Time of Useful Consciousness

By Jennifer Ott

Louisa Unger, a young German woman in Post-War World II Germany kills a man in cold blood. Despite her crime, her fate is up to her - give up her countrymen for her freedom. She decides to play the loyalty card and remain in prison.

During the interrogations, Louisa weaves her tale of the events by evading any real information. She relives reuniting with her estranged brother Freddy, falling in love with Kris, a former reconnaissance pilot and learning to fly to a plane. She recounts in fairy tale fashion of monsters cloaked in shadows and lessons learned by incorrigible children.

Seduced into the bliss of romance and flying, Louisa fails to recognize any threat. She grows immersed in the life of a smuggler, a pilot and a lover. It is hard to come back down to earth, when soaring so high.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Ott
• Release date: Jun 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311737533

Jennifer Ott

After graduating college with a degree in fashion design and fine arts, I moved to New York City where I studied screen writing with the Gotham Writer's group and attended NYU part-time studying filmmaking and acting. Learning how to write screenplays taught me how to write tight storylines and acting helped master dialog. Living in New York City, inflicted with credit card debt, impassioned me to write my first non-fiction satire, Ooh Baby Compound Me which compares the credit card industry to fraternity hazing. Bad dating experiences inspired Wild Horses and eventually after much research - Love and Handicapping. My book, The Tourist reflects the dreamer's plight in an overly commercial and corporate world which many can relate. Saying Goodbye, What the World Doesn't Know, I can only say was channeled by from an unknown source. I became consumed by a real-life love story and felt compelled to write. The repressed eighth grade journalist arose and I dug deep into uncovering a hidden love story. The same force encouraged The Insurrectionist - a story so powerful and intense, it had to be told. After writing The Insurrection I needed something light and fun was desperately needed - One with the Wind. Throughout the years, I have learned stories are a dime a dozen, characters can blend into one and the same dialog can be repeated in many different ways, but the best writing comes from what we are most passionate. If the story compels the writer to near madness, it is a story that must be written.

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Time of Useful Consciousness

Jennifer Ott

Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Ott

All rights reserved.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

"They were indeed great rascals,

and belonged to that class of people

who find things before they are lost."

~Jacob Grimm

Chapter 1

Rage erupted through her entire body, yet she was stoically calm. She had held it in so long believing someday they would be free again—free from the chaos and the violence, the global scrutiny and the burden handed to them from their parents. She wanted it all to end and deep inside, she knew the only way to make it to end would take just one more act of violence; one shot and it would be over. Taking a life would be so liberating no matter how long she would be hunted or incarcerated.

He laughed and asked in his usual pompousness, See können nicht es tun. Sie ist Ihre Familie, aber verschieden schwach. Sie haben Verstand, ist nicht dieses Recht, Louisa?

The Luger weighed heavily in her hand and her arm began to shake. Her face wrinkled and she choked on a few tears. Ich bin klug. She pulled the trigger and shot.

A small wisp of smoke plumed from the barrel and the bullet ripped through empty space as if in slow motion, yet he didn’t have time to react. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped. What he thought was impossible, happened. He was on the brink of being killed as he had done to so many innocents. The bullet pierced his pressed white shirt and red oozed spreading into a bloody stain.

The impact didn’t knock him over at first…maybe it was his disbelief that someone—especially a young woman—would get the best of him, or maybe he believed he was too powerful to die. Soon life escaped him, and he slumped quietly to the floor.

She lowered the gun and breathed in deeply, releasing a satisfying sigh. It was over—the ordeal she had never anticipated—yet after flying so high and fast, what could she expect? She was bound to come down sooner or later and like the rest of her family, she came crashing down hard.

Slouching to the floor, she set the gun beside her and traced her finger along the hardwood floor. She took a moment to smell the room’s organic, musty scent. A silent breeze from the pine outside the window lofted over her bringing calmness with it. The thumping of helicopter propellers outside proved her ordeal was not yet over.

She barely felt strong hands ring around her upper arms and pull her upright. Are you okay, miss? he asked in a Southern American drawl.

She hated that particular American accent, but the worst was the North Eastern accents of New York and Boston. She became quite an expert on American accents during the occupation. Many times she wished they were occupied by the British; at least they would be dominated by polite, proper voices.

The American soldier shook her gently. Are you alright? he asked again.

She nodded, shrugging away from his grasp. She was ready for her punishment, whatever it would be.

The soldier escorted her across the hilltop, which overlooked a clear lake and meadow of white edelweiss. Such beautiful scenery for such evil men. Why were the evildoers blessed with such beauty and the good masses succumbed to the gray darkness of the city? she thought as the soldier pushed her into the backseat of a helicopter.

