by Glenn Bryant
The sky curving overhead was flatly grey, yet he saw beauty in it now when he went out to purchase wine for Catharina. He saw beauty in most things since the start of their affair.
Twenty expert paces behind, Michael was following. He had fixed his black gloves while he walked, so they helped protect his sleeves from unwelcome chills. He had planned his trip out to this part of town. Only an old drunk would buy two bottles of wine for himself, thought Michael, gazing up the pavement. And they were two decent bottles. A heavy drinker would surely adopt a more pragmatic, economical approach.
Janus reached his flat. Catharina was stood waiting as discreetly as she could. Janus smiled at her from a distance. She returned the compliment and undid her head scarf, allowing her hair to fall out into the wind and cold. She did not mind anymore. She liked the liberation. Looking around, she kissed Janus quickly. He wanted to wait until they were inside, but he smiled nonetheless. She took both bottles from him as he unlocked the door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Professor, the day before I came to Berlin,’ Jozef said after their seminar. ‘My parents revealed something to me. They revealed that I was adopted. They are not my real parents.’
Professor Zielinski nodded kindly. He was not giving much away. He had not been sure what to expect from Jozef’s confession, but whatever it was he certainly did not want to make the exchange more emotional than it had to be. He was keen to retain a degree of professionalism in the room.
‘I think I want to know who my real parents are. I want to know who I am, but I don’t know where to start.’
‘I have a few ideas,’ said the professor. ‘Would you like some coffee?’ He poured himself a cup.
‘No, thank you. I don’t drink coffee. My mother used to try and make me drink a little when I was a child, but I always cried. I didn’t like how it scolded my mouth, so she gave up.’
The professor nodded, but he was only half listening if he was being honest. His craving for caffeine had temporarily taken hold. ‘I could bathe in it if allowed,’ he confided longingly and Jozef smiled. ‘I can help you,’ the professor said between sips. ‘I can help you find your birth parents. The best place to start would be the central records office in Berlin. There is more information there than people know.’
‘Can I ask about your tattoo?’ said Jozef.
The professor felt too happy to launch into that subject. What was his tattoo really, he thought?
Jozef had taken the chance to drink from a cup of water placed carefully on the floor beside his chair. It was small, but twinkled with fragments of sunlight trapped in the glass.
‘Did you know Jozef that the human lips become stretched in the final stages of starvation? It is called “the hungry grin”.’
Jozef shook his head.
‘Afterwards comes diarrhoea. Finally, a bitter taste in your mouth – like the body is poisoning itself. I thought it was telling me it wanted to leave, but my mind wanted me to stay. What can you tell me about your parents Jozef, the people who adopted you?’
Jozef liked that the professor used the word ‘people’. The aloofness was appropriate. It made it easier for him to answer.
‘Their names are Gerhard and Catharina Diederich. They live in central Munich and have done their whole lives I think,’ said Jozef, who could not help noticing the professor’s hair was particularly wild today. ‘My mother, Catharina has always lived in Munich. My father may have moved about a bit but he settled after meeting my mother, which would have been close to 1930. I am 19 tomorrow, so I was born March 3, 1941.’
‘Good, that is good,’ the professor encouraged him, taking stock and drinking more coffee. ‘And happy birthday for tomorrow. But you do not know what your surname is by birth? Or even if Jozef is your real name?’
‘No, no, I don’t,’ said Jozef, shaking his head and finding that difficult – not knowing if Jozef was his real name.
‘I suppose we also do not know for sure whether that birthdate is correct. We will have to presume it is.’
Jozef’s eyes blew up. Sun gushed in from outside and he instinctively used his hands to protect his face from the glare.
‘Let me get those blinds,’ said the professor, annoyed the sun had interrupted their conversation. He knew this could not be easy. It had never occurred to Jozef before that March 3 was not his true birthday and that in fact he may have been in the wrong age group in education all his young life.
