by Tony Klinger
One or two more of the group sneaked a quick look in their direction but made no move to break ranks.
“I shall always be here to stand right next to you Arnie.” Tomas said, again so that everyone should hear. The ringing of a bell by a young man with a feral face and sly smile interrupted the slight warm glow Arnie felt. “That’s Ratwerller, “ said Tomas quietly to Arnie, “We call him Rat, and watch out for him, he’s Head Boy.”
The boys and girls lined up in classes and entered the school in orderly ranks. Arnie was left alone, not knowing where to go. Ratwerller came over to Arnie and regarded the new student scornfully. “You must be the new boy, they told me about you, follow me.”
Rat led Arnie through a maize of innumerable corridors past seemingly identical frosted glass paneled doors concealing their quiet classrooms. Arnie was convinced that he would never be able to navigate these interminable routes without assistance. Everywhere the head boy and his charge went they were stared at by all the other students and teachers. Arnie was trying hard not to be totally intimidated by the experience. They eventually arrived at a room, which had large double doors with a sign stating, STAFF ONLY. Ratwerller knocked politely twice and then hearing someone call “Enter” led Arnie inside. The sole occupant was Professor Epstein, his normally avuncular private tutor. Arnie didn’t notice Head Boy Ratwerller’s departure such was his relief at finding the Professor smiling in his direction. At last, another friendly face. “Welcome” he looked at the big clock standing by the wall and noticed it was now two minutes past the hour. He made a tutting noise, shook his head and said, “Follow me, it doesn’t do to be tardy.” As he led Arnie out of the staff room he turned at the door as he opened it for him, “We’ll soon settle you in.”
The professor led Arnie down yet more endless corridors. After what appeared to be an endless trek they arrived at a classroom marked “4A”. They entered and were met by a sea of staring, distinctly hostile faces, this wasn’t Arnie’s paranoia, nor, he would later discover, much to do with his handicap, but the class did appear to dislike him on sight. After all the group had been together since they were small children, and now they felt they were being invaded by this strange and different newcomer.
Arnie was very relieved to see Marlene in the class, and she smiled to him, without any thought of hiding her pleasure at seeing him. The Professor indicated an empty chair for Arnie, which he took as quickly as he could doing everything to blend in to these strange new surroundings, a difficult achievement when you’re the biggest person in the room. The Professor spoke, “Good morning class,” They responded by rote, “Good morning Herr professor.”
“I want to introduce a new colleague to you, some of you no doubt already know Master Arnulf Hessel, he’s an unusual young man...” before Epstein could finish the thought Otto called out from the back of the room, “Yes only a half of him works!”
The Professor’s face turned thunderous, and Arnie noticed that although some of the class joined in the cruel laughter, many did not. Arnie couldn’t understand the cruelty of a boy he had thought of as a friend, but he was learning fast that morning of the realities of the rough and tumble of school and the mercury like fluidity of some of the relationships found there. Arnie felt some of his naiveté peeling from him like the skin from an onion. Before the oafish laughter of Otto and his group died away Marlene turned to him.
“At least his brain works.” Now the class laughed at Otto rather than with him. Epstein banged his hand on the lectern; the loud noise silenced the interruptions.
“Any further interruptions and the culprit will be sent to the principal for corporal punishment, does everyone understand, Otto and Marlene?” The class settled down as the professor continued, “as I was saying, Arnulf Hessel is unusual in that he is an extremely gifted individual. His ability in all matters scholastic is, as you will soon discover, equal to or exceeds that of any of you now present. But his unique gift is to be found in the arts. His one disability he has managed to transcend by sheer hard work allied to a wonderful ability. It is his hard work that is a trait you could all do well to duplicate. Now, without further ado, let us proceed with today’s work.”
It seemed to Arnie that that the more he tried to become less noticeable the more others sought to point him out. Realizing, as he did, that his mentors only meant well did nothing to lessen his acute embarrassment at being so lavishly lauded for his gifts, as such a paragon of scholarly virtues, that it to set him apart from the very people he would have to get along with.
