by Michael Dean
‘Sign here,’ said Dr Schöchle, presenting a release form.
As soon as the form was signed, the doctor committed the lese-majesté of fetching the crutches himself. He wanted to give the old bastard the oldest, most moth-eaten crutches the hospital possessed.
The taxi driver, Horst Kimmich, was sitting on Hans Stiefel’s curtained bed with an amused look playing on his bearded face. This left Hans Stiefel hardly any room to cower in terror under the bedclothes. He crawled into the small space left at the foot of the bed, wondering if he had offended God in some way.
Gustav Stikuta practised with the moth-eaten crutches.
‘I’ll send a nurse for your clothes,’ said Dr Schöchle crisply and walked off.
Gustav guessed what would happen next. Nothing. And he was right. ‘They’re making me wait,’ he growled to Hildegard.
‘Gustav, are you sure …’
‘Shut your gob,’ he yelled. He looked at his watch. It was 5.15. ‘Right,’ he said to the taxi driver. ‘Clothes or no clothes, we’re going.’
Gustav struggled into an old white towelling bathrobe over his blue hospital pyjamas, pulling it tight over his paunch, swaying by the bed. He took up his crutches. With the taxi driver walking on one side and his wife on the other, he heaved his way out of the room, down the corridor, out of the hospital’s main entrance and into the winter dusk. Then the driver and the wife manoeuvred the cursing old man into the back of the taxi.
As it pulled away, more blood-curdling imprecations in Latvian rang out, audible even in the street, followed by a colourful and anatomically detailed account of what was going to happen to the heart, head and limbs of Mr Mark Hill.
*
The first commuters were hurrying home after a day’s work to Kornwestheim, Bietigheim and Asperg. The ones on this platform would also be going to Stuttgart. Knots of guest workers were beginning to gather, unnoticed, invisible, just inside the station entrance. Among a silent and miserable group of Italians stood Maurizio Simeone. He recognised the slender youth with the backpack who he had seen arrive, some three months ago.
The slender youth, apparently departing, now had a woman and several extra suitcases. Good going! Maurizio, wishing him well, smiled at him, but again the youth didn’t notice.
Exhausted and cold-arsed (but warm-hearted), Himmelfahrt struggled along the platform with the backpack and the cases, with Naomi by his side. A big surprise awaited him.
John de Launay in his endless brown overcoat was waiting for them. Same pile of thick red hair, same boyish look. His broken nose was in a pink splint, his other facial wounds were healing nicely. He was carrying a bunch of flowers.
Naomi saw him a second before Himmelfahrt and ran to meet him, flinging her arms round him and kissing him. ‘Oh John, are those for me?’
‘They most certainly are,’ grinned John, hugging her, then presenting the flowers. And then, ‘I wish you every happiness, Naomi.’ It was the most emotional thing he had ever said.
Naomi burst into tears.
John turned to Himmelfahrt. ‘Marcus,’ he said. ‘I have something for you, too.’
John presented a frame, that Himmelfahrt assumed would be a photograph, though of what he couldn’t imagine. It was not. It was the lyrics to his obscene song about Frau Stikuta, ‘Feeling Sticky’, beautifully written out in copperplate handwriting and framed.
It didn’t take much to move Himmelfahrt. Himmelfahrt was moved. ‘John, mate. That’s brilliant. A song of genius. Beautifully presented.’ Himmelfahrt made to hug John but stopped.
‘And there is something else,’ said John, with a twinkle. ‘Marcus, I wish to apologise, quite unreservedly, for calling you that name. You took your revenge and rightly so. Will you accept my apology?’
‘Oh, John. Mate! Of course I do. Of course I do.’
At that moment the train came in.
‘I think I’ll scoot, if you don’t mind,’ said John. ‘Can’t stand goodbyes. Oh. Uh. One more bit of news. See you on your way. On Monday I start work at a new job. I think my teaching days are over.’
They were. John de Launay had not said a word in the face of Sticky’s hostility, being for so long the third teacher she had a down on, but he didn’t like it at all and he had carefully planned his revenge. In 1971, German industry was booming: export led. One trip to the Employment Office in Schillerstrasse brought three job offers to the young Oxford graduate with perfect German who lived on the spot and could start immediately.
