Fiction

Gisele read the names on the crooked tombstones but failed to find her father’s grave. She sat down unable to continue as the constant reminder of death wore her out. A man methodically checking every grave walked around her and continued down the path. “Do you work here?” She called out.

He stopped and smiled, “Yes. Are you okay?”

“I’m looking for Thomas Friedrich.”

“That’s a common name in Germany. What’s your name?” He asked as he wrote something down.

She stood up and brushed off her jeans. Then she pushed her hair back, “Gisele.”

She became angry as he wrote it down. “Stop writing.”

“Sorry. I’m Peter, follow me.” He led her to a well kept grave. She knelt down and traced the name on the tombstone with her fingers and sobbed but held back the tears. Someone took care of it. Who? She needed to know.

“Who put these flowers here?”

“Let’s find out.” She noticed his clear blue eyes and blonde hair. They entered the office. A man smoked a cigarette and coughed while he tried to tune in a shortwave radio. “Damn reception is lousy here. Must be all the spirits,” he coughed while laughing.

“Wolfgang, we need to find out who takes care of Thomas Friedrich’s grave?”

“I do.” He said. “Who wants to know?”

“You wouldn’t take care of your own mother’s grave. This is Gisele.”

She realized that Peter lied. He didn’t work here. She chewed on her hair. What was he doing here and why did he help her. Wolfgang pulled out some files and said, “I only do this for you, Peter.” She stepped back when she saw a Nazi insignia on Wolfgang’s arm.

“Here we are. It’s a Heidi Friedrich on the Auf der Meere.”

“Thank you,” she said. He stared at her and she backed out quickly.

She said good-bye as Peter wrote down his first name and phone number on a card. She drove to the address of Heidi Friedrich and knocked on the door.

The row of moderate size houses connected together seemed tranquil with a park across the street and shops nearby. She tried to control her anger that had built up over the last fifteen years since the end of the war. An old lady answered, “Hello, Can I help you?”

Gisele panicked and stepped back. “I’m looking for Thomas Friedrich.” She pulled at her hair.

The smell of furniture polish drifted out of the door. The lady sighed, “Why?”

Could she say it? She hesitated and that minute caused her to lose her bravado. “I work for the government. I have money owed to him for his service in the Navy.” Which included creating me in a one night stand in Oslo, she thought.

“He’s dead. I’m his wife. How come you don’t know that?”

“Lost records.” The lies were becoming easy. “You may be entitled to the money.” She wanted to find out if there were any half siblings or something else meaningful.

A timer went off in the kitchen. Saved by the bell, she thought. “Come in,” she said.

Gisele went into a spotless room as the lady hurried into the kitchen to remove bread from the oven.

Her eyes took in everything. A Swiss cuckoo clock ticked loudly on the wall. Books lined shelves along the far wall. Little figurines watched her every move from their fixed spots on every flat surface. Then she saw it. A black and white picture of a man in a navy uniform as he prepared to board a ship hung on the wall. She cried then took the picture and ran out the door.

How could she tell her that your dead husband is my father? She sipped coffee at a café while staring at the picture. Why you, she wondered. If only her mother didn’t die.

She took out the card and went into the café to call Peter, “Hi, Are you busy?”

“No,” he said.

“Can you meet me somewhere?”

“Yes,” he said. They agreed to meet in the park across from the Friedrich’s house.

She showed him the picture. “I figured it out,” he said. “You have blonde hair with blue eyes and a Norwegian accent. You’re a Lebensborn child.”

She gasped.

“I knew it,” he said.

“Please don’t tell anyone. Everybody hates us. Besides, you are kind of strange too. You walk around cemeteries with a notepad.”

He laughed. “I am looking for something.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you. You will hate me if you know.”

She opened her mouth to speak then stopped. “Look,” she pointed at the Friedrich’s house. A lady in her thirties entered the house. “That could be my step sister.”

“Let’s go find out.”

“I can’t. It will destroy that family. What will they think of their father? He was out screwing foreign woman while they worried about him.”

“Well, look what it’s done to you.”

She handed him the picture. “Can you give this to them? I shouldn’t have stolen it.”

“Okay, I’ll say I found it on the sidewalk.”

She watched as the door opened. The younger lady took the photograph and appeared to yell at him then slammed the door. What had just happened?

He returned, “She was mad.”

“Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders and said he had to go somewhere. “Can we meet tomorrow?”

“I guess so,” she said. He got in the old black car and drove away. She walked to the inn where she was staying and went to bed.

Later, she sat outside the Friedrich’s house and waited for inner strength. It never came and so she walked to the gravesite. She watched for Peter but saw no one and went to her father’s grave. She knelt down and sobbed. “How can you do this to me? I wish I wasn’t even born.”

She got up and walked away without looking back when she heard someone call her name. She headed to the bridge over the river. She wanted to end it. The pain was too much. She climbed on the railing and then heard someone yell, “Stop.” She looked at Peter.

“What do you want?”

“Don’t do this.”

“Peter, leave me alone. Don’t you have a graveyard to search?”

“No, and I don’t want to find your grave in one when I do. Please wait a little longer maybe things will get better. Please.”

She climbed down and silently walked off the bridge.

Peter looked away and said, “My father was a SS officer and betrayed lots of people around here. People hate me because of him and some people think he is still alive. I wanted to find his grave so they will forget him and I can live in peace but I realized that won't happen as long as I am here.”

“That family will never accept me either. I realize that now too. I’m a reminder of his infidelity. They thought he was a hero and the sight of me will always make them sick.”

“Sounds like the sight of both of us will make people upset. We will give them nightmares.” He laughed but stopped quickly.

“It’s so surreal that we met. It’s like someone arranged it.” They walked to her father’s grave and she cried.

Peter gently touched her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said and hugged her.

She smiled and squeezed his hand and saw an interesting sparkle in his eyes.

The next morning she walked to the cemetery for the last time and gasped when she saw a blanket of colorful heather growing among the bleak tombstones. Gisele picked a handful of the purple blossoms off her father’s grave then inhaled their fragrance and felt in her heart the faint traces of life.