Uphill Battle (ML / Teen) (Complete)

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Anais Nin
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Uphill Battle (ML / Teen) (Complete)

Post by Anais Nin »

Winner - Round 5

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In Round 5, Uphill Battle tied with Deejonaise and Lizwell's Octoroon, which is wonderful, for I *love* that story. :D

Also, I was runner-up in the Best Author of a Challenge Response Fic category, and Uphill Battle was runner-up in the Best Challenge Response Fic Category.


Nomination banners by Borderinsanity, Schurry and Cristine. I'm afraid I don't know who made the Best Period Piece award. :( It's really beautiful, though.

Summary: Based upon a challenge by Foreign_Taste. The story is set in Germany, before, during and after WWII (1939-1945, Europe). Max is German, Liz is Jewish. They were friends before Hitler came into power, but their different nationalities drove them apart.
Category: M/L, AU, period piece.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Roswell, nor do I own its characters.
Author's Note: I’ve been wanting to do this for quite a while. The second world war always intrigued me in some weird sort of way. What happened during this WW was horrible, and it should never happen again. I in no way wish to hurt anyone by writing this.

Thank you, Elizabeth, for your lovely effort to make something bearable out of my poor English. :D You're an amazing beta, and a great friend!

<center>***</center>

<center>Uphill Battle

Prologue
</center>

January 1945, Poland

Ice cold sweat trickled down his forehead and gathered on his brow as he crawled further, always further. With frozen fingers, he desperately clawed at the snow, unable to get a firm grip. The weak winter sun didn’t do much to warm his hands, and the icy wind only made his dizziness worse. He threw a hurried glance over his shoulder. He had been running, walking, and crawling for the last few hours, and felt as if he had covered several miles. He could still see the ominous tower of the camp, though, its silhouette looming threateningly in the distance. It would be easy for them to find him. All they had to do was follow the trail of his blood over the thick layer of snow.

He gasped for air, rested his head on his numb hands, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the pain. His nerves were screaming at him, telling him to look down at his stomach, convincing him that his flesh was sliced open, ripped apart. He prepared himself for the sight of his wound and shot a quick glance at his belly. Blood still oozed through the thin material of his camp uniform and hesitantly dripped onto the soft snow. Wearily, he watched in fascination as a drop of blood trickled downwards, fell in slow motion and created a dark circle of redness.

Distant, harsh screams reminded him of his situation. He was on the run. He shouldn’t give up now. Trevor had told him the war would soon be over. America had joined the Allies and the Russians had already driven the Germans out of Russia. Stalingrad was free, and soon, Poland would be freed as well.

And finally, come what may, Hitler’s army would be defeated. Germany would be free again. She would be free. He just had to hang on for her, to make sure she’d live through the war. Feeling lightheaded, he decided to crawl further, to put as much distance between him and his persecutors as possible. The screams resounded in the chilly air once more, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. It sounded German, but there were some words he couldn’t quite recognize or place.

He had to move on, and fast. They couldn’t find him. They shouldn’t find him. A bird’s cry, the fluttering of wings. More screams. The scrunching of snow behind him. He felt himself falling even though he was already on the ground. He blinked and finally chose to lie down for a second. Not for too long. Just for a moment… They were so close… He would only stop to catch his breath and close his tired eyes for a little while, and then he’d move on again. The voices kept screaming, desperate, furious. Shots rang through the air and filled his mind with dark memories. The Russians? Would the Russians be there, fighting the German tanks, trying to free the people in the camp? Was it possible? Had Trevor been right?

As he struggled to open his eyes, he thought he could feel her familiar hands on his chest, on his back. Her soothing voice calmed his rapid pulse, and he felt himself letting go. She called his name, once, twice. Soft, patient. It brought some relief to his wounds, and he blew out a weary sigh. Was she waiting for him? He sighed again and breathed out deeply. Footsteps behind him. Army boots against his chest, turning his body around, the barrel of a gun against his jaw.

More gunshots. In the distance? Near him?

No more darkness.
Just utter blackness.

A blinding light. Cries. Shouts.

Nothing more.

<center>***</center>


September 1945, Germany

The cemetery was situated on a little hill on the outskirts of the small town. A lonely willow tree stood out darkly against the gray sky, it branches drooping sadly. It was a peculiar little graveyard, with tombs scattered everywhere across the small plot of land. New graves stood before old ones that had been covered in moss, and each and every one of them was silent, accusing and dark. Ever since the Middle ages, Jews all over the country had been forbidden to bury their dead outside of the Jewish district of their town. Over the years, the site had become rather crowded. Except for the lonesome, old willow tree on top of the hill, all of the trees had been cut down. This had helped for a while, but the Jewish population grew, as did the number of graves. To still be able to bury their beloved ones, the Jewish community had decided to place several graves on top of each other. Nowadays, in some places there could be up to nine layers graves, and each grave was marked with its own stone.

It was a special cemetery. One that carried a unique atmosphere that told of their past.

She stumbled, fell to the ground and cried. How many times before had she walked here, curious to see where her grandfather was laid, to see who her ancestors were? How many times before had she played here with him, hid from him, run from him, and laughed with him?

No, don’t think of him. Don’t think of his sacrifice.

Don’t.

Just don’t.


Her father’s grave stood far away from the gate and the path that led to it seemed long and endless. No grass adorned his gravesite yet, and the dark sand around his tomb was still a little bit loose. His grave was sober, made of simple granite with just his initials, name and date of birth. They didn’t know when he had died. They had been told that his body had been buried next to the execution place. It had lain there for over a year. She hadn’t been there when they had dug it up, when they had searched for him among the other corpses. Kyle had. Afterwards, he hadn’t spoken or eaten for almost two days.

She knelt down, oblivious to her own tears.

In her trembling, cold hands, she held two stones: a large, white one and a smaller, tear-shaped dark one. Two stones. One for her father. One for him. Her fingers traced the lines of the tomb and lingered on the cold granite. She kissed the white stone gently, as if it were her father’s face, crooked and wrinkled, and placed it carefully among the others. She wasn’t sure where to put the black stone. Nobody knew where his body lay. Her mother thought he might have been cremated, or buried somewhere in the woods, never to be found again.

She shivered and rubbed the stone clean with her moist tears until it gleamed and showed her face’s reflection. She brought her lips to it, held them there a little longer, pulled back and let her mind drift away on his deep voice. ‘I love you,’ she whispered without words, solely in her mind. Wherever he was, in what kind of heaven, with what kind of God – Jewish or Christian – she wished him all the luck of the world, and more.

Tightly wrapping her fingers around the stone, she laid her head upon her father’s tomb and closed her eyes. Hot tears burned her eyes, and her body shook with every cry. After what seemed like hours, the tears lessened and her cries became softer, but the pain did not leave her.

It never would.

Author's Note: SA = Sturm Abteilung = Storm Troops, the fight-parties of the NSDAP (which was Hitler's party).

<center>Chapter 1</center>

January 1933, Germany

The school bell rang and the usual sounds of children gathering pencils, books and bags spread throughout the classroom. Max Evans swung his book bag over his shoulder and was just about to leave when his teacher’s voice stopped him.

“Aren’t we forgetting something, Mr. Evans?”

Max frowned, caught sight of the pile of essays on Mr. Connor’s desk and blushed. Of course. He fumbled with the clasp of his bag, fished his three-paged essay out of it and handed it to his teacher. “I’m sorry, sir,” he sheepishly apologized, feeling incredibly stupid. He’d been working on it for hours, trying to find the right words to express himself and now he had almost forgotten to turn it in! That was just… just downright stupid.

“Three pages?” Mr. Connor appraisingly whistled. “Well, you’ve certainly outdone yourself this time, Mr. Evans.” Max blushed even more fervently and looked over his shoulders, at the departing kids. Liz Parker, his best friend, was still there, waiting patiently for him with his jacket in her hands. She was jumping from one foot on the other, humming softly. He smiled; she never was able to sit still, not even for a split second. “Can I go now, sir?”

“Yes, go on, leave!” Mr. Connor laughed at his student’s desire to leave. “No need for you to stay here any longer.” With a worried glance at the playgrounds and another one at Liz, he turned to Max. “Max?”

Disbelieving, Max looked at his teacher. Had Mr. Connor just called him Max? No teacher ever did. “Yes, sir?” he replied, his voice tense. “Take care of Liz, would you?” Mr. Connor said, confusing Max even more.

Max blinked indignantly and nodded. “Of course,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was. At least, it was that way for him. Mr. Connor smiled tiredly and sat down on a table. Max nodded politely at him before he left the room, and took his jacket from Liz, still wondering. What did Mr. Connor fear so much? The beggars on the streets? They had been there for as long as Max could remember, the unemployed with their unshorn faces, the homeless with their shabby clothing. His mother had once told him that there had been better times, that all of this had started after the great war with France and Britain.

On their way home, as Liz was hopping with one foot on the pavement and the other in the gutter, Max couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Connor’s words, a dreadful feeling spreading itself in his stomach.

“Watch it, kid!”

His head shot up, and he could barely avoid an SA brown shirt. He was a young man, like all of the Sturm Abteilung men were, with a broad chest and rippling muscles. He hastily mumbled an apology before he walked on again, slightly frightened. The SA man frowned, tugged on his shirt, and glared at Liz. Max didn’t notice it, too immersed in thoughts too serious for a seven-year-old. Something was about to happen, something big. What, he did not know. He didn’t think he wanted to know. But he felt it.

That was what scared him most.

He could feel it.

<center>***</center>

January 1933, Germany


“That crazy old man! How could he? Has he officially lost it? I just – I can’t believe that --”

“Jeffrey, please,” his wife begged him. “There are customers downstairs; they’ll hear you.” Her plea was overridden by his own voice as he continued his angry protest, raging on and on. “I mean, the man is – how old? Eighty-two? Eighty-five? He’s an old, demented fool, I tell you!”

Jeffrey,” Nancy hissed, glancing tensely at the door. “Don’t say such things!”

“That man is too old to lead our country properly, Nancy. Look at what he did! It’s ---”

“He made the Weimar Republic flourish again,” she reminded him of the years that had come prior to the crisis. He huffed and though he tried to calm himself down, he found it harder and harder with every passing second.

“For two, three, maybe four years. Good times are easily forgotten. And he didn’t do it on his own. If it hadn’t been for Dawes, we’d still be eating out of the gutter. He reached his pinnacle a long time ago, Nancy, and from now on it can only go downhill. It already is, can’t you see? How are we supposed to--”

“Jeff?”

Irritably, Jeff looked up at his sister, Caroline, who was standing in the doorway. Sensing his anger, she tentatively asked, “What’s wrong?”

Nancy sighed as her husband started his furious protest. “Our senile president just appointed Hitler,” Jeffrey spat out his name as if it were poisonous, “as our chancellor. That’s what’s wrong. Our chancellor! Can you believe it?”

Caroline frowned and glanced at Nancy, who looked as if she was desperately trying to quiet Jeff down. “What’s so bad about that?” she wondered out loud. When she saw her brother’s expression though, she knew she shouldn’t have asked that.

“What’s so bad about that?” he echoed her words, causing her to wince. “The man hates us. Do you know how many times he’s called us heathens, how many times he accused us of things we did not do?”

Caroline carefully spoke up, afraid to fuel her brother’s anger once more. “I know. But what’s new about that? It’s not like that has never happened before. We’ve never been welcome in this country.”

Jeff groaned and exasperatedly threw his hands in the air. “He’s different, Caroline. He really hates us, with every fiber in his being. He hates us with fervor, with so much passion. And those fools… They agree with him! They follow him and do whatever he says. They’re crazy, all of them.”

“He can never be worse than Von Schleicher,” Nancy quietly said, referring to their previous chancellor, whose term of office had ended after two short months.

“He is worse, believe me. He’s worse than either Von Schleicher or Von Papen. But how can he not be worse? I heard that they were the ones who recommended him to Hindenburg in the first place,” Jeffrey said, just a little bit calmer than before.

Another silence ensued, and Caroline didn’t know what to say. Her brother always had been the stubborn one, and once his mind had been made up, you couldn’t do a single thing to make him see things differently. “Let’s not despair, shall we? It can never be that bad. The other day, Mr. Whitman told me that Hitler’s own father was Jewish.”

“A bastard child, that’s what he is. Have you ever read his book? He’s insane, I tell you! Insane!” Jeff suddenly burst out, and not even his wife could hush him to silence.

“Mom? Mom, I’m home!”

“We’re upstairs, darling!” Nancy called back and smiled as she heard her daughter climbing the flight of stairs, her footsteps followed suit by another pair of them. Liz would be able to calm Jeff down. Her presence always could. “Hi sweetheart! How was your day?” she greeted her, her voice a little bit too cheery, too phony, and – sure enough – Jeff now was smiling.

“Good,” the usual reply came. Another figure stepped out from behind her, a boyish smile veiling his worries. “Hey Mrs. Parker, Mr. Parker, Miss Garner.” Before any of them had the chance to greet Max back, Liz had thrown off her jacket and bag and pleadingly looked up at them.

“Can Max and I play outside, mom? Dad?”

Nancy turned to her husband, who was still gazing down at the apple of his eye. “Please?” Liz begged, smiling the smile with which she could get away with anything.

“Sure,” Jeff replied, just as expected, unable to resist his daughter’s charms. “Just don’t go to the cemetery this time, will you? I want you two to stay in this street, where we can see you.” Liz squealed happily, hugged her father, her mother and her aunt and then – pulling Max with her – she ran down again. Max shot an apologetic glance over his shoulder and Nancy waved at him.

Hearing the front door bang shut, the three adults stood there in silence, not knowing what to say. “There’s no reason to panic,” Nancy finally said, and looked significantly at her husband. “Only time will tell if Hindenburg’s choice was a clever one. We shouldn’t worry too much. It’s unsettling, and it will upset the kids.”

Caroline nodded in agreement and placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this, Jeff. Together.” Jeff hesitated for a second, his blue eyes doubtfully staring at the two most important women in his life. He trusted them and wanted to believe them, but could he? Quietly nodding, he made his way to the door.

“Fine. I won’t worry. I’ll just go downstairs to see if Lena needs help. Do you think we should bake more croissants Sunday? We always sell more of them on Sundays.”

“I’ll go with you,” Caroline quickly said, and turned to her sister-in-law. “When Kyle gets home, will you tell him I’m in the store?”

“I will,” Nancy promised, looking doubtfully at her husband’s retreating figure on the stairs as it slowly disappeared into the darkness of the arched hallway. Caroline followed him soon after, and Nancy was left alone with her thoughts. Her daughter’s rich laughter drifted through the open window, and Nancy looked down through it, at her daughter’s carefree game, oblivious to all what was happening. Nancy wished she could be like that again, young, happy and free of her worries, but knew she’d never be that way again. The realization pained her, the loss of her innocence and naïveté achingly present in her mind.

<center>***</center>

Germany, February 1933

It had started with one simple spark. That was what amazed him most. One small, meaningless spark had created this magnificent play of colors, warmth and power. A spark that could have just as well been used to lighten a cigarette, or a candle.

One simple spark.

The bright flames avidly licked at the wooden table, at the chairs, the floor. The fire made a loud, crackling noise that was a beautiful rhapsody to his ears, and never did he regret his actions. Had he known it would have been this wonderful, he would have done it sooner. The long green drapes that had caught fire a couple of minutes ago helplessly clung to the railing. In vain, it appeared, for seconds later, a tearing sound announced their downfall, and he watched in awe as the curtains fell to the ground. Splendid. The scorching heat and thick smoke made him cough and his vision fogged, but he didn’t care. It was beautiful. He’d done what they’d told him to do, and he was proud of it.

Loud cries resounded through the hallways behind him, but he paid no attention to them. He did not understand the language, so he decided that they had to belong to Germans. Not that it made any difference to him. He would rather listen to what the fire told him, or to the satisfied sounds the flames made. A beam somewhere above him creaked, hesitated and finally fell, hitting the floor with a loud thud. The ground shuddered and shook while the flames carried on undisturbed, their desire to burn and destroy insatiable.

Hands on his shoulders jerked him backwards. He protested at first, especially when he saw their efforts to put out the fire. When it didn’t help and he realized that they were too strong for him, he conceded his defeat with the sagging of his shoulders and a simple, regretful sigh. He looked one more time at the fire, at the smoking room and the burning carpet.

To think that a single spark could have started so much…

Author’s Note:

Reichstag = German Parliament
Reich = country/reign
SS = Schutz Staffel = Special Security agents --> in order to protect Hitler
SA = Storm Troops --> to ruthlessly suppress opposition

<center>Chapter 2</center>

Germany, February 1933

“Would you like some tea, dear?”
“Sure, I’d love some tea, thank you.”
“Sugar?”
“No, not for me. I have to watch my weight, see?”
“I see. No sugar for me, either.”

“Maria?”

“What is it, daddy?” Maria sweetly asked her father, as she poured some water in a porcelain teacup.

“Be still, please. I’m trying to hear what’s being said.”

“Yes, daddy,” she replied, smiling quietly.

Jim Connor returned his attention to the radio and listened to the reporter’s boring voice as he droned on and on about the latest news.

“Would you like some milk in your tea, sweetheart?” Maria quietly whispered to Anna, her most beautiful and most dear doll.
“No, thank you,” Maria continued in her different, higher and more sophisticated voice. “I’m allergic to dairy products.”
“Honestly? How interesting! Tell me all about it,” Maria said, her voice slowly but surely growing louder again.
She straightened her back and imitated Anna's voice again. “It’s nothing special really. My mother --”

“Maria!”

Maria stiffened momentarily, glared at her father and pressed her lips tightly shut. Jim sighed, raked his hand through his hair and closed his eyes, fully concentrating on what was being said on the radio.

“The fire, almost certainly lit by the Dutch communist Marinus van der Lubbe, burned down a large part of our Reichstag. According to our government, it should be considered as a direct threat to our Reich. To protect our country from the communists, Chancellor Hitler and President Hindenburg have invoked Article 48 of the Weimar Constitution.”

Jim groaned, feeling frustrated. Article 48 of their constitution – the one that had been set up by not only the German government, but also by the American Wilson and other foreigners – would nearly abrogate the entire base of their constitution.

“The so-called ‘Decree of the Reich President for the Protection of the People and State’ will - temporarily - suspend the following civil liberties: free expression of opinion, freedom of the press, right of assembly and association, right to privacy of postal and electronic communication and individual property rights. We’ll be able to tell you more about yesterday's fire and the political consequences later on. For now, sit back, relax and enjoy the music of J.S. Bach…”

The first, tender notes of Bach’s aria drifted into the room and did their best to fill it with their happiness, but it was in vain. Nothing could be done to chase the tense atmosphere away, and even Maria seemed to sense it. She continued her play quieter than before, and when Jim told her it was bedtime, she didn’t protest. Not once.

<center>***</center>

"I don't believe them," Jeff said, as he gave Mr. Connor his change. "I think they lit it themselves, just so they would have an excuse to invoke this Decree."

"You don't know that, Jeff," Jim reminded him kindly. "Maybe Van der Lubbe acted on his own behalf. I've heard he was found rather dazed, and some people think he isn't right in his head."

"Maybe," Jeff agreed reluctantly. "How's Liz doing at school? Is she working hard enough?" With a nod, Jim Connor said, "Yes, she is. I've never seen a child more willing to do her homework. I wish my Maria could be more like that."

Jeff laughed - unable to hide some of his pride - and reminded himself to praise Liz for her good work later. "Well, Maria's one of a kind. She's the most spirited person I know," he said, and Jim smiled sadly, remembering.

"That's her mother's reflection shining through," he quietly said, and Jeff nodded sympathetically. Amy Connor had died not too long ago. She'd suffered from a strange illness that had no cure, but she had always remained cheerful and hopeful, giving support to her husband and daughter.

From the corner of his eye, Jeff caught sight of a brown spot moving on the other side of the street. He walked up to his shop window and his suspicions were confirmed. It was indeed two SA agents walking down the street, acting like they owned the place.

“There certainly are getting to be more and more brown shirts and SS-ers,” he complained to Jim, who’d moved next to him. Jim nodded, and his eyes followed the two men. “You and your family should watch out for them,” he said. They looked each other in the eyes. The blue of Jim’s eyes was weak and light compared with the bright blue of Jeff’s eyes, but both pair of eyes held the same emotions; fear, anticipation, worry, and care for each other.

<center>***</center>
Last edited by Anais Nin on Sun Jun 27, 2004 10:03 am, edited 108 times in total.
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Anais Nin
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Joined: Sun Feb 09, 2003 12:15 am
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Post by Anais Nin »

<center>Chapter 3</center>

Germany, March 1933


“Liz!”

Nibbling on the back of her pencil, Liz stared at the paper in front of her, trying to figure out which number belonged with which picture.

“Liz!” Max hissed again, quietly drawing her attention. She reluctantly looked up – convinced she’d been close enough to the answer to reach out and grasp it – and looked at her friend. “What?” she worthlessly mouthed.

“The movies. Tonight. Can you go?”

The movies. She’d almost forgotten about Max’s offer to go to the theater with him, his sister and his parents. “I can’t,” she whispered remorsefully as she anxiously glanced at Mr. Connor. “Sabbath.”

“Oh, right. Sabbath,” Max said sadly, his face falling. “Can’t you miss it, just for one day?” he tried, and she shrugged, all the while keeping her eyes on their teacher. When Mr. Connor suddenly looked up, she returned her attention to her schoolwork and tried to watch their teacher from beneath her eyelashes. “I’ll ask my dad,” she quietly whispered back at Max, keeping her eyes on her work. From the corner of her eye, she saw Max nod happily, and she smiled quietly.

<center>***</center>

“But why not, daddy? Just for once?”

Jeff sighed, crouched down before his daughter and placed his hands upon her shoulders. Looking her into the eyes, he tried to explain himself. “Because it’s a tradition, Liz. You don’t just choose when you do or do not have Sabbath. You do it every Saturday. I thought you used to like it.”

“But I like the movies, too, daddy! I’ve only been there once! I’ve seen enough Sabbaths to last me for a life time…” Liz pouted and her eyes pleaded with her father, but he firmly stood his ground.

“Sabbath is a special day, Liz. The world is being re-souled every Sabbath. You’ll gain a neshamah yetairah, an additional soul. It’s a special day, sweetheart. Don’t you understand?”

Sighing and with sagged shoulders, she pulled back, out of his grasp, and turned around. “Maria can go. Max can go. Everyone can go. Why can’t I?” Deciding it was no use giving her any reasonable arguments, Jeff stood up. “You can’t, Liz. They’re not you. I promise I’ll take you and Max to the theater some other time.”

A small, surprised smile broke out on Liz’s face, and – rather disbelieving – she asked him, “You will? You promise?”

“Cross my heart,” Jeff said, and smiled when she threw her arms around him.

“Thank you, daddy,” she happily said as she looked forward to tonight, when the Sabbath would begin. Despite of what she’d told her father, she enjoyed the simplicity of the Sabbath and the closeness it would bring with it, and moreover, the special bond their little family shared.

<center>***</center>

Germany, 5th of March, 1933

A tense atmosphere had hung over the little town since dawn. The center of the city had been buzzing with excitement, anticipation and the slightest hint of dread. At school, the children had been more boisterous than ever before and not even Mr. Connor had been able to quiet his class down.

It was the day of the elections, the day that would make or break political leaders and parties. The national elections gave the NSDAP, Hitler’s Party, a forty-four percent plurality in the Reichstag.

That night, many people couldn’t sleep; most were partying until late, others were worrying, lying in their beds, turning and twisting, sighing and worrying.

It was a day that would go down in history.

Author’s Note:

May 10, 1933 – burning of books written by Jews and political opponents.

Night of the Long Knives (also referred to as the Blood Purge, June 30, 1934) – Hitler has people of his own party arrested and liquidated, claiming them to be disloyal. According to him, they were conspiring against him.

Juden Verboten = Forbidden for Jews, these signs increased dramatically during the summer of 1935.



<center>Chapter 4</center>

Germany, March 1933

The open trucks bounced over the rocky road and the people inside reached out for support, clinging to each other. The weak winter sun shone down on them, but did not do much to chase away the cold. Trevor Kuhlman held his hands clasped over his stomach, the nausea the long drive had brought upon him nearly driving him insane. How much further did they have to go? And where would they stop? Where were they going? Would they be released and set free into the wilderness?

He gasped as the truck drove over a particularly large hole and suppressed the ever-growing urge to obey to his body’s demand to throw up. Traffic roared past, the sound loud and painful to his ears as the scenery flew by, trees appearing in a haze and disappearing from his vision in the blink of an eye. His fellow-prisoners muttered and complained – about the long drive, the lack of food and the need to relieve their full bladders – but Trevor didn’t say a single word. He hadn’t spoken for five days now; not once since they had caught him.

He closed his eyes and tried to regain his balance. The speech Hitler had given the day before he had been arrested still resounded in Trevor’s ears. It had made a big impression on him – like it had on the others. “We have to do away with these bolshevist subhuman creatures,” he’d said, that perfidious half-smirk ever-present on his face. It had made Trevor so furious that he had been able to distinguish the bitter taste of hatred and dismay in his mouth and his hands had started to tremble with indignation and impotence. How dare that man talk about them like that? How dare he call them those words, like they were second-class humans? How dare he? Where did he earn that right?

