by Meg Lelvis
“Yeah, anything’s better than sitting here all day.”
They crawled along for several minutes, then turned right onto Prinzregentenstrasse, where traffic was lighter. Sedans replaced vans and trucks; drivers drove at a slower pace. “We’re heading west toward the river again, backtracking, but at least it’s a scenic route.” Sherk eased behind a parked car by the curb of a shady park. He turned off the engine and pointed out Jack’s window.
“There’s a monument of Richard Wagner. You’d recognize der Ring des—sorry, his Ring cycle opera, if nothing else—”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but—”
“The music from the four Ring operas, Die Walküre, “Ride of the Valkyries” famous as the theme from—”
“May come as a shock,” Jack said, “but I know the thing. Happened to see the rerun of Apocalypse Now a few months ago. So there, Professor.”
The granite statue of Wagner reclined on a huge circular armchair, one hand grasping the end of a musical score. Tall, morose trees surrounded the statue, giving an illusion of Wagner contemplating his next opera while sitting in the Black Forest.
“Gotta admit, this is amazing,” Jack said. “Here we are a few yards from a busy street and this guy’s sittin’ here like the King of Bavaria. I suppose it’s been here for ages?”
“Actually, it was built in 1913, so not as old as you may imagine. Wagner was born in Leipzig around 1813, and the monument was commissioned by Ludwig III as a memorial—”
“Gotcha. Should’ve learned by now not to bother with a simple question.”
“Yeah, Erica learned that a long time ago.” Sherk pushed the Audi’s start button. “Ready to go?”
Sherk’s wife must weigh heavily on his mind, certainly weightier than locating Jack’s father’s German romance.
“Yeah, by the way, how is Erica?” The last Sherk said, her test results were getting better because of chemo treatments.
“She texted last night that she feels good. More scans are coming up next week.”
Jack couldn’t come up with anything profound to say, but at least he’d said something. He kept silent as they drove.
. . . . .
Five minutes later, they reached Maximilianpark, a quiet, tree-lined area beside the Isar River bordered by walking and jogging trails, along with sled hills popular in winter.
“Another forest.” Jack lowered his window and stuck his head out.
“Yes, now you can brace yourself for another cultural treat.”
“As long as we don’t have to get our asses out of the car. Just so much a guy like me can take.”
“There it is.” Sherk slowed down as they approached a sparkling, aqua pool with a dolphin-shaped fountain spewing water toward the sky.
Easing along left of the round-about, they neared the historic gilded Angel of Peace monument glittering in the sun high above deep green trees.
“Hey, that looks familiar,” Jack said. “In one sentence or less, what is it?”
“The Angel of Peace was erected in 1899 as a reminder of twenty-five peaceful years following the Franco-German War, and you notice the small temple underneath—”
“I said one sentence, man.”
Sherk laughed. “Sentence wasn’t done yet, Jack.” He gazed admiringly at the monument. “No worries. We’ll come back another day and go inside to see portraits of emperors and Bavarian rulers, not to mention gold mosaics.”
“Yeah, gotta do that.” Jack had other things on his mind at the moment. He’d never been interested in art, but years ago Karen had introduced him to Monet and Van Gogh, whom he now mildly appreciated.
Heading around the monument plaza, they crossed the river and made their way toward the Red Cross center. Sherk turned south where the area became more commercialized with high rises and modern buildings. He merged onto a freeway, and twenty minutes later they reached a gray, modern multi-storied building set apart on a tree-lined knoll.
“Here we are.” Sherk pulled into a parking lot in front.
“This is the Red Cross building?” Jack was surprised the place looked so new.
“Yes, there are several sites, but the main Bavarian office is in this building.”
“Guess I was expecting something out of wartime Munich, like the Rathaus.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Jack. Just another concrete and glass building you’d see in Chicago.”
They stepped out of the car and walked up a dozen front steps.
