You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Book 2)

by Roberta Kagan

  On Friday when the rest of the staff left, Manfred knocked on the door to Goebbels’ office.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Manfred. I have that information you asked for.”

  “Come in, please,” Goebbels said. “Sit down.”

  Manfred sat, and he took the neatly folded papers out of a black artist’s notebook and presented them to Goebbels.

  Joseph Goebbels reached into his breast pocket. He took out his reading glasses and put them on.

  “Hmmm,” Goebbels grunted, frowning and nodding his head as he began to read. “Some are as I suspected. Others come as a surprise.” He hesitated a moment. “But you, Manfred... You’ve done well. Keep it up. I will get this list to the Gestapo as soon as possible. We need to have all of this investigated.”

  “What will happen to these people?” Manfred asked. It was a bold question, bolder than he’d ever dared to be when speaking with a superior. But a strange wave of guilt at having been the one to turn them in began gnawing at him, and he had to know.

  “Nothing will happen if they are innocent, but the crimes that you accuse them of are treason. That makes them enemies of our precious Fatherland. And that makes them a danger to all of us. Therefore, you may feel confident that you have done the right thing for Germany.” Goebbels smiled. “You see, son, we are Germany’s heart and soul, you and I, and all of the Aryan race. We must protect her from treachery, or she could fall again. Things could return to the way that they were before our great Führer brought this country back to its rightful place in the world. Do you understand? Things may seem cruel, but they are not cruel. They are necessary for our very survival.”

  Manfred nodded his head. He did understand.

  “And,” Goebbels smiled, “There could be a promotion in your future.”

  A promotion, a promotion! Manfred would finally have found a place for himself in the world. Perhaps he would be in a position worthy of a man proposing marriage to a woman like Christa. His heart skipped a beat as he walked towards home, his mind racing. She didn’t know who he was back at school. It was not as if he could just appear at her door and say, “Hello, would you like to have dinner with me?” Even though he already knew where she lived. How was he to ever approach her? All night he contemplated ideas, but came to no logical conclusion. Then the following day, and without any plan at all, he took the streetcar to the neighborhood where she lived. For most of the day, he sat on a bench in the park across the street from her house. He had a book with him, and he held it open, but he never read a word. Instead, he waited to see if she would come outside. She didn’t. Manfred waited until the sun had gone down and darkness descended upon the streets before heading back home.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been worried,” Manfred’s mother said even before he took his jacket off.

  “I was out with some friends from work.”

  She nodded. “I don’t mind you going. It’s good for you to get out with people your own age, but please let me know so I don’t worry about you, all right?” She was glad he had finally made some friends. It was hard to watch him grow up as such a lonely child. But even though she was pleased, she was also a little jealous. After all, since her husband died, he was her sole companion.

  Again, on Sunday, he went to the park across the street from Christa’s house, watching, waiting, hoping. Not knowing what he might do or say if he saw her, but unable to leave. She did not appear.

  Monday morning the office buzzed with whispers when Manfred arrived. Several people had been relieved of their jobs; there were even rumors of arrests, but no one knew why, no one but Manfred. A pang of guilt shot through him. He’d ruined their lives, perhaps even sent them to work camps. He’d heard that the camps were brutal, people died. A shiver ran up his spine. He was responsible. Shake it off, he told himself. If he got soft now, he would never have Christa, never get that promotion, and never win the prize. He must not allow that to happen. Besides, they probably were enemies of the Reich. They said terrible things about the Party, about Goebbels, about Hitler. He’d heard them with his own ears. That meant they were traitors, and if they were arrested then it was well deserved. He’d done nothing wrong. In fact, he’d helped to ensure Hitler’s visit would go off without a hitch. And wouldn’t it have been worse if somehow the Führer had been harmed? What would become of Germany? What would become of Manfred?

  Over the past weekend, Goebbels had ordered the arrest of four of his male employees. Those arrests were carried out by the Gestapo.

  Four arrests made so far…

  The more Manfred kept his log of traitors, the easier it became, and the justification grew more and more righteous in his mind. For the first time in his life, Manfred felt good to be a part of something bigger, something monumental. The party of Aryan rulers meant to save Germany.

  By the time the day for Hitler’s arrival at the Ministry came around, six more employees had been placed under arrest. But Manfred was too caught up in the preparations to give it much thought. He must see to the orders of the special food and handmade white tablecloths with the swastika insignia embroidered into their fine linen fabric. Manfred shellacked the wood of the podium that Hitler would use for his speech until it shined like brushed gold. A brand new Nazi flag was purchased and hung on a brass pole, while an oil painting of the Führer was placed behind the podium.

  On the eve of Adolf Hitler’s arrival, Manfred and Goebbels surveyed the conference room.

  “Once again, you did not let me down, Manfred. You’re a diamond. And because you have been such a help, I would like to introduce you to our leader.”

  Manfred gasped, he could hardly speak. “Me? Introduce me to Hitler? Thank you. Truly, thank you.”

  “Be here early tomorrow. I want to be sure everything is perfect.”

  “Of course.”

  The excitement wafted through the office like smoke after a huge fire. It was unavoidable and strong enough to penetrate the lungs, polluting any clean air that might remain.

