by Doug Raber
I didn’t know Cynthia’s telephone number, but she’d told me the name of the street in Boston where she was renting an apartment. Consequently, a single conversation with directory assistance was all I needed. I gave the information to Dave the next day.
He didn’t say anything about it for a few weeks, but then he came up to me one day, all happy and excited.
“I talked to her, Timothy. She said she’d come up for a weekend.”
“When?”
“Not this spring. It’s too close to the end of the term. But she said she’d come up in the fall. Maybe for homecoming. She said she had to check her work calendar. But she’s coming. It’s all really great, Timothy. Thanks for setting it up.”
We didn’t talk about it again that spring, and I didn’t see either him or Cynthia during the summer.
* * *
17
Junior Year
My junior year in college seemed very different. I didn’t move back into my dorm that fall, because I was already there. I’d been in Hanover for the preceding months, part of a requirement that all students enroll for the summer term following their sophomore year.
I’d managed to get to Martha’s Vineyard for almost two weeks before the fall term started, but I was greatly disappointed to learn that Cynthia had been there the two weeks before that. We had missed each other by a day.
At this stage of my education, I had chosen government as my major, a specialization that many other colleges call political science. Uncle Christopher had given me extensive advice on the topic, and we had agreed that it would provide excellent training for my career. At the same time, he cautioned me that a after I graduated with a bachelor’s degree, either law school or an MBA program would likely be a prerequisite for success in what he called the real world. I told him I would accept his advice.
One outgrowth of my required sophomore summer in Hanover was the opportunity for an off-campus term of study during my junior year. I had also discussed this with my Uncle Christopher, and at his suggestion, I decided not only to go off campus but to go overseas. And not just for one term, but to do this for my spring term and then remain overseas for the entire summer.
“Timothy,” he had said, “the economic future will be to the east. This scourge of communism cannot last forever, and the economic opportunities will be vast. Eventually, they will extend all the way to China, but in the near term, when your career will blossom, Europe is the place. The economies of Western Europe have already recovered from the war, especially that of West Germany. But there is no doubt the East will follow. East Germany, Hungary, Czechoslovakia. Those countries will offer opportunity for you.”
So, we decided on Germany. Not any specific place at that point, but the country. And it meant that my academic focus would expand beyond the study of governments into the study of their languages. I had previously taken German courses in prep school, and another course in my freshman year had fulfilled the language requirement at Dartmouth. My new goal was not to meet some arbitrary demand but to gain fluency.
• • • • •
On the Friday afternoon of homecoming weekend, I was in my favorite study corner in the fraternity house, with a tape recorder and a set of headphones, practicing my vocabulary and pronunciation. A hand on my shoulder startled me, and I took the headphones off. It was Dave.
“Hey. What’s up? Did Cynthia get here okay?”
I knew this was the weekend they had long planned, and he’d been talking about it since the term started.
“She did. And you know what, Timothy. She’s even prettier than I remembered. And smart. I hope she likes me, too.”
“Sure, she will, Dave. What’s not to like?”
“We’ll see. But right now, I need a favor.”
“Of course. What can I do?”
“I have a last-minute planning meeting for the bonfire.”
The homecoming bonfire was a long tradition, and the construction was almost as impressive as the fire itself. Freshman carried out the building process, placing hexagonal tiers of railroad ties atop each other until the year of their class was reached. This year’s structure would be well above seventy tiers.
“So, while I’m at the meeting, would you walk Cynthia back to the Inn? She’s staying there.”
“I’d be glad to, Dave. When?”
“Now.”
“You got it.”
I threw my books, recorder, and headphones into my bookbag.
“Thanks, Timothy. There aren’t many other people I’d trust to look after her. Even some of the other fraternity brothers would probably try to put the moves on her.”
I didn’t respond to his last comment.
“She’s waiting for us in the living room. Let’s go.”
She jumped up when she saw us.
“Timothy!” she cried. “How have you been? It’s been ages. A year at least.”
She ran up and hugged me.
“I’m doing okay, Cynthia. You look good. And it’s only been six months.”
“You’re such a scold. But I don’t mind. You’re still my favorite cousin. Grab my bag, and let’s go.”
I picked up her weekend bag, and we walked toward the door.
“My meeting should only be an hour or so, Cynthia. It’s four now, so I’ll pick you up at six. Then we can go out to dinner.”
“That sounds nice, Dave.”
She walked back to him and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’ll be fine. Timothy will take good care of me.”
We walked around edge of the Green, the direct route across having been blocked off by the bonfire structure. I told her I would be spending spring and summer terms in Europe, and she talked about her new job.
“I can’t say too much, Tim. It’s all a little hush-hush. Uncle Christopher’s firm has a contract with a place called MITRE, and they do all kinds of defense work. It all started with radar research during the Second World War, so that’s about all I can tell you. But it’s exciting, and I get to travel. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even get to Germany while you’re there.”
