The Sound of Silence

Prologue

Winter 1942
Hans Steiner shivers at the freezing temperatures of Dachau concentration camp. Right in front of him stands the great, barbed wire fence and that horrific sign, "Arbeit macht Frei".
As he slowly walks on, gaunt faces turn, hollow eyes following him. The silence drags on. Hans is deeply unsettled.
"What a great time to be alive," Peter, once a classmate, now a gestapo and Hitler fanatic, says proudly at his side. Hans can't help but shake his head.
"Have you thought about joining us, Hans?" he prompts, not noticing the disgusted look on Hans' face, and grins. A grin that shouldn't be there, he thinks.
Hans smiles placidly, tilting his head to the ashy gray sky, observing the wet snowflakes fall down. "I am still thinking about it."
The two trudge on in the slush, until Peter holds out his wrist watch. "Ah, what a shame I must go. Are you alright leaving from here or should I ask—"
"—no no, that's not needed. Thank you, Peter," Hans intervenes, forcing a smile.
Peter salutes and Hans does the same, although he'd do anything not to.
"Heil Hitler!"
"Heil Hitler."
And so Hans stands alone again in front of the barbed wire fence and ghost faces.
"Psst!" Hans whispered to a ghost boy, standing just close enough to be inconspicuous. After another remark, the boy turns, confused and steps closer to the fence.
"Pssst, Junge." Hans beckons him to stand closer. "I need to know if there's a Jakob Hoffmann in here," he says, holding out a photograph from his jacket pocket. "Do you know one?"
Hollow eyes stare back at him in silence. The boy shakes his head slightly, eagerly to disappear, but Hans isn't quite ready for him to leave.
"Jakob Hoffman, someone's got to know him," Hans continues.
The boy glances worriedly at the watchtower in the distance and searches Hans' face.
"Please."
He nods. "One moment."
Seconds later an older, fraying woman whose fingernails are overgrown and yellow, appears, looking him up and down. "Was wollen Sie?"
What do you want?
"I'm here to find a Jakob Hoffman and his family," Hans replies easily.
The woman grunts. "I don't know of a Jakob Hoffman here. You must be confused."
Hans looks back up at the sky and the ugly snowflakes. "You do not seem very sure about that."
Another grunt follows. "What makes you think I would tell you?"
Hans sighs heavily and reaches in his coat pocket for a bundle of breadcrumbs he used to keep for the pidgeons on Marienplatz.
"Will you take this?" he asks finally, smiling smugly as he knows he's hit the jackpot.
Greedily, both reach for the bundle, but Hans pulls away just in time. "First, I want answers."
The woman narrows her eyes at him in distrust. Hans  raises his eyebrows. Already too soon, she's given up.
"Fine," she begrudgingly says. "I know of one. But not in this......camp, mein Herr."
"So? Where are they then?"
"I don't know, mein Herr. Last I heard they were in the ghetto."
Silence ensues. Hans thinks. He must act quickly, for his time has run out. Gott verdammt!
The woman grunts again, eyeing his bundle. Hans huffs and squeezes it through the hole.
"Thanks," he mutters, turning away and feigns a look of disgust.
And as he trudges on, Hans wipes his face tiredly.
Something doesn't feel right. Really, none of this felt right.
But he knows one thing, somewhere out there had to be his friend—a friend he'd lost years ago. And he is determined to get him back, no matter the consequences.