Ein Fenster mit Blick auf den Hügel

      To put it mildly, the first day in the new city didn't go well. I couldn't have a coffee in peace–the shift workers stared at me as if I were an exhibit in a museum. Disgusting! Some guy on a bicycle knocked me off my feet, swearing at me. He's a crazy arsehole. At least he helped me, thank you for that. But I managed to get a job in a small tailoring shop. Now my brother and I don't have to worry about hunger. And he should probably join the Hitler Youth, almost every child in this country is a member of that organisation. It'll be good for him to learn things about war at the age of 11. He'll be a man. I think I'll send him to the nearest school. War is war, but knowledge must be learnt. I came home, the light was off, and from the bed I could hear the sound of sleep-Paolo was asleep, sprawled across the bed, so that I had to move him gently to my side. I lay down next to him. Tomorrow our lives would change drastically-we'd have to become adults. Staring at the ceiling, I thought about the future. Would we be able to return to our homeland? Would we have the strength to return home? Maybe after the war, yes. When this nightmare will stop and people will not be killed just because they are "wrong". I heard from my father about the persecution of Jews and Gypsies, about the concentration camps, about the horrors the military did to the unfortunate prisoners. These stories made my blood run cold and I sometimes thought: what if I ever went there? If the war ends, we will go far away from here, live in a small house by the sea, where the view from the window will not be of a dreary city, but of a water surface over which seagulls fly and shout.       — Lorna, — my brother's sleepy voice interrupted my musings, — do you think Dad's in heaven right now? Dad was a strict man who didn't tolerate objections, but he loved us with all his heart, made our lives brighter and more colourful, but he used to kill people at the beginning of the Second World War and it was because of that past that our mother left Dad after Paolo was born.       — I don't know, honey. Let's hope so. After saying that, my brother went back to sleep, and so did I. In the morning I made the papers for Paolo to join the Hitler‐Jugend and he had a medical examination at the doctor's office. He looked so mature in that uniform. The red armband with a swastika on his right arm stood out starkly against the neutral colours of his clothes. He was also given a knife with the motto "𝗕𝗹𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗘𝗵𝗿𝗲".       — I don't want to go there. I don't like that group. What if they don't accept me, I'm not German, am I?       — But I'm not Jewish or Russian or mulatto either. Don't be silly, Paolo. You'll get used to it, and the guys will get used to you. Understand, it's the right thing to do. You'll become a man quicker. There's lots of things to do, like aeromodelling, sports and more. If I was younger, I'd go with you. He grumbled a little more, took his briefcase and went out into the street, where several Hitler Youth boys of different ages were already crowding in. After a while they marched in a steady line to the place of assembly and disappeared around the corner. I gave the procession a glance and started to get ready for work. Glancing in the mirror, I noticed that my cheek was a little bruised from yesterday's fall, and a bruise would probably pop up. Today my choice was a white shirt with black trousers and a mustard coloured knitted jumper. Yesterday's black suit, consisting of skirt, jacket and shirt, was too conspicuous, and I decided to wear it less often so as not to attract too much attention. The weather took pity on us today, and the day was warmer than yesterday. I left the house and went through the narrow passage at the side to the wrought iron gate that led to the street. But there I was blocked by a bicycle and a blond-haired boy standing beside it. The boy was wearing the same uniform as Paolo. When he saw that he was in the way, he noisily pushed the bicycle aside and said:       — Come in. A haughty voice, stern features, probably the son of a local officer. Such people are dangerous to mess with. I hurried past, but there was something familiar about his features.       — Wait, you were at the cafe yesterday. I saw you with that same bike. He was a little embarrassed, or maybe it was just me, but he kept looking at me. I knew that look-most of his peers in Italy looked the same way, and sometimes I was angry that I'd been born beautiful, that I could have avoided it. It made me uncomfortable.       — What are you looking at?       — The scratch, — he pointed to his cheek and smiled awkwardly. — I'm sorry about that. Yeah. So it was his fault for the fall last night.       — Impudente! He raised his eyebrows in surprise and blinked, apparently not realising what I'd just said.       — So you're from Italy. — he muttered. I did not intend to continue our awkward dialogue because I am wary of strangers, especially Germans, and went to the gate.       — Stop! What's your name?! But I didn't answer or stop. Let him be a fool. He seemed interested in me. But I couldn't tell from his haughty voice that he was a romantic. Maybe he was a selfish, patriotic guy who spent his evenings in a brothel somewhere fucking girls. I didn't like that kind of guy. But...he's attractive, and you can't argue with that. That guy has such beautiful metallic eyes, I could stare into them forever. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I might not make it to work on time, so I sped up.