Maximilian Schüffen- Munich, Germany 1942
It took a many good days for Maximilian to gather enough strength to get out of bed. Rosalinde wouldn't even allow him to come downstairs to eat. She even fed him soup herself.
If you've had anyone feed you by hand recently, then you'll know that not only is it sufficiently awkward, but it is also sufficiently difficult. Not just for you, but for the feeder as well.
Rosalinde was glad to do it.
"Sh. Don't speak, it makes it more difficult," she said, gently pressing the spoon into his mouth. Rivers of creamy soup dripped down his cheeks, staining the bedspread for the umpteenth time. Protesting, Maximilian shook his head. He had already eaten most of her rationed food, and now, most of it was being fed to the blankets.
"You barely ate anything."
"I am capable of feeding myself now, I think," he protested weakly.
"Get some sleep. You may eat again in the morning." She patted his arm gently, grabbing the tray with her other hand and then marching down the stairs. A nice loaf of bread awaited her, just sitting in the oven. Waiting. She ran her hands through her dark hair, ruffling it as she went along. Rosalinde longed to lie in bed all day, to be fed for every meal, to have someone to care for her.
Just one person. Just someone.
A quiet knock interrupted her wishful thinking. Smoothing out her ruffled hair, Rosalinde quickly ran to the door, cracking it open.
"Come in."
The two young girls hurried in, glancing around. Presumably for the smell of food. Or Maximilian.
"I just baked some bread. Would you like some?" Rosalinde asked, grabbing the perfectly baked confection, crisp on the outside and soft on the inside.
It was enough to make anyone's mouth water.
Rosalinde tore off a chunk of the bread, taking a deep breath. She was much too stressed. The last thing she needed was guests to host.
"Where's Max?"
"He's upstairs, in my bed. His fever is finally starting to go away, but he's still quite weak. I think his ankle is bothering him, also." Rosalinde smiled. What else would this little girl want?
"May I see him?" Else asked, graciously taking the chunk of bread.
"Of course dear. Just don't wake him if he's sleeping."
And she was gone in the next instant.
❀❀❀
He had sensed her presence. There she was, his little sister, standing right beside him.
"Max. Everything will be okay, I promise," she had said. His eyes strained to see the faint, blurry figure, but she was there. She was with him.
Else.
Maximilian struggled to escape the blackness. His eyes tried to flutter open, yet it was as if suddenly something unbearably heavy rested on them. Another strange figure stood beside his bed, but this time it was larger.
"Maximilian, please wake up. Max, wake up! Please. Please. Remember Else. Please, Max," Rosalinde whispered, frantic, shaking him violently in an attempt to get him up. He groaned, at last sitting up.
"Maximilian, get up, there's a fire. We need to get out of here."
The dull pain in his head was still there, and his lungs felt like they would collapse. Fire? Why was there a fire? Was it his fault? His head spinning with pain and emotions, Maximilian slid out of bed with the aid of Rosalinde, limping across the floor.
"Can you move any faster?" she asked, waiting at the edge of the stairs. Smoke billowed from below, clogging their lungs with ash. Rosalinde coughed, waiting for his reply.
"Nein, Rosalinde. You have to go. Don't wait for me, I'll meet you outside shortly," he pleaded.
"I can't allow that."
"You have to. Please--" The flames were now visible, climbing the stairs as if they were searching for someone. Rosalinde fought back tears, partially from the flames and partially from despair. Her head spun, a whirlwind of confusion. And then she made up her mind. She wasn't going to be responsible for Maximilian Schüffen's death. She wasn't going to be the one to tell Else that her brother was dead.
I must say, Rosalinde was quite the clever girl.
Grabbing his arm, she pulled him towards the stairs. His eyes glanced up at her in confusion and horror, gazing at the floor several levels down. And then she shoved him. Now, normally we are taught that pushing is not nice, and it is to be avoided at all costs. However, this situation was vastly different.
By now, the upper level was completely dark, raided with smoke. Maximilian lay motionless at the bottom of stairs, lying before a wall of flames. Covering her mouth, Rosalinde slid down the glossy steps, landing harshly at the bottom.
The door. Oh, the door. It was swung wide open, exposing them to the frigid, breathable air, unblocked by a wall of fire.
Now all they had to do was get to it.
❀❀❀
"Max? Maximilian! Please answer me. Come on."
Black. All he saw was blackness, besides the blurry, grayish figure standing to the side. His lungs felt as if they were collapsed, filled with smoke and dust. A bed of blankets soothed the dull, muscular pain that was felt throughout his whole body. A lone voice spoke worriedly above him, presumably belonging to the grayish figure.
"Here, let me get you a wet cloth."
A sharp pain nagged Maximilian's head. The darkness began to go away, replaced by blurriness and a horrid headache. There was that smell again, rosemary. Yet it didn't feel like the soft, warm blankets that he was used to. Struggling to recollect last night's events, Maximilian rose up slowly from the bed, then groaned at the pain in his head and fell back to his pillow.
"I see you've awakened. I brought you a wet cloth, to reduce the pain," Rosalinde said, placing the damp cloth on his forehead. He fought to keep his eyes open, and then eventually gave up and allowed them to gently shut. Maximilian suddenly became aware of a burning feeling in his calf, spreading throughout his whole leg.
"You got beat up pretty good. For now, rest is the best thing."
"Wha-at hap-happened?" he asked, barely making out the sound.
"They set fire to our house. They've found us, Max." Tears came to Rosalinde's eyes. They had found them. And they had burned her house.
They had almost killed them.