Authors: Pierre Frei
'That doesn't really fit the picture,' said Isabel. She sounded as if she knew.
'What do you mean?'
Rainer and Jochen came back from the kitchen, each holding a bottle of Engelhard lager. Jochen was unusually animated. '. . . You unbend the metal clips and pull the closure out of the bottle neck. It works with bottles of pop too. You remove the porcelain stopper. Then the wire's a perfect skeleton key. We used one on the sly at my public school in Naumburg to open the teachers' toilets and spread honey over the loo seat.'
'Sounds a sticky business to me.'
'Herr Wetzer, our teacher, sat on a wasp. You should have heard him yell.'
The two of them shook with laughter. Rainer was gasping for air, Jochen's face was red. Like two naughty boys, thought Jutta. Isabel winked at her, obviously thinking just the same. 'What shall we do now?' she asked her husband.
'I'm inviting us all to Brumm's.'
'Sommerfeld's now,' Jochen told him. 'That's what the place is called these days.'
They got the last free table. The cafe was popular. The continuing economic upturn allowed many people the modest luxury of eating out at lunchtime. Herr Vollmer from the Reich Air-Raid Defence League waved. He was sitting with his wife and son, eating jugged hare. The boy, about twelve, was struggling desperately with the little bones left after the meat was eaten, which kept slipping off his fork before he could deposit them on the side of the plate.
'I once had an excellent zander here. The Mosel was just as good, and the company was entrancing.' Rainer Jordan looked at Jutta with a tiny smile that escaped the others. 'But sad to say, nothing came of coffee afterwards.' She was surprised to feel herself going moist. She pressed her thighs together, which intensified the sensation and was not at all unpleasant.
Zander wasn't in season at this time of year, and no one would have wanted it. Instead they ate an excellent Viennese goulash with dumplings, and drank Franconian wine. 'How's Armin Drechsel doing?' Isabel asked. She gave Jutta a meaningful glance.
'His pupils shine in their maths exams,' Jochen said enthusiastically. 'They say he'll get early promotion to senior status. He's a very gifted teacher.'
And a very gifted Hitler Youth leader,' said Jutta dryly. 'Does he teach the boys' lessons in shorts too?'
Armin takes his responsibilities in the Hitler Youth very seriously,' her husband told her. Isabel pouted, and gave a scornful snort.
'I'm going for a spin in the car with Jochen,' said her husband. 'Order coffee for us, will you?'
'To get back to the subject of Drechsel .'said Jutta impatiently, as soon as she and Isabel were alone.
'I was going to do just that, so listen. No, it's not the cane. Armin doesn't beat little boys. Armin abuses them.'
'What do you mean?'
'I found out by chance at the uni. I hadn't seen the 'Out of Order' notice on the door of the Ladies' room. Armin was in there with his trousers down and the caretaker's twelve-year-old son in front of him. I never told anyone. You don't like to get a fellow-student into trouble. But I realize now that it wasn't just a one-off'
'He indecently assaults children?' Jutta was horrified.
'Boys. He has plenty of opportunity. First it was the Wandervogel hikers, then the Pathfinders. Later he attached himself to the Hitler Youth. His position as teacher in a boys' school fits the picture too. He's always around places where boys gather together. On a long-distance hike, camping out in tents, in your school. You can guess where the blood on little Didi's trousers came from.'
They were interrupted by the return of the men. Jochen was in transports of delight. 'Rainer let me take the wheel. That engine - such sweet music! And the acceleration ...'
'It has four wheels, like any other car,' said Isabel, puring cold water on his enthusiasm. 'Darling, we must go home and change. We're expected at the Trencks' for cocktails at six.'
That evening Jutta smoked another of her rare Junos on the balcony. Jochen watched its smoke mingle with the yellow light of the street lamps. It was warm, peaceful late-summer weather, although dark events cast their shadows before them. The newspapers and radio had been full of bad news for days.
