Chapter 7: Fear

In the year 1941, the war had been raging for 2 years, and Germany seemed like an unstoppable force. We were fighting to regain the power we had lost during the Great War, but I didn't know where I stood amongst the chaos. I was the daughter of a high-ranking officer, everyone in town knew who Arnold Schmitt was. Men praised my father for being ruthless, and most people trembled in his presence. He was a force to be reckoned with to the outside world, but the few times mother allowed him to come visit me, he didn't look like the ruthless killer that the world saw him as. He looked tired and broken, but that didn't change my anger toward him. He was no longer human in my eyes; he was a monster that Hitler had created to carry out his plan of mass destruction. Where did I stand in all of it? I wasn't a Jew. I was a blond-haired, blue-eyed Aryan dream who matched the Hitler youth ideal perfectly. I was young and slender, smart, and capable, and I hated every aspect of who I was. I hated that I fit so perfectly within the mold I was supposed to have come from. I felt as though I was just as guilty as the rest just by being who I was, looking the way I did, coming from a Nazi home.

My father rarely came around, and when he did, it was only for social gatherings he was required to attend. He made my mother attend to make the rest of the town believe that we were a happy little Nazi family. When my father did come around, I hardly saw him. He and my mother usually ended the evening with a fight, but it never lasted too long and always descended into deafening silence.

My mother and I lived in a constant, suspended state, not knowing where we fit in anymore. Were we a Nazi family? Were we Jewish sympathizers? Or were we both?

It left us in a state of silence with each other, both too afraid to speak about how we felt or what we wanted to do to escape our purgatory. All around us, sons were turning on mothers, friends on friends, husbands on wives, and vice versa. Nothing anyone said was to be trusted, no matter how close the relationship.

I knew my mother's fury at my father was genuine, but I also knew she still ached for him. I had heard her crying herself to sleep at night. I knew there were moments when my father would call, and she would still smile just to listen to his voice until the memories would strike like a bomb, and the hurt and devastation would return, and her smile would vanish. I understood her hurt, for he had been my hero in everything. To have that change so drastically seemed unnatural, as though every fiber of me was saying I was missing some piece of the puzzle. Then I would remember Mr. Becker, I would hear my father's excuses in my head once again, and I realized that the missing puzzle piece didn't exist anymore. I did not want to believe it, but my father had, with every ounce of himself, trusted a lie. A lie so big he would turn and kill, not caring who you were to him. My mother felt that betrayal worse than I ever could have. My father had always been her partner, the love of her life. As hurt as I was, I don't think I could have ever understood the feeling of watching the person you love and trust the most, betray everything you ever thought you knew about who they were.

I would never have turned against my mother if she had said something against the SS or the Nazi party, and I never questioned her loyalty to me. Nevertheless, we couldn't be too careful, and so we lived in silence. Greeting each other in the morning and in the evening, talking about the superficial things about our day and then separating into our separate corners of the house.

As the war raged, the Jews began to vanish. It was almost as though they were never there, and those I was used to seeing nearly every day were gone. The town knew where they were, we all knew what was happening, but the same thought was on everyone's minds: "What am I supposed to do about it?" As a town, we didn't talk about it, although it was the only thing any of us could think about, we simply did not mention it. It felt like we were standing in the middle of a snowstorm with no shelter and no way of escape. All the while, pretending as though it wasn't happening. As time drifted onward, I realized that I was equally as guilty. I knew what was happening around me, I knew where the Jews were going, but even I couldn't help but wonder what I could possibly do. It seemed like a reasonable question, I was 17 and the daughter of a feared SS officer, what exactly could I do? Even if I had the chance to do anything at all, would I do anything? It was easy to be angry about the war, to be furious at knowing the innocent were being slaughtered. I wondered if I would even be capable of doing anything if I was to be given a chance.

John and I heard stories of families who hid Jews and then were all executed in front of their friends and neighbors. We even heard that some young kids were being paid to keep an eye out for anyone who may seem to be hiding Jews. The SS would raid homes in the middle of the night if they suspected anything, and rarely did they turn up empty-handed. Some nights I could hear the thunder of gunshots in the distance, the screams that would quickly follow, and then the sirens that would drown out the rest of the chaos. Those who tried to save Jews died, those who wanted to save anyone the SS wanted dead, also died. No one moved a muscle without the permission of the Gestapo, even the families of those within the government like my family was. Eyes followed us wherever we went, mother and I knew that father had people watching us.

