by Renee Duke
Fingering the camera, Dane said, “I guess if you’re supposed to be a nineteen-thirties photojournalist you have to have a nineteen-thirties camera, but do you really know how to use this old thing, Uncle Trevor?”
“Right now, it’s a new thing. Brand new. I got it in a camera shop. And, yes, I do know how to use it. My father-in-law’s a professional photographer and has quite a large ‘cameras through the ages’ collection. He showed me how some of them worked—including one like this. But I couldn’t quite remember how to load it, so I had the man in the shop do it for me and watched him carefully.”
“Where did you get enough old German money to buy all this? We were only able to bring a few coins with us,” said Jack.
“Your grandfather got it for me. He said he found it extremely helpful to have a goodly supply of era-appropriate currency when he went back to Victorian times with you.”
“He did, huh?” Paige gave him a hard look. “So, I guess he, and you, and Grantie, and your dad, all expected us to make a time trip while we were here, and figured out where we’d probably go. Which means you had every intention of joining us, with, or without, an invitation. Right?”
“Well…I did come reasonably prepared to do so, yes. I procured passports and other documentation for the four of us—and now have pouches to put them in. They’re missing a few particulars, such as dates, but you’re a good little artist, Paige, and I thought you’d probably be able to reproduce the type of lettering required.”
“Oh, yeah. Because I’ve always wanted to be had up for forgery.”
Uncle Trevor grinned. “Handy skill during the war years. Especially for escaping prisoners. The Nazis were big on people having the right ‘papers’. Yours all have your own names, but mine have me as Trevor Hastings. I have a book from this time with the names of some English photojournalists and liked the sound of that one. Same first name, and even the same initials. And he never left England, so he’s not likely to blow my cover by turning up here.
“As long as foreign newsmen followed certain rules, the Nazis weren’t averse to using them to obtain international exposure, so I thought photojournalism would be a suitable career for an Englishman who shows up in Germany from time to time with three kids in tow.”
“I’d say you’ve thought of a lot of things,” said Jack. “And here we thought you weren’t at all that keen on time travel. But this is a time you’re interested in, so I suppose you couldn’t resist.”
“Oh, I could have. Believe me, I could have. But now that I’m here, well, it is quite an experience to walk around as an eyewitness to historical events.”
Dane grinned. “You wouldn’t have cared to go back any further, though, would you? Like to the days of Attila the Hun?”
“No. My first little jaunt with the medallion rather put me off being surrounded by barbarians. Even though, compared to Nazis, Attila and his band of ruffians were probably quite pleasant chaps.” Uncle Trevor’s expression became grim. “I knew, on a purely academic level, that Nazi rule was firmly established by nineteen-thirty-six, but reading about tyranny and experiencing it are two different things. I find it very disturbing to see Nazi banners everywhere and have to accept that most of the populace is glad about it. Not everyone, of course, as witnessed by Herr Altmeyer and Herr Reitzel, but at this point in time, I’d have to say the vast majority are.”
He put his purchases back in the suitcase and placed it beside his bed. “Before we return to our own time, I shall ask Herr Altmeyer to keep this here for us so we don’t have to lug it everywhere.”
A little while later, Nicko returned, carrying a guitar in one hand and a small hemp sack in the other. Propping the guitar against the gate, he cleared the courtyard’s two steps in a single jump and landed beside the other children, who were drinking lemonade at a small table.
“Is the Jubiläum over?” Paige asked after offering him a glass and letting him take a few sips.
“For us. In the beginning, it was all right, my brothers, cousin, and I played music for the girls to dance to, my mother and grandmother sold their handmade lace, and my father and uncles displayed their handmade furniture. Those who gathered to watch, listen, and buy, were generous, and for a time we did well. Even my baby brother earned a pfennig for smiling engagingly at a well-dressed woman, and he is only a few months old. But then someone complained to the police and we had to leave.”
“That is just so not right,” said Paige. “Where did you go?”
“The others went home. I came here, to give Hani this.”
Setting down his glass, he drew something out of his sack.
