Love of Finished Years

by Gregory Erich Phillips

  “I’m so glad.”

  “The war has made it harder. The rations made the poor poorer. The community has thinned out. The men have left for the military bases while many of the women have taken factory jobs, sewing uniforms. They say they need two million uniforms, can you imagine?”

  Elsa didn’t want to think about all the men at war. All the men who had or would die.

  ”This bakery has been here long enough that I’ve seen babes in arms grow into teenagers who would stop in for sweet rolls on their way home from school. Some of those boys are having their uniforms sewn now. But many of my regulars haven’t been in for some time.”

  “I noticed you took the German sign down out front.”

  Gerd nodded. “I still have it in back. Maybe after the war I can put it back up. Still, most of my non-German customers have disappeared. I suppose the taste I taught them for brötchen and bauernbrot has been sacrificed to their patriotism.”

  Elsa smiled. The taste of brötchen was still on her lips.

  The glass door of the bakery opened. A tall, slender man walked in. His suit was too big for his frame, while his overcoat was too short. He held his bowler hat in his hand. Elsa didn’t take him for a customer. He looked at the two of them with an odd smile. She realized that they had still been speaking in German when he came in.

  ”May I help you?” Gerd asked.

  The man came forward and laid a black leather folder on the counter. He opened it to reveal a small stack of gilt-edged certificates. He explained the benefits of buying liberty bonds. Elsa listened from the other end of the counter. The salesman was making his proposition to Gerd. After his initial glance upon entering, he didn’t seem to notice her presence at all.

  “I support what you are doing,” said Gerd after the sales proposition. “But my business is struggling. I barely make enough to survive and support my family. I cannot afford war bonds.”

  “Many are struggling in these times, Mr. Steigenhöffer.” The bondsman meticulously drew out the long name. “Yet others have made sacrifices for the war effort. It goes a long way, not only to help our men but also to demonstrate one’s loyalty to the cause.”

  The way the bondsman spoke made Elsa uneasy.

  “I am sorry, sir,” said Gerd. “I wish I could help. I really do. But if I buy a bond today I will not have money to buy flour tomorrow.”

  “You . . . do support the American cause, don’t you?” The bondsman leaned forward with his hands on the counter, a suspicious smile on his lips.

  Elsa saw Gerd’s expression turn angry. “Did you come here to question my loyalty or to sell me bonds? I may have been born in Germany, but I am an American. My family is American. I work to build a good life for them. That is why I came to this country.”

  The bondsman raised his long arms. ”Oh, I believe you, Mr. Steigenhöffer. But,” he leaned back on the counter close to Gerd, “there may be others who are unconvinced of your loyalty. Do you know how many German spies there are in this city? Loyal Americans like you prove their patriotism by buying a liberty bond. You can post it in your window so everyone knows whose side you are on.”

  “Are you trying to blackmail me? I have no money, and I am a simple man. No sensible person would call me a spy.”

  A rare customer entered the store. Gerd looked at him, then back at the bondsman.

  “I have work to do. I must ask you to leave.”

  The bondsman turned with a snort, flashing a hateful glance at Gerd, then at Elsa. He put his round hat on his head in a manner that suggested the shop hadn’t warranted its removal in the first place.

  Elsa was about to go upstairs to see Sonja and the children, but Christof returned just as Gerd finished ringing up the customer’s purchase. He slung a sack of fresh rye flour behind the counter. Elsa stayed while Gerd told his nephew about the bondsman.

  ”Perhaps we should buy a bond for the store,” Christof said. “It would be difficult, but we could manage it. We must be careful. I have heard of Germans being beaten, even lynched for no reason. Not here in the city yet, but we should still be careful.”

  Gerd scowled, but finally nodded his agreement. ”Fine. If the salesman returns, we will buy a bond. I hope he does not come back.”

  Sonja awoke with a start. Something had disturbed her from the street below, but when she became alert, all she could hear was the rain pounding on the roof. Christof and the children slept.

  Then the raucous sound returned. She lurched up in bed. There was a crowd of people at the door to the bakery below. She threw on her robe and started quickly down the stairs. Gerd emerged from his room and called for her to stop.

  “Let me handle this. Stay with the children and lock the door behind you.”

  Just then there was a loud crash as the glass of the bakery door shattered. Sonja gasped and ran back up. Christof had awakened and sprung from bed. The three children also awoke in confusion.

  “No, stay.” Sonja grabbed her husband’s arm. “Help me with the children.”

  “Where is Gerd?”

  “He told us to stay here and lock the door.”

  At that moment Gerd screamed in pain.

  “Get up, Kaiser lover!” shouted a voice—Christof ran down the stairs, making sure the door to the upper apartment was locked behind him.

  Sonja began to cry. The baby wailed while the two older children shivered in terror.

  Angry shouts and the sounds of breaking glass continued below. It was followed by the sounds of breaking wood as the counters and cabinets of the bakery were smashed and cracked. Sonja could no longer hear the voices of Christof and Gerd, lost in the shouts of the intruders. If these men set fire to the bakery she and the children would be trapped up here in the apartment, with nowhere to flee.

