Tattered Blue Cloth

By Steven Brown

Sebastian Braun saves the life of an army corporal in WWI, who happens to be future German dictator Adolph Hitler. So begins a long and complex relationship between the two as Germany and the world is roiled by two successive world wars. This historical fiction follows two German families, one of them Jewish, who struggle to survive the rise of Nazism.

"Tattered Blue Cloth" examines the historical nuances of the war torn early 20th century. The story follows the individual humans caught up in the turmoil of a world war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098334437

Book preview

©2020 Steven Brown. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 978-0-109833-442-0 (print)

ISBN: 978-1-09833-443-7 (ebook)

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

Part I Der Anfang (The Beginning)

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

Chapter 21

Part II In Die Dunkelheit (Into the Darkness)

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Part III Der Drache Weckt - The Dragon Wakes

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

PART IV Mitternacht Kommt - (Midnight Comes)

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Epilogue

Munich, Germany-Spring - 2011

PROLOGUE

I

A tight bunch of red roses tucked beneath one arm the old woman slowly descended the steep staircase. The vertical pitch, along with a heavy handbag slung over one shoulder strained her frail legs as she eased her way down from the second floor. Although still remarkably fit for nearly a century old, she had nevertheless noticed a sharp decline in stamina the past year and the stairwell was increasingly difficult for her to navigate safely. Scorning a perfectly functional elevator a few feet outside her apartment door, she stubbornly refused to use the claustrophobic contraption. She’d told her few friends in the building she would only use it when they came to collect her in a pine box, which she also claimed wouldn’t be long now.

Once downstairs, she paused on the edge of a small foyer surprised by how winded she was after only two flights of stairs. Shuffling slowly across a yellowed linoleum floor, she dipped a shoulder to just the right angle and nudged open a swinging glass door just enough to slip outside. Outweighing her by a least a couple hundred pounds, the door would have been an impassable barrier if not for the practiced opening maneuver, her only defense against becoming a shut-in like so many of her neighbors. Curiously, there was a push button door opener within easy reach, but she never used it. If she couldn’t even walk down some stairs and open a damn door by herself, she’d long ago decided that would mean her race was finally run.

Suddenly outside, the morning sun was beginning to peek over the steeply pitched roof of Garden Court Manor, now just behind her. Located in downtown Munich, the large senior residence had been home for more than 40 years and would remain so until she met her maker. Standing on a wide sidewalk bathed in deep shadow, it was unseasonably cold for a spring morning, even for mountainous southern Bavaria. Pleasantly, however, the streaming rays of sunshine beaming out into the congested traffic lanes of Steinsdorfstrasse, now just in front of her, promised another beautiful day once it warmed up a bit. Parallel to the sidewalk, Steinsdorfstrasse was a bustling city street tucked inside a tight maze of office buildings, shops, restaurants, and apartments. Clogged with the usual morning rush of commuters and pedestrians hurrying to work, school, or play, the area was a mass of humanity, rushing about to begin the day. The old woman was so accustomed to city life by now that the blaring sirens, beeping horns, and screeching tires no longer even penetrated her consciousness. In fact, after returning to Germany years earlier, she had purposely sought a busy urban setting where she could live a faceless and private life, hidden in plain view.

Dressed lightly in a flowered spring skirt, white short-sleeved blouse, and a pair of blue deck shoes, an icy blast of wind greeted the woman’s first tentative steps toward Steinsdorfstrasse. Goosebumps quickly formed the length of her exposed arms and she shivered against the unexpected cold. The remnant of a stubborn winter that refused to loosen its icy grip on Europe, the chill made her consider rushing back upstairs for a sweater. Pausing to adjust the handbag digging into her shoulder, she felt for the long-stemmed roses tucked beneath her arm and quickly dismissed idea—she was running far too late already. Glancing at a thin wristwatch, she saw it was nearly time for her bus to arrive on the opposite side of Steinsdorfstrasse. Cold, but at the same time thankful to be outside the stuffy apartment for the first time in a week, she inhaled a lungful of the crisp morning air.

Standing just four inches over five-feet tall and weighing no more than a hundred pounds, she had the prototypical look of grandmother’s everywhere, with no outward evidence of the extraordinary life she had in fact lived. Apart from a few unruly tendrils fluttering at both temples, a thick pile of snow-white hair was kept neatly in place by a large amber clasp that was very much out of style. Her narrow elegant head and surprisingly unwrinkled face, projected both strength and confidence and a pair of plain wire-framed glasses magnified her deeply set clear blue eyes. Having slept poorly the night before, she was hoping to relax on the manicured grounds of Memorial Greens cemetery for a few hours today, a special place where the only people she really cared about resided these days.

Nearing the edge of the street, she saw that crossing Steinsdorfstrasse mid-block would pose its usual challenge, but she was up to it. A low rumbling sound made her glance up just in time to see a city bus approaching at a fast pace to her left. The bus disappeared for an instant as it slipped from bright sunlight in the street and into the cool shadow of the senior residence building. Blinking away the glare, the woman cupped a hand to her brow and watched the bus veer rapidly toward the curb where she stood. Even before it came to a complete stop, the bus’s hydraulic doors swished open and large yellow caution lights blinked a furious cadence in the cool shadows. Eyes fixed on the stopped bus, almost close enough for her to touch, the elderly woman stamped her feet nervously. This wasn’t supposed to be happening and in all the years she’d been making the same crossing, at the same place and time, it never had before. Munich busses ran on a very precise schedule, so one out of order was highly unusual.

The arrival of the bus triggered a response from a small group of people standing on the sidewalk nearby, a gathering she hadn’t even noticed until now. Zombie-like, they began to shuffle toward the bus, their dulled expressions typical of early morning bus riders everywhere. Craning her neck, the old woman saw that the bus blocked her view of the street entirely and there was simply no way she could cross over safely now, at least not until after it continued on its way. She could have easily walked a short distance in either direction to be clear of the obstruction, or perhaps even used the protected crosswalk half a block away, but that wasn’t an option. This was where she always crossed.

