For Malice and Mercy, page 20
About an hour later, the young lady returned, leading a tall man in a white shirt and tie. He held out his hand. “You must be Sergeant Meyer?”
Hank stood and gave him a firm handshake, stretching out the stiffness in his legs and back. “Yes sir. Hank Meyer, USAA.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m J.L. O’Rourke. I’m the director here at Crystal City. You are the son of Karl and Marta Meyer, is that right?”
“Yes, sir. Do you know them?”
“Yes, I do indeed,” O’Rourke replied, a warm eagerness brightening his eyes. “I have a lot of respect for both of them.”
Hank looked at him with skepticism. “That’s, uh, nice to hear. I think my parents are both worthy of much respect.”
“I’m approving your request for this afternoon. Our visiting hours are from four to five. Just come through the main gate, and they’ll escort you to our secure visitor’s hut.”
“Okay,” Hank’s mouth hung open wanting to say more, but he couldn’t make the words come out.
O’Rourke patted Hank’s back, steering him toward the door. Hank balked and summoned the courage to say, “Can you tell me what I can and can’t do when we visit?”
“Yes, I sure can,” O’Rourke smiled. “You’ll be required to have an armed guard in the room at all times. You will sit across a table with a barrier, and above all, you will not be able to touch or otherwise be close enough to pass contraband or documents between each other.”
“Is there anything I can give them, like books or letters?”
O’Rourke cleared his throat, and said, “We suggest you mail it. Everything must go through our censors.”
Hank looked up at the sky disapprovingly, frustrated with the bureaucracy of his own country. He left the compound and walked back to Millie’s to wait until four o’clock. He perched on the edge of his bed, leaning his elbows forward on his knees as he lost himself in thought, relieved that he was just a few hours from seeing his parents. A grin spread over his face.
After lunch, a knock sounded on the Meyer’s door. A German detainee-turned-office-worker delivered the official notification. Marta opened the door and was handed a paper.
“We... we have a visitor?” Marta whispered. “But who...?”
Karl came up, leaning a hand gently on her shoulder. The woman pointed to the form and asked, “Do you know this person?”
“Hank?” Marta breathed. “He’s here? Right now?”
Marta looked into the German woman’s eyes. A hint of a of smile flickered behind her blue eyes.
“Yes,” she answered without emotion. “You must meet him in the administration building between four and five. I suggest you arrive early.”
Marta staggered back, reaching for a chair. Could it be she was going to actually see her son…after eighteen nightmarish months? Or was it only more of the nightmare? Could it be true?
“Come to the administration building and tell them you have a visitor. They will show you where to go.” The corner of her mouth tugged up in a faint smile, and she turned to leave.
At half past three Marta dressed in a special dress she had made at the sewing project building. She had been saving it for the day she was released, but this visit from Hank was almost as good. “Can we please go over now?” she begged Karl. “I can’t sit here knowing our son is just beyond that wire fence.”
“He’s not going anywhere, my dear.” Karl held her hands.
At three forty-five they left their cottage. After Karl showed their paperwork, the guards escorted them into a victory hut with two tables. A barrier stood between the tables, and a large window with a ledge let in the late afternoon sunlight.
Muffled voices came through the wall, and Marta sat in her seat, wringing her handkerchief in her hands as she listened. Looking through the small window, she held her breath as the door opened. At first, the young man in the army uniform didn’t look like their son. His large, muscular arms filled every inch of his coat, his neatly pressed Army uniform fitting his frame well. But it was Hank’s smile. Karl dropped his head to his hands, letting out a muffled sob.
Marta struggled to breathe, but she exhaled quickly saying, “My boy!”
Hank walked in front of the guard. He stepped around a barrier and then entered the room where he caught his first glimpse of his mama, then his papa. Hank wiped away tears with the back of his hand. As he stared at both of them, he flinched. His mother’s face was gaunt and haggard. His father was thin and pale, but their smiles beamed at him from their drained and weary faces.
Hank smiled back at his mama as she watched him cross the room to sit. He tucked his hat under his arm and adjusted his brown tie to make sure it was tucked inside the second button on his shirt.
“Sit there,” the guard barked. “Do not reach over the barrier or pass anything beyond that barrier, or your visit will immediately come to an end. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Hank’s determined voice echoed off the hard tile floor.
“Just so you know, we will speak German,” Hank announced. He looked away from his parents and gave the guard a pointed stare.
“I don’t care,” he replied.
Hank shrugged and found his mama’s gaze again. “Hi, Mama,” he waved, forcing a grin.
“You’re all grown up,” Mama whispered. She cleared her throat and said, “I can’t believe how good you look. You look like a man.”
“How are you holding up?” Hank asked. “Both of you have lost weight; I can see it in your faces.”
They gave a nod of acknowledgment. “It’s been a rough year or so.”
“Ella told me some thugs beat you up. What happened? Did you tell someone?”
“We’ve told those who need to know,” Papa replied. “But justice is in short supply around here.”
