Flash

There's a War Going On

Rolf put his hands on my shoulders and gazed into my eyes. "Was ist los, mein Schatz? You are not yourself these days."

What's wrong? I screamed internally. How would you feel if there were half a dozen Jews stashed in your father's wine cellar?

I buried my face on his chest to keep the words from spilling out. Just one word in the wrong place, and my whole family might die.

"You are so strong, so handsome," I murmured, grasping at straws of plausibility. "What if they send you to a Lebensborn camp?" I had no idea if those camps actually existed, but I had to offer some explanation for the tear stain seeping into his immaculate Hitler Youth uniform.

Rolf drew a sharp breath, and I knew that he had heard the same rumours that I had. He cupped his hand under my chin. "If I am chosen, I will do my duty, of course, but it will mean nothing on the personal level. You are my goddess, my future wife and mother of my children."

His kiss set my body on fire. I forgot that Jews existed. We rolled onto the ground, entwined. Regulations, examinations and paperwork could go to hell. We were Siegfried and Kriemhild, and this was our nuptial night.

Damn the man! He paused and asked me if I was sure. I lay on my back, panting, groping for the most unambiguous, enticing words possible to draw him back under my spell. When I finally spoke, my voice was flat and authoritarian, like my mother's.

"There's a war going on."

That sentence came out of her mouth every day, her infallible response to my litany of complaints. Why my little brother Hans could no longer play with his friends. Why university was impossible for me. Why I must pretend not to notice that Pastor Liebermann's sermons had changed radically, and we no longer sang hymns which mentioned Israel. Why I must avoid people with undesirable ethnic characteristics, and feign heartfelt approval of each and every ridiculous regulation that distorted our lives.

Rolf sat up, rebuttoned his shirt, straightened his collar. "You are right, mein Schatz. This is not the time."

The next time we met, he told me that it would be best if we did not see each other again. "We must do our duty."

I cried and screamed and pleaded. When it was clear that it was all over, I ripped off the blue crystal necklace he had given me, threw it on the ground, and ran home.

We never spoke again. It was not until after the war that I learned that he had been executed for his participation in the Resistance.

Our Jewish guests were replaced by another family, and another. Finally, my mother convinced my father that he could not continue to endanger his family. He became bitter and withdrawn, tormented by phantom pain from his missing leg. I felt guilty, day and night, wondering what happened to the people we refused to save.

When I was twenty-three years old, I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean to seek my fortune in the tobacco fields of Southern Ontario. The work was brutally hard, but I was treated well. My employers became surrogate parents, encouraging me and helping me get my university degree.

I have been engaged twice, but never married. Peter said that he could not live in the shadow of Hitler for the rest of his life. He wanted me to get therapy in the hope of achieving "closure". I told him that closure is a dangerous thing, allowing people to make the same mistakes over and over again. He would have to take me as I was, or not at all. He suggested couples therapy to address my "fairy-tale illusions". I felt supremely self-righteous about the elegant profanity of my response, but I have often wondered if I was too hasty.

When I met Jonas, I knew enough to keep my mouth shut about anything unpleasant, and limited myself to light-hearted anecdotes about the complexities and faux pas of being an immigrant. We had already sent out the wedding invitations when he discovered that I was seeing a psychiatrist and taking antidepressant medication. He said that his family was very leery of that sort of thing, because mental illness might be transmitted genetically. I called him a gutless wonder and stalked out.

There was no Bachelor #3. Every time I met someone I found attractive, I backed away because I was afraid of rejection.

I don't have any close friends now. Just superficial playmates who cross my path now and again. I have learned that it is safer not to talk about my past. People don't like baggage stained with tears, blood, and snot.

My greatest regret in life is that I did not give my virginity to Rolf. Whenever I see our son in my dreams, I tell him, over and over, that his father was a hero.