A Distant Hope

by Ellin Carsta

  “It looked stronger in the café,” Karl noted.

  “We’ll have to adjust the amounts to taste,” Anna explained, dipping a small spoon into the liquid and tasting it. Her face lit up.

  “I think we’re on the right track.”

  They all tasted it, one after the other; then they roasted, shelled, and ground more beans. By the time they’d finished, they’d produced several cups of delicious hot chocolate.

  “I could drink this forever,” Frederike gushed.

  “We need a stand in the market,” Georg declared. “Anna, you don’t have to work on days you’re at the market.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Who’s going to keep things in order here while Anna’s away?” Vera spoke up, incensed. “The servants need Anna’s supervision. Otherwise there’ll be nothing but chaos here.”

  “We’ll find somebody,” said Georg calmly.

  “I’ll say one thing, Georg Hansen: I won’t stand for it if the housework is no longer well organized. You cannot expect me and the children to put up with living in disorder.”

  “Of course you’re right, Vera. You could sell our chocolate at the market instead of Anna. What do you think of that?”

  Vera gaped. “That’s monstrous!”

  “I could come back straight after market to do the housework,” Anna offered.

  “Many thanks, Anna, but we’ll think of something. For the time being we need you primarily for the roasting. Frederike, Richard, could you help with the shelling?”

  “Yes, Father” came the answer as if from one mouth.

  “Thank you. I’m glad you see how crucial this is for our family’s survival.”

  His eyes almost bored through Vera. He shook his head and went out.

  Karl left the next day.

  “Send me a telegram as soon as you’ve signed a lease, and let me know where to send the beans.” Georg looked up at his younger brother in the carriage with his luggage.

  “I will. I’ve got a good feeling, Georg, that it’s going to work!”

  “We’ll do everything we can to ensure success.”

  Karl came down, and the brothers hugged and shook hands a second time before Karl retook his seat. He raised a hand in farewell to the children and Vera, who stayed by the front door. She’d said goodbye to her brother-in-law earlier, wishing him bon voyage, so there was no need for her to go to the carriage.

  Karl took the train via Hannover and Göttingen to Würzburg, Nuremberg, Regensburg, and Passau, spending the night there in an inn. He planned to cross the Austro-Hungarian border the next day and travel through the cities of Wels, Linz, Amstetten, and Sankt Pölten, arriving in Vienna that afternoon. During the trip he had time to mull things over. He’d miss his family, of course, but he was looking forward to the independence his new life in Vienna would bring. Maybe, he hoped, he’d finally be able to find his place in life. He couldn’t describe the feeling, but he’d long sensed that he wasn’t interested in the life his brothers led. He’d asked himself time and again what kind of woman he would find truly interesting. He’d had affairs, of course, but none had been rewarding. It had reached the point where the very thought of romance seemed downright absurd. And it wasn’t difficult for him to pursue other interests.

  When some man about his age, or younger, would recount their amorous experiences, Karl had usually found it repugnant. He was neither looking for an affair nor excited by the thought of settling down with a wife. And he definitely didn’t wish to take a wife like Vera or Elisabeth. He was eager to see if women in Vienna were perhaps different, and if he might even develop serious feelings for a woman there. But he had his doubts.

  He spent the night in the Passau hotel as planned. The room was simple, to minimize expenses. After all, he had to have rent for an office and warehouse space for three months in advance, still leaving enough for lodging, food, drink, and telegrams. Everything was tightly budgeted, since Georg and he didn’t have much leeway.

  He asked the inns he’d stopped into on the way if they served chocolate. Not a single one did. And when he remarked that the drink was becoming increasingly popular and that he could provide the beans required, he received nothing but blank stares.

  He arrived in Vienna in early evening, rather the worse for wear, but was relieved as he left the train and walked through the Nordbahnhof. During his earlier visit he was amazed by the huge Romantic building that had taken sixty years to complete until it was finished in 1865. The station was designed with playful details and high, generous ceilings. Karl stood on the broad platform and looked around the large five-track hall. He tilted his head back to take in the angled glass skylights letting in the late afternoon sun. His eyes followed with wonder the high iron columns supporting the roof.

  He descended the magnificent stairway parallel to the tracks to the arrival hall. He recognized varied stylistic elements, Gothic and Romanesque features, even some Byzantine and Arabian-Moorish ones. Karl thought that people who said the Nordbahnhof was the most beautiful building in Vienna were absolutely right. He exited the station through one of the five arched portals onto Nordbahnstrasse, next to the Nordbahn, which had given the station its name.

  Before looking for a room, he went to the café where the owner had showed him the way to make chocolate from cocoa beans.

  She recognized him immediately.

  “Klaus Hansen, right? The chocolate man.” She extended her hand.

  “Karl Hansen,” he corrected her. “Good evening, Fräulein Loising. But ‘chocolate man’ is truer than ever.”

  “Really? You’ve put your plan into action?”

  Karl spread out his arms. “Your new cocoa supplier stands before you.” He watched her face. “At least I hope so.”

  “Let’s sit down.” She waved to the waitress. “Frieda, take over, please.”

