Love and Hate Page 3

  “Shoo, boys, you are blocking our guests. Where are your manners?”

  They made a way for them to go through to enter the orphanage.

  “No, boys,” she said firmly but patiently. “Go,” and she pointed to the side yard.

  The yard was where we all played football constantly. I mean they played, I just watched. I wasn’t the athletic type. I walked toward the yard with the other boys.

  “Hans, wait,” Sister Claire shouted above the raucous boys’ banter.

  I held back as the rest of the boys entered the yard.

  I was suddenly uncomfortable. I looked down at my slightly dirty clothes, at my simple white, buttoned shirt and brown trousers. I felt inadequate.

  “Oh, Claire dear, he is just darling,” said the lady. “He has such blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Oh, and he has dimples.”

  I stood there not knowing what to do, awkwardly—and then she bent down and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  My arms were crossed, holding my diary protectively against my chest. I was subconsciously afraid that they might take it away from me, take my memories of Mamma.

  Sister Claire said, “This is my dear friend Ilse.”

  I reached out a hand to respectfully take hers.

  She embraced me instead. I just stood there.

  “Do you know why we are here, dear?”

  I silently shook my head.

  “You are going to come live with us. You will love it, and we will love you. I want you to know you are going to be part of our family. We have a beautiful house in Regensburg. It backs up to acres and acres of the Bavarian Forest for you boys to explore.”

  She looked at her son, who squinted up at her.

  She went on, “We will take you to the Regensburg Theater. Oh, and the pastry shops, we shall have such fun together.”

  The man was stoic, but he nodded in agreement. I had stopped listening upon her mentioning the pastry shops. I thought of Mamma. I couldn’t have her replaced, I loved her still. Poor Mamma. Was she in Heaven watching us right now? Did she feel it would betray her to go home with these people?

  I started crying. And when the woman went to wipe my tears, I ran away.

  I shouted, “No one will replace my Mamma. I won’t go with you.”

  I went to Sister Claire’s partitioned room. She knew I would be there if she wanted to come speak with me. She should have at least warned me that this was going to happen.

  Soon Sister Claire came, and I was still sobbing into her pillow. She sat on her cot next to me and rubbed my back.

  “You don’t have to go.”

  I sat up and was surprised. “What, I don’t have to?” I had stopped sobbing.

  “That’s right. No one will make you. But I want you to know the Becks are good people. I have been friends with Ilse since I was a girl. She is my dearest, oldest friend.”

  “Then you were rich.”

  “Yes, I grew up with some means. Ilse and Carl are wonderful people.”

  “Well, what about the boy? He certainly doesn’t look happy about this.”

  “Well, he is. He’s circumspect about it, but Erich will get over this too, as you will, if you go. This is part of the forgiveness process, Hans. God is providing you a great opportunity to go to a loving family. I promise on my word, I would never send you anywhere without knowing it was the best place possible for you. They have the love and the means to give you a wonderful life, a life you deserve.”

  “I don’t want to replace Mamma,” I said.

  She threaded my hair through her hands softly, gently. “No one has to replace your Mamma. I have talked about that with Ilse. She understands, not everything that happened, but the parts everyone knows. She knows that you already had and have a mother in your heart. Perhaps she can eventually be a second mother, not a first.”

  “Well, I suppose I cannot stay in the orphanage forever.”

  “Most of our boys don’t. Most go home eventually to someone they know. This is your chance.”

  “But I don’t know them.”

  “You know me, don’t you? You love me? You trust me too. I know you do. Ilse is family to me, and so you do know her, through me. You are my family, Hans, you are part of it, and I hope you know that you always will be. Ilse and Carl, yes, and Erich too. They are my family as well. That makes them your family, see.”

  “I guess so. I guess I can take a chance. But I want you to be my second mom.”

  “I have to be everyone’s mom, Hans. All the boys here depend on me.” She then leaned down to whisper in my ear, “You are the closest I have to a son. We will always be family, you and I. However, I must be a dear aunt and Ilse your second mother. You will grow to love her, everyone does. She is so genuine and loving.”

  “Okay, I will go.”

  She smiled. “I am proud of you. It sometimes takes courage to accept gifts of grace.”

  I smiled back, and we hugged and walked down the hallway—back toward the entrance where the three of them still stood.

  Then I was in the car, going over bumps and potholes, the car jostled up and down. I sat silently next to Erich in the backseat. He was looking at me hatefully. His little brown eyes were half open to show disapproval. Well, then I hated him too.

  On our way, Carl looked back at me and yelled over the chill wind, blowing in my face. “Have you ever been in a car before?”

  “What, what?” I said.

  “A car. Have you ever gone fast?”

  “No sir, I don’t believe so.”

  He revved the engine, and we went faster and faster. On this “road” we bumped up and down with furor. My bottom was leaving the comfort of the black leather seat, and I was suddenly in the air before I slapped back down. Hey, this is fun, I thought.

  “Hey, this is fun,” I yelled, laughing out loud, smiling widely.

