Playing with Matches: Coming of age in Hitler's Germany.

by Lee Strauss

  They never went out together. They always made their deliveries alone, and always in a different part of town. They had also made a pact. If one of them was caught, he or she, (God forbid, thought Emil) wouldn’t implicate the others. As far as anyone else was concerned, they each acted alone.

  After awhile, Emil lost his sense of fear. Who pays attention to a piece of paper falling from the pocket of a boy? But the news of these “works of treason” had spread through the SS, and one day as Emil felt the paper slip from his fingers, he felt a strong hand gripping his shoulders.

  “Halt, boy!”

  The SS officer had something in his hand. It was his paper!

  Emil swallowed hard and remembered his vow to his friends. He worked alone.

  “You dropped this,” the officer said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We must not litter the Fatherland. Surely your parents and teachers have taught you that much.”

  Emil couldn’t believe his luck. The SS officer didn’t even open the paper, just handed it back to him.

  “So sorry, sir,” Emil stammered. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Agreed,” he said. “Heil Hitler!”

  “Heil Hitler!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  1942

  JANUARY

  THE END of nineteen forty-one saw the beginning of the Second World War. Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. America and Great Britain declared war on Japan. Germany and Italy declared war on America.

  And the Jews left in Germany had to wear a big, yellow six-pointed Star of David on their jackets.

  Emil wandered the streets of Passau, teeth chattering, fingers burning with cold. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, his steps short and quick. No one and nothing was warm; even the towers of the Cathedral appeared barren and ashamed.

  His mind took him to all the places he didn’t want to go: to the war, always the war, and how deep down inside he didn’t think they would win; to Helmut, and how he wished his little brother could have a carefree childhood. That they all could have that.

  As bad as those thoughts were, they were better than dwelling on the raw, aching pang of hunger that throbbed in his gut.

  “Emil!”

  He turned to find Katharina running to catch up to him.

  “Hi,” he said. A strange discomfort settled over him. He’d never been alone with Katharina before. They were always together with the gang.

  Katharina buried her red nose into her scarf. Her hair was longer now, braids sticking out from underneath her wool hat. She had the telltale signs of early mal-nutrition–gray circles under her eyes and sunken cheeks, and her face was bright red from the cold. Despite that, he still thought that she was pretty.

  She didn’t seem in a hurry to leave him. “Mother sent me to buy some flour for bread. Do you think there will be any left at the market?”

  “I don’t know. Doesn’t hurt to check, I guess.”

  “It’s cold.” Katharina stated the obvious. “We’d be warmer if we ran. Do you want to race me?”

  Anything was better than an awkward conversation.

  “Sure, where to?”

  “From here to the end of the street.”

  “Okay.”

  They took the pre-racing position. Emil decided he would go easy on her, make sure he didn’t win by too much. They were both cold and hungry; he didn’t need to add humiliation to that.

  “Ready,” she said, “set, go!”

  He needn’t have worried about humiliating her. Her legs moved liked wildfire, and it was Emil who was in danger of a humiliating loss. He pushed harder, his heart thumping wildly, first as a result of sudden exertion, second with the possibility that he might lose to a girl.

  Emil managed to keep a slim lead and whether she let him win or not, he didn’t know and he didn’t want to know. They flopped onto a nearby bench, and she started laughing.

  “Why—are you—laughing?” he puffed.

  “Because it was fun, Emil,” she said in between breaths. “I haven’t had fun in a while.” She smiled at him and Emil felt a big sappy grin take over his face in return.

  “I’ll walk with you to the market,” he said, suddenly wanting to be with her for longer.

  “Sure.”

  They entered the store and as expected the shelves were empty, the shop like a giant face with all its teeth knocked out. Emil wasn’t sure why it remained opened. When a shipment of any kind came in, word got out like a strong wind and almost instantly a long lineup of people would form eager to buy anything they could get their hands on.

  “I’m sorry, Katharina.”

  “I know.”

