Suitcase of Dreams

by Tania Blanchard

  ‘It’s all right, Tante Claudia,’ said Greta, taking Claudia by the arm and helping her into a chair. ‘It’s the best medical facility we have. We’ve heard good things about the unit there from those who have already been to Vietnam. One of our top nurses joined the military and she’s at Vung Tau.’ She kissed Claudia’s cheek. ‘Peter’s in good hands.’

  Franz slumped into an armchair, his skin ashen. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure, Onkel Franz. She writes regularly and she’s told us about the team and the work they do. In fact, maybe I can ask after Peter at the hospital, find out his prognosis and treatment.’

  ‘Would you do that?’ The hope on Claudia’s face nearly broke my heart.

  ‘Of course. I’ll do it tomorrow.’ Greta squeezed Claudia’s hand.

  I sat beside Claudia, putting my arm around her. She was cold as ice and shivering. ‘He’s alive and that’s good news,’ I said, shooting a concerned look to Erich.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Erich. ‘If Greta says they’re the best, then they are.’

  ‘Who’s alive?’ Ernst stood in the doorway of the lounge room, stooped and older than when I’d last seen him. His eyes and apparently his ears still missed nothing as he scrutinised the room.

  ‘Peter’s been shot,’ said Franz softly.

  ‘Hmph,’ said Ernst. ‘The boy will either live or die and if he lives, he’ll be a better man for it.’

  ‘Stop it!’ shouted Claudia. ‘Don’t speak about him like that!’

  ‘You’re just a woman who knows nothing about war.’ Ernst waved his hand dismissively, his face a mask of disgust and derision.

  ‘You have no right to speak to my wife like that. Apologise!’

  Franz hadn’t moved but I sensed that he would fly from his chair in an instant and kill his uncle if he uttered one more word. Greta was still standing next to me and I grasped her hand, wanting somehow to protect her from what I knew was coming.

  ‘I’ll do no such thing. I’m only stating the truth.’ Ernst looked smug, as if he knew that Franz would back down.

  ‘It’s true she doesn’t know about the war – and I thank God every day for that. I only wish that I could’ve protected all my family from its ugly reality. Now my son, fighting in another country’s war, is lying on a stretcher far from his family. He knows what war is now and maybe it’s time my wife knows too.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Claudia asked, bewildered.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare!’ bellowed Ernst, his eyes blazing, striding towards Franz.

  ‘Stop.’ Erich stood in front of the old man and placed a hand on his arm. ‘They’ve just received a terrible blow. Whatever you need to settle, it can wait. Come on, let’s you and me go and get a drink down at the club.’

  I tightened my grip on Greta’s hand. I could feel her trembling. ‘It’s time for you to go, my darling,’ I whispered to her. ‘Leave quietly, take my car and just go. We’ll pick it up later.’

  She looked at me, her disbelief turning to anxiety for us.

  ‘It’ll be all right. Vati and I will deal with this, but it’s not something you should see.’ I squeezed her hand and she hurried from the room without a backwards glance.

  ‘He’s not going anywhere until I’ve said my piece!’ shouted Franz, jumping from his seat.

  ‘You’ve got more to lose than I have,’ growled Ernst. He reminded me of a guard dog ready to attack.

  ‘I’ve had enough of your disrespect and controlling ways.’

  They were nose to nose, Franz’s face beetroot red with fury while Erich tried to hold Ernst back.

  ‘After everything I’ve done for you!’ cried Ernst, sidestepping Erich. ‘You’re the most ungrateful creature I’ve ever come across. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be long dead and your parents and siblings destitute and homeless.’

  ‘If it wasn’t for you, my father would have attained the acclaim of the music world that he deserved and I’d be a musician just like him. If it wasn’t for you I’d never have been forced to work with the Nazis! If it wasn’t for you, I’d never have had to watch good people I wanted to protect executed for their fight against oppression.’ Franz’s voice cracked. ‘Faces I’ve seen in my dreams every night of my life.’ His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, ready to throw the first punch. Although Ernst was still a big man, he was not as secure on his feet as he once was and I was concerned that a single punch could knock him to the ground – perhaps even kill him.

