Samples of Published Short Stories
from the Pen of Rick Barry
Night of Broken Glass
Historical fiction by Rick Barry
“Karl, please…” began Frau Bauer from across the dinner table.
Her husband, however, raised a hand to indicate that he would handle this one. “It’s not that we don’t want you to have fun. We do. And even though it may seem to you that your mother and I are old-fashioned…”
“Seem?” Karl interrupted. “It’s like you’re locked in the past. But the world is changing. The Hitler Youth get to go sailing, swimming, and camping while I’m trapped at home.”
“Yes, the world is changing,” Herr Bauer nodded. “But not necessarily for the better. By your own decision, Karl, you were baptized as a Christian. Believers are to be in the world without dabbling in questionable things.”
Karl crossed his arms. “There’s nothing evil about the Hitler Youth. It’s just a club. By criticizing it, you’re condemning the Führer. But Adolf Hitler has done more good for Germany than anyone else!”
He paused, then seized a new argument. “Even the soldiers of the Wehrmacht wear the words ‘God with us’ on their belt buckles. So you see? The Führer respects God. Now will you let me sign up?”
Herr Bauer sighed. “No. The fact that someone uses God’s name doesn’t mean…”
Karl flung his napkin onto the table. “I need some fresh air. I’m going for a walk.”
In the front hallway, he snatched his coat from its peg, but he shot a parting comment toward the dining room: “In 1918 Germany was a shambles. In only twenty years, Adolf Hitler has restored our nation to a position of pride and power! I want to be part of the new Germany, not the old one!”
Skipping down the front steps, Karl buttoned his coat. He was glad for the heavy wool’s protection against the November chill.
“They’re so behind the times,” he muttered. “I’m a Christian, but I’m also 17. I want some adventures!”
Lisette
At first, Karl wandered aimlessly. Inevitably, though, his feet led him into Tiergarten, Berlin’s largest park. Settling on his favorite bench, he inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of autumn leaves. Next he pulled from a coat pocket the American novel he had begun, The Red Badge of Courage.
Later, Karl was totally engrossed in the story when someone cleared her throat. He glanced up, and his heart lurched.
“Lisette!”
“We meet again,” she said, a playful light in her dark eyes. “May I share your bench once more?”
“Of course!” Each day since meeting this mysterious girl the week before, Karl had kept both eyes open for Lisette. But he had always looked in vain—until now.
“What are you reading this time?” She glanced at the cover. “Ah, Stephen Crane. I don’t usually read war stories, but that one is excellent. And what book is this?” She indicated a rectangular bulge outlining Karl’s other coat pocket.
For a second, Karl himself couldn’t recall what it was. Feeling inside, he withdrew a leather-bound New Testament. It had remained there since his trip to church on Sunday.
“Oh,” Lisette uttered with mingled surprise and curiosity. “Do you read that?”
“Sometimes,” Karl replied, not mentioning that his Scripture reading had dwindled lately.
“Maybe we can discuss religion some day. My parents are firm in their faith, but, well, I don’t know.”
“All right. But what about you? Did you bring a book, too?”
She shook her head. “No time today. I was only shortcutting through the park. When I noticed you, I decided to say hello and that I sincerely enjoyed our conversation that day. I love literature, but not all boys like books, you know.”
“We can talk more now,” Karl suggested.
This time Lisette’s smile was tinged with regret. “I can’t. Mother and Father are expecting me. I must hurry.”
“Let me walk you,” Karl offered eagerly.
The idea clearly pleased Lisette, but she held back. “Not yet. My parents are slightly old-fashioned. They don’t expect me to be walking home with young men they haven’t met.”
“Then, perhaps we could chat tomorrow. Say, right here at 4:00?”
“That would be nice,” she agreed with cute shyness. “Until tomorrow, Karl. Auf wiedersehen!”
Mesmerized, he watched her stroll away. He had known other girls named Lisette, but somehow this one transformed the name into living poetry.
