by Glenn Bryant
‘Why are you drinking?’ he said, looking up from his newspaper. ‘It’s not like you.’
It’s not like bloody you either, Catharina cursed sarcastically in her head. ‘I just felt like a pinch of Dutch courage tonight,’ she said. ‘We have our final dress rehearsal for our summer concert.’
‘You didn’t have to start going to choir again on my account,’ said Gerhard.
‘I want to go,’ said Catharina. ‘Honestly. It is good for me.’
* * *
Catharina reached the door to the café and opened it. The establishment’s quaint bell rang, announcing her uncertain arrival. Customers were sparse tonight and the waitresses were different from before.
‘Table for one?’ said one, approaching Catharina, who stood politely waiting just inside the door.
‘A table for two, please,’ answered Catharina, collecting herself. ‘I hopefully have a guest, a gentleman, this evening.’
‘Very well, madam,’ said the waitress blankly, leading Catharina over to a free table. ‘Anything to drink?’ she asked as Catharina sat down.
‘Yes, a glass of red wine, please,’ she replied, taking off her coat and fixing her hair.
Catharina looked up at the café’s clock after drinking half a glass of red wine rather quickly. She was fifteen minutes early – if Janus showed. She realised then her mind would only be calmed by his arrival or the realisation that he was not coming. She would have to sit and suffer until that truth.
‘Oh, Catharina,’ she whispered to herself.
The wine was heavenly and started to massage her conscience. Her pulse slowed and she sank into her seat, watching the fragile flicker of the candle dance in front of her.
Janus came. Catharina saw him arrive and captured his eye immediately. It was only seconds before the waitress approached and invited him to sit down. But those few moments were torture for Catharina. She wanted to rush over and grab him, hold him and ask him if everything was alright – ask him if he forgave her.
‘I forgive you,’ Janus said ten minutes later. ‘You are married. I understand. It would be stupid of me not to.’
Catharina looked into his eyes and smiled before feeling uncomfortable again being so direct, so confident. She broke eye contact and began playing with the rest of her red wine.
‘I was annoyed with you for five minutes maybe,’ Janus said.
‘Good,’ said Catharina. ‘I would have been annoyed with you for five days.’
Janus looked uncomfortable.
‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said, hastily retracting her statement. But Catharina realised that was exactly what she had meant.
‘I don’t want to sit here tonight,’ said Janus, finishing his wine. ‘I hoped you would come and see my flat, above the shop. It is what I hoped we would do last night.’
Catharina wasn’t sure what that meant. The proposition was both intoxicating and terrifying in the same instance. She ran her hands down her skirt beneath the table. Her aim this time was purely to iron out creases in her imagination. She did not think it had worked.
They strolled casually like in the movies down the streets back to Janus’ flat. There were not many people around, which calmed Catharina. It felt right clasping Janus’ strong arm and feeling his figure brush against hers. He moved his head down slightly and kissed her gently. There was magic in his touch. Catharina could not help herself blushing, even though it was cold. They reached his flat. Janus dug into his jacket pocket and produced a set of keys. He unlocked the front door to the premises, which were dark and asleep, and starkly different to the light and bustle of the working day.
Catharina followed Janus past the counter and into surprisingly cramped and underwhelming back quarters. The lights remained off. Janus turned left and found a flight of stairs in the corner of the room, leading up to his flat. There was another door at the top, which was closed. He unlocked the door. Catharina peered over his shoulder through the mystery and felt she was entering another world.
‘This is it, I’m afraid,’ Janus said from the far end of the flat.
He felt a long way away.
Catharina instantly clocked a tiny kitchen and toilet through the back of the bedsit where he stood. The rest of the space between them – Catharina had still not left the sanctity of the flat’s doorway – housed a large double bed, wrapped in a wonderful wool rug. You could have flown on that rug, she thought, in your dreams when you were little. Catharina felt she could try. She was seventeen again, untouched and unsure.
There was a desk to Catharina’s left and, the room’s best feature, a large bay window. Janus paced over and pulled across the curtains quickly and easily. They were thin and only diluted the moonlight. The rest of the space was bare, bar a tiny, ragged wooden table which allowed a wireless to stand tipsily like a happy drunk. Janus turned it on and found some jazz. Catharina was in heaven.
‘What do you think?’ he said, for once on the back foot in their relationship.
Catharina found the change in dynamic between them sweet. ‘I love it,’ she said, walking over to him and kissing him deeply.
He had not been expecting that. He had anticipated having to make the first move.
The kiss was guiltier than either of their embraces before. Catharina felt the frame of Janus’ torso closely, running her palms and fingers over the contours of his chest. Janus’ hands moved to Catharina’s hips, which made her flinch at first. They unlocked lips. She started to pull off his white shirt, which hid attractive skin, crisscrossed with scars and little pits, like a miniature battlefield all of its own.