  ‘Your stupidity nearly cost you not only your life but that of your family!’ Ernst snarled.

  ‘You were only protecting your own neck! That’s why you dragged me to those camps to show me what became of those who defied Hitler and the Nazis. I can still smell the oily stench of burning bodies—’ The breath caught in Franz’s throat, face frozen in horror. ‘The only way I can try to drown out the gunshots and terrified screams is by playing the piano until I feel like I no longer exist. I was too afraid to say or do anything except what I was supposed to after that,’ Franz whispered, the fight going out of him as he sank back into his chair. ‘I couldn’t bear to have my family or even your death on my conscience.’

  The old man’s lip curled into a sneer. ‘It was the only way to bring you to heel.’

  ‘You were involved in these atrocities?’ Erich stared at Ernst in disbelief.

  ‘I was a public prosecutor. I had my orders from the ministry, nothing more.’

  ‘But then you became a judge. You had a choice. You could have saved lives.’ Franz’s voice was cold as ice.

  ‘I had no choice!’ barked Ernst. ‘I did what I had to.’

  ‘You were Nazis?’ Claudia’s voice was thin and breathless.

  ‘That’s right, my dear,’ said Ernst, standing straight and tall. ‘It was the only way to survive in those times. My position was the only thing that kept your husband and his family safe.’

  ‘What about you, Franz?’ I couldn’t bear the heartbreak in her voice.

  Franz nodded, distress etched in the features of his grey face. ‘Like all lawyers, I had to join the Party to be able to practise, and like most, I had nothing to do with Nazi politics or party workings. I worked with the public prosecutors where Onkel Ernst found me an appointment, but I saw more than enough . . . more than I ever wanted to. The fact that I did nothing about such injustice has weighed on my conscience ever since.’

  ‘But you couldn’t,’ Claudia said. ‘You tried and then were threatened with your family by your own uncle.’ Coiled as tight as a spring with the fury she’d been holding, she turned to Ernst. ‘No wonder you disappeared after the war, leaving Franz to the mercy of the occupied forces. He spent time in prison for his Nazi membership and wartime work, because of you. He seemed a broken man when I met him and I assumed it was because of his treatment by the allies.’

  I remembered denazification well. My aunt and uncle were torn from their family and flung into prison for being members of the Nazi Party, leaving their children without a mother and father. Erich and I had looked after their boys, schooling them, caring for them and loving them until their parents returned home, exonerated. But Claudia used the right words – they seemed broken and things were never the same between us again.

  Ernst just stared at her defiantly but rather than quailing under his glare, she continued with the questions she’d wanted answers to for so long.

  ‘How did you find him after all those years? Why did you ever make contact with him again? Why didn’t you just leave him alone?’

  Ernst shrugged. ‘He was like a son to me. He’s all the family I have left.’

  ‘Only because you couldn’t go back to Germany. Or maybe because nobody there wanted to know you,’ Claudia spat scornfully. ‘How did you even get into this country?’

  She sat on the edge of her seat now and I readied myself to intervene if she launched herself at the old man. I wasn’t worried about what she might do to him, but what he could do to her.

&nbs
p; ‘I’m a Spanish citizen and was for many years even before the war.’ He turned to walk away.

  ‘I doubt that very much,’ said Claudia softly.

  Franz had his head in his hands. ‘The threat has always been that he would expose me and link me to those terrible cases I was involved in, even here in Australia. I had no choice but to allow him to come and I prayed that his financial help would be enough to compensate, to make a good life for us and to make a difference in this country, but of course it never was.’

  Claudia was up more quickly than I imagined possible, to slap Ernst across the face. ‘I should hand you in,’ she hissed. ‘You’d be extradited back to Germany for your crimes.’

  ‘What, and bring your husband down with me?’ Ernst obviously still thought he had the upper hand. He rubbed his face absently and I wondered how long it had been since someone had dared to hit him or confront him about his past.