As the helicopter lifted, she watched the mirrored reflection on the lake. So much power everyone thought they had—the Germans, the Americans—yet nobody knew anything. Everyone was ignorant. Flying over this land as she has done for the past year it became obvious how easy it was to lose awareness. It was so easy to get lost when she had been escaping reality daily.

Surrounded by American soldiers, she settled into her seat not knowing where they were taking her. It didn’t matter. Her life had ended several years ago and she remembered exactly the first day of the end.

*****

1943 Stuttgart, Germany, Louisa Unger, thirteen, ran her palms over the tips of the tall grass of a meadow and trampled carelessly over the crocus and goat’s beard flowers. It was good to be outside and feel the wind on her face. For too long, they had been terrorized by the Brown Shirts parading the streets. Today, she and her brother broke free. She looked up and saw her older brother of two years, Freddy strolling ahead.

Freddy stopped suddenly and held up his hand. Hold up.

Louisa halted on his command. What?

He waved his finger. Do you hear that?

Louisa cocked her head to the side and listened but heard nothing. Suddenly the ground rumbled under her feet.

Lou! Freddy yelled turning his head to the sky.

Louisa saw a ribbon of black smoke circling in the sky. Both Freddy and Louisa arched their heads upward as the disabled US fighter plane soared over their heads and crashed on the other side of a thicket of trees.

Freddy sprinted toward the burning wreckage. It’s a Mustang! It’s a Yank!

Louisa hesitated. Freddy wait!

When Freddy didn’t listen, she ran after him. She arrived at the wreck seeing the dead pilot and the engine smoldering. She watched the black, charred skin melt from his skull. It was grotesque, yet she was oddly engrossed.

Freddy took off his jacket and reached toward the burning pilot.

What are you doing? You should be careful, scolded Louisa.

He’s dead, Lou. It’s not like he’s going to pop up and shoot me, replied Freddy as he reached for the pilot’s dog tags. Ah, you’re mine, Yankee.

I think we should get out of here, argued Louisa. The plane could explode. There’s going to be people searching for the crash site.

Freddy strung the pilot’s dog tags around his neck. How do they look? Do they make me look American?

Louisa rolled her eyes. We’d better get home. They may come looking for him.

Freddy saluted the dead polite. Auf Weidersene, Yankee!

Grabbing Freddy by the arm, she pulled him away. Come on!

Are you sure you’re my little sister or my mother? teased Freddy.

Louisa said nothing. She didn’t like being the bossy little sister, but she worried often. Times were so trying; one step out of line could be a person’s last and Freddy consistently straddled the line.

*****

It was amazing how much things had changed in five years. The war had ended, but the battle lines were still drawn. Invisible battles continued to be fought—Allies versus Axis. No matter how much people wanted to toss around the word peace, it didn’t exist.

Throughout the years, Louisa’s soul had been broken, but her spirit had awakened. Today wrapped up not just a yearlong occupation but the end of her personal war. She not only breathed sighs of relief, a smile also crept across her face as she followed a stern American nurse through the halls of an American military prison.

The nurse escorted Louisa into a room full of open showers. Remove your clothes.

Louisa faced the nurse. She breathed heavily, kicked off her boots, slowly removed her blouse and slid out of her khakis.

The nurse recovered Louisa’s clothes. Come on. All of them.

Louisa unhooked her bra, letting it slide forward to the floor and pushed down her panties. She stood completely naked before the nurse without a care.

The nurse handed Louisa a bar of soap and a towel. Here you go. Wash off.

Louisa stepped into the shower stall and turned on the spigot. The frigid water shook her back to reality. Scheiße! She had no regrets, none at all. It was just that life could be so screwed up and destroy the ones you love. It's better, sometimes, to have lived a fucked-up life with those you love than never to have seen or felt them. She laughed not wanting it any other way.

Fortunately, the water turned to a lukewarm temperature and it mellowed her mind enough to return to her duties of washing. She lathered the bar of soap in her hands and scrubbed her body and hair. It felt good to wash away his grime—such a loathsome man. I don’t care what anyone says. I’m glad I killed him.

As she washed herself, she paused to feel the nape of her neck. The butterfly charm she wore around her neck, the one she never removed, was no longer there to provide her comfort. She took a moment to reflect on the events that brought her to her current circumstances. Although throughout the past year she’d lost faith in her countrymen, she never let go of her faith in love until now. It flew away with her butterfly charm.

The nurse returned promptly with army issue coveralls. Louisa toweled off and dressed quickly. When they exited the showers, American military police greeted Louisa and marched her down the sanitized hallway. A grin crossed her face and she burst out laughing. The police and the nurse turned to her not knowing what could be so funny, yet no one said a word.

