Our Spanish substitute entered the room rendering his head at the hallow entrance. My eyes ran above the enclave of his nose as it burrowed down to the floor. I averted my eyes to the paling patches of skin around the rim of his head, his hair thin and grey, and his skin frail around the shiny center of his head. Sitting down, he opened up a small black book with weathered, yellowed pages, his sleeves pulled down, covering his arms. His chest rose like mountains subdued to the vast plains of his chest. A humble giant, he endured the initial cacophony of these students’ voices. No one spoke. He did not say anything to them as they stayed disquieted by him. A hushed anticipation pervaded the room.
Before my feet touch the ground, he walked agitated along to the front of the room, amidst the mumbling of whispers. This was quite the test of courage for any sub really, a sub for Spanish class no less, as he abandoned the depths of submission watching over high school students. The silence envelops the room gradually, his silence clamoring for the class to silence their anticipation.
As others statures rose respectfully, mine’s sinks deeper into daydreams. I could usually float away in the dispersed rumble of these chatterboxes. No inner voices found me or the silence of the wind, I could attune only to the sub’s voice.

SIGH! Okay, speak.

“Hello class, I’m Mr. Kluges,” the s whistled in his voice, his eyes ascended to the ticking clock above our impatient heads.
By the time class would be over, our eyes would never encounter.

“I’m teaching a German language and social studies class at the public library and I’m offering it to anyone who’s interested in extending their cultural education beyond Spanish.”
I rested my gaze upon his chest as each word followed with brevity.

“Oh so you’re German?” A smile lit across the class. “So are you, like, 2nd cousins once removed with Hitler or what?” One ecstatic boy Jimmy comments.
“I would not claim the man as a relative of mine,” he answered calmly.
“Did anyone know him that you knew?”


“A few people actually. They met him quite a while ago, although they still haven’t told me how that experience was.” SIGH! His eyes lowered to the floor again; his voice cracking under the relentless questions of this curious group.
“I’m holding the class tonight at 6: 30,” Mr. Kluges repeated as he sat back down in his seat, reminding the class to work on their story translations about a Spanish author who faced racial prejudice in America, but was lucky enough to find success as an outsider in America. What a land of promise?
He veiled his eyes, reading from the black book; or if he was reading at all, just attempting to avoid any more exposure to this intrusive force. It was hard for anyone to be unsuspecting now, could any two be undecided, no one innocuous to judgment. Judgment: the prerequisite of all impromptu meetings. I possessed no preconceived notions about Mr. Kluges. If I descended down to reality any further from this daydream, it was only to discover him further. I didn’t really care about learning German, though I thoroughly enjoyed history. Especially that of German which, I’d learnt to be quite tumultuous. I’d like very much to study the times before then, whenever humanity progressed ingeniously and unassuming. My perspective of history stood biased, circumspectly so, expecting the destruction of society to begin at the cultivation of an incoherent trust between people.
I never really trusted anyone. My logic said that if people were selfish then they were not inclined to trust. I trusted to find my way around classes without direction from anyone along the way. I trusted my peers to never take a second look at me. I trusted Mr. Kluges to teach me something knowledgeable and send me on my way, yet to forget my name within the passing of a few days.
I drove to the library, no words prior ensued other than the obvious questions of whom this man I was about to meet was.

My only explanation, “I don’t know, some old German man.”
I walked through many hallways of books. Each bookshelf disjointed at an intermittent space where the blank walls unfolded. Each space uninterrupted between the collections of materials. I drew on all these elusive gaps in the rigid shelves; nothing remnant of Mr. Kluges lingered. I lingered near the computers, all unoccupied, running on the social networks of regular library-goers. Lost. I thought I might as well learn while I’m here, grabbing the German dictionary looking for some common insults to call my classmates and confuse my teachers.

“Um. Hello. What’s your name?” Mr. Kluges asked softly.
“Oh. Hi. My name’s Mark.” I grasped, his large hand swallowing mine.
“Hello Mark. Well, I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure anyone was going to show up.
“Yeah, I wasn’t really sure if I was going to come either,” I admitted.
“What are we studying today?” I asked.
“Just a few common words with a stress on pronunciation. German has a harsh tongue but it flows beautifully in some places.” He sat down at the computer and left his belongings next to the chair. I pulled up a chair and sat next to him like young Harry Potter in the sidecar riding next to Hagrid on his flying motorcycle.

