Broken Wings

Reunion

Else Schüffen-   Munich, Germany 1943

Good news lingered in the air, wafting through the hearts of Fünfte Strasse. It nagged at Else all day. She couldn't place her finger on it.

"Do you have any good food in your house?" Myna asked, prancing back and forth on the front steps of the Schüffen home. A classic friend to friend question.

"If I would, I would be eating it now, Dummkopf. There's never any good food around these days."

Mama spun around from the stove, shaking her head. "You can eat dinner with us tonight, Myna," she yelled, her hand curling, inviting the girl in. Myna smiled graciously, a look of mockery on her face. Else rolled her eyes, strolling inside the house and pulling out her chair from the table. Food invited them, steam filling their noses with anticipation.

"Is your bread as good as Rosalinde's?" she asked, a smirk spreading across her face. Darkness enveloped the sky, with white dots, like holes, littering the night. The noise of motors filled the streets, polluting the still air. Else bit her lip, watching the bowls of steaming stew and plate of crispy bread floating towards her.

Ah, the taste of food.

Though the bread wasn't nearly as good as Rosalinde's, the girls still allowed it to melt in their mouth, savoring the bubbly texture. Silence engulfed the table, only the noise of scraping plates and slurping soup.

That is, until a banging knock interrupted the silence and the slurping and the scraping.

"What do those bastards want now," Mama muttered, rising from the table. Else shrugged, glancing at her friend. She was all too accustomed to that knock. A scream of surprise erupted from the doorway. Myna looked at Else in confusion, craning her neck towards the door. Else's chair screeched back, her feet pounding to the door. Had they been caught? Did they trace Max to them?

And then Else saw it too.

A man, his hair cut much shorter than before, his arm hung in a sling.

Father.

"Father!" Else cried, sweeping into her father's arms. He laughed, a big, hefty laugh of true happiness. His arm hung uselessly inside of the cast, the other arm squeezed tightly around his daughter and wife.

"So, what did I miss in the Schüffen household?" he asked.

Myna appeared behind them, a smile present on her face. "Welcome home, Herr Schüffen."

Father nodded in gratefulness, making his way to the kitchen. His nose told him the food hadn't changed any; it was still the same old stew with the occasional stale bread. Except this time it was better.

"I see you've improved the bread since I was gone."

"Oh, yes, but things will be getting back to normal now that you're home," Mama said winking. Everyone returned to their food, a bowl added for Father. Nobody was about to throw away cold soup.

Especially since Father was home.

Things finally seemed to be settling back in, items being placed back on their shelves. But there would still be something missing. Maximilian. Father's voice was filled with joyfulness, along with a tinge of sorrow from past memories. But something about him had changed, a sharp edge had crept in his voice when he spoke about Hitler.

Else sensed the reluctance in his voice to follow the Führer.

Though he never admitted it, Else sensed Father felt considerably less devoted to Hitler than before his time in the war. Outwardly, he supported him with his whole heart still, Heil Hitlering several times throughout the day. But, she felt that inwardly, sympathy grew. Sympathy for the Jews, for the hated.

"What's the war like?" Myna asked eagerly, curling up beside the fireplace next to Else. Father smoked his pipe on the couch, with a bit of tobacco that they had been saving.

"Terrifying. You see too much, more than anyone should ever see. I can only imagine what the Jews see," he said, sighing. His eyes seemed almost broken to Else, like a crack in cement. Every movement was more hesitant, as if the water glass would slice his finger open. It was then Else saw: her father was human, too.

The dim light darkened as Mama flipped off the kitchen light. The aroma of dinner still remained in the air.

Else felt a sudden itch to show someone her paintings.

Her mind debated back and forth, an argument between thoughts. What if his reaction was like Josef's? What if he burned them? Well, there was no way Else would let anyone burn her paintings. Not anymore.

"Father, can I show you something?" she asked.

Father nodded, a look of curiosity on his face. Else trotted up the stairs, the darkness of the attic greeting her face. She scooped the stack of canvases in her arms, neatly tucked in under her bed. This time her feet flew down the stairs gracefully.

Mama and Myna knew what she was up to. They grinned, the sly smile spreading across their faces.

"What are you girls up--" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes trained on the stack of paintings. She dropped them next to him on the couch, sitting back down next to Myna on the floor. Father picked up the top one, his hand feeling over the textures and bumps of red paint. His eyes almost widened. They went through everything that Mama and Hershel did, from the burning store to the dying Jew, to pictures of himself. The tears didn't come to his eyes, but they came to his heart instead.

"These are beautiful Else," he whispered, setting them gently to the ground. Tears came to Mama's eyes. Her husband was finally home. And he understood.

"I saw them while you were gone." Mama smiled, rubbing Else's back. The flames danced in front of them, heating the house with warmth.

"If only we could afford to send you to art school!" Father said, laughing. Myna stood up, protesting.

"But then I would never see her!" They all broke out into laughter, the joyfulness filling the air. Or rather, filling the street. Else squeezed her friend, stroking her silky hair. The night seemed perfect.

Everyone could sense it. Even Hershel across the street.

For some reason, everyone felt a tinge of happiness fill their heart.