'Will they call you up if there's a war?'
'Teachers will be what they call a reserved occupation. I know that from Armin Drechsel. He has good connections with the authorities.'
I suppose that's why no one puts a stop to his activities.'
'Still not satisfied?' he snapped.
Jutta was not giving in. 'He was involved with the Wandervogel and the Pathfinders, then he went on to the Hitler Youth. Drechsel's been around wherever he can find a lot of boys gathered together. Including your school.'
'Look, I did what you wanted and spoke to him, and he had a perfectly satisfactory explanation.'
'Try asking him about the university caretaker's son. Isabel says she caught Drechsel at it with the boy in the toilets.'
'He'll deny such a slander and hit back, and then it'll be us in trouble. Drechsel has a long arm. I can already see myself stagnating in the provinces. And you with me.'
'You're a coward.'
'There's no proof.'
'What about little Didi? You talked to the abuser, so now why not talk to his victim?'
'Very well, I'm taking the class for our annual outing on Tuesday. We're going to the Kaiser Wilhelm Tower in the Grunewald. We'll have a picnic and play some fun games. The boys are looking forward to it. I'll have a word with Didi then, just to set your mind at rest once and for all.'
And if you do find out that something happened - will you cover up for Drechsel?'
'Do you really think I'd do a thing like that?'
'I don't know.' And she genuinely didn't. He often seemed so strange to her these days.
Jochen was already home when Jutta came back from work that Tuesday evening. He was sitting at the table, exhausted, staring into space. His voice was barely audible. 'You were right. I'm a coward, I've been a coward far too long.'
'Did you get any information out of Didi?'
'Drechsel has been abusing him and other boys for years.' Jochen looked up. He had tears in his eyes. 'Do you know what the boy said to me? "It doesn't hurt so much now when Herr Drechsel does it to me".'
Shattered, Jutta did not reply. At last she pulled herself together. 'You must report him. Didi will have to give evidence, no matter how unpleasant it is for him.'
Jochen closed his eyes. 'I took the class up the Kaiser Wilhelm Tower. There's a wonderful view from up there. And when we got to the top of the tower Didi jumped off. He died instantly.'
When Jutta thought about it afterwards, she was painfully aware that this was the moment she lost her innocence. It was replaced by a sense of helplessness. She was helpless as she stood by the open grave, listening to the priest who spoke, without knowing the truth, about the confusion of adoles cence. She was helpless as she noted that Drechsel had been promoted and moved to Schwerin and the National Political Education Institute, with a personal commendation from the Gauleiter. She watched, helpless, as a war that she did not want began. Helpless, she learned a few days after the outbreak of war that Jochen was being called up, although teachers were supposed to be a reserved profession. He had tried to get other boys in the class to talk. Forty-eight hours later he was at the Front, with practically no military training.
"'It's against all usual practice. Someone must have pulled a hell of a lot of strings to get rid of you, my dear fellow," said my battalion commander, looking at me as if I were some exotic animal,' Jochen wrote. It was his first letter home, and his last. A Polish sniper caught him on the latrine. No one had told him it was advisable to keep your head down when you answered the call of nature. Jutta received a handwritten letter:
Your husband Private Joachim Weber fell at the battle of Rydcz on 6 December 1939 doing his military duty, true to his oath of allegiance to the Fatherland. May the knowledge that your husband gave his life for the nation, the Fuhrer and the Reich be a comfort to you in your great grief. With regards and sincere condolences,
Kuntze, Captain and Company Commander.
She sent the news on by way of the Red Cross to Herr and Frau Carl Weber, Boescamp Farm, Windhoek, South West Africa. Drechsel killed Jochen and Didi and I shall kill him in return, she swore to herself.
She put Jochen's things away and remembered. It was her way of mourning. She couldn't help laughing when she came upon the photograph of herself leaning out of the window of the railway car, looking flushed, with Jochen's intent face behind her. Isabel had taken it with her little Kodak, in perfect innocence, or so she'd made out. Shaking her head, she put away the savings book for the car, where there were only three tokens missing.
