by Lee Strauss
“I’m going now.”
They jerked upright.
“I told Moritz I would meet him at the Dome.”
Father stood. “Son, you should stay home today.”
“Heinz Schultz says we are sons of Germany first.”
Emil couldn’t help but notice Mother’s stricken face. He almost felt sorry for her. “Really, you are worrying too much.”
He forced a smile, grabbed his jacket and satchel, and left.
CHAPTER THREE
EMIL ZIPPED up his newly issued Deutsches Jungvolk winter jacket, feeling handsome and confident. And warm. He could see his breath shoot out in little ghost-like puffs.
Across the narrow cobble-stone street, old Frau Fellner swept stubborn wet leaves off her step. She wore an ancient winter coat with a silk scarf on her head, and she ducked when Emil appeared, pretending not to see him.
Emil chose to overlook this slight and shouted heartily, “Heil Hitler, Frau Fellner,” thrusting his right hand in salute. Frau Fellner examined his new jacket with her dark little eyes before responding quietly, “Heil Hitler.” She didn’t salute, but again, Emil overlooked it, for now, anyway. She was a sad old lady who’d lost both her husband and her son in the Great War, and besides, she’d been their neighbor for years.
With his satchel firmly over his shoulder, Emil straddled his bicycle and rode passed the flat-faced, stucco row-houses painted pastel shades of yellow, green and red that lined his street, and down narrow, bumpy cobblestone lanes to the park near Saint Stephen’s cathedral. Passau was a small city located on the tip of a narrow peninsula hugged by two rivers that merged at the eastern peak: the Danube to the north and the Inn to the south. A third smaller river, the Ilz, flowed into the Danube nearby.
Emil slowed when a waft of sweet warm bread coming from Silbermann’s Bakery met his nose. Though he had eaten breakfast, suddenly he felt hungry again.
Plus, there was Anne. She had been his friend since kindergarten. Anne Silbermann had cute little dimples and dark ringlets that fell around her sweet chubby cheeks. The teacher used to put their desks together so they could share word books when the supply was short.
He remembered how Anne would offer to share her pencils with him when he’d forgotten his at home and how sometimes that translated into sharing sweets during rest break.
When he’d gotten older he’d learned to dislike girls, like his friends Moritz and Johann had, and he stopped sharing desks, pencils or sweets with Anne. Now the only times he ever saw her was at the bakery.
Someone had written on the window, Juden, Jews, in case there was a person left in Passau who didn’t know the Silbermann’s were Jewish. Beside the word was a childish profile drawing of a man with an extraordinarily large nose. The message was clear: don’t shop here.
This was The Jewish Problem that troubled his parents. Emil understood why it troubled them; his parents had several Jewish acquaintances. It was impossible not to, as many of the stores in town were owned and run by Jews, and not shopping from them would be difficult.
Emil remembered how Heinz Schultz had blamed the Jews for all of Germany’s problems. Perhaps he was right, but surely Anne Silbermann never did anything to hurt their country?
A strange sensation washed over Emil as he rode by. Suddenly he felt nervous for Anne. He wanted to see her again. Even though she was a Jew, he wanted to make sure she was okay. It was foolish, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He turned the corner and stopped to check his watch. He still had time before he had to meet Moritz.
Emil reasoned that the scent of the fresh bread was too tempting to resist and the next non-Jewish bakery was too far out of the way and would make him late. Not shopping at the Silbermann Bakery would definitely be an inconvenience to those who lived in this neighborhood. Now his mother would have to walk to the other side of town to buy bread.
Emil glanced carefully in every direction before slipping inside the bakery. When he saw Anne he smiled. “Grüss Gott.”
She had changed since he’d seen her last. Taller, slimmer, her dark curls pulled back in a long braid. But she still had the dimples.
“Grüss Gott, Emil,” she said with clipped feigned politeness. She regarded Emil’s Deutsches Jungvolk uniform and sharp new jacket with thinly veiled contempt.
She hated him. He could see it in her eyes. He was one of them.
