Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(31)
Oskar’s mother was a proud woman, and the years of being at the mercy of their circumstances had made her hard. When Hitler became chancellor of Germany in 1933, she was elated: Here, finally, was a man who understood her struggle and the struggle of all true Germans. It was a belief she had passed on to her only son.
“What did the Weimar Republic ever do for us, huh? It would reduce us to beggars and let degenerates run loose in the streets and cabarets,” Oskar said, parroting his mother. He pounded a nail in the kitchen wall and hung a portrait of the Führer on it. After that, Sophie’s parents advised her to be kind to Oskar but also careful.
Sophie tried to be kind, but Oskar could try a saint’s patience. She couldn’t imagine his lips on Hanna’s. She watched him now, outside Hanna’s house, and all she could feel was contempt.
Hanna opened the door. Silhouetted by the soft lamp of the parlor, her form wavered briefly as if she were two people. Oskar stood ramrod straight with his shoulders pinned back like the soldier he desperately wanted to be. It was true he was an excellent shot, but no one wanted to talk about guns where Oskar was concerned. He removed his cap and held it uncertainly in front of him, like a steering wheel. “Good evening, Hanna. You’re looking well. Very … strong. The Führer says it’s good to build strong bodies!”
Even in the dark, Sophie knew he was blushing just from the mention of bodies. How could you kiss him, Hanna?
“What do you want, Oskar?” Hanna sounded irritated, which made Sophie happy.
“I-I’ve come to see Karl.”
Karl helped Oskar with his reading. But Sophie wasn’t supposed to know that. Hanna had told her once during a picnic beneath the oak. Back when they shared secrets all the time instead of holding on to them for three months.
“He’s inside.”
“Oh. I see. Good.” Oskar made no move toward the door. “I-I was wondering, Hanna, if maybe you’d like to take a walk sometime. Down by the lake. Like before.”
Hanna looked up toward Sophie’s window and made eye contact.
“You should go in. Karl is waiting,” Hanna said abruptly. She added a smile that oozed insincerity. “I promised Sophie we’d knit together after supper.”
* * *
Sophie and Hanna sat with their knitting in the parlor—Sophie’s stitches tight and strong, Hanna’s a mess of loopy yarn—while Sophie’s parents listened to the approved German radio. A man was talking about the Jews and why they were the root of Germany’s problem. Sophie’s father turned off the radio in disgust.
“Erich.” Sophie’s mother cut her eyes toward Hanna.
Sophie’s father picked up the book in his lap, then put it down again. He appraised Hanna. “You are a true believer, Hanna?”
Sophie tensed, her eyes on her needles. Hanna’s father was a solid member of the local Nazi party. Her parents had insisted that their children belong to the Hitler Youth and the German Girls League well before it was required, though Hanna’s mother often complained that the League activities took Hanna away from her chores far too much.
“God bless the League of German Girls,” Hanna would say, grinning, as she pushed out her door, away from the sink of dishes to be washed.
“Fr?ulein Volker says that the Führer is making Germany great again. And my parents say that some people only want to be taken care of. They are not true Germans. True Germans, Aryans, are hard workers,” Hanna answered.
“What about Herr Kirschbaum, the butcher? Do you remember him?”
Herr Kirschbaum had been a jolly man who always asked after his customers as if they were family and who once had added extra sausage to an order after Sophie’s little brother had died.
“Was he not a hard worker? Wasn’t he in his shop from early in the morning until six o’clock each evening except his sabbath?”
“He was different,” Hanna said, repeating the flimsy argument Sophie knew Hanna had been told by her parents. “You don’t believe in the Führer’s vision for Germany, Herr Muller?”
Again, Frau Muller cut her husband a look above her knitting. “We should talk of something else.”
“I serve God’s plan,” Mr. Muller said, undaunted. “I find that God and Hitler do not have the same one.”
“Mama, Papa, may Hanna and I go for a walk? I think the fresh air would do us good,” Sophie said quickly.
* * *
“Your father should be more careful, Sophie,” Hanna said as they walked through town. Lamps warmed the cobblestones in amber. A frail moon laced the bronzed head of Baron Wilhelm. “People talk. He could be labeled a traitor.”
“But everyone knows my father! He’s lived here his whole life. We’re not traitors.”
“Still. He should be careful. You should be careful. Come with me to the rally! That will show them.”
There was to be a Nazi rally in Hamburg. Chapters of the League of Girls and Hitler Youth from all across Germany would be attending. The girls had been talking about it for weeks. “I hear our tents will be very close to the boys’ camp,” Klara had informed everyone with smug confidence.
“My parents won’t allow it,” Sophie said to Hanna.
“You can go without their permission. If you’re serving the Reich, they have no say. Look, you don’t have to believe everything they tell us. I don’t listen to half of it. Politics bores me,” Hanna cajoled. “But we would have so much fun, Sophie! Think of it: Hamburg! A trip out of this place for once!”