like Tchaikovsky.
In the same whispered voice he’d used earlier, Peter said, “It’s rumored that Hitler still listens to Tchaikovsky when he’s alone, so how dangerous can his music really be to the values of Germany?”
I did not answer. I could only stare at the man next to me.
He spoke again, this time in a full voice. “The others are dancing away as we speak. There’s fun to be had, and I still haven’t seen you smile. Will you join us tonight, Kurt Klein?”
With trembling fingers, I took out my pocket watch. My aunt had given it to me for my last birthday. She said twenty was old enough to have my grandfather’s watch. When I’d received it, I thought about how much money it would fetch and what the money could do for my parents, but I dared not risk it. The love and kindness of my aunt Anja was all I had.
“It’s getting late,” I said in answer.
I was then transfixed by the way Peter’s tongue slid out slowly, the tip of it just barely touching the edge of his grin. “You’ve used that excuse before.”
I shook my head, desperately wanting him to understand that while my words denied it, what I really wanted was to be as close to him as possible. I tried to tell him, but all of my words died before leaving my mouth. They sounded stupid in my mind.
“Are you just teasing me, Kurt?” The question was whispered, but it felt as though he yelled it. My body went rigid. There was no game. Just the insecure awkwardness I possessed.
Without waiting for my reply, Peter stood up and backed away from the piano. It felt like I was going to break. He was going to leave me here, all because I’d failed to respond properly. Everything about me was wrong. I could do nothing about it, though. I watched as he buttoned his coat, then walked over to the stool to retrieve his hat and violin.
I wanted to cry out and beg him not to go as he made his way down the steps.
“Please get up, Kurt.”
It was a simple command that I could act upon. The feet of the bench made a loud scraping noise against the wooden floor of the stage as I did.
“Put on your coat and your hat and walk with me.”
My heart raced as I complied. My eyes never left him, and he never turned around to look at me. That made it easier for me to do as he wished. There was a tickle low in my belly as I joined him. We did not speak as we walked, and I found that I had no feelings other than utter happiness at being close to him.
In a quarter of an hour’s time, we were at a club. I thought it would be dirtier and hidden away someplace, but it was not. The marquee was lit up, and the outside was teeming with people loitering about. Peter and I strode past them all. Everyone he passed nodded at him as he was obviously popular at this place.
The lobby was equally crowded, but as we stood at the entrance to the main room and I saw hundreds of people dancing, I hesitated. Peter had taken a few steps into the dance hall before he realized I wasn’t beside him.
He returned to me and raised an eyebrow. “There are so many people,” I answered his silent question. “Someone will see me.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Many people will see you here, but please don’t worry. This is an approved club.” He turned and pointed at the band on stage. “Those are Nazi musicians, and the music they play may sound like American swing, but the lyrics they sing are straight from Goebbels.”
My uncle knew all the leaders’ names and made sure I did as well. Joseph Goebbels was Hitler’s right hand man when it came to propaganda.
I looked around. There were men in uniforms, talking with civilians. Some of them even danced a little. My violinist friend squeezed my shoulder again. “See? Nothing to fear. It’s patriotic to come here and support our Fürher.”
He turned and weaved his way through the mass of people, and I followed, once more feeling excited. We ended up at a table where Steffen, Marcel, and Leo sat, each with a
In the same whispered voice he’d used earlier, Peter said, “It’s rumored that Hitler still listens to Tchaikovsky when he’s alone, so how dangerous can his music really be to the values of Germany?”
I did not answer. I could only stare at the man next to me.
He spoke again, this time in a full voice. “The others are dancing away as we speak. There’s fun to be had, and I still haven’t seen you smile. Will you join us tonight, Kurt Klein?”
With trembling fingers, I took out my pocket watch. My aunt had given it to me for my last birthday. She said twenty was old enough to have my grandfather’s watch. When I’d received it, I thought about how much money it would fetch and what the money could do for my parents, but I dared not risk it. The love and kindness of my aunt Anja was all I had.
“It’s getting late,” I said in answer.
I was then transfixed by the way Peter’s tongue slid out slowly, the tip of it just barely touching the edge of his grin. “You’ve used that excuse before.”
I shook my head, desperately wanting him to understand that while my words denied it, what I really wanted was to be as close to him as possible. I tried to tell him, but all of my words died before leaving my mouth. They sounded stupid in my mind.
“Are you just teasing me, Kurt?” The question was whispered, but it felt as though he yelled it. My body went rigid. There was no game. Just the insecure awkwardness I possessed.
Without waiting for my reply, Peter stood up and backed away from the piano. It felt like I was going to break. He was going to leave me here, all because I’d failed to respond properly. Everything about me was wrong. I could do nothing about it, though. I watched as he buttoned his coat, then walked over to the stool to retrieve his hat and violin.
I wanted to cry out and beg him not to go as he made his way down the steps.
“Please get up, Kurt.”
It was a simple command that I could act upon. The feet of the bench made a loud scraping noise against the wooden floor of the stage as I did.
“Put on your coat and your hat and walk with me.”
My heart raced as I complied. My eyes never left him, and he never turned around to look at me. That made it easier for me to do as he wished. There was a tickle low in my belly as I joined him. We did not speak as we walked, and I found that I had no feelings other than utter happiness at being close to him.
In a quarter of an hour’s time, we were at a club. I thought it would be dirtier and hidden away someplace, but it was not. The marquee was lit up, and the outside was teeming with people loitering about. Peter and I strode past them all. Everyone he passed nodded at him as he was obviously popular at this place.
The lobby was equally crowded, but as we stood at the entrance to the main room and I saw hundreds of people dancing, I hesitated. Peter had taken a few steps into the dance hall before he realized I wasn’t beside him.
He returned to me and raised an eyebrow. “There are so many people,” I answered his silent question. “Someone will see me.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Many people will see you here, but please don’t worry. This is an approved club.” He turned and pointed at the band on stage. “Those are Nazi musicians, and the music they play may sound like American swing, but the lyrics they sing are straight from Goebbels.”
My uncle knew all the leaders’ names and made sure I did as well. Joseph Goebbels was Hitler’s right hand man when it came to propaganda.
I looked around. There were men in uniforms, talking with civilians. Some of them even danced a little. My violinist friend squeezed my shoulder again. “See? Nothing to fear. It’s patriotic to come here and support our Fürher.”
He turned and weaved his way through the mass of people, and I followed, once more feeling excited. We ended up at a table where Steffen, Marcel, and Leo sat, each with a
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