During the rest of his time at the school Arnie was to discover the alternatives others held in store for him. It confirmed that he either evoked total love or total hate; very few people were to remain neutral on the question of Arnie Hessel.
But the first painful day of his schooling was not yet complete. At 11.30 the bells sounded for the morning break. This was a chance for everyone to stretch their legs, have a snack and play in the big spaces of grass surrounding the school. Arnie soon found himself surrounded outside by Otto and his group of friends. “Unusual gifts. Is this something the old Jew spots in the crippled Jew? Otto laughed again, but hadn’t seen Marlene appear close to his left. She was holding a string bag containing an apple. “That’s enough Otto.” She said quietly, “I can deal with him” interjected Arnie, “What is Arnie, does the big girl have to look after the little boy?”
“What have I done to make you so angry Otto? I thought we were friends.” Otto sneered at Arnie, “Friends with you, you must be joking.” Arnie felt the tears well up behind his eyes at this hurt, but he couldn’t allow this emotion to be seen, as he instinctively knew that the group surrounding him would regard this as a terrible weakness.
“I knew you were stupid Otto, but a bully also?” said Marlene. He was furious at being made to look small, but convention forbade him from attacking the girl, “If you were a boy I would hit you for that.” He snarled, “and if you were a gentleman I think you’d know how to behave better.” She replied.
Otto wasn’t finished, he needed to vent his anger physically, he shoved Arnie to try and force him back, but Arnie was bigger and solidly built, he stood his ground. “Think you’re tough do you?” Otto said to him loudly, as if Arnie was the aggressor. Otto started to rifle through Arnie’s pockets, “What do we have here?” He took out Arnie’s money and after showing this around theatrically put it in his own pocket.
“Put that back now.” Marlene told him. “Why?” he replied, “is anyone here going to stop me?” Arnie didn’t know what to do, but was nearing the point of breaking down in frustration and anger. Otto spat in his eye. The filthy muck started to dribble down Arnie’s face.
Without warning Marlene swung her bag at Otto’s head smashing him on the nose with the apple at the end of the bag. There was a spontaneous burst of bright red blood as he staggered back from the impact. He was so infuriated that his natural instincts took over and he aimed a fist in the direction of Marlene’s unprotected face. Before he could hit her Arnie threw his bulk between them, taking the blow on his shoulder. Taken by surprise Otto wasn’t ready for the well-aimed kick Arnie took at his groin. Otto sank to his knees much to the astonishment of both him and his cronies.
“How does that feel bully boy, put on your knees by a cripple and a girl!” she said. Before he could recover Arnie kicked him in the chin with devastating effect, sending him sprawling onto his back as some of his teeth and blood flew from his torn mouth. Two other boys grabbed Arnie from behind, and after seeing this Marlene disappeared in the melee. Other boys helped Otto back to his feet. He surveyed Arnie with murderous intent, spat out a tooth and some blood, and slowly removed his jacket, his every move calculated to menace. He wiped his hand across his mouth and then looked at the blood on his hand, he paused.
“So, the cripple is a tough guy eh, now we’ll see if you can take it as well as give it.” He hit Arnie as hard a
s he could in the stomach and as the bigger boy doubled up in pain he hit him again, this time in the face. He kept pounding Arnie until he thought he was going to knock him unconscious, but Arnie was determined not to give an inch, he kept getting back up to take more punishment. Otto’s frenzy knew no bounds as Arnie’s stolid refusal to ask for mercy enraged him, making him feel powerless to impose his will. Now the only sounds were Arnie’s sharp intake of breath when Otto hit him in the belly and the latter’s exhalation of breath with the sheer effort of his blows. The other boys began to drift away, there was no joy in a massacre, and Otto’s cruelty became their own if they watched. Arnie only remained on his feet due to his sheer bloody mindedness. Tomas broke into the circle with Marlene. They interposed themselves between Otto and Arnie.
