Past Lives: And the Unlikely Bond Between Troubled Souls

By Toby Rompf

Suffering the loss of his beloved wife, Hans, a former German soldier, lives in utter depression. After immigrating to America after WWII under very dubious circumstances, Hans is now on the verge of ending it all. But fate intervenes and Hans is confronted by a young Black boy, George, who has been fleeing from his own life's nightmares. The unlikely pair develop a relationship which bonds them in a way both of them never could have imagined. And when the local corrupt sheriff decides to hunt them down in search of a missing fortune, Hans needs to decide if he is willing to sacrifice himself and his new relationship to keep the sheriff from killing George.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Aug 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228860952

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Past Lives

Copyright © 2021 by Toby Rompf

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 non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-6096-9 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-6094-5 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-6095-2 (eBook)

Chapter One

Today could have been a truly beautiful and scenic day, Hans thought to himself. A wonderfully warm and picturesque day in the valley, which nestled between low mountains and green forests. Birds could be heard chirping as they fluttered from branch to branch, the tall skinny trees swaying gently in the breeze as the sun shone warmly all around. Small, winged critters buzzed and bounced along the tall thin grasses, either running from something or running to something, deeply engrossed in their tiny, short lives. The sun’s warmth came in gentle waves as the glowing orb in the high sky passed in and out of the high scattered clouds.

It’s an idyllic scene, to be sure, one worthy of a postcard, but one that Hans had no interest in. He stood without moving, stout but frail on a patch of bent grass, leaning heavily on a shovel in his right hand. Wearing a worn woolen coat and some faded work pants and boots, the old man just stood there observing the pile of dirt in front of him as he wiped the sweat off his brow. The sweat likely came from standing in the sun, more than doing physical work, but it still dampened his forehead uncomfortably. Hans simply stood looking down at what he had been doing, with the concentration of a patient in a medically induced coma.

With a slight hangover from the night before, the old man stands off to the side of a wonderful oak tree, its branches stretching out from the trunk. The branches reach out far and wide, giving space to find rain and sunlight and a chance to grow. Even with the shade the tree would offer, Hans doesn’t allow himself to lean against the aged old trunk to find respite from the heat. He doesn’t want that comfort right now. He remembers the love and warmth the tree had given him in years past, but he was dull to those senses now, only seeing bark and dirt. Hans came here often, mainly to occupy his time, partly to complete his project, but secretly hoping that one day those senses would return to him.

Ach, Ja, Hans muttered in his native tongue, sighing heavily. Even after living in America for many years, his accent was thick, but he did speak almost perfect English, learning it in school back in Germany. Thinking about it now, Hans shook his head from side to side realizing how long ago that was. He was tired now, placing the shovel next to the tree as he did most times when he was finished. He gazed upon his aged wrinkled skin. He had always been fit and strong, and even now, with every abuse he had thrown at his body, he was still fitter than most at his age. Even with the lack of nutrition and the current state of his mind, Hans could still put in a good day’s work if he tried. But seeing the skin of a 70 plus man still made him realize that all those years of better skin and a better life were now past him.

Hans turned away from what seemed from his perspective to be almost an eternal tree and headed back to his home, taking one last glance at his unfinished work.

Making his way down a small worn path, Hans turns towards the small cottage that he has called home for this last chapter of his life. He tried to remember all the good times in his life, but the sadness of all the bad times clouds those better memories. The path wasn’t long, but with each step, he wondered how many more times he will want to make this same trip up to that tree. He walked slowly and methodically, slightly bent over even though, if he took better care of himself, he wouldn’t really need to do. He was a strong muscular man in his youth and into his adulthood, but it seemed now he walked more like he was in a death march because he wanted to, not because he had to. There was a time when he was younger when he dreamed of living forever, but lately, he was surprised that he had made it into this decade. A long time ago, he would have wished for twenty more years, but now he thinks of more reasons why he should end things instead of carrying on.

Looking up from his shoes as he shuffled along, Hans could see the cottage ahead of him. Brush and weeds obscured most of the view nowadays, but the small house still stood proudly where it had been built. The yellow paint was peeling, showing neglect and age, but the cottage had been built to last, and it has done just that. Like many Germans, Hans knew his way around most tools and had built for his wife and himself a sturdy lovely little home, away from people, just as they had wanted.

Hans rounded the corner, finding himself at his front entrance. He opened the unlocked door to let himself in and paused instinctively as he could hear the faint squeak from the door hinge. He stood in place, opening, and closing the door slightly to try to pinpoint the noise, even though he knew exactly where it was coming from. But after a few seconds, as he almost always did, he lost interest and the desire to fix it and moved inside and closed the door. The old man removed his wool coat, placing it on the same hook as he has done countless times before, grabbing a well-worn glass from the table and a bottle of his favourite liquor, letting himself fall into his favourite chair. Even the thought of finally sitting down with a drink didn’t bring a smile to his face.