“So, tell me about it.”
Papa drew in a breath through his teeth with a glance at the guard. “Can we talk about it later?” Seeing Hank’s concerned frown, he said, “We want to know what’s going on at home. We get so few letters and so little news. We have so many questions.”
“Fire away,” Hank said.
“First off, how did you get here, Hank? Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”
Hank explained his furlough and how he didn’t have time to see Ella.
“I can accept that we’re your second choice,” Papa added with a smile.
“So, do you need money or clothes or food?” Hank asked. “What can I help with?”
“No, we don’t need any money.” Papa reached into the front pocket of his trousers and pulled out a few green and red coins that resembled poker chips. “Each week they give us tokens like these to purchase the food we need, and we can cook our meals inside our small cottage,” he explained. “We can work for ten cents an hour and get more camp money. Both Mama and I work in the laundry room.”
“They also let us plant a garden outside the gate,” Marta chimed in.
“Most of the garden workers are Japanese,” Karl added. “I signed up to help, and because so few Germans want to garden, I’m the only German out there. I’ll get paid for that job as well as being able to keep some of the fresh vegetables we plant.”
“You’ve always had a knack for growing a garden in the toughest of soil,” Hank said.
“We get to buy clothing or material and other things we need. And they regularly deliver milk and ice to our door. It’s quite convenient.”
Hank raised his eyebrow with surprise. “So why are you both looking so thin? It looks like you aren’t eating well.”
“We’re eating enough. Maybe we’re not bulking up like you,” Papa chided. “What do you weigh now, a hundred-ninety or two-hundred pounds? You look great. I’ve never seen your arms so big.”
“No, I’m about one-eighty-five,” Hank admitted. “It’s all those push-ups and sit-ups they make us do. And of course, I can have just about all the food I can eat. What about you? Are you getting enough eggs and meat to eat?”
“Oh yes. In fact some of the guards and other workers complain that we eat better than they do because they have to use ration cards, and we don’t have to,” Mama explained. “Many workers eat in the cafeteria because they get more to eat here.”
“Of course, they can come and go as they please and don’t have roll call three times a day at gunpoint.” Papa tipped his head in the direction of the guard, who sat in the windowsill, yawning, his rifle leaning against the wall.
Hank stared at the guard and smiled. The prolonged silence startled the guard, and he awoke.
“We even have a German butcher who makes sausages using traditional German recipes. It’s very tasty,” Mama added. “And there’s a barber shop, a beauty shop, a hobby shop, and even a sewing room, which I used to make this dress,” Mama said with pride.
“It’s lovely, Mama.”
“What about church? Are there any other Mormons here?”
“Not that we know about,” Papa said. “But we’ve enjoyed going to a Lutheran service. They are very kind to us.”
Mama agreed and said, “The truth is, Hank, you can help us the most if you could get us some reading materials from church. Maybe a book by James Talmage?”
“Do you think the censors will allow it?” Hank asked.
Papa rolled his eyes and smirked. “Who knows? I never know what is approved or not.”
“I’ll let Ella know, and she’ll send what you need that day.” Hank replied, then asked, “What has Ella told you about Tom?”
“All she’s said is that he’s in England training other pilots. She figures he’ll be a part of the invasion of Europe, whenever that happens. Ella says he’s probably stuck there for the duration of the war,” Papa explained.
“You know Ella passed her LPN test, right?” Hank asked.
“Yes,” Papa replied.
“She’s working at the Dee Hospital, and you’ll be glad to know we’re keeping up with the house payments,” Hank said. “Berta is with the Wangsguard’s until you get back. We sold the beef cattle, but you know about that, right?”
Papa’s eyes showed his disappointment. “Yes, I know. You had no choice.”
With the windows closed, the air in the room had grown stagnant. Hank loosened his tie and the collar on his shirt and stood to remove his jacket.
“What kind of things have you been doing?” Mama asked.
Hank paused. “You know I’m flying in a B-17, right?”
“Doesn’t that mean you’ll be going to Europe?” Papa asked.
Hank shrugged. “I’m not supposed to say, but most likely.”
“What has your training been like?”
“A lot of high-altitude flying, Papa. We have to wear oxygen masks once we reach ten thousand feet, or else we get sick,” Hank trailed off. “The cold is the worst thing. I never thought I would hate to fly, but it’s miserable when it’s so cold.”
“What’s your job?”
“I’m a waist gunner. That means I operate a .50 caliber machine gun to protect the left side of the aircraft. There are guns on the front, back, top, and anywhere else they can fit a gun. They wanted me to be a tail gunner but I wouldn’t fit, so they made me a waist gunner.”
“Is that good?” Mama asked, her face drawn in concern.
“Yeah. The tail gunner is one of the most dangerous positions in the plane. At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” Hank replied.
“What kind of people do you work with?” Mama asked.
“My skipper is a guy from Dallas. He’s a good egg. I like him,” Hank said. “They’re all swell guys, but they smoke a lot,” Hank laughed.
