"Are your parents well?"
I drummed my fingers on my lap, staring at a scar on the knuckle of my thumb, losing myself in thought as I recalled how I earned that stripe. I was helping Papa slice bread one day, and the knife slipped from my hand. Blood was everywhere, but I didn't care because Mama hushed away my concerns, while Papa quickly cleaned the wound and wrapped my hand up. They never let me know of fear and pain.
"My papa was infected with influenza a few years ago and passed. My mama is still living in Bavaria," I informed Frau.
"Does she know your whereabouts?”
"Nein. Not yet, Frau."
"We have a telephone, Charlie. Please ring her and let her know you are okay, ja?"
"Of course," I replied, relieved she offered to let me use her phone. I didn't want to be intrusive by asking to make a long-distance phone call.
Frau Joel stood from her chair and retrieved her shiny black rotary phone from the corner of the room and pulled the cord taut so it would reach the tea-table beside my chair. "I will give you some privacy."
Another guest was descending the stairs just as Frau Joel left the sitting room. "Ah, Herr Pierce. I have your breakfast. Are you hungry?"
"Ja. Very much, Frau. Danke," the man asserted.
Frau Joel pulled the sliding door closed, leaving me in the room alone with the phone. I knew the conversation was not going to go well, explaining to Mama that I would not be coming home.
With trembling fingers, I pulled against the digits, allowing an extra lingering second to occur before each spin. Mama didn't tend to sit in the house all day. She would often be delivering clothes and linens to neighbors. Therefore, I was surprised when the phone connected right away.
"Hallo," she answered with a sound of hope as if she was wishing it was me calling.
"Mama," I spoke into the receiver.
"Charlie, sohn." Mama's voice croaked with a raucous sound. "Charlie, are you well?"
"I am well, Mama. I am now free from prison."
A sigh with a hint of a cry stung my ear. "Thank you, God," she uttered. "Where are you, Charlie? When will you be coming home?"
I closed my eyes, wishing away the next moment. "Mama, I'm not ready to come home."
There was a pause, a much longer pause than I hoped. "Well why not, Charlie?"
It was clear at that moment that I was a selfish man after what I had put Mama through, but the thought of returning to Germany made my stomach ache. "I don't want to go back to Germany, Mama. I was going to ask you if you might want to come to me and stay in Switzerland for a while?" The thought hadn't crossed my mind before that moment, but Mama and I could find a place to live here until we could move to America.
"Switzerland?" Mama questioned.
"Ja, Mama. I took a train to Zurich after being released from prison." I'm sure she was wondering why I didn't take a train directly home, but she must understand how much I despise Germany at the moment.
"Charlie, my roots are here. I cannot simply get up and move to another country on a whim."
I understood, but I didn't want her to think I was running away from her. "Maybe just for a holiday?"
"Charlie, listen to me, sohn—this is hard for me to say, but if you don't feel like your home is in Germany, then I want you to find a place that you can call home. I will support your dreams because I feel responsible for stealing every dream you have had up until this point."
"Mama," I lamented. "The war was not your fault."
"No, but I believed in things I shouldn't have, Charlie, and it deeply affected your life."
"I don't hold you responsible, Mama."
"I love you for that, Charlie, but now I want you to go on and live your life. But please, don't forget about me, ja?" I didn't know how she could think I might forget about her.
"Mama, I want to move to the United States someday when I have enough money saved. Will you come with me?"
