The Children's War (24 page)

Traffic was beginning to pick up. The pavement along the street’s edge was easily wide enough for two people, but as a businessman approached from the opposite direction, Peter was obliged by law to step into the gutter to let the man pass; so, he stood among the wet and decaying leaves and waited rather than walk on through the mud. They studiously avoided looking at each other—the man with his head held high and his gaze fixed forward, Peter with his attention focused on something on the other side of the road, his eyes lowered enough so as not to incite trouble but not so low as to make him feel cowed: it was a delicate balance, a compromise contrived to preserve his sanity. He had to make a point of not actually noticing the man, for if he did, he was obliged to greet him with a sign of respect—a simple bow of the head, a touch on the forehead, would do it. It was an old-fashioned gesture of courtesy, a remnant of tipping one’s hat, but the element of coercion had replaced all pretense of civility, and he loathed the gesture with his entire being and did whatever he could to avoid performing what was to him a thoroughly sinister ritual.

When the man had passed, Peter stepped back onto the pavement, pointedly wiping his feet as he did so. Before he took a step, a patrol of three young guards approached. They demanded to see his papers and managed to spend nearly five minutes inspecting them. First they thumbed through his identity papers, finally satisfying themselves that those were in order, then they inspected his pass.

He carried the same pass each day on his trip to the bakery. It allowed him
freedom of movement during certain morning hours within the administrative district. The exact boundaries of the district had never been clarified, but he knew that the local bakery and shops were within the borders. Judging from what he knew about the administration of local government, he guessed he could wander about two kilometers before violating the confines of his invisible prison. In any case, he was, he knew, well within those boundaries and he did not expect trouble from the youths on account of his papers; nevertheless, he felt a growing nausea as he stood with his head and eyes lowered.

Finally, they decided all was in order. He walked on rapidly. When he got back to the house, he set down the documents and went into the kitchen to put on the kettle. He arranged the rolls nicely in a basket, dumping the crumbs into his hand so that he could eat them, then he set the table and prepared the coffeepot using the exactly measured amount that Frau Vogel allowed him to put out the night before. He turned off the kettle just as the water boiled so that it would be nice and hot and ready to boil when he needed it later, checked the time, and headed toward the stairs.

At the base of the steps he hesitated. This was the worst part of the day and it took some effort of will for him to force himself through the routine. Finally, he compelled himself to ascend and approach the master-bedroom door. He knocked lightly and the sleepy voice of Frau Vogel told him he could come in.

He entered and greeted the two of them as cheerfully as he could manage using the order he had determined was essential: Herr Vogel first, then Frau Vogel. Herr Vogel did not even reply; Frau Vogel grunted something about the worklist for the day. He ignored her and opened the drapes, then went into the bathroom and quickly whisked out the tub, cleaned the toilet, arranged the towels, and started the water for a bath. “Shall I open the window a bit for
meine Gnädige?”
he asked as he returned to the bedroom.

“Is it cold out?” Frau Vogel replied, sitting up in bed.

He carried her robe over to her and helped her into it as she stood. “It will be warm soon.”

“But is it cold now?” she asked impatiently.

That was a matter of opinion, he thought, but he did not dare say that. Instead he replied,“No,
gnädige Frau.”

“Then open it.”

He opened the window and returned to check the bath. Frau Vogel usually preferred to bathe in private, and as she shut the bathroom door, he went about using the time wisely, preparing the clothing she had indicated that she wanted laid out and making his rounds of the children’s rooms, rousing them and opening their blinds.

The youngest, a shy little girl of five named Gisela, asked for a glass of water and wanted him to stay with her as she sat up in bed and drank it. She told him that she had had bad dreams, and she held his hand tightly as he stooped down next to her. When she had finished, he kissed her forehead and told her it was
time to get up and so she did not need to worry about her dreams anymore, then he rushed back to Frau Vogel’s side.

Once he had finished helping Frau Vogel, he returned to the bathroom to clean it and begin Herr Vogel’s bath. Herr Vogel had drunk too much the night before and was truly averse to getting up. Peter tried several times to wake him with quiet words, finally resorting to gently shaking his shoulder.

Herr Vogel opened one eye and looked up at him. “Remove your hand from me this instant,” he said threateningly.

“Sorry,
mein Herr.
Your bath is ready.”

The routine was repeated except that he had to attend to Herr Vogel as he bathed, shaved, and otherwise prepared himself. Peter was allowed only a brief respite to go to Herr Vogel’s closet and fetch the clothing needed for that morning. Herr Vogel called out to him from the bathroom like an admiral aboard a great ship instructing him on each piece of clothing as he made the bed, searched through the closet and drawers, and laid out the suit on the bed as instructed.

When Herr Vogel emerged, he surveyed the clothing with a scowl. “I said the
dark
brown tie.”

“That isn’t it?” Peter asked as he gestured toward the tie.

Without answering, Herr Vogel pointed imperiously toward his belt.

