The Promise

Chapter 27

January 30th 1933

"It have shown, that a Austrian man named, Adolf Hitler might be able to save and regain Germany back on it's right tracks again. All us poor, trashy germans, who'd suffered in dirt, broken buildings and first world war debt. That Versailles contract - I don't give a dine for it! It's not my fault some stupid war was fought before my birth or that Germany in the first place took part in that dumb war!" 10-year old Pierre, stood with crossed warms and made himself appear bigger than he was. I had asked him a simple question about who Hitler was. Our new chancellor of Germany. Though we stood in small alley among bicycles and balls of all kinds, I had felt more adult after Pierre's reply. "Don't you think Germany should be great again?" Pierre had dared me. I had though for a few seconds about how my father was and what my mother always had told me about him and the Great War.

"Ever since that war my father have been ashamed of the outcome and that Germany had to give away Alsace-Lorraine to France, Eupen and Malmédy to Belgium, West Prussia and the Polish corridor or the Danzig corridor to Poland and Memel to allied control. My father used to be so proud of Germany. Now my mother calls him a broken a man. I think it's overdramatic of him. Adolf Hitler is right - if we truly are germans, then we should be proud of our nation!

❦

Berlin, 1935

-"Anton! Come down and eat!"

I put my pen down at the desk and sighed. Why did she always have disturb me, whenever I was writing?

"I'm coming in a minute!" I turned off my desk lamp.

I walked out my room and closed the door behind me. Then I turned off the lights in the hall outside my room, and walked down the stairs, to another doorway hall and went trough another door to the living room.

It was a small living room. Only containing a round dinning table with five chairs, which was stuffed together. One single lamp was lighting up the living room, with no sofas or coffee tables, reading chairs, bookselves, televisions or dressers. There was only an old radio in on one of the three window's sills. There was a fireplace with framed photos upon it, lined up as we weren't ashamed of the soundings of our living room. It disgusted me.

-"Johan, Lies and Marianne come down please, we're eating!" His mother put down a pot full of damping heat soup. His father entered the room, with the newspaper in his right hand and a pipe in the other hand. His father balanced between all the neighbours' cats on the floor.

His father was a true victim of the depression. It had hit Germany in the 1930s after the stock broke. He worked at a iron factory in the city, and worked from 5 o'clock in the morning to 6 o'clock in the evening. He even took night shifts every other day on top of his normal shifts. It meant that his days was often from 5 o'clock to 1 o'clock in the morning. He smoked and drank, like any other worker. He even smelled of tears, sweat and blood. Mom hated it. She criticised him only for that one thing, because we couldn't afford his tobacco or liquor.

His mother came out from the kitchen again, this time with a home baked bread, and looked across the dinning table for Johan, Lies and Marianne, who hadn't showed up yet.

-"Where are the rest of the children?" His father asked, as he pulled out a chair underneath the dinning table.

-"That's so typically. Johan, Lies and Marianne! We are eating now with or without you!" His mother sat down irritated. And just as she had sat down, all three of them came running through the dinning room, didn't mind to close the door, but to yell and scream like crazies.

-"Johan, Lies and Marianne, quit it! Now!" His mother shouted out laud. His father couldn't help himself, but to laugh of the children's craziness.

-"Are you laughing of me, now?" His mother turned to his father, who's face right away turned blur.

-"No of course not, sweetheart."

-"Good, because you'd better help instead of making a fool out of me."

-"Johan! Lies! Marianne! Stop it all of you or there's no dinner for you tonight!" His father raised his voice, and suddenly all the noise stopped.

Johan, Lies and Marianne sat down on each their chair and began begging for food instead.

His mother rolled her eyes.

-"What's for dinner mother?" I asked and looked down in the pot.

-"It's potato soup with fresh baked bread to." His mother replied.

-"Now again? We had it yesterday too, mother!" Lies complained.

Lies was the only clever of the these dumb siblings, I had been punished to have. Perhaps it was her lighter hair, who made her my favourite?

-"Lies, you know potato soup is much, than many other children in the world get to eat. You should feel spoiled about it." Her father smiled to get her on other thoughts.

Our mother took up my plate, and poured me a spoon of soup.

-"For you, Anton."

"Thank you, mother."

-"Johan?" His mother reached her hand out for his plate, and he gave her it.

-"Father?" I turned to my father.

-"Yes, son?" My father looked at me with his serious look.

-"Why do we hate the Jews?" I looked curious up at my father.

Both my parents went silence. I kept my eyes on my father. Even though I was only 12, I could recognise that we had the same shade of blue in our eyes. My mother's was more dark blue, while my father's and mine reminded me of neon signs from the healthier part of Berlin.

-"Who says we hate the Jews?" My father finally broke the silence.

-"Pierre and those at football?" I replied honest.

-"Anton, we don't hate the Jews." My father smirked and cuddled me on the head.

-"But what about the posters of how to recognise a Jew?" I continued.

-"What?" My father replied confused.

-"They are hanging in the windows of the stores. For example at the butcher's window." I replied.

My father began eating his bread.

-"We are Aryans, right?" I continued.

-"Yes." My father finally said.

-"We are Aryans. We are Scandinavians. We aren't Jews. We are poor Protestant Germans, who live of soup, while the Jews live their lives with wealth and roast everyday." My father said ignored. He was squeezing his fork tightly in his left hand.

-"Anton, we need to protect the Germans." My father said and looked me straight in the eyes.

-"One day, you'll understand. We just need to enclose some areas for the Jews and make restrictions, so people like us can have a chance. Maybe one day, I don't have to work in factory anymore so long shifts." My father suddenly smiled and touched me on the jaw.

-"You want that right?" My father continued to smile. I nodded.