“What are you doing Otto have you gone crazy?”
But the more powerful Otto pushed Tomas out of his path, “This is between him and me, you stay out of it or you’ll get the same.” Otto said to him. Two of his cronies pulled Tomas out of the way, but Marlene stood her ground.
She stood, her hands on her hips, defiant, facing Otto and the rest of the boys, “So, do you want to follow beating a handicapped boy with hitting a girl, is that how you prove how tough you are?”
Otto perfunctorily pushed her aside, ignoring her jibe as he looked up into Arnie’s face. “You had enough cripple?”
Arnie was too weak to do anything but laugh unconvincingly, “It has been like being hit by a butterfly.
“I’ll show you!” Otto leaped on to him, incoherent with rage. A whistle blew and instantaneously Otto stopped his attack and the rest of the crowd miraculously melted away, leaving only Arnie and Otto to face Head Boy Ratwerller. Even though everyone had already obeyed his whistle he blew it again, three times, until he was standing right next to the combatants, blowing it directly into their ears.
“What do we have here?” he demanded of them. Neither responded. Ratwerller turned his attention so that he focused on Arnie, “You, tell me what you two have been up to.”
Arnie turned from the Head Boy to Otto and shook his head, refusing to answer. Ratwerller continued, “Not a very impressive first day. You’re clearly a disruptive element Mister Hessel, you’d best watch your step around here in future or I’ll see to it that you’re expelled. Understood?” The small and skinny head boy had not cowed Arnie. “I am sorry to have bled so inconveniently all over your play area Herr Rat, I shall try not to leak in the future.” Ratwerller lifted his hand as if to strike Arnie but restrained himself when Otto stepped in between them.
“I wouldn’t do that Ratwerller.” His voice was full of threat and menace. Ratwerller backed off, clearly intimidated by the physical presence of Otto whose reputation as a brawler clearly preceded him. “Cross me again and you two will regret it.” Said Ratwerller, before whirling away with pseudo military precision and marching away. Otto looked at Arnie hesitantly, who took a couple of deep breaths before speaking, “OK,” said Arnie, “We’re alone now, are you ready for more or do you surrender?” Otto’s face broke into a smile, and Arnie found himself grinning stupidly. Soon both boys were laughing loudly. Otto grabbed Arnie in a bear hug of an embrace, tears of laughter now rolling down both their faces. “You’re alright you are,” He said, “Even without your arms you are twice the man that Rat bastard will ever be. No one has ever put him down like that and got away with it.”
Chapter Ten
Darmstadt
1928
Otto and Arnie were never to fight again, and, although they never became firm friends there was a guarded and mutual respect. Word soon passed around the school of the fight that they had, and it assumed almost mythic proportion. No longer isolated, Arnie was now treated as something of a cult celebrity by the rest of his class. In fact if anyone ever contemplated picking a fight with him they would first have to deal with Otto, who had now made himself Arnie’s unofficial champion.
Most of the rest of the year’s schooling passed without further major incident. A succession of lessons punctuated with all the usual tests, evaluations and examinations.
In Arnie’s final year at the school, as he was approaching the matriculation examinations he had his first solo gallery exhibition. Although excited by the event at the time he was to recall very little about the momentous event except the musty smell of the small grimy well-worn shop in which it was held. Arnie adamantly rejected the idea of his own attendance at the event, convinced he would simply be regarded as the freak. He did visit the shop prior to the big day to make certain that his paintings were hung in a manner he thought correct. He also refused an invitation for another interview, a follow up feature with the journalist Rosen. Arnie suspected it was him that had been instrumental in persuading the elderly gallery proprietor, Bernd Shuster, to host the show.
Much to Arnie’s surprise the weeklong event resulted in the sale of all twenty-one of his exhibited works and orders for another nine. His mother, Bertha, opened a bank account on his behalf and told him that he had earned more than his father had in the previous year. This fact would have upset him greatly, had he taken any interest whatsoever and therefore known about it. Bertie remained capable of totally blocking anything bothersome or that simply displeased him and Arnie fell within that category.
