A Piece of Blue String (Playing with Matches)
Author: Strauss, Lee; Strauss, Elle
Date: 2013-04-27
Rights: Copyright 2015 Lee Strauss. All rights reserved.

A Piece of Blue String

A companion short story to Playing with Matches

Lee Strauss

ESB Publishing

A Piece of Blue String

Lee Strauss

Excerpts from Katharina Ackermann's diary marking the turn of WW2, and her heart for the boy heading for battle.

May 2, 1941

From the Diary of Katharina Ackermann

Now that the weather is warmer our cow has more to eat and finally we had extra milk to sell. Mama asked me to haul a jug into town each morning to sell to the bakery. Our wagon had lost a wheel so it meant I had to carry it.

The shortest route took me down the cobblestone street in front of Emil Radle’s flat-faced stucco row house. A couple days ago I noticed that he watched me from an upper floor window. I stared the other way pretending not to see him.

At least before, when it was cold, I felt hidden in my winter coat and could pull the wagon with a measure of dignity. Now I wore a light spring dress, which was too tight. My body had changed over the winter and my new breasts were hard to get used to and equally hard to hide. I lugged the full jug, leaning heavily to one side feeling not at all like the young lady I’d apparently become.

Today Emil once again watched me from his window and I pretended not to see him, until the swallows nesting in the rafters of his house made a commotion.

We both glanced up as the birds chirped and flew away and then our eyes met. There was no pretending now. Emil’s stunned expression made me smile. He was cute.

I waved and he ducked out of sight.

I continued into town pondering this strange boy whose behavior around me I could no longer predict.

June 24, 1941

Even though I was only a little child, I remember when Grandfather Ackermann died. His heart gave out on the same day that Adolf Hitler became the Chancellor of Germany in 1933. Some say it was a coincidence; after all, he wasn’t the only one to die on that day. Others argue that it was not, that somehow Grandfather knew.

But as a family we didn’t take a stance, we just acknowledged that Grandfather’s passing was sudden and sad. Besides, we had enjoyed a measure of the prosperity that the Fuehrer had promised, and we were grateful for an easier life. We paid little attention to what had been going on outside the solitude of our farm in those days.

Obviously, that had been a mistake.

I felt terrible coming to the kitchen today with only three eggs in my hands. The hens were revolting against the cold and the lack of food.

Mama was bent over a sink with raw hands in soapless water. Her bony shoulders poked through the thinning fabric of her dress. Her dark hair was mixed with grey and loose strands fell out of the bun she’d worked it into that morning. She sighed. “How are we supposed to feed four people with three eggs?”

“We have potatoes, Mama,” I said. “We can fry slices with the eggs.” I said this like it was a new idea, and not one we had done many times before.

Papa joined us, whistling. Despite the meager breakfast or the cool weather he always managed to keep a smile on his face and a song in his heart. His presence was like sunshine on a cloudy day. He sat in the chair at the head of the table and I bent down to kiss him on the cheek.

“Good morning, Papa,” I said.

“Good morning, treasure,” he replied. The morning news was on the radio, the broadcaster proclaiming great German victories in the east. Papa reached over to turn it off. “No need to spoil breakfast.”

Johann joined us, taking his place beside Papa. Mama poured us all a cup of weak coffee.

“We don’t have any sugar,” she said.

“What do we need of sweetness when we have you and Katharina,” Papa said.

Mama’s face broke into a smile as she took her seat. I grinned too, and gazed admiringly at Papa. Even with all the awful things going on around us, I felt safe and happy when he was home. I only wished he didn’t need to travel so much with the orchestra.

Papa insisted that he was safe. At least he wasn’t fighting in the war.

Still, a music hall had been hit and many musicians killed.

Papa said that was a fluke. The music hall had been mistaken for a government building.

Johann remained stern faced throughout breakfast. He took after our mother in that way–always worried with a hint of sadness. He wasn’t fooled either by the propaganda on the government issued radio.

August 19, 1941

Oh, dear Lord.

I never meant to snoop in Johann’s room. Well, maybe a little. He’d been acting odd lately, more reserved than usual and exceptionally busy with Deutsches Jungvolk.

I only meant to do him a favor by hanging his duvet out the window to air. I confess I was tempted to have a look around while I was there. I thought the paper sticking out from under his bed was trash.

Until I read it.

What has Johann gotten himself into?

August 20 1941

I knew Johann would be angry when I confronted him about the paper I’d found under his bed. It looked as though his eyes would pop out of his head. He was excessively agitated, but calmed down a little when I said I’d never tell. I told him he could always confide in me and I was sorry that he hadn’t.

He crumbled on his bed like his knees had given out. I could hardly believe the story he proceeded to tell me.

Moritz found a short wave radio in his attic, brought from Holland by his brother who was in the army. When he discovered BBC broadcasts in the German language, news reports that told both sides, he’d become fanatic about exposing the truth.

Johann, Moritz and Emil (my heart jumped a little when Johann mentioned Emil’s name) had been meeting secretly to listen to the broadcasts and write notes on what they heard. The news was so contrary to what was being announced on our government approved radio stations.

“The British tell about their own losses, too, Katharina,” he said animatedly, “not just their victories. How likely is it that Germany wins every single battle?”

I found my knees were growing weak, too, and sat beside him. “Not very likely.”

