Surviving the Fatherland by Annette Oppenlander

Author:Annette Oppenlander
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: true story, WWII, World War II, war children, survival stories, award-winning, biographical, coming of age, love story, German, Germany, Third Reich, Hitler, inspirational, historical, historical fiction, german history, based on a true story, war
Publisher: Annette Oppenlander
Published: 2018-03-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Günter: August-September 1945

August’s sun scorched the ground, oblivious to the fact that many had no homes and cramped together in tiny quarters, few with running water or electricity. The British military occupation had passed an ordinance to create Notwohnungen, miserable leaky apartments to house the thousands of displaced families, or what was left of them.

Though I was happy we had a roof over our heads and that Hans, albeit a new kind of Hans, was safely back, I preferred spending time with Helmut, especially after our near miss with the sugar beet farmer. I’d stolen an old bike from a bombsite and Helmut used his cousin’s from before the war. It was too small and his knees touched the handlebars when he pedaled, but it provided a sense of independence.

Like during the war we spent the days in the woods and sometimes made it to one of the lakes. But the lack of food forced us home most nights. We’d hoped that things would get better now that the bombs had stopped. Instead, things were getting worse. We still had no food, not to mention basic products like toilet paper and light bulbs.

Tonight I was particularly agitated. I’d registered for a new year at my school and not a single classmate could be found.

“Nobody is back?” Helmut sat slumped over on the ground, drawing letters in the dust.

“Yet.” I no longer envisioned Rolf Schlüter with medals, I now saw him dead next to the little fellow, Paul, both of them covered in blood and staring with open eyes. “Maybe they’re in some POW camp like Hans,” I said.

“What are the odds? They’re dissolving all the camps.”

“Or they’re on the way home.” I wanted to add that my own father had not returned, but I didn’t trust myself to speak without my voice shaking.

At night I worried for hours, tossing and turning and imagining life without him. I heard Mother pacing in her bedroom, the floorboards creaking as she walked back and forth. Dark circles ringed her eyes.

It had been bad enough to have him gone during the war, but we’d held on to the belief that he was fighting somewhere. There was no reason for him to stay away now except for one, and the waiting was unbearable. We never talked about that either, Helmut’s father having arrived recently. Sometimes we didn’t speak for hours, each of us deep in thought.

When I returned home after six, I was ravenous. Nobody was home and the stovetop was empty. I’d hoped for some kind of soup or a piece of bread.

I angrily threw shut the empty breadbox when I heard laughter. The chatter of several voices filtered through the boarded-up windows. I headed to the basement from where steps led out to the backyard. I hadn’t heard laughter in a long time, yet here was another burst of merriment clearly audible through the thick walls of the cellar.

A crowd of people mingled on the lawn. I recognized my cousins and uncles, my brothers.

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