Wildflowers of Terezin by Robert Elmer Page B

well, foolish. "There's very little to explain. I lost my balance. They stitched me up quite well. That's about all there is to the story."
    "Well, but I'm sure you'll think of something from one of your books, then," said Pastor Viggo. Now he seemed unflappable, as if this little exchange bothered him not the least."And I'll very much look forward to hearing it tomorrow. You always come up with something appropriate."
    Yes, appropriate, thought Steffen. Safe. Unlike his brother.He thanked Pastor Viggo, wondering if he should not have stayed in his office with his friends the commentaries—where it was quiet.
     

8
    IBSEN'S BOOKSTORE, KØBENHAVN
    MONDAY, 27 SEPTEMBER 1943
     
    Life can only be understood backwards;
    but it must be lived forwards.
—SØREN KIERKEGAARD
     
     
    Y ou never told me where you got that gun, you know."Steffen didn't mean to sound like their mother when he spoke to his younger brother, Henning. It just came out that way, even when he lowered his voice to a whisper. And it wasn't hard to decipher Henning's reaction by the way he frowned as he leaned against a weighed-down shelf of dusty books.
    "Why do you ask?" Henning lowered an upside-down copy of H. C. Andersen's Collected Fairy Tales. He looked more like a soccer player than a bookstore clerk. "You want to borrow it?"
    "Borrow it? Nej. One of us getting arrested would be quite enough."
    Henning fidgeted as he glanced around the cluttered little store, piled high with used books of all kinds in floor- toceiling shelves that groaned under the weight. None of the other three customers looked up from their books, and in fact seemed to making a good show of ignoring the entire exchange.
     

     
    "Look," said Steffen. "I just thought we needed to talk about . . . you know, what happened the other day. I don't want you getting in more trouble."
    "Who said I was in trouble?" Henning pushed aside a lock of blonde hair with an irritated puff of air. He had always worn his hair too long, even when they were both in Gymnasium, before Steffen went on to the School of Theology at the University of København and Henning dropped out.
    "I'm not saying you are, Henning. But listen to me. Have you already forgotten what they did to that Times editor last month . . . what was his name?"
    "Clemmensen."
    "Right. Clemmensen. And what they did to him is exactly what they do to anybody else who sticks his neck out."
    "I'm surprised you knew anything about him."
    "Clemmensen was an editor for the biggest paper in København, for goodness sake!"
    "A shame too. I hear he was a good man."
    " Was, Henning. Past tense. They killed him, don't you see?"
    "Oh, I see, all right." Henning didn't back away. "But he's not the only one, you know. A kid named Nicolai Nielsen was shot and killed last night. Two of our other people were badly hurt. And do you know how old he was?"
    Obviously Steffen had no idea, so Henning went on.
    "Sixteen. The kid was just sixteen! And the thing was, even at that age he was willing to give his life for what he believed."
    "Sixteen." Steffen shook his head in disbelief. "This is starting to get really dangerous. I think you need to be more careful."
    "Me? You're just getting out of the hospital, and you're telling me to be careful? That's a good one."
     

     
    "Yes, I'm well aware of how it sounds. The difference is, you're directly involved, and I'm not. I'm just saying that you ought to consider getting out of this while you still can."
    "Not this conversation again." This time Henning's face flushed as he ran his fingers through his hair, and turned back again. "But you're right about one thing. Things are getting worse. I've heard the Nazis are making plans to round up every Jew in Danmark."
    "No, they wouldn't dare." Steffen crossed his arms. "This isn't Poland. This is their model protectorate. They've promised not to do that sort of thing here."
    "You are so naïve." Henning slapped his own forehead with the palm of his hand.
    "Now, wait