Blending in
Suddenly, another voice broke into Karl’s thoughts. “Well, Dieter, his latest book is The Red Badge of Courage, but maybe it should be Romeo and Juliet instead!”
Both irritated and embarrassed, Karl turned to discover Ernst and Dieter, two friends from school, grinning broadly.
“So tell us about this beautiful fräulein,” Ernst prodded. “We haven’t seen that one before.”
Karl shrugged. “I barely know her. I don’t even know her last name.”
“Tsk, tsk,” Ernst scolded in mock disapproval. “You’ll never win a girlfriend that way.”
“Maybe he’s keeping back the truth because he doesn’t want us to meet her,” Dieter suggested. “After all, with friends as handsome as we are, he might fear the competition!”
The newcomers broke into laughter, and even Karl couldn’t resist chuckling.
“But tell us how things went with your parents,” Ernst said. “Can you join?”
Karl wished his friend hadn’t reopened that wound. “No. They insist that if I join the Hitler Youth I’ll get corrupted.”
Dieter scowled. “Religious fanatics. We’re glad you’re not one of those Christians, Karl.”
The comment stung. “But, I am a Christian, you know,” he said lamely.
Ernst and Dieter plopped down on the bench, one on either side of him.
“Yes, of course,” Ernst replied. “But you’re our kind of Christian. You don’t talk about God or quote Bible verses. You don’t let your faith show, and we appreciate that. So, even though you’re not a Hitler Youth, we’ve decided to let you join us for some real fun tonight…”
Karl made no immediate reply. Dieter’s remark that he was “our kind of Christian” sunk into his chest like an invisible arrow. But he couldn’t deny it. After all, he spent so much energy trying to “fit in” or “have fun” that Karl rarely mentioned his faith.
Suddenly Ernst stood up. “Come. It’s almost time!”
Dieter followed his leader’s example.
Karl stood too, but not understanding. “Time for what?”
Ernst smirked. “Time for some excitement!”
Dieter nodded, a grin widening across his face.
The two turned and started walking without explanation.
Caught off guard, Karl hustled to catch up. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see!” Ernst promised, dodging automobiles as the trio crossed the street.
Join us!
From somewhere in the distance came the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. Someone screamed, then a crash of more glass breaking came from the opposite direction.
“It’s already beginning!” Dieter exulted. “Let’s get Goldstein’s bakery!”
Without pausing to explain, Ernst withdrew a wooden club that he’d carried up his coat sleeve. From somewhere inside Dieter’s coat, a length of steel pipe appeared.
Ernst planted both feet, then swung his club like an axe. The window of Goldstein’s exploded into tinkling slivers, leaving a gaping hole. Wielding his piece of pipe, Dieter wiped out another corner of the window.
“Are you insane?” Karl cried in panic. “You’ll get us arrested!”
“Don’t worry,” Ernst assured. “The police won’t interfere. In revenge for that Jew who assassinated one of our diplomats in Paris, the German people are ‘rising in spontaneous indignation.’ All the Hitler Youth are in on this. The SS, too. Only nobody is supposed to wear uniforms. Just have fun busting up Jewish businesses, homes, or synagogues!”
“But…,” Karl began.
“But nothing,” Dieter countered. “We’re acting on official orders, right from the top. Germany does not tolerate swine who attack our politicians.”
Down the street, five men hurled bricks through another store window, then dashed off, laughing uproariously.
Karl didn’t know how to react.
“Look,” Ernst said impatiently, “what’s the harm? So a few windows get broken. So some merchandise gets stolen. The Jews will learn a valuable lesson. Join us!”
Dieter pushed a cold brick into Karl’s palm. “Go ahead—be one of us. Throw it!”
Karl hesitated. He did want to fit in with his friends. And if this action truly was arranged by the military… Yielding, he heaved the brick, demolishing the remainder of the glass.
“That’s the spirit!” Dieter praised. “Let’s find some more!”
