In the Burgermeister's House

Ilsa Hermann's face was a mask of surprise and concern when she opened the door to Liesel's knock. The girl stood on the porch, holding tightly to the hand of a shabby, gaunt man.

"Liesel! I was getting worried. It's so late."

"Frau Hermann... this is Max Vandenburg."

For a moment, the Mayor's wife looked blank, then realization flooded her."Oh Liesel...!"

"Might he – might he come in for a bit?"

The woman looked swiftly over her shoulder. "Yes... for a bit. My husband is away. Come in."

Reluctantly, Max allowed himself to be led inside. He stood in the warmth and the splendor and stared at it. Liesel kept her hold on his hand. Ilsa Hermann seemed both nervous and curious.

"May I – may I get you a cup of tea, Herr Vandenburg?"

"Don't bother, please."

"It's no bother," The bereaved mother's eyes swept the young man's wasted frame. "Perhaps some sandwiches or cookies too. Why don't you show him to the parlor, Liesel?" Frau Hermann disappeared.

Max surveyed the beautiful house. "So this is where you've been living?" There was an odd note in his voice.

"Since Mama and Papa died."

"This is the house with the amazing library, isn't it?"

"Yes, Max."

The shadow, which had darkened his eyes in Alex Steiner's shop earlier, fell over him again. This time Liesel caught a glimpse of it. She was not sure what it was, but it saddened her. As quickly as it had descended though, Max brushed it away. He smiled at Liesel. "I'm glad you've been so well cared for."

"The Hermanns have been very kind to me," Liesel said dutifully. She led him to the parlor.

Ilsa Hermann returned with a tray of tea, sandwiches and cookies. She invited Max to sit down. He did so, looking more uncomfortable by the minute. His worn clothes were a stark contrast to the finery around him. He seemed to struggle with remembering the finer details of manners. It was pitiful to see him trying not to wolf the dainty sugar cookies and finger sandwiches. He endeavored to slowly sip his tea, to make polite small talk while the ghosts of starvation and torture stared out of his eyes. Liesel sensed his discomfort and positioned herself protectively at his side. She held his hand and stroked it when he was not drinking tea, and when he was, she kept her own hand on his back or his knee, patting him, silently reassuring him.

Ilsa Hermann could not help but notice the girl's attentiveness. Her eyes never left his face. Every tic of her body language bespoke devotion and protectiveness. Ilsa's conclusion: Max Vandenburg might not look like much, but clearly he was a person of incredible worth to her young charge.

As the visit progressed, Max's awkwardness became more pronounced. His gaunt hand shook every time it lifted the tea cup. Frau Hermann saw this and set aside her own reticence in an effort to make him feel comfortable. She asked him kind questions: did he have any friends or family nearby? Did he have any work? Where was he staying?

The subject of Dachau was not broached. Max answered some of her questions without hesitation. He had no friends except Liesel. He did not know where his family was or if they were even alive. He hoped to find work soon.

He skirted around the question of where he was staying until Liesel asked him point blank if he had a place to sleep that night. To her horror, he admitted that he didn't.

Frau Hermann shook her fluffy head. "And what do you plan to do young man? Sleep on the street?"

"I've slept worse," murmured Max.

"Oh Max!" Liesel was near tears.

Frau Hermann stood up. "No one who has eaten with me under my roof will spend the night out of doors," she said firmly. "I'll get the sheets for the guest bedroom."

"Please, don't," murmured the Jew.

"If you sleep on the street tonight, I will sleep there with you!" cried Liesel. "You'll have to chain me up to stop me!"

Max knew that she meant it and he did not argue. Besides he was fast caving to the thought of a warm bed and decent shelter. Unheard of luxuries.

"Why didn't you tell me you had no place to stay?" Liesel demanded.

"I didn't want to impose."

She went to him and put her arms around him. "You could die out there," she whispered. "Where would I be then? Oh Max, where would I be?"

He kissed her forehead. "I'll sleep here tonight, you don't have to worry."

Ilsa returned. "I will show you the lavatory while Liesel gets your bed ready. I daresay you might want a bath."

Max's eyes blazed in spite of himself. A bath. Hot water. Soap. Privacy. More luxuries.

"Thank you, Frau Hermann."