  The waitress nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “What would you like to have, Herr Hansen?”

  “Chocolate, of course. What else?”

  “With pleasure. Please, have a seat. I’ll bring it to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Karl went to a table beside the window in the very back corner and sat down. He looked around the room. This café felt special, and not only because of its pretty owner. Therese Loising was about his age, perhaps a year or two younger. Her long dark-blond hair was pinned up loosely and adorned with a silk band. She wore a white blouse and a plain black skirt, which accentuated her petite figure. She’d told Karl on his last visit that she was unmarried and intended to remain so. She was unlike any woman he’d met. Though friendly and obliging, Therese did not seem as though she was aiming to please anyone, not least a man. She was independent and unconventional, with an infectious, bell-like laugh.

  The café reflected her character. There were both round and square tables, each with two or four chairs. The chairs were not the same, yet each went well with their respective table. Some were covered in green fabric, others in red. Some were simple dark wooden chairs with high backs. Some had woven inserts on the backs. Karl didn’t know whether that was planned or a result of Therese gradually expanding the place. The décor wasn’t especially harmonized, and for that very reason it created coherence. The walls were covered with a dark, slightly shimmering red paper. The floorboards were wide and beautifully polished. Nothing matched, yet everything fit. And the customers seemed to like it. All the tables were occupied but two.

  Therese came back carrying two cups.

  “Chocolate for the chocolate man,” she announced with a laugh, putting the cups down and taking a seat.

  “Please call me Karl. Although I do like ‘chocolate man.’”

  “Call me Therese.” She raised the cup. “Try it. I’ve refined our recipe since you were here last.”

  Karl took a sip. The chocolate was hot, but not enough to burn his tongue, and topped with cool whipped cream. The contrasting sensations were delightful on his palate.

  �
�Delicious,” he said, already having drank half his cup.

  Therese laughed loudly. “Now you have a second mustache.”

  Karl pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed around his mouth. If it weren’t for the prevailing fashion, he would have shaved off his carefully groomed mustache long ago.

  “Better?”

  Therese nodded. “I liked it as it was, but it’s fine now.” She took a sip. “Did you have a good trip from Hamburg?”

  “Yes, uneventful. But of course it goes faster when you’re by yourself.”

  “So your brother and nephew didn’t make it this time?”

  “No,” Karl said. “Robert, whom you met, has taken over a cocoa plantation in Cameroon, and my nephew is in Hamburg with his parents.”

  Therese was animated. “Really? Herr Meyerdierks’s plantation, perhaps, the man I introduced you to?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I can’t believe it! Oh, how marvelous! Well, you certainly didn’t waste any time.”

  “We thought it was an excellent idea. So why hesitate?”

  “At last, a man of action!” She flashed him a smile. “Maybe that’s the way people from Hamburg are. Here in Vienna everything gets discussed endlessly, but never decided.” She rolled her eyes. “I do believe if I grow tired of being here, I’ll go to Hamburg and open a café there.”

  “Absolutely not!” Karl dictated.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one, I still don’t know anything about your Vienna, and I’m hoping you’ll educate me.”

  “Perhaps you’re already putting something else into action, Karl Hansen. You could be dangerous for me.”

  “I hope so.”

  Their conversation lulled as they sipped their chocolate.

  “So what do you think, Therese? Would you be my first client in Vienna?”

  “With pleasure. Of course, I’m just about fully stocked, but there’s a little space left. How much can you deliver?”

  “How much do you need?”

  “Fifty pounds? Or is that too much?”

  “Twice that wouldn’t be too much.”

  “That’s wonderful. And will you give me a better price than the other cafés?”

  “I’ll give you a very good price,” he assured her. “And if you don’t tell anyone, I’ll see it’s a better price than any other café will have.” He winked.

  She reached out a hand to him. “Then, my dear Karl, you have in me the best guide to Vienna you could wish for.”

  He took her hand and shook it firmly.

  “Have you found a place to stay?” Therese inquired.

  “No, I’ve just arrived.”

  “And rushed straight over to me—you’re doing things the right way,” she joked. “I could ask some friends who rent rooms. Or would you rather have more space?”

  “No, a room is fine for now. Thank you. I’ll also need an office, somewhere I can have the beans sent to.”

  “How much should it cost?”

  Karl shrugged. “I don’t need anything special. Just room to store the beans.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find something.” She smiled. “Well now, the room. The Viennese are a hospitable people. And I have many friends. Pick me up here at six thirty, and we’ll ask around.”

  “At six thirty.”

  “Yes. As you can see, I’ve got more work to do . . .”

  Therese waved toward the café, where customers were standing in the doorway, waiting for a table.

  “I’ll be here.” Karl pulled out his wallet.

  Therese stood up. “The chocolate’s on the house. Welcome to Vienna, chocolate man!”

