Time Heals No Wounds

by Hendrik Falkenberg

  “Really? That’s so nice, but . . . I mean, we barely know each other.”

  “Well, it never hurts to have a police officer in the house, right? So long as you consider me a law-abiding citizen and turn a blind eye, it’s no problem,” Ben said and laughed. He pushed his bike up against a rusty bike rack and unstrapped his gym bag from the back. He reached for the key. “So what do you need and where can I find it?”

  He returned with a full bag. Its contents, including clothes, would tide Hannes over for the next few days. The sun had set, and Hannes followed Ben to his house, which stood slightly back from the road in a large garden dominated by tall broad-leafed trees. The old house seemed to have been recently renovated and had a sophisticated elegance. Hannes never would have imagined that Ben lived in such a place.

  “By the way, Elke called me a little while ago,” Ben said as he pushed open a rusty gate. “She suggested our fairground group get together Saturday night. Kalle and Ines are free. What about you?”

  “Good idea! Where are we meeting?”

  “We can meet here at eight. I’ll let Elke know tomorrow.”

  Just before the front steps, Ben turned down a paved path lined with bushes. Confused, Hannes followed him as he disappeared around the corner. Ben turned around and gave his trademark grin.

  “Impressed, huh?” He lifted his arm and pointed to the back of the garden. “I live over there. A doctor and his family live in the big house, so there are toys all around. Watch your step.”

  “So you live in the bushes, or . . . ?”

  “What are you implying? Don’t worry, I’ve got a little more style than that. Come on!”

  Hannes was careful not to step on one of the numerous toys and followed Ben deep into the garden. He could see the outline of a small structure between two trees.

  “This was once the gardener’s home,” Ben said as he walked toward the little house. “But since there’s no gardener—as you will easily see in the daylight—they rent out the cottage. And since the family likes a little diversity, I got the place.”

  Ben hit a light switch, and a dim outdoor light lit up a small but very well-maintained brick house. The red shingles of the gable roof were overgrown with moss, but otherwise the house seemed in very good shape. There was even a small tiled patio with a table and chairs next to the front door. A book lay facedown on a chair next to an overflowing ashtray.

  “I’d just curled up with a book when you called. Don’t look too closely at the ashtray,” he joked.

  “So how many joints do you smoke a day?”

  Ben shrugged. “Depends. Why do you think people are so susceptible to drinking? The desperate attempt to feel real. To finally be their true selves, even if it’s only an illusion. I’m no better than them.”

  He opened the unlocked door and turned on the light. Hannes followed him into a tiny hallway with coat hooks and two shoe shelves. Ben put his bag on the floor.

  “Although it looks very small from the outside, I have everything I need. In here to the left is the living room plus a small kitchen, then there’s my bedroom, next door to that is the bathroom, and right here’s the room where you can sleep. It’s a bit Spartan, but at least you have a sofa, wardrobe, and a small table and chair. But you can use the kitchen and living room too—and the bathroom of course.”

  “As long as I don’t have to share your bedroom,” Hannes joked, remembering Ben’s suggestive remarks on the Ferris wheel.

  Ben suddenly looked embarrassed. “Oh, I was just kidding. Sometimes I get carried away. Let me show you the rest of the place.”

  The bathroom was small but clean and even had a washing machine and a laundry basket, which made it nearly impossible to turn around. Ben’s bedroom was no bigger than the guest room; it had a double bed and a wardrobe, which took up an entire wall.

  “And now, the holiest of holies,” Ben said as he opened the door to the living room. Hannes was terrified as a large ball of wool rushed at them and jumped up on Ben.

  “It’s all right, Socks!” Ben patted the big dog’s head, and after seeing his four white paws, Hannes realized the name was entirely justified. “I surprised you, didn’t I?” he said to Hannes. “I trained him so well that he rarely barks. That was a prerequisite to living here. He’s also very good with children.”

  Apparently Socks was also fond of police officers. He sniffed Hannes and put his front paws on his chest to lick his face.