Ernst, Dieter, and Karl trotted up one street, then down another, looking for any shops bearing Jewish names. Often they found that others had arrived before them, smashing windows and tossing clothing, food, and miscellaneous goods into the street. Sometimes the word Juden—“Jews”—had been splashed across walls or doors with paint.
Permission or no, Karl’s heart troubled him. But as long as he followed Ernst and Dieter, it was easy not to think, just to heave bricks or swing Dieter’s pipe, then sprint to the next store. Crowds of bystanders watched the chaos, but as predicted, the police ignored them.
A change in plot
“Let’s hit that one!” Ernst shouted, jabbing his club toward a business bearing the name “Rosenfeld.”
“It’s a bookstore, Karl!” Dieter laughed. “You like to read. No need to pay this time—just grab the ones you want!”
Karl forced a grin despite the queasy feeling in his stomach. He accepted Dieter’s pipe and obliterated the entire window with only two blows.
“Stop! Please stop!” It was a woman’s voice. Down the street scurried a female figure. “I beg you; please don’t! This shop is my father’s only income …”
While Ernst busied himself throwing the display books into the street, Dieter blocked the woman’s approach. “Get out of Germany! All Jews should have left the Fatherland ages ago!”
Karl hoisted the pipe to bash the windowpane in the door.
“Karl? Is that you?”
Hearing his name, Karl felt icy claws grip his heart. Whirling, he was astonished to discover it was Lisette staring at him with horrified eyes. His mind went blank. Forgotten, the pipe slipped from his fingers.
In shock, she looked him up and down. “I would not have believed it. I was convinced that you, Karl, were different. I thought you were better, more noble than”—her hands gestured futilely—“more decent than this!”
Words fled from Karl. What could he say that would erase what she had just witnessed?
Tears brimming, Lisette lowered her gaze to the volumes that littered the street. Picking one up, she stepped forward and presented it to Karl. “Throw away The Red Badge of Courage. This one is more suitable.” Then Lisette turned and trudged slowly, heavily, in the direction she had come.
“Tsk, tsk,” Ernst scolded in his mocking way. “No wonder you didn’t tell us about your Jewess fräulein. But friends have a great influence on our lives, Karl. From now on, you’ll have to choose your companions more carefully. Remember that.”
Karl glanced at the book in his hand: Crime and Punishment.
“Well?” Dieter asked, retrieving his pipe.
Karl stared, first at the demolished bookstore window, then to the slim silhouette of Lisette fading into the darkness. He felt sick.
“Well?” Ernst repeated.
“You are right,
Ernst,” Karl finally managed. “Friends do play an important role in our lives.
As you say, I must choose them more carefully. That is why I have just now
decided to replace you and Dieter with new ones. Auf wiedersehen!”
That said, Karl Bauer, deep in thought, began the long walk home.
END
Author's Note: This story was inspired by true events. On November 9, 1938, under Hitler’s orders, the SS coordinated a massive attack against Jews. Over a two-day period, thousands of Jewish businesses and homes were ransacked, 200 or more synagogues were set on fire, and nearly 100 Jews killed or injured. The incident is remembered as Kristallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass.
A trip to San Francisco inspired this contemporary story.
The Girl with Great Eyes
By Rick Barry
At last, Bus 71 lumbered into view.
“It’s about time,” he griped. “I’ve been standing here nearly an hour.”
None of the others at the bus stop on Noriega Street responded. Several of them had been standing there just as long. Others had given up and set off on foot.
The city bus screeched to a halt, and he followed the crowd aboard.
What a stinking time for the Honda to break down, he told himself for the hundredth time. I thought I was done with riding buses.
However, after he had paid his fare, the image that met his eyes instantly wiped away all complaints—at least for the moment.
Halfway back sat a girl. But not just any girl. Like a waterfall of midnight blackness, her hair cascaded over her shoulders in shimmering ripples. Her skin was smooth and unblemished. Her eyes, however, remained a mystery behind sunglasses as she held her face toward the window.
Whoa. She’s not just beautiful—she’s drop-dead gorgeous!
