Warsaw (31 page)

Putting on a blue woollen jumper over a white cotton blouse
- and also wearing a pair of beige trousers from one of her mother's summer
suits - Jessica stood before the door, her slim fingers upon the curtain. Her
heart was beating powerfully, like a galloping mare, spurring her on. Jessica
bit her lip in one last act of hesitancy but then finally pulled the curtain
aside.

A startled Adam already stood before her. Desperate, ardent,
he had just wanted to look upon her. His mind's eye could dwell upon a
silhouette of the real thing for only so long before he gave way to such close
temptation. Adam at first blushed and then looked guilty, vulnerable.

Jessica smiled, amused by his shock, touched by his shyness.
Still somewhat dumb as to what to do Jessica took the lead. She took his rough,
cold hand in hers (soon it would warm and soften). Her other hand instinctively
reached up to his sad stubbled face, cupping it in care. Without a word spoken
she raised her mouth to his. Adam lowered his head upon her to meet in the
middle for a yearnful, tender kiss - friends becoming lovers.

He was still a little unsure of himself as Jessica led Adam
by the hand back into her moonlit room. They kissed again, this time more
hungrily. She sighed, hummed, in pleasure. Tongues fought in harmony with each
other in blissful kisses. Happy chemicals were released into bloodstreams. They
no longer felt the cold night air - their hearts and pink flesh flushed,
invigorated. Jessica first ran her hand up and down upon his groin and then
nimbly undid the buttons upon his worn, corduroy trousers.

Christian Kleist and Herbert Klum were in conspiratory
conference. A silence had temporarily descended upon some guests in the room
when the Gestapo officer had entered. They chatted for a couple of minutes
before Christian Kleist led his distinguished guest over to where Thomas and
his small discussion group were still loosely gathered.

"Now gentlemen, as much as I'd love to continue our
previous conversation, I have to stop you. It's time for some sport so to
speak. Now please do not be upset with me Corporal but in some ways I invited
you here tonight on false pretences - though I would have invited you
regardless. But I was thinking about you Thomas the other evening and I thought
to myself how very much I would have liked to see you fence."

Already Walter Fest's sober face expressed the suspicion in
Thomas Abendroth's heart.

"I can assure you that you didn't miss much
Lieutenant," Thomas self-effacingly remarked.

"You are being too modest again Corporal."

"I only wish for once that I could afford to be
arrogant, but my record and abilities won't permit me I'm afraid."

"If you are as unpractised as you say you are Thomas
then what I have planned will take but little time, which is reason to indulge
us even more wouldn't you say? I have taken the liberty of arranging a match.
Of course if you do not want to take part I can't force you, but the
demonstration will be less than half the entertainment if one of the
participants is not up to the contest."

"Who am I to face?"

"You should be either honoured, or scared,
Thomas..."

Jessica's skin glistened in the silvery beams of the moon
and golden glow of the burning candles - her wiry body electrified. Adam cupped
one of his hands onto her hardening, soft breasts. Squeezing, arousing, in
rhythm with their heartfelt lovemaking. Jessica herself then placed her hand
over his, to keep it there. The fingers of his other hand were placed in her
mouth, as she lovingly sucked and kissed them. Partly Adam did this to also
quieten Jessica's increasingly audible gasps of pleasure. Whilst Jessica
sometimes closed her eyes or looked up to heaven in ecstasy Adam appeared
serene as he gazed up at the ethereal woman on top of him. So much of his
happiness was for her.

There were uncomfortable instances when Thomas could
remember the fateful afternoon as if it were yesterday. What should have proved
to be a routine fencing practise changed Thomas Abendroth's life forever,
though he little dwelled upon about what could have been nowadays.

The fencing class in the university's gymnasium was winding
down as with a couple of semi-serious matches between classmates. Most students
however were standing around chatting. It was the second lesson to have been
taken by the new teacher - the old fencing master, who Thomas had an uncommon
affection for from introducing him to the sport, having recently retired.

