The Forbidden Six

November 20th, 1938

Tensions were high. Tension floated through the air like a two-thousand pound feather. It floated through the air and landed on their shoulders, weighing them down. Pieter thought of it as if nobody mentioned the problem, it didn't exist. Everything had changed and he didn't want it to. Nobody had talked to Leyna or Pieter, with the exception of one person: Otto.

After Pieter's house burned, Otto invited him to stay with him. He enjoyed his days with Otto and his siblings. Although he could only have two and a half days a month with Otto, the fact that he took him in made him feel like someone actually cared about him. The one thing he didn't like about living with Otto's family was his dad. With a sort of resolute belief, Bernhard deeply believed each word that Hitler uttered. He was even a member of the SA. During dinner, all he would talk about was Hitler. It was getting on Pieter's nerves. There was no way that he would bring it up with Otto without seeming mean. He didn't want his friend to think that he was a complainer. He couldn't complain even if he wanted to; Otto might get mad.

Liese, Mena, and even Werner hadn't come around as often as they used to. Poor Pieter had nothing to do but crotchet—which was his favorite hobby—and learn more Latin phrases. His favorite thing to crochet was little animals and he had a myriad of colorful animals sitting around his room. The project he had just taken up was crocheting his friends miniature versions of themselves. He started on Leyna's before remembering the events concerning her.

He put his crochet needles down. Otto was at the army base so he had nobody to talk to. The silence heavily sat on his ears and he walked to the radio. He pushed a golden button to turn it on. He flipped through the meager selection of channels with disdain. They were all talking about Hitler. Stupid Hitler. It was always, always, Hitler!

He wanted to leave. He wanted to move far away where the greedy hands of the Nazis could never touch him. But they were always there. Their hungry, groping hands wrapping their fingers around his neck and stripping everything from him. They left him with nothing; not even his identity. Since when was it a crime to believe in something?

He shut off the radio and silence took hold of the bedroom once again. Pieter dejectedly sat on the hardwood floor. His gaze slowly wandered over the room and settled on his nightstand. He opened the drawer and pulled out his passport. An angry red "J" was stamped on the front, marking him as Jewish.

An idea overcame him and his eyes lit up. How much money did he have? He reached once again into the drawer and pulled out the small wad of money he had saved up. His face fell as he counted it. It was nowhere near enough to buy a fake passport and a train ticket out of Germany. He quietly cursed and set the money aside.

His bedroom door was pushed open and his brown eyes darted to the doorway. He quickly shoved his passport into the drawer and shut it with a loud slam. He looked back at the figure in the doorway and nervously smiled.

"Hallo, Herr Bauer. Can I help you?" Pieter said, his voice thin and frightened. He knew if he slipped up or mentioned anything about being Jewish, he would be turned out onto the streets.

Bernhard's eyes narrowed. "I was just coming to say that dinner was ready. And your room is a mess." Pieter surveyed the room. There were a few books on the ground along with a smattering of pencils. Nothing too much. He nodded nonetheless.

"Oh. Yes. I'll be right down," he said, not wanting to say anything that angered him.

Bernhard turned and promptly left. Pieter let out a relieved breath. He opened the drawer again and pulled out the passport. Was there any way that he could get the horrid "J" off of it?

"What is that?" He had returned.

Pieter threw it across the room and it skidded under his bed. Bernhard stalked into the room. Pieter hurriedly scrambled to his feet and stood at attention. It was like he was in the military.