Once Johann realized I was on his side, he recited everything he’d heard on the BBC. At first I didn’t want to believe what he said because it meant that the war wasn’t going as smoothly as we were led to believe, that it wouldn’t be over soon and quite possibly, we wouldn’t win.

I heard myself say, “Let me help.” I wasn’t sure this was a good idea, or even if what they were hearing was the truth, but even though Johann was only younger than I by one year, I felt responsible for him. I wanted to watch over him.

Johann snapped, “No!”

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“So, it’s dangerous for you, too. The war is dangerous for everyone. If you think that what you and your friends are doing will make a difference for good, then let me help.”

I gave him my sternest big sister stare, one that Johann has never been able to defy. It worked again. His chin fell to his chest as he said, “Okay.”

August 22, 1941

Those of the Same Blood belong in the Same Reich. Make this land German for me again!

Banners with slogans like this cover every free wall and fence space in the center of Passau. Hitler is coming through with his promise to the people about creating a greater Germany by colonizing the East. I just wish I could believe it really was for the good of all people.

I felt nervous when Johann led me up the stairs to Moritz’s bedroom. He hadn’t told them he was bringing me.

The first face I saw was Emil’s.

He stared hard at Johann. “Are you crazy?”

“Relax,” Johann said, waving his arms about, not looking relaxed at all himself. “She knows.”

“How does she know?” Moritz said pointedly.

“She found a flyer in my room. I was meaning to hand it out, but….”

At that point, I stamped my foot. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

“It’s very dangerous.” Emil said. I tried to stare him down, but he avoided my eyes.

“I know the risks.” I said. “I agree with what you’re doing and I want to help.”

“But this is really dangerous,” Emil said again.

“Everything is getting dangerous,” Johann added. “Access to the truth is more important now than ever.”

“How many of you are writing out flyers?” I asked.

Moritz stated the obvious. “Three.”

I smiled, hoping to warm them over. “So, now there’s four.”

“Well, she’s here now,” Moritz said with a deep sigh. “And another writer would be helpful.”

Then he spoke directly to me, “Okay, but you must swear, swear, to keep everything you see and do here an absolute secret.”

“I swear,” I said.

January 12, 1942

I’ve never experienced such a difficult cold winter before. We have to work hard to keep the farm running, to keep from going hungry every single day. It’s dark before I even have a chance to write and we can’t spare the oil or even candles for light. Besides, all my “spare” time is used to meet with the boys to listen to the BBC. After writing out all those flyers my hand is cramped. I’m surprised I even got to this.

January 16, 1942

Mama sent me to the market again today. I didn’t see the point and I told her so. There wouldn’t be anything left to buy on the shelves, anyway. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw a supply truck drive through Passau.

I complained to her about the frigid weather, but she didn’t seem to care about that, only that we might miss a chance to buy something if someone from our family didn’t go every day. And with Papa and Johann caring for the farm animals and Mama making the most of what we did have at home, the chore fell to me.

I squeezed the coin in my hand, which was balled up into a fist in my mitten. The pfenning was cold, but with the holes in my jacket pocket, I couldn’t very well put it in there. I pushed my scarf up over my nose–I could see it was bright red when I crossed my eyes–and tried to warm my face with my breath.

War had made us busy and lazy at the same time. Busy trying to stay alive and lazy because we were stripped of resources and opportunities to go on with our business. The streets of Passau were full of people moving slowly. I stubbed my toe on a lose cobblestone hidden in the snow and hopped around like a crazy person making a fool of myself. It was bad enough that my feet already tingled with cold. The wind had picked up too, and the hair that had escaped my winter cap around my face, blew about in an unruly manner. Not unlike the fluttering of the Nazi flags that lined the building fronts.

I saw Emil huddling against the cold with his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets.

I called for him and he looked at me with raised eyebrows and then a lop-sided smile crossed his face.

“Hallo, Katharina!”

For a moment I didn’t know what to say. Questions about health and well-being seemed redundant. No one is healthy and well.

“Mama sent me to buy some flour for bread,” I said to break the awkward lull. I fiddled with one of my braids. “Do you think there will be any left at the market?”

“I don’t know.” Emil kicked at the snow. His boyish face was a red as mine, and he ran a sleeve under his nose. “Doesn’t hurt to check, I guess.”

I blinked the snowflakes off my eyelashes and tugged on my cap. Emil’s elbows tightened against his sides. His eyes skimmed over me then scoured the pallid streets. I couldn’t stop shivering and I noticed that Emil shivered as well.

“We’d be warmer if we ran,” I said. “Do you want to race me?”

Emil’s eyes widened in surprise and I was worried that he’d say no, and shrug off my spontaneity as childish, but he answered, “Sure. Where to?”

“From here to the end of the street.”

We took the pre-racing position–left foot back in a lunge, arms stretched out.

“Eins,” Emil began, “Zwei, Drei, Los!

I loved running and I felt a surge of adrenaline blast warmth through my body. A woman frowned as she stepped out of our way. Another one smiled a little as if remembering what it was like to be twelve.

We ran along the park by the St. Stephen’s cathedral, its ice encased domes shimmered in the weak winter light.

I was aware that Emil was on my heels and for a moment I thought I should slow a little. Maybe let him win. It wasn’t necessary. We reached the bench at the same time.

I dropped onto it, and found myself giggling.

