The Fog of War [Rusty of Shackleford&Mim]

[Madam Mim]

Munich
February, 1940

"I'm just saying--"

"We know what you're saying, Papa." Esther helped her mother set the table and used it as an opportunity to roll her eyes without her father seeing. Abner Chernoff was a respected man in the middle-class Jewish community of Munich, but his children knew more than the general public that he was often given to repeating his convictions ad nauseum.

"I think there are people living on the moon who know you think the radical Zionists are crazy," Miriam, his second-born, chimed in with a smile before turning back to her work, then adding, "but this isn't about Zionism."

"Germany is our home," Abner insisted fiercely. "Munich is our home. I won't be chased out like a coward just because of some goose-stepping facists. And do you really have to bring that shtik drek into my home, Miri?"

"Work is work, Papa," she sighed, sick of the color red as she stitched the swastika armband onto the sleeve of the uniform. "Five more SS officers came in today, apparently, and need an entire wardrobe done by tomorrow. I think they did it to taunt us, really. And besides, even if Frau Pearlman did turn away work I don't think she would be very wise to turn away this work." She exchanged looks briefly with her older sister.

"Which is what we're saying." Esther took up the banner again. "It's unsafe here anymore, Papa. Didn't you hear about the Archenholtzes? They got on a train to Berlin to visit Herr Archenholtz's sister, never arrived." Abner opened his mouth to reply, but the door burst open to admit Eli and Oren, the two youngest at 10 and 13. After the initial shock Esther returned to her crusade. "I hear in Poland they're--"

"That's enough." Shoshona Chernoff's voice wasn't raised, but it was firm and authoritative enough that both of her daughters looked cowed. "Supper is almost ready and we've said before not politics at the table."

Miriam wanted to argue that this wasn't politics. She wanted to argue that leaving, and leaving now, was more important than peace at the dinner table. Esther, she knew, had been about to mention that after the invasion of Poland shortly before the new year they had started forcing Jews to identify themselves with blue Stars of David pinned to their sleeves. They had talked about it in the shop this morning, before the officers had come in, and had agreed that it was only a matter of time before the Fuhrer instituted the same thing here. Everybody was on edge and there was an atmosphere in the city of fear and dread, and the feeling of an approaching storm. Herr and Frau Archenholtz hadn't been the first friends or neighbors to go missing, and Miriam had the feeling they wouldn't be the last. There was something primal inside her that awoke whenever she passed an SS on the street that chanted over and over get out get out get out get out run run run run runrunrun! Each day that voice got a little louder and she couldn't ignore it anymore but her father, her stubborn father, refused to believe it would happen.

A sudden knock at the door seemed to underscore her point. Everyone froze and stared at the door until a few moments later Abner rose despite the whispered protests of his daughters. His hand went to the weapon in the corner. There had been raids over the years, then two years ago it had been made official that they were prohibited from owning firearms or bladed weapons, and while her father's gun from the War had been seized he had hidden the bayonet beneath a loose board. Recently he had lashed it to a mop handle with a length of rope and kept it in the corner behind the door. With one hand on the handle he unbarred the door and turned the knob, looking through the crack to see who could want something with them at this time of night.

"Officer, I'm afraid you've--" Surprise alighted in his eyes and he opened the door wider, stepping back to let the officer in.

"Kurt!" Miriam was the first to react, jumping to her feet and throwing her arms around him while the others made noises of surprise. After the initial shock the family gathered around to hug him or shake his hand, greeting their old neighbor enthusiastically. Miriam and Kurt had played together as children and had continued their friendship as they'd gotten older. When he had enlisted, however, she had been cold to him until she'd given him the opportunity to explain that he had been forced into it. She had written letters to him under a gentile pseudonym while he was in training then had been sent on to his duty station, but for the past few months no answer had come and she had feared the worst.

"I didn't know you were on leave...What happened?" she asked, taking his coat and ushering him to the seat nearest the fire. "Why haven't you written back?" It was no use asking whether his father knew he was in town; Kurt's parents had seen the writing on the wall and emigrated to Portugal three months ago to wait out the storm. Another point Miriam often brought up.

