While the World Is Still Asleep (The Century Trilogy Book 1)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  The Rose Ball ended like every other ball: Isabelle danced and flirted and successfully fended off her potential suitors. And her father’s mood did not improve in the slightest.

  In Schmied-the-Smith’s workshop, there was less work than in previous years. There were a number of reasons for this: Some of his customers had deserted to the competition. The drivers of the post coach and the local cabs weren’t exactly sensitive souls, but Schmied-the-Smith’s surly attitude had become too much even for them. And several private individuals had either sold their horses or taken them to the butcher. Why go to all the trouble of taking care of a horse if one could get from Point A to Point B more cheaply and comfortably by tram or cab? And then there were all the cyclists . . .

  “Oskar Reutter has taken up riding one of them boneshakers, too! That’s why he sold that pretty team of his. With customers like him, I might as well close up shop tomorrow,” the smith grumbled, when he saw the emporium owner cycle past the smithy one day. He glared at the businessman as he pedaled slowly by.

  Jo waved to her former traveling companion. “I think it’s good that a man like Oskar Reutter has found a passion for cycling,” she said, knowing full well that she was only provoking her father by talking that way. “If you ask me, we could use more cyclists on the road. They liven up the streets, don’t you think?”

  She saw his hand coming and grabbed hold of his wrist before the blow landed.

  “Don’t you ever hit me again,” she said, quietly but firmly. She was quaking on the inside, but she forced herself to look her father in the eye. “Felix is dead! And it doesn’t matter how horribly you treat me, you can’t change that. I will never, ever forgive myself for not staying home with him. I made a mistake. But his death was God’s will, not mine! If you want to spend the rest of your days blaming me, I can’t do anything about it. But if I’m supposed to go on working for you, I ask that you at least treat me decently.”

  Her father had listened to her outburst in silence.

  “Decently! Give me the hammer,” he growled and turned away.

  “You’d think you’d have learned something about humility, given the things you’ve done. Instead, you talk back to your father with an arrogance that would make God blush. But I’ll tell you this, God’s punishment will come,” said Josephine’s mother that evening, as she scrubbed an iron pot with a coarse brush. She was shaking with anger as she glared at her daughter.

  Josephine returned her mother’s look, unmoved.

  “I will take God’s punishment when it’s due. But I will no longer accept Father striking me for nothing—for nothing!—or humiliating me in front of customers. If it happens again, then you can look for another dullard to work herself to death for you for free. I’ll walk out on the spot!” Without another word, Josephine left the kitchen.

  As 1890 came to a close and the New Year began, Clara started working in the pharmacy. When the weather began to warm up in the spring, Josephine asked Clara whether she would like to go out riding with Isabelle on one of their early morning outings. But Clara shook her head. She had more important things to do. Like thinking about the best combination of scents for soap, for example. She didn’t understand her friends’ ongoing obsession with such lunacy as cycling.

  The summer of 1891 was a carefree, happy time. Josephine and Isabelle met at the gate to the Herrenhus villa in the early morning as often as they could. Now, when they saw each other in men’s clothes in the pallid predawn light, they no longer giggled or teased each other. Their fathers’ fusty old pants and jackets gave them the freedom to ride through the city incognito. They eventually began hiding the clothes where they would always be handy, behind a pile of junk in the same shed as the bicycles. If Isabelle had been to a social event the night before and was too tired to go out riding so early in the morning, she always left the gate ajar so that Josephine could get into the shed alone.

  Jo had become so attached to Moritz Herrenhus’s Rover that she now almost considered the bicycle to be her own. Her sense of ownership was only reinforced by the fact that Herrenhus was too busy to ride the bicycle himself.

  In the early days, she had only cared about the act of cycling itself. Now, though, she often found herself crouched beside the Rover for a few minutes, trying to work out the mechanics behind the machine. The drive mechanism struck her as an engineering marvel, and she was captivated by the ingenious steering mechanism that started at the handlebars and ended down below at the head of the forks. Who had invented such a thing?