Aware that her own bus was due on the opposite side of the street any minute, her stomach growled as she watched the line of passengers’ slowly board. A frigid wind, of the sort that seemed to always follow city busses, enveloped her delicate body like an invisible frozen blanket. Reaching down to smooth her clinging skirt, she peered up through the slightly distorted green windshield of the bus and saw the driver sitting at the wheel with his head bowed. He seemed to be scribbling on a clipboard and although she could only see a small portion of the dark-haired man’s face, he nonetheless wore the scowl seemingly required of all bus drivers. She’d often wondered why personality challenged people so frequently gravitated to such high customer contact jobs, but then, she guessed that’s probably why they were hired in the first place.

"Oh, for heaven sakes, the cold and increasingly impatient old woman muttered to herself, peering up at the driver. Please don’t make me miss my bus!"

Her plan, now in jeopardy, was to cross Steinsdorfstrasse for the short bus trip to Memorial Greens cemetery, her destination for the day. Dangerous for anyone, to say nothing of a senior citizen, a wide concrete median in the middle of the busy street made the trek a little less perilous, but still very dangerous. As the years had passed and her legs wouldn’t carry her as fast or fluidly, she simply gave herself more time, waiting for larger breaks in traffic before scampering across. But even in heavy traffic or bad weather it rarely took more than a minute to cross and sometimes less because kind motorists would often stop to wave her across. Never having driven herself, it didn’t occur to her they were perhaps being less kind and instead simply stunned to see such an old woman hobbling across a busy downtown street. The unscheduled bus arrival had complicated things and in fact, if it didn’t leave soon, she would not have enough time to cross Steinsdorfstrasse, no matter how kind the motorists were today. Considering another bus to the cemetery would not arrive for over an hour, she silently cursed herself for having waited until the last minute again, a nasty habit she’d developed.

When the bus doors finally snapped shut and after the final passenger boarded, she stared up at the driver expecting him to zoom away from the curb in a cold cloud of diesel fume. Vexingly, he instead sat peering down at the clipboard in his lap, elevating her anxiety with each passing second. Inching closer to the edge of the curb, certain he was about to depart, she watched him toss the clipboard aside and lean forward to grip the steering wheel. Her eyes still locked on him, her heart fluttered with anticipation knowing he was about to slip back into traffic on Steinsdorfstrasse and just maybe she wouldn’t miss her bus after all. Then, astonishingly, she found herself locked in the driver’s angry gaze as his intense dark eyes glared through the windshield at her. Releasing the steering wheel, he slumped back in the seat, folded his arms, and shook his head, all without taking his eyes off the old woman. Peering disgustedly down at her, he began waving his arms wildly while seeming to point at the now closed bus doors. Completely baffled by his strange behavior, the elderly senior citizen stood like a statue on the sidewalk, her cheeks now flushed by more than just the cold. Freezing, impatient, and stressed by this further unexpected delay, her mind raced to grasp what was happening.

Oh, this is just ridiculous! She mumbled, out loud.

To anyone witnessing the strange exchange, it would have been clear each party was irritated by the other’s obvious confusion, but also clear neither had the ability or patience to communicate their actual intent. Although the entire awkward scene lasted no more than a minute, it seemed much longer as the precious seconds ticked by. His tolerance finally exhausted, the driver made one more effort to communicate with the old woman. Using an index finger, he pointed through the windshield and drew a semi-circle in the air, trying to lead the woman from the curb to the bus doors, which he opened again with a loud swishing noise. Hoping she would understand the hand signal to come aboard, her blank stare told him otherwise.

Damn it! The driver exclaimed. Forgetting for a moment he had a busload of passengers sitting just behind him. He was just so tired of these old people with Alzhamer’s, Alzhair’s, or whatever the hell they called crazy these days and he didn’t have time for this right now! Having substituted for the regular driver this morning, who’d called in sick at the last minute, he was already more than 30 minutes late along the unfamiliar route and both he and his passengers were growing more frustrated with the delay. Shifted from his own familiar route, the map he’d been given was inaccurate and when he finally did arrive at each stop, angry passengers already late for work or other appointments were less than understanding. Tempted to just close the doors and drive away, the driver nevertheless knew that leaving an elderly woman with dementia stranded on the sidewalk would make an already bad situation even worse.

Finally deciding he had no other choice he rose to his feet to go help the old bird get on the bus. A sudden movement in front of the bus caused him to freeze and glancing down through the windshield, he locked eyes with the old woman, now abruptly in motion. With her bright skirt flapping in the morning breeze, she flashed him a warm smile as she swept by the front of the bus and directly into the busy traffic lanes of Steinsdorfstrasse.

Perhaps because she was running late, hadn’t slept well, or was just plain senile, the old woman hadn’t at first understood the driver’s strange behavior. Finally, though, what he’d been trying to say came to her in a flash and she blushed with embarrassment. Ashamed to have so badly misunderstood that he was simply trying to help her cross the busy street, reflexes kicked in before her brain had fully processed the correct information. Glancing up at the kind driver, she smiled sheepishly to let him know she appreciated his helpfulness in giving her the all clear to cross the street. Like some of the courteous drivers who occasionally waved her across Steinsdorfstrasse, he was simply one of those increasingly rare kind people and she hurried into the street.

II

Michael Anderson, a 23-year-old American tourist from Indianapolis, was finally beginning a journey he’d dreamed of since grade school. An industrious youth, three long years of working nights while going to school full-time at Indiana University was finally paying off—he was actually in Germany. What had seemed like a fantasy for so long was now suddenly real and his single regret was that his father wasn’t there to experience it all with him. The thoughts of dad back home instantly created a lump in this throat because none of this would have been possible without his loving support and encouragement.

