Behind the Bedroom Wall (9 page)

“But they're practically babies!”

Rita's eyes narrowed. “Now you're beginning to sound like Eva.”

Korinna looked hard at her best friend. “Okay, let's go,” she said. “But we'll have to hurry to catch up.” She started to run after the now distant group of children, and she could hear Rita panting behind her.

They finally caught up, not because they were incredible sprinters, but because one of the Jewish children had slipped on some ice and now sat on the cold ground, crying. Her Jewish friends huddled behind her, loyally sticking with her, though they all looked as if they'd rather run and hide. They were surrounded by the sneering bunch of older boys when Korinna and Rita came upon them.

“Jew, Jew, I spit on you!” the boys chanted, and
then they all spit on the group of youngsters in the center.

“Jew, Jew, I spit on you!” Rita joined the taunting jeer. Korinna watched, her mouth suddenly dry.

Finally, one of the boys grew tired of spitting, so he picked up a ball of snow and threw it. It landed squarely on the fallen girl's cheek. When the snow fell away, Korinna could see that there had been ice mixed in with the snow and that it had cut the little girl's face. Blood oozed from the little scrapes and mingled with the girl's tears and the melted snow.

Rita reached down and scooped up a handful of snow, patting it into a firm ball. Others were doing the same. She offered the snowball to her friend.

“Throw it,” Rita urged.

Korinna took the cold ball into her hand. It was heavy with ice. She looked at the group of children in the center of the crowd. They were Jews. They were the enemy, and for the Fatherland to thrive, all enemies had to be put down.

“For the Fatherland,” Korinna said under her breath, and she let the missile fly. She had good aim. She hit the little girl in the shoulder. The girl gave a sharp cry and lifted a hand to ward off further blows. For the Fatherland, Korinna reminded herself firmly as she watched the tears continue to roll down the girl's face. For the Fatherland.

“Let's go,” Korinna said, pulling on Rita's sleeve. Rita was still chanting. Korinna pulled harder. “Come on, we'll be late for dinner and our meeting.”

Reluctantly, Rita allowed herself to be led away from the growing group of chanters.

It was quite a few blocks before Korinna couldn't hear the mocking refrain anymore, and still she couldn't get the little girl's expression out of her mind.

“I think we taught those dirty Jews a lesson,” Rita said. “Did you see that girl's face when she was hit with that first snowball?” Rita giggled. “Maybe they'll stay where they belong instead of walking around like they have rights or something.”

Korinna only nodded, and they walked on in silence. For the Fatherland, she kept telling herself. For the beloved Fatherland.

Later, during the meeting, Fräulein Schönwald taught the girls the new song and they practiced it for the rest of the afternoon. At the end of the meeting all the girls formed a semicircle around the striking red, white, and black National Socialist flag, while one of the
Jungmädel
leaders regaled them with yet another story about their wonderful Führer. At the end of the lively speech everyone raised her right arm to a forty-five degree angle and shouted,
“Heil Hitler!”

The sudden shout startled Korinna out of her thoughts.
“Heil Hitler,”
she said hastily, her voice trailing well behind the others.

“Korinna!” called an angry voice. “Come here!”

Korinna walked over to the leader, who stared furiously down her long nose.

“You have missed two meetings, Fräulein, and now you show your disrespect by failing to salute the flag properly!”

“But I—”

“Silence! You have not been told to speak!” commanded the leader.

“No, but—”

Suddenly a flash of heat stung her face as the leader slapped her hard across the cheek. The force of
the blow jolted Korinna's head to the side. Immediately tears sprang into her eyes.

“I'll be watching you, Korinna Rehme,” warned the leader tersely.

Korinna didn't wait to hear more. She turned and fled, grabbing her bag and coat on the way out of the silent room.

The cold air whipped against Korinna's damp cheeks as she ran home. No one had
ever
hit her before. She was stunned by what had happened, and she didn't want to think about it. She especially didn't want to talk about it when she got home, so she slowed her pace as she neared her house and carefully wiped the tears from her cheeks. She didn't want her mother asking any questions.

When she got home she found a note from her mother saying she was visiting with Frau Reineke, her mother's best friend. Glad no one was home, Korinna took off her coat and clumped up the stairs to her room. Leaving her book bag by the wardrobe as she always did, she lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

Life was terrible, plain and simple, she thought. Her parents were traitors, and she hadn't done anything to remedy the situation. So she was a traitor,
too. And now she had been slapped by her
Jungmädel
leader. Slapped hard!

