Saturday 1st April, 1933





Does one voice carry the words of a thousand?...

A morning shattered with shards of glass splintering in discord. Commencing forth in military brown, polished boots clashed and battled the pavements with every stride. Roaring in a line of eight, their armbands bared blood red, drawing eyes through the street. The bakery at which they cast their target was a humble establishment aged with its owners over two centuries. Displaying proudly on the worn wooden roof was the emblem of silver hedgehog. Dwarfed by the steel leviathan of a city that had towered and evolved around it, they remained huddled in the shadows of a growing world. It served its pastries fairly, with care and time spent having each roll baked to reach golden brown perfection. A family recipe passed down through each generation always satisfied the growing line of customers that grouped itself in front of the building.

A hungry crowd seeking their daily coffee and loaf of bread accumulated at the entrance, demanding the answer to why the men were blocking their path.
“It is the work of the Jews!”
They shouted out, addressing the people in words uttered without consequence.
“They have desecrated the German way of life, ruined our economy with monopolies like the very one that stands in front of us!"
The tallest of them pinned up boards encased in shining white and shadowed with bold black lettering hanging as an overcast of their statement. ‘Don’t buy from Jews.’
“Why?” A hunched elderly woman spoke out through the rabble of voices.
“The reason all your sons lack jobs, is because the Jews stack the prices to place our precious marks in their pocket. How many of you haven't had a proper meal in weeks?” Another said supporting his comrade's argument.
He waited, watching the hands slowly rise up. Several cheered at his comment, strengthening his word and silencing the woman with superiority.
   “Yes! Go back to Palestine!” A man at the back responded, seeing the owners of the bakery peering out in terror at the sight that greeted them.
One launched his words into acts, hurling a large pebble through the shop window. The crowd quickly gathered closely in numbers while they looked to the pavement to grab any object to launch at the bakery. The clean glass that once comforted and welcomed visitors was splintered into droplets. A hail of rocks struck some of the bakers attempting to escape the barrage. The remainder of the family cowered inside, while the walls of their establishment were painted over with Stars of David.

To Greta, it posed questions she didn’t want answering. The fire of hatred swelled within the crowd that she avoided. Taking two steps to the side, she counted them. Just two, but it made a difference. She was a scientist, a logical thinker of theory and pragmatism who enjoyed simplicity in her life. Her appearance was disheveled and unkempt, and her thin willowy frame vastly exceeded her age. She wore the same drab outdated fashions, always choosing plain colours that would never stand out in a crowd. She donned her blue sweater, the buttons always done up incorrectly, the endless strands of cat hairs woven into the very making of the fabric. Her thin scraggly brown hair was a mystery itself. It was a perfect haven for creatures to make their nests, fortified by dozens of hairpins in a rushed attempt of formality. Her face was long, though not gaunt in shape. Wisps of hair descended down across her high forehead and over her stirring hazel eyes, though still enclosed around her disorderly veil, she saw everything with too much clarity and truth. A rare embarkment out of her studious domain, her ritual journey to the bakery was set like clockwork each morning. She worked seven days a week, only tempted by the lure of home when her coat pockets were barren and upturned. Fifteen years she had traversed along this side street to find a haven for her appetite while the world passed her by. The morning had placed reality before her, a truth she could no longer avoid. She took in the words. ‘Don’t buy from Jews.’ It was written, over and over until it had imprinted on her sight. What four words she had found, that had such a profound effect on her mind.

Buttoning up the shabby remnants of her double-breasted suede trench coat, she clumsily darted across the road. Her tall frame leapt in strides with every step, dashing in unwieldy weaves like a needle and thread through the unassuming crowds passing an uttered glance at the bakery violence before continuing on. She disappeared down through a shortcut passing through a deserted backstreet. Above them, white net curtains unfurled and noses pressed against the frosted glass of the apartments overlooking the events. The warped growls of the political monster still crackled in their ears. Her frayed leather court heels stomped through a puddle, sending it in waves across the cobbled cracks of an unmaintained thoroughfare.

An elderly man fetched a sumptuous basket of fresh produce from the market back to his home. Words flew down the paths of the news.
“I’m a Jew, you’re a Jew. We’re all Jews to them.” His aged voice fracturing coarsely upon speaking to his neighbor.
Greta did not understand his logic and squinted her eyes at him in passing before hunching her back over and tensing her body, a nervous response to any situation she encountered. Grappling her textbooks in her slender bony hands, she held them tightly to her chest and rested her chin atop. Her eyes scanned the patterns of the cobble pavement, counting her steps again and again while the echoes of conversation left behind her.
   “To any on the street we are, you wouldn’t know. I’ll give it a few more months, and there won’t be a single Jew left in Berlin!”