Michael’s father, Garret Anderson, was perhaps even more fascinated by Germany than his ambitious son was and would have loved to join him on the trip. His explanation that work commitments made that impossible was only partly true, because the real reason Garrett hadn’t tagged long was because he didn’t want to be a distraction. After all his hard work, Michael deserved a trip that would surpass his expectations and having a doting parent along had the potential to dampen or ruin that. Still, Garrett hoped to one day make his own trip to Germany to search for the ancestral roots he’d discovered as a young child.

Adopted, Garrett’s interest in the country was rooted in the fact his natural mother was reported to have been of Austrian or German descent. Of course, that was if one were to believe the sketchy birth records kept at the Bureau of Records in New York City. The story, told to him many times over the years, was that his childless adoptive parents had made a pilgrimage to New York in 1946 to formally adopt him, sight unseen. His birth was said to be the unintended result of a brief tryst between an American soldier returning from World War II and an immigrant European woman. In compliance with the standards of the day and according to the orphanage, both natural parents had been legally listed as unidentified and only a bare minimum of official birth records were made available. Information provided by the delivering hospital said the infant, later named Garrett by the Andersons, was abandoned by his mother shortly after birth and quickly placed in a local New York City orphanage. The single hint of the natural mother’s identity was a tiny hand-written entry scrawled on the face of a faded birth certificate reading, European-German-Austrian National – possibly Munich-Bavaria. In an adjoining field on the same form, reserved for the father’s identity, no name was listed, but U.S. Army? was scribbled at the bottom of the document—and no further information available was written next to that. It was clear that whoever the birth parents were, they wished to leave no trace of their identities or whereabouts, something not all that unusual at the time.

After hearing the story repeated often as he grew to adulthood, a curious Garrett had traveled to New York City after his senior year at Indiana University in 1967, hoping to perhaps learn a bit more about his beginnings. With dim, yet hopeful, illusions of discovering who his biological parents were, his quest ended abruptly at the very first stop, the Bureau of Records in downtown New York City. There he was told that neither the hospital where he was born, nor, the old orphanage still existed and that the only official birth data still available was a fuzzy microfiche copy of the original handwritten birth certificate. Disappointed but not surprised, Garrett accepted the reality of the situation and after thanking the disinterested clerk who’d helped him, spent the next several days exploring the city. Returning home to Indiana satisfied that the elder Anderson’s were in any case the finest parents he could have hoped for, Garrett settled into a comfortable working mans’ life on the outskirts of Indianapolis.

After landing at Munich International Airport, Michael Anderson rented a sporty red Opel hatchback, launching his long-awaited adventure with great anticipation. Twenty minutes later he was trying to locate the Forum Hotel near downtown Munich, where he planned to spend the next two weeks exploring Germany. An airport official had explained that although the hotel was easy to find, traffic in the area was sometimes difficult, a description Michael soon discovered was a serious understatement. Already tired after an early morning flight from London, he nevertheless planned to check in at the hotel, grab a bite to eat, and then immediately begin reconnoitering Munich and surrounding areas.

To his delight, the weather was perfect, although still crisp enough to keep the car windows rolled up. Traveling south on a wide boulevard called Steinsdorfstrasse, he glanced up from a paper map, because he hated GPS, just in time to see a sign reading Hochstrasse, slip by in a blur. Braking, he steered the car safely to the right-hand curb and stopped the car. A quick glance back over his shoulder confirmed that he had just passed the intersection of Hochstrasse and Steinsdorfstrasse, which was where he’d needed to turn to get to the hotel. Resisting the impulse to make a quick U-turn over the flat concrete median separating the north and southbound lanes, he wisely decided against scraping off the rental car’s undercarriage. Peering ahead, he saw that the median stretched for as far as he could see and he’d just have to continue on until there was a place to turn around or reverse course. After more than a mile, he drove the Opel through a gap in the median barely wide enough for the small car to squeeze through. A large red sign warned. Warnung! Keine links abbiegen! Although, he didn’t speak German very well, he could read it enough to get by. The sign said, Warning! No left turn! Executing a quick U-turn, he ignored the threatening sign and sped quickly away from the scene of the crime and anyway, the sign said nothing about U-turn’s. After a few nervous peeks in the rearview mirror and seeing no flashing red or blue lights, he exhaled. Moving into the right lane he relaxed a little and settled into the seat for the short drive back to the hotel.

After nearing the congested intersection of Steinsdorfstrasse and Hochstrasse again, he saw a pair of flashing amber lights off to the right. Instinctively cutting his speed, he squinted against the bright morning sun and saw a city bus stopped in what appeared to be a passenger loading area. Seeing nothing unusual, with the possible exception of the flashing lights being brighter than usual because the bus was parked in the shadow of a nearby building, the familiar scene could have been cut from any modern city at rush hour. Knowing he needed to turn right at the intersection about a block in front of the stopped bus, Michael hoped to get past before it pulled back into traffic. Nearing the rear of the bus, he glanced over his left shoulder to check traffic in the event he needed to change lanes quickly.

III

The chief accident investigator later determined the Opel was traveling precisely 72.45 kilometers per hour, or just under 33 miles per hour, when it struck and killed the elderly pedestrian. In addition to eight miles per hour over the posted limit, another significant finding was that the only visible skid marks were more than 60 feet beyond the point of impact, suggesting inattention, at least to the somewhat biased investigators. It was clear the young American driver likely hadn’t even seen the old woman prior to the fatal collision. The official autopsy report determined the cause of death to be; massive internal and head injuries, consistent with a pedestrian-motor vehicle collision. The critical injuries sustained by the female victim were not survivable, it said. Based on the testimony of several eyewitnesses, Munich police arrested Michael Anderson at the scene and charged him with negligent operation of a motor vehicle, resulting in a fatal collision. Not only did the witnesses claim the careless young driver was speeding, but at least two reported seeing him make an illegal turn not far from the accident scene. Booked into the Munich city jail, the police permitted Michael to make whatever contacts he needed back home in the states but advised him to expect a minimum of 3-5 days in jail as the evidence was being further processed.

