An Unexpected Friend

I don’t want to go. I don’t want to face another day here, grumbled Otto, as with wide eyes full of fear, he trudged through the gate to the school. It was in town—in town where there were numerous streets, bustling people, and plenty of places for a fight. With slouching shoulders, in dread, he approached the great doors that divided him from his classmates, and the openness of the outdoors…

Lessons were held. Otto could hardly focus on what was being said by his teacher, so absorbed was he with his own vivid imagination. He could see himself standing in the school yard, utterly defenseless, as a hoard of boys much bigger and stronger than he was came stalking up to him. Within minutes, he was lying on the ground, covered in blood, barely able to see. His tormentors were laughing at him, amid the general cheers of the crowd of onlookers. Seconds later, he was by himself. He just lay there, not wishing to ever get up again. What was the use? Another day, another year—it would always be the same.

With wide eyes, Otto slinked down the steps into the school yard in silent drudgery. His thick lips were parted, his breath coming quickly now, as he stared at several boys he recognized from his Jungvolk. At least two years his senior, each of the boys stood with feet spread, shoulders broad, hands cooly resting with one thumb on their belts. Cocky young punks, Otto thought to himself, as meekly, he dropped his eyes and avoided confrontation. With a sidewise glance, he could see they were making their advance toward him. His breath came faster, his heart pounding now. With pale face and dilated eyes, he looked the picture of fear, melting at the sight of such competition. He knew he would be no match for them. He gripped the straps of his backpack, quickening his pace.

“Where you going off so fast, shrimp?” Taunted one of the older boys, seizing Otto by the shoulder. The little boy stumbled in his retreat, unable to go further. He flashed his wide eyes up at his antagonist in terror. “You don’t have any place you need to run off to, do you?” The boy sneered down at him.

“No,” Otto whispered.

“Come along, then, and show us what you can do,” the boy said.

Otto stared hard at him. A series of tones with which the words were delivered played over in his memory. Every time, it was the same words spoken. Every time, he played along with the charade, knowing he wouldn’t stand a chance against these taunting bullies. His eyes darted over each boy’s face, seeming to shrink within their sockets as he met their gaze. There were at least three of them—maybe more, if an onlooker should choose to join the fight. Before he could contest the boy’s cruelty, Otto felt his bag being ripped from off his back, and himself pushed toward the face of his antagonist. Bang! His head spun, as a blow was delivered to his left temple. He sank to the ground, piteously throwing his hand in front of his face as a shield. A sharp sting made him wince as another fist split his upper lip. He didn’t fight them. He let himself be beaten. Somehow, he couldn’t lift a finger in protest, couldn’t think clearly enough to deliver a punch, or protect himself in any way. He just lay there, as he had envisioned himself doing, and took every blow that was dealt him. He curled up into a ball, the weakest position he could assume, and waited for the fight to be over.

“Stop!” Ordered a voice. It was an unlooked for intervention. At the sound of it, the fists relented. Still, Otto lay there, motionless. He felt certain the fight should continue presently, once the intruder had been cast aside. His whole body ached, as he lay there, but he didn’t make a sound. He had grown numb to pain. He could hear his antagonists stalking up toward this intruder. He’s in for it now, Otto grumbled in his head, careful not to turn his head, though his curiosity was heightened by these odds. Someone had intervened on his behalf. He could barely hear, so low were the tones of this strange boy. Whoever he was, Otto was sure he had not seen him before.

“Is that a threat?” The bully finally burst forth. Otto shuddered, burying his head in his hands. He did not want to see this boy hurt. He was sure a fight was coming.

A moment later, Otto heard the retreating steps of his enemies. The other schoolchildren, too, he heard dispersing. What had happened? What had he missed, from his disadvantaged position on the ground? In a matter of seconds, what had seemed was sure to be a losing battle had been utterly thwarted! Still uncertain, he remained where he lay, not daring to remove his hands from his face. Footsteps were coming toward him. I knew it, he thought. They’re coming back. He lay completely still, awaiting another blow. The footsteps stopped before him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow fall over his little frame. Who was it?

“Come, let me help you up,” the voice of the boy he had heard intervene was saying. Otto couldn’t believe his ears. Where were his antagonists? What had been said? What had made them leave him alone? Haltingly, Otto pulled his head away from his hands. A stream of blood trickled down his chin, from the deep cut in his lip. He lifted his wide, curious eyes up to the boy, staring confusedly into his face.

