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

by Lee Strauss

  A terrible foreboding brewed in Emil’s gut, and he feared another onslaught of the trots. He slipped into an apartment block and dropped off six flyers. He considered leaving them all—that would be easiest, but it was also the most cowardly way. Their message needed to spread throughout the city.

  In a common area a bulletin board littered with announcements of Nazi and community events beckoned Emil closer. He “borrowed” a tack from the Nazi rally notice and tagged his flyer to the board, watching the Nazi propaganda sheet flutter away in the evening breeze.

  With three left, Emil forced himself to saunter toward the center of town, the domes of St. Stephen’s guiding him. The train station was a natural spot. He saw several “black coats,” SS officers, strutting purposely through town. Calm down, Emil told himself. Act natural. If he looked guilty, they would grab him for sure.

  There were too many. Something was up. Emil sat on a bench watching all the people bustle by, hoping to catch the next train. He slipped the three flyers under his bottom, and waited five minutes before walking away without looking back.

  What a relief to be free of those incriminating flyers! Emil felt like jogging to St. Stephen’s but didn’t, careful not to attract attention to himself.

  Thankfully, Johann and Katharina were already there.

  “Is it my imagination, or is there more activity than normal?” Emil said.

  “I don’t know,” Johann said, shaking his head. “I think there is.”

  “I’m just glad to be done,” said Katharina. “Moritz should be here soon.”

  Then they spotted him. There was no missing his awkward gait. Moritz was jogging with two Gestapo officers on his tail, guns ready. There was no way he could outrun them.

  “Halt!”

  Moritz stopped. He turned around, facing the officers. Johann, Katharina and Emil ducked behind the statue of King Maximilian Joseph, concealing themselves. A horrific tremor seized Emil. Moritz was caught! Would he give them away as well?

  “You dropped this!” one officer said.

  “No,” Moritz said, shaking his head. “It’s not mine.”

  The second officer stepped forward and struck Moritz across the face. Emil winced. Blood dripped from Moritz’s lip.

  “Don’t lie! Are you a member of the White Rose?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yet, you are distributing treasonous materials.”

  “I am.”

  Emil couldn’t believe his ears. Moritz just admitted to a crime punishable by death.

  “Where are your comrades?”

  “I have none. I work alone.”

  “Liar!” The second officer struck him again. Moritz’s hand went to his face. He spit out blood.

  “You are the liars!” Moritz shouted. “And Hitler is the greatest liar of them all.”

  Had Moritz lost his mind?

  A crowd had gathered, but oddly it pushed back like a drop of water in oil.

  “You dare to speak of the Fuehrer with such insolence?” said the first officer.

  Moritz said nothing.

  “The others,” the second officer shouted, “where are they?”

  “There are no others,” Moritz said. Emil commended him for not giving them away, but he was terrified. They could make him talk.

  Moritz blinked rapidly. In Emil’s mind he saw him turn, pointing a stubby finger their way.

  Then Moritz proved Emil wrong.

  “You Nazi pigs!” Moritz shouted. “Hitler is a raving lunatic. Down with Hitler!” He spat in the officer’s face.

  The officer in turn, raised his gun. A single shot. One red dot on his forehead, and Moritz slumped to the ground.

  “Moritz!” Katharina called. Johann clapped his hand over her mouth and pulled her out of sight.

  Emil stared at the scene, paralyzed by shock.

  Moritz had ensured that he could never talk, never betray his friends. He had died to save them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DROPPING LOW, they sat on the bottom steps of the statue base, fear and disbelief turning their faces sheet white. They kept silent but Emil was aware of the increased movement around them, people gathering to see what had happened.

  “We can’t stay here like this,” Emil whispered, “we look suspicious.”

  “We need an alibi,” Johann said. “Who’s at your house, Emil?”

  “Just Helmut, if he’s not running about. Mother’s at work.”

  “Will he speak for us?”

