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To Play the Game

     For weeks we waited in unspoken apprehension. It hung about the rooms like a thick cloud, shadowing every movement, making us jump at the knock of the door. Every car that squeaked or honked on the street was surely the Gestapo coming to take us. Not that there were very many cars, mind you. No rubber, no gasoline, no metal? No car. It had been this way since last summer, when Otto had lost his job, but it was becoming more prevalent.
     "You should be out with Jacob, and the other children," Papa said from behind his newspaper. I stared out from a crack in the kitchen curtains, their faded yellow giving me the security I so craved.
     "It will rain, Papa." He folded the newspaper and rested his chin on his elbows, pushing his glasses up his forehead.
     "I do not think so."
     "Yes it will. Look," I pointed to the gray-white sky.
     "Na schön, when has that ever stopped you?" He gave me half a smile. "Hm? Well?" I scrambled for another excuse.
     "But my book is in here. I cannot take it out there it will get muddy." Papa stood and peered over my shoulder at the book I held in my hands.
     "One of my old English textbooks," he said, shifting the weathered blue paperback from hand to hand. "I have not used it since my school days. How are you coming along?" I stared up into his green-blue eyes.
     "Well, I think. I still remember some of what you taught me when I was young."
     "I did not teach you much more than the alphabet," he said with a chuckle. Papa stopped shifting the book and tapped my shoulder with it. "You should know better, Alina. Having a book like this can be dangerous." There seems to be a great many things I should know, I thought, recalling my conversation with Herr Rosenberg. Otto's angry words the night he practically threw me down the steps and the whispered conversation with Jan on the stairs the night Otto lost his job also came to mind. So much to know...too much to remember... Papa waved a hand in front of my face. "Alina! You are not listening to me!" He sighed and pulled a chair over from the kitchen table. "If anyone, anyone, were to find this, what would they think?" He paused, waiting for me to answer. I did not look up. Now that I do know. "Don't you remember what I told you? About..." I mentally finished his sentence: there are ears everywhere.
"Ja," I said softly. I recalled him shoving the pillow under the door, and stuffing the keyhole with putty.
"So you do know that it is dangerous, ja?"
I nodded. "Ja." He paused, staring down at me.
"I also know that I cannot put any locks, bolts, anything, on your mind to keep you from wanting to learn." Carefully, as if the window ledge would fall out beneath it, Papa set the book down beside my elbow. "No one can." He inhaled deeply. "No one," he exhaled. "Only practice at night, it is the safest way. But keep your curtains closed so no one can see the light. People will wonder." I jumped to my feet and threw my arms about his waist.
"Danke, Papa! I swear I won't tell a soul!" I felt him chuckle and pat my back lovingly.
"But I cannot think that this is the only reason you are inside." My grip loosened involuntarily. "Come, come," he said, beckoning me to follow as he strode back to the table. He picked up his Zeitung and began to leaf through it. "Ah, here, look." I bent around him and scanned the paper. The words Herman Goering and bombers stood out to me the most. "You see? We have nothing to fear. Herr Goering has promised that we will be safe from the bombs." I looked at him warily.
"You really believe him?" I asked.
"Of course. He is the Führer's right hand man, is he not? Or one of them anyways." His eyes sang a different tune. But he smiled, stood, gave me a kiss on the head, then took my chin so my eyes were forced to meet his. "Remember, Liebchen, they're watching."
      "Ja, Papa. The neighbors like to watch the street games." Papa balked and blinked at me in surprise. It was like Papa had tripped and teetered over a dangerous crack, and I'd just grabbed his collar to drag him to the other side.   He nodded and pressed his finger to his lips; I mimicked him: careful.