Anne and her family had gone into hiding quickly once the war had gone into full effect. As far as I knew, Anne went underground someplace, but I honestly didn't know what happened to her and her family. I had kissed her on the cheek goodbye one evening and then she became a ghost. Anne wasn't able to tell me where she would be hiding for my own safety and for hers. She had been gone for nearly a year and a half, and I hoped every single day that she was safe. A part of me wondered if she was dead, and if so, I envied her. Guilt for merely having the thought overcame me, but it often felt as though there were two options, join, or die. My father had made his choice, and I seemed to be walking the line between the two. No one stayed on the track for long, and I could feel myself losing my balance.

I sat in class one day, not paying attending to the teacher, I studied my classmates who at that point had all begun to blend together into one blond blur. John's dark hair was the only thing that stood out and always caught my eye. I was tired, always tired. Sleep was difficult, but it was all I wanted to do, it felt as though the moment Mr. Becker died, being awake didn't quite seem worth the effort.

"Miss Schmidt, are we boring you?" Mrs. Schneider said, slamming her ruler on my desk. The class jumped in response to the loud sound, but I simply looked up into the big brown eyes of Mrs. Schneider and smiled.

"Indeed, perhaps you should consider teaching me something worthy of my time," I said with a challenging tone. The class began to whisper and laugh, I caught John eyeing me with a cautious gaze. Mrs. Schneider glared intensely down on me, seemingly wishing her gaze would be enough to set me straight, but I sat unmoved.

"Perhaps your father would care to know that his daughter is failing my class," She said, looking quite proud of her response.

I chuckled, "Oh yes, do call my father. I am sure he would love to come all the way back here just to hear that I am failing your pointless class." I stood, "Perhaps, I will call him myself." I gathered my books into my arms and walked passed her and out the door. Students stared at me with confusion, and I simply glared into their direction.

I walked out the door and into the heat of the afternoon, it felt nice on my face. The air was cool, but the sun was high and hot and warmed my face. I didn't know why I had done what I did: I didn't understand a lot of what was happening within me. School just seemed so useless amid such chaos, and I couldn't sit down anymore.

"Beth, wait!" I heard John call after me, and I turned and saw him with his bag slung over his shoulder, and I stopped.

"You should stay," I replied, feeling distant and removed from even him.

"What just happened?" John asked, taking my arm gently and looking at me with such concern that guilt suddenly washed over me.

"I just...I can't sit and wait till everything is gone," I began to walk but didn't know exactly where I was going.

"Beth, stop," John said, trying to keep up.

"You should go back," I said, aimlessly walking in full stride.

"Stop!" John grabbed my hand, lurching me backward, almost causing me to fall. "I understand, okay? You are not alone in your frustration. But drawing attention to yourself like that is not the answer."

"Then what is?" I sighed.

John rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment and then seemed to scan the area around us. "There isn't a good answer to that."

I began to walk again, ignoring John's groan of frustration. "I have to do something, John, I have to do anything," I said, realizing I didn't quite know what that meant.

"Beth, please listen to me--" suddenly, we both heard gunshots echo through the air, birds scattered into the sky, and John and I stopped speaking or moving. Another shot rang out, and John and I walked toward the sound. When we turned the corner near the school, an armed SS truck sat outside a nearby home, just like they had done for Mr. Becker. A group of onlookers gathered around the truck, unable to avert their gaze. Some cried, some simply watched as though watching a street performance take place. John and I ran towards the crowd and quickly saw a family on their hands and knees on the sidewalk outside the building. SS soldiers kept the crowd at a safe distance from the scene as one of the soldiers paced back and forth for a moment. I quickly noticed that one of the people lay already dead and bleeding next to the rest of the family. She was an old woman dressed in plain clothes, her glasses were shattered next to her.

"Let it be known," The solider that paced spoke loudly, "This family were hiding Jews." The crowd gasped, and John and I looked at one another for a moment. "They took the law into their own hands, and therefore have forced the law to hold them accountable."

