“Please tell Lena to come in,” Slim said.
Emil waved her in. Slim went to the door and called down for Remy to bring large bottles of sparkling water. When the sparkling water was in front of all of them, Slim nodded to Karl and said, “Sprechen.”
✽✽✽
March 1945 — Dachau
During morning roll call, Karl walked alongside his father as he inspected the newest recruits for the SS Totenkopfverbände. As soon as Herr Vater released them, they would head over to the prisoner camp next door. Karl was outfitted like the men, in a black tunic and breeches. His cap, like theirs, sported a death head insignia. Over breakfast Karl had asked to go, his new Frau Mutter said ‘no,’ but his new Herr Vater had said it would be all right. When Frau Mutter protested, Herr Vater grabbed her by the arm and told her to stay out of it. He released her only when he saw Karl’s look of fear. Afterward, he could see Frau Mutter stroke her arms wincing from the pain. Karl offered to stay home but Herr Vater gave him such a look that he stared at his food and tried to make himself disappear. Herr Vater only punched or slapped Frau Mutter and Karl places where no one could see, like the arms and back. When they walked outside, Herr Vater, Frau Mutter and Karl looked like the perfect example of an SS family: neat, blonde and purposeful. Since his adoption from Lebensborn, it was an illusion Karl kept. He had been adopted into a nightmare and like all the previous ones he had had to endure since the Nazis marched into Poland, he would endure.
Karl drove with Herr Vater into the camp in an open-air Volkswagen Kübelwagen. They stopped at the SS stone gate adorned with an enormous swastika topped with the ever-present eagle. The gates were opened and they crossed the drainage moat into the camp. Guards from the top of the seven towers kept watch with their guns. From the tree-lined boulevard with the fanciful folk signs across from the Waffen SS training camp with its movie theater, stores, officers’ homes and tidy barracks, they descended into another world. The prisoners all wore what seemed like striped pajamas and shoes fabricated out of scraps of fabric or wood. On their uniforms were different shapes. Barracks stretched out as far Karl could see. They were in time for afternoon roll call. The prisoners were lined up row after row. The newly minted SS Totenkopfverbände patrolled the rows while the roll call droned on. Karl saw that one of the prisoners looked at him quizzically. Karl looked away. He wanted to leave this place. Suddenly, one of the prisoners fell. He was set upon by two of his Herr Vater’s newly trained guards with a vengeance. From behind the rows of men, Karl heard feeble screams and thwacks of clubs. Seconds later, the prisoner lay twitching. The two guards were spattered in blood. They smiled at Herr Vater, who yelled at them to clean themselves up. Then he walked away with Karl in tow. Behind the barracks Karl saw a tower with plumes of smoke pouring from it.
“Is that the bakery, Herr Vater?” Karl asked, trying anything to move away from the prisoners.
Herr Vater smiled at Karl, “Yes, it is. Would you like to see it? Perhaps they have a pastry you might like.”
Karl walked alongside his father away from the hell he had just witnessed. When they crossed the path, they came to a long brick house with an enormous chimney. The ash that fell from the sky seemed to Karl almost like snow. Herr Vater opened the door and Karl was hit with heat. Two prisoners had a corpse on a metal stretcher heading towards the open fire.
“I told my son this is the bakery,” Herr Vater said, yelling over the roar of the fire.
Karl turned to run, but Herr Vater grabbed him. “Perhaps you would like to be a baker’s assistant today?”
“No, Herr Vater, not today,” Karl said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Herr Vater turned on his heels and they both walked out into the ash storm.
✽✽✽
1950 — Paris
Karl stubbed out his cigarette. He reached for a bottle of Coca-Cola and took a large sip. Emil said something to him. Karl nodded and then spoke. Lena gasped.
“What did you ask him, Emil?” Slim asked.
“I asked him if he also saw the gas chambers.” Emil said. “He said, he got to watch one of the guards throw a canister down the hole and listen to people scream. That is what he said.”
No one spoke until Karl let out a burp and then grinned. For a moment he looked like a normal mischievous teenage boy. He shrugged. He looked at Slim. She noticed he was not really looking at her. He was looking through her, as if she did not exist.