Looking around the room and pouring himself a healthy cup, Hans makes a toast to an unseen audience, Gleich Fertig.

Drinking slowly but deliberately, Hans certainly knows his way around the bottle all too well and lets the silence surround him as the light fades from the afternoon sky. As the minutes turn into an hour, Hans allows himself to drift into unconsciousness. Too tired to drink anymore, the old man places the almost full drink on the coffee table beside him. With nothing else to keep his mind occupied and maybe not quite enough alcohol in his system, his memories take him into a familiar dream.

The smell of old coffee is in the air as three tall officers surround a large table in an even larger office. It is clear from the boots, shirts, and hats that they are high-ranking German military officers. And with the Nazi insignia, and other symbols such as lightning bolts affixed to uniform collars, it was easy to tell these were Nazis. As they moved around the table chatting in German, the click of the boots made a familiar military sound. The occasional smacking of a cane on the table allowed the dust to push up into the air and made that same air seem very tense and not very pleasant. The large table was host to a large map, with figurines, models, and various small flags lying on the map, presumably signifying some sort of importance.

With a knock at the door, the conversation comes to a close, and one of the officers belts out without turning, Come in!

In the through the door walks a younger version of Hans. Dressed as a high-ranking soldier, albeit not as high as the men standing around the table, Hans enters looking like a person caught in a situation he simply can’t escape from. The younger version of Hans scans the room, looking uncomfortable but understanding he is there not by choice but by demand. He walked around the far end of the table to be in the line of sight of the other officers who were either too engrossed in their activities or too proud to look up.

One of the high ranked officers finally acknowledged Hans, again without barely a glance up from the table, and called out, Hauptmann Dreilig.

Hans knew him to be a general, and a general rarely had much time for a captain, but the young, weathered Hans had shown himself to be a loyal and troop-inspiring leader. He had won several skirmishes and taken some vital ground for the motherland. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but Hans was a battle-hardened and brilliant field tactician and knew how to get the most out of his troops.

Hans stood there for a few seconds, waiting patiently, not daring to make a sound.

Things are going well near the front? asked the third general, this time looking up at Hans.

Hans had the suspicion that the general already knew the answer, and he took a second to find the correct words for a reply. This was a room where you didn’t want to reply with the wrong answer.

We are holding for now, but the men remain steadfast, Hans answered. He knew the war wasn’t going quite as well as the brass had hoped. Ultimately, everything was done at the bidding of the high man in charge, so small decisions were never autonomous.

Good, was the simple reply from the same general who had asked the question. You were some sort of teacher or professor before the war, am I correct?

Hans was fully aware that the general already knew that this was correct but answered anyway, Yes.

We need you to give a hand at one of our facilities, near Berlin. You will be updated when you arrive there, the general instructed.

The general looked back at the map table, not interested in finding out what reaction Hans may have. Hans had been glancing at the map and had seen a small German marker on the table where he had just come from and where his troops were still. It didn’t take much of a war tactician to see a few Canadian and American markers surrounding that one. Something wasn’t adding up. Hans hesitated slightly, wanting to ask a question but understanding his audience.

But what of my men? Should I get word to them that they are in….in trouble? Hans finally blurted out.

Hans stared at the map, feeling a sense of desertion at leaving them.

The general placed his cane on the table and turned to Hans. In a calm and monotone voice, he said, Don’t worry about your men. They will provide a fine enough distraction. The good thing is we got you out in time.

But… Hans began, starting to care less about the audience and more about his men’s situation.

Captain, the general stated, making it very clear there was not going to be a debate or explanation. Off you go. The men outside will take you immediately.

Hans’ shoulders sank even lower than they had been just a moment ago, and his mind raced as he started to the door, taking one last glance at the map.

And by the way, the first general called out without looking up. Congratulations on making major.

Hans understood the commondation but didn’t care as his mind was already concentrating on something else as he reached for the door handle.

Waking up in his chair more often than his bed these days, Hans lets his eyes adjust to the dusty light coming in from the living room window. Waking up to the dreams of his past life was all too common, and each time it took a piece of his soul. Hans let those memories envelop him like quicksand, not caring if the process went quickly or took a long time, only that the inevitable would happen. His head had the familiar buzz of last night’s alcohol, and it felt as much a part of him these days as wearing his coat.

Scanning the room, the old German man looks first to the fireplace mantle where a few photos lean against the worn bricks, eventually letting his eyes settle on the one photo he loved the most—a very worn photo in an equally worn frame of a younger Hans, a beautiful woman, and a small boy. They are standing together in a garden, Hans in civilian clothes with the woman kneeling and holding the boy close to her. The colours were faded, but that didn’t make the photo any less precious. The memory of that time and place kept him centered. It was a time before his other life began and a time he so desperately wanted to happen again.