John chose Elsas Textil in Solitudestrasse, timing his departure from the language school for the day he knew Himmelfahrt and Naomi were also leaving. He wrote the Stikutas a brief note, informing them he was leaving, which he had just left on Sticky’s desk. He gave no notice at all, calculating, correctly, that they would not dare foul their own nest in Ludwigsburg by suing him.
That moment on the platform was the last time Himmelfahrt ever saw him. John turned on his heel and walked off, without a backward glance.
*
This was a relief to Günther Bemmann who had his men on stand-by, closing in on Himmelfahrt. They were waiting only for the tall man, who Bemmann knew nothing about, to get clear.
‘OK, that’s it,’ said Bemmann, standing unobtrusively behind the fast food bistro, speaking into a small walkie-talkie, ‘Pull him in.’
*
At that moment Günther Bemmann saw the formidable Lieselotte Quednau walking along the platform. Kai-Uwe Prengel was walking behind her, but not with her.
Bemmann’s practised eye took in the bulge in Prengel’s jacket. And Quednau had a canvas bag that contained, from its shape … what? a rifle? sawn-off shotgun? The long shaft was outlined clearly enough against the canvas of the holdall.
Armed SSD agents! There had been an armed bank robbery in Ludwigsburg this morning. The perpetrators had got away. And now here they were. The SSD were quite capable of staging a bank robbery in West Germany to garner funds. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t possibly risk a gun fight. Not with all these civilians, our civilians, milling around. There could be a bloodbath.
One of Bemmann’s men, Horst Scharnhorst, had his hand on the spy Hill’s arm, to arrest him. His grip was closing.
Bemmann spoke urgently into the walkie-talkie. ‘Abort. Abort. Armed Ossi agents. Abort. I repeat. There are armed SSD agents in this station. Do not, repeat do not approach Hill.’
Scharnhorst murmured a polite ‘Excuse me’ to Himmelfahrt, let go of his arm and walked on. Himmelfahrt indignantly rubbed his arm where the offending hand had been, and glared after the rude passer-by.
*
The train came to a halt and doors opened. They masked Hartmut Plutznick as he got off the train. Further up the platform, Naomi boarded, carrying her roses and the framed lyrics. Himmelfahrt hauled his backpack and the cases onto the train after her. Hartmut Plutznick saw the tall figure of his wife’s colleague, John de Launay, in the distance ahead of him, leaving the station, and hurried after him.
*
Hans-Peter Fauser saw Himmelfahrt facing outwards, towards the platform, as he hauled cases further into the train. He recognised him instantly as the young man who had urinated on the graves in the cemetery near his home.
‘Hey!’ he said. ‘I want a word with you!’
*
The taxi ride from the hospital to the station usually took about ten minutes. Horst Kimmich, however, was on a 100 Mark bonus to get this bizarre, ancient pyjama’d lunatic and his wife to the station before the 5.30 train left. And anyway he relished the chance to do some ‘as seen in the movies’ driving.
‘Did you see Steve McQueen in Bullitt?’ said Kimmich chattily to his passengers as he swung out into the peak-time traffic. ‘He’s my role model.’
‘Shut your face,’ screamed Gustav in the back, next to Hildegard. ‘Just drive.’
Kimmich grinned, slipped the clutch and headed away from Schorndorferstrasse, choked with rush-hour traffic. He zoomed down Jägerhofallee and swerve
d left into Friedrich-Ebert Strasse, passing John’s empty bedsit. He was making good time until they hit traffic and then the lights at the massive Stuttgarterstrasse intersection. Horst Kimmich tapped his hands on the wheel in irritation but they just had to wait.
They crossed into Alleenstrasse, passing the Gluckscheiter Freizeitmöbel showroom full of garden furniture, where Johannes Heer, director of the company, looked up from his desk for a second at the speeding taxi. Then he glanced at the photograph of his beautiful wife and children on his desk, smiled contentedly and went back to work.
Traffic got heavier at the end of the road. The taxi slowed.
‘That’s where the old synagogue used to be,’ said Horst Kimmich in the same chatty tone, as they reached the junction of Alleenstrasse and Solitudestrasse. He always said that as he passed that spot.