That night, in the pub, he’d been drinking too much, something that been happening on a regular basis as of late. He knew it was bad. He knew he shouldn’t drown himself in liquor, but he couldn’t help it. It was his only escape out of this world, the only way he could reach a lovely state of sweet oblivion. Of course, after a couple of beers he couldn’t keep his mouth shut when he was supposed to. He couldn’t quite remember what he’d said, but it had been enough. The morning after, they’d barged into his room and violently dragged him out of his bed. Just like that. No words had been exchanged. He didn’t even get the chance to gather his belongings, or to change his beer and blood stained clothes. They’d taken him away.

Just like that.

The truck screeched to an abrupt halt, and he groaned as his body was squeezed between three others. “Aus! Get out!” A couple of people leapt out of the truck, their feet hitting the ground with a loud thud. Trevor was more hesitant, still not completely trusting his own body. Two police officers and five SS-men awaited them, carrying dangerous-looking rifles. Swallowing uncomfortably, Trevor stepped aside to allow the other prisoners to jump out of the truck.

In front of him, a factory – obviously deserted – stood out against the light winter sky. “Welcome to camp Dachau,” one of the police officers said when everyone was out of the trucks and on the ground. He didn’t say it with hatred, nor did he talk with the sarcasm the men before him had done. “You’ll sit out your time here. If you behave like you’re expected to, if you work hard and don’t complain, you’ll get food and water.” The prisoners were quiet, not feeling as if they were supposed to say anything. Some of them nodded, and a round-faced, friendly looking man spoke up. “What kind of work will we be doing?”

A light-haired SS-man glared at him, raising his riffle as if he was going to strike the man, but the police officer stopped him with a single look. “This once was an ammunition plant – long before the Great War began. After the Treaty of Versailles, production stopped and the plant was abandoned. We’ve had orders to resume the production of ammunition here. You’ll be working in this factory. It will be hard, but, like I said before, if you behave well, you’ll be out of here in no time.”

The man who had so boldly asked the question – Trevor took him to be forty, maybe forty-five years old – nodded, obviously not completely satisfied with the answer. The dark building in front of him once more drew his attention. He didn’t understand what they were going to do. The Treaty of Versailles had strictly forbidden Germany to produce or own weapons and ammunition. This didn’t make any sense. It didn’t make any sense at all. But, as Trevor very soon learned, starting then, nothing made any sense.

Nothing would, not for a very long time…

<center>***</center>

Germany, March 1933

Holding the umbrella high above their heads, Max carefully avoided a shallow pool of rainwater. “You wanna play at my house today?” he asked, throwing a hopeful glance at Liz. She hadn’t been at his house for ages, and he desperately wanted to show her the dog his parents had given him for his eighth birthday. Liz quietly shook her head and bit on her lower lip. “I can’t.” A little bit hurt, Max looked at her and asked, “Why not? Is it Sugar? He won’t bite, I promise. He’s a really good dog.”

She just shook her head again, looking regretful. “I just can’t. Dad won’t let me.”

“What? Why not?”

She looked away from him, her eyes straying from one tree to the next. “He says your neighborhood isn’t safe for me. He made me promise I would never go there anymore. Not without him or mom.”

“But… But where I live… It’s safe there…” Max protested, feeling confused. There were constantly policemen and brown shirts on the streets in his neighborhood, and sometimes they even had dogs with them. Sugar didn’t like that, but Max’s mother had once said that those dogs helped the policemen catch the bad men and women.

“My dad thinks it’s not,” she said without the slightest trace of any emotion and looked up. The sky was swamped with thick and heavy clouds, a dark mass of grayness that was pouring down its water on them.

“You could say we went to the graveyard and go to my place instead,” Max tried, his mind conjuring up an airtight alibi.

“With this weather? He’d never believe that,” Liz said with a determined shake of her head. “Besides, I can’t lie to him. He always finds out, one way or another.”

Max sighed, deprived of hope – he had wanted her to meet Sugar so badly – and finally shrugged. “We can go to Maria’s,” he said. “I would be able to go home and bring Sugar back with me. That way Maria can see him as well!” Growing more enthusiastic with the idea, he nodded self-confidently. “Yeah, Maria’s house isn’t in my neighborhood. We can go there!”

Liz doubtfully looked at him, at his expectant face, and smiled, unsure. “I’ll have to tell my dad where we’re going. He’ll get worried when I don’t come home immediately,” she reminded him, but Max ignored that comment with a wave of dismissal.

“We’ll go to your house first, then you’ll go to Maria’s house and I’ll go to mine.”

“And then you’ll come over with Sugar,” she finished with a slight smile. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

<center>***</center>

“Shh…”

Liz blinked twice, fighting against the bright light that tried to invade her mind.

“It’s okay. We’re here. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Mom?”

She forced the word up her throat and out of her mouth, her voice raspy and unsteady.

“I’m here, love. Just go back to sleep.”

Her mother’s caring voice only served to make her feel worse, and she blinked again, desperate to see her mother’s face. It loomed in the distance, a darkened silhouette against the lamp’s bright light. “Jeff, the lamp,” she heard her mother say, and seconds later, the room bathed in the darkness of twilight. It took a little while longer for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light in the room, but soon, she could distinguish her mother’s face and her father’s figure beside it.

“Mom?”

The simple exhale that followed the word sliced through her throat and made her gasp, what inflicted even more pain on her body. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to talk.”

Liz wanted to nod, but she found herself nearly unable to do so. Her mind registered that her hand was being held by her mother, and that her other hand was clutching Lena, her old and worn out teddy bear.

“Just go back to sleep,” her mother said, a small smile gracing her delicate features. She really was beautiful, Liz suddenly thought, and she felt a vague sense of pride welling up inside of her. “You’re safe now.”

The soothing sound of her mother’s voice and her father’s regular breathing made her feel safer and she smiled weakly when she felt her mother’s hand on her forehead, brushing away a few loose strands.

It didn't take her long to fall asleep, or maybe she simply passed out. She didn't know.

Nobody could tell.

<center>Chapter 5</center>

Germany, March 1933


The sweet taste of the candy still lingered in her mouth. As usual, it made her crave for more. However, she’d already eaten all of the sweets Maria and Mr. Connor had given her, and only a couple of small, bright colored hearts had been left. She’d saved those for Max, for when he came to visit her. He loved the sweet candy, and she was sure she’d do him a huge favor by giving them to him.

Her mother had propped a big, soft pillow behind her back; it gave her the support she needed and helped her to sit upright. Her ribcage still hurt when she breathed in too deeply, and there was a large, throbbing bruise on her left cheek. She didn’t remember everything about that afternoon – it had left a big, black hole in her memory – but she could still feel the fervor with which the fist had smashed into her face.

She coughed and reached for Lena, who was on the far end of her bed. Her mother was by her side at once and handed the teddy bear to her. “Do you want some water, sweetheart?”

Liz shook her head and immediately felt sorry for the quick movement. Enduring the pain that came with it, she coughed again, helplessly keeping her hand in front of her mouth. “Do you…” she started, but had to cough once more and finally accepted the glass of water her mother had been offering. After swallowing the cold liquid down her throat – her mother was right; it did bring some relief to her burning flesh – she laid her head back on her pillow and let her mother tuck her in.

“Mom, have you made some tea for Max?” she finally asked, her eyes meeting her mother’s hesitantly, almost pleadingly. It was as if she needed her mother to confirm her question, so that she knew Max would come. He hadn’t showed up yesterday, and that had somehow frightened her. When her mother nodded with a small smile, Liz heaved a satisfied sigh and closed her eyes. He would be here in a matter of hours, she was sure. He’d come visit her right after school was out.

She didn’t question that, not for a single second.

<center>***</center>

The little ballerina danced on a quiet tune, going round and round, always going round. She no longer paid any attention to the doll’s movements, but she thought that the soft music had a calming effect of her, and it made her feel a little better. Lena was in her hands, the dark bead eyes doubtfully gazing up at her. “He’ll come,” she whispered quietly to Lena, who - in her mind – nodded back at her, a little bit worried. “He always comes when I’m sick; don’t worry.”

Her hand reached for the fluffy ears that adorned the small teddy bear, and she softly stroked Lena’s forehead, a gesture of comfort and consolation. Her hand moved backwards, and she turned the bear around. One ear had been torn off Lena’s head a few years ago, but her mother had sewed it back on again. The red thread had been inconspicuously hidden behind the brown ear, and nobody but her parents, her aunt and Max knew about its existence. “He’ll come,” she said, her voice softer close to a whisper, but she no longer sounded that confident. She placed a silent kiss on the bear’s head and held her close to her chest. Soon she had lost herself in tumultuous dreams, a dark omen of what was to come.

<center>***</center>

“We can’t go without Max, dad,” Liz protested, quickening her steps to keep up with her father’s fast pace.

“We can, Liz. From now on, you’ll walk to school with us. It’s easier for him as well; he was going a long way round just to pick you up.”

“But dad…”

“But dad…” Kyle imitated her, obviously annoyed by all the attention the adults had been giving her the past few days. She shot him an angry glare and then turned to her father, her eyes pleading.

“There is no discussion possible, Liz. I will no longer let you walk to school on your own,” her father said matter-of-factly. She simply huffed as they walked on, feeling deprived and ignored.

They stopped in front of the school gate, where Kyle ran off to see his friends. Liz stood on her tiptoes and gave her father a kiss on his cheek. “Bye, dad.”

“Bye sweetheart. Be a good girl, okay? I’ll be waiting here for you when school gets out,” her father said, and she nodded before she ran off to see her friends too.

She soon saw Maria, but what surprised her even more was that she wasn’t alone. Max was standing with her, animatedly talking about something. She frowned, wondering how he could be there when he was still supposed to pick her up.

“Hey guys,” she greeted them, wearing a big smile on her face, even though it hurt badly.

“Hey Liz! How are you?” Maria replied, but Liz’s eyes were fixed on Max. His face was turned away from her, and his gaze seemed reluctant to cross hers.

Her frown grew wider and she reached in her bag, fishing out the package her mother had given her. “Here,” she said with a smile as she handed the cookies to him, “My mom made them. To thank you for… you know. They’re your favorites.”

He looked at them for a moment, and she could almost feel his internal struggle, the way he was fighting her, the way he was refusing to let her in. His hand reached out for hers, unsteadily, a hesitant smile unfolding on his lips. A small, but significant spark of hope flared up inside of her and spread its warmth throughout her body, centering in her heart.

“Max!”

Isabel’s warning voice came from across the playgrounds and his head snapped up as if he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do, almost as if he’d done something he’d been forbidden to do. His face was pale, his eyes a shade lighter when he looked back at her. She let go of the package, let it fall, determined that he have it, all the while not really knowing why.

His hand caught it on reflex, but immediately allowed it to fall further. It slipped past his fingers, down to the ground, as if it had burnt him. Both children looked at the fallen cookies; some of them broken, some of them crumbled. Then, without a reason to, her eyes started to fill themselves with tears. He stubbornly refused to look at her and almost seemed relieved when the school bell rung. He was gone before she could talk to him, ask him what she was dying to ask, tell him what she yearned to say.

He simply was gone.

A salty tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek before it slipped into the corner of her mouth. Her tongue involuntarily darted out to taste the salt, but it didn't make her feel any better. She stooped and picked up the package with the broken cookies. Clutching it tightly to her chest, she walked into the school crowd. For the first time in her short life, she wished she didn’t have to stay in school.
Last edited by Anais Nin on Mon Mar 01, 2004 11:14 am, edited 4 times in total.
<center>...endless so far in myself, follow me...
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Anais Nin
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Post by Anais Nin »

Author’s Note: The Enabling Law was passed by the Reichstag the 23rd of March (1933) and it gave Hitler dictatorial powers. He now could do as he desired, without the permission of the German parliament. It enabled him to become a dictator, really. :?

<center>Chapter 6 </center>

Germany, March 1933

His soft footsteps on the stairs made her smile. The moment she’d seen him, she’d known something had been bothering him. Her husband liked to claim her maternal instincts were the main reason for that, but she thought of it as a result of their love for each other.

She nodded at him, wordlessly greeting him with her kind, caring smile. He stood still, uncomfortably shifting his weight from one foot to the other, lightly swaying on his feet. He’d grown fast the last couple of weeks, she suddenly realized. His arms had become longer, hanging limply at his sides, and he no longer was the plump, little baby she’d been able to hold in her arms so many years ago.

“How was your day?” she gently asked as she scooted over on the bed, motioning for him to sit down.

He didn’t do as expected, however, and walked over to the window, a pensive frown marring his boyish features. “Fine,” he said, quiet and thoughtful as usual. “Liz was back.”

“Oh,” she replied, feeling foolish for not figuring it out on her own. Of course this had something to do with the Parker girl. “How was she feeling?”

“How should I know?” her son said, sounding all too bitter and grown-up for his age. She berated herself for that thoughtless question. She stood up, walked towards him and took him into her arms, hugging him closely. He escaped her arms, though, and turned away from her. Hurt, she looked down on him.

“She had a nasty bruise on her cheek, mother,” he said, making the pain grow worse. He’d never called her ‘mother’ before. It sounded too distant, too cold, considering the strong bond they shared.

“I’m sorry,” she responded.

“So am I,” he answered, sounding as if he felt guilty for what had happened. He wasn’t to blame. It wasn’t his fault. He shouldn’t feel that way. If it hadn’t been for him Lord knows what they would have done to her…

An awkward silence fell over the two of them. His eyes hadn’t met hers for a single second, and were currently surveying the street below them. She followed his stare, but couldn’t find anything interesting to look at. Or maybe, just maybe she simply wasn’t seeing what he was seeing. In the distance, at the end of the street, she thought she caught sight of her husband’s approaching figure, stately and solemn.

“Has father ever made you cry?”

Taken back by surprise, she closed her eyes and tried to shut the floodgates of her heart, a heart that was threatening to drown in the sorrows, the pain and the anger his question brought upon her. Her eyes fluttered open after a few seconds, and her gaze crossed his. He was looking up at her; his eyes expressive, genuinely interested and so much like her husband’s.

“Yes,” she whispered, betraying her own wishes to let it remain a buried secret forever. “Yes, he has.”

He nodded as if he understood more than he was letting on, and she felt an inexplicable sense of pride welling up inside of her. He seemed so wise, so strong… Her son was growing up fast.

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeated his question, afraid to answer it.

“What did he do?” he elucidated patiently but caring, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his sweater.

She couldn’t tell him.

He wouldn’t understand.

“He did something I didn’t agree with,” she answered, her response vague, but painful nonetheless. “He knew I didn’t want him to do it, and yet he did.”

What was bothering her son? Why was he asking her this?

“Did Liz cry?” she guessed, kindly removing his hand from the buttons of his sweater and taking it into hers.

He looked at her wide-eyed, probably shocked that she had said her name, or maybe shocked that she’d guessed justly. “Did she?” she gently persisted, prodding further.

He nodded. She’d expected this. Of course it would hurt him to stay away from her. Her husband should have known that. But it was for their own good, she reminded herself. Something similar to what had happened last week… it definitely couldn’t happen again. It would endanger her husband’s position as mayor, and he couldn’t risk losing his job.

“She…” he paused, hesitant. It was obvious that he felt uncomfortable discussing it with her. “She cried on the playground… when I wouldn’t talk to her.” Taking his other hand, she tried to encourage and console him, but he still wouldn’t look at her, really look at her.

“And when she…” his lower lip quivered lightly, “when she saw that I…”

She held him close to her, her eyes closed in distress, as she tried to console him. He inhaled deeply, his throat thick with tears and confusion. “When she saw that I’d switched seats with Kurt… she just… looked at me…” He couldn't finish the sentence and let out a shuddering breath, pressing his face against her chest. “And she… she ran…”

His voice broke, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and her heart reached out for him. She hugged him even closer, her fingers weaving through his hair. “It’s okay to cry,” she whispered, feeling his body shake as he cried. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” They swayed together for a little while, his occasional sobs tearing through the silence.

She could hear the front door swing open and slam shut again, her husband’s footsteps, the creaking of the stairs. She was prepared to see him appear in the doorway, but couldn’t help feeling startled when he finally did.

His large, brown eyes were fixed on her accusing ones, the confused, hurt expression on his face betraying his cool composure. He took a step back, and, soundlessly, he retreated to the living room, doubtlessly turning on the radio.

Her son pulled away from her and - a little bit embarrassed - he rubbed his eyes dry, wiping away the tears. She ruffled his hair with a gentle gesture of her hand, and he smiled weakly. He reached out for her face, standing on the tips of his toes, and his small hand kindly brushed over her cheeks. Surprised, she felt the clammy wetness of tears on her face.

She’d been crying as well.

She smiled lovingly at him as he carefully withdrew himself from her arms. The clattering sounds of her husband gathering cutlery and plates reminded her of the dinner she still had to cook, and she ambled over to the door.

“Mom?”

She paused and turned around, awaiting his question patiently. He watched her, unsure, lost.

“Did you… did you ever forgive him? Have you forgiven father?”

Hesitating, she stood still. She could hear Philip’s low voice, singing along with the radio, and smiled feebly.

“I believe I have,” she said, aware of the significance of what she was saying. “I believe I have.”
<center>***</center>

Germany, March 1933

They lay in bed, quiet. He didn’t hold her. She couldn’t remember the last time he had. They hadn’t shared a moment of intimacy for a long time, not once since his misstep. She could tell that he wasn’t asleep, though. His breathing was too irregular, and there were the exceptional sighs that betrayed his relaxed, sleepy form.

“Max said Liz cried today,” she said, speaking without planning to. Her voice wavered a little; the words lingered in the silent room.

“It’s for his own good, Diane.”

“I know.”

She opened her mouth again, intending to say something, but still unsure how to put it into words.

“Don’t you… Don’t you feel sorry for her?”

He turned – the mattress creaked under his shifting weight – and looked at her. “No, I don’t. Why should I?”

“Don’t you care?” she asked, puzzled.

“I don’t care about them, Diane.”

“Don’t pretend, Philip. I remember Christina,” she said, and – even to her own surprise – she spoke the name without a sense of jealousy, hatred or hurt. Maybe she hadn’t been lying to Max when she’d told him she’d forgiven Philip for everything he’d done. Maybe she hadn’t been lying at all.

He didn’t speak, silenced by the name, the memories it brought with it. He switched sides again and turned his back to her, making it obvious he no longer wanted to discuss this matter with her.

“I just feel so sorry for both of them,” she continued inexorably, placing her hand on top of his shoulder. “Don’t you?”

Uttering an exasperated sigh, he shook her hand off his body. “Think of Max’s future, Diane. Think of our future. What happened last week… It could happen again.”

“He only did what he thought was right,” she defended her son. “He did it to protect his friend.”

“By telling those men that he was the mayor’s son, that I would get them arrested for harassing a Jew?” Philip scornfully said, confused by his wife’s behavior. “Diane, we need to follow the government. They can't even get the faintest clue, the faintest idea that I might sympathize with Jews. Max can't go telling people things that aren't true! I can't let him interact with Jews when my policies should be against that! If I went against the rules… they would fire me, Diane. They have the power. The Enabling Law granted them all the power they could ever desire.”

“I know,” she quietly relented. “I know. It’s just… It hurts him so much, Philip. It hurts him so much… And it pains me, too…”

He turned around once more, and gazed upon her. Her perfect features had been marred by the years, the pain and the bitterness, but they still were beautiful. Blue eyes sparkled with the fervor of youth, and he felt the beginning of a smile on his lips. How long had it been since he had last smiled? The fluttering feeling of the love he’d once felt for her, flared up as quickly as it had fled all those years ago, and he tremulously reached for her face. His index finger traced her face; the face he hadn’t truly seen for such a long time.

“If Christina… if she hadn’t… passed away… would you…” Diane started, on the border of tears for the second time that day, but he placed his finger on her lips, fearing to answer that question. What if Christina hadn't died? Would he still be here, with her? Or would he have left her and their children?

He didn’t know.

“Don’t ask,” he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. “Just don't...”

He couldn’t cry.

Mayors didn’t cry.

“I love you, Diane,” he said truthfully, praying that it would be enough. She granted him a small smile and uncertainly snuggled closer to him. He hesitated and finally wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer.

“I love you, too,” she whispered. “I love you, too…”

<center>Chapter 7</center>

Germany, August 1934

She sat in their little backyard, her slender legs folded underneath her small form. A few strands of her dark hair were lifted by the wind, dancing lightly on the late summer breeze, even though she’d tried to tuck them behind her ears more than once. Her eyes were closed as she sat there, listening to the song the birds were singing, a symphony slowly drifting towards her, lingering in the air around her, mingling with the sweet aroma of resin and lilacs.

The soft, long grass tickled her bare feet and the skin of her ankles that stuck out of her too small skirt. She’d grown fast over the last two years – though she still was very short and skinny – and her family couldn’t afford any new clothing. Not in these difficult times.

Growing tired of playing with her hair, the breeze turned its attention to the book that lay in her lap, old and thick, its cover tattered and wrinkled. Soft gusts of the wind turned over the pages, one by one, and strange, difficult letters of a foreign language flew by. A language she was still trying to understand, even though she didn’t want to learn it. After all, it was part of what made her so different from the others. It was what made her an outsider, what prevented the others from accepting her.

She dug her toes into the dark sand, not caring about the dirt, and stretched lazily. Just a few more weeks of holiday awaited her, and then she would have to return to school. Same class, same children, a new teacher. That was what scared her. The last two school years, Mr. Connor had been her teacher. He’d helped her with her homework, had comforted her when even Kurt – Kurt, the class's least popular kid – had refused to sit next to her. Mr. Connor been nothing but kind to her, but the principal had decided to replace him with another teacher. Now he would teach the first graders, and someone else would be teaching their class.

Muffled voices drew her attention, and she opened her eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight. Her parents stood in the kitchen, talking hurriedly, with frantic gestures. Pushing herself upright, she stood up and straightened her skirt. With her book in one hand, she tiptoed to the window and perched her ears, curious what her parents were discussing.

“… is not unimportant, Nancy! Yes, we knew it would happen sooner or later, and yes, he already was Hitler’s puppet and did as Hitler wanted to begin with, but now…”

“Jeffrey, he was old. He died. Things like that happen! Don’t make it look worse than it is, please…”

Liz held her breath and raised her head, daring to cast a glance through the window. Her mother was sitting on a kitchen chair, her head in her hands, fingers in her hair. Her father seemed to be pacing through the room, taking one step after the other, pivoting on his heels, changing direction and taking more steps.

“He has absolute power now. He is Commander-in-Chief, Head of the State, Führer, President!” her dad spat out the words with venomous hatred. “Nothing will stop him now, Nancy, nothing…

He suddenly sounded very defeated, the anger dispersing from his voice.

“Jeff… let’s not worry too much, shall we? You don’t expect more events like the ones that happened in May last year, do you?”

Frowning, Liz wondered what her mother was talking about. She still remembered what happened in May – of course she did. It had been on a Wednesday, when she got home early, and her father had been panicking, something he seemed to do often lately. Some important books had been burnt, and her dad had been furious, talking about politics, oppositions and dictatorial stuff. She never understood the fuss he had made about it.

“… only the beginning. Have you heard how he speaks about us, about the ill, about the gypsies? Have you seen what he’s done with his own people, on the Night of the Long Knives? He’s sick, I’m telling you. Did you know that one of his men – I believe his name was Schultze – declared sterilization of people with hereditary diseases insufficient? Did you know that he was actually pleading for euthanasia?

Her frown grew larger; her brows knitted together, a wrinkle appearing in her forehead. She’d never heard her father use so many difficult words in so few sentences. What did they mean?

“… let them hear you, sweetheart. We’ll be all right. It’s Liz I’m worried about at the moment…”

Her mother’s filtered words made her strain her ears even further, and she listened more carefully. Her father ambled over to the window however, and she was forced to take a step back so that he wouldn’t notice her.

“… no friends… a new teacher… survive?”

Indignation made her heart pound faster. She had friends! Maria was her friend, and so were Mr. Connor, and Kyle, and Aunt Caroline, and… and Max. She still regarded Max as her friend. They never talked, they didn’t walk home like they used to, they didn’t do anything together, but she watched him. She watched him, and she could see him watch her. They were still friends, or so she liked to think.

“Jim told me Mr. Rendall was a good guy. He won’t be too hard on her.”

“I hope so,” her mother quiet response came. “I really do hope so.”

<center>***</center>

Germany, June 1935

Her hair rested on her back, bound together in a tight ponytail. Her tongue would occasionally dart out her mouth as she wrote down the desired answers. Her gaze was focused, pensive, and nothing, not even Nat and Kurt’s fight, could disturb her.

He remembered how he used to sit next to her, every day of the week, every week of the year. He’d never seen these things before. He’d never paid any attention to them. But now, now that she was so close and yet so far away from him, he saw them. He noticed how she would bite the end of her pencil when she was thinking very hard. He noticed how she would smile when Maria would turn around to ask her something.

And it pained him.

It pained him so much.

All he wanted to do was walk up to her, tell her about Sugar and see her compassionate face. He wanted her to embrace him, comfort him and tell him everything would be okay. But he couldn’t.

He just couldn’t.