  “You can leave him at home and he won’t destroy your apartment?” he asked, scratching the animal behind the ears. Socks panted, his breath reeking of dog food.

  “I only leave him here for a few hours. He can wander around the garden freely. My landlord also looks after him, so he goes in and out as he pleases.”

  The living room surprised Hannes the most. He had expected complete chaos, but it looked tidy, and the furniture—a comfortable couch, a dining table with four chairs, and a wall shelf—seemed cozy and stylish. Only the open kitchen was as chaotic as he had expected, with piles of dirty dishes and various packages of food and plastic bags. He even noticed a half-eaten, dried-out cheese sandwich.

  “Yeah, the kitchen’s unfortunately a little messy. I’ve been considering getting a dishwasher, but I’m not sure where I’d put it.”

  “Are you kidding? This place is a dream! If you ever move, let me know!”

  “Expected something different?” Ben teased. “You don’t have to live in a pigsty to show how countercultural you are. I really like it here, and besides, what’s important is what’s going on in here.” He tapped his forehead.

  Hannes again revised his thoughts on Ben. He really appreciated that Ben had showed up to help without asking a single question or making up an excuse. He seemed to be very levelheaded and thoughtful, even if he had hidden this side of himself when they’d first met.

  “Okay, dude. Socks has to go outside again. We can let him run around the garden. He knows where he’s allowed and where he’s not, and the children know it too. We can make ourselves comfortable on the patio and toast your traumatic experience with a cold beer.”

  While Socks roamed the garden, sniffing, Hannes stretched out in the deck chair that Ben had generously offered him and took a big gulp from the bottle of beer.

  “This is insane! I’ve been looking for a new apartment for a long time and would be grateful for a reasonably decent and affordable one in an apartment building. And you live right here in the middle of paradise,” Hannes whispered.

  “You don’t have to whisper. My landlord left on vacation today. Anyway, their bedroom’s on the other side, so they wouldn’t hear a thing. Trust me, I’ve tried . . .”

  Hannes looked at Ben’s book. The Anti-Nazi Handbook. “You really are engrossed in the topic. How many people are in your organization?”

  “We’re not an organization in the classic sense. We have no name and no fixed structure. There’s only an e-mail list, and those who have the time or desire come to our irregular meetings or participate in our activities.”

  “What was the last thing you organized?”

  “We had something on Monday, which was why I had to disappear so suddenly. A few morons from the neo-Nazi scene had gathered at the war memorial to hold a spontaneous tribute to fallen German soldiers. The monument’s location was perfect—one of its sides sits about thirty feet below the park’s balustrade, so while the skinheads stood there proudly holding their stupid banners, we threw firecrackers down at them. Their memorial was quickly over.” Ben laughed. “You should have seen it! Suddenly they weren’t so cool anymore. Since there were only three of us, we made a run for it. We didn’t want to get into a fight with thirty Nazis. We’re not that crazy!”

  Hannes laughed. He was amused by the image of the skinheads frantically jumping around to avoid the firecrackers. “Have you been attacked by guys like that before?”

  “Sure, several times. I even once fell into the hands of some sort of neo-Nazi women’s group. I had to spend
a week in bed after that.”

  “What drives you to do this? Your grandfather’s death?”

  Ben thought for a moment. “Perhaps it plays a role subconsciously. I mean, the story was always a recurrent theme in our family, and it has certainly influenced me. But actually, I see it like this: some people now argue that we should finally let go of the past. But these people overlook an important point. It’s not a question of collectively donning sackcloth and ashes. I wasn’t even an embryo during the Nazi regime and am therefore not guilty. To me, it’s not about passing judgment on the guilt or innocence of our grandparents. It was a completely different time with very different circumstances. Education and media coverage back then certainly didn’t compare with today’s. Not to mention the fear of what might happen to you if the Gestapo didn’t take a liking to you. Who can really say how you would have behaved back then?”