“Here goes nothing,” Jack said. A knot formed in his gut as he followed Sherk through the revolving door. Did he truly want to find Ariana Schröder? What would he do if he did?
“Not getting cold feet, are you, Jack? We can turn back if you want.”
“No. Let’s do this. Get it over with,” Jack muttered as he tried to ignore increasing dampness crawling under his armpits. What had he gotten himself into?
Chapter 5
Several hours later, Sherk drove to a pub called the Ludwig Keller a couple blocks off 2R on the way home. “I understand you’re chomping at the bit to get more details on the search, but how ‘bout a late lunch? This place is quiet. We can talk in peace.”
“Fine by me. Always up for a drink, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
They parked down the block from a brown, unadorned stone building. “Looks like a hole in the wall, but I trust ya.” Actually, it was Jack’s kind of place.
Dark and spartan, the room was occupied by one other customer sitting at the bar. Two large gilded-framed pictures of Bavarian kings hung proudly on dark paneled walls near the entryway. Traditional beer steins with ornamental pewter lids sat on each table. Sherk led the way to a spot in a small alcove across the room. “Should be quiet enough for you, Jack. I’m barely aware of any music.”
A middle-aged woman of hefty girth waddled over with menus in hand. Sherk ordered a Pilsner for Jack, a Riesling for himself.
She returned in five minutes with their drinks. “Wass kann ich dich zum essen bringen?”
“How does the bratwurst sampler sound?” Sherk looked up from his menu.
“I’ll go for it.” Jack rubbed the frosty glass, admiring the amber hue of good strong beer.
They discussed more details Sherk had learned at the Red Cross office; it would probably take a couple more days to discover something concrete after meeting with certain officials and clerks. “I’ll just wait till I’m done with the process to tell you everything. I used my powers of persuasion, so therefore, we just may luck out.”
Jack restrained himself from griping it was a matter of hurry up and wait, but he’d hoped they’d soon dig up something about Ariana. He had no right to complain, though. He’d never get anywhere on his own.
After ten minutes, Jack’s glass was nearing empty, so he headed for the bar and ordered another. Back at the table, he said, “I like this place. Doesn’t look too great from the outside, but who cares.” He wiped moisture from the side of his glass with a napkin and drank.
“I just got a text from Erica. She’s tired, but otherwise, she’s fine. She has tests in another week or so. I can’t help having second thoughts about leaving her halfway across the world to—” He glanced sideways.
“Sorry, man,” Jack said. “But her folks are there, and with all the medical advances these days, I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Well aware his words were just platitudes, they were the best he could do.
Sherk nodded. “We’re hoping.” He looked at Jack. “Maybe it’s the wine, but I’m gonna ask you something. You can tell me it’s none of my business.”
Jack sensed what was coming. “Go ahead.”
/> Sherk cleared his throat. “Well, we’ve known each other about two or three years, and worked as partners. Spent a lot of time together. I’m generally aware of what happened in Ireland with your family, and it’s a painful subject, but I’d like to know what actually took place.” He waited. “That is, if you’re comfortable taking about it.”
Jack sighed. “You’re right. I don’t talk about it, except to my shrinks and Tommy. They tell me I should talk more, though. It’s a way to keep Karen and Elizabeth honored, that their lives were worthy, and not to pretend they never existed.”
“I’ll tell you, Jack, that’s the wisest thing that ever came out of your mouth.” Sherk grinned.
“Can’t take credit. I’m quoting my shrink who finally eased me off the PTSD nightmares and stress.”
“So, you were on a trip to Ireland when—”
“Our dinner’s coming,” Jack said, glancing at the waitress approaching their table.
“Hier sind Sie ja,” she said, placing two plates of steaming meat surrounded by golden potato salad, creamy cole slaw, and sauerkraut on the table.
“Sure smells good.” Jack breathed in spicy aromas of smoked bratwurst. He spread brown mustard on the sausage and took a bite. “Delicious.”
