A Bitter Rain Read online

  His thoughts swirled amid the ringing quiet. He didn’t know what to think about Karl or this offer. He was terribly afraid of the coming storm. Still, could he truly leave his platoon on the verge of war for a safe job at home in Königsberg?

  After dinner, Erik and his father settled back into the study to resume their conversation. Peter filled his pipe without a glance, his hands instinctively drawing the nutty tobacco out of a leather pouch and tamping the dried leaves into place. He lit the pipe and drew a few deep breaths, filling the room with a rich, smoky aroma.

  Erik fiddled with the radio, searching amid the static for any news. Through the fog of background noise, a sharp voice emerged. He could tell immediately something important was happening from the excited tone of the announcer. He listened, stunned, as a detailed report came in, followed as always by a playing of “Deutschland über alles” and “Dem Horst-Wessel-Lied.”

  “What is it?” asked Anna, who materialized and filled the doorway, trailed by Corina.

  “We’ve signed a treaty with the Russians,” said Peter, his voice cracking.

  “That can’t be true,” said Corina. “They’re our worst enemies. The Führer would never allow that. They are criminals, a seething barrel of communists and Jews. What a disaster!”

  “Not so fast. Maybe it’s a disaster, but then again maybe it’s a stroke of brilliance,” Peter said. “If we don’t have to fight the Russians, the French and English will think twice before they come after us. I’ll give our Führer credit; he knows his politics. He just took away our nightmare from the last war: a war on two fronts.”

  “Then there won’t be fighting after all,” said Corina. “The Poles must back down now.”

  “Or we just signed Poland’s death warrant,” predicted Peter. “If we don’t have to worry about the Russians, then we can gamble on a war with the Poles.”

  A knock at the door disrupted their speculation. Anna tramped woodenly over to unlatch the lock. She opened the door and greeted someone outside, returning a moment later carrying a bulky brown package. “It’s for you,” she said, handing it to Erik.

  Erik took the hefty envelope and scanned the front. The letter was an official communication from the SS. He opened it quickly and browsed the contents. His heart sank.

  “What is it?” asked his father.

  “Orders. I’m to report back to our headquarters in forty-eight hours.”

  “But you were just given two weeks’ leave,” protested his mother.

  “All leave is canceled,” he said, flashing the first page. “We are on emergency alert.”

  “Oh no,” said Corina. “What about Karl? You are supposed to meet him next week.”

  “Too late. I’ll be long gone by then.”

  They stood in silence at the news, like willows holding a soundless vigil over a midnight meadow. Erik looked from one to another. There was no time left. No chance for the miracle his wife so desperately wanted. War was coming.

  Erik slept fitfully that night. Shadows chased him. He dreamed of the war and fire and death. He woke sandy-eyed with his mind in a fog.

  Corina was already up with Greta. He could hear their voices echo up the stairs. He splashed cold water on his face in the washroom and stumbled groggily down the wooden steps to the kitchen. His mother was there, as she always seemed to be, working away at their Frühstück. Hearty sausages sizzled and crackled in a charred iron skillet so heavy it required two hands to move. She labored through this morning ritual in deliberate, never-ceasing movement. He watched her, feeling a wave of peace wash over him. She was a cornerstone. Always present—carrying the weight of his life.

  Eventually she noticed him and gave him a smile and a wink. He stacked some sausages and a hard-fried egg on a plate and plopped down at the cramped table. His father joined him, smoking his perpetual pipe and scanning the morning headlines while he munched on a piece of toast.

  “The papers are full of this treaty,” he mumbled.

  “That’s no surprise,” said Erik. “Any news about the Poles?”

  “They haven’t said much yet. Of course, the story just broke last night. Nothing from the French or English yet, either.” His father chuckled. “They must be stewing in their own pudding.” Peter reached for his lighter and drew the flame through the half-burned tobacco in his pipe until scarlet embers glowed and smoke bellowed from his lips.

  Erik looked around. “Where’s Corina?”

