Child of the Light by Janet Berliner, George Guthridge Page B
Authors: Janet Berliner, George Guthridge
Tags: Fiction:Historical, Fiction.Horror, Fiction.Dark Fantasy/Supernatural, History.WWII & Holocaust
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lightly to keep pace with him. "Europe has a history of vesting absolute power in one individual. I intend to position myself to block that sort of thing from happening again."
He halted. Putting his hands on Sol's shoulders, he looked down into the boy's eyes. "As I watched your performance last night, you reminded me so much of myself," he said. "Struggling. Forced to play solo. You are the new generation, Sol. With my help you may not have to accept, as I had to, that, in Germany, Jews will always be second-class citizens."
As suddenly as he had taken hold of Solomon, he let go. "Constant vigilance is exhausting, Solomon," he said, in a tired voice. "There are times I want to lie down and pull Berlin's sidewalks over me."
Sol looked down at his feet. How many weary men's spirits lay beneath the city? Perhaps theirs were the voices he heard, he thought, wondering fleetingly what the Foreign Minister might say about the voices and sounds in the sewer.
"Back in '18, I decided to retire," the Foreign Minister said softly, moving on. "I've a summer house in Bavaria--"
"Papa showed me pictures of it in Der Weltspiegel ," Sol said.
"I intended to live there, away from all this. Fortunately for Germany--though unfortunately for me, since it thwarted my retirement plans--I decided to have the bedrooms repapered. One afternoon, the paper hanger and I talked as he worked. After listening to him, I realized that, with people like him around, my role in our country's history remained incomplete."
They rounded the corner at the Reichschancellery and headed down Friedrich Ebert Strasse. The cigar store was half a block away.
"The man proposed that Germany depopulate the African island of Madagascar and repopulate it with European Jews," Rathenau went on. "'The solution to the Jewish problem,' he said, 'is to pen them like wild dogs, tame them, and use what assets and abilities they possess for the good of humanity.'"
Until now, Sol had done what he did when his parents spoke Yiddish, a language he only partially understood: he had allowed the conversation to flow around him like a piece of music he had never heard before. Usually, if he relaxed into it that way, the pieces became a cohesive whole. However, what the Foreign Minister was saying now made no sense at all.
"He wanted to send the Jews to Madagascar? He must have been crazy!"
"I thought so too, and had him removed from the premises," the Foreign Minister said. "Shortly after that, I heard that he'd entered politics, and now Bavaria's National-Socialists support his ideas--"
Shouting interrupted him. Sol stared in the direction of the voices. Down the block, Erich was backing out of the shop.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"You may be my son, but your actions are that of an imbecile!" Herr Weisser yelled. He was standing in the doorway of the shop, shaking his fist at Erich.
"Leave me alone, Papa!"
Erich turned, dashed across the street without any regard for traffic, and disappeared into the apartment house.
Herr Weisser, his face red with rage, fell silent. Apparently, Sol thought, he had run out of effective yet moderate epithets to hurl at his son.
"Maybe we should detour through Leipzigerplatz before going inside," Rathenau said.
Solomon shook his head. Once Friedrich and Erich started arguing, it would take longer than a stroll through the plaza for their tempers to cool. "Erich probably tried to sneak another dog into the apartment," he said, wondering why Herr Weisser had gone back into the shop instead of following his son.
"That much trouble over a dog?"
"Herr Weisser has agreed to let Erich keep a small dog in the apartment, but Erich says the little ones are toys. It's worse since he's joined the Freikorps-Youth--"
Sol stopped and, with a sick feeling, glanced up at Rathenau. During the waning months of the war, the Foreign Minister had financed a Freikorps unit, a movement that had begun before the war with Wandervögel--birds of passage--boys and girls
He halted. Putting his hands on Sol's shoulders, he looked down into the boy's eyes. "As I watched your performance last night, you reminded me so much of myself," he said. "Struggling. Forced to play solo. You are the new generation, Sol. With my help you may not have to accept, as I had to, that, in Germany, Jews will always be second-class citizens."
As suddenly as he had taken hold of Solomon, he let go. "Constant vigilance is exhausting, Solomon," he said, in a tired voice. "There are times I want to lie down and pull Berlin's sidewalks over me."
Sol looked down at his feet. How many weary men's spirits lay beneath the city? Perhaps theirs were the voices he heard, he thought, wondering fleetingly what the Foreign Minister might say about the voices and sounds in the sewer.
"Back in '18, I decided to retire," the Foreign Minister said softly, moving on. "I've a summer house in Bavaria--"
"Papa showed me pictures of it in Der Weltspiegel ," Sol said.
"I intended to live there, away from all this. Fortunately for Germany--though unfortunately for me, since it thwarted my retirement plans--I decided to have the bedrooms repapered. One afternoon, the paper hanger and I talked as he worked. After listening to him, I realized that, with people like him around, my role in our country's history remained incomplete."
They rounded the corner at the Reichschancellery and headed down Friedrich Ebert Strasse. The cigar store was half a block away.
"The man proposed that Germany depopulate the African island of Madagascar and repopulate it with European Jews," Rathenau went on. "'The solution to the Jewish problem,' he said, 'is to pen them like wild dogs, tame them, and use what assets and abilities they possess for the good of humanity.'"
Until now, Sol had done what he did when his parents spoke Yiddish, a language he only partially understood: he had allowed the conversation to flow around him like a piece of music he had never heard before. Usually, if he relaxed into it that way, the pieces became a cohesive whole. However, what the Foreign Minister was saying now made no sense at all.
"He wanted to send the Jews to Madagascar? He must have been crazy!"
"I thought so too, and had him removed from the premises," the Foreign Minister said. "Shortly after that, I heard that he'd entered politics, and now Bavaria's National-Socialists support his ideas--"
Shouting interrupted him. Sol stared in the direction of the voices. Down the block, Erich was backing out of the shop.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"You may be my son, but your actions are that of an imbecile!" Herr Weisser yelled. He was standing in the doorway of the shop, shaking his fist at Erich.
"Leave me alone, Papa!"
Erich turned, dashed across the street without any regard for traffic, and disappeared into the apartment house.
Herr Weisser, his face red with rage, fell silent. Apparently, Sol thought, he had run out of effective yet moderate epithets to hurl at his son.
"Maybe we should detour through Leipzigerplatz before going inside," Rathenau said.
Solomon shook his head. Once Friedrich and Erich started arguing, it would take longer than a stroll through the plaza for their tempers to cool. "Erich probably tried to sneak another dog into the apartment," he said, wondering why Herr Weisser had gone back into the shop instead of following his son.
"That much trouble over a dog?"
"Herr Weisser has agreed to let Erich keep a small dog in the apartment, but Erich says the little ones are toys. It's worse since he's joined the Freikorps-Youth--"
Sol stopped and, with a sick feeling, glanced up at Rathenau. During the waning months of the war, the Foreign Minister had financed a Freikorps unit, a movement that had begun before the war with Wandervögel--birds of passage--boys and girls
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