‘I know this must be difficult Jozef. But we will get there.’ The professor crouched forward onto the edge of his seat and clasped Jozef’s hand in between his own. The man’s hands were worn and creased like old newspaper. The professor patted Jozef’s hand then let it go. ‘We will go the central records office in Berlin. How are you fixed on Wednesday afternoon?’
* * *
That evening in Munich, Gerhard poured himself and Michael two large whiskies from the Diederich’s drinks cabinet. Out of the corner of his eye, Gerhard noticed Michael’s legs were crossed and that one foot was swinging gaily, and rather annoyingly, in the air. Gerhard swallowed his anger, turned and handed Michael their most expensive glass.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Please, sit. Now, Gerhard, did you know Catharina was having an affair?’
Gerhard stopped. Not a lot got in the way when he was about to enjoy a first drink of the evening. But this did. His eyes dared not move for a moment.
‘Yes,’ continued Michael calmly. ‘I don’t know exactly who with, but I’m sure I can find out. No trouble.’
‘You must be mistaken,’ said Gerhard, returning to the conversation and drinking deeply from his glass.
‘No. No mistake,’ said Michael almost cheerily. ‘I don’t think Catharina’s been very committed to the Munich ladies’ choir lately, if you will.’
This added piece of information winded Gerhard. He had to lean forward in his chair to ease the discomfort. Michael smiled again.
* * *
It was Friday night and Gerhard and Catharina were eating a modest supper of kippers and boiled potatoes. It was perfectly pleasant but perfectly plain.
‘Are you looking forward to your concert tomorrow?’ Gerhard asked knowingly, guiltily. He felt uncomfortable and still could not believe it. Should he just come straight out with it? No. That did not feel right either.
‘Very much,’ said Catharina, eating a potato from her fork. ‘I’ve been looking forward to it all week. I hope my practising in the bathroom hasn’t bothered you too much!’
Catharina began to laugh, but stopped abruptly when her husband did not even smile in return. Unease.
‘Is everything okay, darling?’
‘Yes, yes, fine,’ he stuttered automatically.
But Catharina sensed something was badly wrong. It was probably just a long week at work spilling over, she hoped, before thinking about what she was going to wear tomorrow. She was going to surprise Janus with new silk underwear. It had cost her the earth, but she was sure he would like it. She knew it flattered her figure and she began to feel aroused.
Gerhard was quietly going crazy across from her at the table. He was helpless before maddening thoughts of another man kissing her, touching her, feeling her. The stranger would not release hold of her in his imagination. Gerhard was willing him to. Fury was flooding his head and Gerhard quickly needed to release the pressure otherwise he thought he might explode.
He stood up, paced around the room and tried to breathe.
Catharina knew now something serious was wrong. Breathe Gerhard, he told himself and he felt a little temperature drain from his mind.
‘Darling, what’s wrong?’ asked Catharina.
‘Nothing, nothing,’ he said without thinking. ‘There is a lot going on at work at the moment, that’s all. I didn’t get to where I wanted to today. I’ll get stuck back into it on Monday.’
Catharina nodded happily. She had thought as much.
Gerhard had stopped moving, but he was still pacing frantically up
and down, up and down in his head. The speed was increasing and he felt his heart burn. He reached for the door to the drinks cabinet, but then he stopped himself. Even a drink did not appeal. I’ll follow her, he thought. Yes! I’ll follow her. Gerhard was calm by the time he reached the bottom of his first glass of whisky half an hour later. He had a plan. He had a plan.
* * *
Next week soon arrived.
‘Auf Wiedersehen, darling. Have a good time singing,’ said Gerhard.
‘Danke. I will,’ said Catharina, closing the front door behind her.
Gerhard sprang up from his position at the dining room table. He had been pretending to read his newspaper for a small lifetime while his wife got ready to leave. He had not followed Catharina on Saturday. A hangover had dulled his desire and he had decided to leave it until the following midweek.
