“I didn’t fall, Mutter. I told you, the old man tripped me with his iron leg.” He took off his shirt and handed it to her.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to,” she said.
“It was a deliberate act. I believe he may be an enemy of the Reich, a member of the subversive resistance.”
“I don’t think so,” said his father. “An old decommissioned soldier with only one leg working for the Resistance? How likely is that? You must have been running.”
“I was on an important errand.”
“Well there you are, then. You were rushing to complete your important work and you fell. No need to mention what you fell over.”
“It’s my duty to put in a full report. He could be a communist.”
His father shrugged, sucking hard on his dry pipe. “So you’ll say you fell over an old communist’s peg-leg? How do you think Ludwig and the troop will react to that?”
Anton shrugged.
“They will laugh at you.” His father shook spittle from his pipe into the fireplace.
His mother made more clucking sounds. “Do you have to do that?”
Anton thought about what his father had said for a few moments. “What about the damage to my knee? I will have to explain that.”
“You were running. You fell. You hurt your knee—”
“And my elbow.”
“And your elbow. No need to say anything about the old man or his leg.”
Later that night, Anton’s parents lay in bed in the dark.
“He used to be such a nice child,” she whispered. “Remember how he loved animals? How many sick birds did he rescue? And that squirrel…”
“He’s still the same boy.”
“You really think so? His whole world is filled with führer worship, now. I wish he’d never joined the Jungvolk. They have turned his mind. I’m afraid we’ve lost him.”
Herr Tannhäuser was silent for a long time. Then he said, “He will come back to us after…”
“After the war, you mean? Do you really think so?”
“Yes. Once the Nazis have been defeated, he will see how wrong they were. We will get our son back. I’m certain of it.”
She lay silent for a while. Then she whispered, “He frightens me.”
“There’s nothing to be frightened about.”
“You hear terrible stories. Other parents have been betrayed by their sons.”
“He would never betray us. Not Anton.”
“You don’t know that. His mind is full of crazy Nazi ideas.”
“Yes, but what have we ever said against the Reich or the Führer?”
She turned onto her side, facing away from her husband. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
11
Gretchen kept a tidy house. The war had cost her everything: her husband, her love of life, her spirit, her hope for a future – even her figure – but still she prided herself on her housekeeping. Other women had given up under the Englishman’s endless bombing raids, allowing the dust and rubble and dirt and broken glass to encroach on their homes. Many shared their living space with the rats. Not Gretchen. She brushed and cleaned and polished every day. It was her way of fighting back. It was all she could do.
Hunger gnawed at her innards, and her husband’s too, she had no doubt, although he never complained. Still, she was luckier than most of the women that she knew; she always had bread. Food had been rationed since the start of the war. These days, as it drew toward the final chapter, people were finding it hard to get enough to eat. The ration book was little more than a reminder of times past. She could see the day coming when even the bread would run out. When that day came, there would be riots in the streets.
And then one day in mid-July, Herr Korn dropped a bombshell. He told her that the Gauleiter’s office had sent a man to the shop. Some ‘concerned citizen’ had been spying on the bakery. They knew that he had been giving an extra allowance to Gretchen.
“I’m sorry, but from now on all I can give you is your normal daily ration.”
“But you agreed to give me extra rations in place of wages. Did you explain that to the Gauleiter’s man?”
“He wasn’t interested.” The baker pursed his lips. “The same rule applies to me. The Gauleiter’s office is insisting that we take no more than our daily ration.”
“What will become of us? Oskar needs his food. I’m certain he needs protein for his brain.”
“I’m sorry, Gretchen. I’ll understand if you want to quit the job.”
Gretchen shook her head. “I need this job, Herr Korn.” She couldn’t quit the bakery. If she did, she would have to take her place in the queue and fight for her daily bread like everyone else. And who would look after her husband while she was stuck in a line for hours on end?
She went straight home to the apartment with a single loaf in her bag. She had nothing to give Franz in exchange for meat or to Hans in exchange for vegetables. She had a few potatoes and some beans in the larder that she could use to feed Oskar today. As for tomorrow… she would think of something.
Oskar wasn’t in his chair. She called his name and checked the other rooms. He wasn’t anywhere in the apartment. She needed to get out there and find him, right away, but she had to sit down for a minute first, to clear her head.
Where could he have gone? And when did he leave?
If he followed me out in the morning, he could be miles away by now!
She stood up, immediately felt lightheaded, and had to sit down again. Finding an empty chair had been a surprise. Her own physical reaction to his absence was a shock. It was like losing a child.
He’s probably still in the building somewhere.
She gathered herself and searched the building, floor by floor, knocking on neighbors’ doors. No one had seen him.
It took her 20 minutes to find him on Adolf-Hitler-Platz, about 200