Jarred awake by telephone at three in the morning, Michael’s parents in Indiana were stunned by news of the tragic accident. They were even more alarmed by the fact their young son was sitting in a foreign jail facing criminal charges filed by German authorities. Acting on the advice of a longtime family attorney in Indianapolis, the elder Andersons booked the first available flight to Munich, while the attorney went to work locating a reputable local law firm in Munich. With no understanding of the German legal system, the Anderson’s had no idea what to expect once they arrived in Germany, but the considerable sum paid for the best German lawyer money could buy, proved well spent. After a couple tedious weeks of inquests, court appearances, and skillful legal maneuvering, the criminal charges against Michael Anderson were reduced to simple reckless driving. Equivalent to a misdemeanor back in the states, the German court also levied a 10-thousand dollar fine, to be paid in full before releasing him from custody.

Michael’s release order also reinstated his passport, but with a couple of twists. It stated he must leave Germany within seventy-two hours of issuance and he was banned from traveling to the country again for a period of no less than 5 years. Although his German counsel thought the orders were outrageously punitive and could easily be overturned, Michael quickly agreed to both. Considering the disaster his dream trip had become and sick of being confined to the hotel or jail by court order, his enthusiasm had all but died alongside the elderly pedestrian two weeks earlier. Having had a horrendous experience he would live with the rest of his life and eager to leave Germany behind, Michael nevertheless made a request that baffled his exhausted parents. Unable to shake the sense there was something left undone and wanting some time alone to sort that out, Michael made the stunning announcement he wanted to spend one more night in Munich, alone. Already packed and ready to head for home, the elder Andersons were shocked.

You can’t be serious! An angry Garrett, exclaimed! Why the hell would you want to spend even another second in this godforsaken place, Michael?

Loud enough to draw scowls from some of the patrons in the crowded café near the hotel, Garrett nonetheless continued.

I just think this is a really bad idea considering all we’ve been through the past couple of weeks, Michael. What if something happens, what if…?

Dad! Michael interrupted. Holding a hand up and shaking his head.

Please, just listen. He said.

I get your concern, but this is something I need to do for myself. I can’t really explain it, but you just need to trust me on this. I’m not going to do anything stupid, or even potentially stupid and I’ll join you both back home day after tomorrow. Now, please, you and mom have a nice trip home and get some rest on the flight. Michael said, firmly.

Although the discussion continued for a while longer, it was clear Michael was serious about his crazy plan and no amount of arguing was going to change that. Torn between parental instincts to protect him, but also a desire to see him experience at least a tiny piece of the dream he’d had for so long, the Anderson’s resolve quickly weakened. The unspeakable tragedy had been nearly unbearable for them to experience and they knew it was even worse for Michael. So, with every gut instinct telling them not to, Michael’s parents lifted off from Munich International Airport a few hours later, headed back home to Indiana, alone.

IV

After saying goodbye to his parents in the lobby, Michael had returned to his room to idle away the rest of the day. Beyond one trip downstairs to buy a magazine at the gift shop, he’d retired early to his fifth-floor room for the night. He thought about taking a walk before bed but the final resolution of his case and seeing his parents off at the airport hit him all at once and he was simply too tired. Exhausted, mentally, and physically, he instead lay sprawled on a king-sized bed, thumbing through a magazine and watching television for the rest of the evening. Anyway, he thought, he would rather take the walk in the morning, close to the same time he’d last been where he was headed.

Rising at eight the next morning, Michael felt surprisingly rested and after a quick shower, packed his small duffel bag and tossed it on the unmade bed. Glancing at his watch, it was two hours before he needed to board the hotel shuttle to the airport, giving him plenty of time to take a short morning walk. Grabbing a hard-crusted roll from a pastry cart in the lobby, he slipped outside, astonished by how bright and warm it already was. Squinting skyward, a few thunderheads billowed like giant buds of cauliflower, rising high into an otherwise bright blue sky. The beautiful late spring image nevertheless caused his stomach to knot a bit because his midwestern upbringing gave him a built-in thunderstorm gauge and the thick warm air, mixed with towering cumulous clouds, meant a storm was likely on the way and he hoped it wouldn’t interfere with his travel plans later in the day.

Walking a brisk pace, he covered the two blocks to the intersection of Steinsdorfstrasse and Hochstrasse in a matter of seconds. After crossing Hochstrasse, he continued south on Steinsdorfstrasse for about a block and a half before stopping in the cool shadow of a large apartment building. Had he noticed, he would have seen the large brass letters above a pair of glass doors leading inside the old brick apartment building spelling, Garden Court Manor. Now, however, he was oblivious to anything beyond a fixed spot in the middle of Steinsdorfstrasse, a horrific image stamped forever in his mind. Unaware of the heavy morning traffic whizzing by just feet away, Michael Anderson stood transfixed, motionless, and unable to take his eyes off the spot. Mechanically slipping the partially eaten pasty inside the pocket of his gray tweed jacket, he knew this was why he had needed to stay overnight in Munich. Although only a stone’s throw from where he had been staying the last couple of weeks, he hadn’t revisited the place again since that awful day. Focused entirely on defending himself against the criminal charges and possible jail time, he’d purposely blocked the horrific event from his mind until today. Now, as his penetrating eyes bored unblinkingly into the very spot where it had all happened, strange sensations assailed his senses. As paralyzing as a powerful sedative, his entire body went numb and even his breathing seemed to stop as he peered into the street.

Immobile, he watched as the outline of a small twisted body lying face down suddenly appeared, rising slowly off the pavement to hover in the air. While all reason suggested the macabre image was simply his traumatized brain still struggling to cope with a terrifying experience, his physical senses screamed otherwise. There was no doubt his eyes were in fact seeing it clearly, it was there, in the street, right where it had been. Colorless and without definition it was nevertheless unmistakable, hovering above the spot where the old woman’s contorted and lifeless body had been sprawled days earlier. Blinking his eyes didn’t make the figure go away and he could clearly see her… she was still there!

