Abbe, Meike and Anselma were sat, and were about to eat supper. Abbe and Meike were shaken from the previous evening and finding everything a challenge. Anselma, still oblivious, spent last night at her grandparents’ and could only sense the depression weighing down their supper table already laden with plates and glasses.
Abbe had finally been released by police in the early hours of the morning, empty and alone. After arriving home and first visiting the bathroom, he immediately climbed into bed, fully clothed, as if he was forged from fine china, before Meike interrupted him, peeking into his room.
‘Dad? Dad?’ she said quietly.
‘Meike?’ he said, wary that she might be furious with him.
‘Can I get into bed with you, Dad?’ she said.
‘Yes… yes, of course, sweetheart.’
She bumped open the door to her father’s room with the front of her chair and wheeled in, anxious to embrace him. Abbe shifted in preparation to the far side of the bed, so that his daughter had room to transfer from her chair. In the darkness, she whispered gently to a count of three, ‘One… two…’ before making the hop from her wheelchair to the bed. Her head nodded gently in time as she did so. Through the dark, Abbe sensed his daughter’s idiosyncrasies, his heart breaking. Following her accident, he couldn’t remember a time when she had complained.
They hugged quickly before falling into a semblance of sleep, their body clocks painfully awaking them a few hours later. Sitting upright, Abbe looked down at his hands, shaking with shock. His head was a frightened whirlwind. What on Earth should I do?
One thing he had experienced upon returning home from the police station in the middle of the night, and despite not having eaten for twelve hours, was the most complete emptying of his bowels he could remember. The strangest thing, he had thought, climbing off their toilet like he was a thousand years old.
The three of them were sat now at their table in their dining room and Abbe looked up, first Meike and then at Anselma. A canyon separated the three of them. Meike was close to tears. Anselma began to eat hungrily as Abbe and her sister only mechanically forced thin mouthfuls between pursed lips. Anselma glanced across at both of them.
She said, ‘Grandpa says this will turn into a second Great War soon. He believes Hitler will try to knock out France first before invading Britain… then Russia.’
Abbe looked at his eldest daughter and he held in a sigh. ‘It will be a disaster for us all, Anselma,’ he said, forcing the words out and Anselma was not sure how to respond.
‘I have joined the local National Socialist Youth group,’ she said.
‘What?!’
‘I have joined the National Socialist Youth, Father.’
‘You’ve joined the Hitler Youth,’ he said.
‘It is my duty, Father… someone has to from this family.’
Meike smarted, but any anger she experienced only carried her closer to tears. Abbe looked into his youngest daughter’s eyes, and he ached. He wanted to scream.
‘There is no place in our Führer’s Reich for people who are unproductive, Father. The Jews are holding us back…’ Anselma said.
‘Don’t… use that language at this table,’ Abbe said, eyes closed, which was all he could do to bottle his feelings.
‘You should be happy that I am training to become a great mother… for Germany,’ Anselma said.
‘Training!’ Abbe tutted. ‘Use your mind, Anselma… your education… every word the National Socialists say—’ But Abbe was cut off by Meike tugging gently on his arm. On the wireless, she had overheard the word “handicapped”, which had caught her attention.
‘Quiet… please, Father,’ she said.
Oh, what now? Anselma’s head complained as Abbe and Meike both turned their focus to the wireless sat above a fireplace on the far wall.
The broadcaster announced: ‘All mentally and physically handicapped children, from the ages of sixteen to eighteen, must report as a priority to their local hospital or family physician. Nothing should detract German homes from the great effort in the struggle against our Jewish enemies.’ The man on the wireless continued, ‘While the rest of us are at war, the handicapped can live peacefully in specially designated centres, which will house the latest technology, and ensure after we are victorious that they are ready to rejoin and contribute to society.’
Silence. Abbe and Meike looked at one another, despair in their eyes. Meike was seventeen. Abbe tried a smile, but it was useless. Please don’t cry, my sweetheart, his mind, aching from exhaustion, willed, please don’t. But Meike’s face crumpled into tears, her hands reaching up to hide her emotion as her breast heaved between sobs.
‘Oh sweetheart…’ Abbe said. ‘Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,’ he said softly, climbing from his chair at their table and wrapping his arms like wings around his daughter.