  Suddenly it was over. The only sounds were her whimpering children and the pounding rain outside. Sonja feared the worst. She ran to the door and listened anxiously.

  “Sonja,” Her husband’s voice called out. “Come quickly.”

  She unlocked the door and hurried down. The shop was dark. All the lamps were shattered. She stepped carefully through the rubble in her slippers. The only illumination came from the streetlamps outside.

  She saw her husband kneeling in the center of what had been their bakery. The faint light illuminated cuts and bruising on his face.

  Then she saw Gerd prostrate on the floor.

  “Oh, God!”

  Horrified, she rushed to his side. Gerd was breathing with difficulty.

  “Do not move him,” said Christof. “I think they broke his back. See if the phone still works.”

  Sonja tried their phone behind the counter, but the lines had been cut.

  “I will go to the Charles’s shop to use their phone.”

  Sonja ran to their friends’ store a block away. Mr. and Mrs. Charles owned a general grocery and similarly lived in an apartment above their store. After making a great racket at their door, Sonja woke Mr. Charles, who finally opened the door. She told him what had happened. She called the police and the neighborhood doctor. Mr. Charles rushed to the bakery to see if he could help.

  Sonja struggled to convey the urgency of the incident to the police respondent. When she finished her call she couldn’t be sure whether the police would actually come or make any attempt at justice. She didn’t know what else she could do.

  She returned home accompanied by Mrs. Charles, who had awakened and dressed while she was calling.

  By the time they reached the bakery, Gerd was dead.

  The police didn’t arrive until eight o’clock the next morning.

  The doctor had come during the night. Besides setting Christof’s broken ribs and bandaging his cuts, there was little he could do. He wrote an official pronouncement of death for Gerd, The doctor left as quickly as he could. He clearly didn’t want any involvement in this scene or with this German family.

  As dawn came, the light revealed the extent of the damage. Everything in the bakery was des
troyed. Even the walls had been battered with clubs by the intruders. Cracks in the support beams left the very structure of the two-story building in question. Across the front of the building, “HUN STORE” was scrawled in dripping red paint.

  By the time the police finally came, Christof was agitated. The mustached officer listened to the account of the incident, jotting down far less in his notebook than Christof had said. A second policeman poked around disinterestedly in the rubble. Sonja watched with her children huddled close.

  “What are you going to do?” Christof asked.

  The policeman looked at him as if he didn’t understand the question.

  “Are you going to find the men who did this? A man was murdered! Our store was destroyed.”

  The policeman kept looking at Christof distractedly. Finally he spoke. “We will try. But you must see how there is nothing simple about this case.”

  “What do you mean? It is as simple as can be. Four men vandalized our shop. They killed my uncle!”

  “The deceased was a known supporter of Germany. I have been informed that he was under federal surveillance. While violence is not the right answer, he should have considered the consequences of his loyalties.”

  Sonja watched her husband anxiously, hoping he wouldn’t lose his cool. Had he forgotten about the incident with the bondsman so quickly?

  The policeman looked at him with suspicious eyes. “You called this our store. Am I to understand that you are an owner?”

  “Yes. My uncle and I owned it together.”

  “You are also German?”

  “Yes. I am a German American.” Christof was losing control of his voice again. “But I support America. I always have. So did my uncle. We never speak to anyone in Germany anymore.”

  “This bakery was a refuge for German spies. As you are the owner, I will need to take you in for questioning.”

  He grabbed Christof by the arm. Sonja cried out. For a second he resisted, then regained his head.

  “Stay with the children,” he called back at his wife, making a point to continue in English, even though they seldom spoke it with one another.

  Sonja ran back up to the apartment in tears. She held her children. She was too upset about her husband’s arrest to even grieve the death of the man who had been like a father to her for eight years.

  The rain had stopped, but the day was cold and winter would be coming soon. Surely they wouldn’t hold Christof long. But she couldn’t help replaying the ominous memory of her own mother’s realization that she was alone in this city as winter approached. With her children so young and their livelihood destroyed, she didn’t know how she would survive if anything happened to Christof.

  After a few hours she collected herself and walked to the police station with all three children in tow. They stepped carefully through the rubble of the old bakery. She didn’t yet have the will to start cleaning it up. At the station they told her he was being held for disorderly conduct and could see no one until the next day. She went home, distraught and exhausted. Her body finally overpowered her mind, and she managed to sleep part of the night.

  Returning to the police station in the morning, again with the children in tow, the officer on duty had no idea that Christof was even there. There was no official record of his arrest.

  Sonja started to cry. The officer tried to get her to leave, but she refused and sat down on the bench, still crying. Soon her children started to cry, too. The uncomfortable officer finally started making some phone calls. After an hour his supervisor came to speak with Sonja.

  “You are that man’s wife?” he asked.

  “Yes. And these are our children. Please release him. We cannot survive without him.”

  “I do not want to bring hardship on any family,” the police captain said carefully. “But your husband has behaved suspiciously, and we must be sure of your family’s loyalty.”