Emil’s smile fell into a stiff line. All business-like he said, “Eine Semmel.” He couldn’t let himself say please.
He watched as she selected a bun from the bin and put it into a bag. Instead of the small talk and friendly jokes they used to make when he’d come to the bakery for his mother, it was painfully silent.
“How are your father and mother?” he blurted.
She seemed stunned by his question; her eyes flickered with emotion. Was it fear? Emil wondered briefly if she’d answer.
“They’re fine, thank you.”
Anne placed the bun into a paper wrap and handed it to Emil, and he in turn presented payment.
A shadow from outside blocked the sunlight coming through the window. An SS officer stood outside and peered in. A little quiver shot up Emil’s spine. He knew he shouldn’t have entered the shop. What now? Emil turned back to Anne; she’d seen the officer, too.
Emil side stepped away from the window and stuffed the bun into his satchel.
“I have to go,” he said.
The bell above the door rang before he’d made it outside. The officer eyed Emil and then Anne.
“Did you make a purchase here?” he said to Emil.
Emil trembled. If he admitted it, he’d be reprimanded for entering a shop that was clearly marked Jewish. If he lied, the officer may demand to see inside his satchel and he’d be caught.
The officer seemed to read the dilemma on his face. He faced Anne. “Give the boy his money back.”
Anne opened the cash drawer and handed the coin over with a shaky hand. The officer in turn passed it to Emil. Emil accepted and waited for the officer to demand he returned the bun. Instead he opened the door and gave Emil a look that said, get out.
Forgetting about his bike, Emil ran up the hill to the park without looking back.
CHAPTER FOUR
MORITZ WAS there when Emil arrived. He stood near a bench facing the Cathedral, its three copper domes bluish with age, sparkling in the mid day sun. He had his hands shoved deep into his pants pockets, and a bag bulging under one arm. “I’m not a good swimmer,” he said when he saw Emil. As if Emil didn’t already know that. As if everyone didn’t already know that.
“You can swim the length of the pool.”
“Will that be good enough?”
Emil shrugged. “I hope so.”
“To be honest,” Moritz lowered his voice, “I’m kind of getting tired of the Deutsches Jungvolk meetings. All we do is run, march and hike until our legs drop off.”
“What are you talking about?” Emil said. “Everyone goes to Deutsches Jungvolk. You can’t quit!”
“Settle down, Emil.” Moritz glanced around and Emil followed suit. No other Deutsches Jungvolk boys were nearby. Moritz clumsily kicked at a pile of brown leaves. “I’m just saying, that sometimes it’s, you know, hard.”
“It’ll get better, Moritz. When we’re fourteen we’ll be in Hitler Youth. We’ll get to shoot guns. It’ll be fun.” Emil joined in on the leaf kicking. “Eventually, I’ll join the youth air force division. I’ll learn all about aviation. I’ve heard we even build a one seat glider!”
The wind whistled through the bare branches stirring up mini tornados of dried leaves and debris.
“Johann and I will have to join the youth motor unit,” Moritz said. “We’ll be in the army one day.”
“You still think we’re going to war?”
Moritz fussed with the collar of his uniform. “Why else do you think they make us dress like soldiers?”
Johann was already at the public pool when they arrived. They were joined by ano
ther Deutsches Jungvolk unit, twenty boys in total lined up. Emil recognized most of them; they’d shared a bus to the Hitler Youth convention at Zeppelin Field in Nuremberg. Adolf Hitler himself had been there and had said these now famous words that resonated in every boy.
“... der deutsche Junge der Zukunft muß schlank und rank sein, flink wie Windhunde, zäh wie Leder und hart wie Kruppstahl.” The German boy of the future must be slim and slender, as fast as a greyhound, tough as leather and hard as Krupp steel.
Heinz shouted out the requirements for the test of courage. The boys were to dive head first off the five-meter high board. A collective gasp echoed through the room as the boys watched Heinz climb the long ladder to demonstrate. At the tip of the board, he transformed into something almost super-human. Graceful and strong, he performed a medal worthy dive. The boys broke into spontaneous applause at the beauty of it. Emil had heard that Heinz was training for the next Olympics and Emil had no doubt that Heinz would win gold.
