Broken Wings

The Letter on the Table

Else Schüffen- Munich,  Germany 1942

The image of Kristallnacht and broken glass lingered in Else's mind, refusing to go away. It haunted her for several nights, creeping into her sleep. It seemed to disappear, however, after a letter appeared on the kitchen table one quiet afternoon, replaced by a new and devastating fear.

"What is it?" Her question lingered in the air.

"What is what?" Mama asked.

"The letter."

"It's addressed to your father. He'll be home soon," Mama said, propping the letter on its side. Else studied the letter. Dread pooled in her throat. Part of her knew. She knew what the letter meant. And she would know for sure soon enough.

"They've drafted you? To war?" Else asked, her voice quivering. Her eyes were wide with fear as she watched her Father's shocked expression.

"I knew I should have joined the Party."

Else stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching her parent's faces as they read the letter. Remarks of regret rung in the air, stinging her ears. She longed to comfort him, to tell him that he did nothing wrong. Instead, the words came out as a question.

"Are you going to war, Father?" she asked.

Mama and Father turned to face their daughter, a look of concern written on their faces. "Just for a little bit, honey. The war can't last forever, I'll be home soon."

Else clung onto his words, begging them to be true.

❀❀❀

The attic was completely black that night. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, along with the stars.

Along with it, the hope of Ansel was too.

Else fingered the ground, feeling it's dusty texture. Mama and Father's bedroom light remained on, glowing softly in the hallway. Worried whispers traveled into her ears. Breathing in a whispered breath, she escaped from her covers, creeping into the light.

"Mama? Father?"

"Ja, Else?" Mama asked, lifting her head up from the pillow. Her daughter stood in the doorway, a gray shadow dancing across the walls. Tears glistened in the corner of her eyes, her shadow moving closer to the bed.

She answered them with a hug.

It lasted for several minutes, with Father patting her back.

"You should go to bed," Mama finally said. Else nodded sullenly, returning to her prison of blankets. She absorbed herself in the wool, nodding off into a whirlwind of dreams. The dread of tomorrow haunted her mind.

However, the sleep could not last forever.

Tomorrow came soon enough, bringing many tears and empty hearts. Father cradled his canvas bag, filled with cheeses and bread and photos. A half-hearted smile arose on his face, warming the soul of his wife and daughter.

"I'll miss you, Father," Else said, the tears dry now. His arms swallowed her up, the last time she would receive a hug for quite a while. Mama waited patiently in the corner, holding back the tears that desperately wanted to come. The tears could no longer hold themselves back. Else glanced away, disturbed by her mother's sudden outburst of sobs. Father squeezed her arm, gently kissing her mother on the cheek.

And then he was gone.

Else made a vow to paint a picture of her father tonight.

"Else, you're late for Hitler Youth," Mama said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Else nodded, scurrying out the door. Her feet pranced against the ground, attempting in vain to run faster. Breaths escaped her mouth as she gasped for more air. An empty spot remained next to Myna in the bleachers. Girls lined up before a white line, brows knit in concentration.

"Where were you?" Myna whispered.

"My papa left for the war today," Else said, the truth escaping from her lips.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed back, a look of genuine concern present on her face. Else nodded, facing the scattered rows of girls as they left the bleachers to run around the track. Their feet pounded roughly against the sand. One staggered behind, her feet collapsing behind her. Tears flowed down her face as she stumbled off the track.

"I hate Hitler Youth," Myna murmured. As usual, she seemed scarcely winded.

"I hate it, too."

❀❀❀

"Mama, everything will be okay, I promise." Strands of hair stuck to Ansel's face, glued by dried tears. She lay sprawled out on the couch, fingering a yellowing photo in a silver frame.

"I know, honey, I know."

Else nodded, breathing in deeply. A piercing scream wailed through the air. The sirens. "Mama, Mama, we have to go," Else said, concern clouding her face.

"Our basement will do for today." Mama smiled sadly, leading Else to the depths of their basement. A musty chill slapped her face, the smell crinkling her nose.

"Wait, Mama. I need to get something." Else sprinted up the steps, glancing out the window to make sure the bombs weren't raining down yet.

Thank goodness they weren't.

A breath of relief escaped her mouth as she stood in the doorway of the attic. A blank canvas leaned on its side, waiting for her. "I knew you would come for me," it said. Else smiled, scooping the brushes and paints and canvas in her arms.

"Your paints," Mama said, a look of glee spreading across her face. She curled up in a bed of drop sheets, dust circling around them.

"I thought they said our basement wasn't safe enough."

"Maybe so. But anything is better then crouching down in fear amidst a crowd of your neighbors," she said, winking. A moment of understanding passed between them, unspoken but present. Else dipped the paintbrush in paint, memories flowing onto the canvas. Her hand flew with such ease, brushing back and forth across the canvas. Mama cuddled up by her side, watching the strokes fill up the blank space.

"How many pictures have you painted of Max?" Mama finally asked, breaking the silence.

"A lot." Else broke out in laughter, her jubilant laughs filling the still air.

"He was such a quiet little boy. I remember when he first came home. You didn't even know what his voice sounded like until a month later," Mama said.

Ah, the good times.

Else nodded in silence, recalling old memories of when Maximilian first walked through the kitchen door.

"I miss him, Mama."

"Me too, Else, me too."