Ashes (22 page)

1. SA officer on Kurfürstendamm

2. Beer garden in Caputh when boy sings “The Watch on Rhine”—K's eyes

3. U doing it with K

4. K's spitting in our basin; K's toothbrush

5. “Heil Hitler” in the alley; alley dream. Paint squad boy

6. Baby Hitler naked on mother's fat shoulder

7. Accepting invitation to Christmas tea with Fräulein Hofstadt after spying on her

8. Didn't have the courage to call Herr Hölle a complete shithead

9. Saluted Hitler

And this is what I wrote:
“I am no better than Herr Hölle.”

 

 

I didn't tell Mama and Papa about what happened in school. They were too upset about what was happening at the university. My little world of school was minor in comparison. I was tempted to tell Ulla, but she seemed very distracted and worried about something. I did hear her arguing with Karl on the telephone, and she certainly was not crying. She actually called him a
Dummkopf
. But then the next minute her voice turned sweet and she was apologizing and saying she hadn't really meant it.

The following day, February first, Fräulein Hofstadt called a special meeting of what she called “my girls” after school. I was nervous. Ever since she had shouted out “Heil Hitler,” I was uncertain how I felt about Fräulein Hofstadt. She was not the only teacher who had done this, but one of the few. Maybe it was required now, and not every teacher got the word or something. It was unsettling, nevertheless.

The special meeting included Rosa and me and Helga and Hannah—the four of us who had attended the Christmas tea party. I thought a first that it was going to have something to do with the play
Hamlet
, although seeing as Helga and Hannah were not in the same class as Rosa and me, I wasn't sure why I would have thought this. As I walked into Fräulein Hofstadt's apartment, I felt my stomach tighten when I saw that on her collar she was now wearing a glittering jeweled swastika.

“Fräulein,” said Fräulein Hofstadt, “I have something very exciting to share with you.” She paused and looked at each one of us. There was a little plate of cookies and teacups already set out. She began pouring the tea and talking at the same time. Her movements were so smooth, so graceful. I could never pour tea into tiny cups and talk at the same time. I would have spilled it at best or scalded someone at worst. “Since our Führer has become chancellor, I have been given permission to form a BDM and I want you, my girls, to each become a candidate for
Jungmädelschaftsführerin
. A leader.”

We looked at each other in amazement. The BDM was the girls' division of the Hitler Youth group. It stood for
Bund Deutscher Mädel
. Fräulein Hofstadt began to hand out pamphlets to each of us with a picture of a girl on the cover. My hand shook as she handed me the pamphlet. I dared not look at Rosa.

“Gaby, doesn't she look just like you before you cut your braids?” Helga said, remembering me from the other school building when we were both there. The girl on the cover of the pamphlet had long blond braids, and she was standing on a mountainside with a tiny alpine village in the background. Looming over everything was a dark iron statue of an eagle. The eagle looked left, which meant that it was the symbol of the Nazi Party. When the eagle looked right it was considered the symbol of Germany.

“I don't think she looks anything like me,” I said adamantly. But in truth, at first glance she did. She was an Aryan paragon of the Third Reich. I could not stand to be anyone's ideal. To be an ideal was to be less than human.

“If you join the BDM, you will be eligible to go to summer camp. Take a look at the booklets. There will be all sorts of sports, because the Führer believes in developing young women's strength through joy. There is a membership fee and a cost for the BDM uniform, but it's very small.”

On the very first page, written in a flourishing script printed just beneath a swastika, were these words:
The role of girls in the Third Reich is a sacred one. It is above all their duty to become strong and healthy and to produce healthy children. . . .

I read this and flipped quickly through the book. There were photographs of girls who looked to be about my age swimming, hiking, playing outdoor games.

“But I don't understand,” I said, flipping back to the first page. “What is this about having babies? Are we supposed to go to the summer camp to get babies?”

There was an eruption of giggles. Even Fräulein Hofstadt laughed. “No, not right away. But you must develop your body, your constitution, to have children. That will be your gift to the Reich.” I felt a cold sweat begin to creep over me. There was something indecent about people, Fräulein Hofstadt, whoever wrote this book, anyone, telling me about having babies. This wasn't the facts of life, a birds-and-bees talk that a girl has with her mother. This was the government, the Third Reich. I felt Rosa shift in her chair.

“Yes, Rosa, do you have a question?” Fräulein Hofstadt asked.

“Why isn't Ellie Schuman here?” Rosa asked. “She's president of student council.”

Fräulein Hofstadt cocked her head and smiled sweetly at Rosa. “But Rosa dear, she's Jewish.”

“Oh,” was all that Rosa said.

I can't do this!
I thought.
What will Mama and Papa say? I have to tell her no.
Yesterday had been bad enough when I jumped up like a jack-in-the-box in response to Fräulein's Hofstadt's “Heil Hitler,” but did Fräulein Hofstadt have to be the organizer of a Hitler Youth Group in our school? It just didn't seem to fit with a teacher who loved literature as she did. Marching about? Strength Through Joy and not joy through language and poetry?

I was staring at my hand, which rested on the desk. “Gaby! Gaby!” called Fräulein Hofstadt. Rosa gave me a nudge. “Gaby,
Herzchen
, have you gone deaf? I am asking you a question. Will you and Rosa be leaders?”

“Uh . . .” I looked at Rosa. I had been so distracted that I had no idea how she had answered this question. “I would have to ask my parents.”

