Chapter Three
623 Words
Chapter ThreeThe newspaper crackled as Noreen folded and tossed it on the kitchen table. The pink light of dawn filtered through the window as she drained the last of her tepid tea. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Setting the cup into the saucer with a faint clink, she turned toward the noise. Moments later Manfred entered the cozy room and dropped into one of the wooden ladder-back chairs.
He pointed to the paper and scowled. “I thought we agreed not to start our day with bad news.”
Patting his arm, she tilted her head. “And a good morning to you, too.”
“Sorry, Mutti.” Fifteen year-old Manfred ran his work-roughened hand through his hair then scratched at the stubble on his cheek. “It was a long night. Conrad suffered from nightmares again. It’s only been in the last couple of hours that he has been sleeping peacefully.”
“The dream where he is at Vati’s funeral?”
“Ja.” He sighed. “Conrad feels things deeply. I don’t know if he will ever get over Vati’s death.”
Noreen rubbed at the floral pattern on the saucer. “There are some days I feel the same way. Your father was the love of my life.”
He leaned over and hugged her. “He was a wonderful father. I wish the doctors had been able to save him, but his lungs were too far gone when we moved here.”
“It was not meant to be.” She pinned a smile on her face. “Enough melancholy. It is Saturday. What are planning to do with your day off from school and work?”
“There is much to be done in the garden if we expect it to provide for us over the winter.”
Noreen squeezed his shoulder. “Listen to you sounding like a man. You must do something fun, something that feeds your soul.”
“Working in the soil does feed my soul.” He grinned. “My belly, too. And that is most important.”
She swatted his arm and rose. Filling the sink with soapy water she began to wash the dishes. “Speaking of your belly, there are pancakes warming in the oven. Help yourself.”
“Thank you, Mutti. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Make your own breakfast, I suppose.”
Manfred snorted a laugh and retrieved the food from the oven before returning to his chair. He forked one of the pancakes onto his plate then sprinkled it with sugar and squeezed a lemon over the crepe-like delicacy before rolling it up. He opened the newspaper and dropped his fork with a clatter. “It’s as we feared. Hitler has been named Chancellor. We’re in for it now.”
Noreen shrugged. “We can’t be sure of that. Hitler has done some good things for Germany.”
“He has visions of greatness.” Manfred shook his head. “He is wily, and he has a mighty ego-a dangerous combination. You mark my words. There will be a war before he is finished.”
She whirled and glared at her son. “How can you say that? What do you know of war?”
“I know it killed my father.” His face darkened. “Not with a bullet, but it killed him all the same. And I hear men talking. On the bus. In the grocer’s.”
“What do they say?”
“That Hitler won’t stop until Germany regains the respect of Europe.” He poked a bite of pancake into his mouth and chewed. After swallowing, he said, “Have you read his book Mein Kampf? My Struggle.”
“I know what it means. I can speak the language.” She frowned. “Not as well as you and Conrad, but I get by.”
“So? Have you read it?”
“I see no reason to.”
“Too many people would agree with you.” Manfred stabbed at the pancake on his plate. “But when this is all over, more people will wish they had read it. I, for one, think it’s a harbinger of what’s to come.”
Berlin, Germany 1936
- Writer