  Peter snorted. “I’m not your wife’s keeper.”

  “Now, Vater, you’re not still mad about last night, are you?”

  Peter shrugged. “I’ll get over it. I always do.” His stare bored into Erik. “You’re off to war then, is it?”

  Erik felt an electric jolt. Despite his nighttime torment, he’d forgotten about that. “I suppose so. I don’t know what else my orders could be about.”

  His father shifted in his seat, pressing his hands together. “I thought I’d have more time. I can’t tell you much . . . about the fighting. You must live it. I don’t wish combat on any man, especially my son. But listen to me, boy. Don’t do anything stupid; there are some things I can teach you. Don’t be a damned hero! The men that go out there trying to win medals end up in bloody bits.” He pointed a shaky finger. “You be smart. Keep your head down. Follow orders. Stay with the men. You’ll be all right. I pray you will.” He leaned back again, exhaling deeply. “When you’re home on leave, we’ll talk about it. More to say when you’ve seen it yourself. In the meantime, I hope for a miracle, that this is just a drill. That it won’t come to a real fight.”

  “Not much we can do about that,” said Erik. He was surprised by his father’s speech.

  “Your mother and I are proud of you.” The words stuttered out of Peter’s mouth in a halting jumble. “I’ve never really thanked you for taking us in after—”

  Erik reached over and squeezed his father’s arm. “You don’t have to say those things. You’re always welcome.”

  “Never thought I’d have to accept charity from anyone, let alone my own boy.” He seemed to wither in his chair.

  “Times were tough. Everyone suffered. You did your best. We all did. Don’t forget, I lost my job, too.”

  “But you found another.”

  “No. Corina found me the job—or I’d still be looking.”

  “She and her friend Karl. Now even he can’t help you.”

  “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I’d accept the assistance if it was offered.”

  “I know that, too. But you need to reconsider if you get the chance. You’re like every boy facing war. You’re afraid to go, but you’re drawn to it like a moth to fire. After an hour at the front, you’ll never wish to be there again.” His voice rose and hardened to a flinty edge. “You listen hard, boy: if by some miracle Karl still comes through, you take the transfer—do you hear me?”

  “I see you two are talking away the morning,” observed Corina, emerging with Greta in tow, both dressed for what promised to be a warm summer day.

  “Morning,” mumbled Peter, not looking up.

  “Good morning.” She closed in on Erik. “It’s going to be beautiful today, and I’m not going to spend it roasting in this trap. Get dressed. Let’s go for a walk.”

  Erik nodded and rose without a word. His father watched him intently all the way out of the room. After he dressed, he returned downstairs.

  “Where’s your uniform?” demanded Corina.

  “I’m not on duty,” he stammered. “Besides, it’s too hot to wear that thing out there today.”

  She shook her head in apparent frustration. “You would think you’re ashamed of it. You’re in the SS, Erik. Be proud of who you are. People will admire you—they will fear you.”

  Erik laughed. “I’m a history teacher. Nobody’s ever feared me, unless I scratched the chalk too hard down the board.”

  “You’re not a teacher anymore. You’re a soldier, and a party member. You are somebody now. Don’t hide that
from the world. We deserve respect.”

  “Did you hear the ‘we’ in that last part, Erik? That’s the spot,” said Peter, chuckling to himself.

  “Laugh away,” Corina said, turning on her father-in-law. “Your old world is gone. You surrendered to the French and the Jews. We will never lose again. Erik is part of the new Germany—we all are. The world will see soon enough, starting with the Poles.” Corina turned and stormed out, tugging Greta along behind her.

  Erik raised his hands, but Peter waved him off. “Go after her before you get yourself in any more trouble. Thank Gott it’s you and not me, that’s all I’ve to say.”

  Erik followed rapidly out of the kitchen and met his wife and child at the door. Together they strolled outside and down the Yorckstrasse. Bright sunlight shone through the trees and danced off the rooftops up and down the street. The day was fine and warm. The shadows of gloom melted away from Erik beneath the dazzling sky.

