Beneath the Universe

by Jennifer Gaskill Miller

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Frauline Goebbels was saying. “Where did you find her, Markus?”

  “She was just down by the pond watching the geese,” he told her, winking conspiratorially at Cora. She let go of his hand and rushed to her father’s side.

  “I’m so sorry for the trouble, Herr Goebbels.” Her father said.

  “Not at all. Children are meant to be adventurous. Mine disappear on me all the time. It was wonderful to have you.”

  Blaz ushered Cora into the car with Giselle seated on the other side of her. They drove away from the house as the children waved, some less heartedly than others. Cora looked behind her and saw Markus still standing there, waving and smiling. She shuddered and wished more than anything that her father would hold her for once.

  CHAPTER 5

  October 1923

  Young Blaz

  All those hours wasted, he thought. He had studied for ages and yet now he could not recall any of it. Who succeeded Caesar Tiberius? It would not come to him. He had to think before remembering anything about the emperor. Tiberius was the leader of Rome at the time of Christ. Then Caesar Caligula? He squeezed the bridge of his nose and tried to concentrate. He gave up and went to the next question. Father had always told him not to guess. If you don’t know, don’t answer. Silence was acceptable. Stupidity was not.

  Too soon Herr Domter was tapping his pointer on the blackboard. Testing was over and Blaz had no choice but to submit his unfinished work. He had skipped four of the questions. Still, his essay had been good. He squared his shoulders and took the pages, heavy with his pencil marks, to the front of the room. His focus was on keeping steady as he handed over his test. Herr Domter had a strange nerve twisting effect on him, like his father. He gave the boy a scowl and scanned the test as Blaz waited.

  “What are you staring at?” he asked suddenly.

  Blaz straightened, caught doing nothing. “Sir?”

  “Are you waiting for something?” Herr Domter insisted.

  “No, sir. I . . . I thought I should tell you I didn’t answer every question, sir.”

  “I can see that. Care to tell me why not?”

  “I couldn’t recall the correct answers at the time.”

  “Can you recall them now? Let’s see . . . how about number six? Who succeeded Caesar Tiberius.”

  Blaz gaped. Was Herr Domter being generous?

  “Tiberius successor was . . . Caligula, sir. I am certain of that now. And the last question, the answer is Cassandra.”

  “What about the other two you’re missing? Do you know those?” He held up the test so Blaz could see.

  “No, sir. I’m sorry. Do I receive credit for number six?”

  Herr Domter considered this, “Yes, I think so. But next time answer all the questions during the exam.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s just that I needed time to consider, so that I was sure to put the correct answer.”

  “But you put no answer. What good does a blank do you? At least if you answer something you have a chance of being right. A small chance is better than none, is it not?”

  “I suppose so, sir.”

  “You suppose?”

  “My father told me to always wait until I know the answer. If I make a mark or take an action that’s wrong I damage my confidence and my future. But if I consider everything before I act, take time to think it through I can be sure to always make the most correct choice.”

  “That’s good advice, mostly. But sometimes making no choice or making the choice not to act is itself a poor move. And then it isn’t in our hands anymore. We don’t always have time to consider, do we? In life we must make our choices as they come. I agree you should try to be wise and think things through, but if you wait too long the choice is no longer yours to make. If you had left these questions blank any longer I would have marked the answers incorrect, regardless of whether or not you really knew them. Understand?"

  Blaz couldn't help but feel as if Herr Domter was pressing for a greater meaning, but he said nothing else. So Blaz nodded, the way he often saw girls nod when asked if they were alright when, clearly, they were not.