He was perhaps Otto’s age…not a strong boy, nor anything much to look at. He was rather thin, like Otto, but tall, with a narrow face, and long-fingered, slender hands. His shirt and jacket fit him loosely. The disposition of his face was very strange indeed; his eyes were wide, and innocent looking, yet compelling. He commanded respect by his humbleness. Something about him interested Otto. He had an open-faced, honest expression, with a serious look that demanded the boy’s attention.

Slowly, Otto took the offered hand, and allowed himself to be helped up. Deliriously, he found his bag, and stood in shock, staring back at his helper. “Who are you?” He asked, with a protective step backward, as he saw the boy taking a step toward him.

“My name is Hans, Hans Fischer,” he said, with a slight smile that curled up on one end. He put out his thin hand to Otto. The boy took it, and shook it gingerly, still unsure of who he was dealing with. “I didn’t need your help. I was doing fine myself,” he said gruffly, turning around, and starting off in the opposite direction. He didn’t need someone pretending to be his friend now. Why had this boy not shown himself before? He had probably been observing the fights Otto found himself in for quite some time. Why the sudden interest? He was a jerk, for sure…Then again, Otto could not recall meeting him before, and did not recognize him from his Jungvolk…

Suddenly, Otto turned around again, pausing in his retreat. Quickly, he trudged back up to his protector. “Thank you,” he said frankly, staring hard into the boy’s eyes, searching for any sign of feigned kindness. But the boy’s eyes were frank, too, as he met Otto’s gaze. Instantly, Otto was ashamed, letting his eyes fall to the ground in humble apology. “My name’s Otto Heinz,” he tried to make his voice sound more amiable. “You must be new here,” he continued doggedly.

“I am,” the boy replied simply. A nonchalant look came into his eyes, as he silently surveyed the school yard. “My parents just moved here from Berlin.”

“So you’re from the city,” Otto said, with an arched smile.

“Yes, I suppose,” rejoined the other.

“You do street fights often?”

“Never been in one,” the words sounded effortless. Otto was speechless. He stared with wide eyes at the boy in disbelief. Then again, as he surveyed the frame of his companion once more, he was convinced this had to be true. “How did you stop them then—those boys just then?”

Hans shrugged his shoulders, putting his hands in his pockets. “I just told them my father worked at Gestapo headquarters, and it would do me just as well to turn them in. I could get five marks for each of them, and that was a much faster way to make money than any school fight.”

Otto’s eyes were as big as saucers now. In disbelief, he stared back at Hans. His jaw dropped.

“You don’t need to worry, though,” he said with another smile. “My father’s dead. He can’t get at them for it.”

At this, a shadow passed over Otto’s face. He hardly knew what to think, now, as he trailed after his unaffected comrade, who had started off back toward the school. “Don’t think anything of it. He died several years ago. I think I’m over it, now, and there’s no use feeling sorry for things you can’t change.”

Otto remained silent, as he followed the boy back into the school. A series of questions were buzzing through his head, as he dwelt on what had happened, and his opinion of this boy. It was too early for him to develop and opinion of him. All he knew was that this boy had saved him.

Once again, the doors opened. The shouting children clambered down the steps toward the gate, skipping home by twos and threes. Otto hurried out the door, pushing his way through the mob of exiting students, peering over his fellows to spy out his new friend. He soon found the boy again, sauntering off by himself, hands in his pockets as before. “Wait up!” He called, panting, as he made a dash down the stone steps. With skinned knees, cut lip and bruised temples, he was not hard for the boy to miss, as he turned around with that turned up grin.

“Hello again,” he said leisurely. “Which way are you headed?”

“Home,” Otto said abruptly. “Where are you headed?”

“Home,” the other nodded. “For me, it’s to the right. What about you?”

“I don’t live in town. I live on a farm,” Otto said, with a hint of reluctance in his voice. He squared his little shoulders, thinking Hans should think less of him for not being a “city boy” like himself.

“A farm? My uncle used to have one,” the boy silenced his fears. “I used to go out and visit him now and then, and we’d chase the chickens, and sometimes, I’d help him with the harvest.”

“Well, our farm just has animals, mostly, and a small garden. We don’t raise more than to feed ourselves,” Otto continued briskly. “I would invite you to see my house, but my mother wouldn’t want me to invite someone without telling her first.”

“Ah, I see,” said Hans. “Well, I’m not asking to visit. I have to get back home, anyway, or my mother will miss me. It was great meeting you, Otto. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Otto waved. He watched, for a moment, as the boy sauntered down the street. Then he turned, and started back toward his own home.