Suspicious of anything supernatural and most certainly ridiculous things like ghosts, Michael watched the faceless image turn toward him and while there were no words or gestures, he knew it was singling him out from other people on the sidewalk and street. Uncertain how long he’d stood staring, mouth agape, he watched as the thing slowly dissolved, before finally disappearing altogether. After it was gone, a flood of vivid memories swept over him, almost as if it was happening all over again. The awful sound of a body thumping against unyielding metal, squealing tires, and the sight of an impossibly twisted small body lying motionless on the pavement. Finally, worst of all, he saw the anguished dying eyes locked on him as her life had drained away. And suddenly, he was transported back.

Michael’s youthful reflexes had reacted quickly, locking up the brakes a little more than a second after impact. Having glanced over his shoulder just as the Opel reached the rear of the stopped bus, he failed to see the elderly pedestrian race directly into his path. He would later recall seeing a splash of color as the body tumbled onto the car’s hood and windshield, careened over the roof, and then slammed down on the pavement behind. In addition to cramming hard on the brakes, he instinctively jerked the steering wheel sharply left, causing the car to make a quarter turn as it slid sideways in a bluish cloud of tire smoke. Coming to rest straddling the painted line separating the two northbound lanes, it was over in a matter of seconds. Afterwards, he sat rigid in the seat, knuckles white on the wheel. Staring through a spidery maze of shattered windshield glass, he knew something terrible had just happened, but wasn’t sure just what. Once the terrible noise of the crunching collision and squealing tires subsided, the silence was complete, except for the still racing motor. Although in the middle of one of the most congested spots in metropolitan Munich, Michael felt like he was in a remote mountain meadow during the first snowfall of the season—everything was eerily quiet.

After a few seconds, the car’s racing engine broke through his initial panic. Suddenly realizing he had one foot firmly on the brake and the other pressing the accelerator, he forced a shaky and unwilling hand down to turn off the ignition. Millions of tiny needles stabbed every square inch of his body and his muscles clenched tightly as he sat frozen and petrified in the seat. Slowly, the quiet was broken by the sound of drumbeats, at first far off, but quickly building to an ear-splitting crescendo. Recognizing the drumbeats were the sound of blood rushing to his ears, he began to methodically pry his hands off the steering wheel, one rigid finger at a time. His heart racing, he sat wondering what the hell had just happened but sensed he really didn’t want to know.

Slowly, rational thought began to return but Michael resisted the impulse to look back at what might lay behind him. Deep inside he already knew, but it was still too soon to accept that numbing reality. Nevertheless, impulse won out and a soft chime sounded as he forced open the driver’s door. Fumbling to unfasten the seat belt, he rolled from the seat, dropping painfully down onto the hard pavement. Struggling to rise, his legs wobbled like a newborn foal and his knees buckled, nearly pitching him onto his face in the street. Leaning against the badly dented roof of the car, he steadied himself before finally risking a look back at the scene. As his eyes focused, what he saw drove a spike of fear deep into his heart.

The small crumpled figure lying in the middle of Steinsdorfstrasse confirmed Michael’s worst fear and his jellied legs began to tremble again. Still too much in shock to register precise details, he didn’t even notice the large bus stopped just behind the petite body, its yellow caution lights still blinking brightly in the shadows. He was also later unable to recall covering the short distance between the car and the motionless figure, but somehow his rubbery legs had managed it. Never having faced anything like this before, unreal would best describe his reaction to the situation he suddenly found himself in. Dropping to his knees, Michael raised the small body off the ground and turned what he quickly recognized to be a female, face-up, her head and shoulders resting in his lap. Violating every rule for such emergencies by his rough handling of the body, it surprised him how light she was, and his heart sank thinking at first it might be a child. In his panic, he’d also had the irrational thought that if he could just get a look at the face, perhaps everything would okay and maybe things weren’t as bad they seemed, just maybe.

The wrinkled face quickly erased the fear he had struck a child, but waves of dread washed over him as he sat peering down at the lifeless form in his arms. She lay completely still and the fact there were no frightened eyes, trembling lips, or other signs of life, worsened his panic. Adding to his alarm, he also saw patches of bright red staining the woman’s white blouse and multiple other crimson colored splotches dotted the pavement nearby. The awful red stains further validated a horrible truth he already knew, he was holding a dead person in his arms—and he was responsible for that. Stomach churning, he felt bile burn his throat as it threatened to spill out of his mouth and an indescribable series of powerful emotions swept over him.

Staring down into the face of the small person gripped in his arms, Michael instinctively pulled her closer, almost as if cradling a newborn child and entirely unaware he was sitting in the middle of a crowded city street. Gently rocking back and forth, something suddenly caught his eye and blinking back a soft film of tears, the wound he thought he’d seen in the middle of the woman’s blouse had somehow disappeared. Confused, he peered at the spot where the bright red bloodstain had been moments earlier, but his eyes were not deceiving him, it was gone. Thinking perhaps he’d only imagined the bloodstain in the first place, he leaned over the body and saw that the blood had somehow slid off her blouse and collected on the pavement near his knees. Looking closer, he saw delicate red petals and the pale green stem of a flattened rose, contrasted sharply against the smooth asphalt surface. What he’d at first thought was blood was instead a partially crushed red rose that had tumbled to the ground after he jostled the body. That made his eyes dart quickly to the other splashes of red scattered about and again, he saw only flowers, not bloodstains. Although all his senses were still numb and everything seemed to be spinning in slow motion, that small fact gave him a glimmer of hope.