Emil puffed, taking a spot beside me. “Why—are you—laughing?”

“Because it was fun, Emil,” I said in between breaths. “I haven’t had fun in a while.” I smiled at him and Emil broke into a grin in return.

“I’ll walk with you to the market,” he said. I was surprised by his offer, but pleased.

We entered the store and as I imagined, the shelves were empty. Even though I’d expected it, disappointment weighed heavy in my chest. I hated going home empty handed. The cupboards there were as bare here as the ones in the store.

“I’m sorry, Katharina,” Emil said.

“I know.”

Emil’s expression was kind and I knew he felt as hollow as I did at my failed mission.

Across the street from the market where we were standing, we spotted Heinz Schultz. He was fifteen and a Hitler Youth unit leader. All the girls liked him. He always walked tall and straight with the authority leadership gave him, and the fact that he was a son of a Nazi Party official was certainly a feather in his cap. He had his arm around a girl who flirted and giggled, and pushed up against Heinz’s body to keep warm.

“Elsbeth will be so jealous,” I said. “She has a big crush on him.”

Emil stared at the couple, too, like he was studying a science experiment gone wrong.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He held a bare hand to his mouth and coughed. “Um, yeah, I’m fine. Just the usual. Hungry, cold.”

I couldn’t help but think that it would be nice to have the arm of someone special around my back to help keep me warm.

Emil seemed so uncertain the way he just stood there, staring and shivering, that I was glad when Heinz and his latest girlfriend disappeared around the corner. I reached for Emil’s red, cold hand and rubbed it. The way he caught my eyes, I believed he thought about how nice it would be to hold someone, too.

February 5, 1942

HITLER YOUTH GUILTY OF TREASON

This is directly from the paper, and I have no reason to believe it’s not true.

Helmuth Huebener of Hamburg, a seventeen year old member of Hitler Youth was arrested for treason. He and three others were caught listening to forbidden radio broadcasts and copying and distributing lies about the Reich.

I know what it feels like to be afraid. My pulse pounds every time I go out into Passau and tack a forbidden sheet to the community billboard, or drop one on an empty seat in the train station. And it’s getting harder to stay inconspicuous. The SS police in their intimidating long black coats are everywhere now, in groups of twos and threes, scouting public places, making random demands for personal identification.

Reading about the Huebener group brought on a cold fear that made my insides turn to mush.

July 5, 1942

I’m so glad school is finally out for the summer. It’s becoming unbearable. All the terrible things they say about the Jews and not even letting them come to school anymore. I really detest Herr Bauer.

Our crusade continues with increased earnestness. Moritz is fanatic about it. I’m proud to be part of something so important, even if it’s just a small wave in a big ocean.

And I’ll admit it here, but nowhere else–I’m glad that this mission allows me to see Emil Radle so often!

October 27, 1942

I almost collapsed from raw terror when I’d learned that Helmuth Huebener had been executed.

I was with Johann, Moritz and Emil in the loft and we poured over the newspaper Emil had brought with him.

“They chopped off his head!” I said. My heart almost exploding in my chest.

“I can’t believe it,” said Johann.

“He was only seventeen.” I wrapped my arms around my stomach, feeling faint. We were only fifteen. It could be us.

Emil rubbed his face vigorously which did nothing to erase the blue half-moon shadows of worry under his eyes. “Maybe we should take a break,” he said. “You know, for a while.”

“No!” Moritz was adamant. “Now is the time to turn it up, not turn it down.” He paced the loft almost bumping his head on the slanted ceiling. “Don’t you see? People are listening. They may pretend not to agree, but the more people talk about it, the more likely they will be to see the lies!”

“I hear what you’re saying,” Emil said, “but do we really want to risk prison? I’ve heard stories. Prison isn’t a playground.”

“I’m not afraid of prison, or death,” stated Moritz calmly. “All great revolutionists faced the danger of death. People deserve to know the truth.”

Moritz was right, of course, but I’m not like him.

I am afraid of prison and death.

February 2, 1943

The unthinkable has happened. Stalingrad has fallen! This is the beginning of the end for Germany, I’m sure of it.

April 13, 1943

School’s canceled!

No more blathering from that deplorable Herr Bauer. No more daily doses of force- fed propaganda. I’m especially thankful to get away from the stupid girls who continued to fawn over the Fuehrer like he was a film star, or the ignorant boys who actually believed, even with the damaging loss to Stalingrad, that Germany could yet win this war.

Classes ended because of the severe shortage of soldiers. All hands were needed to fight the war effort, even those belonging to children. Teachers now donned army uniforms and students became farm hands.

My back ached as I plucked weeds with my hoe. The regime demanded that we provide a bumper crop of potatoes, yet I knew we’d be lucky to keep much for ourselves. The harvest would be shipped to the men on the front lines.

Johann and Emil worked the row beside me.

“Two weeks until I leave for flight school,” Emil said. I knew he was excited. Flying had been a long standing dream for him, and the Luftwaffe was a spectacular air force.

“We just missed being called into action,” Johann said grimly.

“Yeah?” Emil responded.

Johann tugged on a stubborn weed. “So, what happens this summer, when we turn sixteen?”

“Maybe the war will be over by then.”

Johann shook his head. “Emil, my friend, sometimes you are very naïve.”

Emil blushed but said nothing.

Johann dropped his hoe and brushed the dust off his hand. “Nature calls,” he said, excusing himself.

