Max und Liesl

         People screaming. Children crying. The men grabbed women by the hair and pulled toddlers along by their shirts. Shots rang out.

         The year was 1937. War struck Poland.

. . . .

         

         “What is your name, Frauline and why are you with these vermin?” the soldier said.

         “Liesl…my name is Liesl,” Lucja replied, “I bring the post. I do not know these people”

. . . .



January 1938--Berlin.

         “I have a letter for Herr Zeller.”

         “That’s for me, danke.”

         From his spot beside the Führer, Max Zeller stood up, set his napkin on the chair and took a stride to take the letter from her hand.

         “Thank you very much, Frauline.” And their eyes locked.

. . . .



June 1938--Berlin

         “Liesl, will you marry me?” She froze. Max’s face fell.

         “Max..I can’t. I have a secret.” He stood up and dusted off his knee.

         Her name was Lucja. She was Polish. That in itself was enough to kill her. But she was a good liar, and looked German enough. With some flirting and some charm, she had bribed a soldier to get papers from a German woman who had been killed accidentally in the Derringer firing. Once she was Lucja, Polish-born, an aspiring writer with nothing yet published, but wrote of her childhood. She once was proud of her heritage. But now she was Liesl, German-born, and a Nazi supporter--at least on the outside. She was engaged to Max--a handsome man, willful but calm. He was a man who had enlisted at 19, but had his reservations. But now she had no choice but to share her identity and he had no choice but to keep it a secret.

         “You cannot love me anymore; you are too close to the Führer and I cannot be close to you. All I ask now is that you let me leave in the night and please never try to find me again.” She turned her face.

         “I cannot do that; I would spend every hour of every day looking for you, my dear. Liesl, I cannot let you leave. I love you.”

         

. . . .



         “Max, you simply must bring Liesl to dinner next weekend,” the Führer said to Max as they walked together , “After all, I must approve of her before the wedding, you know,” he said with the hint of a smile.

         When Max did not respond, he continued, “Oh Max, you know I’m only joking. Any woman you chose must be a fine woman of the fatherland. But do bring her to dinner.”



         Max opened the door to the estate and with one hand behind Liesl’s back, sweeps her into the dining room. The other officials and their wives welcome them as they sit. The meal has begun.

         “It’s so good to meet you, Liesl, we’ve all heard a great deal of how you’ve captured Max’s heart.”

         “We all know the regime had it first,” one of the men responds as they eat. The men laugh and Max gives Liesl a glance. He saw on her face that her smile was false--talk of the regime clearly made her uncomfortable.

         “Tell us about your family, my dear,” another one of the men calls out from the opposite end of the table. Liesl’s carefree smile falls and she sets down her fork to cover her mouth.

         Max interrupts after seeing her face, “Her mother and father died when she was very young and she was raised by an aunt from Heidelberg. If you’ll excuse us for a moment, I need to have a word with my fiancee.”

         And they fled, together. He knew she couldn’t hide it. Being part of the Führer’s inner circle, the others wouldn’t be appeased until they had proof that she was German born and raised--something she could not prove.          

         So Max drove through the rain in his Volkswagon Holzbrenner to the train station. He bought her a ticket, one way, to Switzerland. There, with an old friend of his, she would be safe.

         She knew it was to protect her, from the fatherland loyals, like Timrod’s confederates. Nevertheless, she wished it wasn’t true, that this wasn’t reality. But as she gave her bag to a porter and climbed the steps into the car, she waved goodbye to her Max, knowing that someday when the war ended, they would meet again.