Janus completed yanking his shirt over his head, which had proved awkward. Catharina had not given him time to unbutton it fully and they bumbled between them over to their right and the bed, like a fighter plane spinning out of control. They collapsed and continued kissing. Janus took over and flipped Catharina, who had been on top of him, onto her back. He turned her around so her back was exposed and vulnerable before him. She undid her blouse and pulled it off with Janus’ help, revealing a small but pretty bra and the knee-length skirt she still had on below her tiny waist which Janus gripped and squeezed with his hands.
Catharina had forgotten who she was for a moment. She had become a different person, a different woman entirely. It was unreal to feel his touch and embrace, and his lips plotting seductively across her neck before passionately rediscovering hers. She had waited her whole life for this.
Janus unclipped her bra slowly, carefully. Catharina could hardly stand the excitement and felt she was about to explode. Where had her restraint of all those years gone – all those years working desperately to conjure up some feeling in the bedroom? Janus then slowed the pace of their desire down and began butterfly kissing her spine, from its top to its bottom. His kisses became harder, working their way down. Occasionally, he flicked his lips to the left or right, each kiss a tiny electric charge, tickling and seducing in the same gasp.
Later, Catharina’s head lay luxuriously on Janus’ chest.
He sat up in bed smoking a cigarette. She was blissfully happy, but she knew she had to leave in half an hour. Catharina wanted those minutes to drag stubbornly by for hours, but instead they seemed to be ticking away on fast forward.
‘Are you happy?’ she said, her left hand stroking his chest so softly her fingers barely touched.
‘Are you?’ he replied.
Catharina playfully hit him and briefly raised herself up to look at him. Her breasts, which had been hidden by the rug, tumbled out.
Janus could not help admiring them.
Catharina realised and smiled wryly before reaching back for cover. ‘Are you happy?’ she asked again more testingly.
‘I do not think I was put on this earth to be happy,’ he said.
‘What kind of answer is that?’
The act of making love had broken down barriers between them like only it could. She could be more informal, more personal now. He was not yet fully reciprocating
, although Catharina could not recall the last time she had climaxed quite so breathtakingly. Her whole world had shuddered.
‘How can we be happy when there has been so much misery and so much death?’
‘I suppose,’ said Catharina, whose suburb of Munich had remained relatively untouched by the Allied bombardment, which had otherwise flattened Germany beyond normal comprehension. Germany had protected her for much of the war from the murderous whirlwind which had enveloped and continued to displace millions in Europe. Such remarkable fortune made her feel guilty suddenly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ said Professor Zielinski. ‘This is not how I imagined this working. It’s not why I am telling you this. I want to tell someone I was in Auschwitz; I need to tell someone I was there – I survived,’ said the professor.
‘I think I know that, professor,’ said Jozef, placing his briefcase back on the floor beside his chair. He had been holding it all this time as if he were about to get up and leave.
‘You haven’t got anything timetabled for the next hour?’ asked the professor, more business-like again.
‘I haven’t got anything until 1pm this afternoon.’
The sun peered out from behind clouds and filtered into the room, catching Jozef’s eyes and forcing him to try and move to avoid it.
The professor climbed out of his seat and reached for the blinds. He started talking. ‘I shall begin now, at my own pace and from when I see fit. Interrupt whenever you want. You know I would want you to. I want to engage with you. This is not some form of therapy for me.’
‘Okay,’ said Jozef.
The sun became blanketed by cloud in the sky. Jozef could tell, because the tunnels of light in the room turned dim and grey.
‘I was working at the university in Vienna when the Nazis annexed Austria in March 1938. Jews were hit hard straight away. I had a good wage and a beautiful apartment in the centre of the city. Life was wonderful. Suddenly I was more despicable than a dog. I was scrubbing the streets in a bow tie like a freak show. People stood and watched. I remember one well-dressed woman holding up a little girl above the crowds so she could see better. The girl was excited, happy.’
Jozef felt uncomfortable at the weight of such a confession. But he was spellbound, though slightly guilty for feeling so. He let the conflict in him subside.
Professor Zielinski was oblivious. Talking about this took too much effort and emotion. His eyes shifted, like they were rewinding and then fast forwarding through libraries of memories archived carefully in his head. ‘Ten per cent of the people in Vienna, mainly in the north of the city, away from where I lived, were Jews. The other 90 per cent did not care about us after 1938. Many were glad to be rid of us. Austria held a national referendum on whether the country should be annexed by Germany. More than 99 per cent voted yes. I was in the less than one per cent.’
Jozef sat stiffly in his seat, perched precariously like he might fall forward at any moment. He could not bring himself to say anything. What could he say that would carry equal gravitas? The sun ducked in and out from behind clouds, constantly changing the light and mood in the space.
‘Germany’s and Austria’s youth were taught to be prejudiced by the Nazis. They were told they were better than everyone else. The Hitler Youth sang songs, “If adults scold us, let them rant and scream”. Hitler was telling the next generation to forget what their parents and their grandparents thought and believed, and to believe what he was telling them. They did. They thought we, Jews, were weak. Hitler told them to despise weakness. But we had to be stronger than anyone otherwise we would have died there and then, millions of us.’