  Johann was asking if Helmut would lie for them. A year ago, Emil would have answered, yes, in a heartbeat, but now? He really didn’t know. They barely spoke, and Helmut feared him in the same manner his parents did.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Johann.” Katharina grabbed her brother’s arm. “We need to separate and mingle. People we know will see us here. We are just like them witnessing a spectacle.”

  Emil nodded, “That’s a good idea.”

  “Okay,” Johann said, “Katharina, we’re together; Emil, you’re on your own. We never saw each other tonight.”

  Emil nodded, crawled through the shrubs in the opposite direction and merged with the crowd of onlookers. An invisible barrier kept the people back a number of meters from the scene.

  Every molecule in Emil’s body wanted to flee. He summoned up the courage he had just witnessed in Moritz and pressed forward through the mass of people watching. On his toes he could see the police hovering over Moritz’s corpse, crumpled on the ground like dirty laundry. Emil wished he hadn’t looked, but his own morbid curiosity kept him staring.

  “Isn’t that boy a friend of yours?”

  Emil froze. It was Albert Jäger.

  “No,” Emil said, surprising himself.

  “I thought I saw the two of you together.”

  “No, that wasn’t me.” Emil bit his lip. Tears threatened the rims of his eyes. He was glad it was getting dark.

  Emil made sure that several people who knew him saw him there. They would be his alibi. Again he was questioned: Wasn’t he a friend of the boy? No, Emil said, feeling like Peter who had denied knowing Jesus.

  A police van pulled up and they tossed Moritz into the back. A tremendous sadness threatened to overwhelm Emil. He was sorry for Moritz, sorry for his poor mother and what this would do to her, sorry that he had lost a very good friend. When he got home, he was thankful that Helmut and Mother were out. He threw himself on his bed and cried.

  The police arrived at the Radle home the next morning, with slimy Albert Jäger showing the way.

  Helmut and Emil peeked around the corner as Mother opened the door. Three uniforms pushed their way into the kitchen without introduction.

  “What do you want?” Mother asked, alarmed. The police said nothing, just systematically went through each room of the house, opening and searching cupboards and drawers. One officer stayed in the kitchen, one went to the living room, and the other rushed upstairs to the bedrooms.

  “Officer Jäger? Please,” Mother said.

  Albert Jäger raised an eyebrow and kept silent. His self-righteous expression said it all; I don’t have to answer to the likes of you.

  The officer in the kitchen ran a gloved finger along the shelf of the broom closet. He paused to examine the dust on his finger before shifting his gaze to Mother.

  “I, uh, work at the factory…” Mother said.

  Anger boiled in Emil’s gut. He was outraged at their blatant disregard for their home and their things.

  The officer, who went upstairs, returned. He acknowledged his colleagues with a slight shake of his head. Of course he didn’t find anything. All the evidence was at Moritz’s house.

  “Frau Radle?”

  “Yes?”

  “I must inform you that your son, Emil Radle, is required for questioning.”

  Helmut looked at Emil and gulped.

  “What for?” said Mother.

  “Your son is known to be a friend of a boy who was involved in illegal ac
tivities and all of his associates are to be questioned.”

  Emil stepped forward. “It’s okay, Mother. I’ll go.”

  “But, Emil…” Her hand faltered as she reached for him.

  “I must do my duty for the Fuehrer!” Emil saluted to the police officer. “Officer Jäger.” Even to his ears he was talking too loud. “Lead the way.”

  The interrogation office was small with wooden floors and two long windows looking out to dull gray skies.

  Investigator Schmidt sat in a large chair on one side of a metal desk, while Emil sat opposite him, his feet flat on the floor. Investigator Schmidt lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in Emil’s direction, his eyes never leaving Emil’s.

  “You are Emil Radle, of 45 Rosenstrasse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fourteen years old?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your mother works at the clothing factory as of September, your brother is a member of the Deutsches Jungvolk.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your father?”

