A Piece of Blue String

A Piece of Blue String

  (A short story companion to Playing with Matches)

  By Lee Strauss

  Copyright © 2012 Lee Strauss, Elle Strauss

  (Originally published in Winter Wonders Anthology by Compass Press.)

  Cover by Steven Novak

  This is a work of fiction and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously and nay resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual event or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  A Piece of Blue String

  ~*~

  Lee Strauss

  From the diary of Katharina Ackermann.

  November 14, 1941

  Mama sent me to the market again today. I didn’t see the point and I told her so. There wouldn’t be anything left to buy on the shelves, anyway. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw a supply truck drive through Passau.

  I complained to her about the frigid weather, but she didn’t seem to care about that, only that we might miss a chance to buy something if someone from our family didn’t go every day. And with Papa and Johann caring for the farm animals and Mama making the most of what we did have at home, the chore fell to me.

  I squeezed the coin in my hand which was balled up into a fist in my mitten. The pfenning was cold, but with the holes in my jacket pocket, I couldn’t very well put it in there. I pushed my scarf up over my nose–I could see it was bright red when I crossed my eyes–and tried to warm my face with my breath.

  War had made us busy and lazy at the same time. Busy trying to stay alive and lazy because we were stripped of resources and opportunities to go on with our business. The streets of Passau were full of people moving slowly. I stubbed my toe on a lose cobble stone hidden in the snow and hopped around like a crazy person making a fool of myself. It was bad enough that my feet already tingled with cold. The wind had picked up too, and the hair that had escaped my winter cap around my face, blew about in an unruly manner. Not unlike the fluttering of the Nazi flags that lined the building fronts.

  I saw Emil huddling against the cold with his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets.

  I called for him and he looked at me with raised eyebrows and then a lop-sided smile crossed his face.

  “Hallo, Katharina!”

  For a moment I didn’t know what to say. Questions about health and well-being seemed redundant. No one is healthy and well.

  “Mama sent me to buy some flour for bread,” I said to break the awkward lull. I fiddled with one of my braids. “Do you think there will be any left at the market?”

  “I don’t know.” Emil kicked at the snow. His boyish face was a red as mine, and he ran a sleeve under his nose. “Doesn’t hurt to check, I guess.”

  I blinked the snowflakes off my eyelashes and tugged on my cap. Emil’s elbows tightened against his sides. His eyes skimmed over me then scoured the pallid streets. I couldn’t stop shivering and I noticed that Emil shivered as well.

  “We’d be warmer if we ran,” I said. “Do you want to race me?”

  Emil’s eyes widened in surprise and I was worried that he’d say no, and shrug off my spontaneity as childish, but he answered, “Sure. Where to?”

  “From here to the end of the street.”

  We took the pre-racing position–left foot back in a lunge, arms stretched out.

  “Eins,” Emil began, “Zwei, Drei, Los!

  I loved running and I felt a surge of adrenaline blast warmth through my body. A woman frowned as she stepped out of our way. Another one smiled a little as if remembering what it was like to be twelve.

  We ran along the park by the St. Stephen’s cathedral, its ice encased domes shimmered in the weak winter light.

  I was aware that Emil was on my heels and for a moment I thought I should slow a little. Maybe let him win. It wasn’t necessary. We reached the bench at the same time.

  I dropped onto it, and found myself giggling.

  Emil puffed, taking a spot beside me. “Why—are you—laughing?”

  “Because it was fun, Emil,” I said in between breaths. “I haven’t had fun in a while.” I smiled at him and Emil broke into a grin in return.

  “I’ll walk with you to the market,” he said. I was surprised by his offer, but pleased.

  We entered the store and as I imagined, the shelves were empty. Even though I’d expected it, disappointment weighed heavy in my chest. I hated going home empty handed. The cupboards there were as bare here as the ones in the store.

  “I’m sorry, Katharina,” Emil said.

  “I know.”

  Emil’s expression was kind and I knew he felt as hollow as I did at my failed mission.

  Across the street from the market where we were standing, we spotted Heinz Schultz. He was fifteen and a Hitler Youth unit leader. All the girls liked him. He always walked tall and straight with the authority leadership gave him, and the fact that he was a son of a Nazi Party official was certainly a feather in his cap. He had his arm around a girl who flirted and giggled, and pushed up against Heinz’s body to keep warm.