She lifted a hand to her tender cheek as tears welled in her eyes again. She didn't understand why she had been attacked. What had she done wrong? So she had said,
“Heil Hitler,”
a little out of unison—so what?

Korinna twisted over onto her stomach on her narrow bed, and buried her face in her pillow as tears began to flow in earnest. The
Jungmädel
was hers, it was where she belonged. Yet now she was suddenly punished in front of everyone, in front of all her friends and the other leaders, for something that seemed so inconsequential, so trivial.

Was she supposed to be exactly like everyone else? Move and speak at the same time? Dress exactly alike? Think and feel identically?

That's impossible, she thought, trying to hold back a sob that tightened her throat. Finally it erupted into the stillness of the room. Not only was it impossible, she didn't even
want
to be exactly like everyone else! Another sob escaped, and then another, and another, until each one sounded like an echo of the one before.

All the fear and anger Korinna had been holding inside these last few days gave vent through her tears. Nothing was fair. Nothing was right. Nothing! Neither her parents nor her
Jungmädel
—the two things she counted on the most—were the way they were supposed to be.

Finally her sobs quieted to join the stillness of the
house. Korinna held her breath to listen to the silence, and that's when she heard the soft meow of her kitten. She lifted her hot, tear-stained face from the pillow just in time to see the kitten come scrambling up onto her bed.

Korinna gathered the little bundle in her arms. “Hello, little one,” she crooned, sitting up and rubbing her stuffy nose against the silken fur.

Suddenly, a thought struck her. She didn't know why she had thought she was alone when this whole time there had been two people not four meters away from her bed. She glanced suspiciously at the wardrobe, but it looked firmly in place against the wall. Where had her kitten come from? she wondered, still staring at the wardrobe. Someone had let the kitten out of the hiding room, she guessed, because she was almost sure the kitten hadn't been out before or it would have greeted her sooner.

She was embarrassed to think of the Jews listening to her crying. They had no right to eavesdrop on her, she thought angrily. But just as quickly her anger dissipated. For heaven's sake, she thought, exasperated with herself, what were the Krugmanns supposed to do? Knock on the wall and tell her they could hear every sob and that she was disturbing them?

A sudden giggle tried to escape, but it got lodged in her throat, swallowed back just in time. Hiding Jews in a back room was no laughing matter. Obviously, one of them had let the kitten out of the hiding room for a reason, and she had a strong
suspicion the reason was to make her feel better. And it had worked, she realized with a slight smile.

Korinna stroked the head of her purring kitten, while still staring absently at the wardrobe. She didn't exactly like the idea of the Jews being considerate; after all, it was contrary to everything she had ever learned about this contemptible enemy.

Just then she heard the front door open. Her mother was home. Laying aside the kitten, she hurried into the bathroom to wash cold water over her heated face, trying to erase all trace of her tears.

“Korinna?” her mother called.

Korinna went downstairs and greeted her mother in the front hall with a hug.

Her mother stepped back from her daughter and frowned slightly. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Why?”

Frau Rehme shrugged. “Your face looks red and you hugged me so hard, I thought you'd crush me.”

Korinna grinned. “I'm just happy to see you. What are you making for supper?” she asked, following her mother into the kitchen.

“What do you think?” Frau Rehme said dryly. “Bread and cheese, bread and jam. Oh, and maybe a bit of butter here and there.”

Korinna laughed. “Well, it's not too exciting, but you always manage to make everything taste good, Mother.”

Her mother smiled. “You must have had a good day at school today.” She tied an apron around her waist. “Did you have fun at your
Jungmädel
meeting after school?” she asked, glancing at her daughter.

“Yes,” Korinna replied casually, avoiding her mother's eyes. “We learned a new song for the Führer's visit.”

“Oh,” was all her mother said in response. She changed the subject. “Here, peel these potatoes for tomorrow.”

Korinna took the pile from her mother and sat down to peel off the dirty skins. Potatoes and more potatoes. Sometimes they got meat. Sometimes they got sugar. Sometimes they got butter. Times were hard, but they'd get better thanks to Adolf Hitler.
Wouldn't they?
Abruptly Korinna pushed that doubt out of her mind. Just because of a little slap she shouldn't be losing her faith in the Führer and in the Fatherland. Life would get better once enemies, such as the Krugmanns, were subdued.