Somewhere in Germany Page 23

  Jettel wore a crown that was braided with stiff hands by Walter and Regina from a silver ribbon and she tolerated, satisfied by the rabbit stew, her husband’s teasing with a sense of humor that she thought just as becoming as the ornament in her hair. The mood was good enough to unearth the first fight of their married life, seriously but without rancor, and finally, to undeniably clarify why Walter had not been allowed to eat lobster. Before they enjoyed the vanilla ice cream with hot chocolate sauce, someone mentioned the wedding night during which Walter had taken apart a radio that had just been given to them.

  “Anyhow, I still found time to make your sister,” he informed his son.

  “And where,” Max asked, “did you make me?”

  “In a tiny room. We had to send the dog outside to have enough space.”

  “You were always crazy,” Jettel said.

  “So crazy that I write poems at night.”

  “What did you really do yesterday in the middle of the night?”

  “I wrote a poem,” Walter said, buttoned his jacket, and stood up. He climbed onto his chair, took a folded piece of paper from his pocket, cleared his throat, and started to read.

  DEAR JETTEL!

  For ten years in a row,

  you now had to celebrate

  your anniversary date

  far away from Africa in the snow,

  because your beloved husband made you leave the land

  he could no longer stand.

  Oh, how you complained back then,

  and told all and everyone

  how wonderful life had been

  under Africa’s beloved sun.

  Germany at the time was full of dread;

  there was much rubble, little bread!

  Thank God those days are past;

  there is no hunger here at last.

  One can now buy everything and such,

  and even—if one wants to—drink too much.

  You have withstood the storm,

  even have a house to call your own,

  and in Frankfurt your husband got to be

  an attorney and a notary.

  Our daughter turned out to be even more:

  She became a full-fledged editor,

  and our son (also not a fool)

  just entered his first year in secondary school.

  You have achieved a lot I can tell

  since you bade Kenya farewell.

  I wish, therefore, that you may

  be content for now and many a later day;

  be healthy in your advanced years yet,

  yours, and always affectionate,

  Walter

  Max helped his father off the chair, sat down himself, and was just getting ready to clap when he noticed the complete silence and then that his parents and Regina were crying. He felt a little bit of pride when he felt tears coming on, too. He became aware of the fact that this was the first time he cried with the adults.

  18

  IN THE LATE SUMMER OF 1957, the mystery of the heavyset, bald, red-faced man—who up to then had only been an occasional silhouette behind the house door—came to a surprising conclusion. When Walter and Jettel returned unexpectedly early from a doctor’s visit in Rodheim, the strange two-ton man—who Max thought to be a spy and Regina one of those dubious characters who lately increasingly enlivened the reports of the local journalists during editorial conferences—was standing in the yard and smoking a cigarette. Since the long-delayed confrontation was now unavoidable, the cause of so many speculations introduced himself, reluctantly but not nearly as impolitely as expected, as Heini Kowalski from Neisse. Jettel’s instinct had been right once again when she presumed that the silent man, who, it soon turned out, had had a key to the house for years and used it, too, would upset their lives some day.

  Heini Kowalski was not a man to waste time at the decisive hour. Three days after meeting Else’s employers he persuaded her to admit to them that she had had to carry the burden of a lie to each confession. As Walter had always suspected without voicing his doubts, she had not gone to the services regularly and had never gone to church lighthearted any more.

  Her free afternoons, evenings, and eventually even her vacations had not been spent exclusively, as was assumed and often also maintained, with her recently deceased mother and her sister, but with a divorced man who had caused her enormous religious and pragmatic inner conflicts. The chance encounter that he had not planned, in spite of his energetic nature, now made Heini decide to end the time of deception and concern immediately. He resolved to take Else into his strong arms forever before the fall and told her in the direct way she appreciated most in him that he himself would give the explanations if she did not have the courage to do so.

  After dinner Else confessed, her pretty, even face crimson and tear-stained, “I never would have married him as long as my mother was still alive. But everything is different now. The times have changed, Mrs. Redlich; you have to understand that.”

  “But you have a good life with us, Else. You are like one of my children.”

  “Yes, and I will never forget that, but I would still like to have a child of my own.”

  “Is his income enough for the two of you?” Walter asked.

  “Not yet. Heini had to leave home and is only now starting to make more money. But I already have a new position. With the Americans.”

  “Wow! Doing what?”

  “With a consul. Taking care of the children. He has two rooms free. We can both live there.”

  “Else, Else, what has happened to you? First you misuse the church services and now you want to live with a divorced man before getting married. You never would have had such ideas in Hochkretscham.”

  “But we are going to get married soon, Dr. Redlich, and the consul says that he is going to take us both along when he has to return to America.”

  “Well, that just goes to show how scarce domestic servants have become if one needs to import our Else with her beau to America,” Walter said after he had calmed Jettel enough so that she was at least able to peacefully listen to him again.

  “And what is going to happen to me?” Jettel complained. “You always promised me a maid when you shipped me back to Germany. Owuor never would have let us down like this.”