Sunday 2nd April, 1933




His soft chuckles filled a room blanketed in a winter solstice. The casts of artificial light drove in javelins from the kitchen awning, piercing the details of intricate floral design themed throughout the lounge. Theodore’s voice was low and resonating even as he tried to quieten it. He brushed his greasy dark hair from his face, exposing his full vision.
   “Amanda.”
Each time he uttered her name felt like a new beginning. She was six letters to a rite of existence that he had chosen. The armor of intelligence that he wore was an aesthetic of a past that was lost. The creases and stains of his future were true indications of everything he hid. His days as a philosopher were now nothing more than unsettled dreams.
   “I really didn’t think you’d be coming today.”
His large fingers flexed constantly, anxious without a bottle of wine in his hand. Amanda clasped her fingers around him, entwining them between his. Her calm voice always soothed him.
   “I got off work early today. Thought I’d see how you’re doing. Not drinking yourself into oblivion.”
He laughed at her words, out of nervousness of the truth she spoke. He pushed a pair of broken glasses back up the bridge of his large nose.
   “Yes.” He managed to utter through his chuckling.
Exiled in the green ocean of her eyes, he lost himself with her for as long as he could.

The front door standing as a garrison to his temporary idyll roared and rattled like a monster awakening him into a cold winter reality. With the metallic shudder of keys, his realisation only grew. Silence fell upon them, only broken by Theodore’s hand sliding delicately across to comfort Amanda. He realised that six years of avoidance had finally chased him down, as soon as Greta revealed herself through the full coat racks. Standing beneath the open archway into the lounge she saw Theodore, his hand wrapped around Amanda’s heavily pregnant stomach. Her view slowly descended down, noting every detail. She saw Amanda wore new and fashionable attire, undoubtedly out of Theodore’s meagre but well-handled paychecks. There stood a life separate from her own. The mere feet of distance now felt like miles of a journey she couldn’t take. Her mind drifted away out of the door, to forget any of the troubles encasing her. Though her hands itched towards the handle, she remained standing firm in silence, looking at the two of them coldly. Theodore’s hands dropped from around Amanda in haste. His face melted into the guilt of what he had done.
   “G...Greta...”
Greta’s eyes instantly targeted the floor, where she could not see his form looming ahead. Her tremulous voice was still calm and soothing, even as her thin lips trembled upon fighting a battle with her stuttering.
   “N-N-No. I-I-It-It’s o-okay.” She muttered, battling with her tongue to pronounce every word.
Like a whirlwind she raced past them both, darting up the narrow stairwell to the second floor of their house. Theodore’s eyes gazed upwards to the ceiling, where he could hear Greta’s stomps into her bedroom. She released her strength at the bedroom door, shaking the very timbers of the house upon slamming it behind her. A large ginger tabby cat nestled within one of the embroidered blankets, it’s ear flickering like radars at her every movement upon her entry. Sitting on the edge of her bed carefully, she felt the springs coiling under her. Letting herself fall back gracefully, her head rested on the thick pillows strewn around in the morning hurry. Her tempered fingers gripped the folds of blanket covers ever more tightly until she hugged them around her shaking body. Glancing across over the ripples of blanket fabric, she stared out through the thin slats of the closed blinds where she could barely make out the dense barrier of conifers that made the edge of their garden. Slowly, her eyes glimmered cold tears that curved down her cheeks, bending along the contours of her face until they dropped from her plump chin. Her head fell into the pillow when she she began sobbing furiously, muffling her increasingly audible cries.
"W-W-Why..." Greta said to herself, to stricken with grief to finish her sentence. She felt as if she were a pre-teen fretting over getting a stain on her prized dress. It was impossible for her to fathom why Theodore would betray her in this way.
Theodore took his seat back down next to Amanda, his hand over his sweaty forehead.
   “I didn’t want her to know like this!”
“She was bound to know eventually Theodore. To be honest I’m glad she’s finally found out. No longer do we have to sneak around her.”
She sat back in her seat, crossing her arms together while she kept a rigid stare at Theodore who clenched his fists tightly in the air until they shook with strength.
   “This couldn’t have been any worse. You don’t understand, Amanda!”
She pulled one hand away from his head, putting it back on her stomach to remind him of his responsibilities as an upcoming father.
“Oh I understand, Theodore. I understand you deserve more.” She pressed his hand on firmer, so that he could sense his unborn child moving around beneath his touch.
He smiled for a moment in thought of the future but then recoiled back and out of her grip. His fingers buried into the curls of his hair, digging into his skull harshly.
   “I have responsibilities that need to be cleared-” “We’ve been together for six years. Six years and you’ve not dealt with it yet! I want to marry you!” She interrupted, bringing a finger to his lips to silence him further.
   “I love you.”
   “It isn’t that simple.” His answer was short, and firm towards her.
It was something she wasn’t used to. She uttered a delicate laughter, tucking her burnished chestnut hair behind her ears. Theodore saw through the mirrors of laughter, revealing her nervousness that descended into a chasm of icy intolerance towards him.
“She’ll be fine on her own. You have a child to take care of!” She then said, her tone darkening with every word.
Theodore knew the extent of his affair. To Amanda, it felt unfair that he was still divided on his choice after going so far and for so many years, something that she informed to him with a painful bluntness.
   “You’ve had more than enough time, you make a decision now. All the complaining you give towards how she treats you. Now is the time to end it all. It’s what you want, it’s what we want.”
He sighed, glancing away from her glare.
   “I think we should talk about this some other time.” His voiced was more hushed that before, as if trying to avoid any loud confrontation.
Amanda pouted at his response but let him go to comfort Greta.
   “Do you need-”
   “No! I can manage to make my way back home, to our home.” She spoke over him, kicking the doormat on her way out.
She held the front door open to leave him with parting words.
   “You know sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, and to do the right thing isn’t always easy.”
She looked down.
   “I love you Theodore, our child will love you. End it.”
Theodore closed his eyes to hear the front door close in a whirlwind of truth.


