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Authors: David Housholder
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the solarium.
“ Ja, moeder (yes, Mother), it’s true. And I love the father. Even though he’s not in the room, I was playing that for him. He adores my music.”
Mother covers Nellie’s hands lovingly on the table. “We’ll make this right somehow. These things happen, even in our circles.”
“Mother?”
“Yes.”
“The father is German.”
A S N ELLIE STANDS ON THE STREET in front of Ruud’s magnificent home, a few blocks from her own, her mother’s words play over and over in her mind: “ Don’t ever come home again .” She can still feel the bruise burning around her left ear caused by her mother striking her after learning the baby’s father was German. Her lunge at Nellie knocked the table on its side and smashed much of the priceless tea service.
So , Nellie thinks, I’m pregnant and showing it, on the street and in wartime, carrying the unborn child of a married enemy soldier. And I’m at the door of the young man with whom I broke our marriage engagement because I knew I didn’t really love him.
She exhales slowly through pursed lips.
Just a few months prior, Nellie had risked what was left of her reputation to accompany Walter, in public, to Rotterdam’s Centraal Station, as he was shipped out on a troop train to the Russian front. Every last German soldier was needed to defend the Fatherland as the juggernaut Soviet Army was thundering across the steppes, aiming at Berlin.
As the train started to pull away, Walter silently handed Nellie his magnificent Swiss Ziffer watch through the cabin window. Nellie reached up while running along with the train, grabbed it, and held it to one cheek as she waved with her free hand. She vowed to keep it running until she saw Walter again—the ticking reminding her of his presence and the hope that he was surviving the Russian onslaught.
Not long afterward, she wrote him about the pregnancy. When she didn’t hear back, she had no idea if he was even alive. But while writing him, she looked down at the huge man’s watch on the desk and noted it was still ticking. So she could at least hope....
Now, as she gazes at Ruud’s house, she holds a small suitcase in one hand and her pregnant belly in the other.
F ROM AN UPPER-FLOOR BAY WINDOW , a wealthy older woman gazes at Nellie. The room behind her is filled with full-length oil portraits of important-looking people wearing orange sashes.
Nellie looks down at her suitcase and up at the house about three times. It takes the older woman awhile to “read” the situation. But when she figures it out, a flood of compassion fills her, and she turns and runs down the stairs.
Flinging open the door, the older woman hurries to Nellie and throws her arms around the girl, lifting her off the ground.
At first, Nellie is startled. The suitcase goes flying and bounces twice. But then her arms return the hug. Oh, how she has always loved Ruud’s mother. Family friends, they are. Nellie has grown up calling her Tante (Aunt) Riek.
Nellie inhales the older woman’s expensive perfume scent as they embrace on this brisk spring morning.
For the first time, Nellie believes that she and the baby might just live through this war.
Thank you, God. Thank you, God .
~ B EHIND THE S TORY ~
Angelo
2003
Melrose District
Los Angeles, California
K ati is pedaling on her beach-cruiser bike past the trendy shops along Melrose Avenue on her way home.
If you can call it home.
She’s gotten taller but is still almost painfully thin and pale. Her prominent nose seems to stick out from an unruly, dark mop of hair. Her eyes are hidden.
Kati and Josh have traded continents recently.
In fact they were both in the air, flying in opposite directions, on the same “moving” day: Kati westbound on Lufthansa Flight 119, Frankfurt/LA; Josh eastbound on KLM Flight 911, LA/Amsterdam.
It’s typical California “June gloom” weather. Overcast. A hoodie sweatshirt kind of day…
Kati
I DO NOT WANT TO GO HOME
“ Ja, moeder (yes, Mother), it’s true. And I love the father. Even though he’s not in the room, I was playing that for him. He adores my music.”
Mother covers Nellie’s hands lovingly on the table. “We’ll make this right somehow. These things happen, even in our circles.”
“Mother?”
“Yes.”
“The father is German.”
A S N ELLIE STANDS ON THE STREET in front of Ruud’s magnificent home, a few blocks from her own, her mother’s words play over and over in her mind: “ Don’t ever come home again .” She can still feel the bruise burning around her left ear caused by her mother striking her after learning the baby’s father was German. Her lunge at Nellie knocked the table on its side and smashed much of the priceless tea service.
So , Nellie thinks, I’m pregnant and showing it, on the street and in wartime, carrying the unborn child of a married enemy soldier. And I’m at the door of the young man with whom I broke our marriage engagement because I knew I didn’t really love him.
She exhales slowly through pursed lips.
Just a few months prior, Nellie had risked what was left of her reputation to accompany Walter, in public, to Rotterdam’s Centraal Station, as he was shipped out on a troop train to the Russian front. Every last German soldier was needed to defend the Fatherland as the juggernaut Soviet Army was thundering across the steppes, aiming at Berlin.
As the train started to pull away, Walter silently handed Nellie his magnificent Swiss Ziffer watch through the cabin window. Nellie reached up while running along with the train, grabbed it, and held it to one cheek as she waved with her free hand. She vowed to keep it running until she saw Walter again—the ticking reminding her of his presence and the hope that he was surviving the Russian onslaught.
Not long afterward, she wrote him about the pregnancy. When she didn’t hear back, she had no idea if he was even alive. But while writing him, she looked down at the huge man’s watch on the desk and noted it was still ticking. So she could at least hope....
Now, as she gazes at Ruud’s house, she holds a small suitcase in one hand and her pregnant belly in the other.
F ROM AN UPPER-FLOOR BAY WINDOW , a wealthy older woman gazes at Nellie. The room behind her is filled with full-length oil portraits of important-looking people wearing orange sashes.
Nellie looks down at her suitcase and up at the house about three times. It takes the older woman awhile to “read” the situation. But when she figures it out, a flood of compassion fills her, and she turns and runs down the stairs.
Flinging open the door, the older woman hurries to Nellie and throws her arms around the girl, lifting her off the ground.
At first, Nellie is startled. The suitcase goes flying and bounces twice. But then her arms return the hug. Oh, how she has always loved Ruud’s mother. Family friends, they are. Nellie has grown up calling her Tante (Aunt) Riek.
Nellie inhales the older woman’s expensive perfume scent as they embrace on this brisk spring morning.
For the first time, Nellie believes that she and the baby might just live through this war.
Thank you, God. Thank you, God .
~ B EHIND THE S TORY ~
Angelo
2003
Melrose District
Los Angeles, California
K ati is pedaling on her beach-cruiser bike past the trendy shops along Melrose Avenue on her way home.
If you can call it home.
She’s gotten taller but is still almost painfully thin and pale. Her prominent nose seems to stick out from an unruly, dark mop of hair. Her eyes are hidden.
Kati and Josh have traded continents recently.
In fact they were both in the air, flying in opposite directions, on the same “moving” day: Kati westbound on Lufthansa Flight 119, Frankfurt/LA; Josh eastbound on KLM Flight 911, LA/Amsterdam.
It’s typical California “June gloom” weather. Overcast. A hoodie sweatshirt kind of day…
Kati
I DO NOT WANT TO GO HOME
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