Any Survivors (2008)

by Freud, Martin

  I knew that he was only trying to aggravate me but my patience was at breaking point. I jumped up and slapped him round the face. Even though he was twice my size, and twice as strong, he was sluggishly slow to retaliate due to his weight. He lunged out at me but I used my proven tactic of evasion and ducked. His punch hit thin air. The Student tried to come between us and a bit of a riot ensued. The hotel we were staying in was not suited to engaging in rough conflict between friends. The hallway was being patrolled and our little scuffle had only just begun when our dear Ehrenkavalier from earlier was at the door.

  ‘At last, about time!’ he said. ‘I was beginning to give up any hope that you guests might get up to something. You all seemed as tame as lambs and that could well have cost me my job. My role is to intervene in such cases. Not in the manner of a policeman – anyone could do that – but rather in a mild, diplomatic fashion as only someone of my standing could. I am impressed with you three. You have my respect. Not only have you begun to demolish the building and started to kill each other, but also by the looks of it, you have just robbed a bank!’ My 1,000 marks in large notes were still lying on the table. I quickly pocketed the money.

  ‘If you look out the window, lieutenant, you might still be able to see the reason for our distress,’ was my quick-witted response. He quickly made his way towards the window.

  In the meantime, I whispered to my friends: ‘Get rid of the blotting paper for our captain's sake!’

  The Baron was quick. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if our dear inspectors are watching us so closely, then we must oblige by being as obedient as small children.’ He picked up some of the chairs that had toppled over, straightened the tablecloth and picked up the piece of blotting paper, spread it out on the table and discreetly covered it with any other papers he could find.

  The Leibstandarte man had come back from the window. ‘Nothing of importance out there,’ he reported dutifully.

  ‘Oh dear, that means she has left,’ I said with regret. ‘A very beautiful lady was sending us air-kisses from the street and that caused an argument between the three of us. Oh, and the money is my inheritance.’

  ‘All fine and dandy,’ he said. ‘I would be grateful if you could leave the rain gutter in the corridor. We are very quick; it should not take more than twenty to thirty seconds before everything is in its proper place. Are you carrying any dynamite? If you are you may as well hand it over. Explosives are one of the few things we do not tolerate. If you can think of any further mischief for tonight, please do let me know – I will see if I can be of service again.’

  He looked around in a friendly manner. ‘My friends, I can fully understand your boredom. Sailors are used to being entertained. Have you been to the Königssee? One of the seven natural wonders of the world in my opinion. You must go and see it.’ He was looking at me now. ‘With your authorisation to visit the Führer, you will be able to travel there and back free of charge. Well, what about it? When are you going on your outing?’

  ‘Sure! Certainly! Thank you very much, as soon as possible!’ I responded.

  The Baron looked amicably at our maître de plaisir and picked up his monocle to take a closer look. ‘Do you mind my asking, but are you from Mannheim?’

  ‘I certainly am,’ the gentleman responded. ‘From the moment I first saw you I have been wondering if you are not Oswald. Well, I'm very pleased to see you my old schoolfellow!’ They shook each other's hands vigorously. Then the usual followed: What is A doing these days and how is B. Whatever happened to C? They did not keep at it too long as they were both men with taste. I was still worried about the blotting paper and would have preferred it if the other man left the room sooner rather than later.

  ‘Are you still the Great Discontented?’ the inspector was asking my friend.

  ‘Right you are, Edgar. As you can imagine, more than ever. But everyone has to do their bit as a soldier. But how did you get where you are now? You used to be a follower of the Gracchi brothers, liked Ulrich von Hutten and other reformers and idealists.’

  ‘Listen,’ the man responded, ‘if your friends think in a similar fashion to you,’ here the Baron nodded, ‘then let me tell you the story of who I am and how I got here. So …’ He smoothed his hand over his face like a hypnotist.