  “It was easier for Owuor. We did not even notice when he got married. That was nice. He had a new bibi come, sent her home to his other wives, and stayed with us. Someone like Owuor does not happen again, but you will get your maid, Jettel,” Walter sighed. “It almost makes me happy that you haven’t changed in all these years.”

  Else stayed until she was sure that Jettel would not be without household help. The farewell was marked by the heavy sadness and gloom of people who had learned to endure separation yet were unable to bear it. Only Max did not cry, but he asked Else to sing “Auf der Lüneburger Heide,” his childhood song, and he was not hungry at night.

  “Don’t forget us, Else. And do not embarrass us at the consul’s,” Walter teased. “Remember that one does eat the mold in the Roquefort.”

  “I have learned more than that,” Else sobbed into Heini’s checkered handkerchief.

  “What? That in our household my wife wears the pants?”

  “No. That our pastor in Hochkretscham was not always right. Jews are good people.”

  “Just don’t tell that to anyone, Else. People are not going to believe you.”

  Else was followed by Anna, who did not like the green beans prepared sweet and sour and with raisins. Jettel did not get along with her any better than with Emmy, who disliked children and men, who were in a hurry and became grumpy when the coffee after lunch was too hot to drink in one gulp. Hanna was so eager that she scrubbed the parquet floors in all the rooms on the first day, and on the second day she washed the snakeskin in the sun room with soapsuds.

  On the third day she said, “I am not allowed to come anymore,” and then before she could even be questioned about the suddenness of her decision, she added, “M
y father does not want me to work for Jews.” Regina borrowed her mother’s courage and her father’s voice, and shouted “Out!” so loudly that the neighbors in the next house could hear it. At night, Jettel told the story over and over again and said admiringly, “Regina is a competent girl.”

  Max adored Maria. She lived with her parents; appeared every morning on time and in white shorts; sang the hits of Caterina Valente, whom he worshipped, too; and in spite of her domestic talents left no doubt about the fact that she expected her true talents to be discovered soon. Walter took exception to the open display of her naked, suntanned legs and even more to her illusions, which he considered unsuitable for a decent woman. He insisted, in spite of Jettel’s protests, on letting her go.

  With the blonde, blue-eyed Ziri, though, the warmth of a human being (she did not want anything but to be part of a community that was conscious of its own protective walls and its need for trust and familiarity) returned to the house. Ziri had lived with her mother in the countryside near Würzburg in recent years but was originally from the Sudetes. Walter and Jettel found that as reassuringly close to home as if she were from Upper Silesia. She was extraordinarily strong, laughed continually and without reason, and never mistook Walter’s gruffness for insults. She very quickly understood that Jettel, although moody and demanding, was also quite capable of a motherly kindness and consideration that casual observers never would have suspected.

  “We are a bit difficult,” Jettel had vaguely hinted during the interview for which Ziri had appeared with an overstuffed suitcase and a basket full of apples.

  “Even worse,” Walter warned, “we are Jewish. Your mother may object to that.”

  “Why?” Ziri wondered, “should my mother object? She always says, ‘God’s garden is large.’ My sister has a black boyfriend.”

  “Well, we should be all right then.”

  A week later Ziri moved, with the announcement that she had never sat alone at a table in all her life, from the kitchen to the dining room for her meals. This made Walter feel quite ashamed that during all the years of closeness he had never thought of offering the same to Else. Ziri played soccer with Max in the corridor, hid in closets during hide-and-seek, and boxed with him. She thought that Regina was too thin, so she always smuggled some extra butter into her food. Ziri also used Regina’s lipstick and when she went home she borrowed the magic African belt with the tiny colorful beads.

  Jettel instantly won Ziri’s heart because she realized how well Jettel cooked and therefore did not set foot out of the kitchen while the food was being prepared. She was eager to absorb the fine urban lifestyle and was enchanted by the sentimental songs that Jettel had once learned from her mother’s maid in Breslau and still enjoyed singing with a plaintive voice while she cooked.

  Ziri had made up her mind not to marry a country boy but rather someone from the city, yet whenever she returned from Würzburg on Sundays, she brought Walter (for his sick heart) herbs from her mother’s garden, fresh bacon, and stories of the country life that reminded him of Leobschütz.

  “Ziri is like Owuor,” Walter said, “only white and beautiful.”

  “Owuor was beautiful, too,” Regina objected, and closed her eyes till her head found nourishment. “Owuor caught the sun with his teeth.”

  “Tomorrow,” Jettel laughed, “I am going to bake a poppy seed cake with Ziri. She absolutely wants to learn that. So you have to go to the doctor with Regina. I specifically scheduled the appointment on her free day.”

  Regina had never been with Walter to Rodheim to see Dr. Schmitt. Initially she had been very suspicious when her father had chosen a tiny village, of all places, for his regular doctor’s visits and only because he had heard at a meeting of Silesians that the physician there had the reputation of being a leading authority. Rumor had it that he had modern American medical equipment, which allowed him to diagnose heart diseases very precisely, and he was, therefore, able to treat his patients more specifically and efficiently than the experts in town.

