May 31, 1937
I prize open my eyes, slowly, one at a time. Rolling onto my back, I stretch each limb out fully. My foot hits a hard, warm lump at the bottom of the bed.
“Kuschi.” I smile at the curled black shape. “What are you doing in here? If Mutti catches you . . .”
The dog raises his head, looks at me, and thumps his tail on the bedcover. He yawns and goes back to sleep.
“Cheeky.” I laugh, reaching down to stroke his soft shaggy coat. He must have escaped from the kitchen when Ingrid went down in the early morning. “You love me, don’t you, Kuschi Muschi?” His breathing is soft and even. No hint of the trauma he suffered last year.
“Flocke,” I call softly. What might he remember of his old life? He opens his eyes and I sigh. “Well. This won’t do, will it? Let’s go and have some breakfast.”
I wash and dress. Karl’s door remains firmly shut as I pass by.
In the dining room, Vati, unusually, is at home having breakfast. More and more he is away, his SS duties taking his nights as well as eating into his days. He looks deep in thought. He holds Mutti’s hand where it rests on the polished walnut table, his thumb drawing soft circles on her skin. He says something quietly to her and she throws her head back and laughs, her hair rippling down her back. The floor creaks as I hesitate in the doorway.
Vati looks up and drops Mutti’s hand like a guilty secret.
“Ah, good morning, young lady.” He pours himself coffee from the tall pot, its giraffelike neck long and elegant.
“First day of the holidays, eh?” He gives me a wink. “I hope you have some worthy plans.”
“Yes, Vati. I have lots of Bund Deutscher Mädel commitments, and the summer camp, of course. Plus I shall see my friends, help Mutti, you know . . .”
He grunts and watches me spread frischkäse, creamy white, on a slice of dark rye bread.
“You could spend the summer working on a farm, like the Käfer girl up the road,” he suggests.
“Franz!” Mutti exclaims. “What are you suggesting . . . you know half those girls come back impregnated by the Hitler Jugend boys they send to the same farms. What a dreadful idea . . .”
“Don’t worry, Mutti. There’s no way I’m spending my summer working on a farm. Virtuous and valuable though, I know. Summer camp is quite enough for me. I’d rather stay here with you and help at the soldiers’ home.”
Vati chuckles and nods.
“Well, they do adore you, Hetty,” Mutti says, then turns to Vati. “But you should take a holiday, too, Franz. You work so hard.”
He reaches for her hand again and gives it a squeeze. “I know, Hélène, and I would love nothing better than to take you, Karl, and Hetty away, but it’s impossible at present. Tensions are running high, and I can’t leave the paper at the moment.”
“What do you mean?” Mutti asks, lighting a cigarette, then leaning back in her chair, head cocked to the side.
“We have too many foreigners in Leipzig,” Vati says bluntly. “We must do something. They take jobs, houses, food away from Germans. They bring bad manners.” He waves a hand. “Habits. They smell. And”—he shoots a look at me—“worse.” He shifts in his seat. “And this looming possibility of war. Look at the trouble in Spain! Only this morning we’ve been carrying out reprisals for attacks on our boats. I fear where it may lead.”
Mutti taps ash into the tray. “You really think we are heading for war. Again?” She shakes her head, cheeks pinched.
“England has a new prime minister. But I think it would be foolish to assume he, or any other leader, will be sympathetic to German interests. Word is, he’s weak. Malleable. Time will tell.”
Mutti blows smoke from the side of her mouth. I wave it away with my hand.
War. Such a small word for something so unimaginably big. I think of Karl’s plans to join the new flying force, and the room chills.
“If it comes to it, Hélène, I’m certain that victory will be swift and decisive. As for me, I must concentrate on this city.” He frowns. “If we stick to our principles, the future is positive. We can’t be complacent. I must use the Leipziger to further our cause.”
“How?” I ask.
“A newspaper, Schnuffel, is a powerful weapon. Of course, our Herr Goebbels guides us with his daily press releases. It is our duty to shape the opinion of the masses and ensure the Fatherland’s values and best interests are always in the forefront of people’s minds.”
I chew my bread and cheese. At school, we are studying Mein Kampf. Everyone knows the Jews stabbed our army in the back at the end of the last war. With the help of Fink’s new book, The Jewish Question in Education, I can identify a Jew just by looking at a person’s features. If I see one, I cross the street, just like everyone else, and I never look them in the eye.
