The Boy With the Yellow Star

Chapter 4

Louis P.O.V.

My eyes widened as the boy spoke. “I’m sorry. My name is Harry. I... uh... I need a place to stay. This outfit is uh, not mine I borrowed it.” He looked from left to right in panic, then looked me in the eyes with a hopeful look. I could tell he was lying about the outfit, but I pushed it away

I realized that I was just standing in the doorway staring at him. I moved out if the way, motioning for him to come inside, not wanting to risk another second of him being caught. He walked passed me coming inside. I stuck my head out of the door, looking around to see if anyone could have seen him, but it was dead outside. I quickly shut the door, leaning my forehead against it, trying to process what was happening. There was a Jew, in my house. But, how did he escape?

“Harry is it? Come over here, I’ll get you cleaned up.” I said and motioned for him to come over to the kitchen. I got a rag, and put some water on it wringing it out. “You're going to need to take off your jumpsuit Harry.” I said. When he didn't, I looked up at him. He looked scared. I sighed, “Harry don’t be embarrassed, I’m not going to judge you.”

He nervously nodded then started to take off the suit. As he was doing so, I heard a large thud, and looked down. On the ground was a golden star. A golden Star of David to be exact. I looked up at Harry questioningly, and his eyes widened. I bent down to pick it up, and felt that it was heavy.

“That’s not mine I swear. Like I said, I-I borrowed this.” He said, attempting to lie but failing. “Harry this is gold. Real gold. Are you sure this isn't yours?” I asked him, knowing that he was lying, but I wanted to see how he tried to get out of this. “I'll try to find out who it belongs to tomorrow.” He said, reaching forward and taking the star out of my hands, setting on the counter.

He continued to undress, and I noticed tattoos covering his body. He had a butterfly, birds, a boat, and many other small tattoos. Along with the tattoos, there were cuts, bruises, and scars. I didn’t even need to ask what had happened. Sadly, I knew. I stared at him, feeling my eyes water, but I blinked the tears away. Harry must have noticed me staring because he quickly said, “I was in a fight. A lot of fights.”

I shook my head, knowing that he was lying. I grabbed my rag, and started wiping the dirt off of his arm. “I can do it by myself. Whatever your name is,” He winced as he tried to grab the rag from my hand, but I held it away from him. “My names' Louis. And no, you're clearly in pain, so I am defiantly not letting you risk getting injured anymore.” He nodded, not saying another word.

This was all happening so fast; one moment I’m reading my poems, the next my only friend gets taken away by Nazi soldiers, and now. Here I am, saving a Jew. After that thought, I remembered.

“Hey Harry?” I asked, still concentrating on getting all of the dirt off of him. He hummed in response, still watching me clean him up.

“How did you escape?” I asked, stopping and looking up at him. His eyes were wide as he backed up in fear. “I-I what do you m-mean. I didn't, I got locked out of my house. I-I just nee-” He had backed up and knocked my pictures over off my dresser. He looked down at them and shrieked in fear.

“Is t-that? Are you? Oh my gosh. You said your name was Louis...” He said as id he was putting it all together. I had a confused look on my face as I walk towards him to pick up the picture off of the floor. As I got closer, he continued to back away in another direction.

Everything came together once I saw what the picture was of. It was my father and I. We were celebrating that he had become a soldier. This was taken before. Before I found out all of the horrible things he does. With the photo still in my hand, I looked towards Harry. I could see him shaking with fear, as if there was an earthquake going on inside of him. This is what he does. This is the effect he has on people, and Harry was able to escape so he didn't have to see anymore of him.

I looked back down at the picture, gripping it harder, looking at it through the broken glass. Anger filled me, and I threw the photo at the wall across from me.

This is his fault

The boy in front of me is living proof

I looked over at Harry and he looked more startled than before, but I noticed a look of concern on his face. He slowly got up, and walked over to grab the washcloth I had been using to get the dirt off of him. He walked over to me and handed me the washcloth.

“Your thumb is bleeding.” He informed me, pointing at my thumb. Sure enough, when I looked down, my thumb was bleeding, as well as a bit of my palm. I sighed, grabbing a washcloth and thanked him, going to the bathroom to get washed up.

Once I reached the end of the hall, I opened up the bathroom door and stepped inside, locking it. I pressed my back against the door, breathing in and out, trying to comprehend what was happening, trying to get through my head what had just happened.

    I, Louis Tomlinson, son of one of the most important Nazi soldiers, a hiding a Jew.