The German Triangle

by Carl Messinger

  “Thank you again, Lieutenant, for your help last night. You have proven yourself a friend of my father’s, and thus mine. Tonight, dinner will be our pleasure. Please order whatever you wish.”

  “Thank you, Ingrid, it is Ingrid isn’t it? We have never been formally introduced,” he said.

  “Yes, it is Ingrid and I will be serving you this evening. I hope that is not a problem.”

  “Problem?” he questioned. “It would be a pleasure.”

  She smiled, not hiding it at all this time, turned slowly and walked directly back to the kitchen, ignoring the stares of the other astonished customers.

  The rest of the evening was a blur to Matthews. Mindful of Herr Kurtz’s tough economic situation, he chose his usual items. But it didn’t seem to matter what he ordered, Ingrid delivered the best of everything the house had to offer. If he ordered veal, she would bring him the veal dish, but also the best beef they had in house. When he ordered a house salad, she served him the house salad, mixed with the vegetables either just coming into season, or those just going out. And the three kinds of potatoes she brought to the table was more than a dozen men could eat. The only thing she brought him that he ordered was the cold beer. It was never more than half empty when a new cold mug would magically appear, the old one taken away to go where half empty mugs go.

  When the stomach yelled “Stop!” Matthews pushed back from the table, released a sigh of contentment, or relief depending on your perspective, and slouched in the chair like a man who was one forkful away from exploding. Lifting his head, he saw both Herr Kurtz and Ingrid standing in front of him. Herr Kurtz extended his hand and the two men clasped hands like knowing brothers.

  Ingrid stuck out her hand and Matthews gently took it in his. She gave the clasp a short shake, then just stood there, holding his hand. Her mouth said “Thank you,” but her eyes said something else. Matthews thought about it the whole walk home.

  The rest of the week slid by quickly. Not seeing the Flight Surgeon for a week gave Matthews time to see more of the area. But since there were no vehicles, he did a lot of walking. For the first time since arriving to Obertsdorf, he crossed the street from Frau Schlegal’s and walked up the slope of the vineyard, between the rows of grapes, to the ruins of the tower he had previously spotted.

  The tower itself was not in very good shape, having witnessed hundreds of years of environmental assaults, not to mention the assaults of armies desiring to claim the area as their own. Struggling a little to reach the top, he saw that he had been right about look-out post. This was not a large castle, home to royalty and protector of villages alike. No, this was an isolated outpost, probably manned by the dregs of the army at that time, and considered Siberia to the Germanic tribes who manned it.

  He found a patch of grass near the tower and sat down, viewing the town from a new perspective. He could see the whole thing, one main road through the center of town, four, no, five streets off the main road, each ending at what looked to be a large farm growing primarily grapes for the local wine. It was clear that the village started as a farming village and only when other occupations began to spring up, were the single homes along the ancillary streets without the farmland built.

  He saw the building housing zum Rose and wondered about Ingrid. After the first night, she had continued to wait on tables, not always his, but always with a glance in his direction. She would stop by and say hello, always with a smile, and their light banter back and forth had aroused much interest among the locals, most of whom called her the “iron-hearted girl.”

  Herr Kurtz had seen a change in his daughter and pointed it out to Matthews, with a knowing smile on his face. Matthews had begun looking forward to visiting the zum Rose. His walking during the day had kept his mind off his lack of flying, and seeing Ingrid in the evening was a highlight of the day. He had learned that she had attended a French Catholic school growing up when they were living near the France border. She had a propensity for languages, learning English and French fluently, and enough Spanish to get by. She was attending school during the day, hoping to become a teacher upon completion, and working with her father at the restaurant when not studying in the evening. Slowly, he was beginning to learn about her, and her him. Her questions concerning the United States reflected book knowledge of the country, but lacked the insight into everyday living which reflected the realities of the United States. Only by living there could somebody learn the country. But then, that is true for all countries.

  “Today is Friday,” Matthews thought to himself. “On Monday I have to report back to the Flight Surgeon. Hopefully the week’s rest will have done its trick and I can resume flying. Wonder what missions the guys have flown since I was grounded? Oh well, will found out on Monday.”

  Matthews could tell by the sun’s angle in the western sky that the early evening was not far away. He carefully made his way through the vines, down the hill, and back to his room, noticing that Frau Schlagel was busy in the kitchen preparing something. He took an unusual second shower of the day, a quick one, and got dressed. She was still in the kitchen as he slipped out the door and headed to the zum Rose.

  Both Tom Reynolds and Jim Wistick were seated at a table and seeing Matthews, they waved him over. He looked around the restaurant for Ingrid, but saw only some other diners, some of whom waved to him and smiled. He sat down with the two pilots and questioned them on the week’s activities. They had both been very busy, flying two, sometimes three missions a day. They were looking forward to the weekend and being able to sleep in a couple of days.

  Herr Kurtz brought over Matthews’ beer and sat it down in front of him. Ingrid came out of the kitchen and looked over at Matthews, hesitantly starting to wave to him, but seeing the other two Americans, went about her business with the other customers. Within fifteen minutes, the two pilots finished their dinner and headed back to their respective rooms, leaving Matthews alone to finish his dinner which was fine with him, for he sensed that Ingrid did not want to show him any attention with the other Americans around.

