The Golden Pear

The golden pear weighed as heavy in his hand as it did on his mind. A chill ran up his spine, as it always did whenever the aroma of burnt cinnamon floated around his head. This phenomenon only occurred when doubt crossed curiosity and truth eluded him. August slowly turned the pear over to stare even closer to the swastika stamped on the bottom of the pear, embedded in the gold.

His father, Franz, having recently died, left him, the oldest son, to go through his papers secreted in the safe deposit box. In the box, August found the usual documents of ownership to the estate, land and cabin. He also found an old title to an estate in Poland which he knew nothing about and the golden pear. August rolled the pear around in his hand. It was the size of a real pear but solid gold: an ominous beauty. With trepidation, he placed the pear back in the safe deposit box.

As he left the bank, the smell of burnt cinnamon wafted away as his mind raced for answers. Franz, his father had always talked about how Grandfather was a hero. How Grandfather started with nothing; yet worked hard to make sure the family would be financially secure and safe. How Grandfather sacrificed his life to send Grandmother with Hilda and he to the United States where they would be safe with Grandfather's brother, Geof. Geof, a professor, fled Berlin at the beginning of the war. He lived in Wisconsin, where they all still lived today. So how did a swastika stamped gold pear become a possession of his father's?

Hilda, father's sister still lived with August and his family in the family manor. She never married; she harbored a particular distaste for children, so guileful. She was a quiet woman who spoke only with cryptic comments, when she spoke at all. August decided he would see if she knew anything about the strange estate in Poland and the pear. As August pulled open the vast double doors to the manor, the smell of burnt cinnamon began to waft around his head, yet again. The smell grew stronger the closer he came to Hilda.

"Hilda? Hilda. Wo gehst, Hilda?" Hilda still preferred German to English.

"Da!"

"Hilda. I have some questions that I am hoping you might be able to answer. It's about what I found in Dad's deposit box today."

"Hmmmm."

"Look at this. I found an old title to some sort of estate in Poland that says it belonged to Grandfather."

"Yah."

"Yah? Can I get more than a 'yah'?"

"Yah. It was stolen, more like taken from us by the Russian's when they stormed Poland. It rightfully belongs to us still!"

"I don't understand. They just took it?"

"Yah. It was a beautiful place with ten rooms. Franz and I played in every one of them. We would run out of breath when we ran from room to room. When the weather was good, we played in the woods that surrounded the estate, 1,200 hectares, all ours."

"How could they just take it?"

"When those Russian's invaded Poland, they took everything. That was when your Grandfather started to plan for our escape to here."

"So, you can't get it back?"

"Nein."

"What do you mean no. If it belonged or belongs to you, you should be able to show the Polish government that it was yours. You still have the title."

"Grandfather held on to the title just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"Just in case Germany got Poland back."

"But didn't you own it?"

"It was a gift."

"What?"

"It was a gift from the Fuhrer."

"The Fuhrer, you mean Hitler?"

"Who else?"

"Wait a minute. I thought Grandpa was a engineer. That he worked on the railroad."

"Yah, he worked all over on the railroad. He worked wherever the Fuhrer wanted him to go. He was gone all the time. The estate was a gift for the family."

"Let me get this straight. A gift meaning that it once belonged to someone else, then when Germany invaded Poland, Hitler gave it to you?"

"Yah. It is rightfully ours still. That title says so. One day, I will go back and live there again."

"No. It never really belonged to you. It was a spoil from the Hitler invasion."

"No! It belongs to us!"

"Hilda, just what did Grandfather do during the war?" Hilda just glared at August.

"Hilda?"

"He was a good father and provider. You talk about spoils, you live off of your Grandfather's spoils. You act ashamed, humiliated. You are only humiliated now because your shame can be witnessed by others. But we are not ashamed, it was right. Germany was agreat power that gave great power."

"Not ot everyone! You stole from the noble that lived in that estate just to become like the noble's you shamed yourself."

"I am not shamed! My father was German hero!"

August stormed out of the room. The sick burnt cinnamon smell turned his stomach. The thought that his life was built on the lost souls of others closed around his heart. Every proud story of his family and it's escape from Nazi Germay turned to ashes. He did not come from a line of proud German refugees fleeing the tyranny of Hitler. He was a descendant of one of the murdering monsters with little to no humanity at their core. Shame didn't come close to what he felt. August craved the truth. Who really was his father and Grandfather? Who am I...really?

"Geof." August whispered. "Geof." August drove to his Granduncle's house. The only one who might tell him the truth.

"Geof. I must know the truth."

"Are you sure? Sometimes the truth is best left alone. Your father hid the truth from you all these years. I hope for an altruistic reason."

