Broken Wings

The Violinist Across the Street

Else Schüffen- Munich, Germany 1942

The sweet, singing voice of the violin had filled her dreams with music for three nights in a row now. The hairs on her arms would prickle, the notes haunting her.

"Mama, did you hear a violin last night?" Else asked, curling up on the sofa with her nose in a book.

"I don't know, Else, I was probably asleep."

"Oh, okay." Else stared at her mother, studying the deep lines that newly imprinted her face. Her penetrating blue eyes were clouded with grief and fear. Fear of tomorrow, I suppose.

"Oh, don't forget about Josef's party tonight, darling," Mama said.

The party. Something Else had been dreading for several days. Nazis and S.S. would be there, ranting on about how they loved their Führer and how they hated the Jews. Not to mention being dreadfully boring.

It was all to celebrate Josef's birthday.

"Mama, I'm going outside," Else said, already halfway out the door. The icy air froze her cheeks, and bit her nose. It was a rather dull, colorless day overall with only a splash of red from the flags here and there. Myna was standing in the front window when Else rapped on her door. Else watched the coat disappear off the hook, presumably now wrapped around Myna. In a matter of seconds, she was already standing beside Else.

"What do you want to do today?" Myna asked.

"Find someone." Feet flew across the cobblestone, making their way down Fünfte Strasse.

She knew who was playing that violin.

It was on the third night of playing that Else saw him, a silhouette in the light behind a window. His arms moved so fluidly across the strings, little notes bouncing off the page of music. And let me tell you, the music was not German music.

The man had better learn to be more careful.

Else stopped before a quaint little house across the street from hers. This was it. Part of her wanted to rush in and find the man who was playing the violin. Common sense forbade it.

"What are we doing anyways?" Myna asked impatiently.

"You'll find out." Else breathed in, trekking through the dusting of snow to the front porch. Her knuckles pounded against the door. She waited in silence, glancing back at her friend. The door finally swung open, opened by an older looking woman. Her hair was silver with white strands striping the top.

She looked decently friendly, much to Else's relief.

"Hallo?"

"Is there a violinist that lives here?"

The woman stared at her in shock, minutes of silence passing by. Finally, she ushered her in, Myna trailing behind. "Hershel, you have a visitor," she called nervously. A scraggly figure appeared in the doorway of the basement.

His hair was dark brown, his skin olive colored. He was a Jew, and appeared to be around the same age as Max was. Myna shifted her feet uncomfortably, realizing the current situation they were in.

"Ja?"

"You play the violin?"

And that's where it all began. They crowded under the stairs, sharing stories and playing music. The awkwardness of before eased away, replaced with a sense of content and belonging. Else enjoyed listening to his passionate stories and watching a vibrant smile curve onto his lips. She enjoyed his tranquil demeanor that, at the same time, possessed a level of passion for music.

"How long have you been playing?" Myna asked, blurting out the question.

"I've lost count of the years, but I used to play for the Berlin Philharmonic before this mess all started. I miss it all..." he trailed off, recounting memories of the past.

"So did Max."

"Pardon?"

"My brother. He was a Jew before they..." Tears came to Else's eyes, but she fought them back. Enough had been shed for now.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

The stiffness in Else's legs told her it was time to leave. She rose up hesitantly, hating to leave the tranquil comfort of the basement. "We should be going now."

"Come back whenever you feel like it," he said, his hand creating a smear in the air.

Mama was waiting when they got home.

❀❀❀

The Hitler Youth uniform waited for her on her bed, unwrinkled and untouched. Now, typically, when one goes to parties, they dress in a fancy gown. However, Else was attending a party hosted by a Nazi, therefore making the Hitler Youth uniform the best option.

Else detested it.

"Mama, why can't I just wear a nice dress?" she pleaded, waiting by the front door for Josef to pick them up.

"Because Hitler would appreciate you wearing your uniform."

Else groaned, her nose pressed against the window. Josef's sleek, black car pulled into sight, glinting in the moonlight. The party was as boring as Else assumed it would be. Though the home that was hosting it was rather elegant, there was absolutely nothing to do for children. Except talk politics, of course.

"So, my dear, are you enjoying Hitler Youth?"

"Have you met the Führer yet?"

"What are you doing to help Hitler?"

The questions were continually shot at her. Else merely replied to them with the simplest of answers. Two hours in, two more guests walked in the door. They looked oddly familiar. The lady's hair was the color of silver snow, with white snowflakes dotting it. Her husband was a Nazi, standing tall and proud in his uniform.

Then Else figured it out.

They were the people hiding the Jew. The people she saw in the streets carrying him during an air raid. The lady that opened the door just a few hours before.

"So a violinist lives at your house?" she asked.

The lady spun around, smiling once she recognized Else's glowing face. "Ja. He's been living there for quite some time."

Suddenly, the party didn't seem so terrible. The lady's husband sauntered around the party, laughing along with his fellow Nazis and speaking loudly of politics. Josef had disappeared into the ballroom with Mama, leaving Else alone with the lady.

"I don't think I caught your name," she said, patting Else on the head.

"My name is Else."

"It's nice to meet you, Else." She nodded, waving goodbye as she snuck into the crowd of people.

She never mentioned her own name.

That's the thing about kind people. Often times you'll never know who they are.