Theodore knew what needed to be done. He took a deep lasting breath, letting his eyes close in darkness. He gripped the banister firmly, his feet taking tentative steps up the stairwell. The arduous groans from aged floorboards alerted Greta of his presence. He lingered as a spectre of dithering outside the bedroom door, flexing his fingers endlessly until he knocked on the door with one knuckle.
“Greta... Please. I must tell you why you saw what you did. I am sorry..” Theodore said, only to hear the beginning of his words drowned out by Greta’s crying.
“N-N-No you’re not!” Her speech grew in volume, until it shattered in a moment of silence.
Greta burst open the bedroom door. She circled around him, avoiding his touch, before stampeding down the stairs with as much noise as she could make. Catching her breath in a small but brightly lit partition between the lounge and kitchen, she rested a hand on one of the ledges.
“H-Has she gone?”
“Amanda is gone.” Theodore told her.
Greta acknowledged his words with a restrained anger.
   “A-Amanda? Th-That is her name? I-I knew she would have a nicer name than me.”
He sighed again, as he was constantly reminded on why he left Greta for her.
“Why were you back so early?” He queried with her.
“I-It’s a Sunday. I-I finished my reports and the rest of my work could be done back here.” She rattled about in the kitchen, opening every cupboard in an erratic search.
“W-Where’s your alcohol?”
“I don’t have any. I don’t drink any more.” Theodore said to her.
She lowered her head, her arm holding the cupboard door as a shield in his way.
“D-Don’t lie to me. You are still an alcoholic. Wh-Where is it? You have some hiding in the house.”
“Check where you please. You will not find a single drop. At least not from me.” Theodore said waving his hand around the room.
“Y-You want a divorce?” She then questioned, so bluntly that it came as a shock to Theodore.
He took a moment before speaking, having not believed she would directly state it, and decided to respond with equal frankness.  
“Yes. I want a divorce Greta.”
Greta sniffled, seeing her wedding ring glinting in the intense kitchen lights hanging overhead.
“M-May I ask why?” Her voice withered into a sharp quivering whisper.
“There was no love. You know that.” Theodore stated to her.
He gave her a second to comprehend before he went on further.
“N-N-No love...”
She shook her head, speechless at his words.
“Everyday you spent in the laboratory, only to speak to me when I got in your way or if you wanted food. Had you been more adventurous, I would have worried about you, but that was lost long ago.”
She slammed her hands down on the counter.
“S-So what do you expect us to do? T-To end ten years of marriage like this?” She asked huffily, but before he could respond, she changed the subject.
“What ab-about the h-house? W-What about money?”
“I’m not sure. I have a child on the way with Amanda and I have to acknowledge these responsibilities.”
   “I-I-I asked about the house.” Her response was cold, and she directed another glare at Theodore from around the cupboard door.
“Keep it. I want nothing to do with it anymore.” Theodore said.
“It is best you have it.”
“H-How am I supposed to cope on my own? I-I don’t have time!”
“You have a job don’t you? Figure it out, Greta. I managed to keep the house up with my petty salary.”
“I-I wouldn’t know what to do...” She trailed off when the increasing reality of the situation hit her with a force.
“D-Don’t leave me, Theodore.” The acidity in her voice melted back to a calm utterance.
“What am I to you? Besides your sandwich maker, or your washing machine?” Theodore asked her angrily.
With those simple words, he felt freer than he had in a long time. He could see her body rocking subtly from side to side, a trait of nervousness he knew well. He decided to lower his tone.
“I’m sorry Greta. You’ve given me no other choice.”
“I-I-I will be on the streets if you leave me.”
“There are places you can go. Your family will take you in.” He explained to her, keeping practical and calm while his eyes scanned for the door.
“I-I-I don’t even know where they are! How can you do this to me!?”
“I’m sorry You did this on yourself Greta. Look, here’s one hundred and thirty marks to keep you going.” Theodore said attempting to hand her the money.
She stared down at it, as if it were alien to her, until he placed it awkwardly on the counter next to her.    
“A-Anything else?”
“No...That is it.” He answered quickly, putting his hands down at his sides.
Though the opposite was for Greta, Theodore was finally happy leaving Greta on her own where he could start his own family. However, the start of an aching hollowness inside had begun as a set of abyssal jaws, slowly widening their sharpened teeth. He struggled to picture her knowing what to do with the money, let alone keeping the house together, as the fangs of guilt sank deeper.
Greta nodded
“O-Okay. G-Get out of my house then.”
“Goodbye.”
His parting response tore Greta sharply, for there was no parting of emotion, nor visible regret on the death of their decade of marriage.