CONFETTI

No bombs had been dropped.

The planes had left something else instead.

Amid glowing red parachute flares and the piercing beams of the searchlights, the sky was alive with the confetti of a million leaflets that flickered and flashed as they caught the light. They spun and sailed and fell and floated and buzzed and rattled as they came to earth. Then the gentle wind snatched them up again, before leaving them to fall like a magical rain.

They landed on the rooftops, on the road, the pavement. The wind pressed them to windows and deposited them on cars and blew them along the street like the aftermath of a great celebration.

Above the leaflets, the rods of the searchlights touched the ceiling of clouds, creating huge shimmering circles that rippled blood-red from the colour of the parachute flares that floated and fizzled, dropping as if through water. It was mesmerising and terrifying all at once, to see the night filled with a glow that was both hellish and beautiful.

I couldn’t stop staring at the sky and the strange storm of lights and paper.

‘Isn’t this exciting?’ said a voice beside me.

I tore my eyes from the spectacle and rubbed my stiff neck as I looked about.

‘It’s like a giant party.’ Lisa was wearing pyjamas almost exactly the same as mine and had a huge smile on her face.

‘What are they?’ I asked her. ‘What’s going on?’

Some of the younger children started to chase the confetti along the road, laughing and spinning in circles as they gathered handfuls of the paper, but their parents were quick to call them back. They took the leaflets from their children’s hands and threw them down as if the paper burned their fingers.

‘It’s all lies.’ Frau Oster was standing close by, shaking her head. ‘Just horrible lies.’

‘Of course,’ said the woman beside her. ‘Your husband is quite safe, I’m sure.’ She patted Frau Oster on the arm and gave her a sympathetic look.

‘Hitler’s definitely got them on the run if they’re trying tricks like this,’ Herr Finkel agreed. ‘Don’t you worry, we’ll have the Russians soon enough.’ He crushed one of the pieces of paper in his hand and threw it down. ‘Then the British will surrender and your husband will be home.’

‘They can’t fool us with this nonsense.’ Frau Oster grabbed her young son’s hand and ushered him home.

Herr Finkel watched her go, then turned to walk back to his apartment over the shop. When he was away from the crowd, though, he snatched up one of the leaflets, glanced around, then folded it in half and slipped it into his pocket.

As I watched him, the wind blew one of the leaflets against my foot, so I bent to pick it up. When I stood up again, Herr Finkel had disappeared into the darkness and I stared for a while at the place where I had last seen him.

‘Mama says it’s propaganda,’ Lisa whispered, breaking me from my thoughts. ‘Things to make us feel bad about the war.’

The piece of paper in my hand was about twice the size of a postcard but printed on flimsy paper. The image on the front shimmered in the reddish glow of the dying flares and I turned it so I could see it better, wanting to know why it had upset Frau Oster so much; why Herr Finkel had slipped one into his pocket.

It flapped a little in the breeze, but I recognised the figure in the picture straight away.

The Führer looked very smart. He was wearing his military cap, his long leather coat and his shiny black boots. His hands were clasped together in front of his chest as if something had pleased him very much.

At his feet, and all around him, lay a pile of dead soldiers wearing German uniforms. Some had their arms outstretched; others were curled up as if they were asleep. Three of the dead men, right at the Führer’s feet, were on their backs with their mouths open. Their unseeing eyes stared up at their leader.

In the sky, beside the Führer’s head, words were printed in blood-red ink.

Hitler is killing your fathers

‘That’s like what it said on the wall.’ Lisa leaned close to get a better look at it. ‘And see who it is,’ she whispered and raised a finger to tap the Führer’s head. ‘Look at him smiling.’

I stared at the picture.

‘What’s on the back?’ Lisa nudged me and made me turn over the leaflet where there was a whole page of print. ‘What does it say?’ she asked, leaning closer still.

Her hair wasn’t plaited like it had been when I saw her earlier, and the breeze played with it, blowing it across my cheek. It tickled and I brushed it away so I could read the words.

‘… put it down.’

‘Hmm?’ I turned to see Stefan looking at me.

‘Put it down,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Now.’

Oma and Opa were watching me. Mama, too. All of them staring at me.

‘Put it down,’ Stefan said again, and he reached out to swipe the leaflet from my hands. It snapped from my fingers with a crack, and dropped to the pavement before it was caught by the wind and tumbled away.

‘Ow.’ I furrowed my brow and watched the leaflet flutter down the street to join the others. ‘Why did you do that? What are you—’

‘Someone will see,’ he said, looking around.

‘I was just reading it. I want to know what it says.’

Lisa stood beside me, watching Stefan. She looked almost as if she was in awe of him and I couldn’t help thinking I would like her to look at me that way.

‘We should go back inside,’ Opa said. ‘You too,’ he spoke to Lisa. ‘Someone will be along to clear this up soon enough. Best not to be outside when that happens.’

I started to complain, but Stefan grabbed my arm and I knew there was no point. I could struggle, but I’d only embarrass myself even more in front of Lisa. My brother was much bigger and stronger than I was.

‘See you tomorrow, then?’ Lisa said. She looked disappointed but I couldn’t decide if that was because I was leaving or because my brother was.