  Carl thought it funny too. He began to laugh. We were speeding. We had to be going forty-five kilometers on a road that supported twenty-five. I felt like we were flying. Ilse giggled as she took flight, landing gently in her seat over and again. Then I was a little surprised as Erich laughed and lost his squinty eyes. They were half open from joy, not anger. He was laughing fully and heartily and gave me a little punch on the shoulder. We all were laughing together. Laughing until our cheeks hurt, or at least mine did. I couldn’t stop. It was that feeling that you have between you and your best friend. Something funny hits you, and it is like you are being tickled all over. The laughing becomes contagious. You enjoy it, but it hurts at the same time because it won’t stop. It becomes involuntary. But it is usually only shared with someone you are very close to. Your family or your best friend. Shared laughter of that sort proves kinship or friendship. Or in this case, it can be the beginning of kinship. It can be the catalyst for it. Because for the first time since Mamma died, I felt warm inside with comfort as the laughing finally died down and the car slowed. I felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

  Chapter 8

  Sister Claire visited from time to time and truly was a dear aunt to me. She was right, I was happy with my new family. Perhaps a year after I had been adopted by the Becks, Erich and I were in the Bavarian forest playing with Gretchen, our beagle. We were all running aimlessly, like boys and dogs tend to do, with no real plan of where to go, foraging into the forest and off of our parents’ acreage. Erich and I had become brothers; he was alternately nice and mean to me. I was so happy to have a family and a brother that I didn’t care about that. We were playing hide and seek, and I was “it.” I was behind a tree. Erich was hiding in a ditch surrounded by rocks. It was a good hiding place, and the only reason I knew he was there was because Gretchen had followed him there and was panting because it was a warm summer day. She even occasionally stared at Erich, as if to say, “he is there—right there—in that ditch!”

  So I walked right up to him after counting to ten and shouted, “I found you, Erich.”

  Erich was angry and yelled, “It is not fair.
That fucking cunt of a dog showed you where I was. It was cheating.”

  “Okay, it is okay, Erich,” I assured him quickly, “You are right, you win this round.”

  He huffed with red cheeks, radiating venomous anger. He then breathed in a single, long breath and slowly exhaled through his nose. He had composed himself. I was relieved that his anger was gone and said that we should continue the game.

  “It is not your fault that this happened, brother,” he said. “It is the dog’s.”

  He went up to the dog and kicked it hard. It was a good-natured dog and used to getting hit by Erich. But he hit it just right this time, and the dog yelped and snapped at him. It didn’t bite him, but it almost did. It was as if the dog realized it was wrong and stopped midsnap. Erich didn’t seem angry, so I didn’t realize what he was doing until it was already done. Neither did Gretchen. He picked up the largest rock, the most heavy, dense, and solid one surrounding the ditch he had been lying in. He raised it over his head and over Gretchen’s head. Gretchen, innocently sniffed the air. And he bashed it down hard on top of her skull. I heard the sound of a nut cracking, but there was no bark, so thank God, it must have been fast.

  My eyes bulged out of my head. “What the hell did you just do?” I yelled, and added, “How dare you!”

  I blubbered over poor Gretchen, whose blood was oozing from under the boulder.

  He came right up to my face and calmly said, “If you tell Mother or Father, I love you, brother, but I will slit your throat while you sleep. Do you understand?”

  I half believed him, and I wanted him to love me. I was eleven and had a sick affection for Erich.

  “I won’t say you did it.”

  He smiled good-naturedly. “Good, I will do the talking about the animal thing.”

  And he told the story, even getting teary-eyed. My father sat there with his arms crossed on our deck facing the Bavarian Forest. Mother was crying softly. She never said anything at all whenever Erich misbehaved, she just cried. She also took lots of medicine and lay in bed most days. Occasionally, for a social event, she would find some energy and be sweet and attentively caring. Maybe Sister Claire knew her in that way. Most days, though, she was depressed, and I hardly knew her; she hardly left her room. This was a rare day, and she was out, but she cried and went inside upon hearing of Gretchen’s death.

  “And then Gretchen fell down and hit her head on the boulder and was dying, and in such pain, I had to put her out of her misery. Isn’t that right, Hans?”

  He nudged me, an obvious sign of deceit to an adult.

  My father, who knew what Erich was like, said, “Erich, I know you killed the dog. You didn’t put it out of its misery. If it was a human being, what you did would be murder.”

  “Hans, tell him,”

  I looked at the ground and said, “He put it out of its misery.”

  “See, Father.”

  I started to cry. Father came up to me and went down on his knees and hugged me. He told me that it was okay but that I should not lie to help Erich.

  He got up in Erich’s face. “You killed that sweet little dog out of spite or for fun, and then you lie about it to me and bring your brother into it. I am sending you to a psychologist, and you are grounded for a week. As for right now,” he took off his belt, “you will receive ten swats on your bare bottom. If you do anything that hurts anything again, you are going to a military camp, if not to jail.”

  I went upstairs like I was told to. I heard father counting, and I heard Erich wailing between his counts.

  When Erich came up, he gave me a hug. “You cannot lie well, but I know you tried the best you could, brother. Thank you for being loyal to me.”