Looking past the photo, he made a checklist in his mind of chores that he should get to inside his little home. A cracked piece of drywall here, or some paint touch-ups there—things that needed to be done but never really happened. Daily chores like dusting and cleaning seemed to happen less frequently now as well, with a layer of dust covering most of the house and various bottles, cups, and dishes never being put away. The house used to have a clean and loving woman’s touch. Curtains were cleaned, walls were painted, and things were kept neat and tidy. But the house seemed to reflect nowadays exactly how Hans was feeling inside.

Chapter Two

Hans had finally gotten up from his well-worn chair, shuffling to the bathroom not because his body demanded it, but more because he had no will to lift his legs properly as he walked, and taken a rare quick shower. After doing a poor job of cleaning himself, Hans was now making his way outside attempting to make the trip back up the hill to the tree. He had made a stop at his favourite chair and taken the last few swigs of the booze left in the glass from the night before. Even with the sun shining and the sounds of life around him, he looked forward to the ominous trip back to where the shovel would be waiting. With a wooden walking stick in one hand, he opened the door to another warm sunny day.

Another day in paradise, whispered Hans to himself sarcastically, as he scanned the horizon.

After closing the door and walking a few steps, he paused, hearing a noise. He remained standing in place for a few minutes, wondering if he had heard a sound coming from the back of his house. He was so used to the regular sounds of the country that anything else seemed too out of place not to be noticed. His ears pricked up, and he heard the faint sound of footsteps on a creaky wooden board.

Even with his older age, and some fresh liquor in his system, his mind snapped back to his former training. Hans felt himself straighten up a little, his body now in a more tactical stance. He turned to the sound and immediately knew it was out of the ordinary. Given that he rarely had guests to the house, he knew when a sound like this was out of place. Heading back to the front door, Hans slowly turned the knob, already dreading the fact he never took the time to oil the hinges. The ex-military officer in him decided the best strategy would be sudden surprise, and with as much force he could muster, Hans flung the front door open and stepped inside, cane out front like a batter ready to swing his bat. With the house being so small, it only took a few seconds before he could see the intruder in the kitchen.

Standing in the small kitchen and looking more surprised than Hans was a young-looking black boy, taller than what seemed appropriate for his apparent age. His hair was unkempt, his clothes dirty, and he held one can of beans in each of his hands.

Hey! Hans yelled, trying to assess the situation as quickly as he could.

The boy stood for a second, looking like he didn’t expect to be caught or even find anyone in the house. His eyes wide, he dropped one of the cans from his left hand. His empty hand now started to make a fist, and his shoulder and demeanor took a more defensive stance. Like a cat, not sure whether to fight or flee, the boy stood in place for just one more second. The boy slowly shifted from side to side, ever so slightly.

I...I just… the boy stuttered, his words not coming out as he struggled mid-sentence, deciding if he should stay or run.

It was in that instant that Hans could see he wasn’t dealing with a hardened criminal. Just the state of his clothes alone told him that he hadn’t been looking after himself in a while. Hans internally fought the reflex to storm the boy and try to club him with his walking stick but decided to back down instead, realizing he hadn’t the energy or the desire to worry about a couple of cans of beans.

Hey, Hans said again, this time with a much-reduced tone but still carrying volume. He lowered the stick to his side.

With the sun pouring in the side window, fighting its way through the layer of dust and dirt that had been stirred up, the boy finally had had enough and turned as quickly as he dared away from whom he presumed was the owner of the house. Still clutching the remaining can of beans in one hand, the boy fled out of the rear open door. The boy turned to the left, briefly looked to the right, made a gesture to go right, then just as quickly bolted back to the left.

Hans looked on with a smile and decided right then and there that he wasn’t angry. It was a can of beans, after all, and there wasn’t any apparent damage. Irritated, maybe, but not angry.

I’ll get you next time, Hans called as he chuckled, the last few words trailing the first few in volume. He knew the boy was long gone but thought it fun to call out sarcastically anyway.

If Hans could admit it to himself, it was the most adrenaline he had felt in a long time. A break from the norm, to be sure, but mostly a shot of humour and adrenaline certainly brought some life back to his beleaguered soul—if only for a few minutes.

Hans didn’t move for a few minutes and decided that while he had some energy, he would head down to town to pick up a few essentials. This sudden burst of excitement gave him a reason to change his more depressing plans. If his day was going to be interrupted with something new, then he might as well change his plans and do something he hadn’t planned as well. He rarely went out these days anyway but replacing the beans, and the empty liquor bottle