The Last Year of the War by Susan Meissner

Author:Susan Meissner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-03-18T16:00:00+00:00

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The following morning, Papa walked back into the heart of the city to register our arrival, receive ration books for our food, and inquire about a job so that he could support his family. Papa was told by the Sturmbannführer—the officer in charge of recording our completed repatriation—that he would be working alongside his uncles making fuses, until his skills as a chemist were needed, and that he should be ready at a moment’s notice to be transferred to Berlin. Papa politely told the officer of his pledge not to serve in the German military and was promptly told there was plenty he could for his country without putting on a uniform. As my father stared at the German major, he was reminded that Uncle Werner had said there were rumors that Hitler had physicists, engineers, and chemists like my father working to construct a bomb so powerful just one of them could flatten an entire city. But Papa couldn’t ponder this for even a second longer because the next moment he was told that Mommi and I were expected to start making fuses at the watch shop, too.

Surprised, Papa fumbled to come up with an excuse as to why I shouldn’t have to do such a thing. Everyone—my parents, Oma, the uncles—had agreed that because of my lack of skill with the German language it would be best for me to continue my studies at home with Oma and Mommi. It was not uncommon in those days for children to be done with formal schooling after eighth grade. But Papa had not even for a moment considered that I would be expected to work in service to the Nazi war machine.

“Both my wife and my daughter?” Papa asked.

The major did not look up from his paperwork. “Ja.”

“But my daughter is not yet sixteen.”

The major looked up, peering at Papa over the rims of his wire spectacles. “You stated here she is finished with school.”

“Yes, but—”

“Then she works.” The Sturmbannführer returned his gaze to the paper on which he was writing.

“My wife and daughter are . . . are in delicate health,” Papa tried next.

“Your documents signed by medical staff at the detainment camp state your wife and daughter are in fine health. They start tomorrow, as do you. That is all, Herr Sontag.”

Papa came home from this errand glum, tossing the ration books onto the kitchen table and slumping into a chair. Several minutes passed before he shared with Mommi and me all that he’d been told. The three of us were alone in the house. Max and Oma were outside with the rabbits.

“Can they really force you to help them make a bomb like that?” Mommi asked, tears in her eyes and a catch in her throat. “Can they force Elise and me to work for them?”

Papa didn’t answer her; he just put up a hand like he couldn’t speak of it anymore, and he stood and walked away. I was starting to realize—Mommi probably was, too—that the Nazis could make us do whatever they pleased.

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