  Chapter 9

  The Jewish girl. I stared at her as she led the way, grasping my hand. She led me down an alleyway, opened a door, and led me up a narrow flight of wooden stairs, warped and bent almost upward at each end. She led me to a room on the third floor. It was past curfew, and no one was out. She opened a door with an old false brass doorknob, mottled, and led me into a tiny one-room “apartment.” There was a tub in the corner.

  “Are there any other people that live in this apartment?” I asked. “Anyone else who might...”

  “Is that what you would call this, an apartment? No, we are the only ones on this floor who don’t share a room,” she said. She started giving me orders. “Take that thing off in here.”

  “What are you talking about? What thing?”

  “That hat. You won’t wear that hat with that eagle-swastika in here.”

  “I have a man’s blood all over me. That is what you first ask me? To take off my hat with Hitler’s Reichsadler?”

  “No, that is your swastika. You are the one wearing it. The one who has been wearing it every day you guard my ward. I always see you in it. It is not Hitler’s, it is yours,” she said through gritted teeth, pushing the words out with venom.

  She threw me a towel. I stood there.

  She yelled, “Take it off!”

  I said, “No. I will not take orders from you. I am not your prisoner.”

  “Oh, you are now. I am the free one compared to you. They likely don’t know I was involved. They only know you were involved. You were on duty, and there is a record for that. I am risking everything by just having you here.”

  “No, you aren’t safe. Every day you aren’t safe. You are in the ghettos. There is no safety here.”

  She said nothing but started crying, at first softly. But then she bawled and took short breaths in and out as her chest convulsed.

  She whispered, “Poor Papa,” as her tears spread over her cheeks.

  “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be cruel. I didn’t know. I mean, I know this is an evil symbol. I felt like I had proven to you that I am not like most of them.”

  She regained her composure quickly and said, sniffling, “You are one of them. You cannot wash that blood off. It is in your soul.”

  I took my hat off and threw in on the floor. Who does she think she is? I thought.

  I asked her where the shower was, and she laughed. A sad little laugh. She pointed to my left.

  “There is no shower, only that.”

  “I cannot undress in front of you.”

  “Oh, for the first time we agree. I don’t want to see anyone but my husband naked.”

  “You are married?”

  She couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen.

  “Married, no. But I don’t want to see a Nazi naked the first time I see a man. I will go sit out on the stairs. Take care of your mess.”

  I stood there for a moment as she shut the door behind her. Just a moment. Blood in my soul? What did she mean? I wasn’t even sure that I believed in a soul; I was not a religious man. I went to church for funerals and weddings and prayed if I was desperate. That was it. There were no souls.

  I wiped my face, still covered in blood. I walked over to the bathtub. It was cracked down the middle—a slight, thin line. I filled it up with the cold, dirty water that the tap spat out.

  I unbuttoned my collar and my gray-green jacket with circular buttons and twin lightning-bolts stitched into my lapel. Unclasping my belt, I took off my trousers. I was caked in blood. It was dried, flaky and thick in places. I got in the tub, and it turned a deep red almost instantly. It was disgusting. I started scrubbing the blood off myself with the small bar of half-used soap that had been lying on the bottom of the tub. I first scrubbed my face and then my body, down to my feet. I thought about the prospect of washing the blood out of my hair in this repulsive red water that now looked like blood, with a thinner consistency. I let a little water out by lifting the plug in the drain, tugging on its cord. I then replugged it and turned on the tap again. It was freezing cold and made the water a murky red-pink. I put my head under the ice water, leaning down. I started scrubbing my scalp with the soap to rid myself of the blood. As I finished, I felt something. It was stuck in my hair. I tugged at it and pulled it out. It was a pi
ece of Gerhard. A very small piece of his scalp with flesh and hair on it. I was so disgusted that I threw it out of the tub, put my head back under the spout and started to scrub my scalp raw. I had to get all the blood off me. I looked at my fingernails; it was still covering me there, caked inside. I scrubbed and scrubbed, and the red would not leave them. I scrubbed until I almost bled. I stopped and stared at the blood that could not wash off underneath my fingernails. It wasn’t my blood but I was bleeding somewhere. I felt the wound, raw and real, a phantom wound.

  “In my soul,” I said quietly, “In my soul, I am bleeding there.”

  I must have been, because there was no physical wound to stop the pain I felt in my chest. There was no redemption. The Jewish girl was right to say where I was bleeding. It was in my soul.

  Chapter 10

  Carl was lighting a cigarette, sitting in his chair on the porch. I had come outside, as he had asked for me.

  “Come sit down, I want to tell you something.”

  I sat down next to him, nervous, as he put down the American newspaper he had been reading

  “I love you as much as Erich, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Father, I do, and I love you too.”

  “Good, that’s good.”

  He took a long drag, blowing the warmth of his breath and the cigarette’s purple smoke into the night air. I could see the stars behind the smoke, twinkling in the distance.

  “I am worried about your brother. I am. Well, you heard the news yesterday about President von Hindenburg, right?”

  “Yes, Father, von Hindenburg died.”

  “Yes, and now Hitler is using the situation to consolidate his control. He already framed that Dutch communist who burned down the Reichstag. That didn’t happen. At least he didn’t do it, Hitler and his thugs did.”