  Across the street they spotted Heinz. He had his arm around a girl, flirty and giggling, pushing up against Heinz’s body to keep warm.

  “Elsbeth will be so jealous,” said Katharina. “She has a big crush on him.”

  Emil couldn’t help staring. What would it feel like to put his arm around a girl? He imagined himself with his arm around Katharina. She would be soft and warm, comforting. Emil feared his face was doing strange things because Katharina suddenly addressed him. “Are you feeling okay, Emil?”

  He feigned a cough. “Um, yeah, I’m fine. Just the usual. Hungry, cold.”

  “Yeah,” she said, staring. “The usual.” Then she took his hand and rubbed it, causing a strange but pleasant floating sensation to rise up in his belly.

  Emil could remember when he never thought about hunger, except for that last half hour before dinner. Back then any sense of urgency was soon satisfied by a roasted pork and potato meal.

  Meals like that were from another lifetime ago, a dream. They said it’d get worse before it got better, but Emil couldn’t imagine it getting worse than this. The unending twisting, dull pain that sat in his stomach. It wasn’t like they were starving to death, yet. They still had potatoes. When Mother called them for supper Emil raced to the table and it only took three or four bites to calm the angry, growling beast in his stomach before the potatoes began to taste like dust.

  They say man cannot live on bread alone. He’d like to add potatoes to that.

  It was after one such meal, potatoes, with a side of potatoes, with potatoes for dessert, that Mother and Father shared their news. Bad news.

  “Boys,” Mother said, “I have to go to work.”

  “What do you mean?” Emil said.

  “She means away from home,” said Father.

  Away from home? This was difficult to comprehend.

  “Like you, Father?” Helmut’s face twisted, perplexed. “I thought only fathers went to work. Mothers stay home.”

  “Times have changed, son. War changes everything.”

  “What will you do?” Emil asked his mother.

  “I’m going to work at the clothing factory.”

  “With Father? That won’t be so bad. Even if you don’t see Helmut and me as much, you’ll have Father.” Emil wanted to encourage her. She was so sad. “We’ll be fine. I promise. We’ll look out for each other.”

  Mother smiled, and Emil thought he’d worked his magic until he saw a big, shiny tear roll down her face. She and Father kept looking at each other and Father grabbed her hand.

  “What? Is there something else?” Emil asked.

  “Yes, son,” said Father. “Boys, I won’t be working together with your mother. You see, they’ve called me to service. I’m going to Berlin.”

  “You’ve been drafted!” Emil remembered the discussion that Mother had with Frau Schwarz in the garden long ago. How they worried about the draft. Even though Emil had felt troubled back then, he didn’t really think it would happen. Not to their family. Not to Father. His chest tightened and he sighed heavily through his nose.

  “Both you and Mother gone!” shouted Helmut. “That’s not fair!”

  “How long will you be gone, Mother?” Emil asked. He clenched his fists under the table, working hard to reign in his anger.

  “Oh, I’m not leaving home, I
’ll just be working at the factory. But I’ll be there a lot. I won’t be around for you boys as much anymore.”

  Helmut looked like he might cry.

  Mother started work the next day. Gone were the days of the German woman staying home to take care of house and family. Oh, a woman’s place was still in the home, they were told, but since the whole of Germany was their home, they must serve wherever they could.

  Father left soon afterward. It was a blur of tears with Mother and Helmut sobbing, but Emil was determined to stay strong. He would be the man of the house while Father was away.

  “Please, Peter, come back to us,” Mother pleaded. There was a herd of families at the station saying good-bye to their men, husbands and fathers, grown up sons. They loaded the trains, some with eager anticipation, others with much reluctance and sorrow. Like Father.

  The train crept away from the station, and Emil and his mother and brother stood waving until they could no longer make out his father’s face.

  On the walk home, they passed a funeral procession. Another soldier killed in the line of duty.

  Emil had a horrible thought: did he just see his father alive for the last time?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE FIRST time Emil heard the name Helmuth Huebener was on February 5th, 1942, the day of his arrest.