  ‘It is true. I once had ideals, and they were set fairly high. But I am not alone in this world and I do not want to bring shame to my mother. She was always saying “Isn't Edgar a splendid lad?” I wanted to remain splendid, meaning I would please my mother by having a career, getting promoted and bringing money home so that she needn't worry. Our nation isn't a club where you can resign if you no longer like how it is run. Enough philosophy, it is all going a little bit too far.’ He smoothed his face again. ‘Right, we are on duty again. Have a good evening, comrades. Don't kill anyone tonight. Remember to put the gutter in the hallway and don't forget to plan your trip to the Königssee!’ He waved his goodbye and disappeared.

  ‘What about our captain?’ my friends asked simultaneously.

  ‘He is going back tonight, and the last thing he did was to write a letter to his wife or mother,’ I replied.

  ‘You know he is unmarried,’ the Student corrected me pedantically.

  I continued, taking no notice. ‘Anyway, he blotted the letter with this piece of paper here, which means we should be able to read every single word he has written …’ I picked up the biggest mirror I could find. My intentions were obvious – I didn't need to explain further.

  The first lines were smudged. The first word we could decipher was ‘sobered’. We first thought he was telling his mother that he was no longer drinking but then the next thing we could make out was ‘ideals’, so the word must have been used in relation to these.

  The ideals I have been adhering to all of my life have been sullied. After talking face to face with the men who run this sorry Reich, I am convinced that I am not fighting for the people but rather for gamblers and pirates. I do not want to live any longer, dear mother. If I die in battle, do not for one minute think that it was for Hitler. Farewell, please forgive me. May the grace of God …

  The writing stopped abruptly.

  ‘… be with him,’ the Student completed and crossed himself. He was the most God-fearing of the three of us.

  ‘It is astounding,’ I said, ‘to learn that a man one has loved and revered is ready to end his life.’

  ‘Even more unsettling,’ the Baron added, ‘is when this man happens to be the captain of the ship you are boarding in the near future.’ I hadn't thought of this aspect but he was right. All the same, at least we were sitting together like old friends again.

  ‘What were we discussing last?’ I asked. ‘That's right. Oswald, you were about to tell us what you had spied through the periscope. I don't even know how your adventure went. Did you manage to pin the brooch on to the girl?’ Both grinned at the happy memories.

  ‘Of course,’ the Baron proudly regaled. ‘It was not difficult to pin her down. She hardly resisted and only screamed once she was set free. She shouted something after us but we could not understand what she was saying. Adalbert wanted to stop and ask what she meant but I pulled him away. I think the police had already arrived. Sadly, there was little time to make the most of the situation by dropping the appropriate hints. Only just as we were about to leave we had the opportunity when we bumped into her at the gate. I put two fingers in the air, and Adalbert barked like a little lapdog, woof, woof. I think she understood. She said, “let me through, you silly monkeys” and she laughed. I think the proof of the pudding is that she followed us here. She will become our U-boat mascot and join us on our travels.’

  ‘And what is she doing in her room?’ I asked.

  ‘She was wearing traditional peasant costume,’ the Baron replied. ‘But she had already removed the apron and the scarf of the dirndl. Then she did something strange. Sitting on a stool, she was grasping her umbrella, a small collapsible one. Rigidly upright, she stretched, bendi
ng her upper body forwards and backwards.’

  ‘As if she was practising her rowing?’ the Student asked, as he was one accustomed to exercise.

  ‘Yes, like rowing practice.’

  ‘What is the nearest body of water,’ I enquired of the Baron.

  ‘Probably the water from the taps,’ he answered. ‘But if you mean where one can actually row, then the Königssee would be the nearest option.’

  There was a knock on the door and the hotel porter demanded the rain gutter. We had forgotten to place it in the hallway. My friends had also neglected to get rid of the compromising bit of blotting paper showing the letter to the captain's mother, but luckily they remembered in time to remove it the next morning.

