Anna sighed. “I had to just go on with my life. But I know that something died in me at that time.” Her voice was solemn. “I never quite trusted anybody again . . . men, I mean.”
“I can imagine. Did you . . . did you have any relationships after that?” Jonas asked.
Anna shrugged. “Nothing steady or serious. I tried but whenever it got more involved, I pulled back.” She paused. “And now, that’s okay. I enjoy being with men . . . as friends.”
Jonas nodded. “I understand.”
Jonas decided to drive home in spite of the late hour. Anna invited him to stay but he knew she had to get up the next morning to pick up Karla from her spring vacation in the Ticino. And Jonas felt he needed to be alone to digest all he had heard over the past few hours. Her story had unsettled him.
At home, he made himself a cup of herbal tea and added a shot of brandy. He stood by the window gazing into the night without really registering anything.
Now he understood why Anna often appeared withdrawn and distant. But tonight, she had opened up and it had stirred something in him. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The veneer of the strong, aloof, and slightly cold woman had crumbled, exposing her vulnerable inner self.
It had begun earlier in the evening. Her embarrassment about her shoes and outfit and the relaxed conversation at dinner, her tears during the concert had stirred something in him. And when she told him the story of her marriage and the betrayal, he could see in her the young woman in love, full of life and hope, and Jonas was overwhelmed by the desire to hug and kiss her. Just then, however, Anna—as if she felt the shift in his mood—withdrew into her cautious, remote personality again. And Jonas, too, assumed his former role as compassionate friend.
However, something had changed. For the first time since Eva’s death Jonas felt he could fall in love again. Anna was attractive in an unconventional way. She had a good figure, beautiful thick hair, and intense blue-gray eyes. When she smiled—which didn’t happen all that often—the slightly harsh features of her face softened. At such a moment, Jonas was always startled at how pretty she was. From a conversation they had had, he figured she must be in her late thirties or early forties. Jonas was fifty-three.
I’d be robbing the cradle
. He chuckled, then shook his head.
It was absurd to even think about her that way. There was no chance Anna would return his feelings. She obviously had no interest in a romantic relationship, and who could blame her?
Besides, he told himself, if things didn’t work out between them, it might endanger his involvement with Karla. And right now, working with her, helping her a little, and keeping Anna as a friend seemed more important.
Jonas gazed outside, where dawn began to spread. The lake was still dark, a blackish indigo-blue, but in the distance the first glimmers of purple and gold lit up the horizon.
Now, his own bouts of jealousy over Eva seemed even more ridiculous to him. He never had to face the kind of a betrayal Anna had experienced. In fact, he was the one who had betrayed Eva. Not with another woman but by withholding a sinister secret from her, a secret in his family’s past, which may have affected Eva’s Jewish family in a cruel and destructive way. He had been too much of a coward to tell her about the brother of his mother, his uncle Werner, the hater of Jews.
When Jonas was seven years old, he and his parents lived in Zurich. It was two years after the Second World War.
Jonas remembered Uncle Werner as a somewhat crude but funny man. He liked to spend time with him because Uncle Werner brought him presents and played with him. Sometimes, he got to spend a weekend with his uncle who lived in a small village near Zurich.
Uncle Werner let him get away with things his parents wouldn’t. He got to stay up later than at home, listen to the radio until late at night, and drink sodas. Uncle Werner even let him suck some foam off his beer mug. And Uncle Werner loved to tell stories, mainly about the war, when Werner was stationed at the border between Germany and Switzerland, defending the “homeland” as he put it.
Werner was a bachelor, because “who would want such a bigot for a husband?” Jonas heard his mother say once.
“What’s a bigot?” Jonas asked.
“Someone who is prejudiced; someone who dislikes people from a different race or religion,” his mother said in that curt voice, which meant she wouldn’t go into any details.
Jonas knew that Uncle Werner and his mother didn’t get along. They argued a lot. He also picked up scraps of conversation between his mother and father.
“I don’t understand what happened to Werner that made him so hateful. I remember him as a quiet and somewhat lonely boy, who didn’t quite fit in. There were always some problems at home, in school, but nothing that explained his later development,” Jonas’s mother said.