Heinz instructed everyone to jump into the shallow end, and immediately out again. Emil figured that shivering as they waited was supposed to stir up their resolve to go ahead with the dive, but from the looks on all the boys’ blue faces, quivering lips, and shaky knees, it wasn’t working. Like the others, Emil wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm.
Emil watched the boys dive in, one after another. Or, more accurately, he watched them perform spectacular belly-flops.
Then it was Johann’s turn. He glanced back at Emil as he climbed the ladder. Emil nodded slightly, encouraging him to keep going. Johann seemed to share Moritz’s lack of enthusiasm for the new order, Emil thought. He wasn't sure what to make of his two best friends anymore. But once at the top Johann didn’t slow down. He threw his body off the board, also with a great belly-flop entry.
Emil was next. Fighting back fear—fear of failure and fear of making a fool of himself—he mentally reviewed Heinz’s diving demonstration, pushing himself to copy the image.
His entry into the water was smooth, and when he surfaced, Heinz applauded. Emil couldn’t stop the smile that opened over his chattering teeth. Being publicly acknowledged by Heinz felt amazing.
Moritz took his turn. His legs trembled as he walked to the end of the board. Emil felt nervous for him. What if the fear of drowning overcame him and he refused to dive? Or the fear of heights? Forty eyeballs stared him down. Johann bobbed his head slightly, “You can do it,” he whispered.
Moritz curled his toes over the edge. Emil held his breath. Moritz closed his eyes, bent over to touch his knees, paused and then let himself fall.
He came up gasping, and Emil could tell by the expression on his face that he was both terrified and elated by what he had done. Emil let out a breath of relief. Somehow Moritz managed to dog paddle to the edge of the pool.
The next fellow to go wasn’t so lucky. Slender and pale with wide, red-rimmed eyes, Volker had fallen out of a fishing raft when he was younger. Only his father’s quick reflexes had saved him from being pulled under by the strong current of the Danube River. Emil was surprised that he’d shown up at all, but there was a lot of pressure to attend Deutsches Jungvolk and Hitler Youth. Emil had heard that Volker’s parents had recently become members of the Nazi party.
“I can’t do it!” he shouted.
“You better do it!” Heinz shouted back, “Or you will be expelled!”
Go, go, Emil mentally urged him on.
Then the unthinkable happened. Volker pushed his way back down the ladder, past the line of boys. Heinz grabbed his arm before he could get away, and threw him into the pool.
Emil watched in horror as Volker struggled for his life. No one dared to rescue him. They just stared, unbelieving.
Might is Right, they were taught. Hitler and the Nazi regime had no room for weaklings or cowards. It was called Socio-Darwinism. Survival of the fittest.
Volker’s skinny arms and legs flailed wildly, his face breaking the surface in full panic. He didn’t cry out for help. In fact, it was eerily quiet. Just the soft splashing of water, and the quick breaths of nineteen, shivering boys. Emil wondered, would Heinz really let him die?
By some miracle, Volker floated to the edge of the pool and his hand gripped the side. He pulled his face out of the water and gulped air.
His face was blue, his eyes wide with terror. He’d almost drowned.
With everyone watching.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE FIRST day of November was All Saints Day. It was a Catholic religious holiday and since Bavaria was primarily a Catholic region, it was also a government holiday. That meant Father had the day off and everyone was generally in a very good mood.
Even though Emil’s family wasn’t Catholic they’d adopted the traditions of their good friends, the Schwarzes, next door. Mother said it was important to visit the family gravesites and November 1 was as good a time as any. The cemetery had row upon row of cement markers: some plain rounded blocks, others elaborate crosses. Dry leaves that reminded Emil of the withered hands of old men blew over the well-kept landscape.
Tradition dictated that they visit Mother’s family first, then Father’s.
“She was so good,” Mother said as they stood in a row, casting four, elongated shadows over her mother’s grave. Bettina Heinrich 1860 - 1912. A tear coursed down her face as one did every year. She was always vague when Emil asked about how Grandmother Heinrich had died. Something about a sickness only women get.