Emil and I continued to work silently side by side, though I couldn’t help sneaking glances at him. He’d filled out in the last year. Taller with broader shoulders and a stronger jaw with blond bristles forming on his chin. I had changed, too. Despite the food shortage, I’d gotten rounder and softer. I wondered if Emil had noticed. He did seem to stare at me a lot lately.

He was staring now.

“Emil,” I said. “I’m going to miss you”

His eyes snapped up to meet mine. “What?”

“I’m going to miss you when you go to Nuremberg.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” I drew a hand across my damp forehead and leaned on my hoe. “I hope you will be okay there.”

“I’m just training at the flight school. It will be quite awhile before I actually fly, if ever.”

“Will you write to me?”

A smile spread across Emil’s face. “Of course.”

I blushed a little and went back to attacking the soil.

May 16, 1943

Dear Emil,

How are you? Is life exciting for you in Nuremberg? I am doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. I get up before dawn to work on the farm, and work until dusk. Not a lot of time for fun. I haven’t gone to the theater since you left. Once a week my mother and I go to the spoiled food depot hoping to get a bag of sugar or block of margarine with our food rationing coupons. Those things are really worthless, but I will refrain from saying more. We get up very early to stand in line because if we’re lucky enough to get something, it’s better than a bucket of money. We can trade with a bag of sugar for weeks.

Johann is at an army base in Regensberg. We don’t hear from him enough, and I worry about him. I worry about you, too, Emil. I wish you were here.

Please be safe.

Love Katharina.

June 11, 1943

Dear Katharina,

It is so good to get a letter from you. I miss everyone so much. We work hard here, too. Up early for breakfast and exercise and then to train with the Flak guns. In the afternoons, we study flight training. Haven’t flown yet. It’s surprising how few planes are actually stationed here.

Mostly, it’s the agony of just waiting for something to happen.

We were bombed the first day…

…but I’m fine.

Chances are we won’t get hit again, but that’s why I’m here. To man the Flak. Just in case. So every day I get up wondering, will it just be training today, or the real thing?

I wish I were there to go to the theater with you, or just be together.

My best regards,

With love

Emil

November 29, 1943

Not a day goes by where I don’t think about Emil Radle. My heart aches with longing. I miss his friendship and his smile. The way he looked at me before he left made me feel like I was the only girl in the room.

I keep his letters under my pillow and every night I pray that the war will end before Emil will have to fight. That the allies wouldn’t think to bomb Nuremberg again.

December 20, 1943

Christmas approached and with it came endless grey skies, but today the sun broke through. I bundled up before heading outside, grabbing the slop pail on my way. I leaned up against the house and closed my eyes, letting the sunshine warm my face. I imagined that the war was over and that Emil had returned home. I could almost hear his voice.

“Hey, Johann!”

I froze then peeked around the corner.

I wasn’t hearing things! It was him! Emil stood across from Johann by the hay pile.

“Emil, my friend!” he said.

Emil shook Johann’s hand enthusiastically.

“I missed you,” Johann said. “I mean, I was kind of sick of you when you left…”

Emil punched him playfully in the arm. “What’d you mean? I was the one that had to stare at the back of your head every day.”

“What? This handsome head. It was a privilege for you.”

Laughing, Emil followed him to the barn.

I felt weak in the knees. I wanted to run inside, brush my hair, change my dress, but I had to feed the two pigs we had left in the hog stall before they keeled over from starvation.

Besides, I didn’t have anything nicer to put on.

I picked up the bucket of slop and carefully carried it away.

Emil emerged from the barn as I returned.

He gasped when he spotted me. His eyes bore into mine with such intensity; I felt the world had stopped.

“Hallo,” he said, softly.

I gushed, “It’s so good to see you.”

Emil strode to my side. “It’s really great to see you, too.”

“Well, aren’t you two a sight,” Johann said joining us. “If you don’t mind, and I’m sure you don’t, I’ll just make myself busy, over here, in the chicken coop. Just in case you’re wondering.” He laughed and sauntered off.

Emil stroked my arm before taking my elbow and I felt giddy with happiness. We walked slowly down the drive, and I asked him about his time in Nuremberg. He gave me a vague report about how it was boring and lonely then he asked about my family and plans for Christmas.

“Pretty simple, like most folks, I imagine,” I said. “A small meal. Worship. We’re just happy to be together.”

Emil nodded. “Us, too. Except, you know, Father is still away.”

“I’m sorry he couldn’t get leave,” I said. “Is he well?”

“Yes, at least I think so. Mother received a letter from him recently, but it was written some time ago.”

Emil’s gaze was drawn to movement in the field. He pointed. “Who’s that?”

“That?” I said. “Two Frenchies, POWs sent to help with the farm. They’re everywhere now, alien helpers from France, Belgium, and Holland. Even some from the east. Because of the shortage of manpower.”

Worry pinched on Emil’s face. “Is it safe? I mean for you?”

I laughed. “I’m never alone with either of them. My mother sees to that. But it is disgusting how some of the girls flirt with the foreigners.”

A look of alarm crossed Emil’s face.

“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “I’m not like that. Besides it’s against the law. Fraternizing with the enemy is a criminal offense. I’ve heard that some unscrupulous farm wives have been arrested.”

“Where do they stay?”

“In the loft.”