It was surprising, as it ultimately proved unfortunate, that
Joseph Hirsch attended the fencing class that day. Usually he produced some
sort of note, produced by his uncle/doctor that exempted him from sports.
However, having misplaced his note this day the new fencing master refused to
excuse the youth - despite or because of his feeble protests. "The
exercise will do you good, it might even help deflate that tyre around your
waist," the teacher exclaimed, much to the amusement of the class. Lothar
Spitz, a former cavalry officer in the First World War, owned a two inch scar
which ran down his cheek, from his left eye, and gave the harsh tutor a
somewhat intimidating expression. Suffice to say despite the odd muttering and
sullen look Joseph Hirsch kept his head down and eventually took part in the
class.

An unpopular loner, due to an attitude of snobbishness, the
youth was often a target for being bullied - and not just because of his
Jewishness. He had heard a couple of instances of sniggering behind his back
from early on in the lesson but when someone finally pointed at him and laughed
Joseph finally put a hand to his back to check if someone had stuck a note upon
his person. Discovering none to be there the aggravated student nevertheless
then checked himself in one of the gymnasium's mirrors. He knew little of how
and when it could have been put there but Joseph was shocked and upset to find
that someone had drawn, in coloured chalk, a large Star of David upon the back
of his fencing whites.

"Sir, look what someone has done," Hirsch
exclaimed, marching up to the teacher. Indignant. Whining.

"What do you want now boy?" Spitz curtly replied,
already irritated by the disruptive Jew.

"Look!" Joseph pronounced, comically twirling
around in front of the teacher in order that he could see.

The fencing master did indeed look, but then merely shook
his head at the immaturity of it all - albeit he was also a little amused by
the practical joke and the womanish state of being that it had put the bleating
boy into.

"It's nothing. Don't be such a child boy. It'll come
out in the wash. And if it doesn't at least you'll now recognise your
kit."

In reply to this a few of the students chuckled. Joseph was
speechless. Hirsch sniffed, or even snivelled. All eyes were now upon him.
There were a couple of other Jewish students in the class who felt something of
Joseph's frustration and injustice, but they bowed their heads and kept quiet
whilst doing so. Thomas, as well as a couple of others, also felt sympathy for
Joseph - experiencing a sense of regret and resentment at having their
favourite teacher replaced by the authoritarian Spitz. Reddening,
hollow-stomached, a brief embarrassing silence ensued. Joseph had no choice but
to just turn around and retreat back to his place. As he walked along the row
of students however, as some were lining up to be given a fencing partner, the
culprit goaded his victim.

"I wish I would've now signed my work seeing as how
much everyone enjoyed it."

In an uncharacteristic rush of blood from the usually timid
Joseph he lunged for the callous bully, his fist coming down upon his
antagonist as he did so.

"Enough! Stop!" The bellowing voice came from
across the gymnasium, reverberating in the hall for a second or so afterwards. The
furious, gnashing Spitz marched across the hall immediately and grabbed the
troublesome Jew by the neck, pulling him off his combatant - who by now had got
the better of the weaker and less pugilistic youth. The two blows which he
landed upon Joseph had split his lip and caused a lump to form over his right
eye.

"Right, that's it. I've had enough. It's time someone
beat some discipline into you boy. You need to be taught a lesson that you're
not a law unto yourself."

Corporal punishment was rife among some of the tutors at
that time, particularly with ex-servicemen like Spitz. Usually there was a mock
trial and judgement along with a senior member of staff as to the administering
of physical punishment, but Lothar Spitz wanted to teach the unruly Jew a lesson,
leave a mark picking out two students, cohorts of the pupil Joseph had
attacked, he ordered them to assist him in disciplining the student.