An hour later, Max Vandenburg emerged from the steaming lavatory, his feathery hair wet, his face clean-shaven. He looked almost dazed by the comfort and kindness around him. Ilsa showed him to his room. She had laid a pair of old pajamas on the bed.

"They once belonged to my husband," she said. "But he has gotten too fat for them." Her eyes again scanned his emaciated frame. "I think they will fit you."

"Thank you Frau Hermann."

The wife of the Nazi sympathizer was not so bad.

"Goodnight then, Herr Vandenburg. Liesel, don't stay up too late. You have school in the morning."

"Yes ma'am."

Ilsa departed.

Liesel lingered behind. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Liesel, it's more wonderful than you can ever imagine."

She smiled, but still lingered, unable to tear herself away from his presence. "If you – if you need anything, I'm just down the hall. Don't hesitate to wake me."

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him goodnight, and suddenly found herself enveloped in his arms. "Stay with me," he pleaded. "Just for a while."

She almost collapsed with relief. "I'll stay as long as you want."

He led her to the bed. They lay down on it and leaned back against the fluffy, feather pillows. Ilsa had lit a fire in the little grate. It's cozy, yellow light played around the room and tucked autumnal aromas into the corners. Max closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "I've forgotten what it's like to be warm."

Liesel took his hand in both of hers and caressed it. "I'm going to take care of you," she whispered. "I'm going to make sure you get strong and healthy. And don't you even suggest sleeping on the street again."

Max smiled sadly. He shifted to face her. Gingerly, he reached out and stroked Liesel's cheek with his thumb. "Am I dreaming you?" he murmured. "For two years, I've known nothing but hunger and cold and hatred. Tonight, I suddenly find myself snug and warm with my little Standover Girl, and she's swearing to take care of me. I must be dreaming."

Liesel's eyes stung with tears. She kissed his hand. "You're not dreaming, Max. You're safe now. If there's any way I can keep you from ever being cold or hungry again, I'll do it."

She scooted close to him and laid her head on his chest. His arms came around her and he gathered her in close, kissing her hair. She closed her eyes, savoring the warm, breathing aliveness of him. She could feel all the sharp angles of his body. Peace flooded her. Her tears overflowed as a powerful sensation of homecoming overwhelmed her.

"I love you," she whispered.

She had not said it enough to Papa. She had never said it to Mama. She would live with the regret of having never said it to Rudy until the day she died. She would never be miserly with those words again. "I love you, Max."

"I love you too, Liesel." His words were tremulous with tears.

After that, there could be no leaving. The warmth, the companionship was too heavenly to extract themselves from. They lay in each others arms, whispering tenderly as the firelight slowly died. The embers puffed out drowsy air and blew it into their lungs. Liesel was vaguely aware of the moment when Max pulled the downy coverlid over them and wrapped her again in his arms. She fell asleep with his breath sweet on her eyelids.

Their slumber was deep and peaceful that night. No nightmares visited them. The darkness looked down on the two sleeping hearts and seemed to say, "I have been cruel, I have been merciless, I have brought misery many times; but tonight, just for this once, I will be kind. Other souls will wake in torment, but these two I will bless. Let them enjoy this night of their reunion, unmolested by evil visions."

Liesel awoke to Max's kiss in the early hours of the morning. "I'm sorry to wake you," he whispered. "You were sleeping so peacefully. But I don't want you to be late for school."

Liesel closed her eyes, drowning in bliss. He was here. He was alive. He was safe. Her heart felt whole again after lying in shards for two years. She slipped her arms around him. His body was gentle against hers, the softness of his hair brushing her cheek. She wanted to stay in his arms forever. In the pearl gray light, he looked very young, his feathery hair rumpled.

"I suppose I should be guilt-ridden for keeping you in my bed all night," he murmured. "But I can't seem to find the heart. It was too precious to regret. Thank you Liesel, for staying with me. You're like the balm of Gilead."

She stroked his hair. "You're like home."

Tears filled his eyes.

"I miss home," she whispered. "I miss Papa and Mama and the smell of paint. I miss pea soup and being called a Saumensch. I miss reading with you in the basement and bringing you the crossword. I miss playing soccer with Rudy and dragging Mama's stupid washing all over the town. The Hermanns have been very kind to me, but this isn't home. My home is gone. Except for you. You're the only bit of it that's left. Last night was like sleeping with all the bits and pieces of home that I miss."

"Oh Liesel..." Max wished he could describe to her what her presence meant to him.