He presented the German alphabet, having me repeat after him each sound with the correct speech. I had some speech impediments he said were common to first time speakers. I caught on soon after, liking some of the different sounds: the “UUEER!” and other harsh growls, as I spoke from the back of my throat. It wasn’t so easy to pick up these sounds.
After a quick session of pronunciation, he read me this poem in German by a German poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, exhibiting the highest aspirations I could ever hope to possess of German fluency.

“His vision, from the constantly passing bars,” he began.
“Has grown so weary that it cannot hold anything else.”
Each verse he spoke plundered upon each word.
“It seems to him there are a thousand bars; and behind the bars no world.”
The vitality did not waver as it ran like a hundred wild beasts across his lips.
“As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
The movement of his powerful soft strides
Is like a ritual dance around a center
In which a mighty will stands paralyzed”.
He arches his back, adjusting his posture, the nerves calming suddenly in the final stanza.
Only at times, the curtain of the pupils
Lifts, quietly--. An image enters in,
Rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
Plunges into the heart and is gone.
His eyes run down the verses, leaping through the thicketed jungles that the panther stalks stealthily.
Suddenly, my eyes followed his under an intense kind of pressure. There lied a black hole in the center beleaguered by a sea of blue. Torrid eyes, like a ring of fire bridged the space between the stars. There rests a former treasure buried under vestiges of a dark past. Onto the eyes of the man, I witnessed, the panther; my eyes impassable near those fierce objects.
I withdrew my glance, readjusting my position, clearing my throat to prepare for my speech practice. AHEM! “Now repeat after me.” Mr. Kluges deferred. Ein, zwei ,drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht, neun.”. “ Sfv... Sfv...Sfvi,” it sounded like a snake at the edge of my lips. “Zee... zee bin,” all the vowel sounds stressed.
The first nine numbers of the German language: an elementary lesson for learning a language. He taught me other kinds of elementary terms, including animals, Katze- cat, Hund- dog, Ratte- rat, and Schwein- pig. He taught me common family titles: Sohn-son, Tochter-daughter, Mutter- mother, Vater-father, and Herr-a formal way of addressing a man or teacher. He wanted to teach me how to express my emotions whether I was angry- Ich bin verärgert, whether I was sad- Ich bin traurig, or happy- Ich bin glücklich, or fearful- Ich werde erschrocken. All in all these ideas universally translated as Herr Kluges taught me.
“Are there a lot of cognates in the German language?” I pondered.
“Oh yes. Just like in Spanish. English and German aren’t as distant from one another as you can tell. They both originate from the Indo-European language group. History, as his story’s told, separates man from one singular speech, dividing it amongst peoples now, with new connotations on some words establishing new obstructions.”
“I guess so,” I gave my expert opinion. “We opened our door to you though. Are you saying that not everyone will listen to someone speaking because they don’t understand them? Of course, you know English yourself. Any boundaries you speak of now, are just arbitrary aren’t they?”

“I fear if you came into the German world you may find some discriminates. The Germans can tell instantly when something’s not spoken right.” Mr. Kluges stared at me intensely, his eyes slightly flaring.
“I used to teach German here at your school,” he divulged, his eyes enlightened.” German has extinguished its pride around here, but I’m hoping I can bring it back.” HMPH! Good luck with that. I didn’t let my eyes say it, but I doubted anyone would bother listening.

RING! Uh oh. Time to go. “I have to go now.” I scuffled out of my chair getting ready to head out. “Oh here, wait a minute,” he snatched a florid, black notebook from his bag, wishing me to write ordinarily, so that one day I may write fluorescent thoughts in German. “Auf Wiedersehen,” he whispered, interjecting my quickening stride. “Goodbye,” I managed, shuffling down the stairs, carrying the book by one hand.

Once home, my parents were asking how it went. I replied, “It went good.”
“Swell, I guess.”
I was surprised they were asking so many questions. They never usually cared about any of my activities after school, course, I never did anything outside the realm of school and here, an indifferent household. I wasn’t sure what to tell them about Mr. Kluges. They asked me more questions. As I provided minimal answers, they grew concerned, further convinced he was a crazy man, and our relationship should cease to exist. I’m sure he wasn’t an ex-murderer, or a kidnapper. Maybe he could have been a drug dealer? Nah. They had nothing to worry about. I only worried about myself wasting his time with my trivial curiosity. I kind of wanted to see him. So I decided to just tell my parents I was now attending a book club or something at the library instead.

“I still have a lot to learn outside of school you know,” I challenged my parents. “Well it’ll get you out of the house. Go on learn, about the real world. Bring back some pictures.”