“Our loft?” The loft where we met as children, where we scribbled out the truth on scrap paper. A well-intentioned effort that had proved useless in the end.

“I know,” I said. “I’m sad we can’t go there anymore, too.”

“I want you to keep your distance from them, okay?”

I smiled and grabbed his arm. “You’re worried about me. That’s so sweet.”

“Just promise me.”

“I promise, Emil.”

I wore a thin winter jacket over my dress. It was chilly enough to see my breath and I could help but shiver.

“You’re cold,” Emil said. “We should go back.”

“I’m okay.” I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want this moment alone with Emil to end.

“No, you’re shivering. At least let me give you my coat.”

“Then you’d be cold, and you’d have to go. How about we just walk a little closer together?”

Emil put his arm around my shoulder. “Like this?” he said. “Is this okay?”

“That’s fine,” I said, smiling widely. “Thank you. I’m much warmer now.”

January 6, 1944

Papa was wrong. The music halls aren’t safe from the bombs. He’s dead now.

My sorrow is suffocating. I feel like dying, too.

February 19, 1944

I hesitated at the bedroom door. We had been good friends when Emil left. Very good friends. In fact, I thought I might’ve been falling in love.

Now I’m not so sure.

Not about my love for this boy who lay deathly ill on his bed in his parents’ house–that wasn’t what I questioned. I wasn’t sure that I should let myself love. Loving in war time was crazy. Stupid.

If I loved him, I might lose him. Emil had been lucky; many men on the front had died of this pneumonia. I couldn’t bear the thought of him not being so lucky one day, so I hung back. I let Johann take the lead.

“Hey old man,” Johann said to Emil. “Nice of you to make room in your busy schedule for us.”

“Yeah,” Emil said. His eyes darted to me before landing back on Johann. “Yeah, well, as you can see, I’ve been busy. Thanks for coming.”

His gaze returned to me and settled there. My heart raced as I took in his ashen face. It was thinner than I remembered.

“Hallo, Emil.” My voice sounded small and tight. My hand went to my hair, and I smoothed it in vain. I knew I looked terrible with sunken cheeks and dark orbs around my eyes. The war demanded every luxury. Basic toiletries like soap and shampoo were impossible to come by and one could only hope for enough food to dull the stomach pangs that never stopped, much less worry about actual nutrition.

Emil watched me, his eyes soft with yearning, like he didn’t notice my skeletal appearance at all.

“Hallo,” he replied.

“I’m so happy to hear you are feeling better?” I wasn’t sure. He didn’t look well, so thin and pale, and I felt my chest tighten in worry.

His lips pulled up in a weak smile. “It’s good to be home.”

Johann cleared his throat, and Emil looked away. I was glad. The tenderness that I’d seen there was only making my decision to stay distant even harder.

“Don’t get well too quickly,” Johann said. He tugged on the collar of his thread-bare shirt, and then tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. “They’ll just send you back once they get wind of any sign of good health.”

Emil grunted. “I’ll do my best.”

The room was grey even though the blinds were open. Cool air whistled through the window panes. I shivered and stared at the scuffs on my shoes. My pulse roared like the ocean in my ears. The three of us were like strangers in a holding cell, like we hadn’t grown up together. Like we’d never been the best of friends. I willed Johann to keep talking, to do something to break the awkward silence.

“I heard about your father,” Emil finally said, “I’m sorry.” His voice was dry and raspy and I wished I had a glass of water to give to him. Instead I bit my lip and pinched my eyes shut. It hurt too much to think about Papa.

“Thanks,” Johann said. “It’s the irony of war. Those who want to live, die. Those who want to die, live on.”

“I don’t know, Johann.” Emil shifted and caught his breath as if beating back pain. “Death is pretty indiscriminate, as far as I can tell.”

Johann sniffed and drew his fist under his nose. “I wonder what Moritz would think if he were here now.”

“It seems like just yesterday we were at his house listening to the BBC, “Emil said. “Although, I remember us being a whole lot smaller.”

“That’s how I remember him, “I added softly.

“He’s lucky in a way,” said Johann. “He didn’t have to see what’s become of Germany. It would’ve broken his heart.”

I swallowed a hard lump that had formed in my throat. “It breaks all our hearts.”

“I can’t believe we actually did what we did back then,” Johann said.

“If we knew how bad it was going to get,” Emil said, “we probably would have done more.”

“We can’t be too hard on ourselves,” I said. “We were only kids.” I stared out the window, feeling the catatonic state I’d become comfortable with encase my emotions once again. I whispered, “We’re still only kids.”

Silence filled the small room again. I focused on the wallpaper peeling away from the upper corner. You wouldn’t notice it if you didn’t look up. I was like the wall, damaged in places you may not notice. And like the paper, I felt like there was nothing on the other side, just plain, white, lifeless plaster.

“You need your rest,” Johann said. “We will go now.”

Emil’s dark eyes held mine. I longed to go to him, wrap my arms around his chest and promise him that everything would be okay.

It was better if I didn’t. For both of us. In a voice so low I wasn’t sure if Emil heard it, I said good bye. I glanced at him as I followed Johann out and by the pain that flashed in Emil’s eyes, I knew that he had.

March 30, 1944

The SS are too busy with losing the war to bother with random dust checks anymore which is a good thing, since Mama had stopped cleaning the house after Papa died. Dust covered the furniture and spiders spun their webs in dark corners, filth that was unthinkable before.