It was futile.

He only knew that in her arms, the memories of filth and fear and brutality lessened. Her tenderness seemed to staunch the still-bleeding wounds that lacerated his heart. He longed to rest in her quiet presence until his spirit was healed and Dachau was forever dispelled. He held her for a while longer, kissing her softly, relishing the sweet comfort of her cuddled against him.

Then with a heavy sigh, he made himself release her. He was a displaced Jewish rat. He had no business lying in bed, allowing himself to be happy. It was his lot in life to find a hole to survive in. The brief respite he had enjoyed in Ilsa Hermann's house was over. He kissed Liesel one last time and pushed himself from the warm nest they had made.

"Liesel, I would give anything to stay here with you all day, but we'd best be getting up. I don't want you to be late for school." The loss of his warmth was like a slap of cold water against Liesel's body. She was sorely tempted to draw him back to her, and tell him that just for that day, she would forget about school. But something in his swampy eyes stopped her. She kissed his cheek, and made herself leave. Once inside her own room, she allowed herself to stand and remember for just a few seconds. His arms, his lips, his eyes full of love, his comforting words. The recollections wrapped themselves around her like a sweet fragrance. She would cherish that night in his arms for the rest of her life.

She dressed quickly and went to look for Frau Hermann. She found her in the kitchen preparing a huge breakfast. The Mayor's wife rarely cooked. When she did, it was usually tiny delicacies fit only for tea parties or elegant brunches. Liesel had never dreamed the woman knew how to put together a true meal. She had made eggs and rashers, roasted tomatoes, toast and tea and coffee. She smiled when she saw Liesel's amazed eyes.

"Your friend looks like he could do with a square meal," she said by way of explanation.

"I didn't know you could cook."

Ilsa spooned strawberry jam into a dish. "You forget. Once I had a growing boy to feed."

Liesel nodded, feeling foolish. "I'll go and fetch Max."

Max looked overwhelmed at the sight of the feast. In the light of day, his painful awkwardness returned, and he hunched into his seat, attempting to make himself disappear. Liesel sat next to him and tried to put him at ease. Ilsa moved about, gracefully dishing up food, not asking questions. All was well until the Bürgermeister arrived for breakfast.

He came in all of his tweed glory and pulled up short at the sight of the stranger and the giant meal. It was immediately apparent that his wife had said nothing to him about their overnight guest. He looked from Max, to Liesel, to Ilsa, and back to Max again.

"What is going on?"

"Heinz, this is Max Vandenburg," said Ilsa. "He is a friend of Liesel's. He arrived in town yesterday and had no place to stay, so I allowed him the use of our guest bedroom."

"Oh..." the Mayor took a moment to process his confusion. "Why didn't you tell me he was here last night?"

"You were out so late. I was asleep when you arrived home."

"I see..." the Mayor was staring at Max. "Well, Guten Morgen..."

"Guten Morgen." Max's awkwardness was excruciating. "Thank you for the – the accommodations."

The Mayor did not reply. He was frowning at the loaded table. "Why on earth did you make so much food, Ilsa? We're still on rations..."

"We rarely have guests."

The Mayor grunted and sat down. It seemed to be the end of the matter. But Liesel noticed his eyes continually straying to Max as he ate. Up and down they slid over him, taking his measure. Liesel could almost see the assessment forming in his mind:

Dark hair.

Ragged clothes.

Thin, almost skeletal.

Murky, haunted eyes.

Strange scars that peeped out from under his clothes.

Hands that shook slightly as he ate, as though he were holding himself back in some way.

Jew.

Freshly sprung from a concentration camp.

The moment was almost visible when the Mayor added everything up and realized who and what was sitting at his breakfast table. He likely recollected Liesel's walks to Dachau. So this is the friend, his eyes seemed to say as he stole glances at Max. Die Juden. One of the very creatures the Führer had railed against for years. Here one was, taking refuge under his roof, sleeping in his bed, eating his rations. Beaten, needy, and pitiful.

The Mayor said none of this, of course. He said very little at all. He ate, and occasionally glanced at Max. A haze of disapproval hung vaguely about him, but he did not voice it. Max was not blind. He inwardly writhed beneath the scrutiny like an ant under a magnifying glass. The expertly prepared food turned to sawdust in his mouth. He had to choke it down.