They came to a door with a frosted glass window. One of the guards unlocked the door and gestured for Louisa to enter. She did so without a fight. She didn’t even turn around when they closed the door locking her inside.

The room was so gray—gray walls, gray floor, gray metal cot, gray blanket and a gray metal chair and desk. It was a sea of sanitized gray. The only thing that wasn’t gray was the window that looked out to an empty lot surrounded by a barbed-wire fence.

Well, this is home. She sat on the cot and reclined back against the wall. I’ve lived in worse.

*****

It was August of 1943 when the walls rattled and pictures and delicate doll figurines crashed to the floor. Louisa lifted her head from her pillow and clutched her mattress. The whole room shook so violently everything was blurry vibrating fragments of its physical form. A loud boom sounded nearby and red lights flashed in her room.

Louisa! screamed her mother.

Mama! Louisa cried too terrified to move.

Louisa! Beeilen Sie sich! her mother yelled over hollow explosions.

When the sirens wailed and the ground searchlights filtered into the dusty sky, Louisa grasped a framed picture of her Luftwaffe father, which had fallen to the floor. She clutched it to her chest as she headed out the door toward the hallway and down to the basement where her mother and brother had retreated.

That night was the first of fifty-three Allied attacks on Louisa’s hometown of Stuttgart. For years, the Allies targeted the city as they did all German cities. It was the fateful strategy to bring Germany to its knees by harassing citizens by air. Unfortunately, the Nazi regime remained hardheaded and did not back down until Germany was burned and flattened to the ground. The losses at the time seemed insurmountable, yet somehow life went to go on.

*****

Now a year later, Louisa curled up on the prison cot and stared at the black shadows dancing throughout her room. Tonight there would be no bombs. There would be no fear of losing her existence in the blink of an eye. She was alive and would no doubt awake the next morning. At one point during her life, awakening to a new dawn had not been a guarantee.

Her door opened and a light filtered inside, a stream of fluorescent white light. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder and shook her. Louisa, are you awake?

Louisa saw him turn on the desk lamp. He was a good man and she knew what her mother saw in him, but there was no way she was going to let on. She knew him as Colonel Taylor. She didn’t even know his first name, and really didn’t care to. He bore that annoying American altruism, yet it was evident the war had worn on him as well.

Colonel Taylor pulled the chair from the desk and set it next to Louisa’s cot. Sitting down, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes and offered her one. Louisa took the cigarette without a word and when he offered her a light from a match, she blew it out.

I can light my own cigarettes, she said.

Colonel Taylor nodded and tossed her the pack of matches. Your mother is very worried.

Louisa sat up in bed, lit her cigarette and dragged hard. Sure she is.

We can make this easy, or we can make it hard. It’s all up to you.

What am I being held for? she asked.

Smuggling, he responded.

Louisa chuckled. Not murder. He was a prize for you Americans and I killed him. You’re not going to hang me for that?

Hardly. You did the world a service. Colonel Taylor sat back and studied Louisa. There are plenty more like him, some of them you may know.

Oh, I get it. This is the name game. I give you names; I get my freedom back, she said.

Something like that, he said.

Louisa puffed on her cigarette. Well, tough luck for me. I don’t rat on my countrymen. I just kill them.

Louisa, you’re a very smart girl. Don’t make this hard on yourself.

Hard on me! she roared with laughter. "Colonel, you don’t know the meaning of hard unless you’re talking about the erection you get for imparting American justice. I mean, you can impress my mother with your erection of American peace and freedom, but I am less impressed."

I guess, then, you would have preferred to live under Hitler’s rule, he snapped.

Colonel, that’s not the kind of sweet-talking that would get a girl to open up, she said.

He stood and tossed the package of cigarettes to her. As he headed for the door, he paused by the light switch. On or off.

Off, she said.

When he flicked off the lights and left, Louisa fumbled with the cigarette pack in the dark. She struck a match and watched the flame ignite. I could burn this place down. She puckered her lips around a cigarette and lit it. Closing her eyes tightly, she fought hard to repress the memories that came flashing back.

*****

For months, Louisa lived underground in the basement with her mother and brother. The constant Allied bombing of Stuttgart made their upstairs unlivable. Occasionally, they went upstairs to assess the damages and bring down more food and supplies.

Below in the basement, each of them set up their own private space. Her mother Marlene set up under the staircase, her brother Freddy preferred the front corner of the house and Louisa adjusted to life along the side exterior wall—but when the bombs started, they all gathered with Marlene under the staircase.

