Broken Wings

Sudden Realizations

Else Schüffen-   Munich, Germany 1942

The curved sliver of moonlight gleamed through her window, casting a beam across the dusty attic floor. Else studied it intently, admiring its simplicity, and how content it looked. Max could be looking at the same moon right now, she thought, a smile making its way across her face.

If only she knew where he was.

The halfway blank canvas stared up at her, a corner sticking out from underneath her bed. An explosion of gray and black and red greeted her eyes. Perhaps, when she found the time, she would finish it.

Else sighed, a wave of exhaustion washing over her.  The thoughts refused to leave her mind. Where was Maximilian? What would happen to Rosalinde? Was Myna really going to knock on her door at three o'clock in the morning?

Allow me to explain the last one, as I'm sure you're wondering. Or maybe you're not. But either way I'm going to tell you.

❀❀❀

"I'm going to do something extra special for your birthday tomorrow." One will always remember the look of excitement and anticipation that was visibly present on Myna's face. Her eyes were flecked with a shimmering sparkle, a smile seemingly permanent on her lips. It was one of those emotions that could hardly be contained.

"Und what would that be? Or is it a surprise?" Else mocked, mimicking her strides as they strolled across Fünfte Strasse in the thawing spring air.

"You'll see. It's going to be even better than Christmas."

"Oh, I see." Else's face twisted, feigning surprise. Like she would be able to top Maximilian's letter.

"What time were you born at?"

"I don't know. Mama said I kept her up all night. Why do you care?"

"I'll be there at three o'clock in the morning. Be ready!" she called, waving in the distance. Else shook her head at her friend's stupidity, changing direction and strolling towards her house.

She had better not come at three o'clock in the morning.

❀❀❀

Giving into her thoughts, Else rose up from her bed, stretching out the muscles in her arms. No light flooded up from downstairs, hopefully meaning that everyone was curled up under their covers. Else tiptoed gently across the floor, smiling at her sneakiness. The clock hands were not at the three mark. Instead, they lingered around one fourteen. Else groaned, collapsing onto the couch. Myna probably wasn't coming, anyways. After all, it would be breaking curfew. Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes into hours. Else lingered in between sleepiness and alertness, drooped haphazardly across the couch.

She changed position fourteen times before the unlocked door came busting open.

Else jumped up, drool dripping down her cheek. Embarrassed, she wiped it off with the swipe of a finger. The shadow of Myna stood before her, smiling.

"Happy birthday, Else!" she whispered as loudly as she dared, running into Else's arms. Tears filled her eyes as she stroked Myna's soft, blonde hair. But they were happy tears for once.

"Thank you, Myna! Thank you."

"But I haven't even given you your gift yet!" she protested, handing over a meticulously wrapped flat object. The words of the newspaper seemed to curve over it, a piece of artwork in itself. Smiling, Else carefully unraveled it, sliding out its contents.

A picture. But not just any picture.

It was a picture of Maximilian and Else, their arms wrapped around each other, Maximilian accidentally smiling. The rest of the family had been cut out. Sobs formed in the back of her throat. Max. He was here. Here with her. It was as if his spirit had entered through the picture and into Else's soul.

"Turn it over." Words filled the entire back, its neat penmanship slanting slightly to the side. The top of the 'T's curved elegantly around. It was Maximilian's handwriting.

It took a minute for Else to realize: it was written for her.

Sometimes, in order to fly, we have to repair our broken wings, and learn to fly again.

Don't you forget that Else.

Fly.

The sobs erupted out of her throat, slicing through the silence that stood between them. Myna reached out to hug her, tears staining her eyes.

Oh, Max.

"But how did, did y-you," she stuttered, fingering the photo in her hands.

"Rosalinde found it under the sheets of his bed. I think he was going to give it to you before..." Myna trailed off. Else nodded, smiling meekly at the photograph.

"Thank you."

Two hours after Myna left, the thoughts returned, but this time more prominently. And this time, filled with anger. He was gone. Maximilian was gone. And the photo was a painful reminder of it. It was all her fault, if they wouldn't have left him... No, it wasn't her fault. It was Mama's, and Father's, and Josef's. Especially Josef's.

Or was it his fault? Else clenched the sheets, anger pouring down her face. Maybe it wasn't Josef's fault? He didn't arrest Maximilian. The Nazis did. And Hitler.

Hitler.

Hate impaled her heart, washing out the content and joy she felt before. It was all Hitler's fault. Tears poured down her cheeks. They were all wrong. Suddenly, everything that Else had been taught was being twisted and wrung out, dripping at her feet.

They all had it wrong.

Dreams lured her into darkness, pulling her along into a fitful, restless sleep. At least, for a few hours.

When the first few colors of the morning broke through her window, the dreams receded, leaving Else with an empty, exhausted feeling in her heart.

And then she realized that it was her birthday.

The smell of baked pastries drifted up into the attic, taunting Else to come downstairs. The lights seemed to dance around, celebrating. Yawning, she slid out of bed, shivering in the drafty spring air, and sprinted down the steps as fast as a tired girl could to see where the smell was coming from.

"Happy birthday!" Mama, Father, and even Josef stood cheering in the kitchen, all coming up to greet the birthday girl. Several different pastries lay on the table, causing Else's mouth to water. Literally.

"Danke. I love you all," Else said to her family, staring longingly at the pastries. Everyone laughed, dashing towards the table to get a bite of the strudels. Ah, the glory of strudels. A rare treat consumed twice in a year. Slowly, the feelings of hate began to disappear, overtaken by the feeling of love and joy.

Yet, Else couldn't help staring at the empty chair, sitting lonely on the opposite side, waiting for its owner.