The sight of the empty seat beside the girl ratcheted his joy several notches higher. He swallowed and sauntered to the unclaimed spot.
I’m surprised some other guy didn’t sit here.
On second thought, though, he believed he understood why they hadn’t. Until this stop, the bus had remained too empty for anyone—for any male, that is—to sit where he now sat without looking overly obvious.
He wanted to laugh. I wish the guys could
see me!
Gulp—what to say?
But now that he was sitting there—what next? He wasn’t exactly blessed with a silver tongue when it came to conversations with girls. He inhaled. The delicate scent of her perfume was intoxicating. The fragrance was like lilacs in springtime.
So far the stunning beauty beside him hadn’t acknowledged his presence. Of course, that was typical among strangers. As the driver rounded the corner onto Lincoln Way, she kept her face toward the window, where Golden Gate Park floated past.
She looks older
than me. Might be in college. Wait—could she be a movie star? She
reminds me of somebody, but who? If only she would take off her sunglasses…
Occasionally sneaking peeks at her, he wondered if his imagination might be operating in overdrive. After all, what were the odds of sitting beside a Hollywood celebrity?
It could
happen, he convinced himself. Plenty of famous people visit San
Francisco.
Continuing its route onto Haight Street, the bus sporadically halted to disgorge passengers and to pick up others. Time was running out. This candidate for Miss America could step off any moment. If he was going to muster the guts to say something, he had to act, and quickly.
Just say
anything! Get her to answer. If she’s famous, you might recognize her voice.
But what could he say? Ask her what time it is? He looked down at the watch on his wrist. Not unless you want to sound like a moron. Maybe he could comment on what a nice day it is? He rolled his eyes. Kill me now.
Then inspiration struck. His cell phone! He flipped it open and punched in a number. “Hey, Miguel, it’s me. Yes, I know. First the bike wouldn’t start, and I wasted time trying to fix it. Then, the stupid bus took forever to show up. But I’m on my way…”
When he shoved the phone into his pocket, he exhaled louder than necessary. “What a day,” he complained. “Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong.”
For a long moment his words hung in mid-air like fragile strands of crystal, ready to crack and shatter. He was already mentally kicking himself for such a lame approach when—as if magically—she turned her head slightly.
“Has it really been so bad?”
Never had six words sounded so musical. Their notes flooded him with relief. He didn’t recognize the voice from any movie, but at least she was talking.
“Yeah, life has been rotten lately,” he said. “Sometimes it seems like I’m surrounded by lunatics at work. Then my motorcycle had to break down….”
Of course, he was still in high school, and his job was only part-time at Subway. But he conveniently left out those details.
“Tell me more about these things that have been going wrong for you,” she asked.
The request struck him as slightly peculiar, but who was he to argue if a stunning beauty wanted to chat?
Hey, maybe she’s been sitting here struggling to think of something to say, too.
So he began talking and exaggerating as he criticized people and situations that bugged him. When he ran out of fuel, he shrugged. “How about you? Anything gone sour in your life?”
She smiled, and it was as if sunshine suddenly burst from behind a cloud.
“Actually, no,” she replied. “I mean, my life isn’t perfect, but a couple years ago I put my trust in Jesus Christ, and He has made a huge difference. Problems that used to be gigantic don’t seem so overwhelming anymore.”
Bingo! He had found something in common with this attractive girl. “You go to church? That’s cool. I go to church, too.”
“I didn’t used to go,” she replied. “Now it’s the highlight of my week. But let me ask—do you just attend church, or are you personally a follower of Jesus Christ?”
The question caught him off guard. In his youth group there were two kinds of teens. Some were serious about molding their lives according to the Bible. They sang with enthusiasm, worshiped God, and rarely dabbled in anything “questionable.” In contrast, there were those like him—the ones who attended, but didn’t pay serious attention to sermons and just chomped gum during song times.
“Well, I’m not an atheist, if that’s what you mean,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice. “I believe in God.”
