FIER

01 Januar 1942

Der Judenfrage

Mama had been considering ever since Rudi Keffler’s hasty arrival fifteen minutes before. To Kasper, that fifteen minutes seemed an eternity as Mama paced and thought, glancing every so often at the corner of the room in which he, Rudi, Paskal, and little Dieter were waiting. He lifted his hand, checking each finger for the deep wrinkles that appeared when he spent too long in the bath. Was he an old man yet? Beside him, Rudi shifted his weight to the opposite foot and Dieter sniffed.

‘Well,’ began Mama, at last. The boys jumped, their blond heads hanging forward in unison, so as to catch her every word. ‘I suppose... Papa shouldn’t be back too soon.’ Kasper held his breath; he could hardly believe it. She was going to say yes! She was letting them go! ‘Don’t stay any longer than an hour or two, just in case, and - Paskal, you’ve got to look after your little brothers. Someone must always have Dieter by the hand; you know he wanders....’ She offered them one of her small, corner-of-the-mouth smiles and reached into her apron pocket for spare coins. ‘And behave yourselves. If I have to hear one more time from Frau Kleiderschrank that you’ve been tossing bricks at windows, or pushing bicyclists from off their bicycles, or... ’ Mama’s blue eyes pierced into Kasper’s. He could feel the tell-tale warmth of a blush spreading into his cheeks. She hadn’t forgotten, then.

‘Ja, ja, of course,’ Paskal sprang to his feet, tugging Dieter along after him. ‘Tchüss!’ They bolted for the door before Mama could change her mind, followed by Rudi, whose wood-soled shoes clacked musically down the three flights of stairs and into the street below.

Kasper bit his lip. He never liked leaving Mama behind, especially not anymore, as he barely saw her all year to begin with. ‘Maybe I should stay here, Mama.’ A pale arm snaked out to tug at her apron. ‘I don’t need to go, really. It’s just a silly kid’s thing, probably not even worth fifteen Reichspfenning....’

The smile that Mama gave him was one she reserved for Kasper and Kasper alone, and he had missed it terribly while locked away at school. It waved its warm hello from the curve of her lips, as inviting as ever; he could not help but to grin shyly back as her hands clasped his cheeks, and she said softly, ‘Don’t be silly, love. I’m going to be right here when you come back.’

‘You are?’ The voice that squeezed its way out from his throat was small and childish and too, too not his.

Mama nodded. ‘I am. And you can tell me all about it when you come back. I’ll want to hear everything.’ Her lips brushed his forehead, drawing colour from his cheeks into the pale skin there.

‘I’ll tell you about the monkeys!’ he offered, pulling away a fraction, so that the tips of her fingers rested on his jawbone. ‘I’ll tell you all about the monkeys!’

‘And I’ll listen and put dinner on the table.’

His feet backed away another step or so. ‘And I shall say, I wish you’d come to see them with me!’

‘And I’ll put another helping of cabbage on your plate, because I know you’ve been stuffing yours into your boots,’ Mama smiled, ‘And I’ll tell you, ‘stop talking so much, Kasper, and eat your dinner’.’

He reached the door, fumbling blindly for the knob with eyes fixed on Mama. ‘And I shall listen to you and eat everything, so I can stay up past nine for the Captain von Von special on the wireless with Heinz and Reiner!’

The door clicked open, ushering him into the corridor outside, where Mama’s laughter echoed from the cracked plaster and worn banisters. ‘And I’ll say, hurry up, before you miss the tram, Kasper!’ He nodded, more to himself than to her, slamming the door shut behind him and thundering his way to the street, where Paskal and the others were waiting.

‘Took you long enough, don’t you think?’ huffed Rudi indignantly as he fiddled with his shoelaces, but Paskal clapped his shoulder knowingly as Dieter reached out to take his hand. Kasper shrugged. Mama, more than Rudi Keffler, or Paskal, or Kurt, or even Johan Richter, who was his constant companion now at school, was his best, dearest, most beloved friend. His absence over the long months at Potsdam had done nothing but increase the pang of homesickness he felt in the pit of his stomach each time she stepped as far away from him as the next room. It was a touchy sort of subject that all but Papa and Onkel Peter ignored. He knew it was childish, embarrassing even, but he couldn’t help it. Blessedly, Rudi let the matter drop, and Paskal struck up a lively debate on the subject of the Luftwaffe, which he hoped to join when he was old enough. They carried on down the narrow street, waving and swearing colourfully at one another and at the harassed-looking housewives who told them off through their kitchen windows.

