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Unformatted text preview: morning, all was typical.
“That Saukerl ’s looking out the window again,” cursed Rosa Hubermann. “Every day,” she went on. “What are
you looking at this time?”
“Ohhh,” moaned Papa with delight. The flag cloaked his back from the top of the window. “You should have a
look at this woman I can see.” He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Liesel. “I might just go and run after
her. She leaves you for dead, Mama.”
“Schwein!” She shook the wooden spoon at him.
Papa continued looking out the window, at an imaginary woman and a very real corridor of German flags.
On the streets of Molching that day, each window was decorated for the Führer. In some places, like Frau
Diller’s, the glass was vigorously washed, and the swastika looked like a jewel on a red-and-white blanket. In
others, the flag trundled from the ledge like washing hung out to dry. But it was there.
Earlier, there had been a minor calamity. The Hubermanns couldn’t find their flag. “They’ll come for us,” Mama warned her husband. “They’ll come and take us away.” They. “We have to find
it!” At one point, it seemed like Papa might have to go down to the basement and paint a flag on one of his drop
sheets. Thankfully, it turned up, buried behind the accordion in the cupboard.
“That infernal accordion, it was blocking my view!” Mama swiveled. “Liesel!”
The girl had the honor of pinning the flag to the window frame.
Hans Junior and Trudy came home for the afternoon eating, like they did at Christmas or Easter. Now seems
like a good time to introduce them a little more comprehensively:
Hans Junior had the eyes of his father and the height. The silver in his eyes, however, wasn’t warm, like Papa’s
—they’d been Führer ed. There was more flesh on his bones, too, and he had prickly blond hair and skin like
Trudy, or Trudel, as she was often known, was only a few inches taller than Mama. She had cloned Rosa
Hubermann’s unfortunate, waddlesome walking style, but the rest of...
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- Winter '13