I set a piece of dried toast and a poached egg on a plate and placed it in front of Mama. “Mama, you must eat something.”

Mama glanced at the plate and then continued to stare blankly out the dirty window. I sat with her small plate of food and began to eat.

It was cold in the house and Mama and I rarely removed our winter jackets, even while inside. Mama looked like a broken doll, hair all askew, skin smudged with dry tears, sunken hollow eyes.

A lump formed in my throat. It was too much. With Papa gone and Johann away in the army, how were Mama and I to survive? Even the foreigners had left for the winter.

I washed my own dish, leaving Mama’s untouched plate in front of her.

“I’m going out to check the chickens,” I said. I’d already been out early that morning to gather the handful of eggs, but I needed to get out of the house, away from the hopelessness that filled every crevice.

When I buttoned up my coat the lowest button came away in my hand leaving blue strands dangling like veins. I pocketed the button knowing I didn’t have any thread left to re-attach it.

Outside the spring wind blew through the trees, whistling through skeletal branches tipped with green, a promise of warmer times to come. I pinched the collar of my jacket tight to protect my neck.

The piercing wail of sirens broke the silence. In the distance I saw a patch of grey in the sky, like a flock of giant geese. The RAF always targeted the larger centers, but Passau could be next. One could never be too sure.

I ran back to the house, to Mama who had remained at the table by the window.

“Come, Mama. We need to go into the basement.”

“Oh, we’re fine,” she said, not moving. “They don’t care enough about our little farm to waste a bomb on us.”

I didn’t know about that, but I didn’t have the energy to argue with her. I sat at the table and cupped my hands as if I were about to pray.

And thought about Emil.

He would be hiding in his cellar, with his mother and little brother.

The sirens stopped and I made a decision.

March 31, 1944

I tightened the scarf around my neck and marched down our long drive determined to see Emil again. I only hoped that he wouldn’t turn me away.

I knocked on the Radle family door. My nerves shot off like a flak gun, and my neck felt sweaty. I loosened my wool scarf.

Emil opened the door, his face expressing his surprise at seeing me.

“The planes are gone,” I said. “I wondered if you’d like to go for a walk.” I nibbled my lip before adding, “That is if you feel up to it.”

“Yes,” Emil said to my relief. “I feel fine.”

He grabbed a jacket and soon we walked west down the cobbled street.

“How is your health?” I said. Emil looked too thin, but his color had returned.

“Better.”

“Good.”

We walked slowly through the neighborhood towards the Danube River. People were daring to return to the outdoors in ones and twos, continuing whatever task they were in the middle of before the sirens sent them scurrying away.

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.” My throat was dry and scratchy. I forced a swallow.

Emil’s gaze moved from the street to my face. “I’ve noticed that,” he said kindly. “Why?”

I shrugged. “People are dying, Emil. I just thought that maybe it would be better not to get too close.”

Emil stopped. “You miss your father.”

I let my gaze fall. “Yes, I do. Very much. I think of him every day.”

“He was a great man.”

I let my eyes lock onto his. “I’m afraid of losing the people I love.”

Emil reached for my hand without breaking his gaze. “I understand, Katharina, but there are no guarantees. Besides, you really have no choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been through too much already. Been friends too long. The damage has already been done.”

I smiled. “I see.”

We walked hand in hand to the end of the street; I matched his gait, comfortably silent.

At the end Emil turned to me.

I tilted my head up to his and he leaned in and kissed me. His lips were rough yet sweet. He cupped my face with such tenderness that my whole body quivered.

I pulled away and smiled shyly. “I should go back.”

We walked to Emil’s house, holding hands. I felt truly happy, pretending for a few moments that the war wasn’t going on at all.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”Emil asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

May 01, 1944

I see Emil nearly every day. We are at war, and so there isn’t much time for leisure. We spend most of our time working together, usually on the farm. The Reich had supplied us with more hens and an extra milking cow, but most of the goods are still shipped out of town. There is a thriving black market going on as well. Eggs and milk slipped away out of the view of the officers who milled around. Most of them are locals, and turn a blind eye, knowing that an extra egg or two could end up on their table.

At the end of each day, I walk with Emil to the end of the drive and he kisses me good night.

“Do you think they’ll let you stay?” I whispered today after a lingering kiss. Emil’s cough had subsided and the doctor had declared him well. The army would want him back.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not fit for the front, but I’m still useful to them, I think.”

“I hope you don’t go.” I embraced him, holding tight. Emil held me back and kissed the top of my head.

“I’m not gone, yet.” Emil lifted my chin. “Let’s not worry about tomorrow, okay?”

September 7, 1944

Emil arrived with a frown on his face. He had an envelope in his hand and my heart filled with dread. It was the letter.

Before Emil could say anything I burst into tears. He held me and stroked my back but kept silent. There were no words that could comfort me. Emil was leaving again.

September 15, 1944

If only all days could be as wonderful as this one! Emil and I strolled through the park by St. Stephens along the riverside. The air had cooled and the autumn leaves fell casually. From there, downtown Passau looked locked in time, unscathed by war.

I fought back tears. “I can't believe you're leaving.”

Emil took my hand and weaved his fingers through mine. “Me neither.”

“Everything just seems so hopeless.” I sighed. “It can’t be much longer now, can it? A year maybe?”

