Chapter One

“Your father, Hienrich Himmler, is now deceased. Cause of death is suicide from a cyanid pill.”  Wait, when did this happen? Father… FATHER!

I wake up, tears leaking from my eyes, and I burst out of my bed, running out of my room to my father’s room, leaping down the steps without falling, rushing past the kitchen, living room and two sets of doors. I take a big breath to calm down and then yank the door open as quietly as possible. Panting with tears streaking down my face, I see my father and mother resting peacefully in bed. I sigh, clutching my chest, and turn around, tiptoeing quietly back the way I came from to my room with my heart beating in my ears. Just when I am about to open my door to my room, I hear the creaking of the floor boards. I swivel my head around anxiously, moving my hand, clutching the lamp with my and trying to see.

“Who’s there?” I say frightened.

“It’s me, Abelard. What are you doing? It’s 3 am in the morning, Gurden!” Abelard whispered to me, worried.

“Don’t worry, Abelard, go back to sleep.” I started, “Just had a bad nightmare, nothing serious.”

I stare at him while he is walking back in his room, door clicking shut. After, I quickly shuffle in my room, my covers enveloping me, forcing myself to go back to sleep for the big day tomorrow. In the end, I stay up, staring at my ceiling, just thinking…before slowly drifting off to sleep.

 

***

 

          BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I jolt awake, jumping out of my bed, running to my closet, quickly grabbing a cotton knee length skirt and a white blouse, and pull my hair up in a neat low bun. Then I descend the stairs to eat breakfast with my family.  Today's breakfast is delicious; the taste of the pancakes is blooming in my mouth with the raspberries.

“Are you ready?” my father starts, “we are going to the Dachau Camp. Are you excited?”

“Yes! I dressed up and couldn’t sleep last night because of it,” I respond.

          “I was thinking we could go after breakfast and have lunch and walk around,” he proposes.

“I think that's perfect! If you want to do that then I want to, too!” I say back.

“Then let’s go, Püppi,” my father says, stretching out his hand.

I stretch out my hand and let him lead me to the car to go to Dachau. We briefly talk about what we want to do at the SS concentration camp at Dachau. We decide to see them gardening and the pictures they painted and then eat afterwards. My father and I are going to have the time of our lives!

 

***

 

We slowly pull up to the SS concentration camp; the gate is beautiful: it has this enormous eagle on top of two large wooden gates, looking like it is ready to fly. 

          “Mrs. Himmler,” the driver opens my car door.

“Ah yes. Thank you!” I say politely, skipping up to my father with a big smile on my face.

“Are you ready Püppi?” my father starts, “I already reserved a place in Horcher with some of my friends.”

“This is going to be the best day ever father.  I love you,” I giggle.

The doors creak open while my father and I walk inside; the smell is disgusting. Everyone is pushing against the fence, trying to get a better view of my father and I. Some of them have the audacity to spit at us and bad mouth us, but they are taken care of; it is so funny to see their faces contort to terror when the Nazi guards drag them away. We decide to go see the garden first, but in order to do that we have to climb a devastating amount of stairs to see them work. It is worth it, but I have a little incident. I encounter a little rascal that tries to talk to me. That little b@#%& thinks he is worthy enough to talk to me. I give him a nice slap in the face and let the guards deal with him.  I should’ve asked my father to bring a painter to capture the picture of the garden, but it is too late unfortunately.

 My absolute favorite part is when we go to see the paintings. Seeing the stuff they drew makes me exhilarated; it makes me feel like I am on top of the world. There is one that catches my eye especially, the so-called painter's name is Hanz Frank. His is interesting; instead of  seeing violent pictures, his is a peaceful picture of a backyard with people, perhaps family. This really annoys me. I tell the guards to take it down, and next time he paints it should be like the rest of the paintings, even worse if possible.

Afterwards father and I have a lovely lunch together; we both decide to eat crab, and the savory taste still lingers in my mouth after a couple of hours of walking in the concentration camp.

“Father?” I ask.

“What is it, Püppi?” he responds.

“Could we do this again another day?” Then I proceed to say, “I really enjoyed today. What made it better was that you were with me!”

“We can do this whenever you want, Püppi,” my father chuckles.

I giggle with joy, skipping to the car, ecstatic for the next time my father and I go out and spend time with each other, without anyone bothering us next time.

“Get me my diary,” I command the driver while getting in the car.

“Yes Mrs. Himmler,” he says. “Here is your diary and your pen.”

I open it up on a clean crisp page and proceed to write:

 

Today we went to the SS concentration camp at Dachau. We saw everything we could. We saw the gardening work. We saw the pear trees. We saw all the pictures painted by the prisoners. Marvelous. And afterward we had a lot to eat. It was very nice.

 

***

 

Ugh. It’s been a week and my father hasn’t been home; I really do miss him. He said there were some problems that he had to fix with Uncle Hitler.

“Gurden! It’s time for dinner!” my mom shouts.

“I’m coming!” I respond.

I burst out of my room, excited; maybe Father is going to be back home by now! I rush down the stairs, my feet thunking on the wooden floor, running to the dinner table, but slowing down before Mother sees and scolds me.

The moment I see my father my smile becomes upside down. He looks horrible, like a dead corpse. His skin has a gray tone, his eye bags are black, and his hair is messy; his clothes are out of place. Everyone is silent; my chair scratching the ground is the only noise made.

With a sigh, my father implores while looking at each of us, “Püppi, Margarete, Abelard… We can’t stay here anymore;  they know I was planning to take Hitler’s place, and the American troops are after me.” I hear someone say s@#$. “We have to run away before they catch us, but we need to split up.”

My mother bangs her fist on the table, enraged. “Couldn’t you have told us this beforehand? Oh s@#$… what are we going to do now?  We have nothing ready; we will die if we leave like this.”

“I’m sorry, Darling, we need to leave now.   Gather your stuff and only grab necessities,” my father murmurs.

My mother and I run up the stairs, but while I am walking up the stairs I see out of the corner of my eye American troops walking up to my house's door.

“Mother! MOTHER!” I shout while tugging on her blouse.

“What's wrong?  Now we need to hurry up!” she responds by swatting my hand away.

“They're here; the American troops are at the front door, it’s too la-” I am cut off at the last second with the troops opening the doors by force.

“Hienrich Himmler!” they begin, “You’re now under the possession of the USA. We suggest you come calmly and don’t put up a fight.”

My mother ushers me into my bathroom, and we go into the attic to hide from them. We hear guns start. BANG! BANG! BANG! By now I know that this isn’t going to end well, but I am hoping everything will be fine.

The firing ceases, and we hear the door bang closed and a truck rolling out of my driveway. We waited another hour before we know it is safe.

          “Okay, so I will go downstairs to see if everything is fine. You stay up here and start packing. Only necessities,” my mother whispered.

          I wince at every sound we make while getting out of the attic. I am rushing between my brothers and my room to grab anything we need, but right when I am about to enter my room I hear my mom let out a terrifying shriek. Dread… it is the only thing I feel at the moment. Something bad happens, and something that I know will break my heart.

 

 

 

 

-Elena M.