The Pact (preview)
Peter Gruber is a young boy living in Hamburg, Germany in 1939. His resourcefulness is the only thing keeping him and his mother from crushing poverty, until world events destroy everything he has ever known. Leaving his childhood behind, Peter now faces a different kind of horror – pledging allegiance in an elite training camp for SS officers in Nazi Germany. Inspired by a true story, The Pact sheds light on indoctrination, propaganda, insidious racism and a child’s basic sense of morality. Amanda West Lewis has combined careers as a writer, theatre director, calligrapher, book artist and instructor. She has spent her career working in the arts and in arts education, she is also the author of seven books for young people. Her first novel, September 17 was nominated for the Silver Birch Award, the Red Cedar Award, and the Violet Downey IODE Award. She lives with her husband, writer Tim Wynne-Jones, outside of Perth Ontario. They have 3 grown children who are a constant source of joy and inspiration.
Peter Gruber is a young boy living in Hamburg, Germany in 1939. His resourcefulness is the only thing keeping him and his mother from crushing poverty, until world events destroy everything he has ever known. Leaving his childhood behind, Peter now faces a different kind of horror – pledging allegiance in an elite training camp for SS officers in Nazi Germany. Inspired by a true story, The Pact sheds light on indoctrination, propaganda, insidious racism and a child’s basic sense of morality.
Amanda West Lewis has combined careers as a writer, theatre director, calligrapher, book artist and instructor. She has spent her career working in the arts and in arts education, she is also the author of seven books for young people. Her first novel, September 17 was nominated for the Silver Birch Award, the Red Cedar Award, and the Violet Downey IODE Award. She lives with her husband, writer Tim Wynne-Jones, outside of Perth Ontario. They have 3 grown children who are a constant source of joy and inspiration.
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PREVIEW
ABOUT THE BOOK<br />
Peter Gruber is a young boy living in Hamburg, Germany in 1939. His resourcefulness is the only<br />
thing keeping him and his mother from crushing poverty, until world events destroy everything<br />
he has ever known. Leaving his childhood behind, Peter now faces a different kind of horror –<br />
pledging allegiance in an elite training camp for SS officers in Nazi Germany. Inspired by a true<br />
story, <strong>The</strong> <strong>Pact</strong> sheds light on indoctrination, propaganda, insidious racism and a child’s basic<br />
sense of morality.<br />
ABOUT THE AUTHOR<br />
Amanda West Lewis has combined careers as a writer, theatre<br />
director, calligrapher, book artist and instructor. She has spent<br />
her career working in the arts and in arts education.<br />
Amanda is the author of seven books for young people. Her<br />
latest novel, <strong>The</strong> <strong>Pact</strong>, sets friendship, poverty and family amidst<br />
the culture of indoctrination and propaganda in Nazi Germany.<br />
Her previous novel, September 17, is a fictionalized account of<br />
the sinking of the S.S. City of Benares during the Second World<br />
War. September 17 was nominated for the Silver Birch Award,<br />
the Red Cedar Award, and the Violet Downey IODE Award.<br />
Amanda is a member of the Writers Guild of Canada, CANSCAIP,<br />
and <strong>The</strong> Great Canadian <strong>The</strong>atre Company's Playwright's<br />
Network. She lives with her husband, writer Tim Wynne-Jones,<br />
outside of Perth Ontario. <strong>The</strong>y have 3 grown children who are a<br />
constant source of joy and inspiration.<br />
n www<br />
Amanda West Lewis<br />
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JOIN US<br />
ONLINE! n www<br />
n Z z v
PRAISE FOR THE PACT<br />
“How does an entire country sleepwalk into intolerance, dictatorship,<br />
insanity, war? <strong>The</strong> <strong>Pact</strong> unfolds with the smell, the sound and feel of utter<br />
reality, in the form of the life of one simple boy being pushed, inescapably,<br />
into the uniform of the SS.<br />
Essential reading from a new, bright light in historical fiction.”<br />
— Alan Cumyn, author of <strong>The</strong> Secret Life of Owen Skye and <strong>The</strong> Sojourn<br />
“Gripping, gritty, and tremendously poignant. Amanda West Lewis<br />
powerfully reveals the flipside of war through a unique perspective. With<br />
great empathy, Lewis depicts the inner and outer battles fought by young<br />
Peter Gruber — loving son, loyal friend, and Hitler Youth recruit. Her<br />
masterful telling takes us from simply knowing history to truly feeling his<br />
story.”<br />
— Caroline Pignat, author of <strong>The</strong> Gospel Truth and Greener Grass, both<br />
winners of the Governor General’s Literary Award<br />
“<strong>The</strong> <strong>Pact</strong> speaks to a new generation of readers who want to understand<br />
