The man they knew

After dinner, Clara and her two children would join each other in their back yard to play baseball in what had recently been the most pleasant weather on perfect spring evenings. When they moved to Lienz, Austria in early May 1945, she had brought three mitts and a few baseballs, the only physical memento of their life in America. Something about the warm breeze tonight reminded her of the joy she had felt being outside with her children in Southern Vermont. Her son Joseph was soon to be eleven years old and he was proud of the accuracy of his pitches. His younger sister Barbara fared very well keeping up with him in the game of catch. Upon arriving at their uncle’s farm, Joseph found a nice piece of narrow wood in the forest that they used as a baseball bat. Each day they threw the ball around outside for a couple of hours. Kids from neighboring houses began to take notice and slowly made their way over. Although their new friends had never played baseball before, Joseph and Barbara taught them the basics. Before long, Clara’s two children had made a solid pack of friends who welcomed them into their community.

On this property that also served as an Inn, it felt so good to be home, the warm and inviting chalet in the Alps she remembered from her childhood. ‘Not a worry in the world today,’ she thought. ‘The war is over. I am where I should be.’ Uncle Franz walked toward them from the house and sat down on his favorite wooden bench to watch the children happily running together in his field. He shifted his weight, inhaled the aromatic alpine air, then reached into his pocket to pull out a leather pouch containing his pipe and tobacco. He found joy taking his time loading the tobacco into the bowl of his wooden pipe. This followed by lighting the tobacco with one single match. Even though the pipe was lit, he let the match burn until the flame nearly touched his fingers. The pleasure of each step in his ritual could be seen in his eyes as he returned the pouch to his pocket and leaned back into the bench.

Clara left the children to play amongst themselves. As she approached her Uncle, he patted the bench and motioned her to sit by his side. His resemblance to her father was so bold that looking at him brought overwhelming feelings of nostalgia to her heart. Nothing could bring her more comfort than to be with family again, living around other souls who accepted everything about her.

“I have been notified that we have guests arriving from the north tomorrow. Many details have not been shared, but the courier made it clear that we are to spare no expense on our guests who are used to finer things. They are paying handsomely for their stay.” He looked across the field toward the mountain as he spoke. “Most particularly, every meal needs to be authentically Bavarian. Although I know you have prepared the guest rooms in the best manner possible, I’ll ask you to return to the rooms once more this evening to ensure nothing is out of place.”

Clara liked having guests who brought conversation and laughter into their large home. She began to think about the meals she would prepare and wondered out loud about the visitors. “The kids and I have never been around wealthy people, so I hope they will feel comfortable with us.” This thought came from the girl who had lived in a place where she was made to feel unwelcome.

Uncle Franz removed his pipe from his lips, turning to look at her with those kind eyes. “Clara, the rooms will probably be filled for a full month by visitors who are known to be very private in their ways. We will make a concession to them by not invading their space when they are in the home, especially the living room where they will congregate. I will introduce you to a man named Mr. Braun and you will keep your distance from him as best possible. For the most part, I request Joseph and Barbara remain outside to play during the day; this shouldn’t be a problem with the warm weather during June. When your kids are inside the house, they should migrate to their own bedrooms, making the least amount of noise.”

The next day Clara and Uncle Franz were off to an early start. There were cold cuts and cheese to be sliced, bread was baking in the oven, vegetable platters were being arranged, and a large turkey was soaking in a bucket of brine. She went about setting the table with a vase filled with flowers from the yard, the finest china, polished silver, and crisply ironed cloth napkins. She poured cold water from the well into her grandfather’s crystal goblets.

Around noon, Clara heard the hotel patrons begin assembling in the dining hall, so she peaked her head out of the kitchen one last time to ensure the table was properly set. She could hear the chairs scooting on the wooden floor. Once there was silence, that was her queue to serve lunch. She set down each platter, trying not to stare at the guests. Her eyes suddenly stopped; she looked away but felt frozen with fear.

There he was. ‘Slow breaths and concentrate,’ she thought. When Uncle Franz noticed her expression, he stepped in and led her away. In a separate room he explained that this Inn was a stopping point for Nazi’s escaping persecution in Germany. They were traveling on the Ratline.

The Inn was Franz’s only opportunity to recoup some of the money his family lost during poor economic times brought on by the war. “Remember, it’s only temporary Clara. Mr. Braun and his colleagues want to remain unrecognized and leave here as safely and quickly as possible. You must go about your duties in a very professional manner.”