  His sense was correct, for as soon as the others had left, Ingrid came over to his table to say hello. She smiled and held out her hand. He took it gently and said something about how smooth it was. Her smile grew bigger, and even bigger yet as she reported that she had done real well on her last test of the semester and could start to think about the summer months and a little relaxation.

  “Well congratulations, that is wonderful,” he said. “We have to celebrate!”

  Ingrid looked at him a little strangely.

  “Look, when somebody accomplishes something in our country, we like to celebrate with them and give them a special feeling of accomplishment. It is our way of sharing in achievement. I am sure that you have something of a similar tradition, right? You don’t have any school tomorrow do you?”

  “No,” said Ingrid. “It’s all over for the summer.”

  “OK, that settles it then. We will do something together to celebrate your achievement. But, quite honestly, I am a little at a loss to think of something to do. Do you have any suggestions?”

  Ingrid thought for a moment. “Bad Durkhiem,” she said.

  “Bad Durkhiem?

  “A wine fest, a celebration of wine in this small village not far from here. It is known the country over and is a lot of fun with wine, games, music, and food. It lasts for two weeks, but this is the first weekend. It won’t be as crowded this weekend as next. It will be fun.

  Matthews was thinking about the need for a jeep or some other means of transportation. He didn’t want to take the bus, as then you were tied to the bus schedule. Ingrid somehow knew what he was thinking.

  “We don’t use it much, but my father has a car in the garage behind the restaurant and I have a license. We can take that. I'll pick you up at noon and we’ll have something to eat before leaving; that way we’ll have something in our stomachs when we get there. I’ll tell my father we will be back late so he won’t worry and we will ce
lebrate, American-style,” she said with a smile on her face.

  “Deal,” he said, and reached out to shake her hand and cement the plan.

  She slipped her hand in his and they looked at each other for what seemed like decades. Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips and lightly placed a kiss on the back of her hand. She stared at him for an eternity, slowly withdrew her hand from his and kissed her hand at the exact spot he had kissed her. Their eyes were glued to each other, and as she turned to walk away, a quick glance over her shoulder told him that there was more to come.

  That evening couldn’t pass quickly enough and Matthews tossed and turned all night. He wondered what the morning would bring, what if he was getting over his head, what if his wanting a relationship with this girl was just the result of being far from home. He wondered a lot of things. Finally, at three in the morning, the wondering stopped and fatigue started, putting him to sleep for a few hours till the morning sun brought a new day.

  Chapter Seven

  The small faded blue Volkswagen slowly pulled in front of Frau Schlegel’s dark house and rolled to a stop. The wooden shutters were still pulled down even though it was close to 10:30 in the morning and the day was almost half way done. Ingrid sat in the car and waited.

  Ron heard the car pull up to the house and stop, its engine winding down and finally quitting. He didn’t bother looking out the window to see if it was Ingrid. He knew the sound of a military jeep and it decidedly was not one of those. Since no one else was expected, he guessed it was Ingrid and quickly finished getting dressed. He was looking forward to this day and didn’t want to miss a minute of it. Glancing at the mirror, he thought “B+,” smiled and left his room, quietly closing the door behind him in case Frau Schlegel was taking a nap. He floated down the stairs and out the front door.

  “Güten Morgan,” he said in the best German accent he could muster.

  “Güten Morgan,” she replied smiling. “How are you?” quickly switching to English.

  “Doing great, thanks! I am looking forward to having a wonderful day and celebrating your graduation. And this will be the first time that I will be out and among your people so it will give me a chance to learn more about your country – and you.”

  She glanced over at him and smiled, slipped the car into first gear, and slowly pulled away, heading for what she hoped was a very nice and pleasant day.

  The drive to Bad Durkheim was only about 30 minutes but during that time he learned much about his guest country. For example, she had explained to him that the word “Bad,” such as in Bad Durkheim, meant “bath” and had been used by the Romans during their occupation to designate cities where there were hot baths to soothe the tired muscles. Cities such as Bad Durkheim, Bad Kreuznach, and Bad Muenster were all known for their hot mineral springs which flowed freely from the ground. Baden, the site of well-used mineral baths by Roman legions, had in fact grown up to become a world-renowned resort town, boasting one of the classiest casinos in Europe. It was a place that wealthy Germans would visit to relax, enjoy the springs, dine well, and take their chances at the roulette wheel.

  The drive through German countryside was very interesting. Besides listening to Ingrid speaking about her beloved country, Ron was able to view the small towns and their vineyards on an up-close and personal basis rather than from thousands of feet above. Instead of viewing the houses through a small window at a speed of 120 miles per hour, he was able to see them brick by brick, layer upon layer, window by window. He saw the curtains hanging inside the windows, the small mailboxes hanging near the front door, and the small, square metal boxes on the stoop which housed empty milk bottles until they were replaced with full ones every other day.