  They walked quietly toward a local community Garten, taking their time while Greta skipped forward and back, laughing and shouting.

  “Are you afraid?” Corina asked him, breaking the silence between them.

  “No.” But he was, and they both knew it.

  She slid an arm through his and drew him toward her, pressing her warm lips against his cheek. “You’re a brave man, Erik. I knew that from the moment I met you. You have great things before you. You must focus on your duty and do your best. If you win a promotion, you will help us. We are so close to everything we’ve always wanted.”

  As Erik started to formulate a response, he was distracted by a woman and child coming their direction. She seemed familiar, a person from the past who was out of place here for some reason. Then it struck him.

  “Guten Morgen, Trude,” he called out.

  The woman looked up in surprise and abruptly stopped, squinting through the sunshine. She had a daughter close to Greta’s age, he noticed, but with raven-colored hair that hung straight down her back, in sharp contrast to his child’s bouncing golden curls.

  “Erik, is that you?” she asked.

  “Yes. I haven’t seen you in years. What are you doing here? You’re not from this neighborhood.”

  “We moved here a year ago. My husband and I.” She turned her attention to Corina.

  Erik realized he hadn’t introduced his wife. “How rude of me. Trude, this is Corina. Trude and I knew each other at the university.”

  Corina nodded politely but said nothing in response.

  “Trude was a wonderful musician, one of the best. You should have heard her. Do you still play in the symphony?” he asked.

  The color drained from her cheeks. “Uh . . . no, I don’t play in public anymore.”

  Embarrassment washed over Erik as he realized why. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “That’s quite all right.” She turned to Corina, who was watching Trude’s daughter and Greta begin to play together. “Do you live nearby?”

  “Just a block away,” answered Corina, not looking up. “What a fascinating toy your child has there. What is it?”

  Erik glanced down and saw the object, a diamond-shaped wooden top painted in alternating black-and-white stripes. Greta had the toy in her hand, turning it over and over in wonder.

  “That silly thing. My husband made it for her. He is brilliant with his hands—and his mind.”

  “I’m sure,” said Corina. “Come now, Greta, we mustn’t delay them. Come to Mother.”

  Greta smiled and returned the toy to the other girl.

  “What’s her name?” asked Erik.

  “Britta.”

  “Ours is Greta,” said Erik. “So close.”

  “It’s been nice to meet you,” said Corina, nodding again slightly.

  “Nice to meet you as well.” Trude turned to Erik, her eyes dancing. “What a nice surprise to see you.”

  “You too, Trude. Farewell.”

  They parted and continued their walk in silence until Trude was out of earshot. Corina turned abruptly on him.

  “How dare that Jewess walk down our streets!” she hissed.

  Erik was shocked by her comment. “How do you know she’s a Jew?”

  “Her hair, her nose. She can’t play her music publicly anymore!” Corina looked around. “We shouldn’t have even talked to her. And you let her child touch Greta!” His wife hurried forward and began scrubbing Greta’s fingers with a handkerchief.

  “You don’t believe that propaganda about vermin, do you?” asked Erik, his mind racing to catch up to the scene before him. Corina didn’t answer but kept scrubbing away roughly.

  “I need water. Don’t touch anything, Greta. That little girl is full of disease.”

  His daughter’s face paled, and she looked up at Erik. “Will I get sick, Daddy?”

  “You’re just fine.” He turned to Corina. “Don’t fill her head with that garbage,” he whispered. “She has enough to worry about with the war and my departure.”

  Corina ignored him and whisked their daughter up in her arms, turning around and walking briskly back toward their home. The day turned frigid and dim, the sun losing its power over them.

  “You’re back early,” observed Peter, standing at the doorway as they arrived. Corina pushed past him with Greta and disappeared inside.

  “We ran into an old friend of mine and her daughter,” explained Erik. “She’s Jewish so Corina thinks Greta might catch something.”

