Broken Wings

A New Life

Maximilian Schüffen-   Munich, Germany 1941

Christmas was filled with festivity this year, yet an emptiness still remained in Maximilian's heart. The Brandenburgs absolutely adored this time of year, and it showed. The Schüffens, however, kept their celebrations minimal since Maximilian was a Jew and therefore did not celebrate Christmas.

It did not help that Herr Brandenburg was well regarded among the S.S. and Nazis.

Maximilian braced himself for several parties and social events, staring back at his fearful eyes in the mirror. A deep breath escaped his mouth. He longed for the past, the past where he was accepted for who he truly was.

"Come, Henrik, you must get ready for the Albrechts' Christmas ball. I would wear a different suit, as many of the same people of the last party will be there," Frau Brandenburg said excitedly.

"Ja, okay." Sweat dripped down his forehead, penetrating through his suit. He dreaded walking into another building packed with his enemies. Why couldn't he just stay home? When he had changed out of his old black suit, into another gray colored one, Frau Brandenburg had transformed into another woman. She wore a stunning emerald green gown, decked with pearls that dripped off the edges and enhanced with lace that danced around the hem. Diamond earrings dangled from her ears, sparkling brightly, reflecting upon the ceiling. Her face was thickly covered with blush and makeup.

"You look fantastic, Frau Brandenburg. Herr Brandenburg will be pleased!" he remarked.

"Why danke, Henrik! I cannot wait for him to come downstairs. Darling! Please do hurry!"

"Ja. Und... would you mind calling me Maximilian when we are in private. I prefer it instead of Henrik," Maximilian said, his weight shifting uncomfortably between his feet.

"I know dear, but someone could overhear us. Und I might forget to call you by your new name in public, und that would be disastrous."

"Ja, I suppose." Maximilian sighed, disappointment filling his heart.

The house was a blur after that. Herr Brandenburg came rushing down, still tying his tie, and rushed out the door to drive across town to the party. Maximilian, despite being extremely overwhelmed, remained calm and smiled to reassure Frau Brandenburg.

When they reached the four-story mansion surrounded by enchanting gardens covered with snow, Maximilian was awed by the sight. It was a lovely home, with giant marble pillars and gold trimming. Several windows were lit up, revealing partygoers dancing gracefully.

"I can already tell this party is going to be the best party tonight," Frau Brandenburg whispered, strolling into the party, arms linked with her husband.

"Well! You've made it after all! Come in my friends, we have been waiting," a Nazi said, welcoming them inside. The air was filled with warmth, causing Max's cheeks to flush within a few minutes. The atmosphere was rather elegant, with the lights at a low level and evergreen boughs hung everywhere. They followed the Nazi into what appeared to be the dining room, where several other Nazis and S.S. officers were gathered.

"Brandenburg! We thought you'd never arrive. Erik, lead the pretty lady to the ballroom. It's up to Henrik if he wants to stay with the grown men or accompany his mother..." one trailed off, waiting for Maximilian's response. Frau Brandenburg silently begged him to come with her, the thought of being alone putting a frown on her lips.

"I'll go with my mother, thank you."

Erik nodded and led them through a series of halls until they reached a large, open room. People dotted the entire floor in clusters, having little room to dance about. Sighing, he led Frau Brandenburg to the opposite side, where fewer people gathered.

"Will you give me this dance?" she asked, smiling.

"Of course, for the lady who has saved my life."

"It would be murdering if I didn't, would it not? I do wish they did not force Erik to talk politics with the other men, I was so looking forward to dancing with him," she said, trying to keep up with Max's fast feet.

"Ja, me too."

"I'm no dancer, anyways. Go, Henrik, socialize with people of your own age. You deserve it." Maximilian begrudgingly agreed and ventured out into the middle of the ballroom, his eyes searching for a person to converse with.

"Hallo. You are Henrik?" a young woman asked, noticing him wandering about. Her cheeks were quite flushed, not unlike his own.

"Ja," he answered, gently fidgeting with his fingers.

"Rosalinde. My name is Rosalinde. Would you dance with me tonight, Henrik?" she asked, her voice tender. Maximilian smiled, placing his hands on her shoulder and waist. He was a fairly decent dancer, and so was she. Maximilian forced a smile, his eyes falling to the floor. The music enveloped him in tranquility, at least for the time being. Soon, his feet were lost in the quick movements of a tango, nimbly avoiding Rosalinde's own feet.

Thank goodness, because it is always embarrassing to misstep in the middle of a dance.

"I know your secret," she suddenly said in perfect Yiddish, repeating in English.

"You're a... Jew?" he stuttered, his heart beating faster and faster. He wasn't the only one hiding his identity.

"Rwyq, quiet, we are surrounded by Nazis. I am proud to be Jewish, as should you be," she whispered, again in Yiddish.

"But, how did you--" he said nervously, thankful for the few Yiddish books he had read to keep up his skills.

"It's obvious, at least for me. Your features, your slightest hint of an accent..." Maximilian glanced around, still dancing as if nothing was going on. Frau Brandenburg was nowhere to be seen; she was most likely off persuading her husband to dance with her. The music was played beautifully by an accomplished cellist. The scene was so serene, yet Max did not feel calm.

"We need to discuss this somewhere else. I don't want anyone to catch on to our Yiddish."

"Come, my house is far away from here," Rosalinde whispered, leading him out of the ballroom. Unsure of what else to do, he trailed behind her silently.

"You had better think of a better plan than pretending to be the Brandenburgs' son, or at least cover up your tracks. You will eventually be caught," she warned once they reached the gardens. Moonlight shimmered down, reflecting off of Rosalinde's pale, olive-colored face. Her dark, curly brown hair, pulled up in a loose bun, fell perfectly to her sides, lovely against her pale pink gown.

"I need your help," he whispered, fighting the tears that yearned to pool in his eyes.

"I think I can be of some use, but I'll need your real name first."

"Max. Maximilian Schüffen."