<center>***</center>

“What happened to Max?” Liz curiously asked Maria as they sat down on the playgrounds, a little bit aloof from the others. “Why does he look so…”

“So sad?” Maria finished for her, letting some grains of sand slip through her fingers. “Sugar died, the day before yesterday. He was hit by a car, Max said.”

Liz's face fell as she turned to look at him. He wasn’t playing soccer with the other guys like he usually did, but sat beneath the large oak, shoving at the dark sand with both of his feet. Filtered sunlight illuminated his face, but he seemed to ignore it, trying to creep back into the darker shadows. “Really?” she asked, but not because she doubted Maria’s words.

She just didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah. He told me this morning. His father wanted to buy a new dog, but Max doesn’t want another one. He just wants Sugar back.”

Liz didn’t allow herself to feel envious at Maria for knowing what was going on in Max’s life, for being able to talk to him, play with him, but instead, she concentrated on Max’s lonely figure.

“My dad says you can’t go to the pool with us. Why not?”

“They don’t let Jews in anymore,” Liz said, dismissing the question with a simple wave of her hand. “Haven’t you seen the signs? Juden Verboten.”

Maria was quiet for a little while and then shook her head. “Where will you be staying, then? Will you go home?”

Tearing her gaze away from her former friend, she gazed upon Maria. “I’ll stay at school until you come back,” she said silently. “Mr. Rendall gave me some books and pencils, so I won’t be bored.”

“That sucks.”

Liz snickered lightly at her use of language, and shrugged. “It’s not that bad. Kyle, Pieter and Gerard will be staying at school as well, but I think they’ll have to stay in their own classroom.”

Grimacing, Maria drew a flower in the sand, the leaves long but drooping. Liz thought it looked like a wilting rose, or a withered daisy.

“That’s okay, though,” she continued quietly. “I don't mind being alone.”

<center>***</center>

Her pencil flew over the yellowed paper, the appearing charcoal lines slowly becoming more than just lines. Nothing could be heard in the empty, barely lit classroom, nothing but the creaking of her chair and the scraping of her pencil. Some rays of sunlight managed to shine through the dark curtains and helped her with her task, illuminating the sheet of paper.

Soon, a picture unfolded itself in front of her. The image wasn’t perfect. She never had been really good at drawing, though she’d never been bad at it, either. Some lines and shades shouldn’t be where they were. Some dots were too dark, while others were too light.

But it didn’t matter. She was content with it, and that was all she cared about. If she liked it, then he would like it as well.

With jaunty swirls, she wrote down his name. She carefully folded the paper, wrote an ‘L’ on the bottom of the paper and put it into his desk. Then she grabbed her books and hurriedly started doing the homework she had been assigned.

<center>***</center>

“Oh, don’t be such a coward!” Maria called to him, splashing a handful of water in his face. He dived under water, and came up, sputtering.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he menacingly said, but his grin betrayed him. He never could be angry at her. She was merely a wisp of a girl, but held so much spirit inside of her. He never was able to keep up with her, and in many ways, she made him feel closer to Liz.

She wasn’t there with them. Somehow, that made him feel relieved, but it also made him feel empty. Maria had tried to explain why she wasn’t there, but he still didn’t understand. It didn’t make any sense. Last year, she had gone to the pool with them. Why couldn’t she go this year?

He wrapped his arm around Maria and together they wrestled until both of them disappeared under the water. When they broke to the surface, they struggled to get the other under water again, laughing and screaming.

It almost was fun, but not quite.

They walked back to school in rows of two. He walked alone, needing some time to think. He missed Sugar so badly. When he had come home yesterday, he’d half expected Sugar to be at the door to welcome him, even though he knew his dog was dead and would never come back.

“Come on, kids! Don’t push! Christel, stop pulling Amanda’s hair!”

It seemed as if Mr. Rendall was having a hard time controlling them, and Max couldn’t suppress a smirk. Mr. Connor never had had any trouble with that.

Liz was already in their classroom, waiting for them. Her eyes met his, as if they’d been searching them, but she soon diverted her gaze. He slipped onto his chair and lifted the leaf of his table to get his books.

A slip of paper lay above his own papers and books, and he curiously picked it up and unfolded it. Curly letters spelled Sugar, and stood next to the picture of a small dog with too large ears. Sugar, his Sugar. His lower lip trembled slightly as he turned the paper around, trying to see if there was something else written, something more that he should know.

The paper was signed with a small ‘L’ at one of his corners. His eyes wandered to where she was seated, her face turned away from him. Looking back at the picture, he folded it again. With tears in his eyes, he carefully put it into the pocket of his blouse and took his books.

He would find a way to thank her, he promised himself.

<center>***</center>

Germany, June 1935

She was the first to enter the classroom. She always was. She liked sitting there, all alone, coated by the darkness. She preferred it to being outside, with children that didn’t even want to talk to her, let alone play with her.

When she opened her desk, her eye fell on two flowers, bound together by a red ribbon. She recognized them – they came out of Mr. Connor’s yard – and the beginning of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her fingers gingerly stroked the velvety petals and she laid it aside so that her books wouldn’t crush it.

The school bell rang and the sounds of children screaming and running filled the school. She quickly took her homework and closed her desk, not willing to share their secret with anyone else.

Max soon entered the classroom with some of his new friends. His gaze immediately crossed hers, and she favored him with a small, grateful smile. His mouth didn’t smile back, but his eyes did.

She knew his eyes.

They never lied.

<center>Chapter 8</center>

He lazily ran his fingers through her hair, not caring about their differences, the opinions of others. Here they were, lying together, breathing as one, doing everything he’d ever dreamt of. He loved her. He knew that for sure. He’d never love another woman the way he loved her. That’s why he had to do this. That’s why he had to ask.

“Love?”

His voice was unsteady, more nervous than he’d meant for it to be, but he ignored it. He had to get this out.

“Hmm?” she quietly asked, her head upon his chest, her eyes closed.

Nervousness was making him nauseous now. Maybe he should ask her at once, to get it over with, but he was sure she wouldn’t like that. Girls liked romantic things. They wanted this whole sweet speech before a proposal. It’s what they dreamt of ever since they were children.

“I…” he forced the word out of his throat, and pulled her body closer to his, needing to feel her naked skin against his. She smiled knowingly – how he loved that smile – and looked at him from beneath her eyelashes, studying his form. It was dark in the room. Not the night time-kind-of darkness. More like twilight darkness. They could see each other, but the colors somehow seemed… muted, as if they no longer existed, and silhouettes were all that had been left.

Her hand reached for his face and touched it lovingly. A soft caress. A playful pinch. He swallowed, knowing that it would destroy him if she said no. She couldn’t say no. She just couldn’t.

She shifted slightly and kissed his cheeks, his chin, his nose.

His lips.

He closed his eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of her velvety lips on his skin.

It might be the last time.

“I love you,” he whispered as she kissed the skin below his ear, her small hands on his chest, her cheek resting against his. Her soft curls teasingly tickled his chin, and he could remember that one time that he’d loved another girl. That time… a long way back in history, when things had been different.

“Love… I’ll be gone soon… I’m leaving…”

Her movements froze and she slowly lifted her head – just the reaction he’d expected. She looked at him sadly. “You’re leaving?” she echoed, her bright blue eyes begging him to say it wasn't so.

He didn’t.

“Yes. Maybe next month, or next year. My parents will go as well.”

“But… but where?” she asked, hurt evident in her voice, in her every word.

“We’ll go to Belgium. Or Holland. Great-Britain, perhaps, if they’ll have us.” His fingers drew small ellipses on her back, absent-mindedly creating all kinds of shapes and patterns.

“Oh.”

That was all she said.

‘Oh.’

He didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing.

“I’d like you to come with me,” he said tremulously, trying to gauge her reaction. She looked at him funnily, thoughtful. “You would?”

He nodded, his hand momentarily leaving her back as he reached for the ring he’d kept hidden behind his pillow.

“Tess… I know it’s not safe. It will never be. You and I… people just don’t understand. But my parents do, as do yours. I… I wish everything could be different. I wish we could stay here,” he said. “Honestly, I do. But we can’t. I just… I can’t bear to lose you.”

He achingly thought back of his former love, of how he’d lost her a couple of years ago. He still saw the river, the thin black ice, the dark, cold water…

“Marry me,” he whispered, choking on his own words as he suppressed all other thoughts. She was quiet, shocked, and he gazed at her face, trying to fathom what she was thinking. “Please,” he added, pleading with her, with God, with everything and everyone. He had to have this. He had to have her with him.

He held his breath.

He held his breath and waited.

“I don’t…” she started, closing her eyes. He watched as a silvery tear gathered salty water in the corner of her eye, as it gained weight, surrendered to gravity and fell.

He let out a shuddering, disappointed breath. “I understand,” he said, trying to sound soothing, to be supportive. “I’d understand it if you can't leave your family. I'd understand it if you wouldn't want to go with me, with my family.”

He tried to appear calm while his insides were squirming, writhing and twisting, churning, while his throat was clogging up and his eyes burnt with tears. He tried not to notice how drained his heart felt, how sadness seemed to swallow him. It started in his insides, really. It slowly nibbled away at his heart and at his lungs, taking away the ability to breathe, to live, to feel and then it worked its way upwards, to his mind.

He was sure it wouldn’t stop until every part of his body had been left numb and broken.

“No,” she breathed out, her eyebrows drawn into a frown. Not a pensive one. One that told of despair, he finally concluded. He did not dare to feel the fleeting sensation of hope once more. “It’s…” she smiled, but cried as well.

It was confusing.

“I… Yes,” she said.

Now he was the one to frown. “Yes?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile, wiping the wetness from her cheeks. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He looked at her quizzically for a couple of more seconds until reality finally managed to work its way into his mind.

“You will?” he stammered, disbelieving. She sniffled once, and her smile lightened up her face, and his as well.

“Yes, I will.”

He laughed from the sheer delight he felt at that moment, and pressed a loving kiss on her forehead. “You’ll go with me?”

She nodded excitedly, though not without remorse. “I will.”

“We can’t get married until we get out of here, so if-” he started apologetically, but she interrupted him.

“I know. We’ll get married wherever we’ll end up.”

He smiled, feeling incredibly lucky. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you so very much.”

“Thank you,” she softly replied as she relaxed against his body, entangled her legs with his. “Thank you, Alan.”

<center>***</center>

Germany, Dachau, October 1935

“Go on!”

Trevor hesitated. It was strange to be free again. Very strange. What was he supposed to do with all the time he’d been given? Where should he go?

He took a small, doubtful step forwards and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his thin jacket. Summer definitely had left the country, the sun now weak and far away in the milky-white sky. Trees were starting to lose their warmly colored leaves, now crisp and dry under his feet.

His eyes, hollow and tired, searched the horizon.

Should he go left, or right?

Or maybe, he should just go forward. Whatever road would take him away from here.

He had no idea what way would lead him home. He didn’t even know if his home was still where it used to be. He doubted it. He’d been gone for… how long now? Two years? Three? He'd forgotten. It was easy to lose track of time when you were in Dachau.

He'd seen several people come and go.

Now he had gone.

Strange that – even when you look forward to something so ardently, so passionately – it can still take you by surprise. Strange that – when it actually happens – it’s not as great as you thought it would be.

Strange.

Everything was strange. He was a stranger to himself. He'd caught sight of his reflection when he had stepped over a shallow pool of rain water. His hair had been messy, his face pale and hollow, his eyes empty.

Maybe he was the one being strange, and the rest was still normal. Maybe nothing had changed.

Nothing except him.
Last edited by Anais Nin on Mon Jun 14, 2004 7:27 am, edited 5 times in total.
<center>...endless so far in myself, follow me...
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Anais Nin
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Post by Anais Nin »

<center>Chapter 9</center>

Germany, October 1935

Rain fell down on the windows in a steady rhythm, momentarily growing louder and then softening again. The Parkers’ living room was illuminated by a single table-lamp, the light warm and homely. Sabbath had just ended – it began and ended with the setting of the sun – but the quietness and peace was still present. Nancy was lying on the couch, her head in his lap, with her eyes closed, listening to some slow song on the radio. Kyle and Caroline were playing a board game, quietly but kindheartedly bickering.

His daughter sat at the large, wooden table - her feet not quite reaching the ground - as she was doing homework. A little frown and some wrinkles on her forehead showed her concentration and told of her confusion. Jeff kissed the crown of Nancy’s head, lifted it out of his lap, stood up and carefully laid it back onto the couch.

“Do you need any help?” he asked Liz as he bent forward to see what she was doing. “Ah, mathematics…”

He laughed softly when his daughter grimaced and looked up at him, her big, innocent eyes pleading for him to help her.

“A bomber aircraft on take-off carries 12 dozen bombs. Each bomb weighs 10 kilos,” he read out loud, shaking his head disapprovingly. Why did they have add such a violent context to simple math exercises?

“It takes off for Warsaw, the international center of Jewry…” he trailed off as he read the sentence again and again. He couldn’t believe that was really what it said. Was their teacher crazy? How could he give his daughter this kind of homework? He slowly became aware of his own trembling hands, of the angering impotence he felt, of the fury that raged through his veins.

“Daddy?”

Liz looked up at him, expecting him to read on. Didn’t she understand what this what about? Didn’t she see how humiliating, how insulting it was? He scraped his throat once before he read on.

“It… bombs the town. On take-off, with all the bombs on board and a full tank containing 100 kilos of fuel, the aircraft weighs 80.000 kilos. When it returns from its crusade, the tank is empty, and all bombs have been dropped. What is the weight of the aircraft when empty?”

His daughter nodded apprehensively, and nibbled at her pencil. He gently took it out of her mouth and laid it down. “I don’t understand it, dad,” she said, sounding unsettled about it. He managed to conjure up a small smile and ruffled her hair. Pulling up a chair so that he could sit next to her, he started explaining the exercise. She soon understood what she had to do, and proudly beamed up at him when they were done, and she had found the answer.

“Well done, peanut,” he teasingly said, and turned over the page, in some twisted way feeling curious to see what the next exercise would be about.

“To keep a mentally ill person alive, costs approximately four Marks a day. There are 300.000 mentally ill people in care. How much do these people cost in total?”

“That one’s easy,” she exclaimed, her face lighting up. He suppressed the sick feeling that started to spread in his belly and smiled lightly, determined not to ruin his daughter’s good mood, or ruin the cozy atmosphere.

He definitely had to have a word about this with Jim.

<center>***</center>

“Jeff, you don’t understand… It’s not Rendall’s fault; the school council and the principal are just doing what the government tells them to do.”

Jeffrey shook his head, amazed by the absurdity of the situation. “Don’t you think it’s ridiculous? Liz is making exercises about killing Jews, about applying euthanasia to the mentally ill. It’s insane!”

“It’s reality,” Jim quietly spoke. “Biology no longer teaches of plants, or animals. It’s about races and purity of blood. History goes on and on about how Jews were the ones that made us lose the war. Somehow, they manage to integrate this all into our education.”

“It poisons the minds of innocent children, that’s what it does. It’s barbaric.”

“Have you heard the latest political news the NSDAP has been spreading?” Jim asked as he took his two loaves of bread from the counter. He was the only Aryan customer the Parkers had left, and their profit margins had plummeted. They barely managed to make enough money to pay their mortgage.

Jeff shook his head, knowing he didn’t want to hear what was coming next.

“Abortion of children with hereditary diseases up to the sixth month of pregnancy, that’s what they want to do now,” Jim informed him. “I just can’t see how Rome can agree with this. The Pope really must have lost his mind…”

“Everybody in this godforsaken country has lost their mind,” Jeffrey said, sounding bitter. “Forbidding people who love one another to marry each other… Killing innocent, unborn babies… It’s strange how much power a man can have, just because he has a way with words. How he can change the world, just because he can put so much passion behind his lies.”

“It is,” Jim agreed. “Words are more dangerous than weapons, Jeff. That’s what my dad used to say decades ago, and it obviously is still true.”

<center>***</center>

“And here, we play soccer. Over there, the athletes have their weekly trainings, and the Hitler Jugend uses it to practice all other sorts of sports.”

Max nodded warily. It was a grand complex, the place where he’d been taken. The Deutsches Jungvolk, the German Young People, was situated here. His father had insisted that he join it, and he finally had given in to see what it was, and what the club did. Granted, it didn’t seem too bad. They did nice things, like going camping and sporting.

“So, what do you think, son?” the man asked him while rolling back his sleeves and revealing thin, but muscular arms. Max looked up, at his angular face, and shrugged. His father elbowed him softly, chastising him for this lack of enthusiasm.

“I think it’s great,” his father said, smiling at the man. “Max will love it here. Won’t you, Max?”

“Um… yeah,” Max said uninterestedly as he took another look around.

“Well, you shouldn’t get too attached to us,” the man joked – at least, Max assumed that he was joking, seeing the wink the man gave. “In three years you’ll have to leave us again, but believe me, the Hitler Jugend is even better.”

Max’s father smiled again – the smile had been stuck on his face for the last hour or so – and thanked the man.

When they left the grounds, he queried, “That wasn’t too bad, now was it?”

“It was okay,” Max said apathetically, not feeling too happy. He wasn’t really excited with the prospect of going there, even though a lot of his classmates would be going as well. His father had said that it would be good for his future, that he could only go to college if he did the right things, joined the right clubs. Even if it meant betraying the ones you loved.

That was what his father had said.

Even if you had betray the ones you loved.

<center>***</center>

Germany (Berlin), August 1936

“We can’t leave yet,” Alan disappointedly said – the first thing he uttered when he entered the room. “Too many people want to leave now, love.”

She sighed, slightly disheartened, but still embraced him. “How much longer, Alan?” There were tears in her voice, and he felt worse than he’d ever had before. They wanted to leave so badly, but there were many things they needed to take into consideration. He didn’t want to leave without being prepared for everything. He didn’t want to risk a single thing. They’d been planning for the last few months now, his parents helping them out with several things.

And then there were the complexities. Paris, his sister, had been publicly humiliated when the SA had found out about her relationship with Jordan, a gentile, an Aryan. Both of them had been forced to walk down the streets of their town with boards around their necks.

His sign had said something about how insane he’d been to date a Jewish girl, about being a pig that had been unable to suppress his urges. Hers had been even worse, calling her a whore that slept with every non-Jew she could get her hands on.

Paris had cried for days, had been distressed and upset. Jordan hadn’t wanted to see her, and had left her heartbroken, with nothing left but shame and embarrassment as reminders of their love. Alan had done his best to comfort and console her, but there was nothing he could do or say to make her feel better. She had been robbed of her spirit and heart, and no longer was really with them. Instead of living, she simply managed to survive.

“Alan?”

“What?” he asked tiredly, concentrating on his fiancée, his beautiful, sweet Tess. He didn’t know what he would do if they would find out about them. Would he leave her, so that she would be spared from humiliation? Would she finally start seeing him for what he was – a very much hated Jew – and leave him?

“How much longer, love?” she repeated her question, patiently looking up at him.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and held her close. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I have no idea…”

“But what about the Olympic Games?” she asked. “A lot of foreign athletes are here now. The anti-semetic signs are gone… temporarily. They don’t want the outside world to see what they’re doing, Alan. This is our chance. There just has to be a way to escape this country!”

“There probably is,” he said as he smiled to encourage both of them. It was not a smile of happiness or bliss, though. It expressed all the sadness he felt, how powerless they both knew they were.


Germany, March 1938

“What, don’t you like that, Jew?”

His friends laughed and jeered as they pushed against her, egging one another on, throwing her from one person to the other. Their hands intentionally grazed over her chest and when she tried to run, they pulled her back by her hair, forcing her back into their little circle. She kept her eyes tightly closed, silently enduring their cruel harassment.

It was always like this.

They would torment her, would call her names and would touch her where she didn’t want to be touched. He would stand aside, aloof from them, and he would watch.

Quiet, withdrawn and angry, inexplicably angry.

Sometimes he had this desire, this urge to just join his friends, to get rid of the tension inside of him, the gnawing guilt, the worries. He wanted to take it out on her, but knew she didn’t deserve it. Though she was a Jew, she’d never been anything but kind to him.

She knew him. She was the only one who knew him. He flinched inwardly, for some reason feeling soiled, blemished. He shouldn’t have these thoughts.

Not about her.

Not about a Jew.

“Max?”

He tore his eyes away from her and concentrated on Maria, who was standing next to him.

“What are they doing, Max?” she asked, her voice both accusing and disgusted.

He shrugged, pretending that he didn’t care. And he didn’t. He didn’t care.

Did he?

“I don’t know.”

“They’re hurting her, Max,” Maria persisted, bewildered. “God, she’s crying!”

Looking at Liz, he noticed the way her body shook with every sob. Glistening tears rolled down her cheeks as she wept, soundlessly. A pang of worry tore through him, but he remained unmoved on the outside.

“Won’t you do something?”

He heard the disbelief in Maria’s voice, saw the frown on her face, but still, he did not move. He saw how Liz opened her eyes and looked at him; silently accusing him. For what? He wasn’t doing anything!

“Max!” Maria was on the verge of tears now, her sparkling blue eyes filling up with tears. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t deal with this. Still, he did not move.

There was no one to help her.

Kyle had finished school last year. Mr. Connor was inside, correcting tests. Mr. Rendall was probably flirting with Miss Brooks, their new teacher.

Nobody would help her.

Maria shook her head, spilling furious tears, and ran towards his friends. And him? He did the only thing he could do.

He ran.

<center>***</center>

<center>Chapter 10</center>

Germany, March 1938

The cemetery was very much the same as it had been all those years ago. He knew it by heart; every ditch, every stone, every hiding place.

He knew that it would ruin his reputation if someone would see him here. But he wasn’t afraid. Everyone who knew him was either at school, or at work. No one would see him here. He could hide here, be himself here, let himself go.

He was safe here, among the graves and tombs.

He sat down beneath the willow tree, ducking slightly so that his head wouldn’t hit the drooping branches. They seemed to hang even lower than they had had last year, the wood stripped naked from its leaves, the scarce beginnings of blossom showing on few places.

Closing his eyes didn’t help.

He still saw her face, her eyes, accusing him. He found it difficult to breathe and tried to keep calm. It felt as if there was a large, boney hand on his throat, its grip slowly increasing, choking him.

He knew that feeling, but he wouldn’t cry.

Maybe a single tear, or two.

But he would not cry. Not like Maria had cried.

Not like Liz had cried.

<center>***</center>

Germany, March 1938

“Certain foreign newspapers have said that we fell on Austria with brutal methods. I can only say: even in death, they cannot stop lying. I have, in the course of my political struggle, won much love from my people, but when I crossed the former frontier, there met me such a stream of love as I have never experienced. Not as tyrants we have come, but as liberators. We have never ---”

Jim smirked as he turned off the radio, ignoring the pleading in Hitler's passionate voice, and took a bite of his sandwich. The long-expected Anschluss of Austria had finally happened. Germany had forced the Austrian Chancellor, Schuschnigg, to resign. Miklas, the Australian President, had refused to appoint Seyss-Inquart, a nationalist, as the new Chancellor, and had held out, even though Germany threatened to invade the country.

Seyss-Inquart had needed to appoint himself Chancellor, and on the morning of the twelfth of March, German troops had crossed the borders with Austria. Austria had been incorporated in the German Reich, and was renamed Ostmark. Now Seyss-Inquart reigned over the country, and not only Hitler, but most of the German-speaking inhabitants of Austria were very pleased by this.

Shaking his head, Jim read through the next test. It was strange to be teaching fifth-graders again, after teaching first-graders for so long. There was so much work to correct, and the children were a lot harder to control.

“Dad! Dad!”

His head shot up, and he looked at the door opening, startled to have his eyes meet his crying daughter as she held Liz, merely a slip of a girl.

“Maria?”

“Dad, please help her?” Maria cried, hugging Liz close.

“Maria?”

He was unable to utter another word, to form another sentence as he looked down at them.

“Dad!”

He quickly reached for Liz and sat her down on his chair. She kept her eyes downcast, her face turned away from him. Wet tear streaks crossed her cheeks, clean paths through the dirt and mud that covered her face. Her otherwise so glossy hair was tangled and sticky, and he felt something rip him apart.

“What happened?” he stammered as he placed his hands on Liz’s face, making her look up at him. “The guys… they were harassing her…” Maria whispered thickly, sitting down on his desk.

Frowning, he looked down in Liz’s eyes, distrust and fear clearly present in them. He remembered how innocent and naïve they’d once looked at him, how they had laughed at him, how proudly they’d watched him when he had complimented her on her work. “Maria, get me a wet washcloth, please,” he commanded his daughter, shooting a doubtful glance at the clock. They had five more minutes until the lunch break would be over, and children would enter the classroom again.

“Who did this to you?” he asked quietly, but she bit her lower lip – it trembled slightly – and refused to answer him. “Liz… I want to help you… Tell me who did this…” he tried to convince her.

“I can’t…” she whispered, fighting against the tears. “I can’t…”

“Here.” Maria, who’d entered the room without making the quietest of sounds, handed him the washcloth. He carefully wiped the dirt off Liz’s face and caressed her cheeks, an immense sense of sorrow washing over him. How could they do this to her, to a defenseless, little girl? What had she ever done to deserve this?

There wasn’t much he could do about it. Even if he did know who’d tormented her, he couldn’t punish them for it. It was all so unfair, so very, very unfair.