“Ask him why and when he left Dachau?” Slim said.
Emil asked him. “He said early April.”
“Did he leave with both his new parents?” Slim asked.
Karl looked down at his shoes. Then he spoke quietly, almost with a tinge of sadness in his voice.
“He says that he left with only his father. He was told to pack in the middle of the night. His new mother was crying. He remembers his father put something on the table for her; it was brown. It looked like medicine. They left. Then, Karl forgot his rucksack and he ran back into the house. He grabbed his bag and went back into the kitchen to say goodbye to again to his new mother. He found her slumped over. When he ran outside to tell his father, his father said, “Good,” and they left.
No one said anything for a moment. Emil slid over his packet of cigarettes. Karl took one. Then he spoke in a voice so chilling its message belied its youth.
✽✽✽
1945 — Germany
When they arrived at Hauptbahnhof, the train station in Munich, Karl could not believe how many people were vying for one train. It was a great mass of people, old and young men in uniform, old folks with bundles and suitcases, women, children and the wounded. Everyone was trying to flee before the Allies got there.
“We will get on. I have orders to report to Berlin,” Herr Vater said.
Karl looked at the wounded being placed on the trains by the Bund Deutscher Mädel. They all looked to be in early teens. The younger ones handed out soup and coffee made of grains to the waiting passengers. Herr Vater pushed past a mother about to board with her five children and handed his papers to the conductor. He pointed to his Golden Party Badge. The conductor let him and Karl onto the train. Then the train pulled away and Karl saw the woman and her five children cursing Karl and his father. Herr Vater pulled the shade down in their overcrowded compartment to ignore the outburst. He promptly went to sleep. Karl did not. The train lurched out of the station slowly pulling the lucky ones away from Munich.
Karl looked around the car of the train. Seats had been taken out to accommodate the wounded. There were several boys a bit older than him on the opposite side of the train. They looked out their windows dispassionately. One was gnawing on his shirt sleeve. Another was writing something on a piece of paper. An hour into the ride, they were stopped. Karl pulled up the shade, a railroad switch guided their train onto another track. The conductor came through announcing a short delay. Minutes later, a freight train began to pass them. Sounds emanated from the cars. The freight cars kept passing and the sounds grew louder. Were they animals? Karl wondered. What kind of animals made sounds like that? Finally, after the last train passed, the turnout was switched back and they were on their way. Herr Vater woke. He saw the boys across the way. “Go talk to them, Karl. Ask them where they are going and if they’ve seen any action yet. Share your food with them.”
Karl felt awkward walking over. They spied him suspiciously as he sat down. Karl opened the lunch he packed and the boys set on it like animals. They scarfed down the sandwiches and shoved the chocolate in their mouths.
“Thanks,” one said.
“Where are you coming from?” Karl asked.
“The front. Breslau. We got into it with the Ivans,” one of them said.
“Who are the Ivans?” Karl asked.
“The Russians. Here take a look at this,” the second boy said, handing Karl a circular.
“I’m not too good at reading,” Karl said sheepishly. While his German had improved dramatically, his reading lagged behind.
“It says that the Ivans are going to come into the villages and do terrible things to everyone — even the children. That is why the Führer needs us. He needs us to stay true until the miracle weapons arrive,” the first boy said.
“What miracle weapons?” Karl asked. Did Hitler have miracle weapons?
“We think maybe rocket bombs,” the second boy said confidentially.
“Where are you going now?” Karl asked.
“To Berlin. We’re to be awarded Iron Crosses from Hitler in honor of his birthday,” they said with a grin.
“Yeah, we’re real soldiers now, not Hitlerjugend anymore.” The second boy said, “We’ve just been inducted into the Waffen SS.”
“My father is in the Waffen SS,” Karl said with a measure of pride.
“Is that him?” the first boy asked pointing to Herr Vater.
“Yes,” Karl said.
Suddenly, they heard the sound of planes overhead, and then explosions.
