The Key

Rudolf Heinkel’s house is immaculate.

It’s white exterior is flawless, the black roof looks new, and the yard is in pristine condition. Rudolf keeps it that way. Every single day, he tends to his house. He cuts the grass once a week whether it needs it or not. He rakes the leaves religiously, even picking them up by hand to get every single one. In the winter, his sidewalks are clean to the cement.

His neighbor, Harold Jackson, is more typical. His yard could use a little extra work. More leaves could be raked. The grass could be cut better. In the winter, he could use salt on his sidewalk. But Harold is your average American, blue jeans and T-shirts and baseball caps.

Rudolf is not.

Rudolf doesn’t own blue jeans, or tee shirts, and certainly doesn’t wear baseball caps. For yard work, he wears his gray work pants and a gray button-down shirt. For more formal occasions, he has pressed black slacks and pressed white shirts. In the winter his coat is a gray button-down wool trench coat, his hat a black Cossack style with ear flaps. He’s a dapper old man, about sixty years out of fashion.

* * *

It’s September, and the air is turning cold. Leaves are beginning to fall, their death marked by brown sprinkles on the lawn. Harold loathes the idea of raking instead of spending his time watching the football game. But it has to be done. As soon as he enters the front yard he sees Rudolf doing the same in his yard. Except he’s on all fours picking the leaves up with his hands.

Strange, Harold thinks. Why not use a rake?

Then he sees the dilemma. Rudolf’s rake propped up against the garage, the handle broken off. Harold, the good neighbor, darts back into his garage and locates a second rake. It’s a cheap plastic one, not the best, but better than nothing. He walks it over to Rudolf smiling the whole time.

“Hello. I see your rake is broken, and I have a spare if you want to use it, ”said Harold.

Rudolf shoots him a cold vacant stare. He’s not a mean man, he just doesn’t show his emotions. Or at least that’s what Harold thinks. Then Rudolf cracks a small smile and nods.

“Vy thank you. My poor rake, I believe it dies, ”said Rudolf.

Harold never really got used to the accent. German, maybe Austrian. Hard to say. “Yeah, I see that. Well, use this one. It should work. Keep it for a while if you need to,” said Harold.

Rudolf takes the rake from Harold and sizes it up. It’s not up to his specifications, but it will do for the time being. Harold feels like a good neighbor, and as he takes in Rudolf sizing up the rake, he notices something he never noticed before.

Rudolf has no jewelry or rings. He only has thick glasses and a plain wrist watch. But around his neck Harold notices a large dark stained key suspended by a dark leather cord. It’s big, about four inches long, and it looks like it’s made of cast iron. Harold, the congenial type, strikes up a conversation.

“Say, that looks interesting. What is it? A key?” asked Harold.

Rudolf quickly stuffs it back into his shirt, then composes himself and smiles.

“Ya. Key,” Rudolf mumbles.

“What’s it unlock?” asks Harold.

“Ze past,” said Rudolf. He turns his back to Harold and rakes.

The conversation is over.

* * *

Fall gives way to the cold winds of winter, the land a dead shell. The grass dies, trees lose all their leaves, and flowers wilt. The first snow transforms the land from a dead brown into a stark, clean white. The slate has been erased and soon it will be time to start a new.

It snowed overnight, and Harold is out first thing in the morning to shovel his sidewalk. The snow isn’t particularly deep or heavy, but there’s enough that cleaning the walk will take more than a few minutes. Dressed for the cold, he begins shoveling when he notices Rudolphs walk has not been tended to. It’s covered in snow, unusual since Rudolf is so punctual about cleaning it.

Harold is about halfway through shoveling when he sees Rudolf appear at his garage. Right away, something is amiss. Rudolf looks under the weather, gaunt and tired, and it concerns Harold.

Harold and Rudolf have been neighbors for close to 20 years, and Harold never saw Rudolf like this before. He hollers across the lawn.

“Good morning, Rudolf. Got to love the snow. It’s why I moved to Wisconsin. ”

Rudolf gives Harold an acknowledging stare, and continues with his shoveling. Harold wants to say more, but he knows there will be no more.

Harold resumes his shoveling. He’s almost done when he sees Rudolf fall to his knees and drop and shovel. A man his age, falling on icy concrete, could mean broken bones. So he rushes over, being the good neighbor he is.

“Are you OK, Rudolf?”

Rudolf is on all fours, panting. He looks up, and right away Harold sees his skin looks gray. Rudolf forces a half smile. Then he slowly gets back to his feet, Harold assisting, and brushes the snow off his clothing. By his standards, he’s an absolute mess.

“Ya, ya, ya. I’m just tired zis morning, ”said Rudolf.

“You’re a bad liar, Rudolf. How long is this been going on? ”Asked Harold.

Rudolf glances at Harold, cleans off more snow, and then acknowledges him.

“Ze pump is going, ”whispers Rudolf.

Harold delivers a confused look. Rudolf pats his chest with his right hand. “Pump, you know. ”

“Oh, your heart. Your heart is going, ”said Harold.

Rudolf nods. “Ze doctors say nothing can be done. Time it is short.”

“Jesus, Rudolf. Why in the hell are you shoveling snow? You should be inside resting.” said Harold.

Rudolf returned a slight grin. “Tell me, Harold, vut makes a good person? ”

Harold has never been asked that kind of question by Rudolf. Ever. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, not entirely sure what he’s asking.

“I guess, ah, being a good person means treating others as you would want to be treated, ”said Harold.

“And zif I treated zem badly, zen I should treat myself badly, yes? ”Asked Rudolf.