Emil squeezed my hand. “I hope so,” he said.“Maybe less.”

“I wonder what it will be like for us when it’s over,” I said. “I guess it means every German, you, me, everyone, will be prisoners of war.”

“Let’s just pray it’s the Americans or the British that capture us.”

I searched Emil’s face. “Why?”

Emil grimaced and shrugged.

“I’ve heard the Russian’s are especially brutal,” I said.

“I’ve heard this, also.”

“It’s so depressing.” I stopped mid-step and turned to face Emil. “You know, I like to dream about a different world. One where I get married, have children, build a home in a place where bombs aren’t falling. Where I’m not afraid all the time. Is that crazy? Am I a child?”

“I love you.” Emil blurted out. “I want to marry you.”

My heart stopped with shock and then I burst into tears again. For once it wasn’t due to fear or anger. His declaration made me insanely happy.

“Katharina?” Emil ducked to catch my gaze.

“Oh, Emil. I love you, too.”

I kissed him hard and wished more than anything that everything was different. That Emil and I could runaway and hide. Forget about the war and just love each other.

Emil pulled back and smiled brightly. He was so handsome!

“I wish I could give you something to remember this day by, so that you won’t forget me,” he said.

I grinned and then tugged the loose blue thread from the missing button on my coat. “We can do like the American’s do,” I said.

Emil took it and carefully, understanding what I wanted, wrapped it around my finger.

“Voila,” he said.

“It’s perfect,” I gushed. He tied a knot, making sure the string wasn't wrapped too tightly, but secure enough that it wouldn't fall off. “You are spoken for, young lady.”

I held my hand out in front as if I were showing off a ten karat diamond. “That I am.”

September 22, 1944

My heart is breaking. I cry into my pillow as I remember standing together on a platform at the train station. The sign above our heads said Nach Nuremberg. Emil had already said good-bye to his mother and little brother, so that he could spend the remainder of his time with me.

My cheeks were moist with tears, and Emil kissed the salty wetness away, holding me tight.

“It will be okay,” he soothed. “We will see each other again soon. Remember, only a year and then our life together can begin.”

“Promise me?” I said.

“I promise.”

The train arrived and our parting was torture. I felt physically destroyed as I watched Emil board. He blew me a kiss through the open window and I reached out to him as I ran alongside. My chest felt heavy like my lungs might collapse. I choked out a sob as I watched the train disappear into the distance.

“Only a year,” I whispered. “Only a year.”

It might be a dream, but we were dreaming it together. Finally, my weeping subsided and my eyes close in surrender. I dream of Emil’s return.

The End

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Buy the companion novel PLAYING WITH MATCHES on AMAZON.

Read on for the first Chapter of PLAYING WITH MATCHES

Part I

PLAYING WITH MATCHES

Prologue

JULY

THE PILLAR of smoke rising on the horizon could only mean one thing: a farm, which meant food.

Emil Radle limped across the sloping field that was brittle and dry from lack of rain and irrigation. He lost his footing twice, falling, grabbing at his leg, his mouth opening in a wide teeth-baring groan. The first time he beat the pain, pulling himself back onto his feet, hunger pushing him on. The second time he gave into the primal urge to scream and cry, until sleep threatened to take him again. The warm sun beat down, heavy, his mind lapsing into a drug-like state.

Somewhere in his subconscious, he knew he couldn't stay there; if he did he would die. He pulled himself up again, shaky and quivering. Finally, a house came into view. Out of breath, he slipped through the narrow opening of a stiff iron gate and knocked on the door.

It opened and a thin, elderly man with an unshaven face looked him up and down. “Not another one,” he muttered.

“Please, do you have a piece of bread? Anything?”

The man frowned. “How old are you, boy?”

“Sixteen.” Emil wondered what he must look like to the man. He hadn’t bathed or had a change of clothes in weeks. He knew his hair was too long. He shifted his weight nervously, rubbing his bad knee.

The man noticed. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

“Injured on the front.”

The man sighed. “I don’t have anything left. Someone knocks on my door every hour looking to eat.”

As if on cue, Emil's stomach growled. “Please, I beg you. I’m starving.”

The man’s shoulders slumped. His face was drawn, fatigued, and his eyes were watery, as if he were about to cry.

“Wait here.” He pointed to a rickety chair on the patio, and Emil let his weary body drop into it. The man returned with a coffee cup and handed it to Emil. “I have a cow out back. She doesn’t give much. It’s all I have.”

Emil slurped it up. It was like a drop in a very large bucket, but it would keep him going for a while.

“Where are you headed?” the man said.

“Passau.”

The man whistled. “That’s a long way from here. At least two hundred kilometers.”

“Yes,” Emil said, handing the cup back. “But it’s my home. I have to find my family.”

“All the trains are out,” the man said. “The roads are too damaged in most places for automobiles.”

“I know. I’m walking.”

“That will take you weeks.” The man glanced at Emil's bad leg and sighed again. “At least you are young. I wish you the best.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The man offered his hand, pulling Emil to his feet. Emil said goodbye then turned to the road. Step, limp, step, limp, he headed south.

Behind him, Nuremberg lay in ruins, a beaten down giant.

Chapter One

OCTOBER

Passau, Germany

HEINZ SCHULTZ’ word could send a man to prison. Though only a youth of fifteen, he was strong, tall, and blond. The boys in his Deutsches Jungvolk unit esteemed him and feared him.

