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THE LIVING FLAME  By Tessa Harvey     Ernst had slept restlessly an walked slowly to school. He kept telling himself Mr. Stein's treatment of him, his disdain and hostility was merely a test of his endurance and character. But the news whispered at school was that Peter, the games master's son was to be the new Youth Corps leader. Ernst had been betrayed.     Devastated, when the news was confirmed at lunch time, Ernst crept home early from school, but Mrs. Tischenko called him back.     Without preamble she spoke firmly. "Man up, Ernst. The youths that bothered you are being taken to a car manufacturer to be employed. They are not allowed to return here. Local law enforcement have banned them. Now do you know who helped you?"      "Yes," whispered the boy, not looking at her directly. It was Gamsiz with a pea shooter!!"  "Well, why haven't you thanked him?" the woman asked sharply. "You see him as an untermensch, as the enemy used ...
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THE LIVING FLAME  By Tessa Harvey          Daria was Ernst's sister. She was almost ten, while Ernst was just turning thirteen. She was dark-haired and small. Her best friend was Staria and they would often giggle together about how alike their names were. Her parents were Karl and Inge Bordman and had been to help bury Uncle Will. Their mothers had been best friends.     Daria was furious at Ernst for what he had done, then she heard him crying in his room night after night and realised he was sorry.      One night she knocked on his wall quietly. Her brother was silent, then opened his bedroom door. "I suppose you hate me too," he whispered, wiping his tears with his open hands. "You see, I liked Mr. Stein. He said I could be Youth Leader which is very important." He cried again, softly. "He said Uncle would just get a stern talking to. He lied. I am so sorry."      Daria patted his back, then sat with him for a whi...
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THE LIVING FLAME  By Tessa Harvey     When school ended, Ernst had lingered to talk to his teacher, Ms. Stein. A couple of boys had sniggered, nudging each other with their elbows on their way out of the classroom.      "Teacher's pet," one whispered. The other had not lowered his voice. "Freak!" he hissed, quite unexpectedly. "Jew boy!"     "Go home, Baum!" ordered his teacher dismissively. Puzzled and distracted, Ernst had hurried out of school and down a narrow alleyway, a shortcut to home.     Near the exit, two large boys blocked his way. When he turned to retreat, another waited, menacingly waving a thick stick around.     "Heard you is a murderer," hissed one, the leader. "And a little Jew. We need to check, don't we boys?"     "But," stammered Ernst, "I was doing my duty!" For some reason, his accusers found this annoying. It's our duty to teach you a lesson, innit guys?" This from ...
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THE LIVING FLAME  By Tessa Harvey     After all the students, chattering like sparrows, had gone home by car, school bus, walking or cycling, Helga was busy checking her students' work.     There were two quick taps on her closed classroom door. Helga's heart beat fast. This had been happening more lately and the young teacher had no idea why.     "Come in," she called, bravely, assuming it was a student and a parent as one tap was lower than the other. The door opened and Gamsiz' head peeped around, his lovely wide smile erasing her nervousness.           A very pretty lady followed him, dressed in lovely vibrant colours. Like her son she was dark-haired with milky coffee coloured skin. Immediately she smiled exactly as her boy did and Helga happily beamed back at her visitors.    "This is..." began Gamsiz, but gently his mother tapped his shoulder. "I do this, Gamsiz, okay!" He smiled up at her with so much lov...
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THE LIVING FLAME      By Tessa Harvey     Helga Tischenko looked around the school yard. Students were strolling everywhere or sitting, eating lunch at the picnic tables with their attached wooden benches. Some younger students played on sturdy climbing frames.     Overall the activity was mostly happy noise, boisterous fun.      A boy approached, shyly. "Hello miss. How you do?" "Fine, Gamsiz, thank you. You are speaking well."     He beamed his thanks. "Beautiful lovely weather, yes?" His accent still strong, but he had worked hard, learning from junior books without complaining. An older student, a girl, had flatly refused. "No, I not a baby," was her angry declaration, even refusing to learn from teenage magazines.     Ernst came over, drawn by Gamsiz' warmth. He needed a friend.     His teacher, Albert Stein had treated him almost harshly, declaring in the staff room "he's a little squirt and he gets up...
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THE LIVING FLAME  By Tessa Harvey     There was a firm knock on the door. Opening it, Queenie saw Daniel, Ernst's father, and another man, Karl and Inge, his wife.     Inge hustled forward to hug her bereaved friend, casting a nasty look at Ernst as she did so. The boy hunched his shoulders and turned away.     "We wanted to help bury our brother Will if it is timely for you dear," asked Inge quietly, crying. "We still have half an hour before full dark and the moon is full."     "A storm is forecast for tomorrow," added Karl in his normal quiet voice. Both men carried large spades over their shoulders.      Queenie hesitated, then agreed gratefully. "Soon the frosts will come. And he is not here. He is with our Father, rejoicing in Heaven."     "Careful, woman," added Daniel, sadly. "My son may be recording us on his phone. I am sorry."     Ernst flashed an angry red. He held up empty hands, "I want to help...
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THE LIVING FLAME      Queenie lost patience as the boy hesitated.      "You have already brought the dark! Don't let the cold in also! Come and see my lover, my husband, my beautiful man."     On tiptoe, the boy crossed the room. Inside there were familiar soft couches, a worn table, four mismatched wooden chairs, a curtained alcove. A fire burned low in the grate near the open kitchen door. Queenie swiveled the steel black hob over the flames and the kettle hissed softly , steaming gently.     Then she drew the high curtain back on rattling links. Ernst looked at Will. A dark towel covered his midriff. The old man was blotched, purple and dark blue. Dried blood had congealed over numerous wounds. His face was swollen, discoloured, but to the boy's amazement he had died smiling, despite being in obvious pain. Questioningly, Ernst looked at his aunt. "How could he smile?"     "He would not renounce Jesus as Lord and Saviour, Son...
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