  “He’s in Berlin.”

  Investigator Schmidt leaned forward then shuffled papers on the desk in front of him.

  “Ah, yes. You were a friend of the traitor, shot dead in the street last night?”

  “We were acquaintances.”

  “Only acquaintances? Your neighbors said they saw you with him often.”

  “We were in the same Hitler Youth unit, which meets regularly. And we were in the same class at school. It’s natural that we would be seen together.”

  “Did you go to his house?”

  “At times my duties with Hitler Youth required it.”

  “I see. Did you ever witness traitorous activities performed by the deceased?”

  “No.”

  “Are you aware that the leaflets in question fall under the jurisdiction of special wartime law?”

  “I never thought of it.”

  “Do you know what you get for high treason and aiding the enemy?”

  Emil didn’t respond. Investigator Schmidt blew more smoke in his face. “A prison sentence or death.”

  Again, Emil remained silent.

  “He never told you about the leaflets?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know the siblings, Johann and Katharina Ackermann?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you together last night?”

  Did someone see them together? They had agreed to say they never saw each other.

  “No.”

  “They were there.”

  “There were a lot of people out last night. I was curious about what the police were doing, like everyone else. I didn’t look around, so if they were there, I didn’t see them.”

  “I see,” he said. “But you are good friends?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Had Johann or Katharina been interrogated already? Emil was nervous that their answers weren’t lining up.

  “Like Moritz, Johann and I go to the same Hitler Youth unit and are in the same class. I only know Katharina as his sister.”

  “So, you don’t have any good friends?”

  “My good friend is the Fuehrer only. I have no need for other close relationships except that it helps to further the good of Germany.”

  His career in lying, Emil thought, was firmly established.

  And it seemed Emil was indeed good at it. Investigator Schmidt smiled, stubbed out his cigarette, and walked around his desk to him.

  He held out his hand and Emil shook it.

  “Very well, Emil Radle,” he said. “I am gratified that you are a dutiful citizen. You may go.”

  “Thank you.” Emil stood and walked towards the door.

  “Herr Radle,” Investigator Schmidt called.

  Emil turned, “Yes, Sir?”

  “We will be watching.”

  Moritz died on Friday, Emil was interrogated on Saturday, went to church with Mother and Helmut on Sunday, and on Monday it was back to school. But it was not business as usual.

  Though cleared of any wrongdoing by Investigator Schmidt, the same was not true in the classroom. Johann and Emil were guilty by association.

  “Traitor!” Friedrich hissed as Emil walked past him to his seat.

  Emil tried to ignore the empty seat to his right. As Emil stared at the back of Johann’s blond head in front of him, he could feel the eyes of the other students on them. They had been friends with Moritz and he had betrayed the Fatherland.

  When Herr Bauer entered the room, the class quickly stood, saluting, “Heil Hitler!” And with more fervor than ever.

  After the shuffle of twenty-five, no, twenty-four, kids re-seating themselves, an uncomfortable silence filled the classroom. Herr Bauer paced across the front of the room, ruler lightly slapping his hand.

  “So, I assume everyone is aware of the hideous events that took place in our quiet town of Passau?” Herr Bauer said. “The enemy is quick and deceptive, even to masquerade as a devoted Hitler Youth member.” He paused and stared pointedly at Emil and Johann. “And to sit in my classroom.”

  The class seemed to inhale, anticipating the lashing that was about to come.

  Herr Bauer stepped down their row, stopping beside Emil’s desk and tapped his ruler on the top of it. Tap, tap, tap.

  “Emil,” he said, “I understand that you had a visit with our good Investigator Schmidt.”

  Did he want him to answer? It was widely known.

  “And you as well, Johann.”

  Johann answered, “Yes.”

  “You boys think you are clever!” Herr Bauer slapped his ruler on Johann’s desk. “But be assured, the forest is now watching you.”