“Well, no, I don’t think so. I think what you should do is pay it forward. You know, do something nice to someone you don’t know. Or something like that, ”said Harold.

Harold ponders it for a second. “Or maybe give them a gift. ”

Rudolf’s eyes come alive. “Yes, very good. A gift. ”

Rudolf removes the big cast iron key from his neck and carefully hands it to Harold. “You must have zis. It is yours. Take good care. It is very valuable.”

The key is heavy. Harold looks it over for a second, not sure what to make of it.

“Thank you,” said Harold. “But what does it unlock?”

Rudolf looks down at the snow. “Vut it unlocked is long gone. Vut it holds is a promise. Ze holder, he must spread kindness. Always.”

Before Harold can continue the interrogation, Rudolf smiles. “I zink I go lie down und rest for a bit.” Rudolf toddles back inside and closes his garage door.

The snow has tapered off to light flurries, and as he examines the key again a snowflake hits it and melts. He’s about to brush it try when a faint outline emerges, the wet setting the reflection just right.

It’s a Nazi Swastika.

* * *

The next day brings more snow.

Harold emerges from his garage about ten in the morning, ready to do battle with the snow, when he sees his walk and driveway clean to the concrete. He looks over and sees Rudolf’s is the same.

Harold shakes his head. That old bird did both of ours. With a bad heart. No, I can’t have this. Harold marches straight over to Rudolf’s front door and rings the bell. He can hear activity, and Rudolf finally answers the door. He looks tired and gray again, and Harold speaks right up.

“Did you shovel my walk?”

Rudolf puts on confused. “I know nothing of zis.”

Harold is genuinely irritated. “Look, I appreciate the effort, but a man in your condition doesn’t need to be doing strenuous work like that. I can do my own. In fact, I should be doing yours.”

Rudolf smiles. “Come in, Harold. Is cold out.”

Rudolf opens the door and Harold steps in. The inside is a mirror of the outside, immaculate to a tee. It’s all white except for the gray carpet. Black and white photographs framed in black frames speckle the walls, images of a different life. Harold sits on the sofa, absorbing the living room, when Rudolf sits and plays host.

“Anything I can get? Water, perhaps?” asks Rudolf.

Harold shakes his head. “Tell me about the key.”

Rudolf fidgets, looking at the carpet. “Are you sure?”

Harold nods and Rudolf gets comfortable.

“Vell, some history is in order. I join ze German Army in 1941 ven I vas seventeen. Zey put be in North Africa vis Rommel but shrapnel in ze knee ends zat in 1942. Ze Army make me a guard und sends me closer to home. Prison guard. Zey tell me ve keep ze dangerous contained. So I am guard. Most of prisonors are sick. Typhoid zey say, so soon I am in crematorium burning dead. So many dead. Zey bring zem by ze truckload. Day in, day out. Und I burn zem. All day and all night. I don’t know vut ve do until I see ones zat don’t look sick.”

Harold is digesting the story when a question arises. “How do they look?”

Rudolf takes a deep breath. “Zey look starved. Some are changed, like experimants. Und zere are so many. Zen in ze spring of 1945 ze SS comes und makes us burn it all. Prisoners, papers, all of it. Burn ze evidence. I had no idea. I suspect, yes, but zey keep it secret. Very secret.”

Harold chimes in. “What prison?”

Rudolf looks at his feet.

“Dachau.”

* * *

Harold is almost without words. Almost.

“THE DEATH CAMP?”

Rudolf has a tear in the corner of his eye. “I didn’t know. I should have, but I don’t. Ven ze tell me vut happened, I am dirty all over, und ze color it goes out of ze world. Ze Americans come und put me in prison. Five years. People call me a monster. Zey spit on me und throw things. I work hard labor. Zen I go back home. But nobody comes near me. My wife leaves und my family shuns. So I come to America. I start new. Und I keep one reminder of vut I vus, und vut I should have been.”

Harold has nothing to say, but he does anyway. “The key.”

“It vus ze oven key. I carry zat veight as a reminder. But my time is come. Now is your time. Make it all count, every moment.”

Harold composes himself. “But why me?”

Rudolf takes a long breath.

“It is your time.”

Harold watches as Rudolf sits back and closes his eyes for the last time.

* * *

The police have come and gone. They have taken their statements, their photographs, collected their evidence. The coroner has removed the body. There is no more to be done. And Harold still sits on the couch processing. Ready to go, everything said and done, he decides to take one last look around.

The photographs are from a different time and place.

The first one is of Rudolf and what Harold can only assume was his wife. He is in his uniform and she is in her Sunday best. They’re standing in front of a church, the priest standing behind them. On her hand Harold sees the gleaming ring. They both look young and happy. Innocent.

The second is Rudolf standing in front of a prison gate. He is in a prison uniform, holding his clothes in a neat folded pile in front of him. He looks gaunt and defeated. He’s also holding a small slate with numbers written in chalk.

The third is of Rudolf taken much later. He’s old, taken on his retirement day. He’s standing in front of a cake, “Happy Retirement” drawn in icing, and surrounded by strangers. They all look happy, except Rudolf. He has sadness written all over his face.

Like he carries a great weight.

* * *

Winter has given way to spring. Green is returning, trees budding and flowers pushing through. Sunshine and warm breezes fill the days.

Harold cuts the grass, whether it needs it or not. The leaves and thatch are all bagged and at the curb, the trees and shrubs trimmed, and the sidewalk swept.

The new family next door doesn’t keep up like they should.

Like Rudolf did.

Harold puts more gas in the lawnmower and rolls up his sleeves.