They ate in silence for a few moments. Jack put his fork down. “Okay, now’s as good a time as any to start. Yeah, we were in Ireland for our eighth anniversary. The trip was a gift from Karen’s folks, and we took Elizabeth, who was almost five. We were in and around Belfast visiting relatives. We’d been aware of news about a bombing south of there a couple weeks before, but never thought much about it. Like being told about disasters in other places. You never dream it’ll happen to you.”
He paused and took a swig of beer. “Christ, I’ll never fall into that trap again.”
Sherk shook his head. “True, people are convinced they’re immune to distant catastrophes.”
Jack finished his sausage and coleslaw. “One day we drove to Omagh, this little town where my uncle lives, almost two hours west of Belfast. Scenery like you see in a brochure. Perfect day, sunny, mild.” He cleared his throat. “It was August, the beginning of the school year, so a lot of people were shopping for their kids. There was a carnival in the town center, so we walked around for a while, Elizabeth wanting to play all the games like tossing little sandbags into holes, stuff like that. She ended up winning a big purple bracelet.” The memory prompted a bittersweet grimace. His throat tightened.
“Take your time,” Sherk said.
Jack took a deep breath. “Then we found a pub that served food and ice cream. I was at the bar ordering beer for me and Karen, a cone for Elizabeth. The bartender was talking to some guys, telling them he’d just got word of a bomb threat at the courthouse, and they were evacuating people. I wondered if we should get the hell out, and the guy told me the building was a good distance from where we were, so he wasn’t worried. They get their share of threats.”
“Oh God,” Sherk said quietly.
Jack looked over as the front door opened and several more customers arrived, choosing a table across the room. He looked out the window at a large black dog plodding beside an elderly woman in a plain faded dress.
“I told Karen about the threat, so we practically gulped our beer and decided to head home.” Jack wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “But I needed the men’s room, so Karen said they’d wait outside on the sidewalk for me. Who would’ve guessed that my decision to use the john would be a life or death choice?”
Sherk nodded, fully aware what was coming.
Jack clenched his jaw. “Yeah, just finished washing my hands, opened the door, and that’s when it happened. A huge crash, like the earth opened up. It didn’t register what the hell it was. An earthquake? It was like I was suspended in mid-air, looking down on myself.” He wiped his brow. “Then I was in all this rubble, couldn’t walk, my legs wouldn’t work. I must’ve lost memory. Bottom line, I eventually made it outside, calling for Karen, Elizabeth. People covered in blood, the smell of something like burning rubber, and oddly enough, I later realized I’d tasted metal.”
“Sounds like a war zone,” Sherk said.
“That’s how people described it afterwards. Debris, shattered glass, bodies.” Jack looked out the window again. “I can’t remember everything, but my gut told me they were both dead. I saw Elizabeth’s—” He coughed. “Her arm was on a slab of concrete. Just—just her arm. But it was hers. She’d won the purple bracelet at the fair.”
Sherk turned pale, visibly shaken. He placed his hand on Jack’s arm. “Good Christ, Jack. You don’t need to say anymore.”
“It’s okay. Done it before.” He paused. “A good Samaritan type guy wondered who I was looking for, helped me. People all over the place, calling out for family and friends. He and I found Elizabeth and then Karen, lying face down. I turned her over, and I thought she was alive. She fluttered her eyes, and then looked right at me. I shook her, yelled, but in a second, she was gone. I tell myself I was the last thing she saw, but—”
“That’s a good thought to hang on to.” Sherk took a drink. “This happened when? Twelve years ago?”
“Almost. Twelve years this August.” Jack’s eye twitched. “Seems like a century ago.”
Sherk didn’t speak for several seconds. “Thanks for telling me. I can see how it’s taken you years to come to terms with it.”
Jack scoffed. “Yeah, shrinks and other experts talk about a ‘new normal.’ Let me tell ya something. There ain’t no new normal, or any kind of frickin’ normal.”