  When Hitler arrived and entered the office surrounded by his entourage, a roar of enthusiasm shook the room. Although Hitler was not a large man, he commanded attention. It took five minutes of him raising his hands in an effort to quiet the crowd before he was able to speak.

  Unlike his small stature, Hitler’s voices rang through the halls like an entire marching band. Manfred glanced around to see that the entire group was spellbound. Their faces open, receiving, internalizing everything the Führer said. It felt good to see a man who was not athletic, and in many ways very much like himself, so powerful and adored. The women looked at him with such strong desire that Manfred was stunned. A smile crept over Manfred’s face. This was what he longed for. He would rise in the Party. He would be a voice to be reckoned with.

  After his speech, Hitler’s bodyguards escorted him into the private conference room of the Minister of Propaganda. Only a few employees were invited, Manfred was among them. As the diners took their places, Hitler stopped for a moment to admire the lovely tablecloth, ordered and designed by Manfred, who beamed at the compliment, even though it was directed at Dr. Goebbels, and not to him.

  “You’ve done well, Goebbels.”

  “Thank you, mein Führer.”

  “And who are you, young man?”

  “I am Manfred Blau,” he replied.

  “Manfred, Blau… Joseph tells me that you are quite a help to him. In fact, he mentioned that you did some outstanding children’s books in order to further our cause. The young people are the most important citizens of the Third Reich. They are the future of our Aryan race. Correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Very good. I saw some of your work, and being an art student myself, I must say it was quite impressive.”

  “Thank you. Thank you, sir.”

  “We’ll have to keep an eye on you, Manfred Blau, now won’t we?” Hitler placed a strong hand on Manfred’s shoulder.

  The food was delicious, but Manfred
could hardly eat; he was too enthralled. He met and spoke to Hitler himself. And Hitler was keeping an eye on him. Manfred was on his way, he was moving up in the world.

  On Saturday, Manfred went to the park across the street from the Henkeners’ home. He took his seat on the bench and opened the small paper bag he’d packed. Taking a bite of the pastry inside, he licked his lips. Life was sweet. He was no longer an outcast. He was on his way to becoming an important man. His eyes fixed on the large cherry wood door of Christa’s house. Even from where he sat, he could see the thick gold knocker. Manfred took a deep breath. It took all of the courage he could muster. Then he stood up and tossed the bag and its contents into a trash can. Wiping his hands together to be sure that there was no trace of powdered sugar, he straightened his suit and tie and walked over to the house where the woman of his desires lived.

  Once Manfred knocked on the door, he was sorry he had. His nerves and feelings of inferiority returned. He wanted to run away; he wished he’d brought flowers. A million thoughts ran through his mind. But before he could turn and bolt, the door opened. A maid with a navy blue uniform with white lapels and a crisp white apron, stood before him.

  “Can I help you sir?” the woman asked.

  This was his only chance. If he left now he could never come back. His heart beat so hard that it seemed to want to leap out of his chest. And then…there she was. Christa, beautiful Christa.

  “Who is it, Mary?” Christa asked the maid.

  “I don’t know. Are you selling something?” the maid called Mary asked him.

  “No, I’m here to see you.” He could not believe his own words. “Christa.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “Probably not, I was in your class in school, and I was wondering if you would like to have dinner or coffee with me.” How clumsy I am, how awkward. He stood trembling waiting for her answer, wishing the concrete beneath his feet would swallow him up.

  It took a moment but to Manfred it seemed like centuries. Then a smile came over her lovely face. Her bright blue eyes danced.

  “Yes,” she said, “A coffee would be nice, how about tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Yes, yes, that would be fine. I will be here to pick you up at two. Would that be all right?”

  “Yes, perfect.” She nodded.

  “Well then…”

  “Well then…”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She closed the door and he walked back towards the bus, his feet on the ground, but his head dancing in the clouds with the fairy king and his entire court.

  By a quarter to two the next day, Manfred was pacing the sidewalks in front of the Henkener home. In his hands, he carried a bouquet of red roses and a box of cream filled chocolates, which had been quite difficult to acquire. He felt dizzy in a kind of dream like state. It was hard to believe that he would be spending time with Christa, the woman he’d wanted as long as he could remember, a woman far above his class. Until now, this had been only a fantasy. But soon he would sit across the table from her and they would sip coffee. She would speak to him while he gazed into her crystal blue eyes.

  Manfred knocked on the door and waited. Christa answered instead of the servant girl.

  “Would you like to come in?” She wore a pale blue dress that brought out the rich sky blue of her eyes. As she opened the door, he saw her pale pink nail polish and his heart fluttered. He missed nothing. From her slender ankles to her wavy golden hair, Christa was truly lovely.

  “Yes of course,” he said, but he was frightened. He’d never dated a woman before, and he’d certainly never been inside a potential girlfriend’s home, meeting her parents. Manfred was glad that he was wearing the impressive black uniform of the SS. It gave him an air of sophistication, importance. An importance he did not feel. After all, until just a few months ago he had been an unpopular boy at school, shunned by the more attractive athletic students. Forced to spend his time alone, drawing pictures in the art lab. Well, he bore no resemblance to that boy any more, at least not on the outside.