His father shook his head. “He fell in with a bad lot, a bunch of Nazi sympathizers. And don’t forget. It was wartime. People tried to survive and did the best they could. Werner was in charge of part of the border. He had to follow orders.”
“You know as well as I do that Werner did more than just follow orders.”
“It’s easy for us to say in retrospect. How would we have acted, had it been us? We don’t know.”
“You heard some of his remarks about Jews. It’s shameful.” Jonas’s mother raised her voice, something she rarely did. She got up and left the room, closing the door more forcefully than necessary.
Jonas’s father winked at Jonas. “Your mother is a good person. She feels very strongly about what’s right or wrong.”
Jonas didn’t understand his mother’s anger, but he knew it had something to do with the war.
And Jonas liked the war games Uncle Werner played with him in the forest behind his home. Uncle Werner told him he had to keep their games secret. Jonas felt proud that his uncle trusted him with a secret.
Jonas and Werner were soldiers defending the country. They stood guard at the “border,” with large thick sticks, their machine guns. Every once in a while Werner would look around to make sure that nobody saw him, then lifted his stick and shouted, “Stay back, you dirty Jew.” He made shotgun noises, “Ta, ta, ta, ta.”
And Jonas imitated him. “Dirty Jews, go back. Ta, ta, ta.”
“Kill them all,” Werner hissed under his breath.
It was only later, when Jonas became friends with Jakob, a Jewish boy in school, that he began to doubt Werner’s version of things. He realized that it wasn’t the Jews who were the enemy but the Nazis. They had killed the Jews. They had killed part of Jakob’s family, who had done nothing wrong.
Why then did Uncle Werner tell him such stories? Why did they used to play “Killing Jews”?
So the following time, he was alone with Uncle Werner, he asked him. “What did you do during the war, Uncle Werner?” His mother was in the kitchen preparing the meal, and his father had gone to get a bottle of wine from the cellar.
Uncle Werner squinted his small eyes, which made him look mean. “I bet your mother told you all kinds of bad things about me.”
Jonas shook his head. “No.”
“Oh well. She doesn’t understand. She’s just too naive.” Uncle Werner picked up his mug of beer and took a large swig. Then he put it down on the table with a bang.
“These were rough times, Jonas. All the able-bodied Swiss men were at the border. We were defending our country. Always remember that, Jonas.”
Uncle Werner patted Jonas’s arm. “Always remember your heritage, Jonas. You are a good Swiss boy.” He took another swig from his beer mug. Jonas watched the bulge in his throat as he swallowed and burped. Werner glanced over his shoulder toward the door to the kitchen. Jonas heard his mother and father talking and the clatter of dishes as his mother prepared the meal.
Werner narrowed his eyes and bent his head toward Jonas. A cloud of beer breath hit Jonas’s face. “What I tell you now you don't have to repeat to your parents, okay? Your mother and father and I don’t see eye to eye on this.”
Jonas nodded.
“We defended our country from the Nazis. But we also prevented those dirty Jews from infiltrating our land.”
“Why were they dirty?” Jonas stared at Uncle Werner. Jakob wasn't dirty. In fact, he was always well dressed and clean.
Werner waved his hand and spoke in a loud voice. “They stink of money. That's all they ever think about. Making money and hoarding it. A bunch of misers and moneygrubbing bastards. Too bad Hitler didn’t manage to get rid of all of them.”
“Jakob doesn’t stink,” Jonas said, feeling anger rise in him and his eyes fill with tears. All of a sudden, he realized that something was wrong with the man whom he had admired. The games he had played with him—shooting Jews—now seemed mean. And Jonas was ashamed that he had enjoyed playing them. If Jakob knew—
“Werner!” Jonas’s mother shouted, interrupting Jonas’s thoughts. She was at the door, a plate of food in her hands. She turned around and walked back into the kitchen. When she came back without the plate, her face was red and she was trembling.
“I told you many times not to talk like that. You’re polluting Jonas with your sick mind.”
Uncle Werner lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m just telling him the truth.”
“No, that’s not the truth. These are lies, hateful lies, and I’m ashamed of you being my brother, Werner. I want you to leave, right now.”
“Mathilde, calm down.” Jonas’s father put his hand on her shoulder. But his mother pushed him away.
