Chapters (61)
I was at Adele’s apartment one morning in early September. Gisela, now eighteen months old, was stumbling clumsily around the courtyard, one of the young rabbits following her like a puppy. I had the wireless on for background noise, but I wasn’t really listening until a sudden flare of trumpets and drums sounded. The Reichstag had been assembled for an extraordinary session and Hitler was about to address the nation. There came a cacophony of noise—shouting and cheers from parliamentarians as the Führer arrived.
Hitler announced that Germany had invaded Poland but only as an act of self-defense. From now on, bombs will be met with bombs. He told the nation to brace itself. This will be a fight until the resolution of the situation.
When the children came home from school, they were abuzz with excitement, although it was clear they had little understanding of what had actually happened. Georg was convinced that Poland had dropped a bomb on Berlin. Laura thought Hitler was at the border, wielding a sword in defense of the Reich. When I went to tuck Georg in, I found him on his knees by the side of the bed, whispering what I thought was a prayer. As I waited by the door, surprised but determined to give him space to pray, I heard the words he was murmuring to a rhythm that suggested he’d said them many times before.
“Führer, my Führer, given me by God. Protect and preserve my life for long. You saved Germany in time of need. I thank you for my daily bread. Be with me for a long time, do not leave me, Führer, my Führer, my faith, my light, Hail to my Führer!”
“Where did you learn that?” I asked, forgetting my plan to give him privacy. Georg climbed up onto his bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin, flashing me a bright grin.
“At the Jungvolk,” he said easily. I kissed his forehead and turned his light out, and then walked briskly into the study to call Jürgen.
It was too much to bear alone—the “prayer” I’d overheard, the conflict with Poland—what it all meant, and what might happen next. I didn’t trust the media anymore, but I had no alternate way to find information. Everything felt completely out of control.
“Hello?” my husband answered gruffly.
The instant I heard his voice, I knew I was going to weep, and I couldn’t do that—he’d ask me why I was so upset, and I couldn’t tell him because we likely had an audience. I hung up the phone and went to bed, muffling the sound of my sobs by pressing my face into my pillow.
35
Lizzie