The One Who Stole the Sky

Impression

"Why do you look so pale?" Max had caught Liesel setting the table for dinner when he arrived back home. It was true, he did appear a concerning color.

"Me? Pale? No, it's nothing. . ." With ease, Max slipped the tie loose from around his neck and took off his jacket. Sweat faintly formed on his smooth skin.

"Go wash up. Dinner is ready." Very hard did Liesel try to sound normal in her words. But she knew Max. There was something that made him shake. A few minutes had passed before Max circled the table, rolling up his sleeves.

"Spaetzle and soup. It's the best I could do." Liesel frowned, hoping to find understanding in Max's eyes.

"I understand. I know the economy is suffering. Please, you do not have to explain it to me." No matter how much money one man made, it was worthless in the end. And with giving his last painting away, the two hadn't had a sufficient means of income for some time now. Max pulled the chair out for Liesel then took a seat across from her.

"Tell me about Charlie and your day." Liesel passed around the bowl of Spaetzle with starving eyes.

"It went alright. She has these crazy ideas that make me feel uncomfortable. She wants to make an impression on the Communists." Max felt a bit better after he shared what was making him uncomfortable.

"She?" Liesel casually stated.

"Yes, Charlie is a girl. I reacted the same way once I saw her." Max stuttered and looked around the room as he explained.

"And Communists? Does she want you to die? Max, that's a death sentence. You're Jewish! You'll be put in a concentration camp or be killed by anarchists." Liesel nearly spat her half-chewed food across the table, and so she immediately put her napkin to her mouth.

"It's terrible. I don't know what to do. I cannot get myself out of the contract either." Max jabbed at his circular noodles of spaetzle and played with them while in thought. Liesel cleared the table after Max had finished playing with his food and ate the last spoonful of noodles on his plate.

"I can't help you on this one, Max. All I ask is that you stay safe when it is revealed to the world." The delicate Liesel gently collected everything that was on the table in one trip to the kitchen. The word "world" clung and held itself in Max's mind.

"I haven't a clue. Tomorrow I must try to convince her to change her message, or at least prevent her from gluing Communist leaders to a canvas." Max restlessly shook his head, then joined his sanity in the kitchen, where she was scrubbing the dishes.

"People have gone too far. Everybody thinks they can say whatever they want to simply because we are not in the war anymore. There is still a reason to hide, no matter if you are free in this moment." Liesel raged as she wiped loose hairs away from her forehead. Max bit at his nails with a silent approval.

"Someone will take me for a dissenter on the Communist Party and before you know it, another Great Purge will terrorize Europe." Sarcastically, and, unfortunately true, Max paced in between the kitchen and dining room. Nobody made a sound except for the faucet's abrasive water pressure that took down dried crumbs on the plate.

"Where did you learn to cook like that? Certainly Rosa never taught you." A nervous hand always itched Max's back in times of distress such as now, but now he was beyond the distress that he caused himself harm by accidentally taking a chunk of his flesh off of the base of his neck.

"I read many cookbooks and recipe cards during the war. We never had the resources to cook even the most simple of dishes. But with a little more income and slightly better rations, I could finally get my hands on some of the ingredients to cook." Liesel turned the water off and started to dry off the dishes with a clean towel. Max only grimaced in pain as he felt blood pump its way to the surface of his self-inflicted wound. It was not a large or serious wound, but it definitely was a stupid move on his part.

"We will never stop running." Max became sidetracked and completely shifted topics of interest. Blood tugged on his shirt. The hole was only the size of a small button, yet it bled profusely.

"As terrible as the truth is, you are right. Your people will never indulge in a moment of peace or happiness. They live in the shadows like rats, and are treated twice as bad!" Liesel scrubbed at the dishes in a defeated anger.

"The Allies cannot protect us forever, though. What will become of Germany and Bavaria once they have left?" A hand was thrown in the air and slapped against the gray cotton trousers Max wore.

"I'm not sure, but certainly our country cannot make amends with the art your partner envisions." Towel in hand, Liesel now began to clean off the beaded water on the wet dishes. An army truck growled by on the street outside the kitchen window, reminding them of the horrific years they lived through and how reliant on hope they had become for the future.

"I know. I must convince her to change her mind. Any other subject would do better than the red and yellow and white of Communism. I will ask her what she likes to do, and maybe from there we can produce a personal piece, and more importantly once that won't get me killed." Max sat down at the dining table again, only this time he brought with him sketching paper, H4, and H2 pencils. He only wanted to ease his mind of the situation by doing some light sketches to pass the time. Liesel joined him a moment later, only she took up the seat next to him rather than at the other head of the table. She laid her hands on the table with a long sigh of frustration.

"I'm worried about you too. I am so sorry for you; the situation I have made is dangerous for both of us-"

"Don't. Don't worry about it. Convince her to change her mind, and then there will be nothing to fear." Liesel perked up as she tried to hide her worries under her bright smile.

"You will face things worse than the War. There are things that go on, terrible things. I, a Jew, and you, a German lady who narrowly escaped- it would be impossible to imagine the awful things they could do to us." Max shook his head in great disgust, a repugnant wrinkle of a face revealed itself as he reached for a glass of water he left on the table after dinner. He sipped, then his disturbed face disappeared.

"You need protected. And if this loon wants to walk the risky side of business, then so be it. I will have no parts of it, even if I am fired. I'd much rather walk the safe side, and keep my promise of keeping you safe." Max spoke down at his paper rather than up at Liesel. The scratching noise of the lightest pencils against the pulpy paper made for a soothing humming that filled the room even when there was no other noise.

"What are you drawing." Liesel inquired as she sought someone to talk to. Max leaned back, viewed his line work, then flipped the book around for Liesel to see. She laughed a little, perhaps maybe a little forcefully, before bringing her hands up to her face and turning them left and right.

"Why my hands?" She gazed at her hands like a newborn discovering its appendages and their functions- why they were attached in the first place.

"They were right in front of me and they didn't move at all." Max reasoned with an eraser caught between his thumb and pointer finger. Liesel laughed genuinely now, and Max followed.

"Well, goodnight dummkopf." Liesel slid her chair in and walked toward her bedroom.

"Goodnight." Max started to put his pencils away.

"Wait, what did you just call me? Liesel. . ."

Max followed after Liesel, wondering if he heard her correctly.