The Mayor finished his breakfast, wiped his mustache, and left without a word. His silence was eloquent. I'll put up with having a Jew in my house for Liesel's sake, it said. But I don't have to approve of it or make it feel welcome.

This was the prevailing attitude toward Die Juden after the war. Not even the horror of the concentration camps could erase the deep seated racism which lay in so many hearts. It lingered like poison in the veins of Deutschland and in the veins of many other countries as well.

Max finished his breakfast as hastily as he could. Liesel, who had missed nothing, was angry and sick at heart. She had hoped for more from the Mayor. Max rose from the table and thanked Ilsa. "Your hospitality, Frauline, is without peer. You gave a stranger a soft bed and a hot meal, which is more than I've had in years. Thank you for your kindness, from the bottom of my heart."

Ilsa's mournful eyes shimmered and she released a bruising smile. "Come any time," was all she said. She made no mention of her husband's behavior and neither did Max. He waited patiently by the door while Liesel collected her things for school. It was evident that he was desperate to leave. Ilsa gave him a parting gift, a large bundle wrapped in clean, white cloths. "To keep up your strength while you look for work," she said. When he opened it later, it contained fresh bread, fruit and cheese.

Liesel held tight to Max's hand as he walked with her through the village to school. "I'm sorry about the Bürgermeister, " she muttered. "His behavior was inexcusable."

Max snorted. "Liesel, I don't know why you expect anything else. This whole nation was taught to hate me and my kind. They have been conditioned to regard us as inferior beings. Just because the war is over doesn't mean that people are suddenly going to respect us or wish to associate with us. In the eyes of some, we are little better than rats or dogs."

"Not everyone thinks that way," said Liesel through gritted teeth. "Papa and Mama didn't. Rudy didn't. Herr Steiner doesn't. Ilsa doesn't. I don't care what the nation was "taught". People make up their own minds. They can choose to believe lies, or they can think for themselves. The Mayor is choosing to believe the lie, and for that, I despise him."

"Don't," said Max quietly. "Don't let hate creep into your heart, Liesel. If you do, you are in danger of becoming like them. Have pity on the Mayor. He will never have a soul like your father's. He will only know small-minded prejudice. For that, he is most pitiable."

Liesel fought back a tide of furious tears. She stopped in the middle of the road and hugged Max hard. "I cannot endure seeing you hurt! I cannot endure it! It kills me to see you being treated so shamefully. You are beautiful and precious, and I want to scream at the people who can't see it!"

Max smiled in spite of himself, secretly cherishing her words. "I've endured a lot worse than being snubbed at breakfast," he said lightly. "So let it go. Come on, you'll be late for school."

"What will you do today?"

"I believe I will go and speak to Herr Steiner. He is a decent man, ja? He might be able to give me some guidance about where to look for work." They were nearing the school house. Before they were caught in the tide of students streaming toward its entrance, Max stopped. "Here's where I leave you. It might not be best for you to be seen in the company of a Jew."

"Max... the war is over. No one is going to take me away for being friends with you."

"No, but I think you would be surprised at what other forms of persecution people can dream up," said Max, darkly.

"I don't care about that. I'm proud to be your friend! I want to shout it from the rooftops!"

"Please don't."

Liesel couldn't help but chuckle at the wry tone of his voice. It was the first bit of humor they had shared since Max's return. It was a welcome relief.

Max stooped and kissed her. "Have a good day. I'll come and meet you when school lets out, if I can."

She put her arms around him. "It'll be alright," he whispered. "I'm just going to go see Herr Steiner for a few hours. Maybe walk around town a little, get my bearings."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Be careful, Max."

She made herself let go of him, turn around, and walk to the school building. She looked back a dozen times in the hundred feet from him to the door. He smiled and waved reassuringly every time.

Inside, Liesel made her way to her first class, found her seat and arranged her books. Then she sat and stared. She had a strange sense of seeing things for the first time. She realized that for the past two years, she had barely been aware of her surroundings. She had seen the world through a gray haze of Himmel Street dust. Max's reappearance had an awakening effect on her, as though his presence cleared a film from her eyes.

