You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Companion Novel) (2 page)

“
Now, you know better Helga.” The nurse said, firm but sympathetic and she pried the infant from Helga’s arms.

“No”
Helga screamed as the nurse handed the baby to the housemother.  The housemother carried the child out of the room. As Helga watched, it felt as if a knife had torn a hole in her heart. She hung her head and wept.

Before she knew what was happening, Helga received a shot
that would make her sleep. And so she slept. The housemother delivered the infant to the Lebensborn nursery, a room that was locked behind a heavy steel door. Although she pleaded, Helga would not see the child again. In a weeks’ time, Helga Haswell would be on her way to her fiancé’s farm in Munich. For months to come she, would cry unable to eat or sleep and Kurt would hold her and comfort her trying to ease her pain and loss. Kurt and Helga would marry. He was a good man and a good husband. But, her arms continued to ache with emptiness for the small bundle of life she’d held for just a brief moment, an emptiness that would haunt her for the rest of her life. But somehow, Helga would find the strength to go forward and build a family.

After spending the first year
of her life in the Lebensborn nursery, Helga’s daughter would be christened in a Nazi ceremony where she would be given the name Katja, and be declared ready for adoption by a suitable Nazi family.

Without the help
of his minister of Propaganda, Dr. Joseph Goebbels, Adolph Hitler could never have gained the popularity he needed in order to achieve absolute power. Goebbels was a master of lies, so convincing that he was able to fool an entire nation. At least in the beginning…

Chapter
1

Berlin
1936

Manfred Blau watched as Christa Henkener walked out of the double doors of the high school. He could not help but notice that she had the attention of all of the boys who stood along the concrete stairs smoking cigarettes. Her wavy golden locks bounced as she descended the staircase and glittered in the sunshine. Manfred knew better than to believe that a girl as popular and lovely as Christa would ever notice him when she could have her choice of athletes. He was nothing but a skinny artistic boy with a bad complexion.  And worse yet, his family were poor while hers was wealthy. Everyone knew Christa’s father was a famous doctor. No, she would never want any part of him. Still he continued to gaze after her as she walked down the sidewalk on her way home.

“What are you looking at?” Alexander, a tall
well-built soccer player asked.

“Nothing,
” Manfred replied and began walking away. He knew if he stuck around Alexander’s friends would be along shortly and his humiliation would be their entertainment for the next hour.

“What’s your hurry?” Alexander asked.

But Manfred didn’t answer. Instead, he moved quickly towards home. He hated himself for the fear he felt when the others tormented him. It was not in his nature to stand up to them. And he despised that weak part of himself. If only he were stronger, more athletic, better looking, more popular. If only… then he might have a girlfriend as lovely as Christa.

That night he lay in bed and thought
of Christa. He would do anything, anything at all to win her heart. Soon, they would graduate in just a month in fact, and she would be gone from his life. If only, there was a way to make an impression on her. If only.

Then Manfred got an idea.

Although he had been a failure in the Hitler youth, he still planned to join the party. He hoped to apply for a
position working in propaganda under Dr. Goebbels. Of course, he knew this was a pipe dream, but His drawings were good. And it made him feel good to think that he might be someone important someday. Even his art teacher touted the excellence of his work. Perhaps his skills could be put to use. If not, he was not above making coffee or cleaning, anything at all to find his way into the party. From there he just might make something of himself. What a glorious fantasy. And then…perhaps…and then…he could look Christa up and she might agree to have a coffee with him. Was he dreaming?  He was a dreamer, but nothing can ever be accomplished without it first being   a dream.

All night he stayed awake and contemplated the situation.
The more he gave it thought, the stronger the idea became.

Now he had a plan.

For the next month, Manfred spent every free moment working. He illustrated and wrote children’s books, stories that he knew the party would embrace. Stories about Jewish child molesters and Jewish businessmen who stole from the innocent Germans, stories of Jews with tails that sacrificed Aryan infants and drank the blood. To him, the stories were silly. He knew many Jews and they weren’t really like this. In fact, he’d had a Jewish physician who he had grown up really liking. But it didn’t matter. This was what the party wanted. This was what he would give them. Having grown up poor and unpopular, in order to survive, Manfred had become wise, in that he knew instinctively what it would take to win some ones favor. He used this knowledge sparingly, but when he did, it always worked.  The pictures were only pictures after all, and the stories, well, just stories. How could they cause any real harm? And besides, if this little endeavor got him a decent job then he would have the money to build a life for himself and hopefully the woman he longed to be with. Christa. So, he drew and he drew. Pictures of distorted looking Jewish men with massive noses, very much resembling the pictures he’d been shown at the meetings of the Hitler Jugend. But in his stories, he’d added some frightening aspects. The old Jew was offering candy to beautiful blond Aryan children.  On the next page, the story continued as it became clear the Jew was luring the unsuspecting children to their death.  The message was clear; beware of the Jewish child molesters. Another book explained how on the Jewish Sabbath Jews cooked and drank the blood of Christian babies. It featured a large fat Jewish woman again with an oversized nose, standing over a kettle, a tail protruding from the back of her dress, while she held the body of a tiny blond infant over the cauldron blood flowing from the Childs breast into the pot.  Manfred drew pictures of Gypsies, filthy and ridden with vermin, stealing from local markets, laughing as they ran away. Each story he wrote to accompany the illustrations acted as a terrifying warning to children. He made sure they were filled with the propaganda he knew had become so popular with the Nazi party. On the other hand, he also created books that praised the Führer showing how he’d saved the German people from the devastation they’d suffered after the Great Warm, the loss of which he made sure to blame on the Jewish bankers. Knowing that Dr. Joseph Goebbels was Minister of Propaganda, and hoping that the time would come when Goebbels might see his work, Manfred drew a picture of Goebbels looking loyal and righteous standing beside Hitler. Goebbels was smiling. Hitler’s arm was around his shoulder and at each of their sides stood a blond Aryan boy and Girl strong, athletic, and healthy.  The caption Manfred wrote beneath the picture was “The Future of our Fatherland, a land where the Aryan race can take their rightful place as rulers of the world, a land without Jews, Gypsies, and other sub-humans.”   And so, this was how he built a portfolio filled with children’s books, all of them perfect examples of the Nazi doctrine.  Once school was done and he’d graduated, Manfred would take these drawings to Goebbels himself. There he would explain how important it was to begin educating the master race at a young age. Manfred didn’t care one way or another about Jews, Gypsies, or other enemies of the Reich. What he cared about was making the right impression. This was what they wanted to hear. So this is what he would tell them. And hopefully he would be rewarded with a job, even a small job, and a foot in the door.

