"Nein. I saw him in passing once, but thankfully never met him," I continued.
"Thankfully?" the man followed. "I thought the Germans admired Hitler." The man pinched his cigar, focusing on the unlit end. He paused his statement and reached into his pocket for a match, working diligently to reignite the smoke. I should have taken the opportunity to say goodnight, but I stood there watching him, feeling lazy in my inebriated condition.
I shook my head. "He was a terrible man. He ruined my life, made me see and do things I will never forget—not for as long as I live."
The man snickered as if what I was saying was foolish. "If you never met the man, what could he have made you do?"
My gaze dropped to my shiny leather brown shoes. "I was one of his soldiers, but not by choice."
The man looped his forefinger around the center of his cigar and pulled it out from between his lips. His eyes narrowed, and he stared at me for a long moment. "You were a Nazi?"
"Whatever you want to call it," I told him, deciding the conversation was over. I immediately regretted sharing any information. "Have a good night, fellas."
"Wait, come back," he shouted after me. "I have more questions."
"Take care," I said, opening the front door to the apartment, waiting for the swoosh and clapping sound to tell me the door had closed behind me. I ran up the stairs as fast as my heavy legs could carry me and nearly fell into the apartment, closing myself inside. Neither Claude nor Juliette had come home yet, and I was thankful for the solitude—something I thought I would never want again after being imprisoned for a year.
As I sat with my back against the wall, the room spun in circles. I squeezed my eyes closed, wishing the world would stop encircling me, but it was no use. I felt the same with my eyes open and closed. There was no choice but to crawl to my room, where I peacefully fell asleep on the cold ground beside my bed.
What I learned was that if liquor could allow me to fall asleep on a cold hard ground, it could make me forget about my problems, too.
The sun was quick to rise the next morning, blinding me with its sharp rays. The pain swelled in my head and worked its way through my body.
I hadn't lifted my body from the ground when a knock on my door sounded as great as a blasting cannon. It was my motivation to stand, feeling the heavy weight of my body keeping me in place.
"Charlie?" Claude called out. "You in there, brother?"
"Yeah—" I cleared my throat, "I'm putting some clothes on. Just a minute."
In truth, I was still wearing the same clothes from the night before. I did my best to change in the minute I had, but by the time I told Claude he could open the door, there was a frazzled look upon his face. "Charlie, we have a bit of an issue. Come here."
I followed Claude out of my bedroom and down to the main living area where our large main window took up half of a wall. Claude placed his hand on my back and pointed down toward the street. "Do you see that?"
I could see clearly what Claude was looking at and why he had a disturbed look written across his face. There were at least twenty people with signs that read, "We don't want Nazis. Go home." Beneath the writing was a circled swastika with a slash line.
"How do you think they know about us, Charlie?" Claude asked just before he pulled our taupe curtains closed.
"I have no idea—" The memories from the night before came rushing back, and I remembered how someone might have found out about Claude and me—mostly just me. "When I was coming home last night, there were two men on the front steps. They started talking to me and called out my accent. Question after question led to their assumption that I was a Nazi."
"You didn't tell them though, right?"
I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots. "I told them to think what they want."
"Christ, Charlie. They're going to run us out of our home. I have to go to work in a few hours. How am I supposed to walk through this? We talked about this. We knew we couldn't tell a soul what we had done because this would happen. You just put us all in danger," he shouted.
"If you had just left me to die—"
"No, don't use that every time you screw up, Charlie. Just, don't."
"I'm sorry," I offer. Again, another apology, another day. It seems to be all I had been doing as of late.
"This isn't like you, brother. What made you say what you said to those men?" Claude swung away from the closed window and dropped his hands onto my shoulders. "Look at me, Charlie."
I lifted my gaze, knowing the look on my face would give Claude the answer he was seeking. "I was tired," I lied. More lies. They kept coming, more and more often.
"Did you drink too much last night, Charlie?"
"I had a few drinks. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't the reason I spoke to that man." But, it was.