“A tambourine!” Hani shouted, scrambling out of her chair to take it. “My wish, it come true.”
Happy to have his gift well received, Nicko said, “I told my family that you had wished for a tambourine like Rosa’s. Onkel Poldi said he would make you one, but Rosa didn’t want you to have to wait. She said he could make her another one, and you could have this one.”
“Rosa is most kind,” said Hani. “I will play it now. You must play, also, Nicko. On your guitar.”
“And I’ll play this.” Dane stood up and pulled his harmonica out of his pocket. Seeing Jack and Paige’s faces, he grinned and waved it aloft. “I told you I was going to bring it next time. What’s a good song, Nicko?”
“What songs do you know how to play?”
“He doesn’t know how to play any,” said Paige. “He just knows how to make noise.”
Ignoring her, Dane put the harmonica to his lips and blew a few notes of what he genuinely believed constituted the beginning of ‘Frère Jacques’, which he thought even German children might know.
If these did, they failed to recognize it.
“That does like noise sound,” Hani agreed.
Wincing, Nicko said, “If we play and sing loudly enough, it shouldn’t be noticeable.”
“I will dance also. As must you,” Hani ordered Jack and Paige.
They all moved down to the pavement by the gate, but before they could get started, Marta stomped up. One look at her face told everyone she was in a foul mood.
“Your Jungmädel meeting get called off?” Paige asked.
“No. But it was not, for me a good meeting. And it is all the fault of Vati because he will not buy me the proper things. All I have that is proper is the Fahrtentuch around my neck and the leather knot to hold it which I received at my Jungmädel confirmation. All else is ‘make-do’, like the uniforms of girls who are poor. But as my leader has many times said, we are not poor and Vati insults the Führer by not letting me have what I should.”
She paused, close to tears.
“Your leader sounds like a real prize,” said Paige.
Still unable to recognize sarcasm, Marta nodded. “Yes. Ulrika is wonderful. And until today seemed to understand how hard it is for me. My skirt and blouse are close enough to regulation to be acceptable, and even my old shoes were all right, so she did not, before others, make comment. Today, however…Today, with these ugly shoes, and too-long socks, I was reprimanded in front of everyone. My friends then laughed at me and made mock of me.”
“You sure they’re really your friends?” Dane ventured to ask. “My friends and I tease each other, but I’d never ridicule someone just because someone else wanted me to. That’s bullying.”
“It is not,” Marta spat out. “It is discipline. Those who look a disgrace should be ridiculed. I do not blame the other girls for laughing. Or for not wanting to march beside me. Or choose me for their team when we went on a treasure hunt. I would do the same.”
“More fool you, then” said Paige. “Friends are supposed to support each other.”
Marta made no reply. Stepping away from them, she folded her arms, and scowled.
“Do not be sad, Marta,” said Hani. “Make music with us. Happy music so you also are happy. Play, happy music, Nicko. Play and sing, ‘Grün, Grün, Grün’. You know?”
Nicko nodded. As he strummed and s
ang, Hani danced about tapping her tambourine. Jack and Paige started to dance, too, and the combined performance did somewhat override Dane’s musical efforts.
Glancing over at Marta, Paige thought that, even though she was still scowling she looked a bit wistful. As though, deep down, she wanted to be part of it.
Stopping for a moment, she called out to her and invited her to join in. “Come on, Marta. This is fun. You might not have had fun at your meeting, but you can have fun now.”
Marta shook her head, the wistful look vanishing and the scowl deepening.
“It is fun, Marta,” said Hani. “Much fun.” Just then she caught sight of Uncle Trevor and Frau Reitzel, who had both come out to watch. “Look at me, Mutti. I can dance like a Gypsy.”
She twirled around, shaking the tambourine vigorously. Frau Reitzel and Uncle Trevor both clapped their hands in time.
When the song ended, Nicko bowed to Hani and said, “You are very talented, Hani.”
Pleased, the little girl danced over to him, threw her arms around him, and looked up at him with a radiant smile.
“Danke, Nicko. Thank you, Nicko. I love you.” She paused. “And now make I another wish.” She ran over to the well and tossed in a coin. “There,” she said. “I wish Nicko was, like Gustav, my brother.”