Alright. I’ll bring back pictures. Gawky Mark on the left. Imposing German man on the right.

We had a few more meetings. I started writing those words and numbers he taught me in the notebook, figuring addition in German. “Let’s see. Zwei plus Zwei equals vier,” I added. “Correct,” he chuckled. “So that means vier plus vier equals?” He asked. “Acht,” I answered. “Remember its aaaa…CHT!” His throat swallowed harshly.


Unfortunately, a lapse soon flowered through the subtle ground of our meetings. My mind was preoccupied with school more while he said he was visiting family which was strange because he had never mentioned a family, or wore any ring?

I let time pass unaware of where that man, the panther, wandered. Perhaps he was conquering some barriers.

As this barrier diverged itself in between us, I no longer found solace in the trifling images of what lay on the outside of his enterprise. I practiced my German like he said. Practice, practice, practice, you’ll be much improved the next time we meet, Auf Wiedersehen, he said. My skills were now more advanced though my vocabulary waned with an unsavory flavor.

RING! RING! RING! No one would answer the phone. I figured it was an unknown number, when I heard the receive turn on, “Hello. Mark. Just calling to see if you’d like to meet tonight at the library, I’m excited to see how you’ve grown. Auf Wiedersehen.” BEEP!
That night I had my book club, so I had to drive up to the library to meet with Mr. Kluges. He never appeared this time.

I called him while still at the library. RING! No answer. RING! No answer.
The next day, on my way to class, I found Mr. Kluges snuffling with his same long-sleeve, brown and red striped sweater vest and ample black shoes. “I’m sorry, Mark. When I arrived at home last night, a terrible sickness struck me and my medication knocked me right out. I forgot to call before, I’m sorry.” He covered up his nose with the white tissue paper.

“It’s okay. I actually went to a book club meeting yesterday though, which I thoroughly disdained,” I told him.

“Well let’s see Mark. We can meet tomorrow at my house, if you’d like.” He suggested
“Why there?” I wondered.
“Well, it’ll be just the two of us, no distractions, and I’d like to allot my time specifically for you since you’ve become such a serious student.”

“Okay then, I’ll ask,” I answered, not understanding how serious he was.
“Great. I’ll see you,” he walked away sneezing in his sleeve.

“How would this go over? He wasn’t exactly a stranger, but still I had never been to his house before. He must’ve considered me a pretty dedicated student. I told my parents I was headed to a follow up book club this time.
The house was actually nearby mine, so I walked. These nearby neighborhoods captured nature’s splendor. Underneath the spring sky, rising through the apparatus of kin-knit clouds, a sickly sun grazed. The sidewalk led a straight course to Mr. Kluge’s.
The house rested in quiet idolatry on the outskirts of the curved sidewalk, littered with scraggly shrubs and thin branches dangling from behind the house. Content in its place, an ashen rooftop suspended over a fawn-colored estate.


Nothing is seen inside the house from the outside, as I approach the coarse wooden door. KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“Hello,” Herr Kluges, still dressed in professional attire, graciously allowed me in. Gently, he moved, walking to the dining room table, the air warming towards the center; each step deep-set across the wooden floor. I lay my notebook softly at the edge of the table, all its writings hidden in the retired sunlight.
Mr. Kluges revolves the shutters inside the windows, the dust dispelling along the muffled belongings, rising in the settling rays. All my words discernible as Herr Kluges receded to our lesson.
“What have you written lately, Mark? Have you let your emotions just fly on the page,” Herr Kluge asked, resting his hands on the table, disturbing its foundation.

“Uh… Not much.” I admitted. A teen is confined but not limited to one emotion. “Mostly I felt assured.” Perhaps an undusted metal crafted the feeling best.
“Assured for what exactly?” he asked.
“Assured for us to meet again.” I responded.
AHEM! “I see.” His eyes wander for a focal point to mind. His back turns toward the back windows.

“Are you alright Herr Kluges?” My nerves untied.
Suddenly, Mr. Kluges rises from the table setting his eyes on something more intently. I follow him as he walks towards the back window, staring intently at a great, old tree in the backyard. A slight wind howls against the windowpane, the branches crippling in the bellowing breeze.

The sun obscures the upper region of the fence in the sun’s shadow, engulfing the lower portions as the sun sets deeper behind the earth.

“Ich werde erschrocken,” his towering silhouette trembles under the weighty winds.
“What? I don’t understand.” I called.
“Go back inside please,” he pleads. “I’ll be there soon.”