  He paused for a moment and took a swig of beer. “Of course there were heroes who didn’t buy into that perverse game, and I can only hope that I would have been one of them. What concerns me the most is what we can learn from history. I can’t just sit idly by and watch as these asshole Brownshirts band together and shout idiot slogans to lead us right back down the road to hell.”

  Hannes nodded, impressed. Ben pulled a pack of tobacco and a small plastic bag from his pocket and rolled a joint on the table. He pointed to the greenish-brown mixture in front of him. “Like I said, if you want some, it’s not a problem.”

  Hannes declined. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer once I’m done with sports.”

  “I heartily recommend it,” Ben said as he flicked his lighter. “How’s your investigation going, by the way? Made any progress?”

  Hannes told him an abbreviated version of his busy day. As he described the Coast Guard’s capabilities, Ben furrowed his brow.

  “Isn’t it scary that everything we do can be traced? That may be a plus if you’re fighting crime, but I don’t particularly like the idea that our society’s becoming so transparent.”

  “As a private citizen, I think you’re right,” Hannes said. “But since we have no leads in this case, I’m grateful for every resource. At least we now know who the victim is.”

  “Oh yeah? Who is it?”

  Hannes squirmed a little, feeling somewhat guilty. “This stays between you and me, okay?”

  “Of course, man. You’re not the only one who can keep a secret,” Ben said and winked as he waved his joint around.

  “All right, so the victim is a woman named Helene Ternheim. She is, or was, the managing director of a pharmaceutical company.”

  “What’s the name of the company?”

  Hannes second-guessed himself before responding. “Lagussa. It makes money selling psychotropic drugs and . . . What’s the matter?”

  Ben’s joint had fallen out of his mouth, and he looked aghast. “Lagussa? Are you sure?”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Ben picked up the joint and took another deep puff. “Well, Lagussa has a rather checkered past. We’ve stumbled upon this company in our research. It wasn’t always called Lagussa. It was founded by the pharmacist Heinrich Ternheim as the North German Chemical and Pharmaceutical Works, or NGCP, shortly before the First World War. At first, the company only developed medicine for the treatment of respiratory diseases, but with time it expanded its portfolio. It was not a well-known company, and its drug sales remained primarily in northwest Germany. During the Nazi era, the company was considered ‘vital to the war effort,’ and as a result, its situation fundamentally changed.”

  Ben stubbed out the spent roach in the full ashtray. “That distinction had its advantages, and the company quickly aligned itself with the Nazis. For one, the company was given priority in the allocation of much-needed materials, so production wasn’t threatened by a nasty shortage. Secondly, workers lost to military service were soon replaced with forced laborers. And there was yet another advantage, if it can be called that: the company’s products were tested on prisoners in the concentration camps without deference to the law or morality. It had, in short, secured itself a steady supply of human guinea pigs. So NGCP first took off under the Nazi regime and clearly profited off the war.”

  “But didn’t the Allies overhaul it after the war?”

  “Well, back then there were a number of companies that needed to be overhauled. Ultimately, the Allies focused on the bigger fish. In comparison to the Americans, the British were a little more moderate in their approach to denazification, and NGCP apparently slipped through the cracks. Shortly after the war, the company was renamed North-South Pharmaceuticals. Maybe they were hoping to soon operate throughout the country. In the nineties, it changed its name again following a drug scandal, and since then the company has been called Lagussa.”

  “I had no idea,” said Hannes. “So the Ternheim family has a dark past. I’m surprised none of this is public information.”

  “Well, that’s going to change in a couple of days!” Ben stood up and collected the empty beer bottles. “Lagussa will be holding court on Friday night, celebrating their commitment to corporate social responsibility as part of a charity event benefiting children with leukemia. This will be the perfect setting for me and my fellow activists to show the world Lagussa’s other, darker side.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “You’ll read about it in the papers on Saturday morning.”

  WEDNESDAY NIGHT INTO THURSDAY MORNING

  Again this sinister darkness! What nightmare lurks inside this time?

  Quiet whispers ring in the ears. When the eyes open, the curtains of the dream stage are drawn.