When we reached the Hanover Inn, I waited to the side while she checked in. When the bellman came to take her bag, she waved him off.
“Oh, no thanks. My cousin will carry it up for me.”
When we reached her room, she said, “Come on it for a couple of minutes. We can talk while I unpack.”
I sat in a chair while she put her things into a dresser. She managed her old trick of embarrassing me, when she pulled matching bra and panties from the suitcase and held them up.
“What do you think, Tim. Sexy enough?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just shrugged.
Her next move didn’t cause me any embarrassment. Only astonishment. She unzipped her jeans and let them fall to the floor as she unbuttoned her blouse.
“Come over here and help me with this, Tim.”
I did as she asked. And then she undid my shirt and jeans. It only took a few more seconds before we were pawing at each other with abandon. When I unhooked her bra and caressed her, I felt a surge of delight pass through me like a jolt of electricity.
“What about Dave?” I mumbled.
“Not to worry. He won’t be here for an hour and a half. It won’t take us that long.”
It didn’t. At least not our first time. I started to get up from the bed, but she wouldn’t let me.
“No, Tim. Don’t go. Stay with me. Once more. Please. I need it. I need you.”
I again did as she asked. Or more accurately, I did as she instructed. When I finally left, it was almost six o’clock, and I was sure Dave would be arriving in the hotel lobby at any second. So, I used the stairs and went out through the side door of the Inn. I didn’t see Dave, and I took a circuitous route to go back to the fraternity house. I retrieved my book bag, and I stayed away for the rest of the weekend.
We never spent any time talking about it. In fact, the only mention came one day the following week when I ran into Dave.
“Just wanted to say thanks again for taking care of Cynthia. It’s good to have someone you can really trust.”
• • • • •
What concerned me most about leaving for Germany in the spring term was the impact it would have on the sailing team. In my one full season the prior year, I had fully established my bona fides, and there I was, preparing to abandon my teammates just as the year’s competition would begin. I could only assume that they would find someone would step in and attempt to take my place.
Toward the end of winter term, I was slowly becoming satisfied with my proficiency in German. I had no doubt that I could communicate, but I was keenly aware of how exchange students from other countries sounded in their attempts to speak English. My instructors assured me, however, that my progress had been sufficient that I would swiftly gain proficiency with the idiom, once I took up my residence overseas.
Probably the most significant event of the year occurred just as the winter term ended. I had finished my exams and was packing my things in preparation for my trip. It was an unhurried time, and I spent several afternoons relaxing at the fraternity. On one of those days, I was reading a book, when I heard a feminine voice. I glanced up to see the reddish-blond hair. It was Cynthia. She was with Dave.
“Timothy! Hey. You look great. It’s been ages. Last October, right?”
I stood, and she gave me a polite hug.
“Hi, Cynthia. It’s good to see you. Hey, Dave. You all finished with exams?”
“Yeah. All done.”
There was an awkward pause when none of us said anything. Then Dave spoke.
“We have something to tell you about.”
The sensation that swept through my body was not one of joy.
“Sure, what is it?”
Cynthia didn’t allow him to respond.
“We’re getting married, Timothy. This summer.”
I forced myself to respond.
“Oh … That’s great! I mean, it’s super.”
“And we have a request,” Dave added.
“Of course. What is it?”
“We want you to be part of the wedding. I want you to be my best man. You’ll be back in the States. The wedding will be in September, just when you come back to Dartmouth.”
Cynthia chimed in.
“We both want it. You’re his little brother, and you’re my kissing cousin.”
Quietly, leaning in and talking only to me, perhaps not even speaking aloud, she whispered, “and much more than that.”
* * *
18
Europe
It was a cold, gray morning when my plane landed in Frankfurt, West Germany. I had managed a nap during the flight, but I was exhausted. Everyone had warned me about the jet lag.
After retrieving my suitcase and duffel bag and clearing passport control and customs, I found a place in the airport to get a cup of coffee. Either my German was good enough, or maybe they were just used to foreign travelers, but I got my coffee and a pastry without difficulty. I even understood the amount when the man behind the counter told me the price.
I found a vacant seat in a cluster of small tables to drink my coffee and pore through my guidebook. I looked above me at all the signs directing travelers to baggage claim, the welcome area, and various departure gates. I was in a fog, but it cleared instantly when I saw the sign for the train station. The train would take me directly to the city’s main station, and from there I would travel to my destination.
In spite of my near exhaustion, the trip that morning was an epiphany. I found that traveling by rail allowed me to relax while continuing to learn new things at an astonishing rate. Not only that, it allowed me to develop my personal tradecraft of spying to a new level.
You will recall that this was a time in history when haircuts had grown longer for men. My own preference was not for hair that came down to my shoulders, but certainly it extended below my ears. I was neat but relatively fashionable. This would be of no significance, except that I was suddenly situated in a foreign country.