They were to have taken delivery of their brand-new VW in October. It was now probably driving around on war business somewhere. The Waterman was full of blue ink. Jochen had left it behind in the desk. Lost in thought, Jutta drew a couple of hearts on the blotting paper.
Gradually, everyday life began again. The world of Onkel Toms Hiitte, still intact, won the upper hand. Jutta seldom left it. Her days flowed calmly on, divided between Frau Gerold's bookshop and the little Wilskistrasse apartment. The war was going on its victorious way, fortunately far from the Fatherland itself. Even the blaring fanfares of the Reich Radio brought it no closer. What did were hitherto unknown delicacies from allied or conquered countries. Frowein's fruit and vegetable shop was suddenly selling persimmons: no one knew how to eat them. And they had artichokes on sale, and fresh figs. Familiar foodstuffs were available in abundance: only tea and coffee were in short supply. Diana Gerold got both from a woman she knew at the Swiss Embassy.
They closed the shop at one on a Saturday. Then Anja Schmitt came to fetch Diana to play tennis. And we're going to the pictures afterwards. The Zeli is showing a new movie with Zarah Leander. Want to come with us?' But Jutta was going into the city centre. Isabel had promised to bring her back a pair of shoes from Rome.
The Jordans were living on the Kurfiirstendamm, just as Rainer had predicted. He opened the door himself. 'Jutta, you've come at just the right moment. I'm cooking an early supper. I brought spaghetti back from Italy, parmesan too, and we'll have genuine Chianti with it.' The UfA studios had sent him to Cinecitta for negotiations over some films. 'Isabel is staying on in Rome for a couple of days.'
She knew the apartment from earlier visits with Jochen. The big drawing room had modern furniture: pale calfskin leather, white oak, Plexiglas, a few antiques, and as the crowning touch a television set. It looked like a radio with a kind of opaque-glass pane beside the loudspeaker. 'One of the few in private ownership.' said Rainer proudly. 'It cost me six hundred and fifty Reichsmarks. The other forty are in the Berlin field hospitals. They don't show much except for army reports and a Sunday programme with the pretty title 'Transmitting merriment, bringing joy'. Seems they're going to expand programming after the war - they'll even show feature films.'
He put a few drops of olive oil in boiling water and fed the hard spaghetti in until it softened and folded under the water. Tomatoes, garlic and tarragon were simmering in a saucepan.
As antipasto, they each had a can of tuna, calamari and olives in a piquant sauce. 'It's the most delicious thing I ever ate,' Jutta told him enthusiastically.
They have all these things fresh in the Cinecitta canteen.' He poured Chianti. 'They're filming very interesting things there. Some of it's trash, of course. The latest sentimental piece has Beniamino Gigli singing and languishing as a Roman taxi driver. It's sure to be a hit here too. I was supposed to be negotiating a co-production. Hans Albers and Alida Valli as a German-Italian couple. With a dear little Japanese girl as their adopted daughter. The Berlin-Rome-Tokyo Axis bears some strange fruits.'
And the Italians go along with this tosh?'
'They politely suggested I might approach the Spaniards. They'd rather work with the French. Conrad Jung is not best pleased. He was to direct, although he doesn't speak a word of Italian.' Rainer grated parmesan over the spaghetti, frowning over the task and looking delightful, as usual. And there was that tingling again.
He had brought back an espresso machine that you had to turn upside down as soon as the water rose in it. The brew was pitch black and very hot. Jutta drank it, sipping carefully. She put her cup down. 'We never got as far as coffee that time, did we?'
He knew what she meant. 'We never got as far as anything that time.'
'Let's make up for it.' She began to undress.
'Don't forget I'm an elderly gent in my mid-thirties.' He unbuttoned his trousers.