  When she asked Isabelle whether the factory that made the Rover had supplied them with some sort of description along with the bicycle, Isabelle told her, “It actually came with quite a thick booklet, with descriptions of all the parts and a lot more. The text is all in English, though. And Father keeps it in his office with all his other paperwork, so I can’t get my hands on it, if that’s your question.”

  Josephine frowned. “Do you have any idea where else I could find a book or some sort of brochure about bicycles?”

  “If there’s anything about cycling in print, you’re most likely to find it at the big bookstore on Alexanderplatz.”

  Josephine had not so much as opened a book since her time in the Black Forest, and she had never been inside a bookstore in her life. But she was now determined to visit the one on Alexanderplatz as soon as she could get there. Cycling was a wonderful thing. But there was more to it than just riding, and that had begun to interest her just as much.

  “It’s so ugly here. Everything’s just different shades of gray,” said Isabelle as they rode through the Stralau district one morning. It was July, and the day promised to be hot. It had not rained for almost two weeks, and the ground and air were parched and dusty. “Not a bit of green anywhere. And there aren’t any shops, or even a workshop. And there’s all these grim-looking characters loitering about. If you ask me, it’s spooky.”

  “Those people aren’t loitering about. They live here. And they have to work very hard to get by,” said Josephine, with unaccustomed passion. She had a tremendous respect for working-class people. She pointed with her chin toward the multistory tenements where factory workers lived in cramped quarters. With dour faces and hunched shoulders, they were making their way to the factories, casting the girls on their boneshakers hostile glances as they passed.

  “Whatever,” Isabelle replied. She was pedaling hard, and it was clear she wanted to get out of this bleak neighborhood as quickly as she could. “What if we have a breakdown here? They look so unfriendly they’d probably stone us.”

  “First, the bicycles are so well made that we haven’t had any breakdowns yet. And if a screw were to come loose, you wouldn’t need to worry. I’ve brought tools along. I can take care of any minor repairs myself,” said Jo with confidence, although she desperately hoped that her father would not notice the missing tools—and that they would be the right ones in an emergency.

  “Since you’re part of the working class, I’m not surprised you like these places,” said Isabelle, who was evidently in a quarrelsome mood. “But don’t expect me to get my hands dirty. I’d much rather cycle past the fancy houses in the elegant parts of town. The streets are much cleaner and in better condition. We wouldn’t have to worry about ripped-out cobblestones or the ruts left by the heavy wagons. Then I could show you where the rich people live.”

  I couldn’t care less about that, thought Josephine, but she said instead, in a conciliatory tone, “Let’s take a detour through the zoo.”

  Isabelle’s expression brightened instantly. While most of the city still slumbered, the wildlife behind the walls of Berlin’s famous zoo was already wide awake. The shrill cries of birds, trumpeting of elephants, and animal noises that Josephine could not ascribe to any particular beast pierced the morning air. The place smelled of hay and adventure.

  “Let’s see if there’s a hole in the fence somewhere. If there is, we can sneak inside and pay the elephants a visit.”

  Josephine
sighed. It was not the first time Isabelle had come up with an idea for a daring escapade. Sometimes, riding wasn’t enough for her. For Jo, though, such skylarking was pointless. She would much rather use the little time they had for cycling.

  “It’s amazing how free it makes you feel, isn’t it? It’s like you don’t have a care in the world,” Isabelle said as they approached the zoo, and there was a kind of awe in her voice.

  Jo nodded. She knew exactly how her friend felt as the world flew past.

  They did, in fact, find a hole in the fence of the Zoological Garden. Isabelle, who was a little shorter than Josephine, slipped through first and did a little joyful dance on the other side. When Josephine tried to follow her, she caught herself on a broken wire and ended up with a bloody arm and elbow. She waved it off as little more than a scratch, but they decided to postpone their visit to the elephants.

  By the time they reached the Herrenhus house, the open wound was throbbing and prickling uncomfortably.

  “Hurry,” said Jo. “I want to get home quickly and clean my arm.”

