15. Ralf
August 29, 2025 at 2:40 PM
The beginning of July, 1943.
I was leaving the beer hall with Adler, who had stayed in Munich for the summer, releasing the mingled scents of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and perfume into the street. It was an overcast day, but no rain was expected—the clouds weren't that dark. The main thing was that school was out. At the intersection of Mainstrasse and Kopfstrasse, I saw Lorna in the company of a... Sturmbannführer in a uniform black as night. They were walking side by side, chatting amiably; the girl laughed occasionally, covering her mouth with her hand. She wore a light blue dress with a small floral pattern, a cardigan draped over her shoulders. Adler let out a low whistle of surprise and nudged my shoulder. — Well, well, Ralf, look at that! Your little friend has gotten chummy with an SS man! She's really going for it! Oh boy, that girl's in for it. I didn't answer, I just stared relentlessly at the pair, and a wave of despair mixed with burning jealousy washed over me. What could a Sturmbannführer give her that I couldn't? Then I saw him subtly slip his arm around Lorna's waist. My fists clenched. My friend noticed the action. Adler Schulz frowned. — Friend, cool it. You're a nobody next to him. That's Dieter Eichenwald—one of the most charismatic and eloquent SS officers in the city! 'The Eagle Eye'! He's famous for having uncovered more Jews in this city than anyone else. You simply don't stand a chance. No wonder she fell for a man like that. — Adler, — I hissed venomously, — shut up. I understand perfectly. Though, I don't think that... — You don't think he's slept with her? Come on, Ralf! You're being ridiculous. Of course they have, and judging by them, it wasn't recently. That was it. I could forget about her. Forever. But before I disappeared from the girl's life, I wanted to remind her I existed. I tore forward, darting right in front of them, seemingly accidentally bumping into Lorna, and vanished around the nearest corner. Schulz caught up with me two minutes later, cursing a blue streak. — You were an idiot, and you still are, — he grumbled. — What's gotten into you? — Leave my ass alone. He laughed, and I joined him. We howled like idiots until tears streamed from our eyes and our sides ached, right up until a fourth-floor window flew open and a very angry woman leaned out, "kindly" informing us that if we didn't shut up, we'd be eating garbage. We quickly made ourselves scarce and headed toward the square. There were so many people there! A crowd, a mass, as the Reich Chancellor called the people, buzzing, shouting, shrieking with joy. We were out of luck—Adler and I ended up in the very last rows, and pushing closer wasn't an option. So I asked a man in a black hat standing nearby: — Could you tell me what's happening here? He explained that the Führer himself was currently passing through the square. And I wanted to howl with despair. Schulz and I had to climb a lamppost to get a view of the most important man in the Reich. There he was, standing in a moving car, waving to the townspeople, smiling. His hair shone despite the absence of sun. His eyes burned. The Reich Security Service marched alongside. The crowd cheered joyfully, hundreds of arms shooting up in salute. People passed bouquets, letters, all sorts of things to Hitler, and he took them. What power this man held over the crowd! How devotedly they looked at him, devouring him with their eyes. He was a god to them, the highest being. The Führer stepped onto the balcony of his residence, the Führerbau, and began to speak about the strength and resilience of the German people, about the war, about the might of the army and the imminent victory over the Allies. He gesticulated actively—a brilliant orator. At the end of the speech came the inevitable "Sieg Heil!" Three times. I joined in and nearly tumbled to the ground, managing to grab hold of the lamppost just in time. I idolized this man, I couldn't tear my eyes away. My father was probably somewhere in the front rows with the party officials. I wanted to be there too, to be closer to the Führer. I remembered how mortally offended I had been when he refused to get me into the elite NAPOLA school, without giving a reason. Most of his colleagues' children were already big shots in the SS, while I was just loafing around the streets. But if I were studying there now, I wouldn't have met Bruno, Adler, and certainly not Lorna, so there were some pluses to it. Jubilation. Subservience. Adoration. Adler, with bulging eyes, was consuming Hitler—his idol, his ideal, or so I thought at least. Even if we resisted the regime, it's still that everything was powerless in front of this man. But after a while, my arms went numb and I slid down; Schulz did the same. The Reich Chancellor had already left the balcony, and people began to slowly disperse. Adler climbed down and swore—he'd scraped his hands. — Hugo—you don't know him—told me once, when I wasn't at the academy, a Gauleiter visited them. A Gauleiter, for God's sake! He said pretty much the same thing. They all say something similar... — The same thing. — Yeah, I wonder how much of a brainless idiot you have to be for your ears not to go numb from yet another party official's speech, which you hear every single time. Can't they see?! The context is different, but the essence is the same, always. — Brainwashing? — Shhh! — Adler hissed fearfully. — Are you crazy? What if someone hears? That was stupid of me. Yes, I had to be careful. Even as the son of an Ober-Einsatzleiter. We moved to a quiet side street. A Brigadeführer passed by; we snapped a salute. The man stopped and spoke to Schulz in a raspy voice. — Gerard Schulz's son? — Jawohl. — Your father has spoken of your academic and boxing successes at the academy. You are doing splendidly. The Reich needs men like you. My friend gave a strained smile. The Brigadeführer clapped him on the shoulder and left. Adler glared after him venomously and spat. We sat down on some garbage bins, as Schulz wanted to tell me something not meant for extra ears. — At the academy, they talk to us all the time about duty and honor, about our purpose. They say we can consider them our fathers. But besides praise and reprimands, none of the guys hear anything else. A father is someone who is interested in his child's feelings, his opinions, who will listen to any of his thoughts. As you've