Broken Wings

Filled Hearts and Helping Neighbors

Else Schüffen-   Munich, Germany 1943

It didn't take long to notice it.

There were two Jews hiding on Fünfte Strasse. Or rather, there were three. Until the other one was arrested. There were subtle clues at first. The windows became darkened with curtains. The neighbors had disappeared in their house, only to come out to purchase food. They never came to the shelter when the siren blared off. Else became particularly curious. It haunted her in the darkness at night when the dreams would wait beside her bed for her to fall asleep.

"Mama, I think that Fräulein Brandt is hiding someone," Else blurted out one night.

"Where do you get that idea?" The air was warm and still, heated by the dancing flames of the fire.

"I don't know."

Mama smiled, rubbing Else's shoulders. "All right, just go to bed then, sweetheart."

Else nodded, her heart sighing. She longed to escape outside, into the chilly night air, and just be free for one night. It called her name. Her dreams, however, did not.

That night, she allowed her feet to wander outside. The door creaked behind her gently, the lock making a muted clicking sound. The chilling air bit her feet and froze her cheeks.

The sky looked so beautiful that night.

The houses were all asleep, save the house where Hershel was staying. It invited her inside, but she turned it down. Instead, she continued her night stroll down Fünfte Strasse, gazing into the house with sheets covering the windows. Her eyes gazed into it, her reflection staring back. Else half expected to hear a violin tune, with notes soaring over the strings like an eagle. But it did not come. Instead, she was answered by silence.

She lingered in the street for quite some time, allowing the beauty of it all to soak in.

And then her feet took her back. The lights were now dark in her house. She used her hand to feel around, the corner of something jabbing into her side ever so often. After eight scratches and bruises, she slinked back under the covers, where her dreams awaited her.

❀❀❀

Mama and Father were beginning to notice it too.

A look of concern was written on their faces every time they glanced out the windows.

"Else, are you sure Fräulein Brandt is hiding a Jew?" Father asked, pushing the dreaded mush in front of her. It waited to be eaten, to be spooned into her mouth. Else made sure it waited for quite some time.

"Nein, but I'm pretty sure."

Mama glanced up at her husband, slipping on her black laced shoes and a light jacket. Else picked at her mush, gazing at her mother curiously. Mama pulled a loaf of bread from the oven, wrapping it in cloth.

"Mama, what are you doing?"

"If they are hiding a Jew, we must help them," Mama said, swinging open the door and allowing a gust of chilly wind blow in.

Else stood up to protest. "But Mama, they could kill--"

"Else! I am surprised at you-" Mama started.

Else interrupted her once again, her expression softening. "If you give bread to that Jew, then you should give some to Hershel, too."

Mama and Father glanced at each other, a look of confusion present on their face. Their daughter had never mentioned a Hershel.

But then they understood.

The night of the first air raid, a Nazi and a woman and his family were carrying a man with the Star of David.

Hershel.

Their minds clicked in understanding.

Mama smiled, one last sentence escaping her mouth before she slinked out the door. "You'd better bake him another loaf then."

Else glanced at the stove, and then at her shoes and coat. She quickly slipped them on, sprinting out the door. Mama's shadow was still visible, and Else raced over to keep it that way.

"Mama! Wait! I want to come with you." Mama spun around, facing her daughter. Together they strolled, watching the faces of the houses for the one hiding a Jew. Their feet stopped at the house with darkened windows. This time Mama knocked; a much gentler knock than those of Nazis. The door opened with hesitation. A younger woman stood behind it.

"Hallo? Can I help you?"

"We just came to drop off some bread. I thought you might need it," Mama said, holding the bread out in her palm. The woman stared at it in shock, her eyes widening slightly.

"Danke..." Her voice trailed off, disappearing into the air.

"My brother was Jewish," Else whispered, turning away from the puzzled woman. She turned around only once, once they were far enough away. The woman was still standing there, staring at the shadows of the mother and the daughter.

A warm feeling filled Else's heart. She had helped a Jew.

"For you, Max, I did it for you," she whispered, the pavement smiling up at her face. The aroma of bread drifted from the house, taunting their noses as they strolled in through the door.

"It'll be a while before it's ready," Father said, flipping through newspapers. His face studied the words, black shapes formed to create a whole story.

I guess that's what books do. And newspapers.

Else stationed herself before the canvas, allowing the brush to float over the white space. She painted the Jew, whose face was unknown to the world, a piece of baked bread in his hands. His eyes gleamed with belonging. Someone cared about him. She allowed herself to sit and think for a minute or two in front of the partially filled canvas. Maximilian would be proud. Though she hadn't changed the world with words, she had changed it with actions.

And that was something to be proud of.

Else felt his voice smile, his olive hand feeling over the globs and textures of paint on the canvas. His voice laughed, kissing her on the head. His hands were cold, so cold, but his eyes were quite the opposite.

"Danke, Maximilian, for showing me how to love."