how wars happen. By showing how rhetoric and propaganda affect young<br />
lives on both sides of the conflict, Lewis provides an important lesson for<br />
our time.”<br />
— Wayne Grady, author of Emancipation Day<br />
Red Deer Press<br />
www.reddeerpress.com
Chapter Five<br />
Hamburg,<br />
Saturday, September 2, 1939<br />
“What do you mean, you don’t have a job?” Peter cried. “Why<br />
did they fire you? I thought you were good! I thought they<br />
liked you!”<br />
He saw his mother stiffen. Once upon a time she’d been a<br />
typist. She’d only started cleaning houses two years ago<br />
because there were no other jobs.<br />
“I was doing a very good job. Frau Teitlebaum and Frau<br />
Rosenberg wept when they told me they could no longer pay<br />
me to clean their houses. <strong>The</strong>y said they weren’t sure how<br />
long they’d be living in them. <strong>The</strong>y’re getting rid of<br />
everything—not just their books—and they said they might<br />
have to move away, to leave Germany.”<br />
Peter had heard that a lot of the Jews were leaving<br />
Hamburg. He didn’t really care, except when they were the<br />
ones his mother worked for.<br />
“Don’t worry,” his mother continued. “Something will turn<br />
up. It always does.”<br />
38 / <strong>The</strong> <strong>Pact</strong>
But Peter did worry. He was annoyed by her attitude—<br />
how could she take it so lightly?<br />
She smiled. “Two sides of the same coin: <strong>The</strong> Fraus’<br />
husbands come home and tell their wives they have lost their<br />
jobs and they must cut back on expenses and—”<br />
“I don’t want to play two sides,” Peter barked. “<strong>The</strong>re’s<br />
only one side. You don’t have a job and we don’t have anything<br />
to eat.” He turned away from her and stormed down the hall<br />
and out of the apartment.<br />
<strong>The</strong> minute he was on the sidewalk, Peter regretted<br />
yelling at his mother. It wasn’t her fault that Frau Teitlebaum<br />
and Frau Rosenberg couldn’t pay her to clean their houses<br />
any more. But he could still remember living with Frau<br />
Cressman when he was five. He’d had to live with her for a<br />
whole year. His mother was working but she made so little<br />
that she couldn’t afford to keep him at home. So he lived with<br />
Frau Cressman. He hadn’t seen much of his mother that year.<br />
Frau Cressman was a fat, spongy woman who pinched<br />
his cheeks and called him her “darlink.” “I don’t have<br />
children—you are my only darlink. You be my darlink forever,<br />
yes?” She fed him cream puffs every day, until he began to<br />
hate their puffy sweetness. He’d sneak cream puffs out of the<br />
house and trade them to the neighborhood boys for bits of<br />
sausage, trades that eventually became the start of his black<br />
market business. He remembered Frau Cressman’s rancid<br />
smell and his stomach turned.<br />
He wouldn’t let that happen again. He wouldn’t leave his<br />
mother. He’d help, somehow.<br />
He headed for the port. It was time to get back to work.<br />
39 / <strong>The</strong> <strong>Pact</strong>
Peter had always spent as much time as possible either<br />
looking for treasure in the muddy banks when the tide went<br />
out, or helping to load crates onto wagons and trucks when<br />
the tide was in. He loved the smells. <strong>The</strong> dense fug of rotting<br />
vegetation. <strong>The</strong> dark bitter pinch of roasted coffee. <strong>The</strong> heavy<br />
sweat of men hauling crates. All of it made him feel at home.<br />
Usually the docks were bustling with activity. But today<br />
was uncannily quiet. <strong>The</strong> ships looked empty. <strong>The</strong>re were no<br />
stevedores moving crates. <strong>The</strong> warehouses stood open but<br />
there were only a few deliverymen slowly loading goods onto<br />
trucks. It looked more like a painting than a working port.<br />
Peter’s eyes searched and immediately found Gerd’s<br />
hunched and wiry figure. Gerd had fought in the Great War<br />
and he dragged his left leg as he heaved boxes onto the back<br />
of his wagon. Peter fell in beside him, hoisting a heavy wooden<br />
crate and sliding it into place as he’d been shown. <strong>The</strong> sour,<br />
slightly rotten smell of cabbages filled his nose and his whole<br />
head.<br />
“Hey, Peter! Where you been? I heard you were sick,<br />
almost dead,” Gerd laughed. “<strong>The</strong>n I heard you were livin’<br />
the life in the country, gettin’ fat and stupid.” He wiped sweat<br />
from his forehead with a dirty cloth. “Looks like it was the<br />
country, and fat and stupid,” he grinned a mouthful of brown<br />
teeth.<br />
“Yeah, I’ve been livin’ the life of luxury, Gerd. Eggs, cheese<br />
at every meal. Bacon! When’s the last time you had a slab of<br />
bacon, Gerd? Gettin’ fat and stupid sure feels good!” Peter<br />
easily fell into Gerd’s way of talking. He’d known Gerd since<br />
as far back as he could remember. Some of his happiest days<br />
40 / <strong>The</strong> <strong>Pact</strong>
