PRISONER

Life at Escherstrasse was dull and I missed my friends. Oma and Opa wouldn’t let me go outside or do anything I wanted to do. It was different for Stefan, though; Opa had a friend who owned the mill just outside town, so he gave Stefan a job straight away.

‘Stefan needs to be busy,’ he had said, but I think they just wanted to keep him out of trouble. They had even managed to persuade him to stop wearing his colourful shirts, telling him it was best for Mama and me if he didn’t draw attention to himself. They were the kind of shirts that rebellious boys wore – boys who sometimes fought with the Hitler Youth. Stefan wasn’t happy about it, but had eventually agreed and started dressing like everyone else.

Stefan left early every morning and came back at five o’clock in the afternoon, dusted with flour. For three days, he stayed at home in the evening, but on the fourth day he went out on his bike after dinner.

‘Where are you going?’ Opa had asked him.

‘To see some friends,’ Stefan told them.

‘What friends?’

‘People I met at the mill.’

‘People like you?’ Opa asked.

Stefan shrugged and I could tell they wanted to stop him, but there wasn’t anything they could do; he would have gone whatever they said, so they just stood at the door looking worried as he cycled away.

When I tried to go out, though, they told me I had to stay indoors where there was nothing to do.

I was beginning to feel as if I was in prison. It was like being in one of the camps out in the countryside where they kept captured enemies and Jews and other criminals. Stefan went to one of those camps last year, after he got into trouble when someone reported him for fighting with Hitler Youth boys. I was so ashamed when the police took him away, but felt bad about it, too. I didn’t know they would shave his head and make him exercise for a whole week. When he came back he was pale and hardly spoke.

But the worst thing about being at Escherstrasse was that Oma and Opa didn’t send me to school or the local Deutsches Jungvolk. The frustration of that built up inside me, mixed with all the awful sadness about Papa and the worry about Mama, making me feel as if I might explode. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t even let the school and troop know I was there; I was a silver medal holder, I should at least be going to meetings. I asked them about it a few times but they always said they were busy. The day after Stefan went out on his bike, though, I’d worked myself up into such a state, I couldn’t help losing my temper with them.

‘I’m supposed to join,’ I said. ‘I have to, it’s the rules.’

‘I know.’ Opa looked up from his breakfast. ‘But … the local troop doesn’t know you’re here yet and …’

‘I want to go,’ I said. ‘I’ll get into trouble.’

‘Not if they don’t know you’re here, darling,’ Oma replied. ‘And anyway, they’ve got enough boys, so they can manage without you. We see them marching up and down the streets every weekend making all that racket. If you ask me—’

‘Claudia.’ Opa held up a hand to stop her and they exchanged a serious look. ‘That’s enough.’ He turned to me once more. ‘The truth is, we think you need a break from everything for a while; to give yourself time to think about Papa.’

As soon as he mentioned Papa, an image of the photo popped into my head and my heart grew heavy. The last thing I wanted to do was think about him; that just made me feel worse.

I looked at the tabletop and shook my head. ‘I want to make some friends.’ When I’d been with my troop it was as if I had more brothers than I could count; without them, I felt lonely and bored, and cross with Oma and Opa for not letting me go.

‘Maybe in a few more days.’ Opa smiled. ‘I think you should wait a while.’

‘But you let Stefan go out. It’s not fair.’

Opa softened his voice. ‘Stefan is older. He—’

‘He gets into trouble,’ I said.

‘He needs to be busy,’ Oma told me. ‘It’s better for him.’ She reached across and put a wrinkly hand on mine. It was covered in small dark spots.

‘Well, can I at least go outside then?’ I stared at those brown marks, wishing everything was back to normal. ‘On my bike?’

‘You know we can’t let you do that,’ Opa said. ‘You have to stay in the garden for now; that way—’

‘No one will see me,’ I finished for him.

He looked at Oma again and then back to me.

‘You’re hiding me,’ I said, pulling my hand away. It was as if all my sadness was slowly turning into anger, and that felt much easier than being miserable, so I let it build up in me. ‘I’m not stupid, you know. You won’t let me out in case someone sees me. Because I should have joined the school and the Deutsches Jungvolk. It’s the rules.’

Opa sighed and stood up. He went to the window and looked out at the street. ‘Karl,’ he said. ‘If someone reports that you’re here, or if the wrong people see you, we’ll all get into trouble.’

‘Then you should send me to school.’ My mood was growing blacker and blacker. My hands were shaking and I had to tuck them under my armpits to keep them steady. I felt lost and had no control over what was happening. My anger and frustration was drowning me and I had to do something or say something to make it all come out. ‘Or maybe I should report you.’ I stood up and looked at Oma. ‘I could walk out right now and go straight to the Gestapo myself—’ I stopped myself and Oma recoiled in shock. Her eyes opened about as wide as I’d ever seen them and her mouth formed an ‘O’.

‘I could—’

‘That’s enough!’ Opa turned around and his face was dark like a thunderstorm. It was the first time I had ever seen him that way and it felt as if electricity had been shot through the room.

‘Just … just give it a few more days,’ Opa said after taking a moment to calm himself. ‘You need to mourn your father. Give it a few more days and then we’ll talk about it again. Now, why don’t you go and check on Mama?’

I glared at them, lost for words, then pushed back my chair. ‘Fine,’ I said as I left the kitchen and stormed upstairs.