Schatzi

10

September, 1936

"Peter, there's been something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

Peter looked up when his mum walked into the room, her strange way of greeting him setting him on edge.

He was home to visit his family. His mum did nothing but talk about how much his 4 siblings missed him, so he'd started coming home at least every fortnight to visit them. He was busy with work and with his life with Eli, but he felt bad for leaving his brothers and sisters with his stressed out and strict mother.

"Yeah, What is it?" He asked as she walked over from the doorway to the sofa, everything about her poised but there was a feeling there, a tensing, like a cobra waiting to strike. She'd always been like this, always determined to have the perfect family. He'd only ever seen her snap when they were in their own home when the kids were misbehaving.

The house was overrun. Everywhere you looked, a child was probably doing something it shouldn't be. But the youngest was now five, and he was just glad his beloved mother was getting to the stage where she was past having children.

While he loved his family, he hated what it stood for. They had to be perfect. Absolutely perfect at all times. His mother was blonde, blue eyed, always dressed modestly, in plain, practical clothing for cooking and cleaning about the home, greying hair always tied back in a bun so tight it looked like her head was about to pop sometimes. His dad was a businessman, always away but very rich and very respected. When he came home, he always used to bring gifts, toy soldiers and trains for his sons, dolls for his girls.

His dad used to tell him stories about soldiers. All dressed in smart uniforms like the one the wooden one in his hand was wearing. The soldiers were brave and respected men, but they'd been reduced to nothing due to the stupidity of others. Gone were the soldiers like that, they'd now been replaced by the ones who stalked the streets, also with their uniforms and guns shining. Also respectable.

"I've told you about these new soldiers, Peter," he used to say. "And how they have done a lot for our country. But these men are above us, and you should never approach one if you can help it. While they are men to look up to, they are not men you want to be friends with."

He'd known from a young age his parents supported the Nazis. They were jokes for a while, and he remembered them laughing with the crowd, but when everything began to fall to shit, they were both there with everyone else pushing the wagon that simply drove Hitler into power. And they benefited from it.

No more communism, so there was no risk his dad would ever have to share the money he brought home. They fitted the idea of a perfect family, and he knew his mother was also respected in her own way amongst her Nazi supporting friends. Lots of children, each training up for what they were meant to be, a Nazi. The hair and eyes were just added bonuses.

He'd been part of the Hitler Youth. He wasn't proud of it. He'd hated every moment because of what it stood for, but he had to admit he enjoyed the activities. He'd never admit it to Eli, but he had made friends there, and the training had been fun. But he wasn't a Nazi. Far from it. He'd been told every day of his life what he should believe, who he should hate, even if that person was himself.

Peter couldn't remember the last time he saw his father. It was probably when he turned 16. He was now 23. His mum always made excuses, said their schedules never really lined up. If his dad was visiting, they were out the one day he could make time for them. Then when Peter moved out, it was even easier to lie to him.

His dad had left. He knew it. He'd known it for a very long time. Eli's mum was the same, and he'd heard them talking about it. He'd never brought it up with his mum. He knew she was still hurting, 7 years later. It was like a light went out when he left, and he'd never really seen it switch back on.