"He didn't hide it! He saved it for me to find, like a twisted proof to the greatness of our family heritage. I just tried to talk to Hilda. I can't believe what she said. It can't be true."

"Awww, Hilda. She never could accept Germany losing the war. She still can't see Hitler for what he was."

"No kidding! I found a title to an estate in Poland in Dad's deposit box worth millions if it is real."

"Tear it up."

"Tear it up?"

"Yes, tear it up. It connects you to a past you do not want to be part of."

"But wasn't it your past too?"

"Never! I left. As a professor, I saw the beginning of the atrocities that befell my cherished colleagues and did nothing. I was a coward, that is my shame. I left at the very beginning and I knew, I knew what was happening. It was wrong yet I did nothing. I left. I turned my back on the truth to save my life."

"Hilda said the property was a gift. How did Grandfather get such a gift?"

"By being loyal to Hitler. Hitler used gifts to keep his top people loyal."

"So, Grandfather was one of Hitler's top people?"

"He did Hitler's bidding. I have no remorse that your Grandfather, my brother, never got out of Germany. I am grateful that he sent Hilda and Franz with your Grandmother here. When they escaped, my hope was that they would change a legacy built on blood. I have lost hope for Hilda. If Franz left the past alive for you to find, well, that makes me question his true intentions. But you have given me hope."

"I found a golden pear."

"So, he kept the pear."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe your father kept the pear to remind him of just how far one person could go astray, or maybe he kept it out of pride. We will never know."

"Tell me about the pear. How did Grandfather get the pear?"

"All around Europe, the first-class hotels served Royal Rivera Pears sold by Harry and David. They were flown in from Oregon. In each box one pear was wrapped in gold foil. This tradition still lives today. The pear was an exceptional fruit that signified prosperity, longevity, wisdom and benevolent administration. Hitler's golden pear signified a job well done. A very personal thank-you from Hitler. Not a gift easily given. Your Grandfather was bestowed this gift. Your Grandfather did his job really well."

"What was a job well done?"

"You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do. I have to know. I held it in my hand."

"Let it go, son."

"My imagination of a job well done has to be worse than what you could ever tell me."

"It can't be."

"Please."

"That dammed, pear!"

"Please, Geof."

"It means one million!"

"One million dollars?"

"No. One million people: men, women, children, Polish, Jewish, gentiles, Gypsy's, dissidents...it didn't matter. You were given a golden pear when you reached a goal of one million. Hitler's gift to you when you did, was a golden pear for a job well done."

August was speechless. The number was out of his grasp. "How did they know?"

"They kept count. Every kill was verified and witnessed by another Nazi soldier or general. Your Grandfather worked on the railways. You can fill in the rest of the story. I can't tell it. And I can't wait to die to forget it. I wanted it to die with me. Now you know. They say secrets never die. Please, let this one die."

August left his Granduncle's house. Tears burned his cheeks. He walked Dante's sixth circle of heretics and murderers, his legacy. He threw up.

August pushed through the massive front double doors again. This time, he cringed at the feel of the smooth gold handles. Hilda still sat in her favorite chair as he walked into the parlor.

"I want the golden pear." Hilda bluntly said.

"You know?"

"Of course. Your Grandfather's prize."

"For murdering?"

"Cleansing."

"I...I...I need you to leave."

"You leave. It's my house. Like I said, you live on your Grandfather's spoils, your words."

August looked around at the house he was so proud of before. The house that hid every soul taken. They were hidden under the pillows that leaned against the back of the gilded couch. They were hidden in the tapestries that clung to the walls. He could hear hollow footsteps cross the marble floors. The truly noblest that suffered without a scream deafened his ears. That terrible smell of burnt cinnamon suffocated him at the realization of what it really was. He slowly backed out of the house, shut the massive doors and never returned.

August bought a new house, smaller, no lavish reminders of his Grandfather's fortune. A pear tree grew wildly in the back yard. August could not look at it without feeling sick, yet he could not cut it down either. In a small way it comforted him that, perhaps, that was how his father felt about the golden pear; a reminder to be better than your past. The alternative, that the pear was proof of his own father's belief in the greatness of his heritage, was too much to bear. August clung to the hope that his father felt remorse. He picked up a pear that had fallen from the tree, held it gently, then prayed for forgiveness from the million souls that it held.

The golden pear, so well hidden in the safety deposit box was gone. August touched it one last time to pick it up and throw it in the deepest river he could find. His children would never know. They would be the start of a new legacy. One they could create on their own. And one, when witnessed by others would not bring to them humiliation. A humiliation that August alone still suffered.