Her question annoyed him. In addition, the fact that he couldn’t see her eyes was starting to perturb him. Were they the alluring shade of green that he imagined?
I bet she really
is a singer or actress traveling in disguise.
The girl’s smile shrank slightly, but was still engaging. “I’m not convinced that anyone is a true atheist,” she said. “Even people who claim that they are seem to have some consciousness of God deep down inside. But I mean, have you personally surrendered your heart and life to the Lord? Are you living for Him?”
The conversation had taken an unexpected twist. “I try to live right,” he defended. “I don’t steal, or do drugs or anything.”
“I’m sure you don’t. You sound really sincere. The only reason I asked was to encourage you to take that step, to give your whole life to Christ if you haven’t already. He can pave the way through any problems.”
This discussion definitely wasn’t going the way he had hoped. Besides, what could a girl like her know about real troubles? Judging by her clothes and purse, she possessed as much money as she did good looks.
“I prefer to solve my own problems,” he replied. “At least that way I can see who’s handling them.” He paused. “I suppose you always look on the bright side of things, right?”
A cute giggle. “Well, not exactly.” Suddenly she stiffened. “Oh, the next street is Van Ness Avenue, isn’t it? That’s my stop.”
She reached overhead and tugged the cord that ran along the window tops. Up front, a bell dinged in acknowledgment.
“Just one question before you go,” he hurried to say. “You look like a Hollywood actress, but you talk like a missionary. What are you?”
The radiant smile reappeared in all its glory. “I’m just someone who wants to help others walk with God the same way I do.”
“The way you do?” he asked as the bus rumbled to a halt. “So how exactly do you walk with God?”
From her purse, she extracted an object. Her fingers unfolded the segments until they snapped together to form a white cane.
“How do I walk with God?” she said. “By faith, not by sight. Tonight I’ll pray that you learn to trust the Lord the same way.”
With that, the girl in the sunglasses stood and followed her tapping cane toward the rear exit.
In the same instant, all the gripes and complaints that the boy had considered so colossal suddenly faded and disappeared…
END
Jacob’s Cell
by Rick Barry
(Originally published in Breakaway 2003)
Jacob Ivanov opened his eyes. As soon as he did, though, he wished he hadn’t. Above him was the familiar ceiling of rough cement. A naked light bulb dangled crookedly, its power now cut off. High in the wall over Jacob’s bunk, a hazy, gray light filtered through the barred window.
So, it had been no dream. He was really here, still locked inside the cell where he had spent more days than he could count. And with each new dawn Jacob opened his eyes with a sliver of hope that this place had been nothing more than a twisted nightmare.
The battered mattress beneath Jacob’s body barely cushioned him from the rusty bed frame. Even now, as he lay motionless, he could feel through it where each of the creaky springs supported his weight. In grim humor, he wondered how many prisoners had died on that thin padding.
Jacob’s eyes meandered back to the barred window. “Should I try looking out this morning?” he mused. “Will I be able to see her today?”
Sucking in a deep breath, Jacob mustered his strength and pulled himself to a sitting position. The chipped cement floor was chilly on his bare feet, but not intolerable. Winter would be worse. Today, though, when the sun had risen higher, the cell should warm up a little.
Keeping to his morning ritual, Jacob slid to his knees beside the bunk. “Dear God,” he began aloud, “help me to stand firm for You. Yesterday, when the warden offered to free me if I would sign a statement that I reject my faith, I almost agreed. Forgive me for my impatience to be free. Thank You for strengthening me in my weakness. And please, send me a copy of Your Word to warm my heart in this cold place.”
Breathing a weary “Amen,” Jacob glanced again at the little window above the bunk. His heart longed to see her again. After all, she was the only woman he ever got to see these days.
“Not yet,” he decided. “It’s still too early.” He reminded himself that on foggy mornings he couldn’t see enough to make the strenuous climb to the window worth the effort. Better to wait, just in case.
