Chapter VII

At the sound of someone at the front door, Brezel shot up from where he lay on the living room rug, releasing a furious flurry of barks. I jumped off the couch and snatched the record from the turntable. As I shoved it back into its sleeve and behind a couch pillow, I could hear the front door open and the dog continuing to bark.

“Brezel!” came Otto’s harsh whisper down the entry hall. “It’s me, you lunatic!”

I plucked a random book off the coffee table and sat down, pretending to read it. Otto entered the living room with a very happy Brezel in his arms right as I settled into my mock relaxation. 

“Oh, hey, Milo,” he said when he noticed me. “You’re still up?”

I nonchalantly glanced up from the book. “Hey, Otto.”

“How was your day?”

“Good.” I gulped, trying not to appear nervous. I turned the focus of the conversation back to him, hoping he wouldn’t notice anything was up with me. “How about yours? Did you get to build a bunch of cars today?” 

Otto walked over to the couch and took a seat with the dog on his lap. Stretching his back out, he leaned  deeply into the couch pillow—the one I’d just hidden the record behind. I grimaced as I imagined it cracking in half. 

“Engines,” Otto replied as he pet Brezel. “It’s an assembly line, and I work on building engines.”

I feigned a smile so I would stop thinking about my record’s probable demise. “That’s right. Sorry, I guess. We’ve never much talked about your work.” 

“It’s all going great, even if it is a little boring.” He smiled back at me. “I’ve made some good friends since I’ve been there, though. We've all gotten to talking about our commitment to the Party, and one of them who volunteers with the SS said I should join too.” 

I blinked. “The Schutzstaffel?”

And there it was: the one source of contention between Otto and the rest of the family. Sure, he was the responsible child—the hard worker and the achiever—but his dedication to the Nazi Party following the Führer’s rise to power had concerned Mama and Father, and it was the only thing that ever drove a wedge between him and them. 

I do believe Otto was once a good person at heart, but I also believe he has always been the type to fall for anything. He was truly convinced of the Party’s promises to bring prosperity to the working class, and he believed in their rhetoric about why they weren’t prospering. It was easy to see how someone like him could agree the “elites” and the “intellectuals” were to blame. While Otto may have been smart about practical things, reading and academics didn’t come easily to him. He only stayed in school until grade ten, after which he apprenticed with a mechanic friend of Father’s. 

Oftentimes, Otto insinuated it was a waste of time for me to go to gymnasium or to think about university. He didn’t understand it—and I guess many people are suspicious of what they don’t understand. The Party relied on this, of course, because then they could manipulate people like my brother into being hostile to exactly the things they wanted.

Before Hitler, maybe Otto believed others looked down on someone like him. But after, as long as he did exactly what the Party wanted, he was the perfect person. Not only did he look the part of the ideal “Aryan”, tall and strong with his pale skin, hair, and eyes; he acted it too. It must’ve made him feel important to be considered the “best”  for once after receiving only criticism from his teachers for not understanding his lessons. 

Mama and Father had always tried to voice their concerns, but Otto would have none of it. He thought our parents were alarmists and their religious convictions held them back from accepting progress. He remained stalwart in his support of the Party. While he was still in school, he became a member of the Hitlerjugend, and when he turned eighteen, he joined the Party without hesitation. Otto even expressed his desire to join the Sturmabteilung, but Mama objected, threatening to kick him out of the house if he did. The SA were nothing but thugs, and after their ranks were purged of so-called traitors in Night of Long Knives, they had lost much of their importance to the Führer. Maybe this was why Otto hadn’t pushed it with Mama. 

But now, here he was, considering joining the Schutzstaffel. While the SA had fallen to the wayside over time, the SS was there to take their place as the main paramilitary of the Party. Becoming a member of the SS ranks would be the strongest stance Otto could ever take in  favor of the Party, for no one is more dedicated to the Führer and his ideology than they are.

Did Otto really think Mama would be accepting of such a thing? Maybe he believed since she no longer had Father to back her up, she’d have to put up with it. I didn’t want to imagine my brother could even have such manipulative thoughts, but that was certainly what it seemed like.  

“What’s that look for?” Otto accused when he must’ve noticed I was frowning and contemplating.

I closed the book, setting it aside, and tried to soften my expression. “Are you sure Mama will be alright with that? You know how she is.”

“I know.” Otto rolled his eyes. “But she’ll just have to accept it. Someday she’ll learn her precious Pope doesn’t have all the answers.”

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. I couldn’t help but think how hypocritical it was for Otto to say that. Sure—maybe Mama did follow the Pope without question—but how was that any different than Otto’s allegiance to the Führer?

“You worry too much,” Otto scoffed with a dismissive smirk on his face. 

I bit my tongue, holding back any objection I may have had because I knew it would be fruitless. Otto stood up from the couch to stretch out his back. 

“Alright, I’m going to bed. Gute Nacht, Milo.”

“Gute Nacht…”

It wasn’t long before Otto was out of the living room and up the stairs. Then I took my opportunity to grab the record from behind the couch pillow. To my pleasant surprise, I found it was unharmed when I pulled it out of its sleeve. After that, I hid the record under my bed right next to my sketchbook and tried to fall asleep.