Not having seen him approach, Michael was startled to suddenly see a large dark-haired man looming over him, gesturing wildly. Although the man’s mouth moved, the drums were still pounding in Michael’s ears, drowning out the words. Their eyes locked briefly, and they stared at each other for a few awkward seconds before the man was gone as quickly as he had appeared. While the bus driver raced back to his idling vehicle to call for an ambulance, the traumatized young American turned his gaze back to the delicate elderly woman cradled in his lap. Given his state of shock, Michael had no idea how long the old woman’s remarkably clear blue eyes had been staring up at him, but they clearly were. After boring into his own eyes for a few seconds, her glance swept over the rest of his face, almost as if searching for something. Finally, her gaze settled again on his amber-colored eyes and he thought he saw the hint of a faint, albeit wry, smile. A thin trickle of blood, this time clearly real, ran from her scalp to just over the right eyebrow and he reached down to tenderly brush away a tendril of white hair trapped by the dark red liquid on her forehead.

I’m…I’m so…so, sorry. Michael, stammered. I didn’t even see you . . . I…

An ominous gurgling sound from the woman’s throat stopped him mid-sentence. The dreadful noise dashed the small glimmer of hope rising in Michael after realizing she was alive and not bleeding too badly. Although he’d never heard anything like it before, something instinctively told him the dreadful sound was that of approaching death. Feeling her stiffen in his arms and gasp for breath, her throes broke him from his mental paralysis and his thoughts turned quickly to getting help for her. Forcing his eyes up, he was stunned to see a large crowd had gathered in the street, stopping traffic in both directions. Over the sound of distant sirens, Michael glared up at the faceless crowd and screamed.

Hurry! Someone, call 911! He shrieked. This woman is badly hurt! Hurry…please!

Ah, uh, ah. The old woman rasped, and to his alarm, tried to wriggle from his grasp.

No, please! Don’t move! He said, quickly.

You mustn’t. You can’t, please. No, stay down! Help is coming! He said, as she continued to struggle.

Tightening his grip, but careful not to harm her, he was surprised by her unexpected strength. Glancing up at the crowd again, which seemed more of an audience now because no one had stepped up to offer help, he was about to hurl more desperate pleas when he felt her body suddenly relax. Peering down, he was surprised to see a broad smile appear on her face and she began speaking in a sputtering, but quite audible tone of voice.

It . . . it is . . . you. Isn’t it? She, said.

I see it. I see you…in your eyes…uh. Your eyes…eyes… The old woman slurred, clearly struggling to get the words out, but fixing her unblinking eyes on him.

The fact she spoke English didn’t occur to him until later, but the accent was clearly German.

No please, don’t try to speak. He said. Help is on the way.

Suddenly, the old woman’s left arm, which had been resting on her stomach, snaked up to grab Michael’s right wrist, squeezing with surprising force.

Why have you returned? Why…have you…have you…come back for me now? She wheezed; eyes suddenly blazing.

Startled by her almost painful grip and confused words, Michael tried to respond.

I don’t understand. I… He, stammered.

The pressure on his wrist increased even more as a powerful spasm wracked the tiny woman’s body and she stiffened. The convulsion was accompanied by a series of short coughs, followed by a torrent of dark red blood spilling from her mouth and nose. Streaming down her sharp chin to soak the front of her blouse, the volume of blood astonished Michael as he sat watching helplessly.

Oh, god no! He cried, as she began choking.

Get me some goddamn help, people! He screamed, glancing up. Can’t you see she’s terribly injured? I need some help, now! He shouted.

Thinking the massive convulsion was a final death throe, Michael was stunned when the old woman began to speak again. Apart from her grip on his wrist, he felt her body suddenly relax again and at least temporarily, the heavy flow of blood from her mouth and nose ceased.

You have… You…came back for me. She, spluttered.

I knew you would . . . would. Someday… Your eyes…I see you, Adolph… mein…Fuhrer. But why…why, after all this time…why now…ah…?

Unable to understand any of them, Michael felt the old woman’s body go completely limp as her final words were forced through blood-soaked lips. His heart sank as her heavily veined eyelids drooped slowly shut and the strong grip fell from his wrist. Peering down at her wrinkled yet delicate face, now smeared with blood, this time he knew she was gone.

Hours later, long after the deceased woman’s body was removed from the scene, Michael sat glumly in the back seat of a Munich police car. Initially thinking German police were simply being thorough in their accident investigation, it didn’t even occur to him they were using the time to file charges and prepare a warrant for his arrest. Regardless, it did give him time to replay the tragedy over and over and strangely, it was the woman’s puzzling final words that kept tumbling around inside his head. What had she said? I knew you would come back someday. I see your eyes. Adolph? Mein Fuhrer? All very bizarre—and while he didn’t understand any of it, her dying words had somehow greatly unnerved him.

Because the police were taking an inordinate amount of time at the scene, including an inch by inch inspection of his car, Michael continued to dwell on what the old woman had been trying to tell him as she died. It almost seemed as if she had recognized him, or at the very least, mistaken him for someone else. Even more baffling, especially given where he was, her rambling about Adolph and mein Fuhrer were obvious references to the notorious former Nazi Dictator, Adolph Hitler, a notorious former resident of Munich. While certain his ears had heard those words, he genuinely began to wonder if the dying woman had actually spoken them, or, perhaps, given the horrific shock of the accident and watching her die in his arms, his mind was playing tricks on him. Whatever the case, it was too embarrassing to suggest Germany’s most famous mass murderer had somehow played a role in the accident, so he didn’t mention the bizarre exchange to the police. Nor, for that matter, not even to his lawyer or parents, fearing it would trigger serious questions about his mental health.

V

Well, that should do it, Mrs. Bernstein. A gruff German voice bellowed.

The last of the furniture is in storage and I’ll have the rest of the boxes hauled out tomorrow.

The loud voice broke Michael from his vivid replay of the horrible accident as he stood near the street and he turned to see a broad-shouldered man in orange coveralls speaking to an elderly woman on the nearby sidewalk. The two were no more than ten or fifteen feet away and standing near the entrance to an old brick building with the words, Garden Court Manor engraved in brass letters above the double glass doorway.