“Don’t let them get to you,” he said, his voice barely more than a sigh, and he placed a kiss on her forehead. “You can eat your lunch inside from now on, with me and Maria.”

She looked up at him, a brief, grateful expression passing over her face, and slipped off the desk. “Thank you, Mr. Connor,” she said quietly, and took Maria’s hand. Together they left the classroom, and Jim finally sat down again, feeling surreal.

He suddenly seemed tired, very tired, drained even. A lump in his throat made it hard for him to swallow as he realized how messed up their world was.

<center>***</center>

Author’s Note: I in no way want to offend any follower of any religion by writing this chapter. I’m sorry if I do.

<center>Chapter 11</center>

Germany, March 1938

The gate opened, the movement accompanied by a loud, creaking sound as the heavy iron turned in its rusted hinges. His rapid footsteps were silenced by the long grass and wavy, ranking weeds.

Beth Olam, she had called it. House of Eternity, House of Life.

He held eight flowers in his hands. Eight long-stemmed daffodils. One for every year she’d been gone. One for every new spring since her passing. He was the only one who ever brought her any flowers. Her grave was the only grave in the whole cemetery to have flowers.

Carefully avoiding looking at the lonesome tree on top of the hill – for some reason, it always seemed to fill him with an inexplicable sense of sadness – he crouched down beside her grave in order to feel closer to her. Moss had covered the tomb, and he briefly attempted to scratch it off the granite. A nail broke, and he pulled his hand back, letting it fall to his side. Her gravesite was covered in stones, again. He removed some stones and placed them so that he could put his flowers right in front of her name.

It had been so long. Too long. She’d been gone for too long. Eight years; it seemed like an eternity. How long he’d known her, he could not tell. Thirty years, perhaps. It seemed so short, so much shorter than the time she’d been away, so much shorter than the years he’d been without her.

And how long he’d loved her, he couldn't say either. Long before he’d met Diane, he’d fallen for her, and even after his marriage, he’d kept loving her, completely aware of the sinfulness of it. He hadn’t been able to help it.

Christina… She’d been so beautiful, so utterly beautiful… Long, wavy hair that would shine just for him, cast that lovely reddish glow on her face, and her vivid green eyes that would sparkle, glisten whenever he was around. He still wouldn’t believe that she was gone. He could summon her face in front of him in an instant; he could feel her reaching out for him in the middle of the night. There were times that he swore he could hear, feel her soft breath against his neck.

But she had died. It had started as a harmless cold. Rain had soaked her when she’d been on her way to meet him, and she hadn’t been given the time to dry properly. Soon, it became so much more than just a cold. Pneumonia, the doctor had declared. Not necessarily fatal, but in her case, it had been.

He had told Diane about her two weeks after her passing. It hadn’t come as a complete surprise to her, she’d told him afterwards. It pained him to know that she’d had her suspicions about it all along. How doubtful she must have lived, how hurt she must have been… She hadn’t deserved all of this. She was a good woman, a perfect wife, and yet, he’d never been able to love her as heartily and earnestly as he’d loved Christina.

As he rearranged the flowers, he took a deep breath and released it slowly. He sat down, pulled up his knees and laid his tired head upon them. Some tears fell and slowly dripped to the ground. He watched the dry ground gulping them down greedily. Eight years… So long… It had been so long…

His gaze was drawn to the tree, as if he wanted to punish himself, torture himself with the immense sadness he knew he would feel. It startled him to see a familiar figure beneath the willow, crumpled up, as if he had collapsed, fallen to the ground on that very spot.

“Max?” he called quietly, not willing to break the still atmosphere of the cemetery, to disturb the dead.

His son looked up, his eyes red and swollen.

“Have you been crying?” he asked, his voice unsteady and unsure.

Max stood up and walked down the hill, toward him. “No,” he said. They both knew he was lying. “You?”

“No,” Philip shamelessly lied. “No, I haven’t cried.”

His son nodded and kept his eyes on his face. Philip knew what he saw there. Tears that had been spilled a few seconds ago.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” he asked, as if he’d only realized that that very second.

Max shrugged. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m having lunch,” Philip replied. “Your break, on the other hand, ended forty minutes ago. What are you doing here?”

Another shrug was the only reply he got. Somehow, that little shrug really got to him, and he knew that his son could see that. “You’re going back to school, young man,” Philip said, his voice unfamiliarly stern.

Max didn’t acknowledge his words, but just stared at him. “You didn’t move the stones, did you?” he asked, and Philip followed his gaze, looking down on Christina’s grave.

“No. No, I did not. Why?”

“I thought I saw you do it. You shouldn’t do that. They’re put there by visitors,” Max said as they slowly started making their way out of the cemetery.

“Visitors put stones on the graves?” Philip repeated, puzzled.

“Yeah, they do.”

“But… why?”

His son shrugged and looked back at the graveyard. “I don’t know,” he earnestly replied. “I just heard that.”

With his gaze lingering on Christina’s tomb, he gave his son a short nod. Placing stones on someone’s grave… that wasn’t such a bad idea.

Whereas flowers wilted in heavy weather and rain, stones would survive.

Stones would endure.

Stones would make it through the hard times.

Stones did not feel.

<center>***</center>

“Mr. Williams, give me three things that make us despise Jewry.”

“Just three, sir?” came Martin’s smug reply.

“Just three, Mr. Williams, just three.”

She could feel Martin's eyes on her, she could practically hear his satisfied smirk. She hated this. She hated this so much. And, as if to make things worse, she couldn’t keep her eyes off Max’s empty seat. She couldn’t help worrying, wondering where he was.

“Well, they brought the Black Death with them, sir, and spread diseases. They stole our jobs and money, and at night, they steal our children and eat them during religious feasts. And… um, they brutally murdered the Lord, sir.”

“Very well, Mr. Williams. Now, why you think they murdered the Lord?”

Martin shrugged, slightly offended. “I can’t phantom the thinking of a Jew, sir.”

She knew what was going to come before she had looked up at her teacher’s face. She knew what he was going to ask.

“Let’s ask someone who can, then. Miss Parker?”

She quietly twiddled her thumbs and refused to meet his gaze.

“Miss Parker? Why did you crucify the Lord?”

“I don’t know, sir,” she silently replied, fearing her teacher’s reaction. Why did he have to ask her this? Why couldn’t he ask her something difficult about mathematics, or biology?

She hated racial studies. He knew that.

“You don’t know?” Mr. Rendall laughed bitterly. “Of course you know! You’re a Jew; they must have taught you!”

She sighed and stared up at him, reluctantly meeting his gaze. She still was afraid to voice her opinion, but she had no choice. It was either that, or receiving her teacher’s wrath.

“It didn’t happen, sir. We never did crucify him.”

“How strange, Miss Parker. See, our Bible says that it did happen.”

“Your Bible also tells of a man walking on water,” she snapped, not knowing what came over her. “You don’t believe that either, do you? Those stories, they are myths, sir, myths with a moral.”

Mr. Rendall crossed the room in three large steps and braced himself on her table, his face just inches away from hers. “I don’t want to hear that in my classroom, Miss Parker. I don’t care what you think or what you believe, as long as you keep it quiet.” His voice was lower than usual and had a threatening tone to it that scared her. “Go to the principal. I’ll discuss this with him later on.”

Keeping her eyes downcast, she gathered her books, ignoring the amused whispers around her. Maria smiled sympathetically at her, while Martin almost laughed out loud. She refused the urge to slam the door shut – she didn’t need to fuel her teacher’s anger any further – and ambled over to the principal’s office.

Max sat on the bench in the hallway, she noticed when she walked up in front of the office. She felt vaguely relieved to know that he was okay, but she refused to have her gaze cross his.

He hadn't helped her. He hadn't stood up for her.

They sat there in a strange, compatible silence for a while, not saying anything, but knowing that they weren’t alone. She studied the wall in front of her and tried to hear what the principal was saying to some sixth-grader. Suddenly she felt a hand in her hair, sifting through it as if searching something. She turned her head around, and looked Max in the eye. He held a small leaf between his fingers, crumpled, dirty and stained with dry mud.

“It was in your hair,” he apologized. She nodded, not knowing what else to do. She wanted to confront him – why hadn’t he helped her? – she wanted to ask him where he’d been, and she wanted to say she was sorry – for what she did not know – she wanted to yell at him... but she didn’t.

All she did was stare at him, wondering why he had just stood there, why he hadn’t stopped them.

The sixth-grader left the office, and the principal appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Evans?” he asked, his voice apathetic. Max stood up, a small smile forming upon his lips. She didn’t smile back. She couldn’t. Too much was going on.

She looked at him for a little longer, and suddenly she was alone, on her own, in an empty hallway. His presence was missed the instant he’d gone.

<center>***</center>
Last edited by Anais Nin on Mon Mar 01, 2004 2:19 pm, edited 4 times in total.
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Post by Anais Nin »

<center>Chapter 12</center>

Germany (Berlin), October 1938

Alan quickened his pace to match the large steps the police officer was taking. Worry nagged at the darkest corners of his mind, but he refused to acknowledge it. The officer was just taking him to the station, where they would check his residence status. There was nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about at all.

He had barely gotten the chance to tell Tess where he was going. She’d wanted to come with him, but he’d told her to stay home, with her parents. It was better that way. Even though nothing would happen, it gave him comfort to know that she would be safe.

Other Jews were at the station. Some sat in the few chairs the station possessed, others sat on the floor. “Why have we been arrested?” a young woman asked. She carried a small baby on her arm, its tiny fists clutching a strand of her dark, glossy hair between its fingers. It was sleeping fitfully, unaware of what was going on.

Nobody answered the woman’s question.

That night, they were forced to board a bus. It was dark, and the baby that had been quiet during the whole event woke up when the truck screeched to a halt. It started crying, and didn’t stop until they had reached their destination: jail.

Alan carefully studied the expressions of the others. Exhaustion, anger, sadness, confusion… he knew that all of those could be seen on his face as well. Several men entered the room, high officers, or generals – Alan didn’t know.

“The Polish Government canceled citizenship of Polish Jews living in Germany,” one of the men started. “We don’t need stateless Polish Jews; we have enough German Jews as it is. Now, when your name is called, step forward and show us your passport.”

He looked around, and his questioning eyes were met by silent faces and hesitant nods.

“Very well,” the man said. He started listing off names, and Alan held his breath, praying his name wouldn’t pass the man’s lips.

“Alan Fraser?”

Standing up from his cot, Alan identified himself and handed the man his passport. It had a “J” on it, what marked him a Jew. The officer crossed out the residential permit with a red pencil and gave the passport back.

“Sabine Von Gessel?”

Alan didn’t move. One of the police officers pushed him away, down onto the cell’s cot. He blankly looked at his passport, at the red cross. Go back to Poland? He couldn’t remember a single thing about Poland. He had been three years old when his parents had emigrated to Germany. He didn’t even speak Polish.

And what about Tess? How could he leave her? Was there any way to contact her, to let her know where he’d gone? Before he had had any time to contemplate his options, they were taken away and led back to the trucks that would take them to the train station.

It was a long ride, and the baby’s cries kept everyone wide awake. They arrived at the station early in the morning, the red of the rising sun barely visible above the horizon.

The train awaited them, its black locomotive proudly glistening in morning’s dew.

<center>***</center>

France (Paris), October 1933

The gun went of easily. He just needed to pull the trigger, and a bullet would be fired. His parents’ deportation would be revenged. He wouldn’t get his parents back, but it would bring him satisfaction, he was sure.

His target was walking down the street, a briefcase in his hand, a sophisticated smile on his face. It angered him even more. The target entered the Embassy building, and he followed. Just a sharp pull at the trigger, that was all it took.

The man turned around. He hesitated, but only briefly. Then his finger moved.

The sound of the shot lingered in the air long after the man had fallen to the ground. The gun had slipped out of his hand, and he was arrested.

He couldn’t care less.

<center>***</center>

Author’s Note: I don’t know how much you know about WWII, so I figured I’d just explain this. What you read in the last paragraph, was the assassination of a Nazi Embassy worker in Paris. Herschel Grynspan murdered this man because of his parents’ deportation to Poland.

The Embassy worker died a little while later, and to revenge this assassination, Kristallnacht was organized.

<center>Chapter 13</center>

Germany, October 1938

She woke with a start, jerked out of her sleep by the sound of breaking glass. Her room bathed in the warm glow of firelight, and with every breath, she could feel smoke filling her lungs. Flashing lights danced on her ceiling, appearing and disappearing, over and over again.

“Liz? Liz!”

Her father’s tall figure appeared in the doorway, his hair tousled, his pajamas crumpled but his face wide awake. He rushed over to help her out of her bed, and pushed her out of her room and down the stairs. A little bit dazed, she asked, “Dad? Dad, where’s mom?”

“Downstairs,” he shortly replied. A sound above them made her look up, and she noticed Caroline and Kyle stumbling down the stairs.

“What’s going on, Jeff?” Caroline asked, her voice worried. Jeff shook his head uncertainly, and ushered all of them into the living room. Liz ran to her mother, who was sitting on the couch, anxious worries displayed in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Jeff confessed. His wife took his daughter in her arms, and closed her eyes. “I think they broke the shop window,” he continued.

“What about the fire? The shouting?” Nancy hesitantly asked, her voice quiet and tremulous. “They’re burning something on the streets. Books, perhaps,” Kyle said as he tried to comfort his mother.

“Can they get in, Jeff? Through the shop?”

Jeff looked at his sister, and shook his head. “No, I locked the backdoor. They’d have to force it open. I don’t think they would bother.”

“And the money? Jeff, what about the pay-desk?”

“I emptied it before we went to sleep,” he tiredly said, and sat down next to his wife and daughter.

“I wish I knew what was going on,” Nancy sighed as she sadly smiled at her daughter, who was now asleep, her head ensconced on her lap. Her fingers briefly caressed the dark hair, the rosy cheeks.

“The world has gone crazy,” Jeff replied, “that’s what’s happened. The world has gone crazy.”

<center>***</center>

Germany, October 1938

The pavement was covered in glass shards and ashes. Their front door was brightly colored with paint, two triangles – together forming the Star of David – largely drawn on the splintered wood. The mezuzah clung to the doorpost, and one of the two nails that held it up was close to falling off.

Nancy reached for it, and looked inside of it. They hadn’t emptied it. She pulled the parchment scroll out of it and unrolled it. ‘Shaddai,’ it said, ‘Almighty’. On the other side, it said, ‘Shalom aleichem.’

“We’ll start removing the paint immediately,” Jeff said, and she nodded absent-mindedly. Kyle stood in front of their house, gauging the damage angrily. Liz stood next to her father, her tired head resting against his chest.

“I can’t believe they did this,” Caroline spoke up, shaking her head incredulously. “Me neither,” Jeff agreed. “Of course, Grynspan should never have murdered that Embassy worker, but why would we have to pay for his mistake?”

“It’s just so unfair,” Caroline sighed, and tiredly massaged her neck. “God… I’m dead tired. Would you like some tea?”

Jeff nodded quietly, surveying the broken windows and the pile of burnt books. “Nancy?” Caroline tentatively asked when her sister-in-law didn’t respond. The woman seemed confused, but finally nodded. “Yes, please.”

Liz pushed herself away from her father, and looked at the shards, intrigued. There were so many of them, in so many different forms. Her reflection would change with every different fragment of glass, and she tried to choose the most beautiful one.

“Liz? Would you like some tea, sweetie?”

Nodding silently, she straightened her back and looked down the street. Max walked there. She could vaguely recognize his posture, his way of walking. He’d seen her, she was sure. He’d seen her, and her family, and their house.

He didn’t even come to ask if she were okay.

“Come,” her father kindly said as he moved towards the door. “Let’s have some tea. You won’t be going to school today, Liz.”

“But dad…”

Nancy didn’t hear the rest of their conversation, too immersed in thoughts. When Caroline called to say that her tea was getting cold, she broke out of her daze and looked down at her fingers, that were tightly squeezing the parchment scroll.

She released her firm grip and let it slip past her fingers. It fluttered, lightly as a feather, hesitated, and finally, it fell to the ground.

‘Shalom aleichem,’ it had said.

Peace be with you.

<center>***</center>

<center>Chapter 14</center>

Germany, November 1938

After tiredly rubbing in her eyes, she rose from her bed and got dressed. The usual morning sounds reached her ears: Kyle brushing his teeth, the comforting rumble that the bakery’s oven produced, her parents’ voices from below. It was a morning like all the others.

Caroline wove her hair into a tight pigtail – so tight that it almost hurt – and placed a kind-hearted kiss on her forehead. It was awfully quiet in the kitchen. Her parents weren’t looking at each other, Caroline had remained upstairs, and Kyle was toying with his breakfast. A letter lay on the table, its fold sharp and meticulous.

“What’s that?” Liz asked, willing to break the awkward silence. Her mother looked up, but didn’t answer her. There were large, dark circles under her eyes, and Liz wondered briefly whether she had gotten any sleep at all.

“Nothing,” her father replied. She lifted her eyebrow, and he didn’t even bother to look at her when he added, “Just a letter.”

“I figured that,” she said dryly, irked by the uncomfortable feeling of the room. “What does it say?”

Her father shrugged, unwilling to answer her, immersing himself in the newspaper. Her mother took the empty plates from the table and placed them in the sink. “Your father will be teaching you from now on, Liz,” she said.

Liz blinked, uncertain if she had just heard what she thought she’d heard. “What?” Her father decided it was time to join in the conversation and said, “You’ll no longer go to school, Liz. I’ll teach you and Kyle at home, every Wednesday and Thursday afternoon.”

“But…” she couldn’t form a single coherent word, thoughts and questions tumbling in her mind. “But I want to go to school, dad. I want to see Maria, and Mr. Connor…”

She kept quiet when she saw her father’s inexorable face. “I understand your feelings, Liz, but you can no longer go there. The government forbade you.”

“What? Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Kyle asked, only to be silenced by his aunt. “Because we are Jews, sweetheart,” she explained. “That’s why.”

“But that’s unfair!” Liz exclaimed, shaking her head in confusion. “I want to go to school!”

“You can’t, Liz,” her father tiredly said, pushing his newspaper away. “You’re a Jew. You can’t deny who you are.”

“So? I never chose to be a Jew! I don’t want to be a Jew!” Her breathing quickened fast, and her hands trembled with indignation. “Liz, please,” Nancy tried to calm her down, brushing a hand through her messy hair.

“No, no, it’s true,” Liz continued. “I don’t want to be a Jew! It’s stupid! I can’t do anything, I can’t go anywhere and it’s… it’s not fair…”

“Liz, sweetheart,” her mother silently said as she took her hand. “You were born a Jew. There’s nothing you can do to change it. And no, it’s not fair, but your father is a good teacher. You and Kyle will just have to help him out with the store from time to time.”

Quiet tears rolled down her face, but she refused to cry out loud. “It’s not fair,” she whispered thickly. “It’s not fair.” With a loud, screeching noise, Kyle pushed back his chair and stood up, obviously upset. He left the room without uttering another word, leaving them in an awkward silence.

<center>***</center>

Germany, November 1938

Her father was discussing something with Kyle, their voices muffled and comforting. Her mother was upstairs, doing laundry. Aunt Caroline was behind the counter, talking with one of the twenty customers the bakery still counted.

This was her chance.

She slipped from her chair, her homework long forgotten, and walked towards the front door, careful to avoid making any sound. She held her breath and listened, checking if everyone was still where they were supposed to be. Kyle and father kept talking, her mother’s whistled song didn’t pause, and Caroline was still behind the counter.

Good.

She pushed against the door – it creaked slightly, but no one seemed to notice – and in a few seconds, she stood outside. It was raining, the drops quickly soaking her to the bone. A raw, cutting November wind blew, its gusts jerking at the trees in her street.

Shivering, she stuffed her hands further into her pockets in an attempt to draw her thin jacket tighter against her cold body. She knew the way by heart, knew where the deep splashes would be, where the sand would have turned into sticky mud. Fast, determined steps took her further away from home. The sky was sad and dark, but she wasn’t afraid.

She walked on, feeling betrayed and bitter.

<center>***</center>

“No, no,” Mr. Rendall shook his head as he looked at Paul’s work. “It has a different case ending. See? ‘I’ is the subject here, and…”

Max sighed deeply, shutting out his teacher’s voice. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on a single thing today. The rain was pelting at the roof, loudly ticking, and it was suffocating hot in the classroom. His gaze kept drifting towards the empty seat in front of him. Maria seemed to be having the same problem, and she smiled weakly at him.

He sighed again, nibbled on his pencil and studied the next sentence. Why wasn’t she there? She was supposed to be at school, just like them. Would she be sick? Would her father have kept her at home, because of what had happened last week, with Kristallnacht?

When he saw Mr. Rendall coming his way, he quickly filled in some case endings, and – after his teacher had passed him – he erased them again, knowing that they weren’t correct. His teacher sat down behind his desk, and started reading something. Max tried to concentrate on the sheet of paper in front of him. He saw the letters, read the words, understood the sentences, and yet, he couldn’t fill in the endings.

His gaze wavered again, to the empty chair, through the window, over the playgrounds outside, to the gray sky and the dark street. His breath got caught in his throat, and he forced his eyes to open further to verify his suspicions. Outside, on the pavement, behind the gate, Liz stood, her hair wet, her jacket darkened by the cold water. The pouring rain didn’t seem to bother her, though her face was dark and woebegone.

“Mr. Evans?”

He whipped his head around, his eyes hesitantly meeting his teacher's. “Yes, sir?”

“Keep your eyes on your work.”

“Yes, sir,” Max answered quietly. He tried looking at his schoolwork. It didn’t work. He couldn’t help staring through the windows again, searching the street for her. Liz was nowhere to be seen. Every now and then, he looked up to see if she had returned, but the streets remained empty. No one dared to walk through the whipping rain; no one dared to defy the stormy weather. The whirling wind played with the fallen autumn leaves, and with something else, something red.

He didn’t find out what it was until much later, when school was out and he was on his way home. In the bushes across the street, a red ribbon waved, heaving on the chilly wind.

Her ribbon, the one she’d worn in her pigtail.

After hesitating briefly, he picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket.

<center>***</center>
Last edited by Anais Nin on Mon Mar 01, 2004 11:10 am, edited 7 times in total.
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<center>Chapter 15</center>

United States, Boston, September 1939

“Alan?”

He looked up from his newspaper, the frown never leaving his face. “Hmm?” he asked, his eyes darting between his wife and the newspaper.

“What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, he tried to dismiss her question, but she slipped off her chair and looked over his shoulder at what he was reading. “They invaded Poland?” she wondered, unable to filter her surprise out of her voice.

He didn’t reply, grunted softly and pushed the newspaper away. “This is bad, Alan,” she whispered quietly, and still, he did not reply. “What about your parents?”

Shrugging, he took a sip of his coffee, and tried very hard not to lose his control. “Alan, your parents,” she reminded him once more, her voice soft and worried.

“Don’t you think I know that?” he asked bitterly, knowing it wasn’t fair to take this out on Tess, but unable to help himself. Her face fell slightly at his words, and he immediately felt bad. “I know that, love. There’s just not much left for us to do, is there? All we can do is hope. Hope, and pray.”

She nodded, and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Her head rested upon his shoulder, and he turned to give her a light kiss on her lips.

“They’ll be all right,” she whispered, her eyes filled with sorrow. He nodded meekly. He nodded, but didn’t believe her for a second.

<center>***</center>

Germany, August 1942

“You’re bluffing.”

She didn’t say a thing, trying to keep her face as void of emotions as possible. He glowered at her from behind the cards, his eyes straying from her face to her cards and back to her face again.

“There’s no freaking way you can have another King. Just no freaking way.”

“Try me,” she teasingly said, leaning back against the cold, stone wall. “Are you game, or what?”

He shook his head dejectedly, and studied his own cards. She was bluffing. There was no way she could have higher cards than him. And yet… yet, she seemed so self-confident, so assured that he wouldn’t beat her, that he wouldn’t have the guts to play on. If there was anything he had learned about her, it was how she was able to fool him, how she kept fooling him.

“I raise you,” he said, ready to take the dare. She arched a perfectly rounded eyebrow and smiled sweetly at him. Maybe she wasn’t bluffing after all. “I raise you,” he said again, this time louder, “with…”

He swallowed in his last words, and didn’t breathe out, holding his breath as he listened attentively. “What is it?” she asked him, amused and worried at the same time. He gestured for her to be quiet. Reaching for the small, dilapidated table, he extinguished the oil-lamp. They both listened as hurried footsteps climbed the stairs, as the door was opened and slammed shut.

“Maria?” she whispered questioningly, and he shrugged, indicating that he didn’t know. She crawled over the bed, towards him, and strained her ears. “It’s not Maria,” she said, frightened. “Maria would have knocked twice.”

He silenced her with another reprimanding glare, and took two quiet steps towards the door. Whoever had entered the Connor’s living room had gone to the bathroom. He turned to look at Liz, who was sitting on the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees.

Strange, how her entire demeanor could change so swiftly.

With one, large step, he had crossed the room again and was back at their bed. There were no windows, and only one door, that was hidden from view by a large wardrobe on the other side of the wall. To enter the small room, you had to open the wardrobe, brush aside the clothes that hung in front of the door and twist the key in the rusted lock. It wasn’t a very safe hideout, but the best they could get. They were happy.

