Claude wrapped his hand around my arm and yanked me away from the crowd. He hobbled in front of me through his limp and then glanced over his shoulder to offer me his sound advice. "Charlie, you can’t listen to them. No one knows the facts. We have to do as told, and everything will be fine." I couldn’t see how anything would be fine. "Let’s go into town for a snack, ja? Mama gave me some money."
"Okay," I told him. Claude and I walked to town as we had often done, but from Bavaria rather than Belgium where we currently boarded. The village wasn’t a far walk, but it took us a while with the pace Claude moved. He was still in pain but did his best to hide what he was feeling. However, I knew his expressions well.
Just before we made it across the road to the cafe, we noticed a crowd of German soldiers huddled in a circle. "What do you think is going on?" I asked Claude.
Claude stood on his good foot, pressing up to his toes with hopes to see over the heads of the tall soldiers. "There’s smoke," he said.
Claude, in all his curiosity, walked toward the men, jumping up and down on his left foot. I walked around the side in search of a peephole, which I quickly found. "There’s a fire," I told Claude.
Right as I spotted the flames, the crowd of soldiers dispersed into a direction away from us. We were able to see quite clearly now. A rusted metal barrel with flames licking the rim is what we were seeing. Claude and I walked up to the fiery blaze, finding the barrel full of books. The leather-bound covers were burning as the pages curled into the spine, one by one, burning from the outside. Hebrew letters covered the charred pages. The books belonged to the Jewish people, and the German soldiers were burning them all. Why such a disgrace to books?
I kicked the barrel as hard as I could, hoping to knock over the contents. Maybe some of the books could be saved. "Charlie!" Claude shouted. "Nein, Charlie. Nein."
"We must save the books. They are just books, Claude," I argued back.
"Theyarejust books. It isn’t worth finding trouble over, Charlie. Stop." Claude wrenched his hand around my wrist and pulled me with all his might. "Let’s go, now, Charlie. You’re going to get us into trouble."
"Is this who we are to become?" I yelled at Claude as if it was his fault that the books were on fire.
"I don’t know," Claude responded. "But if it is who we are supposed to become, there must be a good reason for it all."
1No
2Leader/Hitler
Chapter 7
Fourteen Years Old - 1937
Belgium, Germany
It wasn't long before our classroom discussions about our pointed hatred for the Jewish people turned into battlegrounds where we were trained to fight and protect our kind from the enemies who wanted us eradicated … or so said our teachers.
"Crane, to the ring," I heard. I was being summoned to fight, to prove my capabilities, maybe even my worth.
Sven was my battling opponent. He was one of the top-ranked students in our school, often chosen to be a teaching assistant in the lower level classes with the younger students. Our paths had crossed many times throughout the previous two years, but not in this type of setting. With round, beady eyes, a rigid nose, and a defined jaw, he stood before me waiting to take me down with one swing. Sven was much more blonde and fairer than I, and he had at least a foot on me. Though Sven was sixteen and I was fourteen, we were still matched up to fight each other.
The superiors said it was for training.
Mama told me fighting was not the answer to anything. "We must not do to others as we wouldn't want done to ourselves," she would say. "Always help, never hurt, Charlie." Her words replayed over and over as I slipped on my boxing gloves. I agree with Mama, and I don't believe in hurting other beings, but the school was teaching the opposite—I was fighting to protect myself. My scrawny fourteen-year-old body stood before Sven with only a pair of oversized maroon boxing gloves to offer protection. I let my hands dangle by my sides. My gloves should have been protecting my face.
Sven narrowed his eyes at me and as we were taught, held his closed fists up. "What's the matter, are you a stupid little Jew?" His words were just words to me. They didn't cause enragement as he likely intended. "This poor boy wants to be a part of the Jewry," Sven continued. He was pointing his fist at me while observing the watchful eyes that circled us. The attention he was encouraging was not necessary, but Sven enjoyed acting as a showman.
I wanted to cry, but not out of fear, just out of pure sadness that life had taken this despairing turn.
Sven's fist made contact with the side of my nose. I was knocked out in less than a second. I didn't defend myself as I should have. A part of me wanted to feel the surface pain more than what I was suffering with inside.
I regretted my decision while enduring the pain that was comparable to being hit by a swinging metal boulder. Within a blink's time, I was flat on my back, trying to tune out the hoots and laughter that surrounded me.
We started school together as boys, and within months, it became clear we were all there to worry about only ourselves.
"Charlie, you need to get up," I heard from above my body. I didn't want to open my eyes. I knew what I would see—the crowd encircling my body, wondering if Sven had killed me. I focused on the grass beneath my flattened palms, the way the soft blades tickled my skin. Some of the grass was touching the backside of my right ear too. It was nice. When I was a small boy, I would run barefoot in the patch of grass we had behind our home. Mama would tell me to protect my feet, but I enjoyed the sensation too much to listen. "Charlie." I heard my name again. I opened my eyes, afraid of staying still any longer.
Claude was the only person in view. "Come on. I'll help you up," he whispered.
Through the thick of the militaristic school and training, we were going through, Claude and I remained friends, just as we had been. Our superiors didn't admire friendships, so we kept a slight distance and were casual when we spoke.
Claude helped me up to my feet, and we moved off to the side and away from the crowd. "Charlie, brother, you have to pull it together. You can't keep taking those kinds of hits from the older boys. You have to train like the rest of us."