“Yes, yes of course,” Fräulein Hofstadt replied tersely. She seemed slightly irritated but continued. “Rosa said that her mother might not be able to afford the fee, but I can assure you, Rosa, that this is not a problem. There is a relief fund for those who are financially burdened. I am sure that is not the case with you, Gaby.”

“I don't know. It might be.”

Now Fräulein Hofstadt looked really annoyed. “Well.” She sniffed. “Believe me, there are others willing to take your place. This is a great honor. I would not pass it up if I were you.”

You're not me!
I wanted to scream. But did I say it? Did I mutter even a syllable? No. I just got up and left the room.

 

 

“I can't believe it!” Rosa said as we walked home from school.

“I hate her. I hate her!” I kept repeating. But in truth it was not really hatred I was feeling, it was heartbreak. How had I believed in Fräulein Hofstadt so completely, how had I worshiped her? She had become like a religion to me, a religion of style and grace. She was not like a movie star up there with a gorgeous, flawless face that, magnified by the camera lens, stretched from one side of the screen to another but was still remote and unreachable. She was my teacher. She was close up. She graded my papers, invited me for tea. She was real.

“What are you going to tell your parents?” Rosa asked.

“I don't know. Maybe nothing.” But I knew that I would have to tell them something. I just wasn't sure how or what.

It turned out to be easier than I thought.

When I came home, Baba was there. She and Mama were having tea. “I'll tell you, Elske, the swastika is becoming a decorative accessory. I saw a dog being walked with a swastika-ornamented collar.”

“Speaking of bitches . . .” I said.

“What?”
Mama shrieked. Baba's teacup clattered in its saucer as she set it down.

I squared my shoulders, squeezed my eyes shut, and began speaking as rapidly as possible. I wanted to get it out—all of it, quickly. “Fräulein Hofstadt wore a jeweled swastika pin today and we have to say Heil Hitler before almost every class and she has asked me to be one of the leaders of the BDM.” I opened my eyes.

“What? What are you saying? She's a Nazi?” Mama asked.

“Yes.” Something flared in me, a pent-up anger. Did I have to spell it out for Mama? Why else would one wear a jeweled swastika?

“DMB? What?” she whispered.

Why was she being so dense? “BDM, Elske, the
Bund Deutscher Mädel
, the Girls' Service League,” Baba said.

“The Hitler Youth.” Mama's mouth seemed to struggle around the shape of the words. My anger died. I felt sorry for Mama. She was confused. I was confused. I leaned forward and touched her hand gently.

“Yes, Mama, she wants me to be a leader of the Hitler Youth.”

Mama stood up. She was shaking. “I have to call your father at his office immediately.”

Tears made the whole room swimmy. I felt something inside me collapsing, turning dark, pulling me toward that precipice of blackness.

 

 

The note that I brought to school the next morning was polite but to the point.

Rosa's mother wrote a similar letter.

We presented our notes to Fräulein Hofstadt before class. She read first the one from my parents and then the one from Rosa's. She set them down and looked at us coldly. Then a brief smile cracked her face. “This is a shame. I think your parents will see the error of their ways. But there are many others who will be very happy to take your place.” She drew out a small book and wrote something down in it. This was not the last time that we would see Fräulein Hofstadt write in this book. She now kept it with her at all times, or so it seemed.

 

 

Within that first month after Hitler became chancellor there were several changes at the Gymnasium Kaiser Frederick Wilhelm. Some were immediately noticeable. Soon after Hitler's appointment, a truck with SA men had driven up and unloaded several large boxes. By the next morning a photograph of Adolf Hitler had been hung in every classroom as well as the assembly hall and the library. The portraits were always flanked by a German flag on one side and on the other side a Nazi flag. Under the new rules of the Third Reich, we were to face the flag during our morning Heil Hitlers, which were required at the beginning of every school day.

The days following Rosa's and my refusal were awful. Although Fräulein Hofstadt was not our only teacher, she had emerged since Hitler's triumph as clearly one with the most authority in the school. Because of this our lives were made miserable in subtle ways. Fräulein Hofstadt basically ignored us in class. She rarely called on us to recite and when we raised our hands to answer a question, she would call on us only when no other hands were raised. Once, rather than call on me, she simply grimaced and gave the answer herself.

I felt it was as if we, Rosa and I and Fräulein Hofstadt, were circling one another like wary animals. We were not the only girls whose parents did not want them to join the BDM. She did not treat them any better.

But Fräulein Hofstadt had been right. There were others only too happy to take our place in the BDM.

Girls started vying for Fräulein Hofstadt's attention. They began showing off, waving their hands madly in class, doing work for extra credit, wearing swastika barrettes. Even other teachers seemed to be trying to impress Fräulein Hofstadt. She had created her own small solar system within our school, with herself as a dazzling sun that was the center of everyone's orbit, save for a very few.

Fräulein Hofstadt's behavior toward the Jewish girls was not so subtle. On the first day after Hitler became chancellor, desks were rearranged so that the Jewish girls sat apart. She never called on them or looked at them. If there was a shortage of books or handout sheets, they simply didn't get any, but were still expected to do the homework. And although her conduct toward the Jewish students now seemed pronounced, I realized that Fräulein Hofstadt had never really been particularly warm or welcoming to them. Miri Goldfein, who was probably the smartest girl in our class, never got high marks from Fräulein Hofstadt, and she did more extra credit work than any other student. Because of her only middling grade in Fräulein Hofstadt's class Miri missed being the top student in our grade .