Hildegard Stikuta stared at the spot where the synagogue had been. For a second she remembered. Then she stopped herself remembering.
They got to the station at 28 minutes past five. Hildegard paid Horst Kimmich the fare plus the agreed bonus while Gustav struggled out of the taxi with his crutches on the far side.
John de Launay walked past on the near side as he left the station. He didn’t see them.
*
Just outside the station, Hartmut Plutznick caught up with John de Launay, who he knew slightly (but they were on du terms not Sie). They greeted each other.
‘How’s Naomi?’ asked Hartmut, fixing him with a piercing stare.
The words, ‘She’s just going off with a yid, you’ve got about a minute before the train leaves,’ formed in John’s mind. He smiled.
*
Günther Bemmann was desperately trying to get through to Gerhard Wessel for instructions. He dared go no further on his own initiative. As he was talking, Kai-Uwe Prengel ran up to him. Bemmann pulled his gun from its shoulder holster.
*
Lieselotte Quednau had not seen Himmelfahrt or, in the happy mood she was in, she would probably have given him a big kiss. She had always appreciated the company of attractive young men. Her mind on her coming happiness, she also missed Günther Bemmann, the only BRD agent she would have recognised, even though he was now facing Kai-Uwe Prengel, who she had also missed, with his gun drawn.
She adjusted her grip on the tennis racquet she had bought for her son, got on the train a few carriages behind, and sat there in happy silence.
*
Outside the station, John de Launay hesitated, but only for a second.
‘Naomi’s fine,’ he said to Hartmut Plutznick. ‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.’
Hartmut gave him a hard stare. These damn British people always talk as if they know something that you don’t. His wife did it all the time.
‘I’m in a hurry,’ said Hartmut, rudely. ‘We’ll see each other soon.’ He rushed off, heading for Naomi’s place in Schumannstrasse.
I wouldn’t count on it, said John to himself, dryly, in English.
*
‘Just hold it right there,’ said Günther Bemmann to Kai-Uwe Prengel. ‘I have a pistol pointing at your heart.’
‘Is that the famous, cool Günther Bemmann?’ said Kai-Uwe Prengel with a tight-lipped smile. ‘I was heading for you, you idiot, as soon as I saw you.’
‘Oh, were you now?’
‘I want to come over to your side. Defect. I’ll tell the BND everything I know. I’ll do anything, as long as I can stop having sex. For God’s sake help me!’
*
An old man in a bathrobe and pyjamas, with murder in his heart and on his face, swung his way laboriously along the platform on crutches, fussed over by an anxious-looking, tall, middle-aged woman. People were turning to stare at them, some were laughing. The old man was stopping to peer into the train and yelling something, a name, over and over again. Then he started banging on the open doors with one of his crutches.
Bemmann did a double-take. ‘Are they with your lot?’ he asked Kai-Uwe Prengel.
‘No! What do you think we run in the east, a circus?’
Bemmann sighed and called the local police to come and pick these lunatics up.
*
In a compartment, as Himmelfahrt struggled to get the luggage onto the overhead rack, Hans-Peter Fauser said, ‘You pissed on the graves in the cemetery.’
The backpack kept falling down; Himmelfahrt was getting flustered. He turned to Hans-Peter Fauser. ‘It was my first day in Ludwigsburg,’ he said. ‘I had to go. I avoided the graves themselves. I’m embarrassed and very sorry.’
The handsome apology was said in pretty reasonable German.
Hans-Peter Fauser smiled. ‘Do you play chess?’
‘Well I …’ Himmelfahrt shrugged at Naomi. They had better keep this oddball happy, in case he called the police. ‘Lets have a game,’ said Hans Peter Fauser.
Hans-Peter Fauser joined them at their table in the compartment and opened the travelling chess set.
*
Gruber ran at full speed up to Günther Bemmann as he was talking to Kai-Uwe Prengel.
‘Gruber, don’t shoot!’ yelled Bemmann. ‘Prengel’s coming over to us.’
‘Is that the famous, cool Günther Bemmann?’ smiled Gruber. ‘I’ve found your man,’ he added proudly. ‘A couple of our lads are holding him now.’
