#eric webster

New York City 1943

Eric stepped into his apartment and kicked the door shut. He ran his fingers through his hair after he dropped his rations onto the table. He had relocated to America after living in France for almost six years before the war had spread. Now, here he was on a new continent and even still, the war had managed to follow him. After Pearl Harbor - God, Eric shuddered to think of that many lives lost beneath the waves - everything had become rationed. It didn’t really matter to Eric anyway, he would usually give his rations out to the poor and those who didn’t get enough.

War was hard on everyone. It was especially hard on Eric’s neighbors. The father and eldest son had been drafted and sent off to battle, leaving behind the mother, Maria, and the five other children. He went to work in the factories during the day while the children were at school and then she came home and tried to feed the six of them with what little they could afford. Eric liked the sneak apples to the small children, running in and leaving them in bookbags or on top of pillows. He always enjoyed the squeal of happiness that he’d hear through the wall when one of his treats was discovered.

Eric looked at the bag of food on the table that was going to go to waste and he let a smile slip onto his face. He grabbed the bag of food and went and knocked on Marie’s front door. Maria cracked the door open and smiled when she saw Eric.

“Mi hijo! Come in! Come in! You must stay for dinner. The children will be so excited to see you. Speaking of the little diablitos - Amata, Carlos, Brisa, Paciencia, Hector! Ven aquí! Eric is here!” Eric grinned as he heard the thundering footsteps of the five children running to greet him. He set the bag down before the hoard could arrive, turning back around when he heard screaming.

“Eric!” Brisa sprinted into the room and into Eric’s arms in a speeding ball of giggles and curly brown hair. “I missed you so much! It’s - It’s been so long since you came over!”

Eric smiled and kissed the little girl on the cheek, “I was over three days ago, Mäuschen. Hey ki-” Eric stopped short when he saw the somber looks on the older children’s faces, Amata was clutching a photo of Leo, the eldest son, to her chest. Eric looked at Maria and noticed, for the first time, her red, bloodshot eyes and dark circles under her eyes. He noticed the smell of tears everywhere in the apartment and was filled with concern. “What - What happened? Is everything… okay?”

Maria looked at the floor and took a deep breath before looking back to her children, “Hector, take you siblings to the bedroom and then come right back. We need to talk to Eric.”

Hector nodded and took Brisa from Eric’s arms, “Sí, mamá. Come on, guys.” As the children filed out of the room, Maria let out a shaky breath and sank down into a dining room chair.

Eric sat down next to her and took her hand, “What happened, Maria? Are Diego and Leonidas alright?” At the mention of her son, Maria broke into tears. Eric heard a choked sob from behind him and he turned around to see Hector with his hand over the locket that his father gave to him before he and Leonidas left to fight. It had a picture of the entire family and a picture of the three of them. He looked at Eric and then walked over and hugged his mother.

“Leo is dead. He was killed in an air raid in London two days ago. They say that we have to help pay to get him home but we can’t afford it, and papá can’t come home for the funeral. We’ve sent letters but we haven’t heard anything back for - for weeks, and mamá and I fear - we fear the worst.” Hector’s chin quivered as tears leaked down his face.

Eric opened his arms and the twelve year old boy let out a sob as he collapsed into Eric’s lap. Eric shushed the boy and ran his fingers through the boy’s curly hair. Paciencia walked into the room and rushed over to her little brother. She kissed the top of his head and looked at their mother, “The children are all occupied and Brisa is taking her nap. C’mon, Hector. Let Eric and mamá talk.”

Paciencia and Hector walked out of the room and Eric looked at Maria, who was still sniffling, “I am so sorry, Maria. How are the children taking it? Does Brisa know? Is there anything I can do for you?”

Maria shook her head and smiled at Eric warmly, “No, mijo. We will be okay. I will find a way to take care of my babies. You need not worry, darling.”

Eric looked at the bag of food that had been abandoned on the table and remembered why he had come over in the first place. He grabbed the bag and pushed it into Maria’s arms.

“I don’t need it. The ration office always screws up and gives me too much for me to ever eat. Take it please; I couldn’t live with it if I knew that you were going hungry to feed the children and I let this food go to waste.” Eric watched as Maria’s eyes grew large and she started to protest, “Maria, please.”

Berlin 1933

Erich grabbed his bags and picked up his speed. He was sprinting after the train that had just left the station. It was headed for Paris and he desperately needed to get out of the country. He grabbed the railing at the back of the train and hauled himself onto the back of the train. He collapsed onto the back deck and put his head into his hands. He just had to leave everything he’d ever known because Hitler had come to power and threatened Erich’s entire existence. He felt tears roll down his face as he pulled his coat tighter around himself and leaned up against the train, letting himself fall asleep.

After twelve hours, the train jolted to a stop in Paris, yanking Erich out of his much needed sleep. Erich cursed and jumped off the back of the train, sprinting into the trees surrounding the tracks. He hid behind one of the larger trees and held his breath, waiting for the shouts of the police coming after him. When, after a few minutes, there was no noise outside the chatter of the passengers, he slumped down and let out a shaky breath. He shot back to his feet when he saw a man emerge from the trees. He relaxed against the tree when the man gave a warm smile. As the man moved closer, Erich noticed that there was something off but he was so exhausted that he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“What is your name, young man?” The man’s voice was quiet and he spoke German perfectly.

“Erich. Erich Weber.” The man moved even closer and Erich looked into his eyes. He noticed too late the way the man’s eyes had turned from brown to red.

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Satan is out buying fresh souls and giving people anything they could ever want. His customers seem quite satisfied at first, but before long everyone’s fortunes, including his own, take unexpected turns. Ari Hoptman has written a dark but playful show with Hope You Guess My Name and he’s brought on a team chock full of talent to present it at Minnesota Fringe Festival. We start off at a night…

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