Dear Bruno,
I hope you are doing all right. I have not heard from you in a while. Last time we spoke, you were worried about moving. How have you adjusted to life there? A lot has changed in the past few months.
My father still has his job as a doctor. My mother does not have her old job as a teacher. She is now a housewife, occupying much of her time by cleaning the house, cooking, knitting, and sometimes socializing with her friends. It is quite different than when she used to work at my school. She has more free time, while it seems like my father is working overtime often. Women are not expected to work here. There are many rules for women, and soon I will be old enough that they will be expected of me. Some such rules are that women are not expected to wear makeup or trousers. They are not allowed to dye or perm their hair. They are only allowed to wear flat shoes. Also, women are being discouraged from being slim because it could cause problems in pregnancy. They are discouraged from smoking, not only because it is linked to pregnancy problems, but because it is not a German idea.
I think the government is being very controlling with these rules, but I can not say anything about what I think. I am only a child to them, with no thoughts of my own. I am just supposed to accept everything that adults say as fact. In school we are taught that there are many different groups of people in the world, and that many are inferior. The Jews especially seem to be terrible. Only, I don't see why. In the middle of class I raised my hand and asked, "What did the Jews ever do wrong?" Everyone stared at me, their mouths hanging open as if to say, 'why would you ask such a question?' I slid down in my seat from shame because I felt so stupid. I still didn't see what was wrong.
From my house I can see the train. More and more people seem to board it every day. I wonder where they are going. Is it possible that they are escaping the war? No, I do not think so. Once I asked my father and he only shook his head with a grimace and whispered, "Those poor people." I decided to leave the subject alone then.
Everyone is growing weary of the war. The soldiers, who looked sharp in their nice new uniforms a few years ago, have become progressively exhausted. They march through the cities, almost resembling zombies with their pale faces, placid expressions, and tired eyes. I too, am sick of it. All the soldiers, all the gunfire, all the cries for help. There are raids in the middle of the night- the ones that wake me up and I must peer out the curtain covering my window to see what on earth is going on. A mother clings to her child as the little girl is torn away from her mother. The father tries to fight the soldiers, but he is no match for them with their steel toed boots and rifles. He is kicked to the ground, coughing in the dust around him. I silently watch through the window with a horrified expression. The family is marched down the street, their wrists held tightly by soldiers. They separate the father and the mother from their children just for the cruelty of it. Their cries and screams haunt me all night. 'What did these people ever to do deserve this?' was all I could think.
I'm sorry to go off onto such a dark topic, Bruno. It's just that this has been what I've been thinking about. I hope the war ends soon. I also hope that you made some friends and are happy in your new home. Write me back as soon as you can!
Your friend,
Eva