‘I find it fascinating to note that not everyone – enemies aside – even by 1938 was head over heels in love with Hitler,’ the professor continued, taking the heat out of the exchange for a moment. ‘The British prime minister, Neville Chamberlain, commented, after negotiating the German annexation of Czechoslovakia in the autumn, that Hitler was “the commonest little dog he’d ever seen”.’
‘Ha!’ exclaimed Jozef and the professor was pleased with his response. He really was very fond of his student.
‘In 1939 another general in the German army, Ludwig Beck, stood up against Hitler. War was inevitable now. Beck saw that and was against it and resigned. He could see Hitler was a psychopath and wrote, ‘I warned and warned and at last I stood alone’.’
‘Beck was not alone. But he was alone in being brave enough to stand against Hitler. Hitler’s other generals felt it was madness to invade France in the West and “unworthy of a civilised nation” to slaughter Poles and Jews in the East. Why did they not all stand together against Hitler?’ asked the professor rhetorically. ‘Because they believed, probably correctly, that the army, soldiers themselves, was too loyal to Hitler and would never have followed them. So they did nothing.’
That evening, Michael telephoned Mathias’ father for the latest on Jozef’s movements at university.
‘He is spending a lot of time with a professor, a Professor Zielinski I believe,’ Mathias’ father dutifully informed Michael.
‘Zielinski,’ Michael said playfully, whirling the word around like good wine. He instinctively knew the name was Polish and most probably Jewish. ‘Anything else?’
‘Not an awful lot, to be honest,’ said Mathias’ father, holding the receiver to his right ear.
‘That is fine,’ said Michael, who was still processing the name Zielinski. ‘Keep at it,’ he added.
‘Of course, of course. As soon as I hear anything you will be the first to know.’
‘Very good.’
‘Auf Wiedersehen,’ said Mathias’ father, but the line was dead by the time his words came out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Catharina and Gerhard entered a period of real happiness. Catharina had Janus to look forward to every midweek and Gerhard had alcohol. Their upbeat moods meant they had not got on so well in years, not since Jozef was small. Gerhard’s demeanour towards his wife improved because he felt she had given up monitoring his drinking and Catharina’s behaviour improved towards her husband because as a consequence he had lost his tense edge. He was happy. She was happy.
That evening Michael visited Gerhard, knowing Catharina was at choir practice but most likely doing anything but singing. He did not really care. She could have her fun. Catharina was not a priority at present and could wait. Experience told Michael to employ it wisely if you enjoyed leverage over someone, and to never rush into blackmail.
Gerhard had quietly contemplated asking Michael something for weeks. He picked both his whisky glass and himself up from his chair. He wanted to stand over Michael. He wanted to feel in charge. This should be good, Michael thought.
‘Is there a chance Jozef’s birth parents will want a relationship with Jozef now or in the future?’ Gerhard said, downing the rest of his whisky. He had gulped too hard and the strong liquor stung the back of his throat. He felt a failure already.
‘I suppose there is always a chance,’ Michael said slowly. ‘You do not need to concern yourself with that. That is not your business.’
‘Not my business!’ Gerhard snapped. ‘He’s my son – our son. Catharina would never get over losing him. Not now. Not after what happened.’ Happiness had imbued Gerhard with confidence.
‘That was your choice.’
‘You bastard,’ said Gerhard. ‘That was your choice.’
Michael smiled with menace almost and Gerhard felt he had overstepped the mark, but he was committed now. He was afraid.
‘If I am not welcome this evening,’ said Michael, remaining calm, ‘I will take my leave. We will forget this little outburst Gerhard. I will forgive it.’
Gerhard was not sure he did. Gerhard did not think Michael forgave anything. How could he, after all he had done?
* * *
Meanwhile, Catharina never believed sex with Janus could actually get better. But it did. It got better. She
created increasingly more elaborate reasons why she would not be home. She shortened the gaps between their dates and began seeing Janus on Saturdays afternoons, only returning home to her husband in the evening after hours of heavenly, luxurious love-making. She learnt to know where and how Janus liked to be kissed and teased; she learnt to love the battered ugliness of his feet, which she had initially disliked. The funny shape of his toes had been off-putting and she had almost tried to hide from them the first couple of times they made love. And she learnt to love the taste of him. She had never really liked that taste before, but now she revelled in it.
It was 2pm, Saturday. Hours left. Catharina secretly rejoiced when she noticed the time and it was firmly on her side. Sunlight was flooding over their skin, sprawled on his bed. The butcher’s opened only in the morning on Saturdays, closing at 12noon sharp. Janus had the afternoon off and Catharina and he had learnt to take full advantage. Janus would lock up and promptly go out shopping for two bottles of white wine. He would carry them both home, one in each hand, wrapped in crate paper. He preferred red, if he was being truthful, but Catharina found it too rich in the daytime. He did not mind.
He wanted to please her. He had not wanted to truly please a woman since before the war – another lifetime. He felt protective of Catharina and liked it. It gave him purpose and confidence and something else he could not quite pin down. Maybe it was love, maybe it was happiness, though he had once given up on both. He treated both emotions like a reformed alcoholic treated drink – a foe not to be fooled with for fear of following a path he knew too well where it ended.