Panzerfaust

Chapter 50 - Kittlitz

24th of April, 1946, Kittlitz, near Löbau, Sachsen, Greater German Reich

Sachsen was green. 

Green fields and meadows, green waters trickling under mossy bridges, green mountain tops with proud oaks reaching into the sunny spring skyline.

Sure, Sophia Edelsheim had her little garden just outside of Berlin at the villa, but this was wilderness. 

This was freedom.

Kittlitz itself is an island of tranquility, small and hidden between the rolling hills, the whole village consisting three, maybe four streets with tidy houses made of stone and a small chapel, its bell chiming o'clock already rolling by from the window of the car.

Vati is Erich, Mutti is Käthe - just like her mom, she recounts the names Max told her in her head, rocking Oskar on her lap.

God's be gracious, just make them like me. 

But she knows her plea is useless; no sensible parent will ever be over the moon when their child comes home with a married woman and her children. And she knows the Wünsches are sensible parents - it was at home where Max picked up his manners, not in the Schutzstaffel.

The Sturmbannführer stops the car at a cozy stonehouse by the end of the dirt road, surrounded by regiments of flowers in all colours of the rainbow; tulips red as blood, daffodils yellows as the sun above. Pink petals of peonies ruffled by a slight breeze, bringing sweet smells under their noses.

Then she remembers: Max's said his father is a gardener; these are his works, no doubt. And there he is, the head of the Wünsche household, with silver lines in his dark blond hair and a bucket swinging in his hands as he stops between the flower beds to watch the approaching vehicle.

'Hallo, Vati.' Max says, exiting the car with a bright smile before opening the door for them. 'Sorry for being late, I had to make a little detour.'

'A little detour towards where, Rome?' The man hugs his son's tall stature to his own sturdy one. 'I thought I would never hear the end of it from your sister.'

'Entschuldigung, Papa.' Max casts his eyes down by the scold. 'But see, I brought guests; this is Sophia Edelsheim and her sons, Armin and Oskar.' 

'Ah, lovely. The more the merrier.' Blue eyes twinkle at her and the five months old in her hands with polite, but reserved inquire. He does not loathes me, Sophia tells herself. They're Germans, not Austrians or Hungarians. They don't coddle strangers. 

'What's in your hands, Sir?' Armin chirps in, pointing to the kibble in the older Wünsche's hands.

'Oh, this? I was on my way to feed the chickens, young man.'

'Real chickens?' The boy asks back, eyes growing to the size of the sun above.

'I hope they're still as real as they were in the morn', ja.' 

'Mommy, may I see the chickens?' Armin tugs on her arms as he begs.

'They're Herr Wünsche's chicken, you must ask him if he allows...' 

'Well, they're technically Frau Wünsche's chickens,  Herr Wünsche just has the honour of feeding them.' Lips curving upwards is the only sign of Erich Wünsche's amusement at the toddler's babbling and Sophia knows already from where Max got his deadpan attitude.

'Herr Wünsche, may I see Frau Wünsche's chickens?' Armin asks a little slow, but not stuttering once.

'Absolutely.' He takes the boy by the hand, ushering them inside. 'Come in, come in, don't just stand around in the yard like I raised you in a barn. Greet your family, introduce our guests.'