All through the graduation ceremony, Manfred kept his eyes on Christa. She moved with such grace, her smile was so captivating. He wanted her more than anything in the entire world. His family was poor, his father hadn’t worked in a decade and they lived on his mothers sewing jobs, but if someone
had offered him a choice between a million dollars and a kiss from Christa he would have chosen the latter. She was unaware of him and yet she was with him in his mind every moment of every day.

Manfred would make good. He would prove that he was worthy. He had to. He refused to live without her.

And so on the first Monday after graduation, Manfred took the streetcar into downtown Berlin. The sun burnt bright in a silver blue sky on that fateful day in June that would change his life forever. He got off at Wilhelmstrasse and walked along the well-manicured streets until he got to a beautiful old building known as the Leopold palace, which housed the offices of the Propaganda ministry. His hands trembled as he held the portfolio and for a minute, he thought about turning back. But then Christa’s face appeared before him and he knew he had to go forward.

The palace was filled with people running this way and that hurrying along. Manfred’s voice cracked as he asked a guard where he might find the
offices of the Propaganda Ministry. He was directed up a flight of stairs and told to turn left.

A dark brown wooden door stood before him. It took all
of the courage he could muster to raise his hand and knock.

“Come in.” It was a female voice.

When he entered, he saw a woman sitting at a desk. She had a pleasant smile, not at all intimidating.

“Can I help you?” she asked
, looking him up and down.

“I would like to speak with someone about a job.”

“I don’t think we need any help right now.”

“Please, I need to see someone. I have some very unique ideas here.”

She was a middle-aged woman, heavy set with a ruddy complexion and a bun of red wiry hair spiced with gray sitting at the base of her neck.  He thought that she was looking at him with a twinge of pity in her eyes.

“All right. Have a seat and wait here. I will get someone to help you.”

He sat down and rubbed his hand over the leather of his portfolio.  They might laugh him out of here. There was a good chance they would think him a fool. Manfred considered leaving but before he could get up and go, a man stood before him. He was young and attractive, dressed in the neatly pressed black uniform of the SS. He reminded Manfred of the boys in the Hitler Jugend who teased him for being a poor athlete.

“Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler” Manfred answered.

“How can I help you?” The man asked obviously already bored by the conversation
.

“I am looking for work. I have a portfolio that I think you might be interested in
looking at.”

“I’m
sorry; we don’t need any help right now. You might want to check back with us in a few months.” The SS officer turned to leave. He’d seen so many of these pathetic job seekers come through his doors.

“I see. But I am about to graduate
from gymnasium. I will do anything, any kind of work at all. I am a quick learner. Please, is there any work that I might qualify for?”

“I am truly sorry, but
I cannot help you.”

Just
then, a gaunt man with dark wells forming deep eggplant colored crevices beneath his hawk like eyes came walking by. The skeletal man missed nothing his eyes shifting around the room surveying. He turned to look at Manfred, their eyes locked and a shudder ran through Manfred.

Hawk eyes
stopped, he stood listening to the conversation.

“
Fritz, who is this boy?” His face was a death heads mask, but his tone of voice-signified authority.

“He is applying for w
ork, sir. I told him we have no work right now”

“I
am Dr. Joseph Goebbels.” Goebbels said turning to Manfred.

Oh!
I never expected to meet Goebbels. I should have run out of here while I had the chance.

“My name is Manfred
Blau. It is a real pleasure to meet you sir.”

“What kind
of work did you have in mind?”

“Well sir, I would do anything, anything at all. But I think I have a rather unique idea
and I believe it could possibly help our cause. I mean I think it might strengthen the Fatherland.”

“Hmmm
, are you a party member?” Dr. Goebbels watched Manfred as he answered.

“Not yet sir
, I just graduated from gymnasium. I plan to join immediately. I want to be a part of this great movement. I can see Germany rising to her rightful place under the direction of our wonderful Fuhrer.”

“
Of course you were in the Jugend?” Goebbels asked. Although he was a twig of a man, nevertheless he had an intimidating presence. Goebbels could see eagerness in Manfred that he’d once seen in himself.

“Yes sir. I was. And it would be my greatest wish to work for the party
, in any way possible. I want to devote my life to bringing Germany back to the greatness it deserves.” Manfred enthusiastically repeated the phrase he’d heard so often in the Jugend.

“Sounds to me
like you are on the right track, you and I certainly share a common goal.” Goebbels studied Manfred “I have a little time today. So I will take a moment to indulge a youth so intent on helping the party.” He smiled.  “Come, follow me to my office, and let’s have a look at your ideas.” Goebbels said