And they wanted to be just like him.

Mesmerized, Emil sat straight and attentive. He didn’t want to miss a thing Heinz might say or an opportunity to be noticed by him.

Heinz grabbed a pointing stick and tapped a well-worn map of Europe that was thumb-tacked to the wall. “This is a map of Europe from 1871.”

He stopped abruptly in front of another, newer map. “And this is a map of Europe as she looks now. What is the striking difference?” His eyes scanned the room before landing on Emil. “Emil?”

Emil squeaked, “Germany is too small?”

“YES!” Heinz shouted. “Germany is too small. Much, much too small.” He pointed again to the first map. “Here we were larger, though not yet great enough. And here,” he swiveled back to the second map. “We are so tiny, you need a magnifying glass to see us. This is injustice!”

The severity of Heinz’s convictions had grown since his voice had changed. It seemed to Emil that Heinz’s voice came from his gut now rather than his head and he couldn't wait until his own voice finally changed. Not yet eleven, Emil knew he had a while to wait which frustrated him. It was hard to act tough when you sounded like a girl.

Heinz stood stiff, hands behind his back, studying each of his students until they were all white in the face with fear. He whispered, “Who is to blame?”

Friedrich slowly raised his long, skinny arm. Though the same age as the rest of the boys, he was much taller, with long, thin legs. He reminded Emil of an ostrich.

“The Jews,” Friedrich answered.

Heinz’s head bobbed in affirmation. “Correct. The Jews. And how do we know this?”

Friedrich continued, “They hurt the war effort by stirring up bad feelings against the government. We lost the Great War because people lost heart when they heard these lies.”

“Jews and Communists,” Heinz said. “They are the real enemies of Germany.”

Emil tried to remember what his father had told him. Germany had lost the Great War because they thought they could win it quickly. They had underestimated their enemies. In the end, they hadn’t enough soldiers left to finish the job.

But according to Heinz, his father was wrong. Germany’s defeat was actually due to these other people, though, he still didn’t fully understand what they did to cause their fall.

“We were a great nation,” Heinz continued. “We are a great nation. And one day we will be an even greater nation.”

Emil felt like a strong wind was pressing him against the wall.

After a long meaningful pause, Heinz said. “Give me examples of our superiority.”

Emil’s hand shot up, and then realizing he wasn’t sure what answer Heinz wanted, quickly brought it down again. Heinz called on his own younger brother, Rolf.

“We are white, Aryan, and not Jewish.”

Rolf said this like he was better than the rest of them, Emil thought, just because he was Heinz’s brother.

Heinz nodded in agreement. “Others?”

Friedrich thrust his arm up again. “We are athletic and fit.”

Moritz shifted uneasily in his chair; Emil knew his hefty friend wasn’t exactly the most coordinated person. This time Emil raised his hand and left it up.

“Emil?”

“We are intelligent.” All eyes were on him. Heinz waited. Why? Should he present an example? A model glider hung above the table prompting him. “We built the Luftwaffe.”

“Indeed,” said Heinz. “The mightiest air force in the world!”

“One day I will be a pilot in the Luftwaffe!” Emil boasted. The continued attention caused crimson flares to rush up his neck.

“A noble goal, Emil,” Heinz said. Emil sat up even taller if that were possible.

Heinz then nodded to Johann who picked up his guitar and led the boys in a boisterous rendition of Deutschland, Deutschland, uber alles: Germany, Germany over all.

“Time’s up,” Heinz said after checking his watch. “But next meeting we have a surprise. There will be a test of courage. Bring swim wear.”

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About the Author

Lee Strauss is the author of The Perception Series (young adult dystopian), A Nursery Rhyme Suspense Serial (NA Romantic Suspense), and young adult historical fiction. She is the married mother of four grown children, three boys and a girl, and divides her time between British Columbia, Canada and Dresden, Germany. When she's not writing or reading she likes to cycle, hike and practice yoga. She enjoys traveling (but not jet lag :0), soy lattes, red wine and dark chocolate.

Visit her at www.leestraussbooks.com

Lee also writes younger YA fantasy as Elle Strauss.

Follow Lee Strauss

- @leestraussbooks

- LeeStraussAuthor

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leestraussbooks@gmail.com

A Piece of Blue String

(A short story companion to Playing with Matches)

By Lee Strauss

Copyright © 2012 Lee Strauss, Elle Strauss

(Originally published in Winter Wonders Anthology by Compass Press.)

Cover by Steven Novak

ISBN: 9781927547168

A companion short story to Playing with Matches.

Excerpts from Katharina Ackermann's diary marking the turn of WW2, and her heart for the boy heading for battle.

Contents

A Piece of Blue String

May 2, 1941

June 24, 1941

August 19, 1941

August 20 1941

August 22, 1941

January 12, 1942

January 16, 1942

February 5, 1942

July 5, 1942

October 27, 1942

February 2, 1943

April 13, 1943

May 16, 1943

June 11, 1943

November 29, 1943

December 20, 1943

January 6, 1944

February 19, 1944

March 30, 1944

March 31, 1944

May 01, 1944

September 7, 1944

September 15, 1944

September 22, 1944

PLAYING WITH MATCHES

Prologue

Chapter One

About the Author

Copyright