“Get down! Get down,” the first boy yelled. He pulled himself down on Karl. Then the strafing started and Karl heard pings across the train. It sounded like they were being rained upon by metal balls. He heard an explosion and then the train lurched to the side. Smoke and chaos ensued. People were screaming. Karl tried to get up, but the boys who he had been talking to moments ago would not move. Suddenly, he felt an enormous hand lift him up and push him out of the train window.
“Herr Vater!” Karl yelled as he fell onto the pebbled ground. The strafing continued. Karl wedged himself under the train, knowing full well that if it began to roll, he would be dead. Finally all the sounds stopped. It was either quiet or Karl had gone deaf from the noise. He got up. There was smoke and screaming everywhere. He wanted to run, but where could he run? There was no place to run. He looked down at his tunic. He was covered in blood. Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Herr Vater.
“Come,” he said as he steered Karl quickly away from the train.
“Shouldn’t we help?” Karl asked, turning back to see if he could at least see the bodies of the two boys.
“I need to get to Berlin. Other people will help them. Members of the Volkstrumm fire brigade will come and help them. We must get to the Autobahn before dark,” Herr Vater said.
The Volkstrumm, the old, the young — everyone who could fight — had been conscripted. Anyone who refused was hung from the lampposts. That is what Herr Vater told him. Karl would have to fight or he would be killed.
Herr Vater needed to get to Berlin. The Waffen SS needed him. When they got there, Karl would join the Hitlerjugend division of the Volkstrumm. He was ten years old and he was to be a soldier. There was no getting out of that.
✽✽✽
1950 — Paris
The boy’s stomach growled. Slim went to the door and called down to Remy to bring up some food. Remy brought up a plate of roast chicken and bread. The boy ate like he had a bottomless stomach. Lena said something to Emil, who nodded and then he looked at his watch.
“You have to be somewhere?” Slim asked wryly.
“No, please tell Karl to continue his story. I still have not decided if he is coming back to Chicago with me.” Emil lit a cigarette. “Your disdain for me is evident, but…”
“I left my newborn daughter, I traveled through Poland and Germany and Austria to find this boy and I almost lost my life twice searching for this boy,” Slim said.
“That’s what you were hired to do,” Emil said.
“Mr. Rosenberg, I am a very wealthy woman. I do not do this for the money. I do it because I believe the lost deserve to be found.”
“Do they? Look at him — tell me what you see, if not a Nazi,” Emil said, pointing his cigarette at Karl, who looked away.
“I see a boy with your eyes. I see your son,” Slim said. She put her hand on Karl’s shoulder. “Ask him how he got to Berlin.”
Emil did.
Karl looked up and replied, “Reichsjugendführer Artur Axmann.”
“Who’s that?” Emil asked.
“The head of Hitler Youth,” Slim answered.
✽✽✽
1945 — Berlin
They flagged down a bus on the Autobahn. The bus was going straight to Berlin. It was full of Hitlerjugend boys and old men from the Volkstrumm.
Karl slept most of the way there. There was something comforting in escaping into the abyss of sleep. When he awoke, they had pulled into Berlin. Karl rubbed his eyes. Everywhere he looked there were bombed out buildings and small fires burning. Homeless people with their belongings in baby carriages and small wagons crowded towards the bus, desperate to get on.
“Let them off first and if you are over 60, or a woman with small children, you can come onboard. I’ll drop you in Dresden. That is one city I can assure you won’t be bombed,” the driver said with confidence.
Karl and Herr Vater shuffled past the driver who stopped them. “So this is what we have come to? Boys as soldiers?” the driver shook his head. “Cannon fodder.”
“I could have you shot for treason,” Herr Vater said to the driver. “But you’re needed.”
Before Karl disembarked, the bus driver grabbed him by the sleeve and said, “Young man, if you see the Führer, tell him we need those miracle weapons now.”
“We are going to see Reichsjugendführer Artur Axmann. He is the head of all of the Hitlerjugend. He will tell us how we can help the Führer.”
“Herr Vater, are there really miracle weapons?” Karl asked.
“We are the miracle weapons. We will save Berlin. Come. No more questions,” Herr Vater said.