“Michael?”

Her thin voice broke the tense silence, and he frowned lightly. Without the calm shimmering of the oil-lamp’s flame, she seemed smaller, more fragile than before. The darkness had wrapped itself around her tiny figure, the off-white, ragged dress, the pale skin. It made her look like a china doll: beautiful, but easy, so very easy, to break. The low ceiling of their room seemed even lower in the black darkness, and he suppressed the urge to duck his head to keep it from hitting the ceiling. The dusty, parquet floor creaked loudly under his feet, and the walls seemed to close in on them.

“Michael?” she asked again, shivering lightly. “Be still,” he gently said, and sat down next to her, ready to take her in his arms when needed. “Maria just forgot to knock,” he tried to reassure not only her, but himself as well.

“You think so?” she asked him doubtfully, her large eyes and dark hair in stark contrast with the paleness of her skin, the whiteness of her dress.

“It has to be her,” he said. More sounds reached their ears through the thin walls, and she visibly stiffened. “It’s just one person,” he deduced, but she didn’t react. “I can take him down should I have to.”

She still didn’t acknowledge his words, her eyes on her own hands, on the trembling fingers, the short, dirty nails. He moved towards the door again, feeling restless, and laid his ear against the smooth wood. Slipping off the bed, she followed him. His hand hesitatingly reached for the doorknob.

“Michael, no,” she protested softly, laying her hand over his. “He’s alone, Liz. If I can knock him out before he has seen us–”

“You would have to kill him,” she harshly bit back. “You’d have to kill him, Michael, or we would no longer be safe.”

He shrugged and tried to look as apathetic as he could. “He would do the same,” he objected. “Any agent would kill us without hesitating.”

“Don’t tell me you’re seriously considering this,” she implored, her eyes beseechingly searching his.

His breath got caught in his throat when he heard determined footsteps nearing them. Soft footsteps, feminine footsteps. He took a step back, grasped her hand and squeezed it tightly. Sitting down on the bed, they awaited their fate in a dreadful silence. A creaking sound followed – the wardrobe door had turned in its hinges – and they could hear the twisting of the key.

“It’s Maria,” he whispered to her, grasping at tiny straws of hope. “It’s Maria.”

The door opened, and she squinted against the bright light that seemed to flood the room. “It’s Maria,” Michael said again, but this time, there was relief in his voice, and she knew he was speaking the truth. It was Maria.

Liz screwed up one eye, her vision blurred by the abundance of light. “Maria.” She managed to smile weakly, but when she saw her friend’s devastated expression and the way a smile had been forced upon her lips, her own smile faltered. It was obvious that Maria had been crying. There were tear streaks on her cheeks – Liz guessed that Maria had tried to wash them off in the bathroom a few minutes ago – and her eyes were red and puffy. “Maria?”

Michael was by her side at once, his worry written all over his face. “Maria? What’s wrong?”

Maria shook her head, biting back the tears, determined to keep that crooked smile upon her face. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. In fact,” she continued, “I have some very good news for you.”

Michael frowned, and was about to say something when Maria’s face fell, and her happy facade broke, shattered into tiny bits of pretension. She was close to crying, but wouldn’t let her tears fall.

“There’s this farm… close to Berlin. Your parents are going there, to hide. It’s all been arranged. They…” she took a deep breath, and seemed to brace herself, strengthen herself for what she needed to say. “They want you with them, Michael.”

Placing his hand upon Maria’s lower arm, Michael muttered, “What?”

“You’ll be leaving, Michael,” Maria whispered, tears threatening to spill any moment. “Soon.”

Michael shook his head, disbelieving, and pulled her into his arms. Feeling like an intruder, Liz averted her gaze and stared at the stone wall in front of her. Maria’s sobs lingered in her mind for the rest of the evening, and that night, she could have sworn she heard Michael cry.

<center>***</center>

Germany, August 1942

It was pretty ironic, she thought, how terribly she missed Michael. She remembered the first time she’d seen him. Jim had told her that she would have to share a bed with him, for an unknown amount of time. She had complained, fought and protested.

She didn’t think that he had been happy with it either, for they hadn’t hit it off. The first night they had slept in the small room, they had fought over the blankets, both of them determined to stay at opposite ends of the bed.

But living together in such a small room, sharing a bed together, tended to change your feelings. It could either turn you into sworn enemies for the rest of your life, or – and luckily, that had been the case with them – it could turn you into the best of friends.

She really missed his presence now. Without him, the room seemed even smaller and the silence was suffocating. She cried herself to sleep at night, feeling lonelier than ever before. Lena, her teddy bear, had been hugged tightly during the lonely times and had angrily been flung against the walls when her frustration had gotten the upper hand. Mood swings weren’t unusual for her, and she tried to escape the loneliness and silence by losing herself in books Maria had brought her.

Thankfully, she’d been allowed to go out of her own room for a while. Maria was lying on the couch in the living room, her eyes closed, her mouth drawn into a sad, thin line.

“He’ll write you,” Liz said, trying to cheer her best friend up.

“It’s too dangerous.”

She frowned, closed her eyes and twisted her ring around her finger. “He’ll send you his love and messages through Joshua and your father,” she tried again. Joshua was the owner of the farm where Michael was hiding, and an old friend of Jim. Liz had never met him, but Jim used to praise till no end.

“He asked me to marry him,” Maria suddenly said.

Liz’s eyes flew open, and she looked at her friend in amazement. “You’re engaged?”

“Well, no,” Maria backed out, “just kinda.”

“You’re kinda engaged?”

“Sorta.”

Sorta?”

“Yeah. After we…” Maria paused, and there was a distinct blush on her cheeks.

“After you…?” Liz asked, and her eyes widened slightly. “Maria Amelia Connor! Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

“Uhm…” Maria visibly hesitated, her blue, otherwise so happy eyes doubtful. “If you’re thinking what I think you are thinking, then yes, I’m telling you what you think I’m telling you.”

“Oh my God! When? How…” Liz shook her head, not understanding.

Maria shamefacedly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and answered, “The night before he left. You were asleep, and father was with Joshua, making the final arrangements for his departure. He… He sneaked out of your room, and well…” Maria trailed off.

“Really?!” Liz laughed, disbelieving and excited for her friend as well.

“Would I lie to you?” Maria smiled – the first, genuine smile Liz had seen her smile in days now – and folded her hands underneath her head.

“So… now you’re engaged?” Liz asked, unable to veil some of her enviousness in her voice, at the same time exhilarated by the idea of her two friends being betrothed.

“Kind of, yeah,” Maria said. “He asked me whether I would want to marry him – you know, when all of this was over.” She made a broad, strange hand-gesture when she said ‘all of this’, but it was clear enough to Liz that Michael had meant the war; the razzia’s and the pogroms.

“Wow… Congratulations… That’s just so great,” Liz quietly said, shaking her head. “My best friend is engaged. I simply can’t believe it.”

“Me neither,” Maria giggled, and just for a second, everything seemed normal.

<center>***</center>

Germany, August 1942

Their heavy boots resounded loudly, bounced against the wall of the houses on both sides of the narrow street. He was still uncomfortable in his new uniform, and was glad that it was temporarily, that he would only have to wear it until Roger recovered from his kidney disease.

“Evans? Roger’s brother?”

He nodded, and stood still. “This house. People have complained. Peculiar sounds have been coming from the first floor in the middle of the night and people have been seen leaving this house at midnight.” his commander said shortly, succinctly, and Max nodded.

Maria’s house.

Surely those suspicions must have been wrong.

“I’ll check it out, sir,” he said, saluted and turned to the small house. He knocked on the door twice, and swore that he could hear voices – laughter – coming out of the living room. He knocked again, louder this time, and, growing impatient, he finally stooped forward. Lifting a rock, he was satisfied to see that they still hid their key underneath it. He opened the door without any hesitation, and stepped inside.

The laughter subdued, an eerie silence now filling the hallway. “Maria?” he called, closing the door behind him. A stumbling sound reached his ears, and he quietly walked towards the living room.

“Max!”

Maria stood before the couch, her eyes surprised, her hands carrying a tray. “Hey,” he said, scratching his ear. He saw how she was eyeing his uniform and his riffle. “It’s only temporarily,” he explained, “until Roger recovers. They needed another man, and since I didn’t need to go to college…”

Maria’s mouth, that had been hanging open from the moment he had walked into the room, snapped shut. “Of course,” she smiled. “How did you get in?”

“The key underneath the rock,” he said, showing it to her. She nodded tremulously, and he looked around the room. “I’m supposed to see if you have any Jews, gays or gypsies here,” he grinned apologetically, and stared at her. “Are you alone?”

Maria nodded again and sat down on the couch. Her bright eyes met his unhesitatingly. “I thought I heard laughter,” he said, frowning as he surveyed the room once more. “You sure you’re alone?”

“I told you I was alone the first time around, didn’t I?” she bit, her fierce voice catching him off-guard.

“For who’s that tea?” he queried, his gaze drifting to the two cups on her tray. Her eyes looked down at it, and she hesitated briefly before she met his inquisitive gaze.

“For me and my father,” she answered. “He’ll come home soon.”

“Oh,” he replied, frowning. With large, determined steps, he crossed the room. “I thought your father has to be at school until four o’clock?”

She paled even further, and stammered, “He’ll come home during his lunch break, I’m sure.”

“Right,” he said, not understanding. Was Maria lying to him? “So… you won’t mind me making my round through this–”

He fell silent, noticing the open closet. Looking inside of it, he saw the clothes, and quizzically shook his head. “You have a wardrobe in your living room?” he wondered, and Maria nodded, a strange smile upon her lips.

Nearing Maria, he thought he heard something move from behind her. The couch? He took some steps towards her, and looked behind the couch, not really expecting to see anything.

“Liz?” he breathed out when he saw the tiny figure hunched on the floor. She moved slightly and hesitantly lifted her head, her face wearing a worried expression. His breath got caught in his throat when her eyes met his, and he wondered how she could have changed so much. Her white dress – stained and ragged – clung to her body, and her skin was paler than he could remember. Her face had changed most, though. Her eyes seemed larger, darker and more secretive. Her cheeks weren’t as plump as they had once been, and her chin was sharper, more feminine.

Her lower lip trembled slightly, and he could feel her fear. “Get out,” Maria hissed. “Get out, Max. You didn’t see her.”

Shaking his head, he took a step back. Liz didn’t move, her eyes downcast, her body quivering. “Maria…” he started, but Maria cut him short.

“Get out, Max. I mean it.” He meekly let her push him towards the door, and tried to catch one more glimpse of Liz.

“Evans!”

His commander stood in front of him, and stared at him. Maria had closed the door behind him, and Max shook his head in confusion.

“Evans? Did you check it out?”

He nodded, trying to regain his voice. “Took you long enough to do so,” the man grunted, and motioned to another house. “Nothing?”

Max hesitated, looked back at the door and saw Liz’s face again, her pleading eyes, her quivering lips. “Nothing, sir. Nothing at all.”

“Good.” The man pointed at another house, a few yards away. “Complaints about the father. Communists.”

<center>***</center>

Author's Note: Okay… I made a small leap through time. To give you an idea what’s going on in the world:

Poland, Denmark, Norway, France, Holland and Belgium have been invaded. Britain is fighting Germany, the U.S. just entered the war. Hitler’s people are starting to experiment on prisoners (really sick experiments, for example, low pressure chambers and cold shock experiments).

FYI, Liz recently turned seventeen and Max is about seventeen and a half. Maria’s a little bit older than Max. I’d say, close to eighteen.

<center>Chapter 16</center>

Germany, August 1942

She ran away from him, her torn skirt flapping in the wind, a loving caress to her calves. Carefully avoiding a headstone, she turned to her right, and headed for the willow tree, the one on top of the hill. Her hair danced on the wind as she tried to move away from him, her slender neck all the while enticing him to come nearer, to approach her even more. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him, a soft laugh slipping past her lips. Her eyes shone in the sunlight and the playful expression on her face made him chase her even faster.

With one arm wrapped around the tree’s trunk, she gracefully moved – danced – around it, momentarily escaping from his view, only to leap into it again, just a meager second later. On her bare feet, she jumped over a fallen branch. The breeze lifted her dress’s skirt slightly, revealing more of her flawless skin as she resumed her attempt at fleeing.

Scrambling up the hill, he thought he could hear her voice again; hear the rich tinkle of laughter. Just a few more yards now. She was just a few yards away from him. He desperately reached for her and his fingers briefly brushed over the rough fabric of her dress, the stained white skirt, the smooth skin of her leg.

Then he fell, stumbling over the branch she’d so expertly avoided. His nose, his mouth, his entire face was buried in the sand, and for a moment, he feared suffocation. He feared to die on a cemetery, on a Jewish cemetery. Pushing himself up, he wiped the dark sand off his face, spit out the awful tasting grains and shook it out of his hair.

When he looked up again, she was gone. Her laughter still filled the air around him, but it was no longer carefree. It held a sense of bitterness and fear to it, and the sound scared him. The wind rose and in a whirlwind of fallen leaves, something else spun around. He looked closer, but the wind seemed to move it away from him. He walked towards it, faster as the leaves kept moving out of his reach.

Momentarily, the wind dropped, and he could see something falling to the ground, several leaves burying it.

It was something red.

Her ribbon.


<center>***</center>

Dark.

Her eyes had been dark; darker than he could recall. She had changed so much, and yet, he felt as if she hadn’t changed a bit, as if he still knew her. He couldn’t say if it was because of her eyes, or because he had recognized her.

He simply felt as if he knew her, despite of the years they'd spent apart.

He wanted to see her again. He needed to see her again. He needed to see if he was right, if he did still know her. He needed to see what her life was like, where she hid, how she lived. He needed to know if she remembered him, if, over the past couple of years, she had thought of him at all. He needed to know what had happened to her.

He yearned to see her again. He couldn’t deny it. Despite her emaciated frame and messy hair, she had been beautiful. Beautiful in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Not perfect. Not perfect at all. She wasn’t blonde, blue-eyed or tall. She wasn’t an Aryan, but at the same time, Max found that all the more tempting.

“Max?”

Lifting his head slowly, he looked up at his sister. She towered over him, her hair tied back in a tight bun, her face confused.

“Why are you still in bed? Please don’t tell me you’re sick, too.”

“I’m not sick,” he said, shaking his head. “I just overslept.”

She huffed, and threw back his covers. “Get out then. It’s almost noon! Besides, you promised you’d go to the store today.”

“The store?” He tiredly rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, right. The store. What do you need?”

Isabel gave him a foul look and pulled him up. “I gave you the list yesterday. Don’t tell me you lost it.”

He felt the blood draining out of his face, and reached for his pants, desperately searching through his pockets. His fingers found a folded paper, and smiling, he fished it out of his pants. “I knew that,” he said, and showed her the crumpled paper. “See? Could you just get out of my room? I’d like some privacy.”

His sister leveled him with another glare, spun around on her heels and marched out of his room, quietly muttering her complaints. He ignored her – he always did – and sighed deeply. It was time to forget about Liz Parker, about his dreams and his feelings. It was time to regain his sanity, and to move on.

<center>***</center>

His footsteps sounded loud and hollow to his own ears. He didn’t hear several SA agents greeting him, never noticed the smile Patricia Williams gave him. His eyes were on the list Isabel had written, but he didn’t read her words.

Her face kept interrupting his thoughts, and he decided to put an end behind this.

He would go to the store – with the food rationing, there wasn’t much he could buy anyway – and after that, he would go to Maria. He would see her, he would see that he was right, that she wasn’t any different from all the other Jews. He would leave, and turn her in.

She would be out of his sight and from his mind for good.

He bought a book in the store. An old romance pocket, something he knew he’d never read. The old lady behind the counter eyed him funnily, but he couldn’t care less. After checking twice if he’d bought everything his sister had ordered him to buy, he left the store. She’d been pretty edgy lately – Max guessed it was because of her upcoming wedding – and he did not want to fuel her anger further than necessary.

Before knocking on Maria’s door, he couldn’t resist looking beneath the rock, checking if the key still lay there. It had been moved. Insects crawled through the dark sand, hurriedly seeking the shadows of safety. A slight imprint was the only sign of what had once lain there.

He climbed the stone stairs to the front door and knocked twice, rapidly and loudly. His heart was beating erratically, and he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

The sooner he could stop thinking about her, the better.

A blue, distrustful eye stared at him after the door had been opened to a crack. For a moment, Maria seemed willing to close the door again, to shut him out, but he quickly pushed it further open. He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him, smiling lightly.

“Hey,” he greeted her.

His words were responded to with a mere glare.

“What do you want?”

“I’d like to see Liz again,” he said, shrugging as if it didn’t mean too much to him. And it didn’t.

It shouldn’t.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maria snapped coldly, and opened the door again, gesturing for him to get out.

“Liz,” he said, as if trying to refresh her memory. “You know, the girl that’s hiding in your house?”

“You’re talking nonsense,” she bit. “Get out, Max. I don’t want you here.”

“Maria, I want to…”

“Leave, Max, and don’t you dare to come back. There’s no Liz here.” Maria sighed and looked away. Her shoulders sagged lightly, and her stance changed. “Not anymore, anyway,” she added sadly.

He froze, and looked down at his former friend. “She’s not here?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past few minutes, Max. Liz isn’t here.”

Looking past Maria, into the living room, he shook his head. “No. No, I don’t believe you. It’s impossible to move a person without preparation. She’s here. You're lying to me, aren't you?”

He walked towards the wardrobe and opened the door.

Maria slammed the door shut and followed him. “Max, dammit! I’m telling you, Liz is not here! Please, just leave!”

He jerked some clothes out of the closet and found the lock, the key still in it. It twisted agonizing slowly, with a screeching sound and a loud click.

“Max, please. She’s not here. Come on, just…”

The small door swung open, and he crept through it, ignoring Maria’s pleas. There Liz was, sitting on the bed, proudly meeting his gaze.

Maria had fallen silent, and heaved a sorrowful sigh as she leaned back to the wardrobe.

It was a small room. He didn’t know what else he had expected, but not this. It was inhuman to live here. The storeroom they had at home was larger. There were no windows, no chairs, no table…

Just a bed, a bed that filled the entire room.

“Hey,” he said. She looked at him, but didn’t say a word. He wondered if she could still speak, if being isolated from the world had taken away her ability to talk.

“I… I brought something for you,” he lamely uttered, showing her the book. He thought he could see a flicker of interest in her eyes, but the sparkle had been extinguished long before he could look at her more closely.

“I’ll… I’ll just put it here, okay?”

He laid the book at one corner of the bed, and decided that he would feel more comfortable and self-confident if he could sit. “Can I… Could I sit down?” he asked hesitantly, gesturing at the bed.

She shook her head slowly, but it was an adamant headshake, one that didn’t tolerate contradiction.

“Oh. Well, okay,” he replied meekly, scratching his ear. “I’ll just stand then.”

Maria was still there, watching him with worry and interest. He felt uncomfortable underneath her scrutinizing stare, and turned to look at her. “I’d like some tea,” he rudely commanded Maria. For a moment, it seemed as if she were going to protest, but she chose to do as he asked and left for the kitchen.

Looking back at Liz, Max marveled at her serene expression, her grieving face. Her eyebrows were drawn in a way that made her look incredibly sad, but her eyes… her eyes were alive. They were proud, and determined to make the best of her life. And yet… yet they seemed to be as sad as the rest of her.

He couldn’t imagine what it had to be like to be her.

“Isabel is getting married,” he blurted out, smiling weakly. “She met a great guy. Alex. My parents didn’t approve of him at first, but after they got to know him, they couldn’t deny how wonderful he was.”

She still didn’t reply, her eyes firmly fixed on his.

Accusing him, just like they’d done on the playground once. Many years had passed since that day, and Max still didn’t understand why she looked at him like that. He only knew that he didn’t like it one bit, and that he was going to change it.

An uncomfortable silence settled down around them, and she looked away in the distance, her lips drawn into a sad smile. Noticing the teddy bear she was clutching so tightly to her chest, he asked, “Ah, you still have Lena?” He briefly thought it was childish for her to still sleep with him, but quickly reconsidered as he realized what it had to be like for her to live here.

She defiantly stared up at him, and tried to hide Lena from his view. He walked towards her - she cowered and tried to creep into the shadows – and he smiled reassuringly, bent forward and reached for the bear. Her fingers tried to hold on to it, but he pulled it from her grasp and brought the Lena to his face, looking behind its ear. Tracing the red thread that kept her ear to her body, he thought back of the red ribbon and his dream.

“Here’s your tea,” Maria said succinctly, startling him. He dropped the bear to the bed and Liz grasped for it almost immediately, quickly hiding it under the blankets.

“Thanks,” he muttered, and looked down at Liz.

“Don’t have to work today?” Maria asked scornfully.

He shook his head, glared at her over the brim of his teacup and took a sip. “No,” he said next, “I was just stepping in for Roger until they found somebody else. He’s sick, you know.”

“I know,” Maria said. “Is he an SS-er?”

Max nodded, oddly enough feeling ashamed. He had always been proud of his big brother, but now, in this room, with these people, it was different. It felt different. It now seemed to be something profoundly low and dirty, something you should rather be embarrassed over than proud.

“They found somebody else to replace him, from the Hitler Jugend. This is good tea,” he tried to change the subject, wincing at how obvious it was. He sent Maria a smile that went unanswered.

“You should leave,” she said. “You should leave before my father returns. He’s always early on Wednesday, and he can’t find you here.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he retorted, slanting a glance at Liz. “I just got here.”

“Max, please…” Maria was close to begging him, her eyes beseeching him to go. “Please, just leave now. Leave and never come back.”

“No,” he childishly refused to go, and took another sip of his tea. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to Liz yet.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, you fool! Just leave, please,” Maria begged. “Please, Max, please. Doesn’t our friendship mean anything to you?”

He was silent for a while, contemplating his options. He wanted to come back. He was intrigued by Liz, by her demeanor. It would be a challenge to get her to talk to him, to get her to trust him again. That was important, he suddenly realized. He really wanted her to trust him, to befriend him again.

“Please go, Max.”

His breath hitched in his throat as he heard Liz’s voice. It was different, more feminine – as was nearly everything about her – but it still held that childish innocence in it.

“What did you say?” he asked her emotionally, just so he could hear her voice again.

“Go, Max,” she quietly spoke. “Please, just go.”

“Can I come back, then?” he eagerly asked, but she didn’t say anything else.

After a quick glance at the clock in the living room, Maria nodded desperately, and stood aside, allowing him to climb out of the room, through the wardrobe and back into the living room again. Maria followed fast, closing the door after her and shutting the wardrobe again.

She walked to the door with him, not saying a single thing.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, almost making it sound like a promise.

Maria shrugged. “Just make sure you come early,” she said disapprovingly. “Before noon.”

“I will,” he vowed. “I will. You can count on that.”
Last edited by Anais Nin on Mon Mar 01, 2004 11:16 am, edited 2 times in total.
<center>...endless so far in myself, follow me...
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Anais Nin
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<center>Chapter 17</center>

Germany, August 1942

He had said that he’d come back. She believed him, though she knew it was insane to do so. Hadn’t he run away from her? Hadn’t he turned his back on her when she had needed him most?

He had promised it, Maria had said.

She wasn’t sure if she anticipated his appearance with joy or with dread. She longed to see someone, anyone, and secretly, she hoped that he would bring more books with him. On the other hand, she felt insecure when she was with him. He wasn’t the boy she’d played with; not anymore. He had grown and changed, and she didn’t know if she wanted to find out just how much he had changed.

Laying the book aside, she looked over at her other, meager belongings. Some old dresses that had once belonged to Maria, a stack of cards that constantly reminded her of Michael and how he no longer was with them, some old study books – once Maria’s as well – and, of course, Lena.

Her loyal, caring Lena.

She hadn’t heard him climbing the stairs, nor had she heard him knock. Maria’s voice startled her, and she sat upright swiftly, a nervous cough escaping her throat.

“You can’t be here too long,” she heard Maria say worriedly. “Just to talk to her, and then you must leave. Promise me you will leave, Max. Promise me.”

“I will,” he said, and she marveled at the deep tone of his voice – more than an octave lower than it had been several years ago. “I’ll leave as soon as I’ve talked with her, Maria. Don’t worry.”

After raking a hand through her hair, she tugged at her dress, trying to look as presentable as possible. She hadn’t decided yet if she was going to talk to him. She wanted to – Lord knew how badly she’d yearned for someone to talk to, to converse with – but she was afraid to get hurt. She was afraid to say things that were wrong, she was afraid to say something foolish.

But most of all, she feared rejection. She wasn’t sure she could get over that, not after being rejected by him all those years ago.

The door opened, and she shielded her eyes from the bright light that flooded the room.

“Hey,” he said.

She didn’t say anything back, but simply looked at him. He was smiling.

She couldn’t get herself to smile back.

Not yet.

Gesturing at the bed, he asked, “Can I sit down?”

Repeating yesterday’s actions, she shook her head. “No,” she quietly responded. “No, you can’t.”

He smiled again – more awkwardly this time – and leaned back to the wall. “How are you?” he asked. She shrugged. “The book… Did you like it?”

Meeting his genuinely interested face, she nodded slightly. “The ending was sad, though,” she softly said. “I don’t understand why he had to die.”