  Earlier that day, Emil had passed a man tossing a paper into a trash bin. Emil stopped and picked it out. The headline read:

  HITLER YOUTH GUILTY OF TREASON

  Helmuth Huebener of Hamburg, a seventeen-year-old member of Hitler Youth was arrested for treason. He and three others were caught… a fist-sized lump formed in Emil’s throat and he swallowed hard, …listening to forbidden radio broadcasts and copying and distributing lies about the Reich.

  Emil tucked the paper into his jacket and ran all the way to the Ackermann farm. Johann and Moritz were there.

  “We live in the southeast corner of Germany and they are all the way across the country in the north,” Moritz said excitedly. “Doing the same thing as us!”

  “But they got caught,” Emil said.

  “Yes, but it proves we’re not alone,” he countered. “Unless it’s pure coincidence, it means there are others who are listening to foreign news and daring to spread the word.”

  “They were older than us,” said Johann.

  “So?” countered Moritz.

  “So, I don’t know.” Johann shrugged. “I wonder how they got caught? I wonder what will happen to them now?”

  They followed the story, the trial of the four lads in Hamburg, with much interest. They became known as the Huebener Group, and had been sent to the dreaded People’s Court in Berlin to await their sentencing. News of the arrest and incarceration didn’t subdue Emil and his gang, in fact it had the opposite effect. Knowing they weren’t alone in their mission had stirred them up and instead of backing off, they went out every night to deliver more flyers.

  The meetings in Moritz’s attic had to be moved when his mother grew ill and had to leave her workplace. The group decided to meet in the barn loft on the Ackermann farm. Herr Ackermann traveled a lot with the orchestra, and the place was empty as the farm help was fighting in Russia. Thankfully spring had arrived early, so they were warm enough in the drafty loft.

  “Is it just me,” Moritz said, “or is everyone looking a little…uh… skinny?”

  “You calling me skinny, boy?” Johann said. The three boys were in the loft and Johann fell back into the hay chuckling. “I’ve never looked better a day in my life.”

  They laughed, but they knew the truth. Emil remembered at time when Moritz was a bit pudgy. Their thinness now was frightening. Their threadbare pants were held up by belts or rope.

  “I saw Jäger’s son,” started Johann.

  “Albert,” Emil threw in.

  “Yes, Albert. Back on leave from Berlin. He looked good. Almost fat.”

  “I saw him, too,” Emil said, lying back to join Johann. He put his arms behind his head, pointy elbows sticking out like arrows. Moritz did the same.

  “I’m so used to seeing pale faces, it was strange to see someone with rosy cheeks,” Johann said.

  Emil turned to him, noting the dark circles around his eyes.

  “The troops get vitamins. At least that’s what I hear,” said Moritz.

  “Potatoes have vitamins,” Emil countered. “If you keep the skins on. Mother always keeps the skins on now.”

  “Yummy!” Johann snorted.

  “I think my hair’s starting to fall out,” said Moritz.

  “My teeth are,” said Johann. “It feels like they’re dissolving, like sugar cubes in a glass of water.”

  “So, how long do you think Albert’s in town for?” Emil said. “If he’s anything like his father, we’re in trouble.”

  Silence.

  Then fear.

  Was it possible someone could hear them in the loft? Were they really that safe? Did Jäger have someone follow them? Albert?

  “You know, in the future,” Johann said, “dentists are going to pull teeth out through the nose.”

  “What?”

  “Why?”

  “Because nobody dares open his mouth.”

  More silence.

  “See?” he said, sitting up to stare at Emil and Moritz. “It’s a joke!”

  They laughed. First out of nervousness then because it actually was funny. Their laughter was contagious.

  “But, really, we should watch out for Albert,” Emil said. “I think he’s a weasel.”

  “We should watch out for everyone,” said Moritz.

  “I’m just glad we’re not old enough to fight,” added Johann. “And, it’s not because I’m scared.”

  “I’m scared,” Emil said.