  It was still eating away at him when he walked to Nikel Street and down below the flats where his friend Grey from England lived. Grey was not happy here. His father was German and had met Grey’s mother while attending Cambridge. She had died giving birth to Grey’s younger sister, Annalyse. With his wife gone, Grey’s father had sent his children to Germany to live with his aging mother. The grandmother was older than a person should be caring for little ones and no one noticed when her usual ailments slid quietly into scarlet fever. It was too late for Annalyse, who died only days after the grandmother, but Grey was sent to live with another relative and then another. There was always some reason why he was passed along; money, illness, temperaments. His father had told him they could live together again when Grey was twelve and could be more self reliant and not demand so much of his father’s time. Grey had turned sixteen two weeks before Blaz. His father had either forgotten or reneged on his promise and poor Grey was still being passed around.

  Is that what Herr Domter had meant? Were Grey’s decisions still being made for him because he didn’t make them for himself? What else was Grey supposed to do? It was infuriating to not understand. Blaz resented his feeble mind. He could usually retain the information fed to him, but he was never very good with philosophy or creation of thought. He wanted to get his mind on something else. He hoped Grey was home.

  Grey answered the door quietly with his finger to his lips. He motioned behind him where the relative of the moment, an unforgiving great aunt, was snoring uncomfortably in an old wingback chair. Blaz waited in the hall while Grey found his jacket. Together they slipped down the back stairs and into the alley. Grey wasn’t usually allowed out except for school and to run the occasional errand. His family was embarrassed to have an Englishman in their homes. Maybe that was the real reason he didn’t seem to be welcome anywhere. But Blaz didn’t mind being friends with him. Grey was smart and calm, unusual qualities in a teenage boy, especially one with a troubled background. He told Grey about the test and what Herr Domter had said about it. Grey was thoughtful and polite, nodding as he listened.

  “Do you understand it?” Blaz asked.

  Grey pulled out a Deutschmark from his pocket.

  “It’s like this coin,” he told Blaz. “Here, take it.”

  “Okay,” Blaz said rubbing his thumb between his eyes again.

  “It doesn’t mean much to you, does it? But it does to me. You get coins all the time. I never do. I found this. Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t steal it. But there are people who would. One silly Deutschmark means that much. There are good people, the kind who would never have stolen once upon a time. But war changes things. There were a lot of angry people in that war who all grew up and are trying to explain to their children why they are angry.”

  That was one thing Blaz didn’t have to try to understand, the anger about the war. There were so many hungry and sick people. But the rest of the world didn’t seem to care.

  “What’s that got to do with money?” Blaz was still confused.

  “Not money, Blaz, sides. This whole country is about sides. And everything changes depending on which side you’re looking at. Hold the coin right side up. You see? Why did you do that? How did you know which side was the right side up? You only know because someone else told you it was the right side. You didn’t choose it. They chose it for you. This country got the worst of it at Versailles. They jumped on the truck with other angry countries and when the war was over, who was left standing? The whole world hated Germany and Germany hated everyone else. Your grandfathers hated, your father hates and now you’re supposed to hate. Someday you’re supposed to teach your children how to hate.”

  “You make everyone sound so angry. Everyone just wants a good life. It’s their home, Grey,” Blaz protested.

  “It’s my home, too. I’m part of both worlds,
which is why I can see how precarious things are. The world is about to change, my friend, and not for the better. Just you wait.”

  “According to Herr Domter I’m not supposed to wait. I’m supposed to be making decisions,” Blaz said.

  Grey laughed. “You’re ready to make a decision? I’ve got something of utmost importance for you to decide.”

  Blaz frustration turned to bewilderment until he saw Grey’s ridiculous grin.

  “Decide to get a girlfriend already.” Blaz had to laugh at that. Grey was always pressuring him to get a girl. But Grey was the handsome one, the charming one. Blaz was too serious and he wished at that moment that Grey could be just a little more serious, too.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Hey, I’ve got plenty of girlfriends.”

  “I don’t mean that, Grey. The war.”

  Grey sighed, a deeply annoyed breath that was his way of giving up trying to be a good friend. Blaz didn’t know it yet, but one day this would be a moment he would regret; the moment he kept pushing Grey about the war. Blaz couldn’t help himself.

  “It not our fight. It’s our parents’.”