gathered, the people at NAPOLA never say that; no one gives a damn about you. Because of this, the boys become withdrawn, angry, cruel, incapable of reflection, they become just like them and forget about love, killing all virtue. So I think you were lucky not to get into that academy. I was silent, stunned. I hadn't thought Adler Schulz was capable of saying such things. By all outward appearances, he was a fervent patriot to the core. It was a mask. Adler looked me seriously in the eyes. — I'm so tired. Tired of the cruelty of this world, of the propaganda on every corner. Sometimes I think I just want to leave... Why do people know about the horrors in the concentration camps and think it's normal? In a way, joining the Waffen-SS will be a small joy for me, being far from that academy of death. — I... That was all I could say to Adler. I shook my head; it was splitting. He looked at me sympathetically; right then, Schulz seemed much older than his years and was, at that moment, terribly hateful. — I know, at first you deny it all, you close your eyes, you try to forget, but... it's your conscience, and you can't ignore it. If you have even a drop of humanity left in you, killing a person will seem like the most terrible act. You won't be able to pick up a rifle. — Then why are you going through with it?! — I snapped, surprising even myself. — There's no other way, — Adler said, still calm. — What do you suggest I do? Run? They'll find me and shoot me like an enemy. Lie low? The same. Refuse the oath? Impossible—everything is calculated perfectly. Do you know what's happening in the camps? Have you seen how they treat the Untermenschen? Does the quick death of that Jewish boy mean nothing to you? He'd be alive now! The system's apparatus is very well thought out... — Enough! — Don't deceive yourself, — he was shouting now too, — Ralf Stelmacher! Open your eyes! It's all a lie!.. I hit my friend in the jaw, knocking him to the ground. He didn't react, just spat blood and gave me a piercing look. — So that's how you solve your problems—with your fists. Ha! Ready to knock out your own friend now. I lunged at him, tackling him to the ground, and we began pummeling each other. He was defending himself against my despair. I suddenly saw that Schulz had a split lip, and my eye throbbed with pain. — Adler... sorry, I...idiot. I helped him up. Schulz pulled me to him and held me tightly in a hug. I think I tasted tears on my tongue—mine or his, it didn't matter. — If we never see each other again, if we die, promise you'll remember these words, Ralf: think clearly, don't let the system take possession of you... I sniffled. Adler continued: — That is what a strong man is... My friend's voice broke. We stood there like that, holding each other and crying. To hell with what they'd drummed into us both about a man's tears being a sign of weakness. Right now, they were a blessing. We pulled apart from each other, our eyes shining. I ruffled my hair and let out a noisy exhale. Yes, that had been a bolt from the blue for me. — What are you doing here? We immediately snapped to attention, for standing before us was the Sturmbannführer, the very one who had been with Lorna. What was his name... Dieter Eichenwald? — Forgive us, Herr Sturmbannführer, — Adler rattled off crisply, — just resting, not plotting anything. — In a place like this? I suppose a rubbish bin isn't the best choice for a friendly conversation. He was sneering, his voice laced with a threatening sarcasm. I wanted desperately to punch his smug, smirking face. — I understand, but... all the benches on this street are taken, and the bins seemed like seats no worse than park benches. I looked at him, amazed. Was he joking to an SS officer's face? This officer would see through his lie in a second. But the man smiled, openly and kindly. — I see. You're right, there really is nowhere to sit here. I think I'd have done the same in your place. Well then, carry on with your conversation, I won't disturb you. The Sturmbannführer walked away, his impeccably polished black boots creaking. We exhaled. — I was so scared shitless, I thought he'd heard every single word and that a cell wall was unavoidable. God... I cautiously peeked around the corner and saw Lorna and the SS man saying goodbye, rather boldly and brazenly, but the street was deserted. — Feels like he wants to devour her lips, doesn't it?" Adler remarked impassively. I sighed and sat back down on the bin, or rather on an empty space, and with a yelp, fell onto some cardboard and rags. Schulz roared with laughter. His chin was red from my punch; a bruise would soon appear. — Girls... already making soldiers fall into the filth for them. — Ah, shut up, — I replied, laughing. About twenty minutes later, we were walking down the street in silence. Each lost in his own thoughts. Adler's words wouldn't leave my head. Everything was cracking, bursting, crumbling. My past worldview was collapsing. I looked up at the sky, and I think I dropped a tear on my shirt. — Adler, you know, I love her, — I said quietly. — Very much. — That's the most important thing, my friend. Love is the strongest feeling on earth, and glory to those who know how to love. You'll be alright, I promise. He believed in me! It was a very pleasant, warm feeling. Just then, my trained eye noticed a boy darting past, but it was enough to recognize him as Paolo, the Italian girl's brother. Schulz noticed him too. — What a nimble kid. What's he doing here? Suspicious. We quietly crept after him. The boy was rustling with something in the darkness of an alleyway. — Stop. What are you doing there?— Adler said in an icy voice. Paolo straightened up quickly and looked at my friend, frightened. — Nothing, Herr... — Schulz. — I was just throwing out trash. I was walking with the boys, eating sweets, and came to throw away the wrappers. For good measure, he demonstrated the rustling wrappers. Adler nodded and let the boy go; he immediately scampered off. Schulz walked over to the spot where Paolo had supposedly been throwing out trash. A pile of some dirty papers, torn old newspapers, beer cans, and nothing more. As I was leaving for home, I said to him. — Something's not right here. He said he agreed with me. We shook hands and went our separate ways. Somewhere a dog was barking, a pigeon cooed sleepily, a drunkard sang in a gravelly voice. I slammed the front door of my house shut and went to my room.