He shrugged impishly and slid down along the wall until he was sitting on the floor. “I can’t tell you,” he answered. “I’ve never read it.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice barely more than a sigh.

They sat in silence for a little while until he took his bag and hauled some books out of it. “Here,” he told her, “they’re old books from at home. I don’t think anyone will miss them.”

Reaching for them, she favored him with a brief smile and looked at the books. “Thanks,” she whispered, and laid them aside. “That’s nice of you.”

“The least I can do,” he replied with a shrug.

Another quiet fell upon them, and she simply gazed at him, wondering if he was to be trusted.

“Your parents…” he suddenly spoke, “where are they?”

She didn’t hesitate and answered, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you can’t tell me?”

“I don’t know,” she unashamedly lied.

He nodded apprehensively and stared at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Do you miss them?”

Briefly closing her eyes, she laid her head back against the wall. “I miss them, yes.”

“How long have you been apart?”

“Nearly six months now,” she said. According to her calendar, it had been five months, three weeks and two days.

“Six months…” he repeated softly. “That’s a long time… Half a year. Will you see them any time soon?”

She shrugged unwillingly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Not knowing what to say to that, he fell still. She fumbled with Lena’s ear and avoided looking at him. Was she blaming him again? Neither of them spoke for several minutes. All that could be heard was Maria’s song as she cleaned the kitchen, and the ticking of the clock on the other side of the wall.

“Do you play cards?” she suddenly asked, and he nodded hesitantly. “Good,” she said, and threw a stack in his direction, on the bed. “You can deal.”

He stood up, sat down on the bed and dealt.

<center>***</center>

“You’re amazing,” he said, shaking his head. This was the sixth time she’d beaten him – easily – and he had no idea how she was doing it. She smiled proudly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You know what they say about practice,” she teased him while grinning warmly.

“Hm,” he huffed quasi-indignantly, and dealt the cards again. Smiling, he said, “Show me your tricks.”

“Well,” she said, and began explaining which cards to keep, which ones to throw away. He listened attentively, his eyes never leaving hers, his smile constantly present on his face. She was so pretty. Her eyes twinkled lively as she taught him all she knew, and his heart fluttered lightly.

They played another game, but she won again. He gave up and threw his hands in the air. “I’m hopeless,” he said in a defeated tone. “I’ll never learn.”

“Of course you will!” she exclaimed smilingly. She reached for the cards in his hand so that she could deal, but he grabbed her hand and held it tightly. She tried to pull it away from him, her surprised eyes meeting his.

“Liz,” he whispered huskily, and she just stared at him, her expression bordering on terrified. His hands reached for her face and pulled her towards him. He pressed his lips against hers, something he’d been wanting to do for such a very long time.

She protested and desperately tried to push him away, to keep his tongue from entering her mouth. He was too strong, however, and her attempts didn’t help much. Feeling as if she were choking, she gagged and finally succeeded in getting him off her. They both were breathing heavily, and she tremulously whispered, “Get out.”

His face fell, realizing what he’d done, and he shook his head. “Liz, please. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t… I don’t know what came over me…”

“Get out, Max,” she hissed, her eyes angry, her mouth drawn into a sad line. “I don’t want to see you again. Never.”

He stood up and walked towards the door, his shoulders slumped back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing that it could never make up for what he’d just done. “I really am.”

Meeting his sorrowful gaze, she harshly stared back at him, her lower lip quivering lightly. “I don’t care,” she bit. “I don’t give a damn. Just get out of here.”

After he’d left, she fell back to her bed and stared at the pile of books. Involuntarily, a single sob was ripped from her throat, and not too long after, others followed. She wiped at her lips, shivering as she remembered what he'd done.

Michael had told her about this. He'd warned her. He'd talked about the SS officers that took Jewish girls with them, to their houses. They pretended to care, pretended to love, but after they'd had their way with them, they had them placed in a camp, or shot them through the head.

She didn't touch his books for another week.

<center>***</center>

<center>Chapter 18</center>

Germany, August 1942

She fidgeted with the needle, trying to stick the thin yarn through its eye, annoyed when nothing went the way she wanted it to go. Slipping off her lap, her dress fell to the floor with a soft, innocent sigh. She groaned quietly, picked it up and tried to find the tear again. It had been somewhere just above the waist, a little bit left off a sleeve.

God, she hated sewing. After finding the torn fabric once more, she picked up her earlier attempts in getting the yarn through the needle.

It was hopeless.

Stinging herself, she let out a soft cry and pulled back her finger. A drop of blood oozed out of the tiny wound, shining beautifully in the light of the oil-lamp. She quietly sucked on her finger until the bleeding had stopped, the metal taste of her blood lingering in her mouth.

Last night’s dream had oddly disturbed her.

It had started out fairly normal, with the twisted memory of what had happened so many years ago. She had been older though. He had been older as well, just as old as they were now. They had beaten her, kicked her, had punched her in her face, but he…

He had helped her.

He had yelled and had lunged himself at the men who had been harassing her. He had stood up for her.

Her aggressors had simply disappeared into nothingness, some misty clouds of vapor the only residues giving prove of their very existence.

She had smiled.

He had given her a hand and had helped her up.

Her smile had grown, though it had hurt her to do so.

He had kissed her.

She had cried.

“Liz?”

She looked up startled, not having heard Maria as she had entered the room. “Yeah?” she asked wearily, laying her dress and needle aside.

Maria stared down at her, a worried gleam showing in her eyes. “I’m going to the store now. Will you be all right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Liz lied, tiredly rubbing her neck. “Can you do something for me, though?”

Sitting down on the bed, Maria nodded. “Sure. What can I get you?”

“Nothing, nothing. I don’t need anything, but could you just return these books to Max?”

Hurt had flashed through her eyes when she’d said his name, and Maria had noticed it. She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened last week – Liz wouldn’t tell her – but it had devastated her friend, and Max as well.

“Of course,” Maria smiled. “Is there anything I should say to him? Should I invite him over again?”

“No!” Liz’s eyes were wide and terrified as she desperately shook her head. “No, don’t invite him over, please, don’t.”

Her words came out pleadingly, and Maria nodded, though not without a frown. “I won’t, then. I just thought you might want some company. Should I thank him for lending you these books?”

Liz shrugged, her emotions once more hid behind layers of hurt and isolation. “Why not? Go ahead. Thank him.”

The sarcastic hint to her voice went unnoticed by Maria, who picked up the books, smiled and walked away, leaving Liz behind with a smirking teddy bear, a sharp needle and a torn dress.

<center>***</center>

Max didn’t hear the bell the first time.

It was Roger who shouted at him – he was in his robe, almost recovered from his pneumonia – and told him to open the door. Their father had been beyond worried about Roger, his brows drawn into a thoughtful frown, his forehead constantly wrinkled. Pneumonia was something terrible, he’d said. Something horrible, that could take away your loved ones.

They hadn’t understood.

Opening the door, he was met by a smiling Maria. “Hey!” he said, surprised to see her.

“Got something for you,” she grinned. “Here. Liz told me to thank you.”

Bewildered, he took the books from her and scratched his eyebrow. “Really? She did?” Had she forgiven him? Could she have forgiven him? Would she ever? “Um, could you maybe tell her that I really am sorry?”

Maria frowned. “For what?”

“For what happened,” he skillfully avoided her question and laid the books on the table.

Maria followed him inside and shook her head, blond hair flying everywhere. “You won’t tell me?” she asked, guessing justly.

“No,” he admitted shamefully. “No, it’s just… stupid… I can’t tell you. You’ll hate me.”

She sighed and sat down on the couch. “Listen, Max. I don’t know what you did to her, but she’s hurt. Really hurt. I’ve never seen her this closed off. I just… If you tell me, then maybe I can help you out.”

“You can’t,” he said sadly. “You don’t need to. I’m not going back. She won’t need to see me ever again.”

“Max, look. As long as you didn’t hit her, insulted her or raped her, then you can trust me. Really. Liz might be my friend, but you’re my friend as well.” She hesitated briefly and quietly stared at him. “Aren’t you?”

They’d grown apart over the years, slowly lost their friendship. It slipped out of their hands, like sand slips through your fingers. His earlier actions had made her see him in a better light once more, and she wished they could again share what they had so many years before.

“I want to be,” he replied. “I want to be your friend.”

She smiled silently and looked at the books. “So… Do you have more books? Liz is going out of her mind from boredom.”

“That’s only understandable. I would go out of my mind as well, were I in her position.”

“It was different when Michael was there,” she continued, smiling wistfully. “At least she wasn’t alone.”

“Michael?” Max asked, feeling a strong surge of jealousy bubbling up inside of him.

Proudly showing her necklace – it had once belonged to Michael’s grandmother, she said – Maria started filling him in on her and Liz’s past.

He listened attentively. That’s what friends did. Friends listened.

<center>***</center>

“Liz? Are you asleep?”

Bolting upright, Liz looked quietly at her best friend. “It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, Maria. Of course I’m not asleep.”

She had been lying on her bed, with her eyes closed, thinking about absolutely nothing. It was an amazing awareness, a relief really, to just lie down and let your mind go blank. It had saved her, had kept her from breaking down completely, from crying.

“You looked like you were sleeping,” Maria defended herself. “You could have been sleeping. Anyway, I’ve got more books for you.”

“From Max?”

“From Max,” Maria affirmed. “Well, from his mother, technically. They won’t be missed, or at least, not according to him.”

Liz nodded weakly, and quietly whispered, “Thanks.”

“No problem. Hey, I’m going to cook dinner, all right? How do beans, baked potatoes and egg sound to you?”

“Fine,” Liz tiredly sighed, dredging up a feverish smile.

Maria smiled back at her and moved to leave the room. Before she reached the door, however, she turned around and took something out of her pocket.

“Oh, before I forget,” she said, showing a red ribbon to Liz, “Max told me to gave you this. He says it belonged to you once?”

Maria ended her sentence questioningly, wondering if he had been right.

“To me?” Taking the ribbon between her two fingers, Liz studied it. It had belonged to her, that was true. She had had three of these red, silky ribbons, only to be worn on special occasions. She’d lost all of them over the years.

How did he get it?

And – a question that was even of a bigger meaning to her – why had he kept it?

Maria shrugged. “Well, yeah. To you. That’s what he said. He said you lost it once, in the rain or something.”

Slowly pulling at the ribbon, Liz let it slip between her thumb and index finger and pensively shook her head. “I can’t remember that,” she whispered, and after that, she lied down on her bed again and retreated into her little private world, where everything was different, where it was safer and where Max didn’t exist.

When Maria had left the room, Liz took Lena and tied the ribbon around the bear’s neck, with two graceful loops. The bear remained worn-out, ugly and silent, no matter how glamorous Liz tried to make the ribbon look.


<center>Chapter 19</center>

Germany, September 1942

“Honey, eat some more broccoli,” Diane persisted, ready to ladle out the green vegetables. Her kind eyes smiled, but barely veiled her worried expression.

Laboriously swallowing down his potatoes, Max shook his head. “I’m not very hungry, mother.”

“What about you?” Philip asked Roger. “You should gain some strength and muscle, son. They won’t want you if you’re skinny and pale.”

Roger shrugged but still laid some extra broccoli on his plate.

“I really think you should rest some more,” Isabel said between bites, her brown eyes pensive as she regarded her brother. “You don’t look very healthy, Roger.”

“They need me there,” Roger countered, struggling with his chicken and cutlery. “It’s going to be a busy week. They planned a lot of searches.”

His voice was still raw from his earlier illness, and there were large, dark circles under his eyes, signs that betrayed his ill health. “On respectable gentile families as well, father,” he continued, slanting a significant glance at his father. “The Kaiser’s, the Connor’s, the Preston’s…”

Philip smirked and shook his head. He didn’t like getting this information. It was so difficult to know whose house was going to be raided and look them in the eye.

So immersed in his self-pity, he didn’t notice the shocked expression on Max’s face. His wife did, however.

“Max?” she quietly asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, hurriedly shaking his head. “It’s just… It’s so strange. I thought Mr. Connor was an respected man. He was my teacher once, father.”

“He’s been a teacher and friend to many, Max. To too many, I’m afraid.”

Max nodded as if he understood what his father was trying to explain.

“I hope they’ll get done with this soon,” Philip went on. “These suspicions… they’re making everyone look bad. It can ruin a man’s reputation.”

Max nodded again, and ignored his mother’s scrutinizing stare. Looking down at his dish, at the in gravy coated potatoes, at the bitter broccoli and the half-eaten chicken, he felt the nausea rise in his throat. “Could I… Could I be excused?” he stammered, his voice thin, higher than usual. “I… I don’t feel too well.”

His father frowned, but his mother nodded. “Go ahead, Max. Rest a little. You look rather pale; we wouldn’t want you to catch a disease as well, would we, father?”

Philip reluctantly shook his head. “You can go,” he muttered. “It would be a shame if you had to miss the first trimester.”

“Thank you,” Max said, forcing a grateful smile upon his lips. He shove back his chair too fast – it clattered to the floor, the sound loud and startling. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. He pulled it upright quickly, ran a hand through his hair and smiled awkwardly. “Good night.”

<center>***</center>

“I can’t, Max!” Maria exclaimed. She was pacing the room rapidly, trying to think of the best solution.

“Maria, you have no choice,” he gently pleaded with her as he stopped her pacing and carefully placed her down on the couch. “Listen… either you tell your father the truth – and I mean the whole truth – or you, your father and Liz will get caught. It’s either that or this, Maria. There’s no other way to do this.”

Maria sighed and desperately shook her head. “He’ll kill me. He’ll kill me for letting Liz into the living room. He’s warned me so many times, and still I didn’t listen. I’m so dead.”

Smiling lightly, Max sat down next to her and cradled her petite form in his arms. “You don’t fear your father more than you fear the SS or prison, do you?” he asked her, partly teasing, partly serious.

“You don’t know him like I do,” she answered in a small voice. “I'm not afraid of him. Not really. He won't hit me. It’s just... Well, it's just worse when he doesn’t yell at me for doing things wrong. When he’s disappointed in me, and stares at me with this silent, disapproving look in his eyes. That’s worse.”

“You’ll survive,” Max whispered and gave her a brief hug. “I’ll wait here until he returns from school, all right?”

Maria nodded, nearly indiscernibly. “All right,” she said quietly and took a deep breath, ready to face whatever might cross her path. “All right.”

<center>***</center>

She had heard him enter the house.

The sound of his voice had unnerved her.

Ironically enough, it also had a strange, calming effect on her. He scared her, made her heart beat faster in fear, but she felt attracted to him all the same. She told herself that she didn’t want to see him and yet she dreamed of him, yearned for another minute in his company.

It disquieted her.

She’d been fretting in the room for over an hour now, wondering when he’d come in. He’d talked to Maria for a long time, their voices subdued. Now she was lying on her bed, trying to catch drifts and pieces of their conversation, trying to put them together. Occasionally, Maria and Max had elevated their voices, enabling her to hear what they were saying. She didn’t understand a lot of it, but they were talking about her; that much she knew.

The clock in the living room struck four. The echoing sound of its bell resounded in her mind and made her even more restless. Frowning, she lifted Lena in the air and stared up at her. It was past four now. Jim could get home any moment, and Max was still here. Did Maria realize that? Had she lost track of time?

Max had to leave before Jim was here.

That realization had come too late. Jim’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs towards the front door. He was softly humming to himself, unaware of the unwelcome visitor.

Bracing herself for the outburst that was bound to come, she closed her eyes and laid Lena down beside her.

<center>***</center>

To Maria’s grand surprise, Jim hadn’t been very angry with her or Liz at all. She was glad that the secret was no longer standing between them, and felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her chest. The weight had been replaced by another quickly, though, and she felt as if she were suffocating once more.

They had other worries to deal with now.

Liz had to be moved soon. Today, if possible. Max had generously offered to help them with removing the wardrobe, the bed and other contents in the room where Liz had hid. They would have to turn it into a lumber-room, with normal access and brooms, cleaning materials and junk.

There was a cabin, not too far away from the village, and yet carefully hidden behind the trees. According to Max, it had been uninhabited for years. Its owner, the forest-keeper, had passed away several years ago. Since then, Max’s father had talked about tearing it down. He never had, however. It still stood there, in the middle of the small forest, unnoticed by innocent hikers or passersby.

“I say we take her there tonight,” Jim voiced his opinion, his pale eyes tired and defeated. “It’s close to your place, Max. You can bring her food every now and then, and see if she’s okay.”

“I’ll be in Frankfurt then,” Max reminded him. “I’ll only be home for the weekends.”

Maria looked at her father, at the crestfallen look upon his face, the worried gleam in his eyes. “I can go every Wednesday,” she quietly suggested.

Max gave her a small, supportive smile. “That could work, right, Mr. Connor?”

Nodding slowly, Jim put his elbows on the table and laid his head into the palm of his hand. “It could work. It will be dangerous, but it can work. It's a good thing we found out about this in time. I don't think we'll ever be able to thank you adequately, Max.”

Max smiled weakly and shot an agonizing look at the wardrobe, at where he knew Liz was.

“I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but... Do you know of other homes that will be searched?”

After hesitating briefly, Max shook his head. “No,” he finally lied.

It would raise suspicions if all of them would be warned beforehand.

They couldn’t risk that.

<center>***</center>

“Come on, catch it Max!”

Max laughed as Pieter threw the ball at him and reached out to catch it. It stayed out of his grasp however, and seemed to fly higher and higher, over his head and into the bushes.

Pieter smiled apologetically and ran across the street to get the ball.

“Pieter, here! Pieter, to me, to me!” Liz exclaimed, jumping upon her tiny feet. Pieter rolled the ball to her, and she ran after it, giggling quietly. Pieter and Kyle traded a caring look.

Wishing he could be more like them, Max stood aside and watched them. If only he could be just as big, just as strong and just as self-confident. He’d do anything for that.

Liz had caught the ball and attempted to throw it at Kyle. It didn’t come far, and Kyle laughed lovingly and met the ball halfway.

“To me, Kyle! To me!” Max shouted, and threw his hands in the air. “To me!”

Smiling, Kyle softly pitched the ball at him. Max caught it proudly and beamed up at his friends. There was a loud sound behind him – the clashing of metal on metal or stone on stone – and he turned sharply.

There was nothing behind him.

When he turned around again, he noticed that he was alone.

Thin threads of mist sifted through his hair and clogged up around him, until all that he could see were his own hands.

His own hands, and the ball.
Last edited by Anais Nin on Wed May 05, 2004 7:21 am, edited 4 times in total.
<center>...endless so far in myself, follow me...
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Anais Nin
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Post by Anais Nin »

<center>Chapter 20</center>

Germany, September 1942

“You did the right thing, son,” Jim said as he nodded slowly. It was a small, insignificant gesture, but it reminded Max of his father, of his stern, moralistic speeches. “I know it must be hard on you, but you did the right thing. Really. Just imagine how many lives you saved.”

Max shrugged reluctantly and stared at the cottage. Liz was inside of it, alone. Asleep, he secretly wished. He hoped she would sleep tomorrow night as well.

Jim and Maria had brought her out there last night and today, Max had helped them giving the hideout room a complete make-over. No one could have guessed that a Jew had hid out in it. It had become a messy, dirty lumber room, ignored by the house's residents.

After that, he’d confessed the truth to Jim. He had told him that there were other families in danger. He had told Jim who exactly had to watch his step, whose house was going to be searched… Everything he knew. Everything Roger had known.

He’d confessed, and it had killed him. He had felt as if he had betrayed his brother, his family, his race, but how could he have not warned Jim? What made Liz different from other Jews? Why would he help her, but not help others?

It could be Kyle they were going to catch, or Pieter.

It could have been Liz.

It had taken him some time to figure it out, but he recently started to see things clearer. Jews didn’t deserve this. No one did. There wasn’t much he could do about it, but he should try to help the small portion he could save.

“I’ll go by the cabin tonight,” he said, avoiding a direct reply to Jim’s small speech. “Can Maria go next Wednesday?”

“She told me she could,” Jim said, nodding. “So, Frankfurt, huh? Second year?”

“Third,” Max corrected him uncomfortably. Thinking of seeing Liz again made his insides churn. Would she still be that angry with him? Would she still refuse to forgive him?

She had every right not to, he knew.

Jim whistled approvingly and kicked against a log of wood. “Your third already… I always knew you’d make it somewhere, Max,” he grinned. “Doctor. That’s a respectable job. Better than being one of those SS-ers.”

“Probably,” Max replied warily. “I should get going now. Will you write me if something happens?”

Jim smiled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Sure I will. In code, though. You’ll have to read between the lines, son.”

Max nodded slowly. “I can do that,” he said. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Oh, but it is,” Jim countered, and fell silent for a second, squinting against the light of the setting sun, his mouth drawn into a pensive line. “It is.”

Another pause followed as he looked at Max, his pale eyes unreadable, the wrinkles around them deep and grieving. “It’s hard to see that there’s more,” he finally said. “More than what meets the eye.”

<center>***</center>

The door opened soundlessly – probably the only part of the cottage that wasn’t rotten and shaky. He held his breath as he stepped inside of the building and closed the door behind him. It was quiet around him, and she was nowhere to be seen.

Jim had told him that she slept in the other room of the cottage, close to the backdoor. Max took a couple of swift, quiet steps, ignoring the creaking of wooden planks beneath his feet. It was dark around him, but white rays of moonlight lit his path. A rustling sound from the corner of the room caught his attention. Seconds later, he noticed a small animal crossing the room, seeking safety in its hole.

Dust danced before him, hovering in the air, reflecting the moon’s light. It itched in his nose and made him want to sneeze. Another step brought him to a second door, the one that led to the backroom. Hesitantly, he placed his hand upon the cold metal of the latch, and pressed it downwards, slowly.

He was less lucky this time; the door moaned under the gentle pressure and turned loudly. When, after waiting a couple of minutes, nothing happened, and nothing seemed to move, he removed his hand from the latch and entered the room.

She was lying on the faded green fabric of a couch, her knees drawn to her chest, an arm beneath her head. Her dark hair was spread out on the pillow, carefully brushed out of her face, glistening in the pale moonlight. He swallowed quietly and forced himself to look away from her. He was glad that she was asleep. He could stare at her without making her feel uncomfortable, and a direct conversation or awkward confrontation was avoided.

Her almost breathtaking appearance had blurred her surroundings into the background, and he took a minute to take everything in. The peeled wallpaper, the black scorched stones of the wall behind the hearth, the pile of blankets in the corner. His gaze wandered slowly, straying from one object to the next, only to land upon her sleeping form once more.

Remembering what he was here for, he took some cans out of his bag, and placed them, along with three bottles of water, on the unsteady table. He walked back – slowly – unable to tear his gaze away from her face. It looked relaxed, almost carefree. Her breaths came slowly, announced by the slight rise of her chest and the vibrating of a small strand of hair that hung in front of her face. His hands itched to brush it away, and he barely managed to take another step back and leave the room.

When he walked towards the hall, he swore he heard something move behind him. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, but was unable to notice anything out of the ordinary. The mouse he’d seen before gnawed at a piece of wood, its beady eyes daringly meeting his.

He turned again and left the cabin, his mind awhirl, confusing thoughts jumbling, tumbling in his head.

<center>***</center>

Relieved releasing the breath she’d been holding, she watched him walk away. His lonely silhouette touched something deep inside of her, making her feel inexplicably sad. His sagged shoulders, his strange walk… they reminded her so much of the past, of him as a little boy.

Through her own, vague reflection in the window, she noticed how he turned sharply and suddenly looked back at the cottage, his dark eyebrows drawn into a frown. She hastily took a step back, into the dark shadows of her room. With her cheek against the rough fabric of the curtains, she waited until he continued his way back. His face wore a lost expression, his eyes never leaving the shades in which she hid.

He couldn’t see her, she was sure.

Finally, after what seemed eternity had passed, he turned around again and left, his shoulders sagged even more than before.


<center>Chapter 21</center>

Somewhere in the Third Reich, September 1942

As the sun slowly rose, the train kept on going, towards the climbing sun. East, Trevor thought. The sun rose in the east; they were going east. Dachau? Were they bringing him to Dachau again? He wasn’t sure if he could stand being there again, not even for the a little while. He’d find a way to escape. He had to find a way to escape if he wanted to survive.

The train was well guarded, with two heavily armed SS-ers at every exit. There was no way he would be able to run away. He’d have to wait until they’d reached their place of destination, until their continual watchful glares had subdued to occasional glances.
Sighing, he leaned back against the wooden wall of the carriage and slid down until his bottom came in contact with the cold floor and he could rest his head in his hands. The train was crowded. Beyond crowded. He was lucky; not all that many people were able to sit down and rest a little.

Someone close to him coughed and muttering, frightened voices filled the musty cabin. The rancid smell of sweat, rotten food and urine sickened him, and every now and then, he truly regretted going to his first communist meeting with Ingrid, so many years ago. It had been stupid of him to risk everything like that. It had been insane to give it up, just in an attempt to make the world a better place to live.

If only he had never delivered those communist papers. If only his previous stay in Dachau had had the warning effect it had been supposed to have. If only he hadn’t been so convinced that the communism would conquer the right wing, the strong capitalism.