Marta gave a horrified gasp, and, before anyone could stop her, leapt forward, and struck Hani across the face.
“Du dummes, böses kind! Wie kannst du es wagen so etwas schlimmes zu sagen?!”
Tearing the tambourine out of her sister’s hand, she hurled it aside. Had Dane not scooped it up, she would have stamped on it.
“Marta!” Frau Reitzel exclaimed.
Regaining control of herself, Marta returned to English. “You heard her, Mutti. She wished she shared blood with a dirty, filthy Zigeuner. As if it is not already bad enough that she is herself so inferior.”
“Inferior to whom?” her mother demanded, cradling the sobbing Hani. “She is a good, gentle, and kindly child, and your father and I love her as we love you. Although, at this moment, I am not liking you so very much. For a long time I have worried about the ways in which the teachings of your Jungmädel leaders make you behave, and this, this I will not tolerate. You will go to those meetings no longer.”
Marta’s face, hitherto flushed with anger, immediately drained of colour.
“Mutti!” she cried. “Nein, Mutti, nein. Ich—”
“I mean what I say. That is all, Marta. Go home, Marta.”
For a moment, Marta stared at her, disbelieving. Then she burst into tears and ran out the gate.
“Bet that causes trouble,” Paige said as Frau Reitzel took Hani into the guesthouse. “What was it that Marta shouted at Hani, Nicko?”
“That she was a stupid, evil child, and how dare she say such a thing.”
“Wow. Sorry. That must have made you feel bad. I mean, with her also talking about inferior blood and—”
“An opinion held by many. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it. Hani is the one to feel sorry for. I should go. It’s getting late.”
It wasn’t, but no one blamed him for wanting to leave, because the trouble Paige had predicted was not long in coming. From up in the room Uncle Trevor and boys shared, they could hear several angry voices.
“What are they saying?” Dane asked as the two German speakers moved out into the hall and cocked their heads toward the stairs.
“There appears to be a bit of a barney going on over Marta quitting her Jungmädel group,” Uncle Trevor replied, after a moment. “Her mother and grandparents seem adamant, but someone whose voice I don’t recognize wants them to reconsider. Says the family’s already suspected of being anti-government, and making her quit is pointless because…because, before long, all children will have to belong to the HJ, including idlers like Frieda and Gustav, but excluding freaks like Hani.”
“Onkel Gottfried,” Paige averred. “Marta must have got in touch with him. She knew he’d take her side.”
“The Reitzels aren’t giving in. Herr Reitzel’s just said that, while they can still say yea or nay, Marta’s not going back,” Jack reported. He paused, listening. “Onkel Gottfried’s thinks he’s being very foolish. Good German parents want their children in the HJ. If they don’t, they’re bad parents. He’s threatening to report them as such…Says, if he does, the state will take their kids away and place them in the homes of loyal Germans. Except for Hani, who’d go to a home for the feeble minded—which is where she should have been from the start.”
This last remark had everyone downstairs shouting at once, speaking so rapidly that neither Jack nor Uncle Trevor could follow what was being said. Then Frau Altmeyer’s voice rose above the others, reproving them all for their bad manners and obstinacy. She told them they were disturbing her guests and insisted upon moving to another room. A room that must have been more soundproof because, although voices were still raised, they were harder to make out. Uncle Trevor and the children didn’t learn the outcome of the debate until Herr Altmeyer came upstairs and gave them a weary smile.
“I know you understand German, Herr Hastings, and must have heard at least some of our little family discussion. Marta’s parents will not be moved. Until they have no choice, they will not allow her to be in the Jungmädel. A decision which has very much displeased her uncle.”
“So we gathered. Are they not concerned that he’ll speak to someone and get their children taken away from them?” Uncle Trevor asked.
“A little, but to do so would bring Hani to the attention of those he would rather knew nothing about her. It could reflect badly on him if important people were to find out he has a niece who is what they would consider an aberration. He has taken great pains to conceal her existence and they might think this suggests a lack of commitment to the cause. You see, we have been told Germans are the Master Race. Superior beings destined to rule over lesser beings. Imperfection in the Master Race is to be abhorred. And kept away from the rest of society.”
