I shook my head, feeling a wave of nausea surface. "I want to run away," I told him.
"You know we can't leave, Charlie. There is only one option, and it's to look forward. We are training for protection. Someday, we'll appreciate what we are becoming, you know this, ja?"
There wasn't a day I wanted to be in training for whatever reason our country was in preparation mode. I understood very little because nothing made sense. I was digesting what I was supposed to acknowledge, but I didn't want to believe half of what I was learning. I don't know if I was alone, thinking this way, or if all boys around my age had gotten good at hiding their feelings. It was clear that some of the boys seemed to have taken a liking to their studies and training. They had a different look in their eye, in a competitive sense. Sven, for one, had wanted to knock me out. I could see the desire growing as he stared me down. We were being built to hate, and it was getting the best of many.
"Come on, Charlie. Let's go get changed and ready for our next class." Claude continued to follow the advice he had given me. We were to look forward and not back on what we once had.
It seemed impossible.
Chapter 8
Current Day
"There was a school to build Nazis …" Emma stated, but also questioned. "I have wondered how and why so many people came to hate the Jews in such a short period. It hasn’t always made sense or added up for me, but this clarifies a lot."
Emma’s eyes haven’t blinked in some time. She seems shocked and taken aback by my story, and I wonder if this changes her initial opinion about me. She seemed happy to meet me at first, but I’m familiar with the way people truly see me once they find out what I have done. "Some of the men I grew up with whole-heartedly believed the lies we were taught," I tell her. "The 1930s were a dark time in history, darling."
Emma stands up from the cafeteria table and collects my empty bowl and coffee cup. "I’ll be right back. I’m just going to toss this in the trash."
"Thank you," I tell her. I believe she needs a moment to breathe and digest my words.
Emma walks toward the garbage can almost as if in a trance. I don’t share my stories often anymore, mostly due to these types of reactions. It isn’t that I can’t handle the response—because I feel like it is my obligation to teach about hate crimes to prevent the act, but at the same time, I feel as though I’m stealing a person’s innocence when I offer the truth.
When Emma returns, I can see the questions igniting within her bright young eyes. "So, if you were trained to hate Jews—my kind—why did you choose my grandmother to love? Of all the people in the world?" Emma asks, scratching the back of her head.
Emma isn’t looking at me in the eyes anymore. I’m afraid my story has already offended her, and like so many others, I will have to prove my innocence in whatever way I can.
"The day I met your grandmother was one of the worst days of my life," I begin, knowing how my words might sound to Emma. "If I had the chance to meet your grandmother in any other way than how I did, I would die for that opportunity."
Emma brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and then wraps her arm around her opposite shoulder. She’s uncomfortable. "I think I remember reading about that day," Emma says.
I almost forgot Emma read Amelia’s journal. However, I don’t know what she wrote in that journal. In fact, if she were to give me the opportunity, I’m not sure I am strong enough to read what she might have written about me. "It was the day your great-grandmother was killed," I say, speaking softly and less clearly than I had been.
Emma pauses for a beat and clasps her fingers together in front of her waist. "That’s right," she says. "The guilt you felt after watching my great-grandmother get shot was what urged you to help my grandmother, right?"
I can’t argue her question. I want to say our love branched from pure intentions, but my only pursuit was to make sure young Amelia was okay. "Yes," I answer simply.
"What did you do after they shot my great-grandmother in front of their house?" Emma asks. "Did you have a drink with your buddies after? Did you steal goods from their house, or did you squeeze into one of the freight cars on the train with the Jewish prisoners?"
I was not expecting these questions or the anger sprouting from within Emma. She seemed stoic up until now.
"I wasn’t—I couldn’t..." I can’t think of the right words to begin.
"It doesn’t seem like a hard question, Charlie. What did you do after you watched my great-grandmother die on the street?"
"I can explain it to you," I tell her. I just wasn’t sure there was a good way to explain what happened that day.
Emma begins to amble slowly so I can keep up, but it’s obvious she’s done having a sit-down chat. "I’m listening," she says, trying to sound complacent, but the edginess she has suddenly found is loud and clear.
"Even after the crowd carried Amelia away toward her destination, I still hadn’t found a way to make my feet move from their frozen stance outside of your great-grandmother’s house."
Chapter 9
Nineteen Years Old -1942
Terezín, Czechoslovakia
Amelia was heading to the train that would bring her to Theresienstadt, a camp for the Jews to reside. Our raid swept several streets in the surrounding area, resulting in a long line of scared Jewish men and women, waiting to learn more of their next destination.
