فصل 46

florian

Dawn became day and soon became afternoon. We traveled faster knowing evacuation was permitted.

The road clogged as we neared Frauenburg. Up on a hill sat a redbrick cathedral. As we approached, so did a frenzy of activity and a number of German soldiers.

I shifted my pack. Another test. I would have to register at the checkpoint without raising suspicion. My father’s words hung heavy on my conscience:

“Don’t you see? Lange doesn’t want to train you—he wants to use you, Florian.”

“You don’t understand,” I had argued. “He’s saving the treasures of the world.”

“Saving them? Is that what you call it? Is that how easily he’s duped you? This greedy imposter fills your head with rubbish and you become a traitor?”

“I am not dishonoring Germany. Just the opposite.”

“No, son,” pleaded my father. “Not a traitor to your country. Much worse. A traitor to your soul.”

A traitor to your soul. Those were the last words my father said to me. Not because he was finished, but because I stormed out of the house and refused to listen. When I returned months later, panicked and in need of his counsel, it was too late.

So now I risked everything, confronting fate and the knowledge that I had authored my own demise. But only if I failed.

A young German soldier stopped our group. I pretended to be on my own and continued walking. The Polish girl tried to scramble out of the cart after me.

“Halt!”

I stopped.

The soldier marched toward me. “You. Papers.”

A muscle tremored just below my ear. I slowly unbuttoned my coat and withdrew my identity card from the pocket. He grabbed it. I moved close to him and discreetly displayed the folded paper. He snapped it out of my hand, impatient. I turned slightly. The eyes of our group were upon me, closely watching the interaction.

The soldier scanned the papers. He handed them back to me, quickly snapped his heels together, and saluted. “Heil Hitler!”

Relief flooded my every pore. I returned the salute. “Heil Hitler!”

The soldier caught sight of my shirt through my open coat. “Are you injured, Herr Beck?”

“I’m fine. But I have to keep moving.”

“Are you traveling with this group?” he asked, looking over our ragged assembly. From the corner of my eye, I saw a dot of pink wool slide behind the front wheel of the cart.

The shoe poet stared at my boot. The wandering boy smiled and gave me a salute.

“Are they with you?” the soldier asked again. His gaze traveled back and landed on the nurse. His eyes widened.

“She—”

My words were clipped by shrieks amidst the crowd. The searing buzz of aircraft echoed from above.

“Off the road!” yelled the soldier.

A cluster of human beings behind us exploded with a bomb.