Dear stranger,
How are you? I hope you live somewhere safe.
Out of all of us, Papa listens to the radio the most. Every morning at 6 sharp, we listen to the news.
It's also when Hans, or Herr Steiner to be sure, joins us and smokes a cigarette.
I like Hans. I think I'm his favorite. He always cracks a joke and even let me try a cigarette.
I don't like cigarettes though, they're absolutely disgusting. I remember Mama and Papa used to smoke on the veranda together.
When Papa kissed me goodnight, his shaven cheek would always rub against my ear, and I could smell the tobacco from miles away.
And I remember after dinner he'd whisk Mama away in the kitchen while the Volksempfänger was playing in the background, and Papa would suddenly grab my hands and swing me. I would laugh and step on his feet ('Och, Etta, you've wounded me!') and then he'd awfully hum to the jazzy tune in return.
Ein Lady war einst in Tirol
'Please Papa, I can't listen to you anymore.'
Da war es ihr ums Herz so wohl
A twirl. A clumsy step. Another playful comment.
Sie sah am Berge einen Mann
'Ah, Elisabeth, do you recall?' he'd say, suddenly full with energy. Mama would laugh quietly and take his hand.
Und fing zu jodeln an!
And then he'd yodel and do his best do imitate the one and only Hans Rehmstedt, and I'd laugh and laugh, until the moon shone through the window.
I miss those days.
He still jokes around with Hans when he can, but I know he's just as affected as us.
Mama doesn't say much anymore. She's always fussing with our belongings or fiddling with that thread she found on my pullover.
I think she's worse than Beyamin in that aspect.
—Your Esther
YOU ARE READING
The Sound of Silence
Historical Fiction"God had given us a miracle, and I wasn't sure there would be one next." Winter 1942, one of the coldest years in history. Hans Steiner, a man of his late thirties, looks through the iron fence, through the hollow eyes that follow him, and to the as...