By the time they had boarded the tram, Rudi was nursing a pair of boxed ears from an aunt he had run into during a wrestling match with Paskal. Kasper sat down gratefully, his stomach churning. What if Papa came home and he was not in his bedroom, as his father had ordered, for breathing too loudly at breakfast? It wouldn’t be right for Mama to get into trouble on his account. Monkeys weren’t really that exciting anyway. Not really. Dieter settled onto his lap, his feathery blond hair whisping gently against the tip of Kasper’s nose. He hugged the boy tightly. That was the wonderful thing about Dieter. He always knew, no matter what, exactly the right thing to do to make a person feel better. With Dieter’s small hands pressed into his chest, the weight began to lift. His stomach settled. The anxiety at leaving Mama melted away, replaced by a surge of excitement. They were going to see monkeys, real ones!

The sentiment was one shared by all four boys as the tram thudded to a halt at their stop. They clambered over one another, Rudi in the lead, his index finger jabbing in the direction of dodgy-looking red awning that had been erected in the centre of the park that often hosted athletic events for the Hitlerjugend. It was as close to a circus as any of them had ever seen, and it thrilled them. They bolted for the entrance, hand-in-hand, brandishing their money like sabres at the tall, horse-faced man selling tickets. ‘We’re going to the circus!’ Dieter chanted loudly, tugging at their jumpers with trembling, baby fingers. ‘We’re going to the circus! We’re going to the circus! We’re going to the circus!’

They were ushered through the archway and began to hack through the crowd of curious housewives and young men dressed in their Hitlerjugend uniforms. Dieter’s mantra continued, almost musical, as Paskal pushed them both to the very front of the throng. The excitement that has been slowly building from the tram ride over peeked. His ‘missing Mama’ thoughts and ‘wondering what Papa would do when they got back’ thoughts had been driven out by the electric energy of the room. Something mildly heavy and warm settled on the back of his neck; Kasper glanced up, but Paskal had already looked away. Another hand tapped him, mid-chest, as Dieter pointed eagerly towards an opening in the curtains.

‘Good evening, Damen und Herrn, Kinder....’ The man that stepped out to greet them was like no man Kasper had ever seen before, if he was a man at all. His chest was broad - twice as much as Papa’s - and his green eyes beamed at them from a face as dark as the chocolate cakes that Mama baked for birthdays and special holidays. He had thick, woolly hair that sprang upwards from his head, as though it couldn’t bear to lie flat. Sheep’s hair, Kasper thought, before he could stop himself. His wide mouth hosted the whitest, straightest teeth that the boy had ever seen, and his smile was contagious. Kasper found himself returning it automatically. The dark man winked, gesturing the curtain behind him.

‘Afrikaner,’ said Rudi, nudging him in the ribs. ‘‘D’you see? It’s a real, live Afrikaner!’ He fell silent again, though his mouth gaped open still, and he was standing on tip-toe, despite the fact that there was no one in front of them.

The Afrikaner straightened his red coat. ‘We’ve got a treat for you today! He’s come a long way from Afrika! Could everyone give a nice, loud ‘shalom’ to Schmuel!’ From behind his outstretched arm, a short, squat figure wobbled out. Its ugly, little face was wrinkly and humanlike, and it walked upright on its hind legs, its arms swinging ape-ishly from beneath a muslin prayer shawl. Someone had dressed it in one of the small, round caps Kasper had seen on diagrams of Jews at school. The crowd leant forward, some sniggering, others laughing outright as they lifted small children over their heads for a closer look.

Something slender and soft wrapped its way round Kasper’s mid-section. He glanced down in surprise to find Dieter’s round face buried into the thinning wool of his winter coat. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he hissed, his hand falling atop the boy’s head. ‘What - you don’t like it?’