Arnie was now mentioned in numerous newspapers, which invariably drew attention to his handicap, age and art in that order. But Bertie never seemed to read or know about any of them. Arnie was worried he might not get a good series of results for his matriculation as he was desperate to do anything to find an exit to his home, to get out into the world under his own steam. The atmosphere at home was at a poisonous low trough between his parents.
It was at this time that Bertie received an invitation from Arnie’s headmaster to a meeting. Bertie replied affirmatively, and a date was set, despite his foreboding. He anticipated more bad news to blight his already depressing recent life. Nothing had been as it should have been, could have been, since the Great War. He wasn’t living up to his own expectations, let alone those of his peers. He felt their snorts of derision, although these were imagined. Now more plump and grey he nevertheless visualized himself as the dashing young officer he had once been. His abiding preoccupation was the Fatherland, although no one knew in which direction this wonderful country, the beating heart, brain and brawn at the centre of Europe would go as nothing seemed to work as it should. Order needed to be restored.
Bertie entered the cluttered office of the headmaster knowing that anything to do with his son would, from bitter experience, lead to pain, aggravation and disappointment. He looked across the dusty desk and through the piles of books that served as a frame for the aged Professor Schiller, the headmaster. He reminded Bertie of an old tortoise, his head disproportionately small on his chubby body which struggled to fit into an overly capacious and scruffy academic cape. No, thought Bertie, he’s more like a peanut set on top of an orange. This impression was soon dispelled by the headmaster’s voice, which was gruff and guttural. “Would we care for a schnapps Herr Hessel?” he asked Bertie before he’d managed to settle into his chair. “No thank you Professor, it’s a little early for me.” The Professor shook his head, “We don’t think it’s ever too early for a good schnapps. Are we sure we don’t want a little comforter?” he chuckled, but Bertie bristled in annoyance. “I never drink before sundown, you asked me here to discuss my son, are his studies unsatisfactory, I wouldn’t be too surprised, I did warn your Professor Epstein he was taking a bit of a risk on the boy?” he tapped his forehead with the back of his hand, “It wouldn’t surprise me too much to discover if he was a little touched up here, it’s his mother who is always pushing the boy. You know how they are.”
The Professor looked at Bertie in some surprise and then took his schnapps in one long gulp. Schiller shook his head after coughing as the fiery liquid found its way down his throat. He clasped his hands t
ogether making a cathedral of his fingers. “I’ve met Mrs. Hessel several times, a charming lady. No we’re not dissatisfied with anyone in your family. We’re more than satisfied with your son. In fact we’d say he had done remarkably well. In fact we could wish all our other students were to show such application and talent.”
Bertie shifted uneasily in his seat, uncertain how to deal with this unanticipated praise for his son when he was more used to pity or pretence. “That’s good to hear, of course. But you asked me here as a matter of urgency?”
Nothing appeared to hurry the older man. He shuffled over to the other side of the large room and seemed surprised to discover a large cabinet. Delighted he opened a tall mahogany cabinet and in it was a large array of bottles containing every type of drink known. The professor was delighted, and turning again to Bertie said, “We think we better have another, for the joints. Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”
Bertie didn’t bother to respond, resigning himself to a further wait as the headmaster imbibed yet again, seemingly unaware of the other man’s growing impatience. He turned suddenly, invigorated by the blended whisky he was consuming with such relish, “Your son Herr Hessel, how would you be seeing his future?” It was not a subject Bertie had spent any time exercising his brain upon.
“What future can there be for a person with such an infirmity? I shall do my best to secure him a comfortable existence, of course, that is my duty.” The headmaster nodded sagely, “Just so, as we thought.” Schiller ruminated further as he took yet another pleasure filled swallow of his treasured Scottish import. He turned to look out of his window and saw Arnie and a group of his friends happily playing soccer. The professor turned to face Arnie’s grim and austere father.