55
Bauer residence
Oberfohring
“TOM. TOM, WAKE UP.”
Bauer awoke with a start, nearly spilling out of the chair he had set next to the children’s bunk beds in their room. He looked up with hazy eyes at Amalie, dressed in a pink sleeping gown, who stroked the beard on his face.
“You fell asleep.”
Despite his complete lack of vocal talent, each night Bauer sang to his children, now six and seven years old, until they fell asleep.
He had little in terms of repertoire, so he relied on the traditional lullabies his mother used to sing to him: “Wei?t du, wieviel Sternlein stehen,” “Guten Abend, gute Nacht!,” “Der Mond ist aufgegangen.” He joked that the kids would feign sleep just so he’d stop singing.
Amalie took his hand and led him to the bedroom. “You’re not getting enough sleep.”
“I know.” Bauer felt shaky on his feet. He tried to go to bed as soon as the kids were down in the evening but rarely managed. Getting up at 1:00 a.m. to make it back to Osteria Bavaria for the night shift was taking a toll on him both physically and mentally.
“This can’t continue,” she said. “You’ve been doing this for a year. It’s too much. It’s breaking you.”
Bauer looked at his wife. It was taking a toll on her as well, the dark circles under her eyes.
He rarely compared himself to his father, who’d worked over thirty years in the quarry, fulfilling what he considered the most vital function of a father—providing for the family—but was either too tired or too drunk after working to then spend any meaningful time with his children.
Bauer had been determined to be a more involved father.
And he had been. He’d helped the kids with schoolwork and music lessons (violin for Maxine, piano for Ridley).
He’d wrestled and played games and listened to radio shows with them.
He had helped get them dressed in the morning and ready for bed at night.
But over this last year, he’d begun disappearing from their lives. If he even made it home by dinner, he would often nod off from lack of sleep, and was at his second job before the kids woke in the morning.
“I know what you’re doing with these men, whatever you call them—the Ten Patriots?—is important,” Amalie said.
“That’s just a silly name,” he said. “But yes, it’s important.”
“Your kids are important, too, Tom.”
Bauer ran a hand over his bald head, feeling the whiskery nubbles. “Who do you think I’m doing this for, Am? I don’t want Max and Ridley being treated like second-class citizens. I don’t want them to feel ashamed of the religion they follow. I don’t want them spat on and ridiculed—”
“But do you have to take this on all by yourself? Tom against the world?”
Bauer threw up his hands. “I have two choices. Fight for my country or leave. Do you want to leave Munich? Do you want to leave Germany?”
Amalie deflated, her eyes downcast. “Of course I don’t want to leave.
But are you so sure it’s as bad as you’re painting it, Tom?
I know Hitler’s a wretched person, but he’s one man.
He’s not the entire government. A lot of people are opposed to the National Socialists—President von Hindenburg among them.
He beat Hitler handily in the election. Can’t we trust that our process will work?
Can’t we trust that more people will continue to vote against the Nazis than for them—”
“I don’t trust him,” said Bauer. “If he gets hold of the levers of power, he’ll never let go. He’ll figure out something. Our votes won’t matter anymore. You think this guy wants a democracy?”
Amalie nestled her head against his shoulder. “My brave soldier,” she whispered. “I know you’re trying to do what’s right. But if you’re wrong—”
“I’ve never wanted to be wrong so badly,” he said. “But I’m not. I need you to believe in me, Am. I can’t do this without you.”
“Hey.” She touched his face, turned his cheek so they were nose to nose. “I always believe in you, Thomas Bauer. And I always will. But you have to keep your promise to me, too. Every night.”
“I will.” He pressed his lips softly against hers. “I’ll always come home.”