  “She can’t be serious,” said Peter. “Nobody believes those stories, do they?”

  “Apparently, she’s bought into the whole party line. More maybe than I realized. I guess when you hear a lie told over and over, eventually it becomes the truth.”

  “You’d better do the same.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This came while you were gone. It’s from Karl.”

  Erik stepped forward and tore open the envelope. The package contained a letter from Karl. Corina had apparently phoned him last night. Karl knew about Erik’s orders and asked if Erik might come by the local party police headquarters tomorrow afternoon. Karl would be there, even on a weekend day the letter explained, because of a backlog in work.

  “That’s only a few hours before I leave. I’ll have to decline.”

  “Oh no you won’t,” said Peter.

  Erik protested. “I want to spend what time I have left with the family.”

  Peter shook his head. “If he can pull strings, you won’t have to leave in the first place. I know you think you want to go to war, but remember what I said. This is your chance, Erik. Go see Karl, and see if he has a place for you here. The family needs you here.”

  Despite his show of resistance, Erik felt a vast relief mixed with nagging shame. What if Karl could transfer him? There still might be time after all. Does it mean I’m a coward that I desire this? He shook his head. He would let fate decide. If Karl had a job for him, he would hear him out and make his decision. Erik found himself whispering a prayer of thanks as the warring emotions within him struggled for peace.

  The Muellers rose early on Sunday morning and made their way to a morning service at the Lutheran cathedral on Kneiphof Island in the Pregel River. They usually attended the Lutheran church in Sackheim, but Corina insisted today was a special occasion. Erik had visited the cathedral only a half dozen times or so. The majestic structure rose out of the wooded area below, a hand reaching up to the sky dominated by the tapered clock spire on the south end of the edifice.

  Once inside, the family pressed in tightly with the rest of the crowd. Erik gaped in awe as always when he entered the medieval building. The roof rose high above, arching into a wooden spider web. Erik’s gaze followed the spindly black maze as it worked its way along the ceiling and down toward a mountainous gilded altar crowned by a crucifix reaching over the congregation.

  After the service the Muellers ate pastries and drank tea at a nearby outdoor cafe. The sun hid behind a torrent of clouds, in stark co
ntrast to the perfect weather the day before. Now the company was as cold as the day. Corina remained cross and distant. Even the news from Karl did not rouse her out of her dark mood. She wouldn’t tell Erik why. He couldn’t understand. Could she still be so angry about Greta touching a Jewish girl? Was she jealous of Trude? How could she know?

  After they made their way home, Erik maneuvered his father into watching Greta for a time while Anna went to work on the family laundry for the week. Erik steeled himself for the storm he knew must be coming and knocked on the door to their bedroom, where Corina was preparing his uniform for tonight’s meeting. She didn’t answer, but he knew she was there. He let himself in. She sat on the bed, a brush in one hand and a jackboot in the other. She was scrubbing the already mirrored boot with rapid movements. She didn’t look up.

  “Do you want to tell me what you’re angry about?” He asked a direct question, hoping Corina would talk to him.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  He stepped cautiously toward the bed and then lowered himself until he was sitting next to her. He carefully placed his hand on her thigh, but she brushed it away instantly, scooting down the bed.

  “You’re not fine.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said, her voice shaking. She looked up. “How could you embarrass me like that?”

  Erik was baffled. “What do you mean? Are you talking about my vermin comment? I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just meant I’m not sure we should take all of that so seriously.”

  Her anger flared, and he knew he’d somehow missed the mark. “I don’t care a bit about that. I can handle my own child’s well-being. I’m talking about the way you were mooning over that Jewess.”

  “What on earth are you saying?”

  “Why haven’t I ever heard of her before? You tell me all about your university days, but I’ve never heard of some dark-haired temptress who was a brilliant musician. Why did you hide that from me? Was she your lover? They are masters of seduction. You know that, right? They want our Aryan blood, and they will stop at nothing to get it. Did she steal some of yours?”