  Since there were many people from Sohrau in Rodheim, Regina immediately knew that Dr. Schmitt had to be from Upper Silesia, too. She did not trust his much-praised equipment and had even dared to ask if that alone made him better than the specialists in town. Walter had called her a condescending goose. At any rate, Regina saw, in her father’s sudden admission that regular examinations were necessary, just the usual longing for the sounds and memories of home.

  It was a wet, dark December day that reminded them of the journey to the Harz. Walter and Regina, comfortably warmed by the heat in the car and a swig from the small bottle of schnapps in the glove compartment, first talked about a complicated legal case that had been occupying Walter for a while. Soon, however, they were reminded by the street conditions of their adventures in “Römer’s Hotel” and very quickly experienced the exhilaration of people who have overcome great danger and in retrospect use a magnifying glass.

  The thought of how the four of them had been lying in bed together in their overcoats made them laugh so hard that they became hot and their shoulders started to tremble. They were not even able to restrain their euphoria when the picture started to fade. Walter drove the car to the side of the road, opened the window, and took such a deep breath that he started to cough. He silently stared into the gray fog for a few minutes.

  “Sometimes,” he said in a voice that had swallowed its cheerfulness too abruptly so that it would not threaten Regina’s ears with a storm, “I think that that was the last time we were all happy together.”

  “How can you think that way? You have not been feeling too bad at all recently.”

  “I have become as superstitious as you and your mother.”

  “And what is your superstition telling you?” Regina asked while she hurriedly beseeched her own and crossed her fingers in her coat pocket.

  “I have asked God every day for years to give me enough time to pay off the Rothschildallee and to wait till you are able to take care of your mother and your brother. I forgot to make a deal about an extension with him.”

  “Are you Faust? Did you make a pact with the devil? God is not limited by what we tell Him. He has His own opinions and does not let us suffer if our prayers are incomplete. You always told me that when I was a child. Don’t you remember?”

  “Oh, yes. It is good that you still remember that. I often reproach myself because I was not able to give you more. You didn’t have a real religious upbringing. And I knew what was essential, but everything I believed died within me when they killed our family.”

  “Not everything,” Regina said. “Otherwise you would not have prayed anymore and I would not be able to believe in God today. I still believe that He has been good to me.”

  “What have you been asking from him?”

  “You know that quite well,” Regina said. She smiled when she remembered her childhood prayers and added, “that you keep your job, bwana.”

  Dr. Friedrich Schmitt, white-haired, rotund, and with a rough but friendly face, an overly distinct pronunciation, and the wit that Regina knew and above all recognized as the only medicine that would help her father, was originally from Gleiwitz. Regina liked him because he ranked sympathy higher than proficiency and took time to divert the patient from his physical condition and anxieties. She also noticed the unusual fact that the physician talked about his youth with the uncomplaining tone of people who find themselves free from any burdens when looking into the past.

  “Well, shall we take a look?” Dr. Schmitt said.

  “Do I have a choice?” Walter asked.

  When the examination started, Regina was seated on a low stool in front of the desk and immediately felt the coldness of fear in her limbs. She stared at the doctor’s concentrated face and uneasily examined the equipment that had been talked about so much during the last Silesian meeting. Her skin burned with the thought that she knew nothing that she ought to have known because she had assumed that the news of technical innovations was on
ly the dream of some silly visionaries and that physicians were unable to look at the picture of a human heart.

  The idea that the white-haired, fatherly man who stood less than three feet from her could precisely determine the state of Walter’s heart, could talk about his conclusions with him, and in the end would even be able to realize what the future held, paralyzed Regina’s mind and thoughts. Her fear did not leave out one of the wildest daydreams her imagination had ever created. She even remembered Owuor’s stories of warriors who were larger than life and came at night to steal the hearts of good people. The victims were only able to defend themselves if they drilled their thumb into the right eye of the sneering attackers.

  Regina forced her head into battle. She fought against the ghosts of her childhood, and against hopelessness, superstition, and rebellion. She was almost ready to close her eyes and to drink an invigorating draught from the cup of certainty, but she was unable to move her eyes from her father’s naked chest. In a panic she got ready for flight and quick return. The flight was easy and soft, but she was unable to make the trip quickly back into the small room with the empty walls and small examination table. The fog in front of her eyes thickened.

  As a child, Regina had often imagined that her father was Achilles: strong and courageous enough to hold out his chest to the arrows of his enemies without ever getting wounded. That time now seemed so long ago to her and yet so short. She had believed that she was able to look into her father’s heart. She even knew that that must have been the case and that this look had given her the strength to love him without letting the sharp teeth of doubt into her head.

  When Regina saw her father lying on the white sheet, he seemed so much smaller to her than in the dead days of Ol’ Joro Orok and she regretted for the first time in her life that she had never told him about this. But she had never dared to mention the doubts that forced her love not to take the broad, comfortable way to its destination, but instead to take a small, grassy path. Regina realized with a despair that made her body rigid that it was too late for the truth.