They moved on to Grandfather Heinrich, then to Grandfather Radle and lastly to Grandmother Radle. It was the same sequence every time and Emil suspected Mother’s affection for each one went in that order, too.
The Schwarzes came for the mid-day meal.
“Come in, come in,” Mother said with a broad smile. “Karl, don’t you look handsome.” Frau Schwarz had parted and slicked Karl’s red hair over to one side; and the bright white of his scalp formed a straight line. Emil sympathized as Karl’s face grew as red as his hair with embarrassment and Emil was certain Karl would’ve taken his two pudgy hands and scrubbed his head if he didn’t fear a stern scolding. Helmut came to his rescue and the two of them skipped upstairs.
“Lena, your home looks beautiful!” Frau Schwarz said as she laid out the traditional All Saints Day Striezel, a sweet braided bread that was longer than her arm.
Herr Schwarz shook hands with Father. “Grüss Gott,” he said. A perpetual smile plastered his puffy face. “And thank God for the Catholics!” His rounded belly shook as he laughed, like he was taking personal credit for the day off and found this humorous. His skin had a scarlet hue, similar to Karl’s, with little tufts of red hair like a halo on his bald head.
The pork roasting in the oven heated the kitchen, and after awhile everyone had rosy cheeks. Mother had all her best dinnerware on the table and the dining room glowed in the light of two, tall candlesticks.
At noon the Catholic Church bells tolled and they all took their places around the table.
Father prayed and the Schwarzes finished by crossing themselves. Then everyone passed the food around: the sliced pork roast, tender and juicy, the bread dumplings, and sauerkraut.
Before long Father and Herr Schwarz were discussing what all Germans talked about lately—politics.
“The Fuehrer just wants what everyone wants, to re-unite Germans scattered after the Great War,” Herr Schwarz was saying. “As you know, Austria never wanted to be a tiny country floundering on its own. Besides that, the majority of the people there are ethnic Germans, so it’s economically feasible for Anschluss, for the two countries to form one great one.”
“But, after battling against German dominance for four years,” Father said, throwing his arm around for emphasis, “how can you expect the victors of the Great War to agree to any kind of expansion of Germany?”
“I don’t expect them to. I just don’t know if they can prevent it.”
Father’s forehead wrinkled like soft leather. “You mean anothe
r war?”
Emil knew his father had fought in the Great War for a short while near the end. The thought of him fighting in a second war caused his stomach to turn.
“Not another war,” Herr Schwarz said quickly. “I’m just saying this is how the people are thinking. They don’t like how the German minorities are being treated in other countries.”
“Now, now, enough politics,” Mother said, “This is a day to rest—we must talk of lighter things.” She brought dessert to the table, delicious vanilla pudding. “Boys, please eat some more. There’s plenty.”
Emil tried to understand everything Father and Herr Schwarz meant, then he did as Mother suggested. He ate and ate and ate until his stomach bloated out like a harvest gourd.
Afterwards, Emil played Kick the Can with Helmut and Karl in the back yard and in the late afternoon, it was time for Kaffee und Kuchen, coffee and cake.
Mother and Frau Schwarz re-set the table; a large round chocolate torte and the braided sweet bread from Frau Schwarz were displayed on silver trays. Mother’s favorite silver coffee pot, the one she got from Grandmother Heinrich, was in the center.
“Come everyone.” She poured coffee into small cups and placing them on their saucers.
Emil didn’t know how he could keep eating, but he managed to wolf down a piece of each type of cake and wash it down with milk. He plunked onto the living room sofa, and groaned quietly.
Father and Herr Schwarz sat there, too, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes in front of the fireplace. Helmut and Karl had gone back outside and the women were in the kitchen. Emil didn’t think Father realized he was in the room with them.
“I got a memo from head office yesterday,” Father said in a near whisper. “A list of names. Jewish names.”
“Oh?” said Herr Schwarz, leaning closer. “What does it mean?”