The war had officially ended less than a month ago, bringing the shocking announcement of Hitler’s suicide in his bunker, but Clara knew who ‘Mr. Braun’ really was. He was no longer the ebullient orator displayed to the world. After lunch, she watched him walk into the living room with the worried face of someone terribly lost, someone who felt the anguish of fighting and losing a war. At a time when most men would drop to their knees from pure exhaustion, these men were now forced to open a new chapter they did not want to write.

A few days later, Clara ventured outside to watch Barbara and Joseph. She waved when they saw her, then took a seat on the wooden bench. She heard the back door to the kitchen open and turned to see Mr. Braun coming her way followed by his dog, Blondi. The dog sprinted from Mr. Braun’s side toward her children. He gestured with his hand a silent request to sit and she obliged with a smile.

They sat quietly. Joseph hit the ball so hard with the bat that he had to boast, shouting in English, “How’d you like that one, Mama?”

Mr. Braun smiled at the boys’ glee, then turned to her and politely asked, “How is it that your boy came to learn English so well?”

“I was born in Austria in 1915 then my father moved our family to America in search of work when I was ten years old. It was exciting for us! But as soon as WWII was in full force, our neighbors in Vermont began to ostracize us solely because we were German. Although I spoke perfect German and English, we were still shunned. Early in the war my husband was killed in action, then not long ago, my father died and our financial situation became dire. Joseph, Barbara and I were blessed when my uncle asked us to return to Austria where employment was offered to me at his Inn,” Clara explained. “It has worked well for us because he and I need each other. He needs help running the Inn, and I need to provide for my children.” She smiled at Mr. Braun and he nodded his head in understanding.

From then on, Mr. Braun met Clara outside on the bench where they became acquainted through conversation. The world knew him to be a monster, but she liked him and had chosen the side of humanity by treating him kindly, especially after experiencing such foul treatment in Vermont. He reciprocated her kindness.

He would reminisce about his youth while he watched Joseph laughing and playing with his friends. When his mind stepped away from the problems flooding his mind, one could see that he had really come to care for Joseph.

Joseph and Barbara were devastated the day Mr. Braun left Austria. In less than a month they had grown to feel close to him and his dog. Mr. Braun’s appearance had dramatically changed since he had grown a healthy beard that strangely resembled the two priests who came to drive him away. As he said his goodbyes, the kids began to weep.

He called Blondi to the car but a priest insisted this was not an option as the trip needed to remain highly covert. He silently remained in the car with his head lowered toward his knees. When he was ready to speak, he rose from the car. “Okay, Father,” he agreed. Mr. Braun warmly wrapped his arms around his beloved dog, squeezing her with all the love his heart could muster. He looked across the yard and summoned Joseph and Barbara to the car. He knelt down and put their hands in his, softly saying, “I’d like you two to take care of Blondi for me since I can’t take her with me.” They rushed into his arms and hugged him once more.

Mr. Braun’s hands were trembling when he led Blondi’s collar to Joseph’s hands. He returned to the car and was spirited away.

After Mr. Braun left, Clara returned to her usual household duties, preparing for the next visitors to arrive later that week. She tied the apron strings behind her back and headed to gather the sheets off the beds.

Clara opened the window to freshen the air in Mr. Braun’s room. The laughing children playing outside with Blondi could be heard inside the house. When she reached under the corner of the mattress to remove the fitted sheet, she noticed a brown leather tote bag had been left behind on the floor.

It was too late to summon Mr. Braun back to the house to retrieve it. What to do? Many thoughts passed through her mind, but she kept returning to the realism that he was gone. She picked up the bag and slowly opened the clasp. Inside was a small black notebook. She reached her hand in to lift it out then saw a rectangular bundle wrapped in fabric and tied with twine at the bottom of the bag. She untied the bundle, finding a stack of crisp German Reichsmark. She laid the money on the bed stand and slowly, she counted the bills and found he left behind what amounted to $20,000. Her hands shook. She untied the tether that held the notebook together and sat down on the bed. This felt like an immense invasion of privacy, as she was a firm believer of minding her own business. Yet again, she knew he would never be the owner of the notebook again.

She pulled the cover open and could smell his scent left behind on the paper. It was thick and the pages were wrinkled and full of entries. She looked down at the first line on the first page and read a sentence written by the man who was escaping his country and leaving his entire life and existence behind. He had written, “They do not know me.”