“Franz, these things will still be there if you take a few days off to go to the beach. Besides, you are the boss. You must have people who can run things while you aren’t there?”
Vati shrugs. “I only appointed Josef Heiden as editor two weeks ago. I can hardly go off and leave him at this stage . . . Besides, with my SS commitments ever increasing . . .” He pauses. “If Karl wasn’t so busy flying gliders this summer, I could have him work with me at the Leipziger. He would be such an asset. And think what I could entrust to him in the future, which I can’t to anyone else.”
“If you could get him to work with you over the summer, before he leaves . . . I wish with all my heart he’d change his mind. I worry sick about him going.”
Vati shakes his head. “The Luftwaffe arranged it. It’s vital flying experience before moving on to the real thing. Besides, he’s determined to go. I think, in time, he’ll come back to the Leipziger. He’s a young man, Hélène. He must find his own way. He wants to do his bit for the Reich and it’s only right and natural that he should.” He drains his coffee cup.
“I want to do my bit for the Reich, too,” I blurt out. “Perhaps I could work at the paper this summer, Vati? I’m a quick learner.”
Vati looks at me, narrowing his pale eyes. In the strong sunlight, his skin is pasty and sags with fatigue.
“That’s a kind offer, Herta,” he says slowly. “But your place is here, with Mutti. Help her with her charity work. It’s more important, too, that you learn how to run a home than understand the inner workings of a newspaper.”
“But, Vati—”
He scrapes back his chair and the discussion is over.
“Now, I must get to work.”
He leans across to peck Mutti’s cheek and plants a kiss on the top of my head. Mutti hurries out of the room after him, just as Karl arrives, unshaven and sleepy eyed. I ball my fists beneath the table.
“Morning, Little Mouse,” Karl says as he sits heavily on the chair opposite. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No, not really.” I sigh. “Just the same old argument. Vati wants you to work at the paper and Mutti doesn’t want you to join the Luftwaffe.”
Karl helps himself to some bread and spreads it with butter. He places two layers of leberwurst on top, humming a little tune under his breath.
“Why so cheery?” I pour us both some tea and plop a slice of lemon in each cup, plus two scoops of sugar in mine.
“I’m excited!” He smiles broadly and takes a large bite of bread and sausage, chewing vigorously. “No more school and I leave for the Luftwaffe in only a few weeks.”
“Are you that keen to leave home?”
I try to imagine life without Karl. His empty space at the dinner table. The silence without his step on the creaky floorboards. No more us.
“I will miss you so much.”
“Of course you will. And I shall miss you, too, my Little Mouse, but . . .”
“Will you stop calling me that?”
“What? Little Mouse?”
“Yes, that.”
“No.”
“Arschloch.”
“I’ll tell Mutti you used a bad word.” He mimics my voice and we laugh.
“But really, why do you want to go? Vati could have you straight into the SS, and the Leipziger will be yours one day. You’d make a great reporter. With your charm, you could get anyone to tell you anything.”
“But, Hetty,” he says, leaning toward me, his eyes shining, face animated. “Can you imagine anything more exhilarating, more exciting than being a pilot? The Luftwaffe will be the envy of the world. And I’m right here, at the start of it. Why would I want to join those stuffy Black-shirts? No disrespect to Vati. It’s just for me, I couldn’t live without being airborne. No feeling like it in the world. And after all these summers of flying gliders, I’ve got a dreadful taste—no, an insatiable appetite—for the rush of it.”
“It sounds awfully dangerous.”
“And you sound like Mutti. It’s a terrific thrill, that’s all. Our aircraft are the most advanced in the world. Other nations will soon give up, faced with our Luftwaffe. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to take you up flying, Little Mouse. You’d love it.”
I watch his face as he chews, reaching a hand up to sweep his hair back. His bicep swells under his shirtsleeve. Without me noticing he has reached manhood, and now he needs to break free. Become his own person, away from Vati’s dominating presence, away from Mutti’s fussing. Perhaps even away from me. The thought is a physical pain, and for a moment I see how it is for Mutti.
“Come on, Hetty, cheer up,” Karl says, his face earnest and kind. “Let’s make the most of this last summer holiday together, eh? We’ll have some fun, I promise.”