For a mad moment Bemmann thought Gruber meant the British spy Mark Hill. But the train was moving now and Hill was on it. No, Gruber meant he had arrested Lenin.
Bemmann nodded philosophically. It had been that kind of day. ‘OK,’ he said to Gruber. ‘Good work. Let’s talk to this man. I have a lot of questions for him. Because, you see, I think he’s a misguided, mad and dangerous man.’
Then he turned to Kai-Uwe Prengel. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘Your first assignment for us will be to interrogate Lenin. Tell me, Prengel, have you come across the theory that every man has a double somewhere in the world?’
As he spoke, Bemmann started to turn his walkie-talkie off, just as a message came through from his boss, Gerhard Wessel. Quednau was a busted flush, her own side would finish her. Wessel did not believe she was armed. Even if she was, they would risk it. Bring Hill in.
The train slowly eased along the platform.
*
As the train was moving at walking speed, Gustav Stikuta saw Marcus Himmelfahrt as his carriage drew level with him. Gustav made a lunge for the carriage door and had the handle in his hand for a second. Further down the platform a blue-uniformed station official desperately blew his whistle for the train to stop.
‘Gustav, no!’ shouted Hildegard, and pulled him away from the train. Gustav let go of the handle and rocked on his crutches.
Himmelfahrt did not see Gustav or Hildegard Stikuta.
The train driver did not hear the station official’s whistle and the train pulled clear of the platform just as two green-uniformed police came onto it, making for Gustav Stikuta. Gustav screamed at them that he was that pillar of society, that moral paragon, that owner of a language school (albeit one with no English teachers) Gustav Stikuta.
‘Stop the train! Arrest that English bastard,’ Gustav Stikuta screamed, attempting to wave his crutch at the train, but then clutching at his pyjama trousers to stop them falling down.
Despite Hildegard’s pleas, he was arrested for disturbing the peace and being improperly dressed in a public place.
*
Himmelfahrt and Naomi were sad to leave Ludwigsburg, but they couldn’t take their eyes off each other, there on the train, as Hans-Peter Fauser made the first move in the chess game.
They made to kiss but Hans-Peter Fauser clicked his tongue reprovingly and nodded at the board for Himmelfahrt to concentrate on the game. It was just light enough to glimpse the lovely baroque town disappearing behind them as the train put on speed
‘How far are you going?’ said Naomi sweetly to Hans-Peter Fauser.
‘Only as far as Stuttgart,’ said Fauser absently, concentrating on his next move.
‘I’ll do the irony,’ Himmelfahrt murmured, by no means for the last time.
‘The way you play,’ Hans-Peter Fauser said to Himmelfahrt, ‘the game will be finished well before then.’
‘Sorry,’ said Himmelfahrt. He shrugged and smiled.
‘So after Stuttgart,’ said Naomi in Himmelfahrt’s ear, ‘our time’s our own.’
‘Yes,’ said Himmelfahrt, making a really stupid move on the chessboard and smiling back at her, blazing love. ‘Our time’s our own.’
* * *
[1] Hanfstaengl p179
[2] Strasser p73
[3] Hayman p188
[4] Sigmund p171-2 My translations of Sigmund passim
[5] Sigmund p172
[6] Sigmund p 175
[7] Hayman p162
[8] Sigmund p170 Maurice was speaking to Nerin Gunn in 1966
[9] Hanfstaengl p178
[10] Hanfstaengl p179
[11] Hayman p164
[12] Hayman p165
[13] Sigmund p184
[14] Sigmund p180
[15] Curzon online
[16] Sigmund p180
[17] Linke p15
[18] Sigmund p167
[19] Hayman p160
[20] aber Geli hatte sich von ihm fortentwickelt - Geli had developed away from/ grown out of him. von Shirach (1) p62
[21] Sie wollte leben und froh sein. Vielleicht wurde ihr der Onkel unheimlich. Von Schirach (2) p54
[22] ‘I strongly suspect it was made worth her while for the rest of her life to keep to the official version of an inexplicable accident.’ Hanfstaengl p179
[23] Hoffmann page 152
[24] Sigmund p60 Sie war eine Prinzessin, nach der sich die Leute …umdrehen. Ihre
grossen Augen waren Gedichte …
[25] Sigmund p115
