Broken Wings

Comfort in Paintings

Else Schüffen- Munich, Germany 1942

The days grew shorter and shorter, darkness flooding in through the windows earlier each day. The blackness seemed to envelope the souls of everyone around her, including her mother.

"Mama, everything will be okay, I promise." These words were repeated often, coming from the lips of a girl who wasn't so sure if everything would be okay herself.

"I know, darling, I know," she murmured. The bright side to Father's and Maximilian's absence was the sudden abundance of food. The stew had gotten less watery, and more bread was being served.

Still, things were missing.

The stew was letting off steam, flowing into Else's nostrils. Mama sipped hers in silence, the words remaining inside of her mouth.

"Mama?"

"Ja, honey, what is it?" she said, looking up from the bowl of creamy liquid.

"I want to show you something." The chair screeched against the wooden flooring, Else climbing out of it. Mama had to see them. She hoped it would offer her some comfort, at least.

Else cradled the stack of canvases in her arms, little bits of dried paint dotting her arms. She stumbled down the stairs, glancing down at her feet as they slid against the wood. Mama's eyes glowed with confusion, widening when they saw the girl coming down the stairs with her arms filled with paintings.

"I thought you would want to see him." Mama stared at them in shock as Else dropped them on the table. Carefully, she lifted up the top one, an explosion of colors revealed.

Allow me to explain the image of the first one:

A Jew, his skin a pale blue, cowered in the corner, shadows of men carrying torches hovering over him. His eyes brimmed with fear and loss. Hope seemed to be gone.

Mama studied the painting for a solid five minutes, tears glistening in her eyes. She then moved on to the next one.

This one moved her the most.

A shoe store withered in the heat of the fire, engulfed in flames of red. Jews cowered to the ground, S.S. beating them with the butt of their gun. Faded swastikas were imprinted on each and every flame.

Mama sat in silence, blinking the tears away. A single tear dripped onto a swastika infected flame, lingering in the crevice of a glob of paint. She then proceeded to the rest of the paintings.

Each one became more and more heartbreaking. Ones of Maximilian, marching to his death at a concentration camp. Ones of Josef, a gun quivering in his hand. And ones of Father, disappearing into the shadows of the streets. Only one had some light to it.

A girl swung her feet at the edge of a marble fountain, heavenly light streaming in around her. Petals swirled down from the branches of motherly trees, an elegant mansion in the back.

The secret place, tucked behind forests and rivers and fields of flowers.

Finally, Mama rose from her chair, wiping away the tears with a swipe of her sleeve.

"Oh, Else."

❀❀❀

"I showed Mama my paintings," Else said, sitting on the side of her bed beside Myna. The sky was pitch black, with only the stars showing through.

"What did she think of them?"

"I think it comforted her. She was crying when she was looking through them."

Myna nodded, unsure of what to say. For once in her life she was rather glad to go to school tomorrow, for the weekend overall had been dreadfully boring.

A screaming whine pierced the air, startling the girls off the bed.

"Air raid!" Mama called from the kitchen. Else sighed in frustration, making her way down the stairs. This time they were actually going to the street shelter.

The streets were a blur of people once again, but this time they weren't carrying as many bags. Myna craned her neck, searching the crowd for her family.

"We can find them in the shelter," Else assured, squeezing her hand. The air bit their cheeks, sending chills up their spine. The air raid shelter came into view, people flooding into it.

Else, Mama, and Myna settled into their spot in the corner.

This time was as dreadful as the last, with more people coughing and whispering. Else stared longingly at the people wrapped in woolen blankets. Just a few minutes ago they had nice, warm heat, and now they were freezing.

So much can change in an instant.

Myna still could not find her parents.

"I'm getting worried. What if they didn't hear the sirens?"

"I wouldn't worry too much, Myna. Who wouldn't hear those disgusting sirens anyways?" Else said, offering little comfort. While Myna searched the shelter for her family, Else searched the shelters for a single Jew. Suddenly a thought hit her. What if Max hadn't been caught? What if he was still living with the Brandenburgs? What if someone on the street recognized him as Maximilian instead of Henrik?

She imagined him cowering in the basement, his breath visible in the depths of the damp basement. The sirens would still be going off, the roof trembling in fear. Else laughed inwardly at the thought of Maximilian during an air raid.

He had never handled fear very well.

A sudden shout erupted from the crowd, startling the wits out of Else.

"Jew! It's a Jew!"

Hershel.

Else spun around to find a frightened figure, hiding under his own shadow. A point from the Star of David showed through his jacket. His face was darkened in the dim light of the basement, but one thing was apparent. He had been in hiding.

"Someone call the Gestapo!" someone shrieked, pointing at the scraggly figure.

No. Not Hershel. God, please don't let it be Hershel.

Else prayed furiously in her mind, scrunching up between her mother and her friend. The Jew suddenly rose up from the crowd, tripping over a group of people. His forehead hit the edge of the stairs. Blood started dripping down onto the head of someone below. The shape of his head became visible. It was much too round, and his hair was much shorter than the Jew that haunted Else's mind at that moment.

It was not Hershel.

Either way, Else still felt a pang of guilt in her gut for not helping.

Who had she become?