Dieter peered up at him, his blue eyes as wide and imploring as they had been several nights before, when he swore he had seen a boy-eating monster beneath the bed they shared. He shook his head slowly, and Kasper sighed. Trust Dieter to be a baby and mess everything up. Well, he stiffened, this was not something he was willing to miss, not even for his little brother.

‘Close your eyes, then. You can’t go outside by yourself.’

The Jew-monkey lifted its arms and began to clap. Behind him, the crowd roared their approval. Rudi, especially, was enjoying the show. His eyes gleamed hungrily as he watched the spectacle. ‘Look! Kasp, look! Another one!’ Indeed, a second monkey had stumbled out to join the first. She was shorter and squatter - uglier, by far - than the monkey in the cap. She, too, clapped her hands, and on her head she wore a flowing, white veil like the one he had seen on his mother’s friend, Heike Schmitz, on the day she was married to the grocer’s son, Alfons.

He glanced at the Afrikaner, who grinned the same wide, white-toothed grin that contrasted so greatly against the darkness of his skin. ‘My friends!’ he boomed, sweeping his arms out as though to embrace the crowd. ‘My friends, Schmuel and Ruth would like to invite you all to witness a most joyous celebration. For, you see, today is the day they are to be married!’

It was nearly impossible to be heard above the din of the audience. With Dieter’s face burrowed into his stomach, his arms wrapped protectively round the boy’s thin shoulders, Kasper watched Schmuel the monkey and his mate dance into the centre of the stage. A handful of Slavic-looking men with curls glued to their temples and the same, disc-like caps propped atop their dark heads strut out and erected a white awning crowned with ivy. The monkeys danced; a chalet of wine was passed from one to the other, and the band struck up a lively, Eastern sort of tune from behind the curtain. Almost without thinking, Kasper found himself looking for Paskal. His older brother was one of the only in the room who did not laugh. This surprised him, for Paskal, of all the Haupt boys, was the first to smile at any joke.

The older boy stared on in stony silence as the two monkeys screeched their way through the ersatz ceremony. Why wasn’t he laughing like all the rest? Kasper thought the show was hilarious. Monkeys dressed as Jews! He could hardly wait to tell Johan about it, when they returned to school. In fact, the entire dormitory would probably enjoy the story, and Kasper would bask in the attention he so rarely received in Johan’s rather expansive, loud shadow. Giggling, he turned back just in time to catch a glimpse of Schmuel and his new wife locked in a sloppy kiss. The Afrikaner laughed, and Kasper laughed, and the entire crowd, taken in by the performance, rippled with titters and applause.

‘C’mon, Kasp.’

Paskal’s harsh whisper was, at first, difficult to discern above the raucous clapping and the pair of dingy factory workers that bellowed from just behind his left ear.

‘I said, come on, Kasper!’ The hand that took him about the arm was rough and hurried and entirely unlike Paskal, who Kasper had always known to be the gentlest and kindest of his brothers. The taller boy took him and Dieter by the collar and dragged them away, to much protest from Rudi, who had been enjoying the show most of all. Kasper opened his mouth to protest; why were they leaving? He had been enjoying the show, and they’d paid fifty Reichspfenning just to get in! Wrenching himself from the hand at his neck, he made to march back in, but was stopped by the dour-looking doorman.

‘No re-entry.’

He swung round, his cheeks flushed, eyes blurred from within a pool of angry, hot tears. Willing himself not to cry, Kasper tugged at Paskal’s sleeve. ‘Now look what you’ve done! He gestured furiously at the door, where Rudi was attempting to force his way past the increasingly harassed ticket collector. ‘We’re going to miss the rest of the show! What the hell’d you do that for?’

Infuriatingly, Paskal took him once more by the shoulder and led them away. ‘We’re not discussing it,’ he said at last, when they had rounded the corner and were nearing the tram stop. ‘Mama put me in charge, and I decided we’re going home, so we’re going home. If you want to whinge, you can wait until we get home and see what Papa says about it.’