  “Please. We are simple people. We are not interested in politics.”

  The police captain raised his eyebrows. “You are not interested in the American cause?”

  “No. Yes. We are. We support America.”

  “If you purchase a liberty bond, that would be a good way to demonstrate your loyalty.”

  “Please, sir, our store was destroyed. We have nothing.”

  “You people should have thought of that before you supported the wrong side.”

  Sonja didn’t know what to say.

  The police captain glared at her. “Shall I telephone the liberty bondsman and tell him you want to help the cause?”

  “How much do they cost?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  “I believe a fifty dollar bond would be sufficient to remove suspicion from your family.”

  “Fifty dollars!”

  The captain shrugged. “If we deport your husband, you have the choice to go with him along with your children. If you are to remain in this country, we need to know you are loyal.”

  What choice did she have but to pay? They did have the money. But if she used it for a war bond, there would be no money to rebuild and restock the bakery. There would be no money for next month’s rent. But when faced with deportation to war-ravaged Germany, paying was the only choice. At least here she had some family, even though she would be loath to rely on her mother or sister’s charity.

  She returned to get their savings and appeared at the station in the evening to meet the bondsman.

  Sadly, she passed fifty dollars to the lanky salesman.

  “Do you swear loyalty to the United States of America and President Woodrow Wilson?” he asked with a satisfied smile.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you renounce loyalty to Germany and Kaiser Wilhelm?”

  “Yes.”

  The bondsman paused menacingly. “Do you condemn the treason of your relation, Gerd Steigenhöffer?”

  Sonja’s stomach turned with rage. Quickly she looked down at the hopeful faces of her children, remembering her own fatherless youth. “I condemn it.”

  “You condemn him.”

  “I condemn him.”

  He produced a shiny, gold-trimmed certificate, wrote some terms, signed it, and then indicated for her to sign. He made her shake his cold, clammy hand. “Your country thanks you.”

  The police captain released Christof. The two elder children ran and hugged his waist. Sonja sighed with relief at seeing him. When he reached her she laid her head briefly against his chest. It was the closest thing to an embrace they could manage within the clutch of three children.

  The family walked home in silence. Sonja didn’t need to explain everything, least of all their increased poverty. She knew he could hear most of what happened from his cell in the small precinct station.

  Again they stepped through the rubble of their former store. They would rebuild. Sonja knew that already, even if she didn’t know how.

  As soon as enough time passed for Sonja and Christof to think straight, they agreed to change their last name. The three children would grow up calling themselves by the name Stone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  O Dream Too Bittersweet

  That night, for the first time, Glenn knew he had killed.

  “Jerrys coming! Jerrys coming!”

  The shout awoke him moments before grenades started popping. The rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire quickly followed. Glenn lunged for his weapon. The action was down the trench to his right.

  The Germans had used a thick midnight fog to climb out of their trench and rush across the gap at the Allies. The men scrambled for their guns and helmets as grenades exploded at their feet. Suddenly the Germans were at the top of the trench. Through a forty-yard stretch they killed every man from their elevated position, then leaped into the trench on top of the bodies.

  At each end of the massacre, Allies and Germans shot and hacked at one another in hand-to-hand combat. Men from both armies, intent on their individual survival, pulled planks, sandbags, and mud from the sides of the trench. So
on the passageway was blocked on both sides of the Germans by bodies and rubble.

  The Allies regained order. Machine guns from farther down the Allied trench swept no-man’s-land, ensuring no more Germans could cross the foggy waste.

  Crouching in the trench, Glenn heard artillery buzzing close above him, cutting down the soldiers trying to come in support from the reserve trench. The whizzing buzz of a shell rang in his ears, exploding just behind him. He flattened himself against the trench wall as pieces of dirt rained down on his helmet. The man who had been standing next to him a moment ago lay on the trench floor, screaming from shrapnel wounds.

  Some sixty German soldiers were struggled to hold the stretch of trench they had taken. For a time they continued their slaughter, using the blockage as protection to shoot at the advancing Allies from both sides of the trench.

  Glenn willed himself forward. A French soldier just ahead of him hurled two unpinned grenades over the blockage. One exploded immediately. The second, though a dud, rolled menacingly for a few moments among the feet of the panic-stricken Germans. French and Americans climbed from their trench and rushed at the German position from both sides. The Germans who had taken the Allied trench were quickly overwhelmed.

  With an enemy at a distance, a trench is unapproachable except by surprise or far superior numbers. But with an enemy at hand, the low position and lack of retreat routes make a trench no better than a waiting grave. Once the Allies reached the top in numbers, sweeping down with automatic fire and grenades, the Germans had no chance.

  Those who could still stand threw down their guns and raised their arms, but the shooting continued. Taking prisoners was a humanitarian luxury of the early days of the war. The Germans tried to scramble up the dirt. The front wall of the trench caved in. Some made it to the top before dying. A handful made it far enough to twist their feet in the barbed wire stretched in front of the trench only to be cut down by fire from both sides. There these would stay, lacking men brave enough to retrieve the bodies. None from the brash German advance lived out the night.