They sat in silence. Jack drained his beer. “I was a mess for months, hell, years. Tommy was the biggest help. I got hammered one night, called him, said it was all over. Had my gun ready.”
Sherk waited.
“He made me promise not to do anything till he came over. He damn near banged the door down before I got up and let him in. He managed to talk me out of it.”
Sherk said, “He’s a good man, your brother. And after your ordeal, I can see why people don’t want to talk about the war, losing people. Way too painful.”
“Yeah.” Jack looked around. “Tell ya, right now I’m beat, had enough. I’m ready for some fresh air.”
Sherk caught the waitress’s eye, and she came with their check.
“This is on me, Jack.”
“Thanks, pal. I’ll take it.”
Jack inhaled the mild, refreshing air as they walked out of the pub.
“Ready for a nap?” Sherk turned toward the car.
“You bet.” Jack was drained. He hadn’t purged like that since his last shrink appointment. After unloading his past on Sherk, the possibility of meeting his father’s wartime Fräulein would be a piece of cake. It was still a long shot, but what else did he have to do?
One thing was for sure; he was exhausted. Might skip his Ambien tonight.
Chapter 6
Munich, three days later
Jack awoke to rain tapping on the roof as dawn crept through the window blinds. Perhaps the rain was an omen of coming events. He could still bail out of the trip he and Sherk planned for today.
After stumbling from the bed, he snuck into the bathroom across the hall. Didn’t want to wake Sherk. He splashed cold water on his face, returned to his room, and crawled under the covers. He tried to sleep, but the call to his brother last night picked at his brain when he had updated him on the search for Ariana Schröder.
“You’ll be shocked at this,” Jack had said, “In a couple days’ time, we found out she’s still alive, and we found her address. That is, Sherk did. He jumped through all kinds of hoops, but he managed to locate her home.”
Jack told his brother about the Red Cross center, how Sherk conversed with two officials, who bent a rule or two, helping to locate Frau Schröder under the guise of a possible relative in the States trying to locate her.
“I didn’t understand all of Sherk’s negotiations and arm-twisting, but he made it look easier than I ever thought, mainly since we figured she’d have a married name. Bottom line she’s widowed, last name is Gunther. She’s eighty-seven now, lives in a nursing home in Weimar.”
Tommy sucked in his breath. “God, Jack. Never thought you’d do it. Let’s see, Pa would be what now? Ninety-two, so she’s younger. About the same age as Ma.”
Jack felt like the lead actor in a Lifetime movie. Wartime romance, forbidden love, buried secrets. He had explained to Tommy that the woman’s family had lived in the village of Dachau for years, and some relatives remained to this day. His brother hadn’t realized Dachau was a town as well as the name of the infamous concentration camp, the source of their father’s nightmares.
. . . . .
Now as dawn was breaking and rain splattering the windows, Jack grew uneasy about their plans to drive to Weimar today, stay the night, and visit the assisted living place where Ariana Schröder Gunther resided. What would he say to the woman? Would she kick him out of the room?
After breakfast Jack and Sherk took off for Weimar, a small city about 245 miles north of Munich. Jack was familiar with the term, Weimar Republic, but didn’t recall details. Knowing Sherk would have hours to enlighten him with a tutorial, he hadn’t bothered googling the place.
Damn downpour turned into a deluge. Jack hated rain. Always intensified the gloom of his life, never mind the messiness. Back home, Boone, his aging dog of blended ancestry, would track in mud on floors and furniture. No wonder Ma refused to dog sit for Jack with her new beige sofa.
They drove north on the A9, the easiest route to Weimar, passing an exit to Ingolstadt, rain relentless, pelting trees and buildings. Bending forward, Sherk squinted at blurred shadows through the windshield, wipers clacking back and forth in a frenzy. Traffic slowed down to fifty miles per hour, plenty fast for Jack.