  14

  THE KÖNIGSSEE

  Three days passed before I decided to go to the Königssee. It had been raining relentlessly and I knew I would not be able to enjoy my surroundings in such conditions. On the fourth day the sun was shining. Although I could not judge the weather from my room, once I had ventured out into the hallway I could see the snowy peaks of the mountains glittering in the sun through the tall windows. I hastily got ready, made my way to the electric tramway and caught one of the few trains that were still running. The journey was pleasantly quick, clean and free. It took me through a wooded valley, through which a mighty river raged. When I got to my destination I did not go straight down to the lake; I picked a path leading up a hill between houses so I could view my surroundings away from all the activity. It was incredibly quiet and peaceful. No police, no cars and no air defence. Country people, mainly women, were working the land with slow, heavy movements. The sky was light blue, dotted with fluffy clouds here and there, the birds were singing and the tips of the fir trees were nodding gently in the breeze. As the trees became less dense, the path led past fields and meadows, passing farms, large and small, the houses all neat with green shutters and flower pots in which the autumn flowers were fading gradually. A little murmuring stream accompanied the path, initially difficult to see as it was covered in vegetation. I went more and more slowly, so I could take in the pleasant surroundings, and also because I was not used to climbing up hills.

  I was just taking a little break in front of a small house with a narrow front window that was dominated by a large tree. It looked to me like a walnut tree. Its leaves were starting to fall, leaving empty shells on its bare limbs. I had not encountered a single soul yet but now a little girl, perhaps 7 or 8 years old, was running out of the house. She was wearing the traditional long skirt and camisole typical of the Berchtesgadener peasant costume. Her bare little feet were scratched and not particularly clean. The child was carrying a large sheet of paper in one hand and a hammer and nails in the other. She was now attempting to nail the paper on to the post. I thought it a little unfair to burden such a young girl with such a difficult technical problem. First the nail fell down, then the hammer, then the piece of paper. At one stage it looked as if the wind was threatening to blow the piece of paper away completely. In the course of this procedure, the paper was losing its pristine whiteness.

  ‘Can I help you, dear girl?’ I asked, and bent down on my knees.

  ‘Yes please, inspector!’ the young girl replied, looking at me fearlessly with her large blue eyes. She would have never seen a navy blue uniform apart from on the electric tram.

  I had an excellent reputation as a successful implementer of nails. I carefully extracted the exceedingly wrinkled piece of paper from her little hands and looked for the best spot on the doorpost. Although I was trying to be discreet, I could not help but notice what was written in large letters on the sheet of paper. It read:

  For sale, unworn traditional costume. No textile supply certificates necessary (exception to 15b of the RWA (Reichswirtschafts Amt) viewings daily. Contact Theresa Pfnur, salt worker's widow.

  ‘It won't be necessary to put this notice up because I'm interested.’

  She didn't appear to understand and looked at me so sadly that I nailed the paper to the post anyway and knocked on the door.

  ‘You are interested in the alpine costume? That was quick.’ A striking woman had opened the door. She had the face of a Madonna but rough worker's hands. She looked a little haggard and was dressed shabbily. She explained: ‘I'm so glad I was granted an exception to the rule. No one would use up a textile supply certificate for an alpine costume. The welfare centre looking after family members of those killed in battle intervened on my behalf at the RWA. I was given permission and hopefully will be able to get some money for it.’

  At the window an old lady with snow-white hair and prominent cheekbones was concentrating on her sewing, mumbling: ‘Our Theresa is always glad and happy. Everything is fine as long as it goes according to the Führer's plans. She is even grateful when offered some worthless good-for-nothing money for her last possessions.’

  ‘Do not pay any attention to her, Herr Marineoffizier,’ the peasant woman said. ‘She is not quite right in the head and has no idea what she is talking about. I will show you the item of clothing if you are interested. However, I'm not sure it's suitable for …’ Our poor soldiers on leave, she was about to say but resisted out of politeness. Then she went on to tell me that so many fine spa guests visit the area from all over the world and that many of them would surely be interested in proper alpine costumes. Sadly, few of them visit this particular area.

  I looked at my creased trousers and my dusty boots. I'm sure I didn't look like a gentleman of means who would be willing to pay a premium for the genuine article.

  ‘Dear lady,’ I responded. ‘My appearance is misleading. I have recently inherited some money and I can well afford to spend some of it. Why should I save up for a rainy day? I am a member of the U-boat crew.’ This did not impress her.

