The German Wife(49)

“He wanted that one,” she choked out, pointing to the last book. “He liked the cover best. I managed to convince him we should read one of his own books and he was easily distracted, but that won’t last forever. Sooner or later, he’s going to realize that the Jews he’s learning about are the same as the Jew in his house.”

“I’ll talk to him—” I started to say, but her eyes widened in alarm.

“And tell him what?” she said. Then she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Tell him that the Führer is wrong? That Jews aren’t the enemy? You can’t say those things to him. If he repeats them at school, you’ll have a visit from the Gestapo.”

“But I can’t just let him think that this is okay,” I whispered back.

Mayim choked on a sob. “He must have spoken about me in class. His teacher told him to make sure I read them with him. She was trying to make a point.”

I was only grateful that Jürgen was coming home that night. He’d warned me he would be late, but I waited up for him.

“What is it?” he asked, taking one look at my face.

“We need to talk,” I said grimly.

“Can we talk as I take a bath?” he asked tiredly. He waved a hand down over his rumpled suit, and then scrubbed his palm over the bristly growth on his cheeks. “It’s hot as hell out there and it’s been days since I washed. It’s been a long week.”

I followed him into the bathroom and explained what had happened.

“We can’t say anything,” Jürgen said abruptly.

I stopped pacing and frowned at him, surprised by his tone.

“But—maybe we just need to look at other schools? Maybe—”

“Almost every schoolteacher is now a member of the National Socialist Teachers League. The newspaper said it’s over 95 percent.”

“The papers lie!” I hissed. I knew that better than anyone. The press was an arm of the Department of Propaganda—controlled down to the font the newspapers were printed in.

“Maybe the papers lie about some things, but not about this. The curriculum has been standardized across public and private schools. We could move Georg to any school in the country but this isn’t going away.”

“So we’re supposed to accept that he’ll be brainwashed by this nonsense?”

Jürgen sighed as he stepped into the bath. He scooped water up to wash his face, then rested his head against the tiled wall behind him.

“All right-minded German parents are trapped, just as we are,” Jürgen said tiredly. “I don’t even think we have a right to complain. The cage we’re trapped in is at least a gilded one.”

“Sooner or later, he’s going to realize that Mayim is Jewish. His teacher is going to make sure of it.”

We stared at one another in the harsh light of the bathroom. Jürgen closed his eyes again.

“I know,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

Later, I stretched out on my luxurious mattress in the beautiful house I’d been so desperate to keep, but I had never felt less comfortable.

Just a few weeks later, Georg seemed to sink into a funk, and he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. After several days of trying to cheer him up, I called Lydia to see if she or Hans could shed any light.

“It’s to be expected,” she said sadly.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hans said the boys have been teasing him about...” She paused, and then her tone sharpened. “Sofie. You know.”

“Mayim?” I whispered.

“You can’t harbor a Jew in your house and not expect the other children to notice.”

“We aren’t harboring anyone. It’s perfectly legal for her to be here.”

“Children are more perceptive than we realize sometimes,” she said. “Look, why don’t you come around tomorrow morning for tea and we can discuss it? I hate that your boy is unhappy, and it’s been so long since we caught up. I’m sure we can figure this out.”

It had been a while since I saw Lydia. All of our old friends were increasingly engaged in Nazi party activities, and I’d found myself withdrawing more and more. I was desperate to help Georg, though, so we agreed that I’d meet Lydia at her home the following day.

But as soon as I hung up the phone, a burst of frustration and anger overtook me. I picked up the handset and dialed Jürgen’s direct line.

“I need you to come home tonight.”

“I can’t,” he said automatically. His team were preparing for yet another test launch and there seemed to be no time in his schedule for anything else. “There’s this panel giving us some trouble—”

“I think Georg is being bullied at school and I’m so sick of dealing with every little thing in this family on my own. I need you to come home tonight.”

“Okay,” Jürgen sighed. “Okay.”

“Good,” I snapped, but by the time Jürgen walked through the front door, my impatience with him had burned out. I pulled him close and kissed his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Me too,” he said. “I know you’re carrying the load of the family. I don’t thank you enough for that.”