  Spinning around, he marched back to the front of the class. “A traitor in my classroom!” he shouted. “A shame and a disgrace!”

  Like Hitler, shouting first then whispering, he lowered his voice. “It has recently come to my attention that the traitor, whose name we are now forbidden to speak, had Jewish blood. This was a well kept secret, and explains why he went crazy all of a sudden.”

  Emil knew for certain that Moritz was not even a tiny bit Jewish. Herr Bauer had made that up.

  “A treasonous pig! He should have been hung by the neck for all to see, dead already or not!”

  The back of Johann’s neck turned red, and he twitched in his seat. Emil had a bad feeling.

  Johann burst out, “He was not…”

  Suddenly Emil was on his feet, interrupting, “…not worthy of our time and attention. He was a pig and a traitor to our great Fuehrer and Fatherland, a menace to society and our good fellow German citizens and an obstacle to our quest for Lebensraum!” Emil felt like he was having an out of body experience. He slid back into his seat, but not before seeing the fury in Johann’s eyes.

  Herr Bauer hardly held back his surprise at the outburst.

  “Thank you, Emil,” he said, his lips widening into a crooked grin. “Well said.”

  He returned to his desk. Unfortunately, the current excitement didn’t thwart his intention to give them a math lesson.

  He read out loud: “A mentally handicapped person costs the public four Reichmarks a day, a cripple five and a half Reichmarks and a convicted criminal eight and a half Reichmarks. Cautious estimates state that within the bound of the German Reich, three hundred thousand persons are being cared for in Public mental institutions.

  “How many marriage loans at one thousand Reichmarks per couple could be financed annually from the funds allocated to the institutions?”

  Emil caught up to Johann on the path through a field Johann used as a short cut from school to his house.

  “Johann, wait up!”

  Johann turned and jumped on him. They landed with a thump, the wind knocked out of Emil.

  “You traitor!” Johann spat.

  “I’m not,” Emil squeaked out. They rolled in the dirt, dust filling their eyes. Johann’s bony elbows dug into Emil’s ribs. “Get off of me.”

 
“I don’t know what side you’re on, Emil.”

  “I’m on your side,” Emil said, breathless. Johann was bigger and heavier, but Emil was strong, too. He pushed back. They rolled the other way; broken grass stalks cut Emil’s skin.

  “You’re playing both sides.”

  “What do you think would have happened to you, if you came to Moritz’s defense?”

  They rolled again and Emil found himself face down, Johann on his back.

  “Johann, I had to…”

  Johann pushed Emil’s face into the ground. Something warm oozed down his face.

  “Ouch, my nose is bleeding!”

  Johann rolled off Emil, onto his back. His breath came out in heavy pants. “He was our friend.”

  “He did what he did to save us,” Emil said, breathing hard. “I did what I did to save you.”

  They lay flat on their backs, staring at the bright blue sky. A hawk circled overhead then dove into the field; they heard the screech of some small animal, a rabbit or rat, now in the death grip of the bird’s claws. A cool breeze brushed over their skin, drying their sweat. It seemed like just another quiet autumn day in 1942, no sign of the war that was waging over Europe.

  “I’m sorry, Emil,” Johann said. “I just miss him so much.”

  “I do too, Johann.”

  Johann got up first and held out his hand. Emil took it.

  “Friends again?” he said.

  Emil nodded. “Friends still.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “HEINZ HAS been drafted!” Emil fought for breath after jogging to the Ackerman farm with the news.

  “What?” Johann said, though he’d heard Emil clearly. “Oh, man. It’s starting.” He slumped into a cool kitchen chair and drew his hand through his hair.

  Katharina entered the small kitchen and leaned against the door frame. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Heinz,” Emil said. “He’s been drafted.”

  “Oh.”

  “His parents are hosting a big party.” Emil swallowed before adding, “Irmgard invited me to go.”

  Katharina stared hard at him. “Are you going?”

  Emil stared back. “I don’t think I have a choice.”