Broken Wings

Long Days and Longer Nights

Maximilian Schüffen- Munich, Germany 1941

The attic became increasingly drab as the days went by. There wasn't much one could do when in hiding. It seemed that as life got duller for Maximilian, the more interesting it got throughout the world. Each day, Frau Brandenburg would share news of more killings, of more shattered windows, or of more laws. Maximilian would look up from his mystery novel, worn from being read so many times, or pause from his pacing, and shake his head at the worsening circumstances of this world.

There was a bit of light in his present situation, however. Every so often, after curfew, Maximilian would be allowed to leave his new home in the attic and explore the wonders of the lower level. Herr Brandenburg would return home from work, and often times the three of them would play a game of cards, or sit and relax by the fire, or listen to Herr Brandenburg play a tune on the piano. Frau Brandenburg would often times joke about her husband's graying mustache or wrinkled skin, saying that he looked like the neighbor's bulldog. Herr Brandenburg would fight back, saying her tall height frightened all his guests away.

To this, she would frown, wrinkles lining the edges of her lips. Max would break out in a peal of contagious laughter.

"So, Maximilian, what talents do you possess?" Herr Brandenburg asked one night, smoking the last of his tobacco.

"I'm a writer, but that's about it."

"Really? How fascinating. Federika used to write a bit herself."

And so these conversations would continue long into the night, and would only end when Frau Brandenburg yawned and trudged up to bed.

Tonight was different, however.

Max could stay inside no longer.

As he tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots, he felt a pang of guilt and nervousness intertwining in his gut. These people were risking their lives to save him, and he was breaking their rules, risking his and their lives in the process.

But he had to get out of this prison.

It was something only he could understand. At least, that's what he told himself.

A cool, spring breeze greeted Maximilian's face as he opened the door, tousling his hair. Silently laughing, he allowed his cheeks to greet the night air. He was met with a wondrous sight. The stars shone brightly above, as if they were announcing something to the world. A few stray clouds wandered the sky, trying to find where they belonged. The breeze was perfect, the streets long stripped of any people.

Rejoicing, Max held his hands up to the sky, thanking God for the little freedom he had. Nervously scanning the area, Maximilian shivered from the cold and took off in the direction of the creek, exercising his dormant muscles. He didn't stop until he reached the edge of the creek.

A smile formed on his lips, one Max couldn't seem to shake off.

Bending down, he scooped a handful of clear, green water, smiling with content. He allowed it to drip down his cheeks, rather like an elegant fountain. After he stood up, he continued his journey, strolling along the creek side. The night was still; no animals pounced around or flitted across the trees. Shaking his head, Max laughed at the cautiousness of the forest inhabitants. Finally, he came to an open field, covered with tall grasses and purple wildflowers. Though it was a long and hard trek across it, he was determined to make it to his destination.

As Maximilian sprinted across the fields, the night sky and purple field blurred together, creating an abstract watercolor painting. Smiling at the thought, he noted to try to recreate this scene later in his notebook.

After about a mile of sprinting, a large, brick wall came into view. It was a mighty and intimidating wall; however, it contained a weak spot, like many things that seemed powerful and frightening. Though the hole wasn't too small, Max still had a rather difficult time crawling through it. But his eyes and soul were rewarded with a stunning sight.

"Just like it was before," he whispered in marvel. Water still gracefully flowed down the sides of a marble angel statue. The gardens, though a mess from disrepair, still lay to the east of the fountain, and still possessed a certain beauty. The mansion still stood, proud and tall. Maximilian fell to his knees, praising the fountain, and the gardens, and the earth. It was all so beautiful. He felt it was more beautiful than he deserved.

When he finally rose again, Max wandered over to his favorite place, the fountain, and found a spot on the edge, admiring its magnificence and aesthetic.

It was all too beautiful.

❀❀❀

Sunlight beamed down from the morning sky, warming the sides of the fountain where Maximilian lay. Stretching, he smiled with content. That is, until he realized where he was and what time it was.

Rising with a start, he hopped down from the ledge and began sprinting towards the field. He panted harder and harder as he progressed through the field, partially from working hard and partially from fear. The streets would be bustling with people by now, a sure way to be discovered. Somehow, as he ran through the field and by the creek, the sky was merely a sky, and the trees merely trees, vastly different figures than the beautiful ones before.

It's amazing how so much can change in just one night.

When Maximilian once again reached the outskirts of town, he decided what must be done.

The yellow star must be removed.

After combing through his dark hair with his fingers and straightening his wool jacket, Max discretely tore the old yellow star, bearing the word Jude, off his jacket and shirt. Shaking his head in disbelief, he buried the star in a pile of dirt before exposing himself in the streets of Munich.

He took one last deep breath and casually strolled out onto the street. No one even glanced in his direction.

When his knuckles rapped against the door to the Brandenburgs' house, no one answered. Testing the door, he found it was open.

Both Frau and Herr Brandenburg were asleep.

They never even knew he had left.