One night the bombing started shortly after midnight. By then they had grown accustomed to it, and on some occasions, Louisa was able to sleep right through huddled in the arms of her brother. This night was different. The bombs didn’t slow down or even cease but picked up in intensity and force as the night progressed.

With each thundering boom dust fell from their upstairs littering the basement floor and making breathing difficult. Sometimes the bombs were so close Louisa believed one would come through their house and be the very end of them all.

After clinging to each other for hours, the dusty haze of dawn filtered through the basement window and for a moment, all was silent. Although Louisa could feel the cries of fear and relief bubbling within her, she didn’t allow them to surface. She just turned to her family, grateful to be alive and have them in her company. Words could not describe the intense feeling of surviving hell with those you love the most.

The silence didn’t last long until the wails of sirens erupted once more. They came from every direction. On the previous night, no part of Stuttgart had been spared.

Freddy was the first to crawl out from under the staircase and head upstairs.

Where are you going? questioned Marlene.

I’m gonna check it out, he replied.

No! Stay here! Marlene scolded, but it was no use. Freddy was out the door and as usual, Louisa trailed behind. Now where are you going?

With Freddy, Louisa replied.

Marlene sighed heavily. She needed a cigarette badly and there were none to be found.

Their front door was open when Louisa reached the top of the stairs. Shattered glass lay strewn across the floor. Paintings and décor had fallen to the floor and rested in massive disarray. There was a dark eeriness Louisa could not shake.

She walked outside and found Freddy standing in the middle of the street. He was completely still, staring blankly ahead. When Louisa lifted her gaze, she saw it too—a massive wall of fire flooding over the city like a towering tsunami. Neither she nor Freddy moved, hypnotized by the destruction. The war was lost and an apocalypse was upon them.

*****

Reclining on her prison cot Louisa reached for another cigarette. Her stomach churned something awful. She raced out of bed to the toilet situated in a small closet. Leaning over the bowl, she tried to vomit but nothing came up.

She rested her cheek on the cool porcelain and closed her eyes. The memory only added to her numbness. Years later when they rebuilt the city, it made very little difference. Their lives and their livelihoods were handed over to the occupying troops. The world she once knew was never going to be the same.

Chapter 2

Louisa’s mother Marlene Unger crossed her long legs under the table as she lit a cigarette. Coolly, she placed her elbows on the satin tablecloth and gazed around the elegant restaurant filled with US servicemen and their German mistresses.

It wasn’t her intention to fall in love or even have another relationship after the loss of her husband during the war. The Nazis chilled the heat right out of romance. Even her husband at one time offered burning, passionate love, but the fire extinguished as soon as he pledged his allegiance to the Reich.

Colonel Taylor, or Dan as she would come to learn was his name, never pushed or prodded, He was just always there waiting, and all she had to do was acknowledge she was ready for love. She found solace in his steadiness…something she had never known.

Sorry I’m late, Colonel Taylor said as he spun around the table to take a seat opposite Marlene. He flipped his napkin open onto his lap. Did you order?

I was waiting for you, she stated casually.

Colonel Taylor snapped his fingers and gestured for their usual Riesling. I just saw Louisa.

Marlene shifted uncomfortably. How unfortunate for you.

He grinned. From the moment he met Marlene, he could see right through her hard, sarcastic façade. Behind it lurked a mother who shed many tears for her children but would never show it. She is a lot like you—smart, sassy and very proud.

Ah yes, pride, that German virtue none of us can seem to shrug off. It gets us in more trouble than we can get out of. She paused while the waiter poured their wine. How much trouble is she in?

That depends on her, Colonel Taylor replied. I’ve been trying to break this operation for years. I don’t think the depth of her knowledge is significant, but it will at least give me some insight into the other players.

My children are both so very much like their father. Had they not slid out of my womb, I would not believe they are mine. Their heads were always in the clouds and I was always the bad parent for wanting to bring them down to Earth. Marlene sighed and took a sip of her wine. Oh, how I have failed.

Colonel Taylor lowered his head and didn’t offer a response.

Free. They wanted to be free, Marlene continued, with their high ideals, and every day I felt their biting indignation for the world my generation left them. What could I do? I'm just one woman.

You can offer understanding. You must have felt it once—high ideals, replied Colonel Taylor.

No, I was pregnant at seventeen to a man who made his commission as a pilot. While I was washing diapers and cleaning bottles, he was flying missions over Spain for the glory of being the next Manfred von Richthofen. She laughed. We even had to name Freddy after him. Freddy even grew to resemble the man, and well, they were the same age when… It ended up being my curse as a mother.

Colonel Taylor reached across the table and took her hand. "I’m going to take care of Louisa. Try not