“Every time we land, the first thing they do is jump out of the plane and light up. All of ‘em! I’m the only one that doesn’t smoke,” Hank chuckled. “But I’m getting used to it, and I’ve learned not to complain!”
Papa grunted, rubbing his chin. “Have you met any other Mormons?”
“Nope. Note yet.” Hank looked down at his shoes. “It seems hardly anybody is religious, or they’re too scared to talk about it if they are.”
”We know what that’s like,” Mama gave a tentative smile.
“So when do you go overseas? Papa asked. “What’s next for you?” Hank could hear the anxiety in his papa’s voice.
“That’s where I’m headed next. They told us we’re all ready for aerial combat, so off we go to war.”
“You don’t sound very confident.” Papa looked at Mama, seeing if she agreed.
“I think it’s because we don’t think we’re ready,” Hank said. “Ready for combat, I mean.”
“Don’t they give you enough combat training?” Hank felt an accusation in his papa’s question.
“We’ve practiced shooting at moving targets; we’ve practiced parachute jumps; we’ve flown for twelve and thirteen hours straight. We’ve had months of training, but I still don’t feel I’m anywhere close to being ready for combat. None of us do, really. And it’s not that I’m chicken or anything, but I just don’t think we know what we’re doing,” Hank admitted.
From outside their building, a chorus of shouting reverberated against the walls. The guard stood and peered out the window.
Hank stood too, giving a curious glance at his parents. “What’s that all about?”
“I don’t know,” Papa replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s probably some of the troublemakers and hoodlums we have here. They make it miserable for everyone.”
A handful of armed guards ran past the window. Hank watched, wide-eyed, and within seconds more guards were swarming into an area just out of view of their room.
The guard looked on nervously and watched the door anxiously, but no one came. The voices became more strident and angrier.
“We’ve had problems with some of the more zealous Nazis,” Papa said.
“They put up the Nazi flag and make trouble for anyone who disagrees with them. It’s a real mess.”
“I had no idea they allowed that in a place like this,” Hank replied.
Bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation, the guard finally pointed a finger at Karl and Marta, saying, “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be back in just a second.” He then darted out of the room with his gun at the ready.
Hank looked at his parents. A strange silence hovered over the room, despite the ruckus outside. Hank glanced at the door, waiting for the guard, listening for anything. He heard nothing, not even an echo of voices from office workers talking outside their door.
After a long silence, Hank said, “I know they won’t allow me to hug you, but I’m going to do it anyway.” He jumped to his feet and reached both arms out to embrace his father.
“Thanks for being such a great father. I hope someday to be like you, Papa.”
Hank squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. Papa held Hank tightly, rubbing his back in silence.
When he turned to his mother, she wiped the tears from Hank’s face and whispered, “Everything will be okay, Liebchen, don’t ever forget that.” She wrapped her arms around Hank’s neck and held him close. Despite feeling her bones protruding from her shoulders and arms, he was already feeling nostalgic for the next time he could hug her. He knew the memory of this embrace would be held in a special place in his mind because he knew the next one may not happen again for a long, long time, maybe not until the next life.
A rustling outside the room made Hank draw back from his mama. He collapsed into his seat. As the guard entered the room, Hank noticed the surprised look on his face at seeing everyone sitting right where he had last seen them.
Hank looked on, unable to hide his elation for having been able to steal an embrace without getting his parents in trouble. He could see the same look of joy in their eyes too.
At the end of the hour, just as the guard was about to end the visit, Hank stood, “I guess this is ‘goodbye’ for now. I’ll be praying for you. Please write often so I know what’s going on. I worry about you two all the time.”
“We worry about you, too, Hank,” Mama added in a hushed voice.
“I love you. Someday soon we’ll be together again, and I’ll be able to give you a hug legally,” Hank winked, then gave a mischievous grin. His parents smiled back and waved as they left the room.
His parents disappeared from view, and the door closed behind them. As the door closed, Hank lost his smile. He felt emptier than ever before. A wave of grief washed the cheerfulness out of him.
Hank hurried to leave the camp. In the span of only a few hours, everything he once thought he knew about America had been turned upside down. Justice, fairness, law and order meant nothing anymore.
Random thoughts kept bouncing around in his head. How can I fight for America when my country does such horrible things to good people? Maybe I should just give up my citizenship in protest? Maybe I should go AWOL from the Air Corps? Then again, how could I walk away from my friends that I’ve trained with all this time? And what about the greater threat to Oma and other Germans?
The clank of the main gate closing behind him startled Hank back to the present. Thinking about his parent’s deplorable condition made him physically ill, and he resisted a powerful urge to empty his stomach. His parents deserved better, much better.
His shoulders slumped and his feet shuffled toward Millie Eskelson’s house a quarter mile away. Quietly, he let himself in, unannounced.
“Hank, is that you?” she called out from the kitchen.
He hated to be rude, but he closed the door behind him without answering. N11
Chapter 34
September 19, 1943