 

[RustyShackle]

Munich
February 1940

Munich had never seemed so threatening. Sure, it was never exactly the most welcoming of places, but it always felt like home. Now it just felt like a prison. Soldiers on every street, eyes always on you. Everyone was on the lookout for something, anything. Deviants, anarchists, communists. The name they were given hardly mattered. All that mattered was the us and them. If they weren't white, German, and Christian, they were an enemy, a cancer to be cut off and burned to ash. And it wasn't just Munich. All of Germany was turning into this. Soon, it may be all of Europe. Few opposed this direction, however. After all, the Nazi Party had led Germany out from a nearly twenty year economic depression, cast aside the chains placed on them from the Great War, and returned Germany to it's once great status. If the cost of this prosperity was the lives and freedom of society's dredges, who really cared?

Kurt did.

Kurt seemed to be the ideal German man. Tall, well built, ruggedly handsome, and intelligent. Though he lacked some Aryan features, his blue eyes were striking set against his dark hair. Hell, he was even going to become a doctor before he bravely answered the call of duty and went off to fight for the Fatherland.

Except he didn't. Kurt was...not what he seemed.

What seemed to be a stoic, confident man was in fact a quiet, sensitive person, always looking for answers to life's questions. He wanted to become a doctor not for prestige, but to help people. He did not enlist, he was conscripted. And he was certainly not as bigoted as his peers. His closest friend in the world was a Jew, which only made his indirect part in the subjugation of the Jewish people even worse. A man's conscience will always win out over duty, if it's strong enough, and so it did. After the wildly successful invasion of Poland the previous year, Kurt used the downtime to slip away. Using his appearance and others perception of him, he caught supply trains back to the Fatherland, posing as a soldier returning home. Luckily, by the time they noticed eh was gone, he was already far from reach. There was still a danger, however. So far, he was able to slip by unnoticed, since they weren't looking for him them. But it was catching up. First things first, they'd check his home city, ask around. His father wouldn't give them much, mainly because he and his wife were nowhere to be seen, having left for Portugal not too long ago. The moment they got news of their son's defection, they decided it would be best to leave, for their sake and his. But what worried him the most were the Heinz's. His second family, so to speak. He didn't want them involved in this. Being Jewish was enough of a danger, but to house a deserter? That was all the justification they needed. But he had little choice. His father was probably ranting about his failure of a son now, and to fail now would be an affront to his morality. So, there he stood at the door of his old friend, and with great hesitation...he knocked.

The soldier nervously peeked through the crack when the door opened, adjusting the worn collar of his uniform as he said, "Pardon me for bothering this late, Herr Heinz, but I need t-" The moment he was granted a full view of the interior, he felt arms wrap around him tightly. He knew immediately it was Miriam. He formed a warm smile, contrasted with the exhaustion painted on his face. He looked as if he'd stumbled all the way here by Poland through a swamp, which wasn't exactly wrong. His uniform was disheveled, dirty. he'd been able to pass off as a wandering drunk, though just barely. one more meeting might be his end. He happily greeted the rest of the family, hugging Abner tightly to greet his true father. "It's good to see you all. Sorry I haven't written in a while, I got...caught up."

His blood ran cold when Miriam asked why he was here. He wanted to lie, just go along with it...but they all deserved the truth. "I'm...I'm not on leave, Miriam...I...I deserted." His voice sounded defeated. While he couldn't stand the Nazi's, he was still a German, and deserting felt...wrong. He felt that he was betraying all of Germany, even if he couldn't go along with those in charge. "I don't expect you to help me. I won't put you all in danger for my sake, but I just need a place to stay for a while." He was practically pleading at this point. he was tired, hungry, and worn down. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days, and any sleep he had gotten was not enough. His eyes rested on Miriam, almost as if to be her to back him up. He trusted her with his life, loved her, even. If it wasn't for this damn war...well, that's for another time. No point thinking of what could have been. What was important was the now.

 

[Madam Mim]

"Miri," Abner chided lightly, his deep voice dragging out the syllable. "Don't bother the poor man with so many questions. Can't you see he's tired from his journey home?"