He threw his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. Dachau wasn’t this far away from where the train had left, he thought warily. They couldn’t be on their way to Dachau. They had to be somewhere close to the Polish border. Maybe they already were past the border, maybe they already were in Poland. He couldn’t say. Time didn’t seem to exist in the little carriage. In there, it was only him, the crowd, the SS-er’s and the foul smell.

And eternity, of course.

The trip seemed to last for an eternity, a never-ending ride to hell.

Finally, after another two hours, the train slowed down - the volume and iterations of the rapid rattling of the wheels on the rails decreased. Trevor opened his eyes, slowly, and carefully rose to his feet.

The doors slid open loudly, the sun flooding the carriage with its bright light. His eyes swept over the station, over the people and the way they were dressed. When he was pushed out of the wagon, he shielded his eyes from the sun and was oblivious to the people that shoved against him, that tossed him around. The sound of harsh, discussing voices reached his ears, and he froze.

One thing was sure.

He no longer was in Germany.

<center>***</center>

Germany, September 1942

“I know you’re awake.”

His voice didn’t come from far; she could feel his breath sweeping over her face. Her eyes fluttered open, and looked straight into his. Panic rose in her throat, but he took a step back and smiled lightly.

She opened her mouth and hesitated. Should she talk to him? He had helped her, and was risking his own safety, just for her. If he had wanted to take advantage of her, he could have done that a week ago, when she’d been sleeping. Could she trust him?

“How…?” she asked, slightly confused.

“The couch,” he said, casting a glance at it. “Its pillows were still warm.”

“Oh,” she quietly uttered, and sat upright.

They both were silent for a while, trading awkward looks. “I’ll be gone soon,” he finally said. “Maria won’t be coming until Thursday.”

“Thursday?” Liz repeated, her voice small.

He nodded, and apologetically gazed down at her. “She has a party next Wednesday, and she really has to be there. It’d be suspicious if she didn’t go.”

Looking away, she pulled her knees up to her chest and threw her arms around them.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I’ve tried to gather as much food as possible, but with the food rationing… Jim got some coupons from the resistance, and I took some food out of my mother’s store cupboard.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” she spoke quietly, feeling horrible.

“It’s not like she’ll notice,” he tried to reassure her. “Besides, she wouldn’t mind. She always liked you, Liz.”

“I bet she did,” she muttered under her breath, refusing to meet his gaze.

Max shook his head slowly. “What did you say?”

“That you shouldn’t steal from your mother,” she said. “It’s wrong.”

“This whole situation is wrong.” He shrugged, and gestured at the food he’d placed on the table. “Look, you’ll have to be careful with it. Don’t eat too much at once.” After making sure she understood him, he walked towards the couch and sat down on its arm. “Do you have enough water?”

“Not nearly,” she said, sighing. “I drank most of it.”

“You don’t wash yourself with it, do you?”

“I use water out of the lake for that,” she indignantly replied, angrily glaring at him. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that she shouldn’t waste the little water she did have.

“I’ll bring more water next time,” he promised. “I’ll ask Maria to bring a few bottles with her as well.”

She nodded, and he nodded. She smiled, and he smiled back. She started fiddling with the fringes of her dress. He started twiddling his thumbs.

After they’d spend some minutes in complete silence, he hesitantly said, “Listen…”

Her eyes wonderingly looked into his, and he felt slightly uncomfortable under her scorching stare. Nothing he could ever say would be enough to make up for what he’d done, but he had to try.

“About what happened, I mean, what I did, you know, about a week ago?” He paused to see if she knew what he was talking about.

Her gaze dropped to her lap, and her face fell.

Apparently, she did.

Swallowing uncomfortably, he went on. “I shouldn’t have done that. I had no right to do so. It was wrong, and I knew it.” He took a deep breath, and skillfully managed to avoid meeting her eyes. “I… To see you again, after all those years… It was confusing,” he truthfully said. “I had missed you, and there you were, laughing with me.. It felt so surreal. I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

He shook his head, out of heart. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she agreed.

“I won’t ever kiss you again,” he vowed. “I promise.”

She smiled weakly, and placed her hand over his. “Without my permission,” she said, praying that she wasn’t giving him any false hopes.

“Without your permission,” he echoed, a smile curling his lips.

Her heart leapt slightly at the twinkle in his eyes, and she could feel something tugging at it, a playful tickling sensation inside of her stomach. He leaned forward and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers skimming over the skin of her cheek. For a moment, she feared that he was going to kiss her again, but then, all of a sudden, he was gone.

Strangely enough, she felt abandoned. She felt lonely, and, somehow, very confused.

Lonely, confused, and disappointed.

<center>Chapter 22</center>

Germany, September 1942

“I can’t believe this,” Maria muttered, shaking her head. She lowered her hand and threw her cards onto the table. “What’s wrong with you?”

Liz eyed her, confused, laying her cards down to the table as well. “What do you mean?”

Maria sighed and sifted through her cards, pulling three cards out of it. “A joker, an ace and a king. I win.”

Still oblivious to what Maria was trying to say, Liz frowned.

“I never win, Liz. Never,” Maria stressed. “What’s the matter?”

Liz shoved all cards aside. “Nothing,” she shrugged unwillingly. “Beside the obvious, that is.”

Huffing quietly, Maria regarded her friend. “Up for another game?” she asked, but Liz shook her head.

“I’m tired,” she said. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Considering this, Maria studied Liz. There were large, dark circles underneath her eyes, disgracing her otherwise so alert face. “Should I leave?” she suggested.

Liz silently shook her head as she folded her legs underneath her body and leaned back against the couch. “Don’t leave. I… I really don’t want to be alone,” she said, her voice calm and quiet, betraying her confused state of mind.

Maria nodded. “Do you want me to sew that on your jacket?” she asked, glancing at the yellow star.

“You don’t have to,” Liz answered, not giving the star a second glance. “I’m not planning on going outside any time soon.”

“You should wear it, Liz. You never know what might happen,” Maria lightly chided her, and took the star. Black, Hebraic looking letters spelled the word Jude. “Give me your jacket, muffin. I know that you hate sewing.”

After wriggling herself out of her jacket, Liz reluctantly handed it to her friend. Maria took needle and thread in her hands and searched for the right place to sew the star on.

Liz motionlessly studied Maria as she worked, content with the silence that hung around them. “It’s just so degrading,” she whispered a little while later.

“It’s god-awful,” Maria agreed disapprovingly. “And yellow… well, there aren’t many colors that go with yellow, right?”

“Right,” Liz said, shaking her head as she smiled lightly.

Maria drew the needle through the fabric of the jacket and the star, humming quietly.

“Do you think Max likes me?” Liz asked Maria suddenly, not quite knowing why.

Shaking her head as she kept her eyes on the jacket, Maria smiled. “Of course he likes you. He wouldn’t be going through all this trouble for you if he didn’t.”

Liz sighed and laid her head upon her knees, wrapping her arms around them. “I know that. But do you think he likes me?”

Her head snapped up, and Maria curiously gazed at her friend. “As in ‘interested in’?” she wanted to know, and Liz nodded hesitantly, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Would he?” she asked.

Maria was silent for a second. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “Maybe. He sure is obsessed with you.”

“He can’t like me, can he?” Liz asked doubtfully, more to herself than to anyone else. “He’s too different. I am too different.”

“Because you’re a Jew,” Maria stated dryly, guessing Liz’s motives. “That’s nonsense, Liz, and you know it.”

Liz shook her head, looking away. “Jews aren’t meant to be with Aryans,” she whispered.

“Michael’s a Jew,” Maria reminded her, hurt. “Does that mean that he’s not meant for me?”

“No,” Liz hastily corrected herself, “that’s not what I meant. You two are different.”

Maria held the needle in front of the candle and searched for its hole. “I don’t see how.”

“You just are,” Liz murmured, and looked at the covered windows, wishing she could see the forest, the night sky, the full moon. She sighed and closed her eyes, thinking of Max, of her parents, of Kyle and Aunt Caroline. “He kissed me,” she said all of a sudden, feeling the need to let Maria know.

Maria looked up, surprised. “He kissed you?”

“About two weeks ago.” Liz looked away embarrassed. “I didn’t want him to, so I told him to leave. But he apologized afterwards,” she said, and hastily added, “Several times,” when she noticed Maria’s shocked expression.

“He did? I’m going to–” Maria started, her cheeks reddening as her anger grew.

“Please, don’t tell him I told you,” Liz interrupted her, her eyes pleading.

“What? You can’t–”

“Please,” Liz begged, sitting upright. “It’s in the past now. It’s so very insignificant compared to what’s going on.”

Maria leveled her friend with an incredulous look, but finally gave in. “Okay,” she agreed, rather reluctant. “I won’t do anything.”

With a soft, relieved sigh, Liz let herself fall back to the couch. “Thank you.”

Maria shrugged slightly and grumbled quietly. “Don’t mention it.” Her fingers skillfully continued their sewing, and she broke the thread when she was done. “Here you are,” she said as she handed Liz the jacket. “Don’t forget to wear it when you go public, all right?”

“I won’t,” Liz promised as she slipped into it. “Thanks. You’re an angel.”

Maria grinned widely and stood up, straightening her skirt. “I know. I should get going. Will you be okay?”

Nodding, Liz stood up as well. “I’ll be fine,” she said. And, with an awkward glance at the star sewed on her jacket, she pursed her lips together. “I’ll be fine.”

<center>***</center>

Germany, end of September 1942

“Patricia Williams asked after you,” Roger told him. “She was hoping that you would attend tomorrow’s party.”

“I won’t,” Max said succinctly, uninterested. He went through his homework and tried to concentrate, but his brother didn’t seem to notice that.

Roger shrugged and sat down on a chair across Max. “She’s a good catch, brother. Nice body, big blue eyes, rich, influential family… She’s a fine cook as well, according to what I’ve heard.”

“She has no brains,” Max commented matter-of-factly, and gazed down at his book. He had read the same sentence twelve times now, and still didn’t know what it said.

“Even better,” Roger said, grinning broadly. “If you’re not going to ask her, you wouldn’t mind if I did, would you?”

Max shook his head and bit on the back of his pencil. “Be my guest,” he muttered, unable to keep his mind from wandering to Liz. It was no use trying to do his homework when she was in every single thought he had, in every single thing he wanted to say. He shoved his books away from him and looked wistfully at the heavens, wishing for the day to be over and for tomorrow to begin.

<center>Chapter 23</center>

Germany, October 1942

Her heart skipped a beat the second she heard the sound, and she bolted upright, slumber immediately thrown off her.

“Maria?”

Her voice trembled lightly, fear making her hesitant. No one replied, and Liz tried to slow down her rapid, liable heartbeat. A mouse, she thought. It must have been a mouse, or the wind. She sat down again and took a deep breath. Nothing was wrong. Nothing. No one had come to take her away. It was just her, a mouse and the wind.

She could live with that.

<center>***</center>

Carrying his shoes in his hand, he tiptoed towards the front door, his bag heavy. The house was deep asleep, night claiming them as his. It seemed as if the house was breathing, slowly, lazily, just as tired as its inhabitants. A comfortable silence filled the empty rooms, and streaks of filtered moonlight fell on the cold floor, upon the path of tiles he’d just taken.

“Max? Is that you?”

He froze, and breathed heavily. Slowly turning around, he saw his mother’s slim figure in the doorway, her curious eyes.

“Where are you going?” she asked, staring at his bag and the shoes in his hand, her brows furrowed into a frown.

“To… Maria,” he lied hesitantly. Jim, Maria and he had agreed that, if he would get caught sneaking out of the house, he would say just that.

Diane walked towards him, her kind, light eyes wonderingly meeting his. “You told me Maria was going to Leanne’s party,” she said in a hushed voice, confused.

Discomfited, he tried to come up with a credible excuse. “I… I’m going to meet her afterwards,” he said slowly. It must have been evident that he was lying, for his mother’s frown didn’t disappear.

She smiled sadly, pained that he no longer trusted her with his secrets, and her gaze drifted back to his bag. “You’re not going to Maria, are you?” she said, her words somewhere between a statement and a question.

Shifting uncomfortably, he shook his head. “I’m not,” he admitted, feeling foolish for being unable to lie to her.

They were silent for a while, and then his mother nodded, the by moonlight illuminated wrinkles around her eyes making her look older than ever before. “You’re not going to tell me who you’re going to meet, are you?” Again, her words weren’t meant as a question.

“I’m not,” he assented guiltily. “I can’t.”

Diane nodded again, and stepped forward, taking him in his arms the way she’d done so many years ago. He had grown up fast, without her noticing it. “Come home safe,” she whispered sadly, her voice quiet.

He nodded, closing his eyes as she pressed him against her bosom. “I will,” he promised. “I will, mom.” Pulling back, he kissed her cheek lightly and reached for the door latch. The cool streetlights welcomed him as he stepped outside and left his mother’s warm embrace.

<center>***</center>

There it was again.

The sound of a door opening and closing, of hushed voices, of footsteps in the hall.

With her heart in her throat, she crept back over the couch until she reached the far end of it. A trembling hand reached for the knitting needles on the table, the brightly colored beginning of a sweater falling to the ground, forgotten.

She shivered, on the border of tears. Taking several deep breaths didn’t calm her down as it had before, her muscles remained tense, her nerves stayed set on edge. Lena looked silently at her, her bead eyes unsaying, glistening in the little light that illuminated the room.

A broken breath was torn from Liz’s throat as she heard the sounds again. More footsteps. More voices. The footsteps gained in volume, and she swallowed with difficulty as she heard them come closer, near her with every second that passed.

She lamented quietly, her numb fingers closing around the needle, clutching it tightly. It shook lightly, in sync with her quivering body.

Her heart’s muscles froze, along with the rest of her, when the latch of the door was lowered. She breathed heavily, in dire need of oxygen. Terrified tears stung her eyes as she tried to gather the requested oxygen.

The door swung open slowly, and it took her several minutes to realize who it was. Forcing herself to let the knitting needle go, her fingers loosened their grip, the needle falling to the floor. A sob slipped passed her lips as she tried to keep herself from crying.

“Liz?”

She bit on her lip and tried to inhale air, her breathing hitched.

“I didn’t scare you, did I?” he asked, his lips drawn together hesitantly, guiltily. She didn’t answer him, but the lack of a reply didn’t mean that she didn’t appreciate the warm arms that surrounded her when she cried, nor did it mean that she wished his whispered words had been left unsaid.
Last edited by Anais Nin on Wed Mar 17, 2004 9:21 am, edited 7 times in total.
<center>...endless so far in myself, follow me...
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Anais Nin
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Post by Anais Nin »

Author’s Note: The 26th of July, 1935, Justice Minister Frick orders marriages between Aryans (pure blood Germans) and non-Aryans (specifically Jews and gyspies) to be stopped.

<center>Chapter 24</center>

Germany, October 1942

Shivering, she pulled the blankets tighter around her. It was only the beginning of October, and already, it was freezing cold in the cabin. The hearth couldn’t be used; someone might notice smoke circling upwards, towards the sky. Blankets and layers of clothing were the only things that were able to warm her numb body, heavily lying down upon her.

“Liz?”

She whipped her head around, startled by the sudden sound. “Jim,” she happily said when she saw him, the generous, engaging smile around his lips.

He briefly took her in his arms and pulled her close to him. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she smiled. “It’s just kind of cold in here, but I’ll survive.”

Nodding, he sat down next to her, upon the old couch. “I thought I saw some blankets on the first floor. I’ll see if I can find them later. You sure you’re not lonely? Bored?”

Liz grimaced slightly. “Just a little bit. Max brought me some books, and I try to find ways to occupy myself.”

“Well, I hope I come bearing some good news for you, then. Another girl will soon be joining you. She'll come with Carter – you know who he is, don’t you?” He questioningly gazed down at her, his blue eyes mirroring her tired ones.

She scrambled up until she their faces were at the same height, and then shook her head. “He’s from the resistance in Austria, right?” She had heard the name Carter before, briefly mentioned in secret conversations between Jim and Michael.

“He is,” Jim nodded. “Anyway, Carter managed to get her over the borders, and now she’s looking for a temporary place to hide now, until she can find a way to escape the country. I told Carter about this cabin, and he thought it would be a perfect place for her.”

Liz nodded, a small smile growing upon her lips. “When will she come here?”

Soon, she prayed, please, say that she’ll come soon.

“In a few days,” Jim answered, glad that she looked forward to it. “I figured you could use some company.”

“I definitely can,” Liz smiled. The prospect of someone to talk to, listen to and laugh with excited her. Her eyes swept through the dirty room. It wouldn’t hurt to clean up the house a little bit to welcome its new resident.

Jim stood up and took his hat from the table. “Let me see if I can find those blankets for you,” he said, and left. Seconds later, she could hear him climbing the flight of stairs.

She smiled and gave Lena a small kiss. “We’ll have company soon, Lena,” she whispered happily. “Soon.”

<center>***</center>

Poland, October 1942

Trevor quietly ate the chunk of bread, biting away on it, devouring it eagerly. The bowl of meager soup they’d eaten that morning still dashed in his stomach, and though he’d gotten used to the hunger, he could never control his appetite in the afternoon, after a day filled with work. He no longer felt the contracting pains that would torment him at night, when he had eaten too greedily, too fast. It had become a part of him, just like the foul smell that hung in the huts and in the factory.

He nibbled away at the last piece of bread and wiped his hands clean on his uniform. It had once been white, with black stripes. The white had long since faded into a dark, greasy blackness, and the stripes no longer could be distinguished.

On top of his bunk bed, he regarded his fellow prisoners. Most of them were like him, German communists that had done the unacceptable. There were a couple of gypsies and five homosexuals in the camp. He’d seen them the other day, walking towards their own hut. The markings the Jews had worn had been different from his. He had a red triangle, with a G on it, just like the other communists and political prisoners from Germany. The gypsies – he’d been told later – had to wear a black triangle, and the homosexuals a pink one.

He sighed as the man with whom he shared the bed turned around, causing the bunk bed to shake heavily. A mumbled apology drifted upwards, but Trevor didn’t reply. As he closed his eyes, he thought of his parents, who had to be more than worried about him. His sister flashed before his eyes, and his friend.

It got quiet around him rather quickly; a new day would start soon, early in the morning, before dawn.

Before the sun would rise.

<center>***</center>

Germany, October 1942

A thick blanket was spread out over the forest, immersing it in its silent darkness. A few stars twinkled in the black sky, Mars just visible above the horizon. Branches danced on the light breeze, a few remaining autumn leaves dangling in the trees, rustling quietly. She sighed. With a loud screech, a night owl flew up, its eyes reflecting the moon’s meager light. Its shadow crossed the lake, swaying on the waves. It didn’t scare her. Not anymore. She felt something brushing along her leg, a mouse desperately seeking safety.

She didn’t feel it.

She didn’t notice the cobwebs that glistened with early dew, graceful arches that crossed the little path. She didn’t see the animals that hid behind glowing eyes.

Splashing some water into her face, she stared at her own reflection. It was peacefully silent outside, and she didn’t long to go back.

She should, though, before the night owl returned.


<center>Chapter 25</center>

Germany, October 1942

Her name was Meredith.

Long, dark hair framed her pretty face, its thick locks playfully curling at the ends. Deep, brown eyes stood out, made the cute, small nose and the full, temptingly shaped lips fade into the background. She moved around the room gracefully, her smile never leaving her face. Close to perfection, one would call her.

Meredith was beautiful, and she knew it.

Liz had never truly disliked a person, but Meredith seemed to irritate her. Why, Liz couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the way Meredith talked, walked and smiled, as if she possessed everyone and everything around her. Maybe it was the way she would look at Max, would beg for his attention. It could be in the way she looked around the room, high and mighty, better than everyone else. Or maybe, just maybe it was the way Liz felt when she was around her.

As if she wasn’t good enough.

“You can find some extra blankets in the closet,” Jim told Meredith, who nodded back at him and smiled politely. “Maria and Max will bring food twice a week. Be careful, please. You too, Liz,” he added, giving her a stern look.

Nodding, she quietly regarded Max from beneath her eyelashes. Was he looking at Meredith?

His gaze crossed hers, and she looked away, feeling a blush creep upon her cheeks. She conveniently covered it by looking down, letting her hair slide down along her face.

Jim buttoned up his jacket and, taking his mittens, he walked towards the door. Turning back to face them, he said, “All right. Take care, then.”

Liz nodded, smiling lightly, but Meredith gave him a radiant smile. “Bye, Jim,” she said with a slight, Austrian drawl. “And thank you so much.”

He laughed, obviously flattered by her gratefulness, and nodded. “You’re welcome, Meredith.” His light eyes searched Max and he gestured at the door. “You coming, Max?”

“Just a second,” Max said as he wrapped his shawl around him.

“Do you have to go?” Meredith asked, her lips drawn into something resembling a pout, surprising Liz with her shameless question and her boldness.

Max nodded slowly, shooting a shy, hesitant, but rather uncomfortable look at Meredith. “My parents expect me home,” he answered.

Meredith smiled sweetly and bit her lip, nodding understandingly. “Too bad,” she replied. It was so obvious that she was flirting with him. Too obvious.

Groaning quietly, Liz looked away, unable to watch it for another second. She thought she could hear Max laugh quietly – was it something Meredith had said? – and she dared a glance back at him. He met her gaze, winked at her and, after placing his cap upon his head, he left the cabin, following Jim. “Bye Liz,” he smiled and nodded at Meredith, and after smiling at Liz once more, he closed the door behind him.

With a strange mixture of excitement, frustration and warmth, Liz walked towards the window and watched as both men treaded through the pine needles and colored leaves. Max glanced over his shoulder once and grinned when he saw her looking, waving shortly. She smiled and shyly waved back at him.

“What a mess this place is,” Meredith commented suddenly.

Startled, Liz turned around. She had completely forgotten that she no longer lived on her own.

Meredith looked around, shaking her head, her face distorted with obvious distaste. “Have you ever heard of cleaning up?”

<center>***</center>

He was quietly opening the backdoor when his mother’s voice startled him. She sat in the darkness of the kitchen, her silhouette barely visible, dark outlines against the white refrigerator that gleamed in a meager ray of moonlight.

“Max?”

Her voice broke the peaceful silence in which the house had been bathing for hours.

“Mom,” he said, surprised, his voice just a little bit too high. Closing the door behind him, he suppressed a frown and stepped into the dark room. “Why are you still awake?”

Diane stared at him, her hands tightly clasped around a cup with steaming chocolate. “I noticed you weren’t at home,” she said, and it wasn’t until then that Max noticed the vague signs of weariness and age in her face.

He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. “I was at a friend’s,” he told her, glad that there was no need to lie.

Not yet, that was.

She shook her head, nearly indiscernible, and let out a bitter laugh, turning her cup in her hands. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you?” Her tired, pale eyes met his in a look of sadness, worry shimmering through the disappointment.

“I’m not in trouble, mother,” he denied quietly, tucking a strand of graying hair behind her ear. “I was helping out a friend.”

With closed eyes, she shook her head, her expression woebegone. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

She could sense it. In some ways, he was so much like his father.

Placing his hand over his mother’s, he squeezed it lightly. “Trust me, mother. It’s nothing bad. But please,” he whispered, hesitating, “please, don’t tell father. Don’t tell anyone.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him.

“Please,” he begged again, needing to hear her to confirm it.

The light was suddenly flicked on, and Philip appeared in the doorway. “Max? Diane?” he asked tiredly, and scratched his head. “What are you still doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Diane answered, feeling her son squeeze her hand again.

“Just finished studying,” he lied, and again shot a pleading look at his mother. “I was about to go to bed.”

Philip looked at them, a bit bewildered, but didn’t ask any further. “You need your rest,” he lightly scolded Max. Looking at the way Diane’s body was slumped in the kitchen chair, he couldn’t hide his anxiety and worries. “You, too, honey.”

He yawned, stretched lazily and glanced at the clock. “Well, I’m going back to bed.”

Max nodded, letting go of his mother’s hand. “Goodnight, father.”

He gratefully looked down at his mother, and, standing up, he kissed one of her wrinkled cheeks. “Goodnight, mom,” he whispered, and, after a last glance at her weary, confused face, he left the kitchen.


<center>Chapter 26</center>

Germany, October 1942

The candle’s flame had long since died, but the thick darkness around her didn’t lift the uncomfortable atmosphere. Meredith was lying beside her, on the cabin’s battered couch, beneath a moth-filled, awfully smelling blanket. She didn’t complain – not anymore – but it was clear that the girl would rather be somewhere else; her frequent sighs and groans told Liz that much.

A cough tore through the stillness of the night, making Liz even more aware that Meredith was still wide awake.

“Jim said you were from Austria,” she quietly said in a brave attempt to start a conversation.

“I am,” Meredith answered, her voice sophisticated and soft. “From Vienna, actually.”

“Vienna,” Liz echoed. “I’ve been there once. When I was two or three.”

“Really?”

It was the first time Liz had heard something that vaguely resembled interest in the girl’s voice.

“Really,” she said. “I don’t remember much from it, though.”

“It’s a beautiful city,” Meredith told her, and she yawned quietly. “It’s an amazing place, really, but you wouldn’t fit in there.”

Frowning, Liz looked at the girl’s back and pulled up the blankets a little bit further. “I wouldn’t?”

“No, you wouldn’t. Goodnight,” Meredith said, all of a sudden cold and brusque, and, a little bit surprised, Liz closed her eyes.