Kasper opened his mouth to protest. What was wrong with Paskal? The firm edge to his voice was something better-suited to Kurt or Papa, not the kindly, quiet brother that used to sneak into his room and hold him tightly on nights when Papa had been harsher than usual. Ignoring the glare that had hardened Paskal’s blue eyes and the persistent tapping of Dieter’s little hand on his chest, he thrust forward, chin high, grasping wildly for control of his temper against the heat that had quickly spread from his cheeks to clenched fists. ‘You’re just like Papa! Kasper roared in a voice that he did not recognise as his own. Bruno, the angrier, louder side to his normally cool temperament, reared his ugly head. ‘You’re always ruining everything! You don’t even care! Rudi and me wanted to see the show, and you pulled us out, and that’s not fair! It’s not - ’

He was cut short by the rumbling of a lorry several houses away. Unnoticed by Kasper, a small crowd had gathered round the base of a building that looked identical to the one he lived in. A group of uniformed soldiers pushed through, waving rifles and shouting orders to the ten or so onlookers who had come too close. Jamming a woollen cap over his head, Rudi darted off for a closer look. If Rudi was going - Kasper glanced again at his brothers, his grip on Dieter’s hand tightening - he was, too.

Bruno had taken over completely now, forcing more energy into his steps and the fist clenched, vice-like, on Dieter. He sprang away from Paskal’s outstretched arm, his lips bared in a challenging grin. The soldiers burst through the door, earning an approving ‘whoop’ from Rudi. The onlookers had grown to fifteen or so adults and young men who conversed excitedly with one another, while three or so women, hands buried into their aprons, looked on, horrified.

‘What’s going on?’ Kasper heard Paskal demand of a smallish man in a black suit.

The man shrugged, looking quite ill, and said quietly, ‘An arrest. Most likely someone harbouring Jews.’

Their eyes found the open doorway again, where a pair of jackboots had appeared. The first soldier addressed the crowd in the same, booming voice the Afrikaner had used during his show. Holding his gun aloft, he shouted hoarsely, ‘There’s nothing for you to see here! Go home! Nothing to see!’

No one moved. A second figure appeared in the corridor beyond. This soldier did not come out alone, as had his companion. With one arm on his rifle and the other clenched tightly round the arm of a wiry, red-haired youth, he marched towards the parked lorry.

It would be impossible to say who started the cry, for the moment the words ‘Juden raus’ had torn through the air, the mantra was adopted by the majority of the audience. They closed in, despite the warnings of the young soldier on the steps, pointing and shouting and shoving forwards.

‘Juden raus,’ Dieter had tugged away from his loosened grip, his slender, babyish fist thrust into the air in a perfect imitation of Rudi’s. ‘Juden raus!’ he called eagerly, beaming.

Suddenly, the abrupt ending of the monkey show didn’t seem so bad. With his fist in the air and his throat protesting against the rough cries of ‘Juden raus!’ Kasper, too, pushed his way to the front. Loud, angry; the energy was contagious. It was as though a fire had been lit beneath his feet, the sparks flying into his eyes and open mouth, filling him with the sort of jittery, nervous excitement that pulls the heart into the throat and the brain into the clenched fist. The fire was not just in him, but around him. The rest of the crowd were lit by the same spark of energy as he was. They were no longer a crowd of onlookers, but a mob, a single unit marching forwards, fists raised in unison, shouting and furious and red-faced as the ‘criminals’ were led, one-by-one, from the building.

‘Juden raus! Juden raus! Juden raus!’ The words slid over him, coursing through his jittery muscles and wild eyes, spurring him on. This was exciting, like the end of a football match, when the score is even and you are running as though your life depends on it, fuelled by adrenaline and the steady beat of the ball against your shins and feet, towards the wide expanse of the empty goal. It was magic, fiery magic. Drums, and bells, and blood pounding in the ears, and gunshots, and salutes, and all inside a single head, drowning out everything else in the din, in the roar of the imaginary flames. Kasper glanced skywards, towards his fist, and blinked, blinded temporarily by glare of the sun. As though from a great ways away, he could hear, vaguely, his mother’s voice in the back of his head, her words soft and lilting as she read to him in the darkness of his bedroom: ‘the fire comes from the sun. The sun is the mother of fire.’