me, his eyes said. He bent over, putting the pastry and his gloves on the snow, and quickly tied his boot. When he stood up, he marched away. Sneaking a glance back, he saw that Anne and her mother each had one glove on. The pastry was already devoured, not a crumb wasted. Anne’s sunken eye’s held Emil’s. Thank you she mouthed. Emil nodded slightly before turning away.

  He was at the park when he heard the engines of the Luftwaffe. He fell with his back to the snow; bare hands shoved deep into his pockets and gazed up to the sky.

  They were so amazing: shiny, metal birds of prey with a black, German swastika painted on the tail. They numbered in the hundreds; so many Emil couldn’t count them all before they flew out of view. When he watched the Luftwaffe, he could forget about the quiet streets, the emptying store shelves, the blackouts.

  He could forget about Anne Silbermann’s haunted expression and frostbitten fingers.

  When Emil watched the Luftwaffe, he easily believed that Germany’s air fleet was the most powerful in the world. One day he’d be in the air flying an airplane, not on the ground staring at the sky, wishing. One day.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE LAND in Poland needs farming. We need more workers. We will send the Jews.

  This was what the newspapers said. It didn’t seem right or fair, but Emil supposed it made sense, especially if there weren’t enough Germans to do the job. The Nazis had been relocating Jews for some time now, so when the trains arrived in Passau, most people took little notice.

  Emil and Moritz happened to be walking by the station as the soldiers were loading them up. Emil hadn’t realized how many Jews made their homes in Passau and the outlying regions. There were hundreds, with just the clothes on their backs and one small suitcase each. All of them leaving their homes and every material thing they owned that didn’t fit in that one case.

  Irmgard and Elsbeth were on the sidewalk ahead of them. Moritz poked Emil motioning for him to cross to the other side of the street. The boys watched as Irmgard and Elsbeth pointed at the Jews. Emil could tell by the way Irmgard twisted her face that she had said something mean. Then she puckered her lips and spit on the street.

  Emil couldn’t believe he once thought she was pretty.

  Anne and her mother were in line. Their faces were thin and pale and etched with emotion. Sadness? Fear? Anne saw Emil with his friends, but pretended not to.

  Emil felt bad that they had to leave this way, but at least they could start a new life in Poland. At least they no longer had to shovel snow in Passau.

  In the three months from April to June 1940, Germany invaded Norway, Denmark, Belgium, Luxembourg, Holland and northern France. It seemed nothing could stop the advances of the German army.

  The school buzzed with excitement.

  “I thought Hitler promised not to invade the lowlands,” Moritz muttered to Emil and Johann.

  “It must’ve been necessary,” Emil said. “Or they wouldn’t have.
”

  Johann scoffed. “Do you really believe that?”

  Emil shrugged. He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

  In the classroom Herr Bauer shouted, “We are the victors!” He jumped up and down and clapped his hands like a child in the playground.

  “Now we have Paris! Soon all of France will be ours! It’s inevitable. I have pictures to show you.” Herr Bauer passed around black and white photos of the French army.

  “See, how pitiful? Their tanks are so weak and small. They can hardly roll over a stone without tipping. And do you see the uniforms, how womanly?”

  He laughed and the class with him. Or most of the class laughed with him. Moritz and Johann barely broke a smile.

  Rolf raised his hand. “How could France be so ill-prepared? Surely, the French knew the German Army was getting ready to invade.”

  “Indeed,” Herr Bauer agreed, “we never hid our weapons. Anyone could see them in the parades, how modern and advanced they are.”

  “I’m so excited,” shouted Irmgard out of turn.

  Herr Bauer let it pass. “One day we will reign in all of Europe from the west to the east.”

  “At this rate,” Friedrich jumped in, “we’ll take over the world just as the Fuehrer promised!”

  Really? Emil wondered. What would they do with the whole world?

  Afterwards, in the schoolyard, Rolf made an announcement: All the boys from Deutsches Jungvolk and Hitler Youth would go to a summer camp for three weeks. “Heinz will tell you more,” he said. “I’m so excited I just couldn’t keep the news a secret!”

  “Summer camp?” said Moritz, wrinkling his nose. He stumbled over a stone jutting out of the ground.

  “Not just any summer camp, klutz,” cut Rolf. “We’re preparing to fight the greatest battle ever known. We must learn how to do our part to gain the ultimate victory!”

  He shoulder nudged Moritz, and laughed. For the second time Moritz regained his balance before falling. “Even you, klutz,” he shouted, loud enough for everyone in the schoolyard to hear, “will have to do your part.” With the confidence of a tall, blond Aryan, Rolf sauntered away, his adoring fans flocking.