Broken Wings

A Book and a Jew

Else Schüffen- Munich, Germany 1943

The two girls and the Jew were all huddled up in the depths of a stranger's basement. The aroma of dinner drifted down, their tongues tasting the smell. The Jew held a single photo in his hand. It was of his mother and father.

"Do you ever miss them?" Myna asked, though one would think the answer would be obvious. But Myna asked it anyways.

"Ja, of course. I think about them all the time. Sometimes, I dream about them coming home, and finding that I'm not there," Hershel said.

Else studied the photo, absorbed in thought. Maximilian never talked of his parents, as they had just been a distant dream to him, but sometimes Else wondered if he ever thought of them. "I miss the old days, before Hitler came," Else muttered.

Hershel and Myna nodded in unison, thoughts of the past stirring in their minds.

"We used to eat together all the time, before the war and this mess. Mama would always bake the best bread, und we would pray and talk of the day. I would talk of my violin issues, my brother of his schooling, Papa of his work, and Mama of the news. Und then the war came and things worsened. I don't think we've eaten together for a couple years now," Hershel said, sighing. Things were perfect then.

"My family's been torn apart too," Else whispered. She wasn't the only one. Other families suffered too. A siren bled through the air, interrupting the conversation between the Germans and the Jew. Else jumped from her spot on the ground, her heart beating fast. Furniture shifted upstairs, the door swinging open.

"Girls! There's an air raid!" the kind lady's voice shouted from above. Both Else and Myna glanced at Hershel, the same thoughts running through their mind.

"Do you usually go with them during an air raid?"

"Ja, people don't ask questions if I'm with a Nazi. We didn't hear the sirens last time--"

A shrill voice from above interrupted him once again.

"They arrested a Jew last time," Else blurted out. It was a warning. Hershel glanced back and forth between the two girls, tapping his foot against the ground as if trying to speed up his decision.

"I'll stay." Feet clambered up the stairs, concerned looks staring back at him. Their shadows disappeared into the light, only a trail of dust left behind.

And then he was alone.

His companions rushed out into the freezing air, their faces turning a reddish hue. A crowd of bags and feet awaited them, though this time there were considerably less. There had been so many false alarms, yet Else couldn't help being the slightest bit afraid. It wasn't that she was afraid of dying, it was the fact that others may die, and she would be left behind.

All alone.

❀❀❀

Everyone was still slightly shaken up three hours after the clearing sirens went off. The bombs could be heard above them, dust raining down on the people.

But once again, they were safe.

God had spared them.

Else curled up under her threadbare sheets, light streaming in from below. Her thoughts would not let her mind be at rest. She had to do something. Her feet tiptoed across the wooden floor. The cold massaged her feet, her bones rubbing against the wood with each stride. They brought her down the hall to an empty room. A room that hadn't been touched for two years.

The door creaked open, its noise shocking the air. The bed was perfectly made, all the furniture remained intact, untouched. It smelled of Maximilian.

"Maximilian," Else whispered, caressing the quilted blanket. A dark stillness surrounded the room, clouding her brain. His pillow was deathly cold. The chill punctured her skin as her hand rested on the fabric. The corner of a cover stuck out from under it. It stole Else's eyes. She pulled it out from under, a layer of grime and dust coating the front. Her fingers danced across the top, feeling each groove in the leather. It took her a minute to realize that it was a diary.

Max's diary. Or at least, that was what it appeared to be. And I suppose you could call it a diary, if you really wanted to. It was filled with thoughts and sketches, all flowing from his mind to the paper.

Else gently turned the pages, absorbing herself into the words of Max. It was the words describing Kristallnacht that haunted her most.

And there we stood, a swallow and a robin, our black beady eyes filled with tears of the past, and of the present. We watched the Nazis stained with blood, beating the broken hearts of the Jews that night, on a bed of shattered glass.

Tears came to her eyes, dripping onto his flowing penmanship. His words described horror, hope, and loss. All seen through his eyes.

"I never knew you kept a diary," she whispered, tracing the words with her fingers. The next page was filled with memories, memories of his family, in particular his mother.

Her hair was the color of chestnuts, buried beneath a cave of autumn grasses. Her words would always flow out like milk to me, filling my heart with hope, and soothing my mind with her gentle tone. She would always pat my head when she said goodnight, her kiss washing over my head. "Gute nakht Max zis kholem mine libling, Good night, Max. Sweet dreams, my darling."

Else smiled, wiping the tears away from her eyes. She gently closed the leather cover, setting it beneath the pillow where it belonged. "For another night." Her footsteps tiptoed into the safety of her covers, freezing from her little walk down the hall.

Her eyes shut, her mind darkening with dreams, still smiling at the words of Maximilian Schüffen.