  “Elsbeth will be so jealous,” I said. “She has a big crush on him.”

  Emil stared at the couple, too, like he was studying a science experiment gone wrong.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He held a bare hand to his mouth and coughed. “Um, yeah, I’m fine. Just the usual. Hungry, cold.”

  I couldn’t help but think that it would be nice to have the arm of someone special around my back to help keep me warm.

  Emil seemed so uncertain the way he just stood there, staring and shivering, that I was glad when Heinz and his latest girlfriend disappeared around the corner. I reached for Emil’s red, cold hand and rubbed it. The way he caught my eyes, I believed he thought about how nice it would be to hold someone, too.

  May 2, 1941

  Now that the weather is warmer our cow has more to eat and finally we had extra milk to sell. Mama asked me to haul a jug into town each morning to sell to the bakery. Our wagon had lost a wheel so it meant I had to carry it.

  The shortest route took me down the cobblestone street in front of Emil Radle’s flat-faced stucco row house. A couple days ago I noticed that he watched me from an upper floor window. I stared the other way pretending not to see him.

  At least before, when it was cold, I felt hidden in my winter coat and could pull the wagon with a measure of dignity. Now I wore a light spring dress which was too tight. My body had changed over the winter and my new breasts were hard to get used to and equally hard to hide. I lugged the full jug, leaning heavily to one side feeling not at all like the young lady I’d apparently become.

  Today Emil once again watched me from his window and I pretended not to see him, until the swallows nesting in the rafters of his house made a commotion.

  We both glanced up as the birds chirped and flew away and then our eyes met. There was no pretending now. Emil’s stunned expression made me smile. He was cute.

  I waved and he ducked out of sight.

  I continued into town pondering this strange boy whose behavior around me I could no longer predict.

  June 24, 1941

  Even though I was only a little child, I remember when Grandfather Ackermann died. His heart gave out on the same day that Adolf Hitler became the Chancellor of Germany in 1933. Some say it was a coincidence; after all, he wasn’t the only one to die on that day. Others argue that it was not, that somehow Grandfather knew.

  But as a family we didn’t take a stance
, we just acknowledged that Grandfather’s passing was sudden and sad. Besides, we had enjoyed a measure of the prosperity that the Fuehrer had promised, and we were grateful for an easier life. We paid little attention to what had been going on outside the solitude of our farm in those days.

  Obviously, that had been a mistake.

  I felt terrible coming to the kitchen today with only three eggs in my hands. The hens were revolting against the cold and the lack of food.

  Mama was bent over a sink with raw hands in sudless water. Her bony shoulders poked through the thinning fabric of her dress. Her dark hair was mixed with grey and loose strands fell out of the bun she’d worked it into that morning. She sighed. “How are we supposed to feed four people with three eggs?”

  “We have potatoes, Mama,” I said. “We can fry slices with the eggs.” I said this like it was a new idea, and not one we had done many times before.

  Papa joined us, whistling. Despite the meager breakfast or the cool weather he always managed to keep a smile on his face and a song in his heart. His presence was like sunshine on a cloudy day. He sat in the chair at the head of the table and I bent down to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Good morning, Papa,” I said.

  “Good morning, treasure,” he replied. The morning news was on the radio, the broadcaster proclaiming great German victories in the east. Papa reached over to turn it off. “No need to spoil breakfast.”

  Johann joined us, taking his place beside Papa. Mama poured us all a cup of weak coffee.

  “We don’t have any sugar,” she said.

  “What do we need of sweetness when we have you and Katharina,” Papa said.

  Mama’s face broke into a smile as she took her seat. I grinned too, and gazed admiringly at Papa. Even with all the awful things going on around us, I felt safe and happy when he was home. I only wished he didn’t need to travel so much with the orchestra.

  Papa insisted that he was safe. At least he wasn’t fighting in the war.

  Still, a music hall had been hit and many musicians killed.

  Papa said that was a fluke. The music hall had been mistaken for a government building.

  Johann remained stern faced throughout breakfast. He took after our mother in that way–always worried with a hint of sadness. He wasn’t fooled either by the propaganda on the government issued radio.