Joseph Hirsch - frightened and slightly disorientated as
events overtook him - but struggled and protested in vain as he was forcibly
bent over the gymnasium's pommel horse and held in place by his two rough
classmates. Some watched in astonishment, some in anticipation, a few in
sadness as their fencing master - his eyes fired with vindictiveness - struck
the whimpering youth. He slashed Joseph upon the buttocks twice with a pliable
foil - lashing down also on the base of his spine. Blood rushed to his face,
sweat soaked his temples, a vein in his temple throbbed. But as much as Lothar
Spitz seemed like a man possessed, one who had blocked out the cries and the
consequences of his actions from his mind, he did not get the opportunity to
strike his victim a fourth time.

Thomas clasped the fencing master's wrist as he raised his
arm again to thrash the sobbing, humiliated student. A mixture of confusion,
effrontery and fury darkened the fencing master's features further. He quickly
freed himself from Thomas's grasp and then instinctively, ferociously, went to
slash the impudent pupil around the face with his foil. Not only was Thomas
equal to the strike in terms of his reflexes, parrying the blow easily - but
before an apoplectic Spitz had time to react Thomas punched the sadistic
teacher in the face with his large fist, flooring him.

Thomas was suspended immediately. Expulsion followed. Lothar
Spitz would not accept any other punishment for the violent student. He had to
be made an example of. Thomas Abendroth may well have been considered a
favourite son by some of staff in the faculty but that could not exempt him from
university policy. For those members of staff who argued that he was being
harsh on the boy, the fencing master countered that he was being anything but -
for wasn't he displaying a certain amount of decency and understanding by
keeping the police out of the incident and not pressing charges of assault?

One of Thomas' tutors called in a favour from a friend at
another university and arranged a place for him there but the student refused
the offer. The same tutor advised Thomas to write a letter of apology to the
fencing master - and also submit to a bout of corporal punishment himself as a
further gesture of contrition. Again the wronged student refused. It was
himself, or certainly Joseph Hirsch, who should receive the letter of apology
the expelled student maintained. It was not just from a feeling of pride at the
way he had been treated by the institution that helped Thomas make up his mind
to abandon his university career. During his suspension Thomas swiftly became
attracted to his life of leisure, being answerable to no one: drinking,
womanising and writing. For once in his life he felt independent, free. A month
or so afterwards he received a letter from Joseph Hirsch thanking him for what
he had done that afternoon. Joseph also apologised for his apparent absence in
defending Thomas during the aftermath of the incident, citing that he felt
there was nothing that he could do - and that he did not want to jeopardize his
own place at the university. In his reply Thomas asserted that it was he who
should be thanking Joseph. Half-jokingly, although wholly serious, Thomas said
that the only thing he missed about his "old life" was fencing class.

The "entertainment", as the host dubbed it, would
consist of three bouts. Christian Kleist dismissed the idea of selecting an
official referee, for the event would be "a friendly, sporting competition
between gentlemen". The Lieutenant announced however that wagers could be
placed upon the various outcomes of the contest. Excitement and anticipation
puffed out into the air like cigar smoke.

Four gleaming epees were brought out. Thomas amiably offered
first choice to his opponent. Schiller acknowledged the gesture with a wordless
nod and carefully selected his buttoned weapon, casting a clinical eye along
the triangular fluted blade. He had no wish to pleasantly converse with the man
who he had been employed to best. A few of the party guests gasped, a few
emitted snorts of appreciation, as Lieutenant Schiller assessed the weight and
balance of each sword - swishing the air in nimble, elegant figures of eight as
he did so. To lengthen the reach of his lunge the officer half gripped the
weapon by its pommel.

Thomas took another large swig from a glass of water, yet he
gulped also out of nervousness.

"He's half my age and twice as proficient I dare
say," he confided to Fest

"I wish you would have told me that before my wager
with our esteemed Gestapo guest," Walter wryly replied.

"What were my odds?"

"Imagine twice what you think they might be - and then
double it. Apparently the annoyingly youthful Lieutenant over there had an
Olympic try out when he was all of seventeen. The good news however is that he
failed to make the team."

"I'm unsure as to whether I should be thanking you for
that piece information or not."

"It's not too late to call this whole show off,"
Fest here suggested, with an unusual amount of seriousness imbued in his tone
for once.