Cursing his own stupidity, Peter reached for the belt. He carefully folded it in two and handed it to Herr Vogel so he would be inclined to grab the end with the buckle. Peter stared at the floor and stood stock-still then, knowing it would be quicker that way. About twice a week, he thought, as Herr Vogel swung the belt into his upper arm. His eyes squeezed shut against the sharp pain. The belt was swung at him a few more times: his head, his neck, his arm again. Suddenly, Herr Vogel flung the belt to the floor. Peter opened his eyes, contemplated it, then stooped down and picked it up. He held it briefly before he could bring himself to offer it back to Herr Vogel.

“Get the correct tie,” Herr Vogel commanded, neglecting to accept the belt.

Peter thanked him, set the belt on the bed, and went to the closet to locate the
tie.

Once Herr Vogel was satisfactorily dressed, Peter left him to return to the kitchen. Frau Vogel was already there; she unlocked the pantry and directed him to bring out the usual items. It was nearly always the same, but she insisted on the ceremony of directing him. As he reemerged with the desired items, the pantry door closed behind him with a reassuring click. Frau Vogel nodded her approval and went into the dining room to join her family as he stocked the table with the jams and butter and the cheeses and sausages, then went back to get the coffee as the family began their morning meal.

After breakfast was served, Herr Vogel left for work and the children were sent to their various schools. Peter cleared the dishes, prepared Frau Vogel a cup of tea, then returned upstairs to clean the bathrooms, make the beds, and pick up after the children. The first room he tackled was Horst’s. It was, actually, quite
clean, but the military precision upon which Horst insisted meant that his room involved the most work of all. Peter made the bed to the required specifications, picked up the dirty boots that had been left out for him to polish, and made a mental note to return and repair the frayed drapery cord that had been pointed out to him earlier. He then went to Ulrike’s room; she was the eldest daughter, a quiet, studious girl of nearly fifteen. He made her bed, tidied her books and papers, swept and dusted, and cleaned the hair out of her brush. He looked at the brittle, damaged strands and felt rather sorry for the poor girl—not even fifteen and she felt obliged to bleach her hair to a horribly unnatural whitish blond. Ah, the price of Aryan blood!

He then went up the flight of stairs to the two bedrooms that were on the second floor. The youngest son, Rudi, had one of them. His room was complete pandemonium, and as Peter picked up the endless stacks of debris, he wondered if Rudi’s chaos was a deliberate signal of contempt or just typical for an undisciplined seven-year-old. The other room was shared by little Gisela and her twelveyearold sister, Teresa. Teresa was clearly the brightest of the children and he liked her the best. She was loud and self-confident and friendly. She joked with and teased him and stuck her tongue out at her mother’s back when chided for doing so. There was not much work to do in their room, and he finished quickly and headed back downstairs before Frau Vogel grew upset at his interminable absence.

Not surprisingly, Frau Vogel managed to keep him busy with an endless series of tasks well into the afternoon. When it was time for Rudi and Gisela to return from their school, he was sent to pick them up with explicit instructions to take them to the park so that they would not be underfoot at home.

He met them at the school gate. Gisela ran to him, but Rudi ignored him and walked toward his home.

“Your mother wants you to go to the park,” he explained as he grabbed Rudi’s arm and tried to change his direction.

“I don’t have to listen to you!” Rudi spat in reply.

“I like the park!” Gisela enthused.

Peter pulled the boy, perhaps a little more forcefully than was advisable. “Your mother wants you to go to the park. I’ll give you something when you get there.”

Rudi relented and changed direction. “Did you bring us a snack?”

Peter nodded. “Yes. Something for you and your sister.”

Rudi giggled.“None for you!”

“No, nothing for me,” he agreed tiredly.

After they had their snack, the children finally settled into playing without fighting or making any other sort of trouble, and Peter took a moment to catch his breath from the day’s endeavors. He was hungry and he was tired. He looked longingly at the park benches, but they were forbidden to him and he was already pushing the limits of disrespect by leaning against a tree to relax as he watched the children.

Rudi began showing off on the climbing frame and was in his element with the other children. Gisela, as usual, was alone. She motioned to Peter to come and push her on the swings, and he ungrudgingly obliged.

As he pushed Gisela on the swing, the happy shouts of the other children melted into an undifferentiated confusion of his past. The raucous noise of boys playing football in the street, his name being called out as they invited him to join them. “No,” he yelled back at his friends, “I’m carrying groceries for my grandmother!”

“You can join them, Niklaus,” he heard his grandmother’s voice saying. “I’ll carry the sacks up to my flat.”

“No, Nanna,” he had replied with the earnestness of a nine-year-old. “I’ll carry them. You wait here while I take these, and then I’ll come back for the rest.”

When he had carried everything in for her and put the groceries away, he had not left to join the game, rather he had put on a phonograph record and sat on the floor with his head on his knees listening to the old, scratchy songs.

“Did your mother say you could stay the night?” his grandmother had asked.

He had nodded.

“What’s wrong, dear?” she had asked. “Why are you crying?”

He had looked up at her, embarrassed that she had noticed. “They want to send me away,” he had answered, “to some horrible boarding school for German boys!”

“It’s supposed to be a good school,” his grandmother had explained.

“Then why doesn’t my brother have to go? Why don’t they send Erich, he’d love to go!”

“I know. They wanted him to, but your mother told me it was your scores that stood out. You’re the bright one, you did so well on your school exams, the private school agreed to take you.”