It may have taken years, but an epiphany is what I called the moment when I realized there was a way I could offer my peace to the world. I planned to go from school to school, pitching my proposition. About half of the school administrators were interested to hear what I had to say.
"Welcome, Mr. Crane. What is it we can do for you today?" The conversations all started the same. "Please have a seat."
I removed my fedora and reached my good hand out for a handshake before taking a seat on the blue-tweed cushion in front of a gray metal teacher's desk. Certifications and college degrees lined the walls, and filing cabinets stole every free inch of space aside from two chairs and the principal's desk. The area was small and I felt cramped, as I normally did before beginning my spiel.
"My only request is that you hear me out before you make a decision," I said. I found that by asking the administrators to listen, I wouldn't be asked to leave before explaining my true reason for being there.
"Go on," this administrator said. She looked young for her position, but stern at the same time. Mrs. Fox had a habit of checking her watch every thirty seconds, which caused my nerves to flare.
"I am a former Nazi," I began.
Mrs. Fox stood from her chair and pressed her red painted fingertips to the top of her desk. "Please leave my office," she said. Her nostrils flared with anger, but I had to continue speaking.
"I witnessed every act of hate this world has seen. I watched countries crumble in suit. I was bred to a monster, but inside, I wanted to save every innocent person. I came here, and I have visited many other schools to teach about the repercussions of hate crimes."
"Mr. Crane," Mrs. Fox tried to interrupt.
"I am not here to condone my life as a Nazi, but to teach of the way life once was, with the hope that this world never sees another era as such. I believe in the good of humanity, and I never hurt a soul. In fact, I was imprisoned for helping two Jewish people escape. That is what I'm most proud of."
"Mr. Crane, please allow me to speak," she said, still staring down at me with a scowl screwed into her lips.
"Very well," I responded.
"This world has seen a very ugly time, and though I was taken aback by your initial comment, I respect your desire to make things right in the world. Our children must know the truth of what war causes, so that they can grow up and make better decisions."
"Precisely, ma'am."
Mrs. Fox sat back down in her chair and drew her finger down a straight line on her desk calendar. "How does next Tuesday at ten a.m. sound? I can have the school assembled in the cafeteria where you can give your presentation."
"That will work perfectly, Mrs. Fox."
"Mr. Crane," she spoke firmly. "Please know we cannot offer you any form of compensation for your time."
I placed my hand over my heart. "I have never conducted my presentations in exchange for anything more than time, Mrs. Fox."
"We will have a police officer present," she added. That was a typical response. In their heart, the educators knew it was a good lesson to teach. However, I was still known as a former Nazi, and they needed to keep their pupils safe.
"Of course. I do understand."
I was escorted out of the school with sidelong glances from faculty in the hallways. I didn't have a familiar face, but they couldn't have known my background. I had spent years assuming people could take one look at me and see what I had done, or what I was a part of for so long. In truth, all anyone saw was a man with fear etched into his face in the form of aging lines and sad eyes.
Though the looks I received made me want to crawl into a hole as if no time had passed, I managed to keep my chin up, knowing I was doing something of good nature.
I tried my best to allow the positive thoughts to drown out the bad, and typically by the time I made my long walk back to my apartment after one of those meetings, I had convinced myself that acts of kindness would lead to better in the world.
Not that day, though.
I made my way up the five flights of stairs to my small apartment. As I slid the key into the lock, I heard the chiming of my phone echoing between the walls inside. The only people to phone me were Claude, Juliette, Mama, or the art gallery if someone called out sick.
I struggled to make my way inside, pushing through the stickiness of my door, nearly tripping on the area rug set in front of the circular table where I kept my phone.
"This is Charlie," I answered.
"This is an international collect call from Kinder Hospital in Munich. Do you accept these charges?"
Mama. "Yes, of course. Please connect the call."
It felt like an eternity had passed when I heard Mama's voice wheeze into the phone. "Charlie, are you there, my sohn?"