He sighed. “Because of this, public feeling towards those such as Hani is becoming increasingly hostile. I fear that, soon, we will have to conceal her ourselves. We already do so to some extent. She does not often go about the city, other than to go from home to here. And here, alas, she can no longer come. Having been thwarted as regards Marta, Gottfried has made other demands and wrung from me a concession. Much to my disgust, Nazi banners will fly here, and Nazi officials and their friends will stay here. No doubt to spy upon us. Gottfried intends to bring the first of them tomorrow and all rooms, including yours, will be required. I am sorry. I thought it best to give in so that he might be less inclined to cause trouble.”
Uncle Trevor gripped the older man’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Herr Altmeyer. We understand. We’ll leave in the morning. But we’d like to stay here again some time. Provided you’re not fully…occupied.”
Unlike Marta, Herr Altmeyer easily understood double meanings and other nuances of the English language.
“Of course. Even with banners proclaiming our loyalty, this guesthouse is unlikely to be used on a regular basis. It is far too humble for the likes of many to whom Gottfried will recommend it. He merely wishes to give the appearance of winning over recalcitrant members of his family. If we show sufficient hospitality to those he brings tomorrow, suspicion of us will lessen. Though we will probably still have to accept a few unwelcome guests, we should be able to accommodate some who are more to our taste.”
“Thank you. And could I leave a suitcase here with you? I found our luggage but left most of it in storage at the Hauptbahnhof. I expect to be back and forth to Germany, and it would be nice to travel a bit lighter. It contains my spare camera and a few other things.”
“I will keep it safe for you,” Herr Altmeyer promised. “And look forward to your return.”
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Uncle Trevor and the children left Gasthaus Altmeyer with genuine regret. They had spent a restless night and
Jack was not the only one feeling grumpy. As they stepped out onto the street, Onkel Gottfried’s car pulled up to the curb. Since no passengers were with him, it seemed likely he was just bringing the Nazi banners he could now so triumphantly erect at his father-in-law’s hostelry.
He nodded a greeting as they passed and they responded in kind. They then went around the corner and returned to their own time.
“Herr Altmeyer’s going to hate having Nazi banners flying at his place,” Paige said as they reached for the coats they’d left lying on a bench. “Marta’ll love it.”
Dane sighed. “We haven’t been too successful in putting her off them, have we? We didn’t have anything to do with her being forced to quit her Jungmädel group, and once the mandatory membership law comes in she’ll be more gung-ho than ever because she’s been deprived of it. I still don’t know if she’s the one we’re supposed to be helping, but her Nazi fixation threatens all the others. If we don’t do something about it, she’ll just keep getting more and more fanatical. Maybe even fanatical enough to do something awful, like turn Nicko’s family in to the Gestapo and land them in a concentration camp—where Gypsies were in just as much danger of getting exterminated as Jews were. She might even turn in her own family and get Hani put in some kind of home for the ‘feeble minded’.”
“Where she would be exterminated,” Uncle Trevor said quietly.
The children’s eyes went wide.
“That’s what the Nazis did with Mongoloids, which was what people with Down’s Syndrome were called at that time. It’s what they did with anyone with a mental or physical disability. There was no room in the Third Reich for any kind of weakness or deformity. The Master Race had to be perfect. And perfection could only be achieved if the imperfect were completely eradicated. To that end they established their infamous euthanasia programme. Known as the T4 programme, it started up in the autumn of nineteen-thirty-nine and was the Nazi’s first mass murder operation. Families were forced to put their ‘defective’ relatives in institutions. They would later be informed that, much to the staff’s regret, they had succumbed to pneumonia or some other illness. A not uncommon occurrence back then as there weren’t any antibiotics. And people with Down’s Syndrome would have been especially vulnerable because they often have weak hearts and other health problems. But very few of Nazi Germany’s ‘substandard citizens’ died of natural causes. They were either gassed or killed by lethal injection.”