When they arrived at the Hitler Youth headquarters on Wilhelmstrasse, Axmann was in a flurry of activity. He recognized Herr Vater immediately. Herr Vater introduced Karl as his Ostlander foster son. Axmann could not be more pleased. He patted Karl on the back and told him what a great father he had. They had known each other for years. Karl was sleepy by that time, so Herr Vater carried him to the barracks and put him to bed. Hours later, he was awakened. Herr Vater was gone and Axmann peered at him.
“Would you like to meet the Führer for his birthday?” Axmann asked.
“The Führer? Of course, Reichsjugendführer,” Karl said.
“There was a group of boys coming from the Hitlerjugend Panzer division from Breslau to be awarded Iron Crosses. Their train was blown up and they have fallen. You will take their place.”
“Reichsjugendführer, I have never been in battle,” Karl said, confused. “I do not deserve an Iron Cross medal.”
“You will accept one for your fallen comrades,” Axmann said. “Come, now. We must get you changed. Axmann handed off Karl to an adjutant. “Change his uniform and feed him breakfast. Bring him back no later than 4 o’clock. We must be at the Chancellery.”
“What do I say to the Führer?” Karl asked.
“Tell him your name and that you fought in Breslau and you’re here now to fight in the battle for Berlin.”
At a quarter to four, Karl stood in a new dark blue uniform with HJ regiment on the cuff. Although the smallest, the uniform was still baggy and hung off Karl. Axmann adjusted Karl’s cap, so it hung jauntily to the side of Karl’s forehead. He followed Axmann into a Kübelwagen. The tub-like jeep was able to maneuver the rubble-filled Wilhemstrasse as they were bombarded by Katyushas, Russian rocket launchers. Corpses littered the street; some civilians, others in uniform, most his age. On the lamp posts, men were strung up with signs saying “traitor’ draped around their necks. They made their way around the guard tower until they came to a box-like opening when they turned onto Voss and then Hermann Göring Strasse, the Kübelwagen stopped in front of a stone arch and Karl followed Axmann out. Some men were cleaning up rubble from the latest round of Russian shelling. While the shells of the buildings remained, small fires burned in the garden where only part of the brick wall remained. Karl tripped over a corpse and then regained his footing. There were two groups of Hitlerjugend who snapped
to attention when Axmann appeared. He quickly arranged them into one line, placing Karl near the end. When he was satisfied, he stepped back, and moments later Hitler appeared flanked by his Propaganda Minister, Joseph Goebbels; Chief of the SS, Heinrich Himmler; Army Field Marshal, Wilhelm Keitel; Army General, Alfred Jodl and Party Chief, Martin Bormann.
As Hitler approached, Karl snuck a peek at him. Unlike the posters that still littered Berlin or the portrait that hung in Alpenland, Hitler seemed less confident. The coat on his hunched shoulders hung loosely and his entire body seemed to shake uncontrollably.
Axmann raised his arm in salute and said, “Mein Führer, in the name Germany’s youth, I congratulate you on your birthday. I am proud once again to introduce to you young fighters whose courage and valor is typical of our Hitlerjugend, ready for action. They stand the test on the homefront with an iron will to achieve the final victory.”
“Thanks, Axmann,” Hitler said, then looked at the boys before him. “If only all our soldiers were as brave as these boys in battle.”
He walked over to the boy next to Karl who stammered his name. “Where did you fight?”
“In Breslau, Mein Führer!”
“And you were brave enough to earn the Iron Cross?” he asked.
The boy started to describe how he earned the Iron Cross, but Hitler interrupted him.
“Were you injured?”
“Yes, Mein Führer, I was injured in the…”
“A brave boy,” Hitler moved on to Karl. “Another brave boy,” he said as he tugged on Karl’s ear. He continued on down the line stopping in front of each of the boys asking their stories. Karl was relieved that he had not asked him where he had been injured. After he was done going down the line, Hitler shuffled to the center of the line and said to those assembled, “In Berlin, we are facing our most important battle. The future of our fatherland rests on the German soldier and his will to fight.”
Karl looked around. The boys who flanked him were listening to the Führer with rapt attention. Karl could not stop staring at the Führer’s shaking hand. There was something wrong with the Führer. One of the boys noticed that Karl was not listening and nudged him.
The Lost Boy Page 21