“Goodnight,” she whispered back, but a light wheezing sound told her Meredith was already asleep.

<center>***</center>

Germany, October 1942

Filtered light invaded the small attic, playfully brushing over her husband’s nose, his toes and hair. It was dusty upstairs, and the constant smell of cows hung around their beds. By now, she was used to the persistent mooing and the shoving of hoofs, but it had taken her longer to adjust to the lack of space. Thankfully, she still had her husband with her, and even in these difficult times, they experienced joy and happiness.

The barking of the dogs on the farmyard startled her, and she bolted upright.

“Visitors,” Jeffrey whispered quietly, and she nodded, praying that he was right.

She could hear Patrick’s low voice when he greeted the visitor. Unable to keep herself from heaving a relieved sigh, she noticed Jeffrey doing the same, and seconds later, he kissed her forehead, telling her they were all right, that they would be all right.

The voices moved, until they were positioned right underneath them, and Nancy could hear someone fidgeting with the hatch.

“Jim, it’s Jim,” Jeffrey suddenly hissed, and fear coursed through her veins. It was Jim. Jim never came to see them. It was too dangerous. Unless... something had happened to Liz.

Barely giving him any time to get upstairs, she moved over to him, desperate for answers. “Tell me she’s all right, Jim, tell me she’s all right,” she whispered, her eyes begging him to confirm it to her.

“She is, Nancy. Don’t worry, she is,” Jim assured her with a small smile. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“She is?” Jeffrey asked hopefully, but still a bit skeptical. “Patrick mentioned that you were having problems.”

“Yes, yes, there were some problems,” Jim said, and he explained the entire matter. “So... we moved her to the old cabin in the woods,” he finally added.

“The old cabin?” Nancy wondered, still feeling unsure about what was happening to her daughter.

“The one that once belonged to the old Darcy,” Jeffrey helped her, “the forest-keeper with the crazy green hat and that huge dog.”

Starting to panic, Nancy reached for her husband's hand. “She’s there? All by herself?”

Jim smiled and shook his head. “No. There’s another girl with her, from Austria. She seems to be a perfectly nice girl.”

“That’s good,” Jeffrey said, a happy glint shining through in his eyes. It brought him delight to hear more about how his daughter was doing.

Nancy nodded, and smiled sadly. “I just wish she could be here with us for Hanukkah. Could you tell her we miss her?”

Jim nodded.

“A lot,” Jeffrey added. “Tell her we miss her a lot. Tell her that we’re doing well, that Kyle and Caroline are safe and that we hope to see her soon.”

“I’ll tell her,” Jim promised, and gave Nancy a brief hug. “I’ll let her know as soon as I can.”

<center>***</center>

Germany, November 1942

“Max, thank God,” Liz breathed, and quickly buttoned up her jacket, obstinately ignoring the ugly yellow star.

He eyed her funnily, not-understanding, and she grabbed his arm and dragged him outside with her.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she confided him, and shook her head. “Honestly, Meredith is driving me crazy.” She pulled him along with her, happily breathing in the fresh air. ‘Oh Gosh, I broke a nail!’ she imitated Meredith, her voice high and mocking. Groaning, she shook her head and tried to smile at her friend.

Max just laughed, happily surprised that she was so talkative today. “Where are we going?”

“Away,” Liz said. “Far, far away.” Her fingers laced themselves through his as she guided him through the woods.

It was chilly, their breath forming little clouds of vapor. Obviously, autumn was about to end. Brightly colored leaves – some half rotten, some torn and brown – were spread over the forest’s ground, creating a carpet that deadened the sound of their footsteps. Carefully circling around a tree, she kicked against a small rock that flew away, aiming for freedom until it crashed against the base of an old, large pine tree.

“We can’t be seen, Liz. You know that, right?”

“We won’t be seen,” she assured him. “Nobody ever comes here, especially not in the end of autumn.”

Max favored her with a secret smile and, while walking, lightly swung their joined hands to and fro. “I think you’re jealous,” he said, half-serious, though the tone of his voice was teasing and playful.

“Jealous?” Liz laughed at the absurdity of his suggestion. She shivered and stuffed her free hand into her jacket’s pocket. “Of her?”

Nodding, he said, “She’s a nice girl, Liz. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her. I really don’t understand why you don’t like her.”

“Nice? Are you out of your mind?” Liz shook vigorously her head. “She’s anything but nice. You don’t have to live with her.”

“You do have a point there,” Max admitted smiling, “but I still think she's all right.”

She could see the lake now, its water reflecting the wintry sun, leaves and other dirt drifting on its surface. Pausing, she turned to look around to regard the cabin, an ominous silhouette in the distance. A prison. Her gaze strayed back to Max’s face, the delight that was readable in his eyes, the joy he felt at being outside.

He didn’t know what it was like.

He would never know.

“It’s really beautiful out here,” Max sighed. “I wish I could come here more often.”

He sat down on a moss-grown tree trunk – a reminder of last week’s gale – and she sat down on the ground beside him. The sand and leaves were wet and cold, water soaking the cotton of her jacket. Some pine needles pricked into her flesh, but she didn’t bother to throw them away.

“It is,” she agreed quietly. “I’d rather be back home, though, in the city.”

He turned around to look at her, noticing the sadness in her eyes. “I understand.”

Making a little, disapproving sound Max didn't hear, Liz shook her head and laid down.

He would never understand.

She looked up at the crispy blue sky. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, though there were several white streaks visible, thinly stretched out across the horizon.

“Do you remember Karin?” she suddenly asked, gazing up at Max.

Confused, he met her stare. “The butcher’s daughter?”

She nodded.

“Sure I do,” he said. “She got married last year.”

Liz’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “Really? I didn’t know that. But, you know, Meredith somewhat reminds me of Karin.” She paused to hear Max's opinion on the matter, but when he didn't reply, she added, “Just her looks, though.”

“I don’t know,” Max said, hesitating. “A bit perhaps.”

“I’m sure,” Liz persisted. “And I can know it.”

She smiled at the memory that popped up, and teasingly looked up at him. “I will never forget how you would drag me to the butcher’s shop window, just to see Karin when she was helping customers.”

A blush crept upon Max’s cheeks as he tried to defend himself. “She gave me an eraser, Liz. A large one, with a blue print on it. It was special.”

Liz laughed, and he couldn’t help smiling himself. “I was six, Liz. Seven, maybe.”

“Hmm, yeah,” she giggled. “Those were good times.”

“Yeah, they were,” he said, smilingly studying her perfect face. She was so utterly beautiful when she laughed. Her eyes would sparkle with a radiant happiness, and little dimples would appear in her cheeks. Her worried expression would be thrown off of her face, making way for a carefree smile and rosy cheeks.

“We should head back,” he said quietly, ignoring the way his heartbeat had quickened, the way his heart pleaded with him to stay there forevermore. “It’s getting dark.”

Her gaze drifted upwards, towards the sky, and she nodded. “We should,” she agreed, and sat upright. Lifting her hand, she started to remove the fir-needles that had gotten tangled up in her hair, one by one.

“Here, let me do that,” Max said, his voice low and soft, close to pleading.

She shyly lowered her hand again, and leaned back so that he could reach.

His hand carefully sifted through her hair and picked out the needles. Lovingly, he let the silky strands slip through his fingers and searched for dirt, and for little leaves.

“Max?”

Her voice was strained, somehow different than before, and he paused his ministrations, afraid he had done something wrong. Large, brown eyes gazed up at him, and he swallowed when he thought to see desire there, equaling his.

He gave her a lopsided half-smile, and she shyly ducked her head, a blush kissing her cheeks.

“Can I… kiss you?” he hesitantly asked, his throat dry as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

Her eyes met his once more, and she nodded slowly, expectantly looking up at him. Then, when he crossed the distance between them, her eyes fluttered closed. He could see her trembling lips, and couldn’t suppress a joy-filled smile. His heart beat erratically in his chest and the tickling sensation in his stomach told him the truth.

He was in love.

Slowly lowering his head, he had his lips meet hers. He could feel how they quivered, and noticed how nervous she was. Softly cradling her cheek, he caressed the flushed skin with his thumb, and brushed his lips against hers, quietly, solemnly.

Then he pulled back again, opened his eyes and smiled, hearing his own heart pounding in his throat.

She did the same, her awed expression making him overjoyed. Could she be feeling the same for him? Did she care for him just as much as he did for her?

He brought his lips to hers once more, unable to get enough of touching her, swept over them with a loving kiss and then kissed her forehead. “Let’s go back,” he whispered, and she nodded quietly, unable to hide her awe and delight.

On the way back to the cabin, Max couldn’t wipe a broad smile off his face.

Meredith stood outside of the cabin, on the little porch, waiting for them. “Where have you been?” she demanded, worry and anger clearly audible in her voice.

“We went for a walk,” Max smiled, and even Liz could muster up a smile for Meredith. Somehow, the girl no longer seemed so annoying.

“I’m sorry,” Max continued. “We’ll let you know in the future, right, Liz?”

She nodded, and awkwardly stuffed her hand into her pocket, not quite sure how their kiss had changed their relationship. He gave her a soft kiss on her cheek, and she kissed him back on his, unconsciously making sure that Meredith could see it.

“Bye, Max,” she whispered, and shyly smiled up at him.

Beaming up at her, he whispered, “Bye Liz.” He straightened, pulled on his mittens and nodded at Meredith. “I'll see you later, Meredith.”

And after a short wink at Liz, he was gone, leaving her behind with Meredith.

“So…” Meredith started slowly, reminding Liz of a predator that prepared itself for the final leap, the jump that would take it to its prey. “Are you and Max together now?”

Liz smiled as she walked back into the cabin, and nodded silently. “I guess we are,” she said happily, determined not to let Meredith spoil it.

“It won’t work, you know,” Meredith continued. “Jews and Aryans – it just doesn’t work.”

Liz glared at her, not willing to hear her words. “We can make it work,” she snapped angrily, jerked out of the little daydream she’d been having. She was unable to hide her irritation any longer. “We will make it work.”

“It won’t, Liz,” Meredith said, a hint of sadness shimmering through in her voice. “It can't.”

“It will,” Liz stubbornly alleged, and turned her back towards Meredith, simply shutting the other girl out.

She and Max would make it work, no matter what.
Last edited by Anais Nin on Mon Mar 01, 2004 11:21 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Anais Nin
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Post by Anais Nin »

<center>Chapter 27</center>

Germany, November 1942

Humming quietly, Max opened the door and quietly closed it behind him. His mother and Isabel were sitting at the table and greeted him absent-mindedly.

“What got you so happy?” Isabel inquired when she noticed his smile, her eyebrow gracefully arched in amusement. His mother looked at him, an equal look of puzzlement in her eyes.

Max shrugged. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just glad that my prelims are done with, and that I’m home once more.”

“You’re not home that often, though,” Diane remarked lightly.

“I think our little brother is in love,” Isabel teased him. “He's never home, doesn't eat and, please, mother, would you just look at that silly smile?”

Frowning, Max shook his head and sat down beside them. They were sorting out the food-supply, going through coupons of the rationed food. “You’re crazy,” he said, his smile still playing around his lips.

“Hmm…” Isabel laughed and laid some coupons aside. “If we save these and some coupons for the next month, we’ll have enough for a grand Christmas dinner, mother.”

Diane nodded. “Let’s keep them in the closet, then. It seems as if we’re running out of our food-supplies quicker than usual.”

Max felt a pang of guilt, but carefully hid it from them.

“We’re lucky father has such an important position,” Isabel sighed and raked a perfectly manicured hand through her hair. “Can you imagine how it must be for other families?”

Shaking his head remorsefully, Max stood up and kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’ll go clean out the shed,” he said, remembering that he had promised her to do that months ago. “Call me for dinner.”

<center>***</center>

Germany, November 1942

She was washing the dishes when Meredith suddenly started to talk. It startled her; for over two days, Meredith hadn’t said a single word that hadn't been necessary.

“I miss Vienna,” she said. “I miss the cathedral, the mass and the sermons.”

“You’re catholic?” Liz asked, surprised. She had assumed that Meredith was a Jew; her dark hair and her dark eyes, and the fact that she had needed a place to hideout had told her that much.

Meredith nodded quietly, sitting down on a shaky kitchen chair. “Every Sunday, my father and I went to the cathedral. It was a beautiful building. Angels, etches that pictured the way of the Cross… I loved it there.”

She glanced at Liz, who was holding on to a small cup she was supposed to wash. “I’m half-Jewish, if you’re wondering,” Meredith explained. “My mother was Jewish.”

“Oh,” Liz said, and forced herself to place the cup upon the wooden draining board.

Meredith did not bring up the subject again until later that week, when Liz was knitting, and she was reading a book.

“My father’s family hated my mother for her origins,” she confided Liz, who didn’t want to be a part of her secret at all. “She left Vienna when I was twelve.”

“I’m sorry,” Liz softly informed her of her pity. She just wanted Meredith to be quiet, to go back to the catatonic state of silence that had shrouded her for the past five days.

Meredith shook her head, not willing to accept any form of pity. “My father was devastated, my family satisfied.” Meredith paused briefly, looking down at her hands. “My father arranged it so that the Bund Deutscher Mädel would accept me.”

“The BDM?” Liz scrunched up her nose in disgust.

“Honestly,” Meredith tried to convince her, “it wasn’t so bad. I think it was one of the best things that could have happened to me after my mother left. There was order and discipline. Everything was so very clear.”

Unable to understand her, Liz shook her head. “But what about your mother’s origins,” she wondered, “didn’t they despise you for that?”

Meredith nodded slowly. “When they found out, yes. My father had somehow managed to obscure my mother’s descent. I think my uncle told them of it.” She avoided meeting Liz’s eyes and stared at a crack in the wall. “He never really liked me.”

“So you fled from Austria?” Liz guessed.

Justly, it seemed, for Meredith nodded again. “I fled,” she assented. “My father contacted Carter, who told him of this cabin.”

Liz was silent for a little while, a matter of reflective seconds. Though her respect for Meredith had grown, she still couldn’t get herself to like the girl.

Meredith sighed, let her elbows lean upon her knees and looked at Liz. “Do you want to know why I’m telling you this?”

Not knowing what to expect, Liz remained still, waiting for Meredith’s answer.

“To show you what you already know, but are too afraid to admit,” Meredith explained succinctly. Her brown eyes sparkled brightly, her lips drawn into a provocative smile. “To show you that Aryans aren’t meant to be with Jews.”

Liz shook her head, shocked by her revelation. “I love Max,” she countered vigorously. “I love him!”

“My mother loved my father,” Meredith said, “and he loved her back. But love wears off, loses its glance after the novelty of being with each other is gone. Especially when the entire world is against you.”

With an indignant glare, Liz leapt to her feet and left the cabin in a hurry. Only when she was outside, she was able to breathe again, the stuffy, cold atmosphere in the house clogging up her throat.

She ran towards the lake, ignoring her own tears. She passed trees and bushes that several days ago had seemed so beautiful, and now seemed so dark and woebegone.

Who was she trying to fool?

Meredith was right; she had known that all along. Not too long ago, she had said the same to Maria.

Jews and Aryans weren’t meant to be together. Max was forbidden for her. His family would hate her, and it would destroy their relationship. It would destroy both of them, just like it had destroyed Meredith’s parents.

After all, what did she have to offer? What kind of future could she give him?

Just now, she was endangering him, simply by being who she was, by existing.

Several deer curiously raised their heads as she fell to the ground that surrounded the lake and started to cry – soundlessly, but with jerking shoulders.



<center>Chapter 28</center>

Germany, November 1942

With curious, impatient fingers, he tore the envelope open and unfolded the letter. A special courier had just delivered it, and Max had a shrewd suspicion of what it might contain. The slip of paper trembled in his hands as he quickly surveyed it. The letter was typed, and signed by Frankfurt University’s dean.

“What does it say?” Roger asked, chewing on his potatoes as he played with his food, his fork drawing circles in the hotchpotch.

Ignoring his brother’s question – he knew that it wasn’t asked out of genuine interest, but more as a way to start a conversation – Max read the letter, his excitement growing with every new word.

“Honey?” his mother asked, and Max looked up, beaming.

“I passed my prelims,” he said, and laughed. He handed the letter to his father, passively undergoing his sister’s excited squeals and his mother’s tight hug.

“Well done,” his father nodded. “I knew you could do it, son.”

Max smiled and let his sister hug him. Roger muttered some muted congratulation, and though he didn’t want to admit it, it meant a lot to Max. The brother he had always looked up to, was now congratulating him.

“Isabel, sweetie,” his mother started, “why don’t you invite Alex over tomorrow night? This calls for a celebration.”

Still grinning, Max sat down for dinner. He desperately wanted to tell Liz about it, but knew he couldn’t risk going to her for his own sake, to tickle his own vanity. He would have to wait until tomorrow, so that he could bring her and Meredith some food as well.

<center>***</center>

Germany, November 1942

“Take care,” Maria whispered as she pulled Liz in a tight hug. “Don’t let that wench get to you, okay?”

Liz pulled back, smiled and ran her fingers through her hair. “Will do. I don’t think she likes me, either.”

Maria smiled. “Who could possibly dislike you?” She hugged her friend again and kissed her on both cheeks. “Happy Hanukkah, sweetie. I’m sorry I won’t be there.”

Shrugging lightly, Liz opened the front door. “You don’t have to come the first day, you know. Next week, it will still be Hanukkah.”

“I know,” Maria said. “I just wanted to be with you on the first day of Hanukkah.”

“Max might come, so I won’t be without friends,” Liz smiled uncomfortably. She hadn’t told Maria anything about her and Max just yet, and wasn’t planning to, either. She knew she had to break things off with him, but had no idea how.

She ran her fingers through her hair and brushed some loose strands out of her face. “Happy Hanukkah to you and Jim, too.”

<center>***</center>

Germany, November 1942

Max’s bright mood was dampened the next day, when another letter arrived. He opened the letter, as impatient as the day before, his stomach in knots. An agonizing feeling of dread had started to uncurl itself, roaring its head when Max noticed who had sent it.

His eyes flew over the text, quickly skimming it until he dropped the letter to the table.

His mother reached across the table and picked it up. “A call to the arms?” she asked tensely when she saw the signature, her face pale.

Shaking his head, Max sat down. “An intensive course,” he told her, “to become a medic.”

<center>***</center>

Germany, November 1942

The only sounds in the room were those of Liz’s breathing and the ticking of her needles as she knitted her shawl. Meredith was upstairs, mocking quietly. Liz hadn’t been on good terms with her for the past few days. The girl made it impossible for Liz to like her, and so she had simply stopped trying to.

The candle’s flame flickered restlessly – a draught had been tormenting the inhabitants ever since winter had set in, crests of wind slipping through the small holes and cracks in the walls. At night, when the wind would rise and would rush around the house, the draught would create a high, haunting sound that would keep her up late. After those kinds of nights, she would be cold, numb and sleepy, unable to focus on anything.

She laid the almost finished shawl down beside her and stood up. She had been edgy all day, an awkward feeling settled deeply in the pit of her stomach.

Walking over to the darkened window, she peeled away some of the black tape and looked outside, at the weak, wintry sun and the trees that had been ripped off their leaves. They swayed lightly in the wind, branches entwining and disentwining again, softly whispering an age-old language to one another.

Her gaze restlessly drifted from one tree to another, trying to see as much from the outside world as possible. Her breath hitched in her throat when she noticed a tall figure in the distance. She wasn’t sure whether the person was heading towards them, or whether he was leaving. She tried to calm her erratic heartbeat. Nobody knew they were there. Forcing herself to stay calm, she decided to wait until the person had either neared her further, or had disappeared altogether.

The figure grew in length and size, its dark form steadily coming closer. She caught herself biting her fingernails and jerked her hand away from her face. There was no reason to be nervous. No reason at all.

Squinting slightly, she distinguished a dark head, a dark jacket and a familiar walk, and she expelled a quiet sigh.

It was Max.

The feeling of relief had soon abandoned her, however, when she thought of what she had to do.


<center>Chapter 29</center>


Against the table.

A dull tick.

Against the couch.

A soft creak.

Table.

Couch.

Table.

Couch.

Table.

“… should meet him, Liz. He’s a very nice man, just right for Isabel.”

She nodded warily, raising her eyes briefly in order to meet his gaze before dropping them to his foot again.

Table.

Couch.

Table.

It was driving her insane.

He was sitting on the couch, one foot on the already soiled cushions, his arms around his leg as he talked to her about Isabel’s fiancé. Liz was barely listening to him, only a handful of words getting through to her. Her gaze was fixed on his other foot, his right foot as it dangled in the air, in turn hitting the table-leg and the bottom of the couch.

“… Meredith?”

Liz’s head snapped up as she stared at him. “Huh? Meredith?”

“Yes. Where is she?” Max enucleated. It vaguely hurt him that she wasn’t listening to him, though he knew he was merely chatting idly, not saying anything that could possibly interest her. He knew what he was doing. He simply was beating around the bush, not knowing how to tell her about the letters he had received

“Oh. Meredith. She’s upstairs. We’re sort of on non-speaking terms,” Liz said, and her eyes were drawn to his foot again.

Couch.

Table.

Couch.

“You really should try to become friends with…”

Couch.

Table.

Couch.

“Would you stop that?” she suddenly snapped, startling both him and herself with her outburst.

His foot’s movements immediately stopped. Perplexed and rather confused, Max gaped at her. “Stop what?”

“Moving your foot!” she growled in exasperation. “It’s so very annoying!”

His innocent expression bothered her even further, her anger growing steadily, mounting slowly.

“You could have just asked me, you know,” Max calmly said and placed his right foot next to his other, having both firmly placed on the couch’s cushions. “No need to bite my head off.”

“I’m not biting your head off,” Liz defended herself furiously, her voice trembling. “You’re just… so… so… irritating!”

The understanding in his eyes irked her, as did his pitiful look.

“Liz,” he started quietly, placing his hand upon her knee. “I understand that this isn’t easy on you. I understand that you-”

Her head shot up, and she her eyes sparkled angrily as they looked at him. “You don’t understand it at all. You don’t!”

“Liz…” he began again, but she vehemently shook her head.

“You don’t, Max,” Liz cut him off, blind, white-hot fury running through her veins, blurring her vision. She just wanted to get it out of her system, get that gnawing feeling of disquiet and restlessness out of her body. “You don’t know what it’s like to live here, with that… that wench!”

She drew a shuddery breath and tore her eyes away from him. “You don’t know what it is like to sleep on a… on a battered couch, to live in constant fear. You don’t! You don’t know what it’s like to be so paranoid that you start hearing things that aren’t there, when you mistake moving shadows for soldiers out to get you. You know nothing, Max, nothing!”

Taken back by her powerful, vigorous reaction, Max couldn’t do anything but regard her in silence.

He looked truly hurt, and as she calmed down and the storm that was her anger dropped, she felt the guilt building up inside of her. It replaced the pent-up anger and confusion as it painfully gnawed at her conscience. She furiously wiped her hot tears from her cheeks, and closed her eyes, pained and tired.

“I’m sorry,” Max quietly apologized. “You’re right.” He paused and, though she had closed her eyes, she could picture his sad, sorrowful smile. “You’re so very right. I don’t know anything.”

Shaking her head, Liz crept closer to him and let his arms encircle her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered brokenly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I understand,” Max said with a shake of his head. “At least, I try to,” he hastily corrected himself, managing to bring a weak smile upon her face.

Liz sighed, confused, hurt and at peace, all at the very same time. “I have something to tell you,” she said, pulling back to look up at him.

“I have something to tell you, too,” he confided her.

Not all that eager to tell him how she felt about them, she urged him on. “You go first.”

She felt his chest rise underneath her arms when he took a deep breath.

“Four days ago,” he smiled down at her, “I got a letter from Frankfurt University. I had passed my prelims.”

A wave of relief washed over her. Was that what he needed to tell her? “That’s great,” she laughed and kissed his cheek. “Congratulations!”

He smiled and ran his fingers through her hair, lazily sifting through the long, soft locks. “That’s not all,” he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Her happiness evaporated, slowly dispersed, the last tendrils of hope leaving her. “It’s not?”

He shook his head. “I received another letter. A telegram, actually. From the Reichstag. I’ve been elected for this intensive course. They want me to become a medic.”

“A medic?” Her face fell. “You’ll have to work at the front?”

“Not yet,” he tried to reassure her, but found that he wasn’t succeeding too well. “I’ll go to Munich first, for the course.”

“When?” she asked, her voice hoarse, her throat sore.

“The fifth of December. I’ll be done by Christmas.”

“And after that?” she asked anxiously. Her eyes looked deep into his, trying to find the answer there.

“Russia,” he whispered, the weight of the heavy stone in his stomach increasing dramatically.

“Russia?” she echoed desperately, tears burning her eyes, eager to fall.

“Russia,” he repeated, and kissed her on her lips. “It’s not so bad,” he told her. “I promise you it isn’t.”

Feeling something slip through her fingers, something that wasn’t even supposed to be hers to begin with, she fisted her hands in the cotton of his sweater. She tried to hold onto him as well as she could, even though she knew it wouldn’t keep him from leaving.

Nothing would.
Last edited by Anais Nin on Mon Mar 01, 2004 11:22 am, edited 6 times in total.
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