Gerhard already had his shoes on. He wriggled his arms into his jacket and checked he had his keys in his pocket, as he always had. Gerhard was nothing but a creature of habit. He closed the door quickly behind him but failed to check it was locked, which was healthy for him. He had paranoid compulsions which exhausted his days and his limited patience. He peered forward and made out Catharina a few hundred yards down the road. He feared he was losing her, but his instincts reminded him it was wise to hang back. Where on earth was she going? he thought. This was not the way to choir practice.
Gerhard watched his wife, a stranger now, buying a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
She was happy, happy in a way that he could not recall clearly. He was finding it difficult to witness what he was discovering and seeing what he had missed all these years. He stood discreetly across the street. Catharina walked out from the florists with her flowers, inhaling deep gulps of fragrance as she went. She was dressed smartly, attractively.
A man asked her what time it was. She looked at her wristwatch, slighter than her delicate wrists Gerhard had always loved. They felt so soft, so fragile, like he had to carefully cradle them for fear of breaking one by accident. Catharina told the man the time before sharing a joke. He laughed and tipped his hat to her.
Gerhard was losing her. He quickened his stride to keep pace, bustling his way past two women with large pushchairs dominating the pavement. There was no way past on the outside.
‘How rude,’ remarked one lady after Gerhard had finally barged past.
He thought about shooting words back in retort before glaring ill-temperedly in her direction instead.
Catharina stopped outside the butcher’s.
It was closed, Gerhard saw, which he thought strange for a busy Saturday in Munich, but then again, he had no idea of the shopping habits of the city’s inhabitants and shopkeepers. He could not remember ever going food shopping. What is she doing? he thought, annoyed. He was struggling to maintain his cover and was irritated his mind was running free from him. It was easier for his nerves if he moved while his mind raced. Then, a man, younger than Gerhard. Catharina held up the flowers to him. He half acknowledged her. She ran the last few paces and kissed him warmly on the cheek. The man seemed embarrassed and began to unlock the door. Catharina’s hand rested intimately on the small of the man’s back before she followed him inside.
Gerhard was crushed across the street. He felt queasy. His body was tingling with thousands of beads of sweat, scuttling across his skin like insects. They tortured him until he felt drunk, then sick on emotion. His mind retreated inside his head until he could only hear the people close to him gossiping. He was panicking and alone. Catharina had left him all alone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jozef and Professor Zielinski were walking to the central records office in Berlin. They had caught the train and now faced a five-minute journey on foot. It felt peculiar, thought Jozef, to be with the professor like this outside campus and not strictly on university business. His search for his birth parents was beginning to demystify the professor. The layers were falling off him. It was both endearing and sobering in the same instance. The professor was not an untouchable institution in Jozef’s eyes anymore. He was human and fallible like everyone else.
‘Tell me more about the Nazis and their policies towards Jews,’ said Jozef.
It was a good day, blue. There was no rush to reach the records office. It would be pleasant to while away the time and reintroduce something of a student-professor relationship to the dynamic.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said the professor, flanking Jozef. ‘After annexing Austria, the Nazis put up loudspeakers all over the city. Hitler’s speeches would play for hours and hours. At first you listened, but then it just became background noise. It was harder for us Jews. We knew Hitler’s words carried greater significance. Hitler made no secret of his hatred for us.’
‘There were pictures, pictures all over Vienna,’ he continued. ‘In them Jews were portrayed as monkeys and animals. We weren’t people anymore. In the Jewish ghetto in Warsaw, where I ended up by 1942, conditions were terrible – ten to a room. There was a family in the room where I was placed – thankfully I had no family. I was alone. It was better that way, easier.’
‘There was a couple who had two sons. One was crippled. He had rickets as a child, his mother told me. The illness had left him with a limp on his left side and he struggled to walk far. There was a hospital in the ghetto and the Jewish police, helping keep order for the Nazis, told the parents to send him there. The parents thought it was a good idea and that he would be safe. But the boy knew, I think.’