  ‘My husband was with the SA,’ she replied. ‘Even at weekends he only ever wore the party uniform. We decided some time ago to get rid of these brand new clothes. My husband was one of the smallest in his team,’ she looked at me sympathetically, but without malice, taking in my slight figure. ‘I will show you his things.’ She opened the doors of a farmhouse cupboard wardrobe which had flaming hearts painted on them and took out the following: a pair of lederhosen; a light grey jacket with green lapels and red-lined pockets; leather braces decorated with edelweiss embroidery and the inscription ‘God bless Bavaria’; white knee socks with green stitching on them. The socks were more like white tubes with no feet – it did not appear that they would cover one's ankles. There were no shoes but there was a hat with eagle feathers and various bits of intertwined green rope.

  ‘May I try it on?’

  ‘Of course, I will step outside,’ she replied. ‘No one has touched these clothes since my husband went to Poland and …’ The child with the dirty scratched feet and the fearless blue eyes had come into the room and caused her mother to stop mid-sentence. ‘Who said you could come in here? Have you done your homework, Veronika?’ she demanded strictly. ‘If the Führer only knew that you were being lazy, he would not love you anymore!’ The child burst into tears and left the room. ‘I am trying to get her to only love the Führer,’ she said in her fanaticism. ‘But she is such a difficult child and keeps asking after her father. Yes, that's right, the shoes are not included. They would not have fitted you anyway and were not quite new anymore. My husband wore them to work. It is a little difficult with shoes. I’ll go now. Do not mind the old lady at the window, my mother-in-law. She is a little confused and won't take any interest in you.’

  It was a good thing I was not wearing my long johns, otherwise I would have looked even funnier in lederhosen. The clothes were not a bad fit, a little loose, but better than the other way around. The white socks gave me very shapely legs. I was a little surprised at first until I discovered their secret padding. I assumed these were meant for the tourists, known for the fill of their wallets not for the shape of their calf muscles. All in all I was quite pleased with the outfit. Someone with a big belly and s
turdy legs would have looked ridiculous. There was no mirror in the room. I almost approached the old lady to ask her what she thought but she stared into the distance with an expression of such gloomy indifference that I did not dare. The young woman was looking inside to see if I was decent and then entered the room again. I would have been happy to pay twice the asking price if she had shown any signs of admiration, but she was a proud, unapproachable woman, selling clothes and not peddling admiring glances. She adjusted the braces a little and turned the hat slightly, but that was all I could hope to receive from her in terms of personal contact. And this in a situation where my heart was longing for some signs of sympathy and approval!

  ‘What do I owe you?’ I asked almost shyly.

  ‘250 marks,’ she said, defiantly at first, but then went a deep shade of red and started to stutter and explain why she had to ask for so much money. She seemed terribly embarrassed.

  I decided to help her out.

  ‘Here is the money,’ I said. ‘I don't think it is too expensive, dear lady. No. It's a bargain, really. Look!’ I had purchased a brand new Baedeker guide to southern Bavaria and Tyrol, the latest edition, and read out to her: ‘For a traditional alpine costume, handmade locally in a farmer's workshop, made with good quality materials, in brackets deerskin and original alpine loden, you can expect to pay between 240 and 260 marks, fullstop. Note: Be aware of the rules and regulations covering the trade of textiles issued by the RWA.’ I was making all of this up. There was something completely different on these pages but the poor lady was reassured, and looked at me happy again.

  ‘You see, my dear sir,’ she said. ‘Although we are not able to read such esteemed books ourselves, we are still aware of the true value of things. Would you like me to make any alterations at all?’

  I looked down at my legs. ‘The only thing I am not quite happy with, dear lady,’ I ventured to respond, ‘are these green bands woven into the material over the knee. I once saw a man from Styria playing double bass in a band in Hamburg. He had brass buttons on his lederhosen or were they staghorn buttons? Would that not look better? I would be willing to pay extra for these.’ What I was demanding must have been a terrible offence against the traditional dress customs, similar to wearing brown sandals with a dinner jacket or a straw hat with a parade uniform. Whatever small amount of sympathy I had gained was lost in a flash, as I had evolved into an enemy and evil person.