  Christa showed him into a small sitting room with a plush love seat and two chairs upholstered in deep gold velvet interlaid with hunter green needlework. The walls were lined with books, their leather jackets bringing warmth to the room.

  He handed her the gifts. “I brought you some things,” he said, and he felt clumsy, awkward, again.

  “Thank you. The flowers are lovely. And the chocolates…well, they are my favorite kind. How did you know? And how did you ever get them?”

  He smiled. She had such poise, such grace.

  “I didn’t realize that you were in the SS. You weren’t wearing your uniform yesterday when you arrived.”

  “No, it was my day off and I was just taking a walk.”

  “So you just decided to come by?”

  “I…yes…I just decided to come by…”

  “How did you know where I live? I’m afraid I don’t even remember you from school.” She placed the flowers in a vase, but did not yet go to the kitchen to water them.

  “I…well…I’ve always known,” he stammered, almost wishing he could get up and run out the door. “I guess you could say I’ve had a crush on you for years.” There, he’d said it. Now he felt even more foolish…vulnerable. His hands trembled as they gripped the sides of the chair. He looked down and noticed that his knuckles had turned white. Then, quickly, he released them, hoping she didn’t see how nervous he was.

  “I’m flattered.” She smiled. Her teeth were like snow on Christmas morning against her light red lipstick.

  She sat down in the chair beside him. From where he sat he could catch whiffs of her perfume, not overpowering, just enough to be enticing.

  “Well, Manfred. Tell me a little about yourself.”

  “I am an artist. I work under Dr. Goebbels.”

  “Really? That’s rather impressive for one so young. Have you ever met him?”

  “I have. I speak with him all the time.”

  “Do you really?” He saw that she was impressed. It gave him strength. “He sort of scares me. He looks so serious and stark.”

  “I suppose he can be, but he has always been very nice to me.” Manfred began to relax.

  “Why don’t we have coffee here? I can have Mary bring us a tray, and we can just sit and talk.”

  “If you prefer,” Manfred said.

  “Yes, and then perhaps I will allow you to take me for dinner.” She smiled. “Mary!” she called, and within seconds, the woman appeared.

  “Yes ma’am?”

  “Can you bring us a tray with coffee and some sweets?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “So, I suppose you have seen Hitler?”

  “I’ve dined with him.”

  “My goodness, you really have made a name for yourself.”

  He smiled.

  “My father doesn’t like the Party. He doesn’t like Hitler or as he calls them, his goons.” She laughed and to him it sounded like the ring of tiny bells.

  Manfred knew this was treason, but he would keep his mouth shut. With any luck, this man would be his future father-in-law.

  They sipped black coffee. The pastries were small and bland. Christa apologized for the lack of sugar. “It’s hard to come by, as you must know.”

  “Yes, I know.” He said and made a mental note to bring some sugar the next time he visited. Provisions were easier to acquire for Party members.

  The sun began to set casting a golden light on the trees and grass.

  “May I be so honored as to take you to dinner?” Manfred asked, not looking directly at her.

  “Yes,” she answered. “Let me go and get my purse.”

  He had plenty of cash, and that felt good for a boy who’d been raised in poverty. The Nazi Party was surely good to him.

  As they walked towards the main street, he realized that he didn’t really know the area. It would have been wise to do some planning, to learn the area, so that he could suggest a r
estaurant.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with this neighborhood. Do you have a favorite place to dine?”

  “It just so happens I do.” She winked at him

  When he walked her home that night, they stood under the light over her front door. Manfred had never been out with a girl before. He didn’t know what to do. He just stood with his hands in his pockets staring at the ground, feeling foolish.

  “Well, goodnight, and thank you for a wonderful evening,” he said.

  “Wait.” She took his hand in hers and looked up into his eyes. “Would you like to kiss me goodnight?” she asked.

  Would he? Would he? Of course, he would, but he’d never kissed a woman before, and he didn’t know what to do. Just do what you’ve seen in movies. He told himself. Taking her into his arms, he pressed his lips on hers. Every nerve in his body and all of his senses came alive in a divine dance of heightened awareness. He took in the sweet fragrance of her perfume, the taste of her lips. The softness of her cheek as it brushed against his. I must be the luckiest man in the world, he decided.

  Every Saturday night, from that day on, he took her to dinner, followed by long walks. They discussed everything, their favorite foods, how much they both enjoyed swimming on a hot summer day, and their love for children and animals.

  “Someday, when I marry, I want to have lots of children,” Christa said.

  “Yes, it would we be wonderful to sit at the table on Sunday nights and have a big dinner, like a real family.”

  “Yes, that would be wonderful. When I was little, I used to plead with my parents for a brother or sister. But I was born sick, and my father, being a doctor and all, didn’t want to risk having it happen again.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine now.”

  “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to think you were not well.’

  She squeezed his upper arm. “I’m just fine. I still wish I had a brother or sister, though.”

  “I felt the same growing up. It was lonely growing up an only child,” Manfred said. It was hard to admit how vulnerable he’d been in his youth. But he found himself opening up in ways he never thought possible.