The family sat with their hands behind their heads and their faces low to the ground. Besides the woman who was already dead, was a middle-aged man and a younger woman along with two young girls about my age. The two girls wore the gold stars on their coats, and I realized that they all had the stars of David sewn except for the elderly woman that lay next to them. I wondered if she had acted alone or had been assisted by someone.

"These swine thought they could resist the hand of the Führer, well, they are sorely mistaken. I will now demonstrate what happens to those who dare defy the Führer, and put on clear display what the power of Germany looks like." The officer then went down the line of people and put a single bullet in the head of each member of the family that knelt before him.

A few gasped, and one woman broke into tears. I wasn't sure if she was weeping for the lives that were lost, or the pure shock of watching someone get killed right before her eyes. John gripped my arm tightly, trying to pull me away from the scene that lay before us, but I stood still, watching intently, unmoved. As the people around me began to scatter, I simply stood and watched as they tossed each body into the back of the truck as though they were sacks of flour. I heard people murmuring amongst themselves, but it blended in with the rest of the noise. Soon only John and I stood watching as the truck drove away as though nothing of importance had just taken place.

"Beth, come on," John whispered to me, gently tugging at my hand.

I just stared at the bloodstains that were splattered on the wall. I focused in on the blood as it dripped off the side of the walkway. I didn't cry. I had jumped at the gunshots and had closed my eyes, but I never turned my head or covered my ears. I wanted to feel the impact of the lives being taken before me. Everyone deserves to have their lives acknowledged, especially in their final moments. I spun around and pushed passed John, walking with a newly discovered fire that had been growing in me since Mr. Becker's death.

"Beth, wait!" John called after me and raced to grab my wrist. He spun me toward him and wrapped me into a hug. My body remained tense, but after a moment, I relaxed into his embrace and wrapped my arms around him. I was angry. I was so angry, I was afraid I was beginning to release my ferocity onto him. He didn't deserve it, but he was on the front lines of my mental war. "You are not alone in this," John said softly.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, "I know." We began to slowly walk away from the scene. "I have to move quickly. I have to plan and make sure it's smart," I said suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" John asked, looking concerned.

"I cannot continue to be blind to the violence any longer. I must help. I need to make a plan," I replied, trying to work out something tangible in my mind.

"Beth?" John asked.

"Hmmm?" I mumbled, hardly paying attention.

"Beth!" John shouted, trying to bring my mind back to reality.

"What?" I snapped, and then sighed, taking a breath, "I'm sorry, what?"

John looked me in the eyes and had both his hands on my shoulders "Are you okay?" He asked plainly.

I wasn't, but it was a question I hadn't allowed myself to ask. I was not okay, and I wasn't sure I ever would be again. But I needed to be okay right now. Just for a little while longer, I had to be okay. "Yes," I replied, "I'm okay."

John looked at me for a long moment, his eyes seemed to be searching for something in me. I looked back, trying to understand the thoughts that were obviously swarming in his mind. He groaned loudly and began to fidget nervously. I was starting to believe that we had both begun to lose our minds. If we both went mad, I wasn't sure either of us would make it out alive.

"What?" I asked after the silence began to strangle me. John gripped my hand tightly, and I could feel his pulse. He was clearly trying to figure out what his next move was, but I couldn't handle the frantic silence. "John!"

He sighed, "Beth, do you trust me?" He asked.

"Of course," I replied matter-of-factly.

He took my hands in his and kissed them, "Meet me in the square tonight at 10." His voice was just a whisper, and he moved close so he could speak almost directly into my ear.

"What about the curfew?" I asked, matching his volume and eyeing the area around us.

"If the Gestapo stops you, tell them who you are. Do not run or panic, hopefully, one of them will recognize your name and will know who you are. Go with them if they ask, I will find you, okay?" John said intensely.

"What do you mean, 'take me'?" I asked, eyeing him cautiously.

"They won't hurt you, Beth. They will only take you home, and you need to not fight them. Just go and don't struggle; your father is important, you should be safe." John insisted.

"What about you?" I asked, feeling his pulse quicken under his skin.

"Don't worry about me," John replied, "Never worry about me. I will always find you just stay safe." He kissed me on the cheek and walked me down the street and around the corner in silence. When we reached my street, John hesitated, then leaned down and kissed me gently and whispered, "I love you," and then spun around and walked in the opposite direction without waiting for my response.