"A Collateral Heart" by JZ

Competition 2 Winner

Disclaimer: The German Resistance was a secret organization that plotted to kill Hitler in the later stages of WWII. One of its members was Claus von Stauffenberg, a German officer who worked together with Hans Oster and Werner von Haeften to bomb a conference in which Hitler attended. Despite featuring the names of Stauffenberg and his family, this is a work of fiction. It does not reflect the author's beliefs.

Warning: This story includes strong language. Reader discretion is advised.

She crushed the butt of her cigarette into the ashtray and blew out a smoky breath, watching as the air became visible before her very eyes. The chair was warm beneath her, the silence empty and mocking, prodding her to make a decision. She could see herself pushing the window open, slipping through and nimbly avoiding brushing her sleeves on the dusty sill, now a gutter of fruit fly wings. If she ran now, she might make it. Dummkopf, she chastised. Even now, you cannot be honest with yourself. Of course there was no hope; there hadn’t been any since the very beginning. If only that stupid bastard hadn’t been so adamant. If only he didn’t care about those damned Jews in those damned camps. She heard his voice now:

"Ich liebe dich, Nina." If only she hadn’t cried and fell into his embrace and let him apologize again and again and woe her as if she were a four-year-old with a scraped knee. If only he hadn’t carried her to bed and if only she hadn't been so mad she'd fisted his shirt in her hands and refused to let go. "Geh nicht. Geh nicht." Don’t go. And when did he ever listen to her? He was the better Catholic, the better man. Four children later and he still kept forgetting that she existed, talking about those children in those concentration camps as if they were his own. Four children later and he still loved her religiously. “Let me show you what it’s like to be fucked by a soldier.” Her insides melted and she felt an embarrassing blush rise to her cheeks as she couldn’t hold back a laugh. And when the room became quiet again and all they could hear was their heavy, syncopated breathing he said, “Don’t tell the kids, ja?” She sat upright so quickly her head spun and slapped his thigh. “You pig. Why did you have to tell me, then? I wouldn’t have wanted to know either.” Of course she’d wanted to know. Operation Valkyrie, he’d called it.

“Operation my ass,” she snapped back. “Operation Magdalena.”

“Ja, freilich! My beautiful Magdalena.” He laughed his obnoxious, contagious laugh.

The kids thought nothing of it, for the house at the time was nearly a second home to him. Berthold said she would take his study room if he didn’t come back soon. Ludwig got jealous and said all the chocolate would be his. Valerie played with his high, stiff collar. “And what about me?” she asked, taking their youngest daughter from him and not looking him in the eye. “What can I have?” “You already have all of me,” he whispered and she refused to let her giddiness show, pulling at his buttons sternly and giving him a glare. Klischeehaft, she thought. Only he could think of something so cheesy.

“It’s not funny, Claus. You don’t have to go,” she whispered back, now clinging onto those buttons. “You can have—what’s his name?—that Oster man do it. Anyone can put two bombs down and leave.” “Not everyone wants to, though,” he pointed out, and then placed a kiss on her forehead. And then another one on her cheekbone. And then one on her lips. Claus smiled his sad, powerful smile and it made her so mad she said, “Your next child doesn’t want you to, either.”

Dummkopf, she chided again. She shouldn’t have said anything.

Claus was not happy. There was a flash of dread before he composed himself and said in his usual, carefree way, “Well there you have it. The second heartbeat in here—” he poked her stomach playfully, “—will serve as collateral.” “That’s incentive, stupid, not collateral,” she hissed and slapped his hand away. “Same thing,” he dismissed and grabbed his coat. “Ich liebe dicht, Nina.” “I love you too, Claus.” And that was the end of it. Despite not being there in person, she could hear the gunshots—first for von Haeften, then for von Stauffenberg. And what would become of her? Her unborn child? It’d been days since she'd sent the children off and hours since she’d taken seat on the chair and stared at the wall. Thinking, remembering, regretting.

Waiting.

She looked outside just as a car pulled into the lot, headlights so bright the man inside could probably see her through the window. They’d throw her in front of a firing squad. Prison at the least. The Germans were teetering on the edge of defeat and yet somehow, she felt safer being under the custody of the Amerikaner than Hitler.

The floorboards just outside her room creaked and her head snapped in the direction of the door. Knocks, twice.