  “He’s awake, quickly now!” a bright, familiar voice shouts. A chubby boy with curly blond hair enters the field of vision and empties a bucket over the sleepy face.

  It burns the eyes, stings the nose. A torrent of urine and feces rushes across the face and mixes with tears of shame.

  “He did it again! Bed wetter, pants shitter! Bed wetter, pants shitter!” sounds a chorus of children’s spiteful voices.

  The orphanage room with its bunk beds and bare walls blurs behind a curtain of tears.

  THURSDAY MORNING

  Merle’s dream had transported her back to two weeks before. Back to a day that had gotten off to a pleasant start.

  She had been coaxed from her sleep by the warm sun and the sound of birds chirping outside. She was to go on a day trip with her boyfriend and was scheduled to meet him at 11:00 a.m. He had kept the destination and reason for this trip a big secret, and Merle had reluctantly promised to wait for him at the East Cemetery. Maybe it won’t be so bad, she’d thought as she lounged under her duvet. Maybe a day trip will be a good chance for finally letting him know my decision.

  Her boyfriend had jumped out of the car just as she was leaning her bike against the cemetery gates. “There you are! I could hardly wait!” He passionately kissed her, and Merle was disgusted to taste his cigarette breath.

  “So where are we going?” she asked. Her boyfriend only smiled.

  In a while the city was behind them, and they were heading north along an empty country road.

  “Are you taking me to the beach?”

  Her boyfriend shrugged. Merle looked out the window. They’d been together for almost two years, yet she had recently come to the realization that they were not made for each other. She was annoyed by his jealous rages, and lately they had become more frequent and more violent. Although he always gave what seemed to be a sincere, heartfelt apology after every outburst, Merle had become fed up with his constant mood swings. Because of her past, freedom wasn’t just a pretty word for her: it was an indispensable part of her life.

  She glanced at him. Sure, he was very attractive with his unconventional hairstyle, slim body, and light-blue eyes. But she had also recently discovered a chilling coldness in those eyes. She had even wondered if he was secretly doing drugs—at least that would explain his mood swings.

  Today
, however, he was in a very good mood. He stopped the car on a hill, and the sea stretched out before them, merging on the horizon with the deep-blue summer sky. He pointed to a narrow path that led down to the beach.

  “There’s a surprise for you down there! Come on!” He jumped out of the car and held the door open for her.

  Merle was surprised at his chivalrous gesture. She followed him down the path, and when they reached the beach, he guided her toward a small group of rocks. I have to tell him, she kept thinking and finally worked up the courage.

  “Hey, hold on. I’ve been thinking a lot about us over the past few days and—”

  “You’re not the only one! You’ll see. Right behind this rock.”

  “Wait! Just listen to me for once!” Merle said. “Maybe you’ve been thinking how nice this is—I know I once did! But I’ve realized this really isn’t working out. Your crazy jealousy, your mood swings—sometimes I’m really afraid of you and . . .”

  His smile had disappeared; he stared at her in disbelief. “You’re breaking up with me?”

  She gently grabbed his arm. “I like you, I just think we’re not right for each other.”

  He pushed her hand away. “Oh yeah? And who’s behind it this time? Is it the bartender from last Saturday? I saw how he stared at you all evening, and you . . . you encouraged him and—”

  “That’s it! I’ve had it!” Merle cried. “Do you even hear the things you say? Could you listen to me just once without becoming insanely jealous?”

  His face twitched, and his cold, fixed stare bored hypnotically into her eyes. For a moment, she was afraid he would hit her.

  “You’ll be sorry,” he said. Then he turned and trudged through the sand. Merle sighed in relief. That certainly wasn’t the gentlest way to break it to him, but at least she had finally gotten it over with!

  Merle had wondered how she would get back to the city, but first, before leaving, she peered behind the little rock. She looked down at a small wooden box with a red heart painted on it. Next to the small box was a lit candle, and inside the box was a small gold ring atop a velvet cushion.