The One Who Stole the Sky

Across the Sea and Down the River

The bald man that haunted Max's dreams was not working when he returned three days later. With his head tucked close to his chest, Max carried a single leather suitcase and hope. He feared everything, every outcome, everybody, and everywhere. His mind dare not wonder too far from him, for it traveled unknowingly to dark places. The most worrisome thought that often intruded on the others was his and Liesel's safety. Mulching, though a quaint village, was not the equivalent of West Germany. Max's heart was set to leave Munich and Mulching behind for the more industrious west. There, he could blend into society as someone else. He could redesign himself anew and find opportunities for Liesel and himself, if she was willing to move away from the poisoned east.

From his coat pocket he drew a bundle of pencils and scrap papers that had no use. He hunched over the tiny table in front of him mute. How different it was when there was no companion at his side to turn to when his thoughts echoed louder and louder. His foot shook a steady beat beneath him, and his dark hair encapsulated his face, shielding it from the world outside. He brought with him no tool to blend or shade with, but his hands, he considered, were a faultless tool which he carried with him always and could use as a substitute.

The papers had a purpose now. He scribbled over the newsprint and headlines without paying attention to what they heeded. Only for a second he stopped his aggressive line work when the scandalous picture he had come to painfully be associated with mocked him on the table. His heart lurched hastily for a moment in embarrassment. A grimace tore open his solemn face, and he savagely ripped the image out and crinkled it into a ball. He could not let a picture dictate his feelings, let alone the lies conducted by the press. Everyone would know his face by now, and that is what turned Max's insides unbearably ill. If only he could rip this image from every newspaper then he may be safe. But uncertainty threatened him to become something feral, beyond wild even. His anxieties and paranoia enervated his conscious that when the train croaked to a halt, he jumped up in a frantic spasm. Like a castaway wrapped around a life preserver, he bobbed among the sea of people and faced the rouge waves confidently. On occasion he was lost under the rapidity of those moving in different directions, but he still clung on to that life preserver with everything he had. The exit of the station melted the sea of people down into a puddle, and Max had the strength to run along as fast as he could. Rain drizzled and silver clouds cloaked the sun from shining. Helplessly sprinting amongst the streets, Max thought back on the day he first came to Mulching years ago. Equally as terrified. Equally as drained. Nothing has changed, only the development of insanity since then. The governor's house stood on the outside of town, near a bridge that connected it to the northern section. The wet matted down Max's hair and dripped off the ends. It beaded on his face and trickled down the crevices of his pointy nose. There were very few people walking the streets; only a young woman with a crate of milk passed by him. He could see the roof of the mansion barely through the foggy mist that now formed, but nonetheless, he still saw it. Max never thought before rapping at the large door who would answer and how they would react when they saw him on their porch. Haters of Jews. Haters of whatever Max seemed to be.

"Hallo. . ." Ilsa's voice quickly faded from the doorway after seeing who was on the other side. She bowed her head down, away from Max.

"Hallo. Is Liesel home?" The flow of blood in Max's heart was so forceful that he could hear it functioning in his ears. He swallowed his fear.

"She has caught a fever." Frau Ilsa began to close the door on Max, but the agility of his years as a fighter came to fruition in this moment. He wedged his foot in the crack of the door to prevent it from closing.

"Bitte, Frau Ilsa. Please." His shoulder pressed against the door and he met the old woman's gaze in the slit of the doorway. His heart, louder than thunder and as expeditious as a piston, thumped violently in his chest.

"Who is she to you Max, hm? You take her from me, break her heart, and lie to her. Now you are a wanted man here. You bring her danger she does not need." It was all true, and in the face of the truth, Max crumbled. The chilled rain swirled in his mind as he lost his sense of direction. Why was he here again?

"I know. I need to see her. I need to tell her goodbye." Suddenly, the quick-paced flow of blood fell in his chest and left him nauseated. To speak the words was more painful than to think them, this Max came to know. The door remained agape, but Ilsa did not move to open it.

Max pushed his way through the door, soaked from being left in the rain. He left a river flowing through the foyer and up the stairs where he assumed Liesel rested.

"Liesel!" He banged coldly on the door. But it was only the bathroom.

"Liesel!" He stumbled with numb feet to the next door. But it was only the study.

"Liesel!" He importuned through his miserable state of existence. The door he opened led to a man seated next to a bed. The man automatically stood up upon Max's surprise entry and the two stared at one another.

"I presume you are Max Vanderburg. I only know from the newspapers I have read." He paced the room with a wide, sulking face.

"I need to speak to Liesel, Bürgermeister. It is urgent, if you-if you please." The scowl ruminating from the burly man left an uneasy weight in Max's stomach.

"I beg of you, allow me a moment to explain." Max's weakening grasp on the situation slipped more. The rest of Max's life could not continue if he was denied the right to speak to Liesel. There were things he needed to explain to her that may save her life. But it all rested on the Bürgermeister.

"She is sick. Do not waste her time." With dictated authority brainwashed into his head, the Bürgermeister marched out of the room aggressively.

"Liesel?" Max leaned over the bed and cupped her hand in between his. She was paler than ever, but her lips burned a natural bright pink. She looked like a porcelain doll, but was more delicate than any Max had ever seen.

"Why have you come? I am sick, Max. The Bürgermeister will not be happy with your presence. Who let you in?" Liesel babbled nonsense like a baby, but the reunion brought a smile to Max that dismissed the clouded head of his sick friend.

"Liesel, you need to listen to me. You must meet me at Herr Steiner's tomorrow morning. Your mother and father do not want me here, but I must tell you that you are not safe. Do you understand me?" Max kissed the frozen hand he held made of porcelain and observed her shallow movements.

"I understand. I will find you tomorrow. For now I must rest." Her eyes shifted to Max who rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand. She smiled faintly and moved to talk again, but her father stormed in and demanded that Max had plenty of time and he must go. Max complied with the Bürgermeister's wishes and showed himself out after thanking him a million times over for his generosity. In the rain and complete darkness, Max Vanderburg was outcasted from life once again. He was not wanted by anyone anymore.

Liesel could still smell the rain from her friend in the room. She touched the back of her hand where Max held it tight, and fought herself to fall asleep.