  Isabelle was about to push open the gate when it was pulled open suddenly from inside. Her father stood before them in a checked vest that he’d had specially made for cycling. He glared at the two young women.

  “Just as I thought!” Although he began quietly he grew louder, and Josephine could hear the anger in his voice.

  “Father . . .” The last drop of blood drained from Isabelle’s face.

  He took a deep breath. “Just this once, I decide to treat myself to a well-earned ride on my Rover, and what do I find when I open the shed? Yawning emptiness and a pile of women’s clothes! I thought my eyes were deceiving me. Didn’t I expressly forbid you from riding the bicycles? And out on the street at that! As if that’s not enough, you decide to dress up in this . . . ridiculous way! That is the absolute height of impudence,” he ranted. Windows opened along the street, and a few curious faces appeared in them. Herrenhus grabbed the girls by the arm and dragged them inside the gate.

  “I want an explanation. On the spot!” he snarled as soon as the gate was closed.

  But apart from a whimper, Isabelle could say nothing.

  Jo’s bleeding arm was forgotten, and with the courage of desperation, she cleared her throat. “It’s . . . not what you think. Isabelle and I, we . . .” Her mouth was so dry that her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. Oh, dear Lord, please find me an excuse!

  “Isabelle told me that you’re celebrating an important birthday at the start of August. And I suddenly had an idea for a very special surprise.” The words began pouring from her mouth. She sensed Isabelle’s horrified eyes on her, but she didn’t stop. “Your daughter and I have been rehearsing a little . . . play. About two wheelmen. It seemed appropriate since you are so taken by cycling. We’ve been practicing in secret, not here in the yard where you would see everything. We wanted to surprise you and your guests, didn’t we, Isabelle?”

  Isabelle stood wide-eyed in amazement. But she nodded hurriedly. “I thought Josephine’s idea was wonderful,” she said with a slight tremble in her voice. “Because you do so much for me, and I’m so infinitely grateful to you for all of it.”

  The angry furrows in Moritz Herrenhus’s forehead deepened. He did not look satisfied with their explanation.

  “I’m also very grateful,” Jo added. A little moisture was gradually returning to her mouth, and the words came more easily. “Now you’ve caught us in the act . . .”

  “And our surprise is no longer a surprise,” Isabelle added, and promptly burst into tears.

  Josephine felt a lump form in her throat, and tears started flowing down her own cheeks. Their morning rides were over. It was all over . . .

  “I ought to tan your hides. But if things really are as you say, then you didn’t mean any harm. Still . . . that has to be the stupidest idea I’ve heard in a long time. Isabelle!” he growled at his daughter. “How could you even think that I would let you dress up in front of my guests in this . . . costume?” He gestured toward her outfit as he spoke.

  “You wouldn’t? It was meant to be funny,” said Isabelle in a quiet voice.

  “If your friend wants to dress up as a clown, I would certainly find it amusing. And it would no doubt be wonderfully entertaining for our guests. But your mother would bite my head off. She likes things to be stylish, you know that.” He actually sounded a little disappointed. Then he clapped his hands. “Enough of this monkeying around. Let’s get the bicycles back in the shed. And don’t let me ever catch you out here again! Isabelle, I want you decently dressed and in the salon in ten minutes. I’d like a word with you about yesterday evening. You disappointed me yet again . . .”

  Isabelle and Josephine exchanged a relieved look. They’d gotten away with it! Then Isabelle trudged away behind her father, her head down.

  “You wanted to break into the zoo? That’s how you injured your arm? And then Moritz Herrenhus caught you?!” Clara stopped in the middle of applying ointment to Jo’s elbow and looked at her friend in disbelief.

  Jo nodded unhappily.

  “You’re even crazier than I thought.” Clara slammed the ointment pot angrily onto the round table in front of her window. “And here I am mixing up a healing ointment for you!” With her lips pressed together tightly, she wiped her hands on a white cloth. “You can treat your own wounds in the future.”

