[On the subject of nations as humane.]
Warning: This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.
X.
In many ways Helmut is Ludwig's worst enemy.
He is the devil in disguise. He is a child whose roots are deeply embedded in blood-drinking and baking babies for matzoh. If he is caught, the officers will make sure that he is killed, and Ludwig will suffer the same fate.
Yet Ludwig presses on with Helmut under his wing, evading Schutzstaffel who are more frantic than ever.
The air in Germany is charged with tension as the war draws to a close. People are making last-ditch efforts to salvage their nation's future, and the wolves who stalk the streets in sleek black uniforms creep upon the swine - men with bulbous noses, those who complain too much or are too good at business.
Helmut thinks it is all absurd. Swinging his legs on a chair, he says:
"If they really want to find the Jews, why don't they look through the papers?"
Ludwig answers smoothly. "Because some of the papers are false. Have you forgotten your own?"
The boy frowns. "Oh, yeah."
"Do you see what I mean?"
"Yes." A moments passes before Helmut speaks again. "If I have one dream, Ludwig, it's to be able to travel through Germany when I'm an adult. And I won't have to wear a yellow star. I won't have to be judged for my blood either. I'll just be able to go where I go no matter what. I want to see what the books say, Ludwig. The forests and the rivers and the green hills. I don't want to have to hide in Berlin forever."
"Knowing you, Helmut, you will definitely find a way."
(He casts a downward glance at the boy - four foot six, mousy brown hair, ocean blue eyes - and takes note of the way he tries to remain discreet in wiping his nose and eyes.)
"Yep, I will. Thanks, Ludwig."
"And of course, I'll help you."
Helmut looks up at him, face lighting up. "Thank you, Ludwig."
The moment is interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone. Ludwig tears his eyes away from the child and moves into the living room. He takes his sweet time answering it, waiting for at least five rings before picking up.
He expects it to be the Untersturmführer or some other goon. Instead, he hears Nikolaus' voice in a powerful burst of passion, something about someone being there at any moment.
"I can't understand a thing you're saying, Nikolaus," he tries to edge in, but it is no good. The blabbering from the other end of the phone is simply too overwhelming.
He hears Nikolaus draw in a deep breath. He holds the phone away from his ear just as the old man bellows, "The Untersturmführer is coming!"
Ludwig stands still, thoroughly unimpressed. "And?"
"And he knows!"
"Knows what? What could he-"
The lightbulb clicks. The epiphany is a freight train that collides with him and sends him spinning out of control. Slack-jawed, trembling, the receiver slides from his hand and strikes against polished wood.
The doorbell rings.
Footsteps clatter from the kitchen to the entrance hallway.
"I'll get it!" says Helmut, dashing by the living room in a blur of brown and blue.
Ludwig cannot stop him. He hears the clicks of latches and bolts, and the tune Helmut is singing.
He barely makes it to the hall before the door is opened.
At the other end stands a man with his chin held high and his hair neatly combed, tucked beneath the familiar cap with the death's-head symbol.
"Ludwig Beilschmidt," he says coldly.