  He also saw women walking to and from the Lebensmittle, the local grocery store they visited daily to purchase the food to be consumed that day. Baskets hanging from their arms carried the daily finds of sausage, vegetables, potatoes, and perhaps a container of homemade soup. Sometimes these women were accompanied by their little daughters, too young to attend school, but old enough to follow their mothers on their daily routine. Dutifully carrying their own little baskets, these young girls learned early on the methods for selecting the just-ripe fruits and vegetables needed to nourish their future families. The world was on the mend and it was being done village by village.

  The sign said “Bad Durkheim” as the Volkswagen slowed to allow several families to cross the street, heading toward the carnival area after parking their car. Ingrid inched her car ahead, looking for a parking space. A large field on the right opened up past a row of houses and they both could see the huge tents of the wine fest beyond the field. Cars filled the open spaces, but a small area near a tree seemed large enough to handle the Volkswagen. Ingrid made a right turn and deftly pulled into the spot. The leaves of the tree barely touched the roof as though caressing a new found friend or petting a new puppy. They opened their doors and stepped into the noisy air, looking at each other in anticipation of the fun to come.

  It was a little after eleven in the morning, but it was Saturday and the fest was well on its way. Entering through a gate in a temporary fence that acted more as a boundary than as an impediment, the couple melted into the excited crowd. Much to Ron’s surprise, many of the tents featured products of the local region displaying fruits and vegetables. Some tents contained handmade furniture, some blankets and quilts, while some others showed off new items designed to make life easier. It seemed to him that this was more of a state fair than a wine fest. But he spoke too soon.

  Exiting one of the display tents he heard the music blaring from a large multi-colored tent on the other side of a large dirt walkway. Crowds of people walking in both directions formed a mobile human fence preventing them from getting to the music and the obvious good times surrounding the ompaa band. He hesitated a little, wanting to wade through the walkers, but not wanting to cause a scene.

  Ingrid sensed his dilemma, so she grabbed his hand and started crossing against the crowd, yelling something in her native tongue as she pushed her way through, Ron gingerly in tow. The crowds seemed to part like the Red Sea and with very few bumps and bruises, they quickly found themselves on the other side of the walkway. He stood and looked back at the path they had just covered and wondered how they had gotten through the masses so quickly. He then remembered her yelling something as they moved.

  “What were you yelling as we moved through the crowd?” he asked with a quizzical look on his face.

  Ingrid smiled and laughed a little. “I told them you were a little crazy and needed a beer before you went berserk.”

  He looked at her smiling face not knowing if he should believe her or not and the more he looked, the bigger her smile became. He started to chuckle and as he did, she started to laugh and pretty soon they were both laughing at the silly trick they had pulled over the crowds.

  “Come on,” he said still chuckling, “let’s go have a beer before I do go crazy!” he held his hand out and she looked at it before placing hers in his. They looked into each other’s eyes, the smiles still there, and walked into the beer tent.

  The beer tent covered an area about as large as a football field. Lining the two long sides of the structure were food and beer stations bustling with activity. Large grills, their exhaust hoods venting through the side of the tent, provided the heat to cook the usual bratwursts and bockwursts while several more grill stations were the set up to cook whole chickens, wild game, and some other things with which Ron was unfamiliar. Five or six people worked each grill station, eagerly providing the buxomly waitresses with their requested orders. Speed was of the essence, as the sooner the food was delivered, the sooner the patrons paid and the tips collected.

  Interspersed between the grills were the beer stations. Ron noticed that there seemed to be twice as many beer stations as grills and the waitresses were two or three deep at each station. Men dressed in lederhosen, leather shorts held up with decorated suspenders, scrambled behind the st
ations filling large glass mugs with beer from portable taps, allowing the foam to spill over the top to ensure a complete fill. As a result, the dirt floor of the beer booths was wet and slippery, requiring the placement of wood panels to reduce the chances of sliding and spilling the precious cargo.

  Visitors to this beer tent sat on long wooden picnic tables seating about ten people on a side depending on the size of the people. Ron guessed that there had to be close to 100 or more of these tables throughout the tent. Groups of people looking for seats settled for whatever was available and joined those already at the table. Despite not knowing each other, the conversations among the strangers became more and more boisterous as more and more empty mugs lined the center of the wooden tables.

  The centerpiece of the structure was a large wooden platform in the middle of the tent from which the traditional German music emanated. The platform was raised about 8 to 10 feet off the floor, a wooden railing circling all but the area where the steps allowed the band to enter and exit the platform. Four sturdy poles supported a roof over the platform which was covered with thatched grass like a traditional Bavarian farm roof. The band members played their instruments with gusto, trying to ensure the far corners of its territory were duly entertained.

  The band members themselves were wonders to behold. They all dressed in lederhosen, leather shorts with suspenders attached, a mostly-white shirt with various amounts of ruffles, and knee-high socks held up by garters. Heavy dark shoes completed the outfits and provided the support they needed to play for hours at a time. Instruments ranging from the traditional accordion and drums to the loud and brassy horns and trumpets brought the visitors to their feet and started the crowd swaying to the melodies of traditional songs. As Ron looked around the tent, he realized that while it was only noon, many people had been there for hours already and would soon be leaving to enjoy a much needed afternoon nap.