  “Me, too,” Moritz agreed.

  “Okay, I’m a little scared. But we should be safe tucked away in the far corner of Germany. Passau means nothing to the British or Americans.”

  “You’re probably right, Johann,” Moritz said. “We just need to wait it out.”

  “Dining on potato skins.”

  “Shh!” Emil whispered.

  Moritz stiffened. “What?”

  “I heard something.”

  Stillness. Then, hay crunching under footsteps. They barely breathed. The ladder to the loft shook.

  “Boys?”

  “Katharina!” they stammered in unison.

  “You scared us to death!” Johann said.

  “Never mind that, Johann.” She climbed up and sat with them. “I have bad news.”

  “What?”

  “Luebeck’s been bombed.”

  Luebeck was a port city on the Northern Sea.

  “That’s terrible,” Emil said.

  “The town’s on fire,” she said. “The Royal Air Force is counting it as their first major victory.”

  “It wouldn’t take much to burn Luebeck,” Johann said. “The medieval part of town is built with wood.”

  “Still, it’s proof that no place is safe,” said Moritz. “It doesn’t matter that we’re not old enough for the draft. They’re bombing cities, like they said they would. We’re as vulnerable in our own homes as any soldier on the front lines.”

  The next day a letter from the headquarters of the Hitler Youth came in the mail addressed to Emil.

  “What do they want?” Mother asked.

  “They want me to attend glider camp! Glider camp, Mother!” His lifelong dream of flying airplanes was about to begin. He pushed from his mind the fact that the opportunity was coming from a source he now opposed.

  “But Emil, you’re only thirteen.” She didn’t share his excitement.

  “I'm almost fourteen, Mother, and finally I will get to fly!”

  “Emil, if you were meant to fly you would have been born with wings. May I see the letter?”

  The camp was situated in the Rhön Mountains in Bavaria.

  “What about school?” Mother said.

  “Glider camp is only on weekends.”r />
  “You’ll miss the Saturday classes.”

  “I’ll study extra hard.”

  Emil humored her with this conversation, giving her the illusion that she had some say in whether or not he could go.

  Glider camp was Emil’s official entry into Hitler Youth and it felt good to leave the childish version, the Deutsches Jungvolk behind him. He breathed easier and felt something akin to joy. All the kids at glider camp were so passionate about flying and Emil’s own enthusiasm for airplanes was a terrific cover for his secret revulsion of the Nazi regime. At glider camp, he could forget about everything else for awhile.

  The School Glider 38, or SG 38, had a wooden open fuselage attached to a wooden skid underneath. The wings stretched out on either side and were braced with wires and small metal skids protected the wingtips if they touched the ground, which they did.

  But they didn’t learn to fly overnight.

  In fact, each student spent many hours helping the others fly, before he would one day have a turn.

  Gustav was sixteen and had been attending camp for more than a year. He needed to add to his time in the air to get a certificate for his next level.

  Eighteen boys waited on the crest of the hill, watching as Gustav strapped on his helmet and then folded himself into the open cockpit.

  He tapped on his helmet, a sign that he was ready, and the rest of the boys grabbed the thick, rubber rope, a gigantic slingshot.

  Someone shouted, “Pull!”

  Emil’s face pinched with exertion as he pulled with all his strength, digging his heels into the ground.

  “Release!”

  Gustav catapulted into the air. He pulled back the stick and up, up he went.

  “Wunderbar!” Emil shouted, along with the others. Wonderful.

  It was a short flight. Gustav glided safely to the ground, and the boys ran down the hill to meet him. It was the job of the new kids to drag the SG 38 back up the hill, but Emil didn’t mind.

  For six glorious weekends, Emil took the train to glider camp. When they weren’t catapulting an older kid into the air, the new group would catapult each other on level ground, so they could learn to balance the glider. They had to keep the wings off the ground before they were allowed to get air. It wasn’t that hard, Emil thought, much like riding a bike. After a few tries, he barely touched the wingtips to the ground at all.