I nodded, saying, ‘Tomorrow,’ and then Stefan whisked me into the house and closed the door behind us.

‘Ow!’ I snatched away from him. ‘What’s that for? Why did you make me—’

‘Because you don’t want people to see you reading those things, you idiot.’

The way he raised his voice at me, made me flinch and take a step back.

‘You don’t want anyone to think you kept one. If they tell someone, then who knows what would happen to us? To you.’ He stressed that last word with a finger pointed at my chest. ‘If the Gestapo finds out you’ve even read it …’ he took a deep breath and shook his head. ‘Everyone’s probably already watching you. Going out on your bike and getting caught by that man. Do you know how much trouble you’ve already caused for Oma and Opa?’

‘That was an accident. I didn’t mean to—’

‘Then try thinking about someone other than yourself for a change.’ Stefan’s voice was getting louder and I took another step back.

‘You’re scaring him,’ Oma said.

‘Good,’ Stefan told her. ‘Maybe he needs a good scare. Maybe I can scare some sense into him.’

‘Please.’ Mama spoke so quietly her words were almost inaudible, but everyone stopped and looked at her. ‘Please,’ she said again. ‘No more shouting.’

‘You’re right,’ Opa agreed. ‘I think that’s enough.’ He put a hand on Stefan’s arm.

‘Why don’t you boys go into the kitchen?’ Oma said. ‘I’ll take your mama upstairs and then come down and make us a hot drink. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.’

Stefan was as agitated as I’d ever seen him. He didn’t sit down, but paced the length of the kitchen, hair hanging over his eyes, watching his feet. Up and down on the black and white checkerboard tiles. Up and down. Up and down.

I sat at the table, beside Opa, and watched Stefan.

When he finally stopped, he leaned back against the sink and put his hands behind him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking up at me as if he were about to burst. ‘I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just … No. Actually I’m not sorry. I don’t think you understand what’s going on.’ His voice grew louder with each word. ‘I don’t think you know how much trouble you can get into for the smallest things.’ He lifted a hand and squeezed it into a fist. ‘They take people away just for saying what they think, Karl. Or because their nose is too big or their hair is too dark or because they keep their children away from the Deutsches Jungvolk.’

‘I know about—’

‘Well, did you know they took away your new friend’s papa?’

‘What? Lisa? No.’ I leaned away from him. ‘I thought he was a soldier, fighting in the—’

‘He was a schoolteacher,’ Stefan shouted and slapped his fist into the palm of his left hand. ‘Not a soldier; a schoolteacher. He refused to join the party and said things he shouldn’t have – things about your Führer – so they called him a Communist and took him away and nobody has seen him again.’

‘He was a Communist?’

Opa shook his head. ‘No, Karl, he was a teacher; until Wolff took him away.’

‘Then he must have done something to—’

‘He didn’t do anything,’ Stefan snapped. ‘When are you going to get that into your stupid, thick head?’

‘That’s enough Stefan.’ Opa held up a hand.

‘No, he needs to hear this.’ Stefan glanced at Opa, then focused on me again. ‘It’s time to stop pretending. He needs to know that you don’t have to do anything. You just have to say something, think something. All it takes is for one person to tell the Gestapo and that’s the end of it. Some people even report their own family.’

He stared at me and I felt myself shrivel inside as he continued to shout.

‘And do you know what happens to the people they take away, Karl? People like Lisa’s papa? They torture them at headquarters. They make them sign their own imprisonment orders, and they torture them, then they send them to camps; but they’re not like the one I went to. They’re worse. Much worse. People don’t come back like I did; they starve to death in those places. That’s what your Führer does to people who think the wrong thing.’

‘Starve? No.’ I shook my head. ‘No. They come home. They just go there to learn how to be better Germans. To exercise and …’

‘They go there to die, Karl.’ He slapped his fist into his palm again. ‘Just like the poor soldiers are sent to Russia to die. Soldiers like Papa. That’s how much your Führer loves us.’ Stefan sniffed hard and looked away for a moment before turning back to me. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. ‘Do you really think Papa wanted to go and fight?’

‘I …’

‘Of course he bloody didn’t. Papa didn’t want to go away, he wanted to stay here with us. He can’t take care of us when he’s thousands of miles away, can he?’

‘I don’t understand …’

‘The Nazis made him fight. He had to go. He wanted to stay here with us but they took him away, don’t you understand that? Your Führer made him leave us. He sent him to fight. He killed him. The leaflet is right.’

When he stopped, silence hummed in the room and my brother’s words echoed in my ears.

Stefan took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again he looked at me and shook his head. ‘Please tell me you understand now.’

I nodded, but my mind was spinning with thoughts of guilt and betrayal and the idea that I had been a part of something terrible. I was thinking about how awful Lisa must have felt when her father was taken away; that it was too horrible for her to even talk about, and what must she have thought of me in my uniform? I was thinking about Johann Weber’s tears and about Axel Jung kicking dirt in his face. I was remembering how Stefan had been taken away, and I felt a chill run through me at the thought that he might never have come home. And I was seeing those words, over and over again, spinning in my head. Those white words that had turned blood-red.

Hitler is killing our fathers.