  “Don’t be so bloody naïve. That kind of anger doesn’t go away. There’s going to be more war. Who do you think is going to be fighting? By the time bullets start flying do you think it’s the old men sitting around in suits and smoking cigars who are going to be at the frontlines? It’s us. Why do you think there are so many joining the Hitler Youth? Everyone wants to be part of it. The young are tired of the older generations telling us how things have changed and how its time to change it back. They might be calling the shots, but we’ll be the ones holding the rifles.”

  Blaz thought for a moment, a terrible thought striking him.

  “And which direction will your rifle be pointing?”

  Grey was quiet, as if he had already thought a great deal on it.

  “Blaz, I know what I believe. But we’re brothers you and I. I won’t ever forget that. I swear it.” Blaz imagined him in enemy uniform, heartbroken by the idea.

  “Come off it. Let’s go to the hall, see if we can’t get you that girlfriend.”

  No more was said about war that night but later Blaz lay in bed, turning the coin with his fingers. He knew how little pocket money Grey ever acquired. To gift it to Blaz that way meant he cared more about the message than the money. Blaz was tired of all the rhetoric going around, but Grey was his friend and he felt obliged to listen. But instead of feeling better, his confidence in their little world was shaken.

  He didn’t get to see Grey the rest of the week. Maybe the nasty aunt caught him sneaking in after they got back from the hall. Maybe he was sick. Blaz decided to go see him. He thought he ought to give the coin back. It was true that Blaz’ family had some money now, not much but enough. It was still more than most people had. But they had struggled before. There were times when Blaz had been so hungry he pretended his stomach growling was a pet he had swallowed that was talking to him from inside his belly. His shoes could talk, too, the soles flapping like little mouths where they pulled away from the binding. Being poor was miserable and he couldn’t take what little luxury Grey had.

  He pulled his jacket collar over his neck trying to cover his ears as he walked to Grey’s house. It was only October, but it was already so cold he could see his breath rolling out before him, leading the way. With every step he imagined the wheels on a track as he propelled himself forward with hefty breaths, like a steam locomotive.

  Grey’s window was dark as Blaz rounded the corner and looked up at it, but that didn’t mean anything. He could be in another room or his aunt might not have electricity right now. Blaz stood beneath the chipped, white pane and whistled softly. After a few seconds he whistled again. But the familiar blond head did not look down at him. The window remained dark so Blaz decided to try looking for Grey at the hall down the street.

  Blaz rounded the corner of the building and saw her. Standing on the stoop, sweeping the small porch was the unnamed aunt. Up close she looked older than he expected. Blaz had always thought her hair was blonde, but he could see now that it was streaked with gray and white pulled into a loose bun high on her head. Her face was round, like a doll, and Blaz imagined her as a little girl with plump cheeks and glassy blue eyes. The sweet face he imagined was hidden behind a thousand wrinkles creasing her face like a shirt waiting to be ironed. Blaz had never been introduced to her, but she seemed to know him, addressing him without ever meeting his gaze.

  “He’s gone,” she announced.

  Blaz waited a moment, unsure if it was him she was speaking to.

  “Who?” He finally asked.

  “Grey. He’s gone to London. I knew he wouldn’t say goodbye to you. Only one thing on his mind.”

  “London? But why?”

  The old woman stopped sweeping for a moment, either being cautious with her words or struggling with emotion. The way Grey described their relationship Blaz guessed at the moment she was more concerned with her words than her heart. “He’s going to be with his own people.” She said in a slow and meaningful way.

  “What people? We’re his people.”

  “I always thought you were a fool, now I’m sure of it. He’s got too much of that Jezebel in him. I knew that British blood would win over in the end, greedy monsters. Be thankful he’s gone before it was too late for you. You can still be a good boy.”

  “But where did he go? Who is he staying with?”

  “You think I’d trouble myself with that? He was a burden from the beginning, that one. He’s gone to join the war and I can finally get my house cleaned.

  “What war?”