  “Oh, don’t be like this,” Jo pleaded. She rolled the sleeve of her blouse carefully over her injured elbow. “All our fun with the bicycles is over and done. At least for now. I could scream when I think about it.”

  “Fun! Is that all that matters to you? With all the fun you’re having, have you forgotten how to tell the difference between right and wrong?” Clara began counting off Jo’s sins on her fingers. “You lie to your parents. You ‘borrow’ Moritz Herrenhus’s bicycle. You dress up as a man. You ride a bicycle through the city, which is clearly something for men! And then you break into the zoo! If you ask me, it’s outrageous!”

  Jo could not remember Clara ever being so angry at her. “I know that what I’m doing isn’t right. But I’m not doing anyone any harm. Moritz Herrenhus’s bicycle was standing around, unridden, for months. How were we supposed to know he’d suddenly get it into his head to go for a ride?” She took Clara’s hands and squeezed them. “Please try to understand. The moment I sit on a bicycle, all the anger and strain of my life at home simply vanishes. And the feeling of freedom . . . All these years, my life has been limited to our little street. Thanks to the bicycle, the world has suddenly become limitless.”

  Her eyes swept across Clara’s desk, which was piled with heavy books: Handbook of Modern Pharmacology, Toxic Diseases of the Skin and Their Treatment, and several more—Clara seemed to be taking her work in the pharmacy very seriously indeed. Just a few weeks earlier, Josephine would have teased her friend, but now she could understand her hunger for knowledge. She thought of her visit to the bookstore that Isabelle had recommended. She had found one book in there about competitive cycling. It was almost two hundred pages, packed with illustrations and exciting information—she would have given anything to be able to walk out with it. The bookseller had proudly explained to her that an academic publishing house in Munich had just released it, and he asked if she wanted to buy it for her father. Jo had simply nodded and asked about the price. Afterward, she had crept out of the store like a beaten dog. She had never considered how much books cost. She would have to save her tips for a very long time to be able to afford it . . .

  “Limitless freedom! Don’t make me laugh. Your freedom disappears the moment the sun rises and the city wakes up,” Clara said, jolting Jo out of her thoughts. Clara pressed the pot of ointment and a rolled bandage into her hand.

  “I’m worried about you. Really. When I see the dark rings under your eyes, it scares me. But it’s no wonder, considering how little sleep you’ve had in the last few weeks, on top of all your hard work in the smithy. Sooner or l
ater, you’ll be so exhausted you won’t be able to concentrate properly, and you’ll have a serious accident. Maybe at work, maybe on the bicycle. What then? Frankly, I’m relieved that you can’t go out riding again.”

  “I feel better than I ever have before,” Jo answered defiantly. “And as far as the smithy is concerned, I may not be there much longer. I have plans of my own . . .”

  Clara raised her eyebrows. “Oh yes?”

  Josephine nodded toward the stack of books. “You’re not the only one with a hankering to learn.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The following evening, Josephine headed out the door as soon as she’d finished work and went in search of Oskar Reutter, who was just closing up his emporium. She helped him carry in the baskets of small items that stood in rows on the sidewalk in front of the store, then took a look around inside. She pointed to the shelves in the back that held various small appliances and gadgets—cameras, alarm clocks, kitchen helpers, and the like.

  “Who repairs all these things?” she asked.

  “Why? Do you have something that needs to be repaired? I can’t remember your parents ever coming in here.”

  Jo laughed. “No, it’s that . . . I’m interested in how mechanical things work myself.”

  “Mechanical things.” Oskar Reutter frowned. But if he found her statement curious, he did not let on. “Well, if something on a grandfather clock or some other clock breaks, you’d normally take it to a mechanic. For the more complicated timepieces, it’s a little different. In that case, you’d be better off going to a good watchmaker.” The emporium owner stepped over to a shelf and took down a black, boxlike device. “To repair a transformer like this would require an electrician. And if you’re talking about optical equipment, then you’d want to speak to someone skilled in precision mechanics.”