had been spent on Gerd’s wagon, making deliveries throughout<br />
the city.<br />
Gerd was the only wholesaler who still had a horse.<br />
Everyone else had converted to trucks long ago. “I know. It’s<br />
crazy,” he’d told Peter. “I could get more done, go a lot faster.<br />
But Willy and me, we been together a long time. He’s good<br />
company. And hay’s cheaper than gasoline.” Peter had been<br />
frightened of the horse when he was a child. Willy had seemed<br />
so big, his huge hoofs threatening Peter’s small feet.<br />
But now, as Peter patted his neck, the horse seemed to<br />
have shrunk. He took an end of a carrot out of his pocket—<br />
he’d swiped it from the kitchen table last night out of habit—<br />
and offered it to Willy, keeping his hand flat. <strong>The</strong> horse’s<br />
breath was warm and wet as he sniffed Peter’s hand. Does he<br />
remember my smell, Peter wondered? Willy stretched out his<br />
fat horse lips and pulled the carrot piece into his mouth.<br />
Saliva dripped out of his mouth as he crunched.<br />
“You’re spoilin’ him,” Gerd said, pushing another crate of<br />
cabbage into the wagon with a grunt. “Pretty soon you’ll be<br />
makin’ your own dinner out of carrot tops.”<br />
Peter dug his fingers into the horse’s fur, just under his<br />
mane, where it was soft and greasy. He inhaled the heavy<br />
horse smell.<br />
“Where is everybody?” Peter asked as he stroked the<br />
horse’s broad chest.<br />
“Took the day off. No one knows whether to stay or go. No<br />
one knows nothin’. If it comes to war, they’ll be no more ships,<br />
no more crates.” Gerd pushed a crate toward the back of the<br />
wagon. “You know Hermann took over your business, yes?”<br />
41 / <strong>The</strong> <strong>Pact</strong>
Peter nodded. “Yeah, but I thought maybe I could get it<br />
goin’ again. Should be enough for both of us.”<br />
Gerd snorted. “<strong>The</strong> sailors, they deal with Hermann now.<br />
I know, I know,” Gerd waved Peter’s objections away. “He’s a<br />
liar and a cheat, and he’s loud and a braggart. But he’s got<br />
quite a stash. Ain’t nothin’ you want that Hermann don’t<br />
have, they say.”<br />
Peter’s heart sank. “But they know they’ll get a good deal<br />
from me. <strong>The</strong>y know I deal in quality,” he whined.<br />
“Peter, you weren’t here. New men, they don’t know.<br />
Times change. And now …” Gerd looked pained.<br />
“What?” asked Peter.<br />
“Ships are goin’ to have a hard time getting in and out.<br />
<strong>The</strong>se,” he gestured to the last crate, “last of these for a while,<br />
I’ll bet.” Peter leaned over the box and curled his fingers<br />
under the wooden slats. <strong>The</strong> tangy sweet smell of oranges<br />
flooded his body as he hefted the crate up. “<strong>The</strong> English,<br />
they’ll make sure we don’t see anythin’ like this.”<br />
Peter pushed the crate onto the wagon. “No, the only food<br />
they’ll let through’ll be potatoes,” Gerd continued. “Rotten<br />
potatoes at that. Mark my words, Peter. If this war comes, it<br />
makes skeletons out of us all. Even you, Mr. Fatty,” he said,<br />
poking Peter between the ribs.<br />
“Will it be like last time?” Peter asked seriously.<br />
Gerd cocked his head and looked at him.<br />
“Will they poison people with the yellow gas? I heard that<br />
the gas killed all of the crops and there was nothing to eat.<br />
And people couldn’t breathe. Will it be like that?” Peter tried<br />
to keep the panic out of his voice.<br />
42 / <strong>The</strong> <strong>Pact</strong>
Gerd leaned against Willy and his eyes grew serious as<br />
he looked out over the river. “Depends,” he said. “Depends on<br />
the French. Depends on the English. <strong>The</strong> Führer doesn’t want<br />
war. But if they say war, you can bet they’re goin’ to make us<br />
pay for it. Just like last time. We lost the war, but we had to<br />
pay everyone a lot of money. French got rich, English got<br />
rich, Americans got really rich, while you and me, Peter, we<br />
got really, really poor.”<br />
Peter couldn’t imagine being more poor than they were<br />
now. His mother out of a job. His black market business taken<br />
over by a loudmouth, cheating braggart.<br />
“You won’t remember, but Americans, they used to come<br />
here all the time just to have parties. <strong>The</strong>y ate up all the good<br />
food, drank all the best champagne, and ran around in fur<br />
coats with nothing underneath. Those were some pretty wild<br />
parties!” Gerd chuckled as he pulled himself up and onto the<br />
wagon. He gathered up the reins.<br />
“You comin’ with me today?”<br />
Peter shook his head. His mind was too full to sit quietly<br />
on the wagon. He needed to walk, needed to think things<br />
through.<br />
“Suit yourself. Here, take this,” Gerd threw an orange<br />
down to him. “You can tell your grandchildren you ate one of<br />
the last oranges in Germany.”<br />
43 / <strong>The</strong> <strong>Pact</strong>
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