Broken Wings

Farewell

Else Schüffen-   Munich, Germany: 1943

The fear and guilt in his heart became too heavy, a weight sinking in his heart.

She could tell he knew it was time to leave. Yet she didn't allow herself to believe it.

Else sat cross-legged on the chilling basement floor, watching in content as Hershel's fingers flew across the fingerboard, the sound of the violin ringing in her ears. Hershel smiled, the last note dying off into the air. He lifted the violin from his shoulder, setting it gently back in the case.

"I'm glad I have you to talk to," she said, brushing the hair out of her face. It clung to her, refusing to let go.

The basement was horridly dry.

"Ja, well, it's not safe for you, or your mother, or the people above here. I have to find my family. It's time, Else." The words shocked her. No.

She wasn't going to let him suffer through what Maximilian did.

"Hershel, no. You can't leave. They've already risked their jobs and lives for you. You can't just let that go to waste. I don't want to see you die, not like Maximilian," she said, the tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

"I'm not going to die, Else. I promise."

And Else knew then that he would keep that promise.

They sat together in silence, contemplating life. Suddenly, she rose up from the ground, her legs tight from sitting.

"I'll be right back." Else left him nodding, her shadow flying against the cobblestone. The wind breezed past her, giving a feeling of refreshment to her cheeks. She wanted to give him this one last thing, something to remember her by.

She knew Max wouldn't mind.

The musty smell of his room greeted her. Her fingers ran over the seams of the pillow, searching for his journal. They caught on the corner of the cover. The pages flew by, Else's fingers searching for one particular page. They found it. It was her favorite page of all. It had his quote, the one on the back of her photo that Myna gave her. And then a sketch, soaring across the page like a swallow.

Believe me, swallows really do soar.

It was a picture of a Jew and a girl, a German girl, their fingers linked together. Though it was crudely drawn, Else loved it. She smiled, folding it up into her pocket. The door creaked slowly behind, leaving his room back to peace.

Her feet skipped across the pavement.

His face sparkled with gratitude.

"Did you... draw this?" he asked, holding the paper up to the light. The breath seemed to escape out of him.

"Nein, Maximilian did." He gazed at her in slight shock. Was the girl going to really give up something this precious?

"Else, are you sure?"

"Ja, I'm sure."

A smile of understanding passed between them. Though her heart was raw, she knew he was doing the right thing. And this time, the tears didn't seem so heavy.

Hershel never forgot about the girl who gave the words of Maximilian.

❀❀❀

The thought of Hershel still remained in her mind. She saw her brother's eyes in the faces of the Jews.

"I'll be right back," she whispered. Mama nodded to her side, strolling down the street filled with shops and shoppers. And Jews, of course. Mama waited by a hat shop, admiring the splendor of colors, rather like paintings. Her feet tapped to a silent song, waiting for her daughter to return. Five minutes later, she appeared. With a loaf of bread in her hands.

"Else, we could get in a fair amount of trouble for this," Mama whispered, glancing out into the streets. She knew what was on her daughter's mind.

"Mama, they barely get enough to eat. I have to help them."

She looked into the pleading eyes of the girl, and into the sullen eyes of the Jews. "Be careful."

Else nodded, the bread crumbling in her hand. Her foot stepped bravely onto the cobblestone, pacing towards a Jew. His clothes were torn, his face sagging and pale. He had been in hiding.

It was obvious by his appearance.

Else halted in front of him, holding out the crumbling bread in her hand. He turned around, staring into her eyes.. She was a German. He was a Jew.

"For you."

His hands reached out, hungrily snatching the loaf of bread. It crunched in his mouth, the edges perfectly crisped. He nodded a thank you, unable to speak. And then his eyes widened.

All Else saw was the long butt of a rifle.

The Jew shrieked, stumbling onto the cobblestone. Blood striped the cracks, burning Else's eyes. And then the terror fell upon them.

"Get out of here, you filthy girl!" the Nazi screamed, pushing her to the ground. She saw a blur of red and brown, and then a bit of black. Her head began throbbing ferociously, fear boiling inside of her. Mama came sprinting towards her, pulling her from the dirt of the cobblestone.

"Else, honey, are you hurt? Are you okay?" Mama said, her voice rushed and sharp.

"Ja, Mama, I'm fine, my head just hurts a little." She felt the top of her head, feeling for blood, but none was felt. Just a sore, throbbing bump. The Jew still screamed in the distance, infecting her ears. She wanted so desperately for it to go away. Her entire body was numb, yet it didn't stop her heart from breaking into a million pieces. Mama squeezed her hand, swinging open their own creaky door. The house welcomed them with a warm greeting, free of Nazi soldiers and Hitler.

At least, at the moment.

Josef hadn't visited for quite some time now, not since his guilt flooded over him. Else missed him, at least a little.

At least, he felt guilty for what he did.

"I miss them both," Else blurted out, standing alone in the kitchen.

"I know, me too, honey. Maximilian is in a better place now, und Hershel can finally be at peace with himself." Else nodded, smiling. Her fingers longed to present her mother with his diary, to see her look of comfort and heartbreak. But there was something that stopped her from it.

Maybe it was just meant to be a secret?

After all, Maximilian had obviously not wanted anyone to find out about it.

Some things are just meant to stay hidden.