The Ragged Edge of Night(60)

But if M?belbauer notes a change in Anton’s demeanor, he doesn’t show it. He says, “It’s long past time we brought some youth programs into our town, don’t you think? As the stepfather of two growing boys—boys who came to me to get leather for their slings—surely you agree.”

Marginally, Anton relaxes. Not enough to trust M?belbauer—never that—but enough to unclench his jaw before he chews the stem of his pipe in two. “What sort of programs do you mean?”

It’s the wrong question to ask. M?belbauer narrows his eyes. “Hitler Youth, of course. And the League of German Girls; I suppose we ought to start that group, too, if we hope to guide our girls along the proper path. What other programs are there?”

Casually, Anton laughs. “Ah, of course! I only thought—well, in my day, you see, growing up in Stuttgart, we had a few other clubs. But there are far better programs now, more streamlined, more organized.”

“Organized, yes. That’s what I mean, exactly.”

It’s only by the grace of God that Anton calls the smile back to his face. He resists the urge to snarl, to crack his knuckles under M?belbauer’s nose. He says, “Do you think Hitler Youth will really catch on, though? Here, in this sleepy little village? It seems the sort of club city boys might enjoy, but—”

“I don’t see why not. Wernau has had its Hitler Youth program in place for years now—and the League of German Girls, too. The clubs had better catch on here. The children of Unterboihingen need a dose of morals every bit as much as city youth. I’ve seen your stepsons grubbing in other people’s fields. They need direction and guidance.” He says it in a manner that implies, If you and your wife won’t provide that guidance, we’ve no choice but to call on Adolf Hitler to raise your children properly.

“My work, you know.” Anton amazes himself with his perfect imitation of an apology. “It takes me out of town so frequently; I’m not with the boys as often as I’d like. And Elisabeth has both her hands full, with Maria and the sewing.” Why does he do this, explain himself, excuse himself to this man?

“Yes, your work. About that.” M?belbauer pauses, considering his next words. In the brief silence, the fear and fighting anger return to Anton’s body. He trembles with the need to lash out at the detestable beast before him, but he shifts his pipe instead, from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Since you’re only teaching music, and not building anything or contributing to a healthy economy like the rest of us, I thought you would be the right fellow to lead our youth programs—the boys’ program, at least. We must find a woman for our League of German Girls, but that can be arranged.” M?belbauer adds belatedly, “And because you were a schoolteacher, once. I suppose that also qualifies you for the role.”

By God, it’s the last thing Anton will ever do. What the youth of this town need is an example of Christian charity, of gentle love. And don’t we all need it, everyone across this nation? If we learned that lesson in the proper time, years ago—generations ago—where would we be now? His sons have learned charity and love—they have dug up goodness and generosity along with their stolen potatoes. Grubbing in other people’s fields, they have uncovered better ways to be better men. What a miracle, that Paul and Albert have found morality, surrounded as they are by hatred, by violence and war.

But Anton can’t refuse M?belbauer—not if he wants to keep his family safe. He can’t even voice his loathing for Hitler Youth, for the crime of indoctrination. That detestable club amounts to the murder of fine young minds, and Anton will never support it.

He responds the only way he can, given how M?belbauer has trapped him. “It sounds very promising.” He must forestall this dizzy twist of fate—give himself a chance to dodge M?belbauer’s bullet. “I will need time, of course, to arrange all my affairs. I must be sure my schedule will coordinate; all those lessons I teach in other towns—”

“This is important, Starzmann.” M?belbauer jabs a finger into Anton’s chest—he dares to touch him, this man who has propositioned his wife. “We need to show our allegiance. Even here in the small towns, we are still German.”

“We are still German. How right you are.”

“I can’t let this slide any longer—we can’t. Let us not put it off past Christmas. You’ll be ready by then, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” He adds, smiling, “Thank you for thinking of me. It’s such an important role, shaping the minds and hearts of our youth.”

M?belbauer extends his hand, and they shake. Inwardly, Anton recoils from the touch, and more so when he considers what he has agreed to do. But how could he refuse this man’s request—his order? Even if M?belbauer hasn’t yet discerned the reason for Anton’s comings and goings, the gauleiter’s eye has already narrowed its focus on Anton’s family. Elisabeth’s refusal will not sit well with a man of M?belbauer’s sort. They walk the razor’s edge, now—Anton, his wife, and their innocent, unknowing children.

As he makes his way home through the dusk, Anton scrubs his palm against his trousers again and again, trying to erase the lingering feel of M?belbauer’s grip. He must find a way to stop the gauleiter’s plan. He will not see his sons, nor any other children of Unterboihingen, indoctrinated into hate. They will not become a part of the evil that spurs on our government to ever worse and ever more horrific deeds. Anton can’t save all of Germany—he is only one man. But he can, he must, save this one small town.