Thank you so much, Hans. The elderly woman replied. I don’t know how I could have managed this without you.

No, no. The man said, shrugging. You have been a pleasure to deal with. Anyway, she was our best tenant, and this is the least I could do for her. I’ll miss having her around the place and she was my next-door neighbor, you know. I still can’t get over her passing away right there in the street, just a few feet from home. I just can’t stop looking at that damn spot every time I go outside now.

Punctuating the man’s final sentence, a flash of lightening, followed by deafening thunder interrupted the discussion. The sudden tumult confirmed Michael’s earlier fears about the weather, and he joined the two pedestrians in gazing skyward for a moment. Quickly turning his attention back to the people, he’d clearly heard the man say something about her passing away right here in the street. Instinctively knowing they were talking about the old woman killed in the accident two weeks earlier, he felt as if a bolt of the lightning from the approaching storm had just struck him. Having scoured the local newspapers, he’d been unable to find any reference to the accident at all, nor an obituary. The police had been no help, staunchly refusing to provide any information about the deceased, or even provide a name. During the various legal proceedings, the woman’s identity was carefully concealed, and all documents referred to her simply as Jane Doe, personal information unknown. Wanting to express his sympathy and condolences and perhaps even attend a memorial if her family permitted it, Michael’s efforts were thwarted at every turn. Now, staring at people talking about it just feet away, he thought this might be his chance to finally learn more about the old woman.

Never comfortable meeting strangers even under normal circumstances, a lump formed in his throat as he made his way over to them, uncertain how best to approach the discussion he knew he must have. Suddenly, the man in coveralls said something to the old woman, shook her hand with a gregarious smile, and quickly disappeared through a pair of glass doors leading inside the nearby apartment building. Not wanting to alarm them, or others nearby, Michael decided against yelling for the man to wait. Instead, he quickened his pace toward the elderly woman who now stood hastily tying a plastic polka-dot scarf over her silver-gray hair, obviously expecting rain any moment.

Excuse me, ma’am. Michael said, in English. Covering the short distance between them quickly.

Although he hadn’t shouted, his voice seemed to startle her anyway and she turned to look cautiously up at the strange young man suddenly towering over her. Squinting at him through thick teardrop-shaped glasses, Michael saw she was much older than he’d assumed from a distance.

Yes? She answered, her voice weak, but English excellent.

Watching her clutch a purse she carried a little tighter, Michael quickly said.

No. Please ma’am. I’m sorry, don’t be afraid, I’d just like to ask you a couple of quick questions if you don’t mind.

His non-threatening voice seemed to ease her tension and for a moment he even thought he saw a smile crease the corner of her mouth.

Well then. She said, haltingly. How may I help you, ah . . . Herr?

Anderson. He said, extending his hand. Michael Anderson, from Indiana.

Not sure why it seemed important to awkwardly blurt out the Indiana part, except perhaps because he couldn’t think of any notorious serial killers from there, the woman accepted his outstretched hand and continued to peer up at him, curiously.

I won’t keep you. Michael said, struggling to frame his thoughts. But I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with that gentleman just now.

Nodding at the building into which the man in coveralls had disappeared, he released her hand.

I was just wondering if you could tell me something about a woman who might have lived here? He asked.

She died a couple weeks ago in a tragic accident right out front here and I’ve been trying to locate friends or family so I might pay my respects and offer condolences to them. I could be mistaken, but I thought I heard you and the gentleman talking about it just now and I’d really appreciate anything you might be able tell me about her.

Stepping closer, Michael watched the woman’s magnified dark eyes immediately narrow behind her outdated glasses. Even the heavy makeup she wore didn’t hide the color quickly draining from her face and her eyelids began to flutter uncontrollably. Covering her mouth, the old woman lurched backward half a step but kept her now wide eyes focused on him. Suddenly, she began gasping for breath and he thought she was about to faint as she continued to back slowly away from him. Baffled by the bizarre behavior, Michael raised both hands in mock surrender.

Whoa, I’m sorry, Fraulein. He said, smiling non-threateningly.

I’ve clearly frightened you in some way and my apologies for being so forward. Perhaps we can find a better place out of the weather to sit and talk about this for a moment? I can assure you it will only take a minute or two of your time.

He’d hoped the words would put her at ease, but they seemed to have the opposite effect and obvious fear spread over her face. The terrified expression made him think she was about to scream as she moved slowly away from him.

Really, Fraulein. Michael stammered. I . . ."

Get back! Or I will scream! The old woman shrieked, in German.

Her voice was loud enough to draw the attention of some nearby pedestrians and at least one man stopped to watch what appeared to be an escalating incident of some sort. Much like a circus lion-tamer, the old woman continued to back slowly away from him, holding a hand up as she retreated.

Please. I only want to . . . Michael, pleaded

You get back! She hissed at him, her now enormous brown eyes flashing. You can’t hurt me anymore! Now, I said get away from me!"

After a few more backward steps, the woman suddenly turned and fled down the sidewalk, glancing warily over her shoulder as if expecting him to pursue her. After she disappeared around the corner at the end of the block, Michael stood shaken and confused, wondering what the hell had just happened. While certainly not the time or place for levity, he even glanced around to see if perhaps someone was pranking him, but clearly, no one was, and this certainly wasn’t funny at all.

How bizarre. How utterly bizarre. He mumbled, staring at where she’d disappeared around the corner up ahead.

As moisture began dripping in his eyes, he suddenly realized he was standing in a torrential downpour as the heavens had opened. Clothes and hair thoroughly soaked, Michael nevertheless stood leaning against the outside wall of Garden Court Manor, exhausted, but oblivious to the torrent. Staring into the driving rain, he swept his thick brown hair back to keep the water out of his eyes and with a wry smile thought, what a textbook exclamation mark for the past couple of weeks. The weird exchange seemed a perfect climax to the same cruel storm he’d been in since setting foot in Germany and he knew it was time to go home…before something even worse might happen.