  She finally looked at Blaz, her broom frozen in midair as she said, “The same one I imagine you’ll be joining soon. If you meet Grey at the front, don’t bother with feeling. Do your duty. Get it over with.” She finished sweeping. “Go on now. I’ve got silverware to polish.”

  Blaz head was reeling. His only friend was gone without a word. He didn’t know whether to be hurt or angry. He didn’t want to go home. He thought about going to the hall, but decided to visit the library instead. At least there he wouldn’t have to talk to anybody. He could read Beowulf again. Something about the great hero centered Blaz, made him feel more in control.

  But when he looked for it in the library, the copy was no where to be found. He checked with the librarian and she said it hadn’t been checked out. Perhaps someone had pulled it off the shelf and was still in the library with it. Blaz knew it had a gold leaf binding. He wandered the aisles, checking shelves to see if someone had set it down in the wrong place. Finally, he spotted it. A girl was reading it and not only had she stolen his favorite book, but she had also taken his prime reading spot. The library had brown brick arches above each of the windows. But only one window arch had a chair. The chair was immensely comfortable, dark, green and plush. Between its mossy exterior and the brown brick it was almost like being in a forest, so students called it the Hollow. As Blaz got closer, the girl sitting in the chair came into view. She was prettier than he had noticed at first glance. That’s when he recognized her. Her legs were tucked under her, face serious as she read. Across from her was a table of boys, whispering and elbowing each other. They were taking turns tossing crumpled papers at her and whistling just softly enough to be annoying without being heard by the librarian. For how much reaction she gave them, Blaz wondered if she even knew they were there or if she was so engrossed in the book that perhaps the rest of the world went away. Either way, it made him like the idea of approaching her.

  It hadn’t been his idea. Not that Giselle wasn’t an attractive prospect, but Blaz had never been comfortable talking to girls. That was Grey’s talent. Had it been left entirely to him, he would likely never have the courage to approach any female, let alone one as pretty as Giselle. But recently, Blaz’ father had met her father and between the two of them decided to play matchmakers. It had been the night of
the Beer Hall Putsch when the two men were introduced. A group of radicals had stormed the Beer Hall in Munich where the Weimar Republic was holding a meeting. Inspired by Mussolini’s successful march on Rome, the new group known as National Socialists planned to march the same way through Munich and overthrow the capitulating Weimar government. As the current so called loyalists moved against them the radicals banded together with members of the Republic and formed a barricade, standing against the advancing troops as one, united in their hope for the future. But the move had led to a stalemate. Men on both sides of the barricade had been affected the same way by the war. While their methods for progressing as a country were very different, they all wanted something better and were not anxious to start killing each other. After all, it was only united that they could regain their former glory as a country.

  Blaz’ father had been part of it, anxious to see their nation stand up to the hard lot given them. To him it seemed that their lives were in the hands of weak men, bowing to the pressure of the League of Nations, which aimed to place the war’s blame single handedly on Germany. Giselle’s father also felt the need for a change. He was not as concerned with revolution, but he admired Chancellor Hitler and was always impressed by his passion and deep love for their people. The two fathers had stood side by side for hours and realized that they had children, not only the same age, but in the same school. After the rebels were dismissed, Blaz’ father returned home and asked his son about the girl. Blaz grudgingly admitted that he did know who she was, although he did not know if she knew him.

  He wondered, spying on her now, if she did. The group of boys continued to throw paper wads at her. Then one of them took his pencil and tossed it. The sharpened end hit her on her arm and the boys finally had her attention. Blaz saw his opportunity.

  “Hey,” he called to the boys. “Leave her alone!”

  “What are you? Her father?”

  “I’m warning you . . .” Blaz didn’t get a chance to finish his threat. A librarian had heard the argument and had rushed up. Apparently, the boys didn’t see Blaz or Giselle as worth a note to their parents and they quickly left. Blaz apologized to the librarian and triumphantly made his way back to the damsel he had rescued.