Jonas saw tears in his mother’s eyes. “Please, Werner, just leave. There’s no lunch. I’m not hungry anymore.” She left the living room and Jonas heard her sob in the kitchen.
Jonas’s father shrugged and turned to Werner. “She’ll calm down. But I hope you learned your lesson. Don’t ever talk to my son like this again.”
Werner opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, shook his head, and got up and left.
Jonas, shocked at his uncle’s hateful words and his mother’s outburst, went into the kitchen. His mother was standing at the window, looking out. She seemed to have stopped crying.
“Mom?”
Mathilde turned around, brushed the tears from her face. She held her hands out to Jonas. “Come here, honey.”
Jonas went up to her and buried his face in her apron. It smelled of food, a mixture of roasted pork and vegetables. He realized he was hungry. Jonas glanced at his mother’s face. “Is there no lunch today?”
His mother gave a quick smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll eat.” Then she put her hand under his chin and looked at him with a serious face. “Don’t believe anything Uncle Werner tells you. It’s not true.” She sighed. “He is my brother, but he is a sick man. I don’t know what happened to him.”
From that day on, Jonas’s family and Uncle Werner barely saw each other anymore. Jonas, feeling guilty for his uncle and his own involvement in the war games, tried to be extra kind to Jakob. Soon, he forgot the incident until many years later when his uncle’s words and his role during the war would come to haunt him.
PART FOUR
Chapter 30
The schoolyard was loud and busy during the first week after summer vacation. Kids exchanged stories about their vacation and teenagers checked out each other’s tans and clothes. Although the most expensive brand-name articles were rare in this small town, a few of the kids wore their newest designer jeans.
Karla and Maja were sitting on a stone bench in the schoolyard. They were still largely unconcerned about the fashion statements of the older kids, although Karla did change her top three times in the morning, trying to find the perfect color match for her new pair of khaki pants. She finally picked a green-and-red patterned blouse with a few splashes of the same light brown as her pants. Anna had simply rolled her eyes as Karla darted out the door. She almost didn’t make it in time to her first class.
The two girls were suntanned and healthy looking after their three-week stay with Lena and her new husband, Luigi, in the Vallemaggia in the south of the country. They had helped Luigi, who was a mountain farmer, take care of the sheep and goats up in the Alps. It had been a fun time and Karla and Maja had felt like Heidi in the children’s novel by Johanna Spyri, the Swiss author whose book had become famous all over the world. They both had learned how to milk goats and had helped a farmer make cheese.
Now, school was in session again. It was late August and the children tried to get used to the daily routine of getting up early, homework, and new subjects in school. The weather forecast predicted rain and the summer heat was giving way to the first cool nights and early mornings.
A few boys were playing soccer nearby. They were a couple of years older than Karla and Maja. Karla was almost ten and Maja was eleven. The boys played rough and were screaming and cursing. One of them tossed the ball at Maja, but only hit the corner of the bench. The ball bounced back and ended up in the ditch.
His friends taunted him as he went to fetch the ball. He bounced it up and down hard, edging closer to the girls. He scanned the schoolyard, checking if a teacher was nearby, then faced Maja. “Hey you, dirty Serb,” he yelled at her. He was tall and somewhat overweight, with a fleshy face and mean-looking eyes. He was known for his bullying and ended up in principal’s office quite a lot.
Maja’s face darkened. She was a frequent target of his verbal attacks. “I’m not a Serb, you idiot. I’m Croatian. Don’t you know the difference?”
“All the same to me,” he said. “Damn foreigners.”
“It’s not the same, you dummy,” Maja shouted.
Karla put her hand on Maja’s shoulder. “Ignore him. He just wants to pick a fight.”
The kid scowled at her. “Call me ‘dummy’ one more time and I’ll kill you.”
Maja was a feisty girl, used to having to defend herself, and she didn’t shy away from a fight. She stood up. “Dummy,” she repeated in a taunting tone.
Wilhelm scrunched his face, picked up a stone that happened to lie nearby, and tossed it a Maja. She ducked, but the stone hit her on the forehead, leaving a gash. Blood oozed from her wound, sliding in a thin line down her face. She sat down stunned, holding her head. When she saw the blood on her hand, she started to cry. Karla ripped her handkerchief out of her pocket and put it on Maja’s forehead, trying to halt the bleeding.