  Chapter Seven

  Cameroon, November 1888

  Luise wiped the sweat from her brow. Winter was beginning to arrive in Hamburg, but here it was always around ninety degrees. It didn’t cool off until evening. She helped with the harvest every day, earning derision from her mother and Martha. At times she’d have gladly changed places with them or sat with them for a cold drink. But Luise didn’t want to give them that satisfaction. She overcame her tired legs, and so she drank some water and kept right on working. The workers’ songs often lent her some strength; they sang in unison with a regular rhythm. She could have hummed along with many of the songs, but didn’t trust herself, and so only moved to their rhythm, in unison with the others.

  Malambuku came often to oversee everything. At first she’d taken him for a kind of foreman, but she’d since learned that he was a real, active overseer who organized and supervised the men, making sure each one performed the work he was assigned. She noticed something else. When Malambuku came out to the cocoa trees, he treated everybody equally, with no special words for Hamza and his brothers. But when Hamza went to the farmhouse to make a report or ask something, Malambuku treated him with the warmth of a father who loved his son and was exceedingly proud of him.

  “Luise can sing along.” Hamza was beside her, picking out the little wooden slivers among the beans.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “You do when nobody listens.” Hamza nodded knowingly.

  “Oh, I won’t do it,” she objected.

  Hamza grinned widely. “I heard you.”

  She tried to think of a retort, but he went to the opposite side of the tub and resumed his work.

  At first she’d been annoyed that he always had to have the last word. But eventually she’d realized that he was just one of those people who stopped talking when everything had been said.

  “Do you want to be an overseer someday like your father?” she said to continue the conversation.

  “Yes, someday when my father is dead.”

  Luise gave a start. “But surely Malambuku won’t work his whole life. I mean when he retires.”

  Hamza furrowed his brow, not recognizing the word.

  “I mean when he’s old and has worked enough and then can just”—she groped for an example—“herd cattle.”

  “That is work for boys. My father is a strong man.”

  “Yes, of course. You’re right.”

  The language barrier between them troubled her at times. Hamza spoke German extremely well, but some things just didn’t translate. It wasn’t always clear if it was because of the language or the culture.

  “And you? Will you do your father’s work some day?”

  Luise reflected for a moment. She’d felt from the beginning that her home was here and nowhere else. But would she ever be in a position to take over the plantation? That Martha wasn’t interested was obvious. If anyone, it would be her cousin Richard. But she? A woman in Africa? It sounded too absurd.

  “At home the men earn the money, you see, and women don’t work. I mean, those who have enough money not to have to.”

  “But you are a woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you work here.” He mused for a minute. “Your mother and sister have money enough and you do not?”

  “Good point,” she said, laughing. “They don’t like to work. I do.”

  Hamza shook his head, and Luise realized that she couldn’t explain what she was thinking. No wonder. Not even the other German colonists understood why she was helping with the harvest. Luise had seen quickly that she didn’t fit in with their world of high-ranking people whose goals were so different from her own.

  “If not run the plantation, what will you do?”

  “I’ll probably have to go back to Hamburg eventually.” She added silently to herself, And get married.

  “What is in Hamburg?”

  “It’s where I’m from, and the rest of my family lives there: my uncle, aunt, and two cousins.”

  Hamza nodded.

  “I would like to go there.”

  “To Hamburg?”

  Another nod.

  “Whatever for?”

  “My father says there you can learn to write and read. And buy your own beans and take care of your family and whole tribe.”

  “You want to learn to
read and write German? I had no idea.”

  “My brothers don’t. But I do. When Father was young, there were hardly any white men here. But now there are many. I like to learn their language, learn their customs.”

  “Well, Hamza.” She cocked her head. “You already speak my language, but I don’t speak yours. You’re much cleverer than me.”

  “I speak, but not good enough.”

  “If you like, I could help you with it.”

  “Help?”

  “We can talk together, and I’ll help you to speak better and better. Just like a German.”

  Hamza beamed. “It would be very beautiful,” he responded, making a kind of bow. “What do you like in exchange?”

  “What would you like in exchange—that’s the correct way.”

  Hamza, recognizing that the lessons had begun, repeated, “What would you like in exchange?”

  “Very good.” She smiled at him. “We are friends, Hamza. I just want to help you.”

  “Friends?”

  Luise nodded. “That’s how I feel. Strictly speaking, you’re the only friend I have.”

  Hamza didn’t quite know what to say. “Thank you,” he managed, adding, “my friend Luise.”

  She almost corrected him, giving him the German word for a woman friend, but she liked his use of the masculine word.

  Over the next few days, Luise and Hamza had fun with their daily language learning. At first the Duala seemed suspicious, but they quickly adjusted to the fact that Luise and Hamza were now friends. Hamza was very able, repeating every sentence she spoke. And his German improved faster than Luise imagined possible. His sentences grew longer, and he used subject, object, and verb in the correct order. Sometimes Luise heard something of her own teacher in her voice when talking with Hamza. On the other hand, when her private tutor was teaching her, she barely listened.

  Some days earlier, letters had arrived from home. Luise never thought she’d be so excited about a few lines from her relatives. Uncle Georg had enclosed a packet of newspapers so that the émigrés would have some news from the homeland. Luise was startled by her mother’s reaction: she burst into tears and ran sobbing up to her room.