Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene

scared, do you think?”
    “I think it’s not in the best masculine tradition to admit it.”
    “How—I mean, why do you?”
    Anton winked. “Because it’s just another emotion.”
    “Sometimes I cry.” I said, feeling exceptionally brave admitting it.
    “And so do I.” Anton began laughing as though he was having a good time.
    “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “I want you to stay safe.”
    “I will. There’s no reason why the Americans should bother with one missing prisoner. An ordinary foot soldier.” He adjusted his gold ring, the surface of which had some sort of a crest. “Also, I’m lucky. Twice I’ve been so close to exploding bombs that only a miracle could have saved me. And so I’ve had a couple of miracles.”
    He took a quick look out the hide-out’s front and back windows. “But suppose I am recaptured. What will the Americans do? Deposit me in the nearest POW camp where I’ll have to wait till the end of the war. But in the meantime this day, this month, this year belongs to me.”
    Anton began carefully polishing his apple. “What was the last question?”
    “I was wondering how you managed to escape?”
    “The actual mechanics of the escape are not important,” he said. “The pertinent point is that I was able to create a—a kind of climate that permitted the escape. Specifically, my deception was believed because it was built on a foundation of truth. Hitler taught me that.”
    I heard him say it. “Hitler taught you?”
    Anton smiled. “I learned it by analyzing his techniques. Hitler’s first layer is an undeniable truth, such as: TheGerman worker is poor. The second layer is divided equally between flattery and truth: The German worker deserves to be prosperous. The third layer is total fabrication: The Jews and the Communists have stolen what is rightfully yours.”
    “Well, I can see how it helped him, but I don’t see how it worked for you.”
    “Because I had a rock-bottom truth of my own,” he said, striking his chest with his index finger. “My excellent English. I let it be known that I had had an English governess. And this gave me the advantage of being considered wealthy. But I didn’t have a good workable plan that would capitalize on my believed riches until I saw that pin with the glass diamonds—the one you sold me.”
    “Yes! I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why you wanted it. So gaudy and not at all like something you’d like.”
    “I loved it!” protested Anton. “Because those glass diamonds were going to make me a free man. One of the guards was a simple fellow with financial problems. One day I told him my father would pay five thousand dollars to the person who could get me out of prison. The guard looked too surprised to answer. But eight days later he followed me into the latrine and asked, ‘What’s the deal?’ ‘Five perfect diamonds, each diamond having been appraised in excess of one thousand dollars, will be given to the person who drives me out beyond those gates,’ I told him. So he did, and I paid him with a dollar’s worth of glass jewelry.”
    “I’m glad you made it,” I said, “but that guard—he could get into an awful lot of trouble.”
    “I don’t feel guilty.” His hand rubbed across the slight indentation in his chin. “His concern was for reward; mine was for survival. But, on the other hand, I wouldn’t wish to implicate him.”
    I nodded. “Now I’m ready to answer your question.”
    His teeth pressed together, giving new strength to the line of his jaw. “I’m certain you appreciate the seriousness of what you have done, aiding an escaped prisoner of war. I was wondering why you were taking these risks on my behalf. Because of your German ancestry? Perhaps your father is secretly sympathetic to the Nazi cause?”
    “That’s not true! My father’s parents came from Russia and my mother’s from Luxembourg.”
    Anton looked alarmed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Bergen is such a