Jozef did not say anything. He thought it best to simply listen.
‘When the policeman came to take him away the boy gave his mother his warm winter coat. It was a beautiful coat with a fur lining. His mother insisted he keep it, but he said, ‘Mother, give it to someone who needs it. I don’t need it anymore. It will be warm in the hospital’. He was twelve. The parents were deported the following spring. The other boy got a job, a good one, in an armament factory outside the ghetto. I don’t know what happened to him.’
The professor realised where they were. ‘Here we are, Jozef,’ he said, geeing himself back up. That was enough sorrow for one day.
They stood on the grand steps outside the central records office. Jozef was wary of what lay undisturbed inside.
It proved a fruitless first trip. Afterwards, they had coffee and sandwiches nearby, resting tired feet and minds.
‘Do not worry, I will put my thinking cap on,’ said the professor, seeing Jozef was downbeat and disappointed. ‘These things take time.’
‘Tell me more about the camps,’ Jozef said, trying to buck himself back up and refusing to wait for the ill feeling to subside naturally.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said the professor, who would rather not have turned the conversation there quite at this moment, but was glad to do something and, anyway, he had started this crusade, not Jozef. He could not abandon it now. ‘What I am about to tell you is not easy. Camp survivors are not speaking about their experiences yet. I am of the opinion that one day they will and then we can all learn from them what really happened, and warn against anything like that ever happening again.
‘When groups in society believe they are better and more valuable than others, a human disaster can occur. The Nazis told everyone Jews were not worthy of life like Aryan Germans. Everything I have told you and everything you have learnt until now has been worthwhile and of interest, but this is what really happened.’
The professor finished his coffee and braced himself. ‘My greatest fear,’ he began, ‘is that once I and other survivors are all gone there will be no one left to tell people what happened – what really happened.’
There was so much life and energy surrounding them, Jozef observed who sat across from the professor in the café. The sun was threatening to set for the evening, but was still shining. It was strange to listen to the professor’s terrible truths in such a setting.
‘The first thing we went through was simply getting to the camps,’ said the professor
, careful to not let his words travel to another table.
A pretty waitress hovered over them and offered them more coffee.
The professor politely declined and continued speaking when they were safely alone again. ‘We were crowded in like cattle on trains. There was no light, no food, no water, no toilet and no ventilation. I felt ashamed. How can a man hope other men die simply so he can have room to sit? That is what I felt. The Nazis dehumanised us. We were worse than animals. You became selfish. You did not care about anyone else. You really only cared about yourself.’
‘That is not shame, professor, that is honesty,’ said Jozef, feeling it was a good time to interrupt. ‘I admire honesty.’
‘Thank you Jozef,’ said the professor. ‘Shall we walk? It is getting cooler. We should get moving.’
The professor and Jozef walked slowly through the streets of Berlin peculiarly like young lovers, uncertain of one another but hoping one day to find happiness standing next to them.
‘I would like to keep going,’ said the professor and Jozef nodded.
Dusk was quickly turning to dark and street lights flickered into life. The university campus was not far.
‘Something always struck me about the guards at the camps. The women guards were worst. Of course I had little experience of them, because they took care of the female inmates, and men and women were strictly separated upon arrival. But I remember one female SS guard with these eyes. I have never seen such hateful eyes. Where did they get women who hated so much? And for what?’
‘What was it like when you first arrived?’ asked Jozef, turning up the collar on his jacket to keep out the cold.
The professor had come well prepared and was now enjoying the warmth of thick gloves from his coat pocket. He clapped his hands together for extra heat while they walked. ‘I spent time in another camp before I arrived at Auschwitz. It was chaos when we reached Auschwitz. You felt you had arrived at the gates of hell. God had long left. We got off the cattle train and stood on the platform. Waiting for us were Jozef Mengele and his cronies, dressed like peacocks in their Nazi uniforms.’