She saw that she went to school in a gray-brick building, painted white on the inside. Long, echoing corridors led the way to the classrooms. Her old school had been destroyed by the same bomb that had demolished Himmel Street. She saw that the students (including herself) wore brown uniforms. She saw that all of them were teenagers. She realized as she entered her first class, that she barely knew anyone in it. The teacher's name was Frau Gruber, but beyond that, she had no concept of the woman's character, nor of the characters of any of her classmates. To her right, there was a girl named Klara, to her left, a girl named Brunhild. A boy named Fritz sat in front of her, a boy named Josef, behind. She remembered their faces, their names, but all else about them was a mystery.

She realized that she had no friends.

It was a genuinely shocking experience. She, Liesel, who had always been surrounded by a healthy group of comrades, with Rudy never far from her side, was now utterly friendless. She could not account for how this happened. She had a vague memory of her first day there, only a few months after the destruction of Himmel Street. She had stopped dragging the bomb dust around on her clothes. She had ceased talking to Papa's accordion. She left off wading into the river and asking Rudy for kisses. Outwardly, she appeared as sane and normal as anyone.

But she remembered looking at those other students, those clean creatures with their neat hair, their untroubled eyes, their easy laughter, and she knew she was as different from them as a coffin was from a womb. The Himmel Street bomb had left her body intact, but had blasted her soul into a void. She knew that once she had been a person who found life good; who laughed at jokes, and enjoyed food, and harbored a secret love for a lemon-haired boy. That girl had known sorrow and fear, but they were tempered with the everyday joys that make life worth living.

This new girl, this soul-stricken wraith, knew no such buffers. Comforts existed around her, but she was numb to them. She had appraised her new classmates, the happy German teenagers, and they bewildered her. They were like shiny, alien beings who existed on a different plane. Death had not yet laid his icy hand upon their lives, whereas he had scooped up every last molecule of hers.

Terrified, she had closed herself off from them, and retreated into the one refuge she had left: books. Books did not require anything of her. They did not look askance at her when she failed to laugh at a joke. They did not snicker at her for staring stupidly into space. They did not whisper behind their hands when she emerged from the bathroom with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. They only offered peace and escape.

As the war progressed, things gradually changed. Tanks drove into Molching, announcing their presence with deafening bursts of death. Their smaller cousins, the machine guns, soon joined them. Fires burned. Homes were destroyed. Terror reigned in every heart as defeat marched into their lives. By the end, there were no more happy, German faces. Liesel ceased to be the lone mourner in the sea of students, but she remained isolated in her grief. The rest of the world was exploding around her, but she was oddly indifferent to it. Her world was already gone. Hans, Rosa, Rudy, Tommy, the Steiner family... to the rest of Molching, they were just poor folk who had the misfortune of dying in a stray detonation. To her, they were everything. The fall of the Third Reich was a foot note. She locked the memories of her dead loved ones in her heart and hunched her soul over them. She only spoke of them to Alex Steiner, and occasionally to Ilsa. Everyone else was an outsider.

But now Max Vandenburg had blown back into her life. He was not a stranger. He had known those beloved people. Her grief was not alien to him. She knew that if she bared her soul to him, he would not flinch from her. He would gently cup his hands around her burden and bear it with her.

Liesel watched as Frau Gruber took her position at the front of the class. The teacher did not know it, but a transformation was happening right before her eyes. A dead heart was sparking with new life. A blank existence was teeming with hope.

That day, Liesel did her work. She listened to the teacher's lectures. She did not lapse into dumb grief, nor hide in the lavatory to cry. She noticed other people. The wraith was evaporating, the human girl again taking form.

When school let out, Max was waiting for her a little distance down the road. He took her hand and led her away from the crowds of chattering students. A few of them noticed the strange girl walking away with a shabby, dark-haired man.

"Did you talk to Herr Steiner?" Liesel inquired.

"Yes. He's going to look out for a job for me. He didn't seem too hopeful though. German citizens are having a hard enough time finding work right now. Displaced Jews are... well, displaced Jews. People aren't interested in hiring rats. Herr Steiner said my best hope was the guilt that the German people feel about the camps. Apparently even rats deserve humane treatment. It might be an incentive for some to give a Jew a job."

Liesel was outraged.

"They should be begging the Jews for forgiveness. They should give them back every job they took away from them!"

"In a perfect world," said Max.

They were nearing 8 Grande Strasse. "At least Ilsa always has a good tea ready," said Liesel.

Max looked uncomfortable. "Liesel, I need to tell you something."

"What?"