Tired wasn't the half of it, if Kurt's look was anything to go by. And his smell. Despite it, he hugged the boy tightly, thumping him heartily on the back with a heavy, calloused hand as they embraced. Little Kurt Scherwin from next door had grown to be a little taller than the middle-aged woodworker, but Abner had a way about him that made grown men feel like little boys again even if he was four inches shorter. He'd watched the Scherwin boy with his daughter as they played and grew together, and while he hadn't stopped their playing at house, well...it would taste a lie to say he wasn't a little relieved it hadn't turned into more. It wasn't that he didn't like the boy; on the contrary, he liked him very much and looked upon him as a sort-of third son. But to ignore a difference of faith...It wouldn't have been fair to either of them. Unevenly yoked was the term Rabbi Apfelbaum had used once, when he had privately expressed his concerns, and it had stuck with him. Fortunately, he had never had to have that talk with his older middle child which came as a relief. Miri would have eloped with him purely out of spite.

The patriarch was keener than his daughters. Shrewder. He had seen more of the ugliness of life that he had hoped to spare his children, and exchanged looks with Shoshona behind their backs. The situation was obvious to them. They knew the look of a hard march, the shadow in the eyes of a hunted man. But despite attempting to give him an out, the boy was honest. Miri's mouth fell into an 'o' of shock, and opened and closed a few times as she searched for words. She looked to her sister for help, but Esther had nothing.

When Kurt insisted that he didn't expect them to help him, Abner snorted and waved a hand, rescuing them all. "'Don't expect' nothing! Come in my boy, sit and eat! We were just putting dinner on the table." With a hand on his shoulder he steered him to a chair. "Girls, help your mother finish up?"

"Then maybe after dinner you can have a bath!" Eli pinched his nose and waved his hand, laughing and causing Oren to snicker.

"Big words from a little boy who can't wipe his feet and wash his hands," Shoshona shot back from the kitchen. Looking cowed, the boys both scooted away from the table to go wash their hands while the women set the table and brought dinner out.

The stew was mostly potatoes and lentils since times were lean, but they were on good terms with the neighborhood butcher and Shoshona had been able to add brisket to the meal which had to be sold or eaten soon. Fresh bread was pulled from the oven and set in the middle of the table and a pitcher was set next to it. "No more talking; supper's ready."

The family all washed their hands at the sink, saying a blessing over it before drying them and sitting at the table. After the Motzi had been said over the bread and Abner had eaten the first piece, he cut it for others and the meal began in earnest. There was very little talking: though the Chernoffs were reform Jews they still observed the tradition of a silent dinner table. After the after-meal grace had been said, Abner directed his sons to get ready for bed and clapped Kurt on the shoulder, steering him back to the fireplace in the sitting room while the women cleared the table and washed up. He hadn't missed Miriam's curious looks and could practically hear the unspoken questions tumbling from her mouth. She should have become a journalist for all her nosiness, not a seamstress. In another world, perhaps she could have been. He dragged a dining chair in and sat across from Kurt for a long time, looking hard at the lad, before finally speaking.

"We can give you shelter and food for three days, maybe four," he said at last. "Bathe, sleep, rest. The girls can wash and mend your uniform, sew on any got farlozn Nazi drek is fashionable these days," his eyes fell on Miri's work, draped over the arm of the sofa, "but then you'll need to move on. It's nothing against you my boy; if it were up to me you would stay. But times are lean. I've got five mouths to feed." His face fell heavily and he sighed. "And we cannot ignore the obvious: it's dangerous enough as it is without a wanted man. I have to think of my family."

Abner wasn't a stupid man: he knew why his daughters wanted to leave the country, and he knew they were talking sense. But they had waited too long, and it was impossible now, not with all six of them. He couldn't help but think back to his own family. When he was fifteen they had fled Odessa in the pogroms, and he had staggered across the German border without any of them, and then there had only been four of them and he the youngest. If they had wanted to stand a chance they should have gone years ago, when their citizenship had been revoked on the basis of being Russian. But Oren and Eli had only been six and three; they wouldn't have made the journey. Miriam would have been driven out of her home the same age he had been. He couldn't do that to his children. And now...? Now he couldn't even find decent forged papers, never mind real ones.

He ran his hands over his face as though wiping away cobwebs.

"For now though, we have room. We have food. We have a comfortable couch and a warm home." Abner managed a grim smile. "And I can only pray to God that that will be enough."