  ‘No, we won’t be handing him in,’ said Franz slowly. He rose from his chair and went to his wife’s side, taking her hand in his and looking Ernst in the eye. ‘But from this moment you’re no longer welcome in my house and I never want to speak to you as long as you live. You’re a spiteful old man who’s lost his mind and you can’t hurt me or my family any more. We’ve more important things to attend to now, so leave and don’t waste another minute of my time.’

  Ernst’s face went slack with shock and he suddenly seemed small and wizened. He nodded and walked through the lounge room door without a word. He knew he’d lost everything – his family.

  20

  Karoline died peacefully in her sleep in May 1969. Rudi said that it was most likely that she’d had a stroke. We knew that one day we’d have to face this moment but it was still a shock when it came. She was in her mid-eighties after all. Erich was calm and composed but I knew how much he was hurting. His mother was his last link to his family, his last link to Germany. They had been reminiscing in the days prior to her death, as if she knew what was coming and wanted to impart to him all she could before she went.

  Her funeral was attended by all our friends and associates, even some of Erich’s closest customers, including Julius Berlowitz, and Mutti and Rudi of course. However, I knew Erich missed his other children on the other side of the world.

  ‘They should be here with their children,’ he said sadly as we walked towards the burial site. There was nothing I could do except make sure Greta and Johanna were on either side of him to give him the support he needed. We’d have to book that trip back to Germany soon, I realised.

  I took comfort in having our girls with us, all together for the first time in a while. They were sad and spoke in low whispers about their childhood memories of Karoline. I was surprised that they remembered as much as they did – the loft room she’d had in Illesheim; the way the girls used to snuggle under the eiderdown with her; the walks to and from school with her; the prayers she had taught them to recite.

  I couldn’t help but smile as the girls’ memories took me back to those days. Karoline and I hadn’t always been on good terms and for the longest time I had wondered how much she blamed me for the loss of his family.

  But when she’d joined us in Australia, I came to appreciate her insights, her wisdom and her calm strength.

  ‘I want the best for you,’ she’d told me one bright afternoon after she’d come to inspect my painting. ‘You’ve got so much to give to the world. Don’t hide your light under a bushel.’

  I hadn’t known what to say, overcome with emotion as I was, and so I had hugged her and kissed the top of her head.

  I was going to miss her. To honour her I vowed not to be discouraged by the early attempts at my new style of realistic photography. I would continue with my painting, improve upon it and see how far I could take it.

  As Erich and I walked back to the car, arm in arm, I felt him shiver.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said quickly. He glanced back at his mother’s burial plot. ‘It’s just this place.’

  I kissed his cheek. It was cold as ice. ‘Come on, let’s go and celebrate your mother’s life.’

  It was quiet in the new house without Karoline, despite Erich’s business flourishing and the constant activity at the back of the house. The work shed was complete, with a display room for Erich’s furniture pieces where customers often came, and there seemed endless deliveries of timber coming in and furniture going out. I spent much of my spare time in my small studio and darkroom, where Erich had ensured I had everything I needed to get started: easels, canvases, brushes, paper, painting supplies and basic photo-developing equipment. No expense had been spared.

  Despite our busy life, I knew that thoughts of Germany rested heavily on Erich’s mind since the passing of his mother.

  ‘Let’s plan that trip back to Germany,’ I said lightly one afternoon as we sat on the back verandah.

  ‘We will.’ He stared into the gathering shadows, drinking beer from the bottle. I had some in a glass on the small circular table next to me.

  ‘I mean it, Erich. We can afford it now. Let’s go after our twenty-fifth anniversary – just you and me.’

  He looked at me then, brows furrowed. ‘I don’t know. That’s too far in the future to plan. Who knows what I’ll have on?’

  ‘These things need planning in advance. We can figure out the cost and begin saving. Besides, you can work around it. We don’t have to be away too long.’ I placed my hand on his sun-kissed arm. ‘I know you’ve wanted to do this for so long and now with your mother gone and the girls settled, I think it’s time. You’ve got five grandchildren that you’ve never seen and they’re growing up too fast.’