The first part of my discovery came quite by accident, and surely because I was so tired. When the conductor came through our car, he asked me for my ticket, and I didn’t hear his words clearly. Consequently, my response was both confused and poorly phrased, and it was obviously spoken with an accent that identified me as non-German, as an Auslander.
The next step on this path of discovery was the assumption made by the conductor. He knew I was a foreigner, and my accent was recognizable as that of a native English speaker. But my haircut caused him to assume I was from England, because being an American in West Germany at that time generally would have meant that I was part of the military force that had been based there since the end of World War II. And American soldiers had short haircuts.
Quickly enough, his inaccurate conclusion was revised. I presented my ticket, which was a rail pass that required my passport for verification. His surprise at seeing my nationality confirmed all my preliminary conclusions, and for the duration of my time in Europe, I found that the combination of my appearance and a few intentional errors in my spoken German could allow me to become invisible. People saw a nonthreatening Englishman who did not understand what they were saying. They spoke to each other as though I weren’t there, and I could understand every word. It was a technique I would put to good use over the years.
The train trip through the Bavarian countryside was fascinating. Green fields of early spring, low mountainsides covered with grapevines to the north side near Würzburg at the heart of the Franconian wine region. We sped past beautiful old buildings from the prior century, and everywhere I saw signs of a country that had recovered from the devastation of war.
After a transfer to a yet another train, I arrived in Erlangen in the middle of the day. Carrying a heavy suitcase and my duffel bag, I found my way to the nearby university where I would be studying, the Friedrich-Alexander-Universität Erlangen-Nürnberg. A helpful assistant at the political science department directed me to the several offices where my paperwork would be scrutinized, recorded, and stamped. More important, she gave me directions to the housing I had arranged for the next five months.
Within a week, I felt at home. It was much like my freshman year at Dartmouth, in that my complete isolation provided an enormous sense of freedom. I had only a few classroom sessions each week along with several seminars or other lectures that I would attend. The rest of the time was mine to use as I chose.
The goal was to learn. Everything I did was new and completely different from my experience in the United States. The food, the public transportation, the language, … everything. Consequently, I focused my attention and my activities in such ways that I would I always be learning.
This led to a somewhat limited social life, at least in the sense of interactions with women. I had no time for discos and pop music. Such frivolity was far less attractive to me than spending long evenings at a table in a local tavern or beer hall. Those were in many ways educational rather than social occasions. The relative merits and weaknesses of capitalism and communism might take center stage for an extended discussion that required considerable consumption of beer and cigarettes. The topics were not always so clear-cut in their differences, however, and we could as easily spend the night debating the proper role of government in a free-market economy.
• • • • •
West German universities were well ahead of American institutions with respect to female students. At Dartmouth, coeducation was sufficiently new that many still considered it to be an experiment. In contrast, my cohort in Erlangen was much closer to an equal mix of men and women, and the latter were full participants in our fervid, alcohol-fueled debates.
One evening, which I can identify by the circumstances as a Thursday, I was engaged in a particularly intense discussion with a girl named Liese. I no longer remember her last name, nor do I recall the exact topic of our deliberations. What I do remember vividly was her sudden c
hange from the topic at hand.
“Timothy,” she said earnestly, the alcohol blurring either her eyes or my vision. She pronounced my name in the German way, with hard consonants replacing the soft combination of “t” and “h” to which we are accustomed. So, it came out more like “teem-oh-tee” when she said it. Although I normally discouraged it, she spoke in English.
“Timothy, your speaking in German is better now than it was when you came to Erlangen. But it is not yet so good as what you would like. You must learn how better to speak it.”
I nodded.
“How should I go about it, Liese? Isn’t this the best way? Speaking German all the time, just as we were doing tonight?”
“It is good. Yes. But not enough. You must speak more clearly with your idioms.”
“How do I do that?”
We were both struggling to avoid slurring our words, regardless of the language.
“There is a way called language immersion. Sprache Immersion.”
“But that’s exactly why I always want everyone to speak German. So that I will be immersed in it.”
“Ja. But it is not enough. I have a plan.”
“Tell me.”
“You should immerse with me. An entire weekend. Starting tomorrow. We go in my car out to an isolated place, and we stay in a country inn in a small village. No English. Not from me, and certainly not from the villagers. They do not understand any English.”
It was not until the next day that I understood what I had agreed to. It was more than words, but Liese was right. In the three days we spent together, we were inseparable. She insisted on that, even to the extent that I thought I had completely lost my privacy. We ate breakfast together, we went on walks together, we had dinner together, and we bathed together. And, of course, we slept together.
No English was permitted by Liese, and my German vocabulary probably increased more during that interval than during any other period of time in in my European experience. I discovered the vernacular of rural Germany, and she introduced me to the sophisticated argot of academics that others had avoided in an effort to make things easier for me. She exposed me to new expressions and intimate words, combining the words with physical perspectives, sensations, and aspects of our consciousness that are never presented in the academic curriculum.