VI

The Lufthansa jet banked sharply, surging through a wispy band of clouds before breaking into clear blue sky over Munich. To his relief, the ominous thunderhead clouds had moved on and it looked like a perfect day to fly home to Indiana. Headphones blasting rock and roll, Michael rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes. Suddenly, two elderly female faces danced like a pair of macabre kites on the inside of his eyelids. Until today, only a single blue-eyed face had tormented him day and night, but now it was joined by a dark-eyed companion. The two weathered female faces blinked like neon lights, alternating a cadence to his brain, and sinking him ever deeper into a depression he’d felt since the accident. Turning to face the window, he opened his eyes slowly to gaze through the thin clouds at a fading Munich below. As a gravelly-voiced singer bellowed; Hey momma, look at me . . . I’m on my way to the promised land, he reached down to lower the volume a bit. Depression aside, he just still couldn’t shake the feeling he was leaving something beyond pain and horror behind in Germany. The land below had been anything but kind and yet it still seemed to call out to him in some strange unexplainable way. This is where you belong, a voice suddenly whispered inside his head, somehow even drowning out the heavy rock and roll. This is your home, Michael…this is your Fatherland…stay here…come back to us…the voice said.

Oh, come on now, that’s too damn weird! Michael muttered, to himself.

Goose bumps formed the length of his exposed arms and he quickly slipped off the headphones. Even though it wasn’t warm, beads of sweat dotted his forehead as he eased the seat back a little more, suddenly feeling like he needed some fresh air. The jet’s engines seemed to strain, and the whine of the turbines increased for a few seconds, almost as if some powerful invisible tentacles stretching up from the ground were trying to tug the plane back down to earth. You really are going nuts! Michael thought. Simply f’ing nuts…"

VII

Okay then. I’ll see you in about an hour, Hans.

Tossing a cardboard box in the bed of an ancient pickup truck, the lanky teenager brushed off his hands and had the motor running before the older man on the sidewalk could even answer. Hans von Stauffenberg stood in front of Garden Court Manor, the senior housing complex he owned in Munich, nodding approval as the truck sped off. Sagging under the weight of boxes jammed with old newspapers, magazines, and other household items deemed disposable, the old pickup’s suspension groaned as it eased into heavy traffic on Steinsdorfstrasse.

Woo-hoo! The young driver squealed, grinding the gears noisily. Free at last!

Glancing in the rearview mirror at the pile of junk he and Hans had hauled down from the old lady’s second floor apartment, he was happy to finally be making the last run to the garbage and recycling plant outside of town. After two full days of sifting through odds and ends that smelled like mothballs, there hadn’t been much worth keeping in the old lady’s apartment. Beyond a few items of furniture that Hans moved into storage, it was now mainly just a job of piling boxes and garbage in the truck and running it all to the dump. But then, he didn’t really mind. Hans, a longtime family friend always paid him well and he’d soon have money to burn for the upcoming weekend. A couple miles outside of town, he turned the truck onto a narrow access road sloping up to Munich’s main recycling and refuse plant. Tapping the steering wheel in time to a song on the radio, the driver didn’t see one of the cardboard boxes in the back suddenly flap open. Quickly, two pieces of faded paper spiraled out of the box, trapped inside a swirling vortex of wind created by the speeding vehicle. As if plotting their escape in advance, the two papers immediately separated, and the wind lifted them high into the daytime sky. After a steep but brief climb, gravity prevailed and began tugging the wayward documents back to earth, on opposite sides of the narrow road. The paper escape successful and unnoticed, the unsuspecting driver sped away without a backward glance.

Floating back to earth first, because it was slightly heavier, a copied front-page section of the New York Times, dated May 1, 1945, landed face-up in a drainage ditch filled with water. The page was quickly saturated, but for a millisecond, its bolded headline was as clear as the day it was first printed: ‘Adolph Hitler Commits Suicide in Berlin Bunker.’ Directly beneath that stunning caption was a second but much smaller headline, reporting: ‘Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels and Hitler Mistress Eva Braun also found dead.’ After only a few seconds, the waterlogged paper became too heavy to float and dipped slowly beneath the surface, sinking to the bottom of the shallow ditch. On the opposite side of the road, the second and much lighter paper took a bit longer to drift back to earth and after its fellow escapee was already resting on the bottom of the drainage ditch, came to rest in a clump of tall grass on the side of the road. Flapping furiously in the wind, it quickly freed itself and took flight once again. Driven along by a stiff breeze, it tumbled over a freshly plowed field, bouncing and floating inches off the ground. After a few more seconds of freedom, it snagged itself on a low strand of rusted barbed wire fence, the decayed remnants of an ancient boundary separating fields. With a twisted brown spike stabbed through its heart, the paper flapped helplessly in the wind, all hope of escape suddenly gone.

If found by some inquisitive German farmer plowing his field, the document might have generated curiosity because of its faded English lettering, but the typed information would have been meaningless to virtually everyone. Dated October 17, 1946, the faded heading on the document was enormous and titled: New York State Certificate of Adoption. In a separate section titled, Adoptive Parents (Address), Bertrand E, and Louise M. Anderson, 418 West River Road, Marion, Indiana, was written in small bold type. A little farther down the page, in a space labeled, Natural Mother, the following was typed: Gertrude Steinmetz-Austrian National-Date and Place of Birth Unknown. Just below that entry, in a smaller box titled, Natural Father, the word Unknown, was scrawled freehand. The final piece of information on the document was a hand-scribbled arrow at the bottom of the page pointing up to a box labeled Unknown. Next to the arrow, written in the same hand that had scribbled the word unknown in the natural father box, were the words, US Army…?

To even a novice investigator the old document would suggest that either the natural mother was shamed by a birth out of wedlock, or was purposely concealing the father’s identity, likely for reasons known only to her. In post war New

Reviews for Tattered Blue Cloth

[Steve Brown · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

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