Jacob rose to his feet and regarded the heavy door. How sick he was of that locked portal! Peeling flecks of gray paint covered its ugly surface. On the floor inside it stood his aluminum bowl and cup, mutely waiting beneath the food slot where he had placed them the night before.
“Hm. Too early for breakfast.”
The thin gruel that Jacob received twice a day barely qualified as food. Surely it could not provide many nutrients. But at least the stuff quieted the nagging in his stomach for a while. Even better were the days when the gruel arrived still lukewarm. Running his tongue over cracked lips, he hoped breakfast would not be long in coming today.
He eyed the glass peephole in the door. Was a guard watching him that very moment? He shrugged. Impossible to know for sure. But from the warden’s sarcastic remarks, Jacob understood that guards sometimes spied on him as he prayed. They simply could not understand why he continued to kneel and talk to someone they could not see. Insanity, some of them concluded. Religious fanatic, others declared.
While he waited for his meal, Jacob decided to stretch his muscles. Beginning at the door, he took five steps along his bunk and stopped, his nose nearly touching the wall. He had done this so often that he no longer noticed the bed bugs and roaches that previous occupants had smashed there. He turned left. Four more paces brought his eyes within inches of the next wall. Turning left once more, he took five paces back to the door, carefully avoiding the bucket in the corner. After all, existence in the cell was already wretched. Jacob didn’t want to worsen his plight by knocking over the crude toilet. If the guards wouldn’t provide water for washing his body, it was certain there would be none for scrubbing floors.
As Jacob paced the rectangle of his cell, his mind drifted back to earlier, happier times. The days before he had been arrested. Back then, he had felt strong and athletic. He had always worn clean clothes. Now, however, the black, sweat-stained prison garb was his entire wardrobe. His strength was just a shadow of what it once was. Merely plodding around the cell made him breathe hard. Jacob was barely out of his school years, but he felt older than his age—much older.
“We had so much freedom,” he muttered. “But usually my friends and I squandered it. Sure, I went through the motions of going to church, but my heart wasn’t in it. So many people like me—even my parents—were too busy chasing pleasure to worry about the changes in our land. No wonder the atheists were able to seize control.”
His grandfather,
the one who used to live in
Jacob sighed. “I used to laugh at his predictions, but he was right. Not until too late did I open my eyes and realize where our government was headed. Yes, I finally got serious about my faith. But by then it was too late to accomplish much good. Instead, they just arrested me to shut me up. Maybe prison is what we Christians earned for not actively living our faith.”
Still pacing, Jacob winced at the memory of the many times he could have shared a word about Jesus with friends or neighbors—but didn’t. He wished he could turn back the clock and live his life differently, not be so self-centered. He also regretted that he had committed so few Scripture verses to memory. But it was too late. The past could not be altered. All he could do now was worship God alone as best he could.
Just then, a cheery ray of sunlight spilled through the bars of the window. Jacob paused and held his fingers in its brightness. The light’s delicate warmth fetched back memories of days when he could freely walk and run in the park.
Should he try to see her now, or should he wait a little longer? Jacob’s impatience settled the matter. He didn’t want to wait. He wanted to see her again, and he might not have the strength to climb up there for many more days.
Turning to the bunk, he folded back the flimsy mattress and exposed the bare springs. Next he shuffled to the corner and retrieved the stinking bucket. He was grateful for its wooden lid. The bucket in his previous cell was not covered. “If not for this lid,” he reflected, “I wouldn’t have a way to perform my little trick.”
Placing the bucket on the bedsprings, Jacob stepped up and steadied himself beside it. Gingerly placing his right foot on the middle of the lid, he hoisted himself until his hands caught the bars overhead. Finally, standing on the tips of his toes, he managed to pull his eyes up to the window. Holding himself in that position was a strain, but this morning the exertion proved worthwhile.
“Yes!” he exulted. “There she is. I can see her today!”
Despite the discomfort of his position, Jacob’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile. Across the water—difficult to see from the cell but still visible—stood the huge, pale-green statue of a woman lifting a torch to the sky.
END