Chapter IX

Once I was officiated into Lukas’s band of misfits, I became quite busy trying to juggle many things in my life. I still ate lunch with Anton and the others while they were none the wiser to my subterfuge, and three days a week I still attended Hitlerjugend meetings.

Meanwhile, I tried to spend as much free time as I could with Lukas, Leah, and the group. Those early days getting to know them were full of excitement. While at Lukas’s house, I voraciously listened to every record I could from his collection, and spent a lot of time goofing around with Leah. She loved to tell jokes and recount silly stories, and I enjoyed the lighthearted bliss of being her friend. It helped keep my mind off things I’d rather not think about, like my father’s death and my worries over Otto’s political convictions. 

When I wasn’t spending time with Leah, I was learning from all of them what it meant to be a Swing Guy. Initially, from the outside looking in, it had seemed like it was about exemplifying a state of jazz-like cool. Being aloof and perhaps somewhat lazy, both of which I could be at times but without being cool, obviously. However, it was really much deeper, at least to Lukas.

He explained how he had first gotten involved in the scene when he still lived in Hamburg. Swing and jazz were a big deal there, and despite the authorities’ attempts to curtail the music’s influence, the young folks persisted. What started out as a simple passion for music then became  something else entirely. Self-expression was a small resistance, and maybe some of them did it for teenage rebellion, but Lukas believed it was more important than that.

“You know that old experiment about a frog in a pot of water?” Lukas had said to me one day.

“Sure.” I thought I’d heard about it in a science class once. 

  “Well, that’s us. We’re the frog — and the Führer’s the one slowly boiling us alive. Most people can’t see it, or won’t see it. They’re so focused on just living day to day that they don’t realize how much everything has changed — the forest for the trees, or what-have-you.”

I nodded, really thinking about it. Maybe it wasn’t an original analogy, but all teenagers think they’re the first to come to such conclusions, and Lukas and I were no different. It did make me realize that what he was talking about epitomized how I’d felt for a while, though. 

When something on the radio bothered me, I blocked it out. When my brother became more and more involved with the Party, I sighed and kept my opinions to myself. When Anton and the others said terrible things, I did nothing. 

I was the frog. 

“But a real Swing Guy or Gal,” Lukas went on, “they’re hep to things, you know — and I don’t mean hep like cool. Hep really means to know stuff. To be aware. Don’t you ever just feel like you know things?”

I stared at him. He was lying down on one of the couches in the parlor, his legs lazily kicked up into the air. I sat on the couch across from him, trying to understand what he meant. Lukas was simultaneously the most fascinating and confusing individual. 

“What?” I asked.

“You know!” he said, as if I was supposed to. “Don’t you ever get that feeling when you just know something isn’t right?” 

“Yes — when you put it that way.”

“Well, that’s your conscience, you know. Most people have one, but too many don’t ever listen to it. A real Swing Guy listens, though.”

“Because he’s hep…” I supplied. 

Lukas smiled wide. “Yeah, now you’re getting it.” 

I fell silent, thinking as I pet Thor, who’d just jumped up on the couch. “So,” I said after a while of stroking the cat’s downy fur, “what exactly is a Swing Guy supposed to do with what his conscience tells him?” 

Lukas sighed. “I’m still trying to figure that one out,” he admitted. “The guys in Hamburg might tell you ‘be true to yourself’ or some other ‘corny’ scheiß — and I guess that’s a fine form of rebellion in itself, but sometimes I can’t help but think we ought to do a little more sometimes.”

That sounded dangerous, I had to admit, but Lukas seemed noncommittal to it at that moment, so I just nodded. He leaned over onto his elbow to look at me. “Now for a really important question,” he said, “how are your dancing skills?”

With reluctance, I admitted that such skills were nonexistent. The closest I ever got to dancing was tapping my foot. So it was at that point I learned how to do the foxtrot. Salomé and Heinrich were touted as the dancers with the most technical skill, so I became their pupil. I would dance with Salomé while Heinrich directed us in the steps. At first it was awkward, especially since Salomé was Lukas’s girl and all, but they all laughed at me for worrying about it.

“We all dance with each other,” Lukas had said. “You dance with Salomé, Leah dances with Hans, and I’ll dance with Heinrich. What does it matter? It’s for fun!”

After that, I tried not to take it too seriously, and that was when I realized that dancing really was fun. Once I allowed myself that, I began to feel less uptight around my new friends in general, and I began to connect with them on a deeper level. 

One time I particularly remember, it was just Lukas and me hanging out on the top balcony of his house. He had this old radio set up in his attic, and some nights when the conditions were right, he could tune in to the BBC and listen to the latest music. That night it was balmy with the feeling of summer on its way. 

The sky was still a muted cobalt blue from the sun setting later, and crickets sang in the garden below. There was something soft and pleasant about the music emanating from the open attic door behind us. Lukas had lit a cigarette and its orange glow brightened every time he took a drag. Otherwise, its light was dim, just like the faint stars I was staring up at. 

“I know the quality of the sound is terrible,” Lukas said, “but I’m glad I got it to work here. It still reminds me of being back in Hamburg.” 

I nodded. “You really miss it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, especially the rain.”

I chuckled and Lukas turned to me, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Of all the things you could possibly miss, you pick the rain?” 

“I know it’s silly — but there’s just something about it.” He flicked ash over the balcony as he lowered his gaze down to the garden. “Most people get tired of it, or downright hate it, in a place where it rains so much — but not me.”

I smiled, finally understanding why Lukas carried his umbrella around like a little boy with a teddy bear. He became quiet for a moment, a pensive look in his brown eyes as he continued to stare down into the garden.

“I … I miss my mother too, of course,” he finally said. 

My smile faded and I frowned slightly. It was the first time Lukas had really mentioned much about his family, especially his mother. Anything else I’d heard had come from the rumors at school, or the few things Leah had told me. 

“What happened to her,” I began hesitantly, “if you don’t mind me asking?”