He took a deep breath, knowing he was going to hurt her. "I'm not going to stay with you at the Hermanns."

She turned pale. "Why not?"

"Your friend Ilsa is a kind woman, but her husband is not the sort of person to whom I wish to be indebted. I can't, I won't take charity from him."

"Oh, Max..." Liesel was devastated. "Where will you stay?"

"Alex Steiner offered to rent a room to me above his shop. He will let me stay there free of charge until I can find work. I don't mind so much accepting charity from him. It's either that, or go back to Dachau – and I'd rather die," he added bleakly.

Liesel lost her battle against her tears.

Max pulled her against his worn coat. "I'm not far away. You'll see me every day."

She nodded, unable to look at him. She couldn't have explained why his refusal to stay with her at the Hermann's upset her so, not even to herself.

"It'll be all right," said Max. "You can visit me whenever you like."

Again, she nodded, but could not speak.

"It'll be alright," he repeated.

She tried to make sense of her emotions. "I'm – I'm scared to let you go," she confessed. "I'm afraid if I let you out of my sight, something will happen to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me."

Liesel broke down. "Something horrible has happened to every single other person I've ever loved. It – It's like I'm cursed. If I love you, you have to die. I – I'm terrified that if you leave, I'll never see you again."

He held her so hard it was painful. "You'll see me again. I promise."

"How do you know?"

"Because I think Death is going to leave me alone for a while. I've fought him off too many times. I believe I've been kept alive through all of this for a reason. I think that reason is you. I think God knew that we were going to need each other when all this insanity was over."

Liesel could not stop her tears. Max tenderly wiped them away. "I'm not going to die, Liesel. I'm not going to leave you alone. I swear it to you. You are all I have left. From this moment forward, no matter what happens, I will keep you close. I will keep you safe. We're in this together, ja? And if Death comes anywhere near me, I'll give him a good right hook."

She had to laugh. "You swear it?"

"I swear it." Max leaned his forehead against hers.

Liesel breathed out her fears. "I won't leave you either," she murmured. "I swear it."

He kissed her forehead, choking back tears. "Thank you."

"Are you still going to stay with Herr Steiner?"

Max laughed shakily. "Yes, dear. I would be miserable if I stayed at the home of a Jew-hater. But I won't be far away. You'll see me every day."

"I know. I'm sorry, I'm being selfish."

"No, you're not. You're just being a girl who's lost everything. It's very understandable."

That night, their beds were cold and lonely. The solace of the previous night seemed like a distant dream. Liesel slept badly. Her nightmares returned. Mama's dead, cardboard face swam in her vision. Rudy's lips were cold and unresponsive. Papa played the accordion down the street, but in the dream it made no music. She woke up drowning in the sheets. The room was as dark as a grave. She wept for the comfort of Max's arms. She wrapped her own arms around herself and fell back into uneasy sleep, pretending that she could smell weak soup and shabby clothes.

Max spent his first night alone since being captured by the Nazis. It was a strange experience. On the one hand, it was heavenly to have his own bed in a quiet room. The absence of sick, traumatized men was equally wonderful. Privacy. Cleanliness. A full stomach. All of these most basic privileges were still precious to him.

But as he lay in bed alone, the darkness pressed into him. The phantoms of famished skeletons rose before his minds eye. The barbarisms which had been perpetrated on them and on himself played over and over again in his mind, inexpressible in their horror. They tormented him. He did not have to sleep to have nightmares now. They were never very far from his mind. He lay and struggled against the dreadful images.

Their companion, guilt, reared up and joined the assault. The tactics were always the same. Why had he survived? Why was he still walking the green earth when so many others had perished? The words he had spoken earlier to Liesel were meaningless in that guilty darkness. How could he have left his family? He should have tried to save them. He should have done more to save others. It didn't matter that in the camp, he had often sacrificed parts of his rations to feed the sick. It didn't matter that he had bargained with a Nazi guard to save a friend of his from experiments. It didn't matter that he had stolen a blanket to wrap around a dying bunk mate, and been beaten for it. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. He should have done more. He could see himself only as a selfish piece of vermin who should be dead.

When at last he fell into a troubled sleep, he found no respite. Dachau mocked him there too. He lay imprisoned by it all night, unable to wake. When he was finally released in the morning, his cheeks were scorched with tears.

He would have given anything to have had a sweet, golden-haired girl there to dry them.