I couldn’t understand if he was sick perhaps suffering from some delirium. Whatever he must have seen out there was darker than the tangible shadows. I wondered if he spent the sunset like this, outside, before the presence of an all-consuming nightfall. Even his large form would no longer be distinguishable amidst the darkness.

I explored the house further, finding some rooms unusually cold and others infested with dust. As the light further abandoned me, I found it harder and harder to find my feet. Walking in circles, retracing my steps, I stood still in the omnipresent hum of a furnace. A warm air eased down to the floor, comforting all the emptiness of whatever room I found myself in.

I heard footsteps. These deeper and moody like a regretful spirit. “WHY ARE YOU IN HERE?!” I jolted, knocking down a thick book that hit the ground with a thud.

I felt his presence rush by me, sweeping up the lightweight, a light clicking sound coming from the farther side of the room. Our shadows appeared out of the presence of a small sun in the corner of the room. It was a bible, all in German, some passages violently scribbled over others torn out and scattered around the floor.

Mr. Kluges stood near a closet, opened slightly ajar, from what I perceived held some old uniforms, wrapped in dirt. As I moved closer, he was evaluating them as if checking for damages. When he turned it sideways, I could see it, wrapped around the arm, the emblem of the Nazi’s. The uniform although still in pristine condition, carried the appearance of a noble action; still, wrecked with unscrupulous grime. The dirtied white enveloped the blood red, struck in the center with a black cross crisply bent at the edges.

“It’s not something I’m proud of,” Mr. Kluges huffed, losing composure. “Don’t let the glamour fool you. The men who wore these betrayed humanity. Some were even true monsters like me, though it took me many years to realize this. Each of us thought to wear this uniform meant honor. It meant dignity. It demanded respect from the sprouting hope in people’s hearts.” He coughed.

“Did you…you… have to kill anyone?” I mustered the question, a sudden grief rising in my chest.
“As my body still resides here on this earth, I say no, but the truth is that some emotion, albeit it is fear lives, and breathes inside me, and therefore I say yes. Hate burnt inside me and swept away many spirits from this earth and for many nights I’ve felt their presence crying for mercy. I’d forgiven myself each night; for fear that hate would resurface in me.” That same fierceness in his eyes, roamed in a desperate wilderness. I imagined for some time he had never found anyone. Anyone who he did not fear would fear him.
“It’s too late now,” the disheartened man reminded me. “You should go home.”

I had hardly paid attention to the time as he begged me to leave. “I’ll go,” I mumbled, if I ever found my way out of here. Mr. Kluges led me along a clear trail to his front door. The sun had long set on Mr. Kluge’s house, leaving everything cavernous following the night’s proceedings.
After no such subtle news, I walked back home in attempt to comprehend all the facts of Mr. Kluge’s past: Mr. Kluges was once a Nazi. He did not just kill anyone, he thirsted for blood. Hate boiled in his veins and still, sometimes awakened in his eyes. But that he was most fearful of himself looking from the outside into his own eyes.

I stayed near the edge of the sidewalk, the street lamps lit with an insufficient glow to the moon’s gloom which enlightened my walk. The tree led the branches down further, the branches gently acquiring the mire of the soft ground hunched over like a prowling animal, reaching over with sharp, murderous claws. The wind blew softly across the street, withstood by the heaviness of the trees.
I heard hushed voices fall to the ground before me, listening to the quietness of my footsteps. Several gentle cries followed behind me chasing me further and further.

My steps quickened gaining enough volume to overpower the noisome screams. I rushed inside the house, the voices silenced, my heart racing. Did those spirits Mr. Kluges speak of follow me? Or had I just heard the wind, believing its disquieting force to be the anguished cries of Mr. Kluge’s victims? I shuddered under the moonlit night, every conceivable detail shrouded in the telling of the stars.

Now that I knew Mr. Kluge’s secret, I figured it might be easier for us to meet in the light of day. I was wrong. I received neither calls nor personal invitation to see him again. It was as if this recollection swallowed him in the same oblivion of its memory. Or perhaps, this memory pressed on his consciousness even deeper than I could understand.

Each day passed. Each night passed. I could pray in the quiet of the approaching twilight. I wondered if Mr. Kluges watched this same sunset but never saw the sunrise.


I’d decided I wasn’t going to waste my time calling Herr Kluges. I expected he’d have a certain can’t-turn-away weakness for those bold enough to meet him at his front door. In the light of day, I dared to make the journey across the road to his house. It wasn’t as intimidating now in the day. The house possessed certain barrenness that to which my will never wavered. The wind blew softly across the street withstood by the heaviness of the trees.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Silence met me at the door. Silence accompanied me for some time until a wrestling of the door knob revealed a snuffling, red- nosed Herr Kluges; his eyes a restless creature hunting course to satiate its hunger. Shadows slept under these celestial objects.