  He seemed to deflate, as if a valve had been released, letting go of a worry he’d been holding for so long. ‘It’s never been the right time . . . and I’ve missed so much.’ The light sparkled in his eyes once again. I could almost see his brain ticking over, racing through the plans he wanted to make. ‘All right, let’s do it. Maybe we could look at house prices while we’re there. I wouldn’t mind buying something when the market’s right, so we can go and visit whenever we want and bring the girls, without inconveniencing anyone.’

  I couldn’t help but grin. It wasn’t a bad idea and his excitement was infectious.

  ‘We could take the girls, remind them of their cultural heritage . . . and their children too, one day, to show them where we all came from.’

  ‘Exactly! Look into going to Paris and France on the way home. I always wanted to take you there. Call it a late anniversary celebration.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘We deserve a romantic holiday, and I know how much you love Paris.’

  ‘You do?’ I looked at him in surprise.

  ‘I remember you telling me during the war, and I gave you that scarf from Paris for Christmas.’

  ‘My last Christmas at home,’ I said, thinking of that Christmas Eve at my parents’ apartment. My parents had done their best to make it special, using their connections and saving rations to bring the Christmas spirit to our table. That was when he had presented me with the blue silk scarf and I couldn’t deny to myself any longer how in love I was with him.

  ‘I know. A scarf was all I could give you then but now I can finally take you there.’

  ‘I love you.’ I leant in to kiss him.

  Erich and I were on our own much of the time these days. We had this beautiful new home with enough bedrooms for everyone, an indoor bathroom with shower and bath, thick carpet throughout except for the kitchen, which had lovely slate floor tiles, and a spacious lounge and dining area. But there was nobody to enjoy it except for us. Johanna still lived at home but she was hardly there, either at university or with Peter. He was back in Australia, recuperating from his injuries and soon to be discharged from the army. He wasn’t going back to Vietnam. Although his condition had been life-threatening with a collapsed lung and terrible abdominal injuries as well as a shattered thigh, he had recovered well and ta
lked now about returning to music.

  Greta had kept Claudia and Franz informed of every development and even now visited Peter whenever she could, reminding him to take deep breaths and pushing him to slowly increase his gentle exercise regime. She was a very good nurse but more than that, she was compassionate and caring and understood how the trauma and healing process might affect him. I’d been so worried about Johanna and it was Greta who’d buoyed her during those weeks before Peter returned home, prepared her for what she would find. I was never so proud of my girls as I was during that crisis.

  Occasionally I accompanied Johanna and Peter on their daily walks along the country lanes, fennel fronds tickling my ankles as we looked over the calm green pastures of the surrounding farms. It must have seemed strange to Peter after what he’d seen, another world perhaps, but he seemed content enough. He and Johanna were companionable and comfortable with each other as always but I didn’t see the spark that had been there before he left for Vietnam. Perhaps it was too soon after his injuries and the trauma he’d suffered, but I feared that the war had changed him and neither of them knew how to deal with that. My heart ached. A painful path lay ahead of them.

  Franz’s deep melancholy had lifted with Ernst’s departure and Peter’s return. His law practice was doing well and he was excited that Anna planned to join him when she’d finished her studies and gained a little experience. Claudia helped Franz in the office, but she was more passionate than ever about bringing our soldiers home from Vietnam, fighting to end conscription and the destruction of young lives. She spent much of her time speaking about her experiences with Peter, lobbying and helping plan demonstrations with Save Our Sons. Much to her relief, Ernst had not made contact. They’d heard that he was staying with an old colleague from the factory but that he’d been unwell.

  I called into Mutti’s the day that man landed on the moon. We’d had the radio on at the studio all day, hearing progress reports of the Apollo 11 mission, but I wanted to share this incredible moment with someone special. I didn’t have time to go all the way home and Mutti was just down the street. She prepared a light lunch for us but we were soon glued to the screen of her small black and white TV. I sat on the edge of the lounge, rigid with anticipation, while Mutti fidgeted in her seat. Finally we saw images of Neil Armstrong climbing down the ladder of the Eagle.