“Hello…Mark,” his voice shook. “How are you?” He coughed. “Fine,” I answered with a touch of nervousness. “I wanted to know how you’re doing. How long have you been like this?” I backed away from him further. “I’m doing a lot better,” he said, a wry expression on his face. A week had passed, I wondered, “Have you been sick all week?” “Yes.” He faltered. ACHOO! “E...Excuse me,” he reorganized his thoughts. “I haven’t accepted any work this week,” he spoke. “I don’t think I can handle subbing with my constant sick days. I’m letting go of substituting indefinitely.”

I forgot that’s how we met in the first place: he was my substitute teacher. That was his noble profession: trying to live in light of a dark past. Even as an ad-hoc teacher, I learned more from him than anyone. I never expected how serious these lessons would become. I would learn about the past from him. He could learn about the future from me. I held hope in a future much brighter now as the past would dissipate with each lesson behind him.

“Well we have more time to teach me some things now don’t you?” I challenged the sick man. “What do you want to learn from me?” He doubted.
“I want to know about the book you had in that room you found me in.” I confessed. SIGH! “While I was young, a little before my time as a Nazi soldier, I swore my allegiance to God. Solely God. Soon however, as anti-Semitic propaganda grew, hate crowded the streets in zealous hordes. I was being brainwashed into hating the Jews myself; a black curtain hanging over all the words of God. The Jews transformed from human beings to despicable creatures right before my eyes; while I was changing into something terrifyingly inhuman,” his eyes fought for the strength to continue. “I didn’t believe it was possible to despise another human being so terribly. The more I hated the Jews, the more I grew to hate myself more. I questioned why God had allowed such creatures to upset His good will on the world. God could not make this kind of mistake, I said.
“As I wore that uniform, no one ever made eye contact with me. If they did look at me, it was only to cower away from me as some kind of monster about to strike.” His eyes lowered, closing unabashedly to the pain of another memory. “I doubt He could stand to look at me now.”

My eyes full, wearisome of the current condition of Herr Kluges.
“So why did you get upset that night?” For this question, I yearned for an answer. He stared off into a stream of light.” I couldn’t believe you wanted to keep meeting me. I thought somehow I could forgive the pain I felt for hurting those people and God. You cared for me; gave me a new hope I could forgive myself. I thought teaching German and social studies, as an extension of my profession, would release those memories by providing a kind service. Under the Nazi’s, I was taught only what they wanted to teach me. Today, I begin teaching you what you should know. I was deceived until I closed my eyes on God’s light. God told me if I could live by him as well as for the better of others, I could repent the sins of the Nazi’s.”
“Did you believe I was kind?” He asked intent on what my answer would be.

“I thought you were a good man,” I responded. “And what, may I ask you, kind of man am I now?” Kluges questioned. “As long as I’ve been a man of God, I still haven’t been able to recover an identity in his name. I pray I will.”
“I still believe you are a good man. If you’d ask God I’m sure he would say the same.”

“God has cursed me by giving me an eternal sickness to pay for what I have done,” he cried, blowing his nose.
Herr Kluges lost God. Each time he sat down with me, still, searching for His forgiveness. I asked him to read me passages from the bible to ail his sorrow. “First we must pray on this together,” he availed. He closed his eyes, his hands together in faith. I mimicked him, although his restless faith could not be modeled. Any barriers that had surrounded us fizzled out with this solemn prayer.

Each passage he read was sacrosanct. Each verse he’d rediscover truth at the end of each line. Each word he spoke with the voice of God lifting him further from despair. “Gott, Liebe, Frieden.” God, love, and peace. I remembered those words distinctly. As each night would approach, he would ignite some candles; the message resounding off the thick walls of smoke.

I continued to write in the black journal Mr. Kluge’s had given me. I was hardly at the level to write fully in German, but I thought Herr Kluges could translate it for me as best he could while he still tried to recover his health. For one of the last entries I wrote:

Mr. Kluges had been persecuted as an animal against humanity for many years after the war. And yet all he could see was death and black. All that they had seen was black and death. It wasn’t until I came, that he somehow wanted light. I had seen the fierceness in his eyes that hungered for a holy spirit. Onto the eyes of the man, I witnessed, a man; my eyes deceived near those misguided objects.