by Peter Rimmer
“A good German always lets the red wine breathe for two hours before drinking. My father told me. His father told him. I’m not sure it makes any difference. Only the ritual makes the difference, which makes the wine taste better.”
“Men! They’ll all be hungry after their horse riding. Wasn’t it a beautiful autumn day?”
The night was the worst time for Jürgen Mann. When the pretence was over. On his own in the pitch dark, fear flooded him. He hoped his navigator on the twin-engined Dornier bomber, Hans Bengler, was having a better night’s sleep in the room two doors down the corridor. Eating too much roast lamb had given Jürgen indigestion, stopping him from falling asleep as he should have done in the aftermath of so much food.
As he tried to sleep, putting her temptation out of his mind, he knew she would never come to his room in her own home where her parents were sleeping so close. She was seventeen years old, still afraid of her parents in a matter of such appalling consequence. What with the indigestion and the fear of what her father would do to him if Melina was caught in his room in the middle of the night, his mind raced as he lay in bed.
Later, panic took hold as fear reared real and violent from the dark in front of him, making Jürgen jump out of bed and go to the open window. It was pitch dark outside, the moon not yet up, the lacework of the stars in the heavens not enough to light anything on the earth. The stars twinkled. Only the planets stood unblinking in the sky looking down on him. Slowly, the panic subsided. At least, he told himself, holding onto the sill of the window at the same level as his hips, it would be a quick death when the British shot him down, unlike the four years that still tormented his father, making him mostly incoherent. The war in the trenches had not destroyed his father’s body, only his mind, forcing the man to live in hell for the rest of his life, leaving Jürgen’s mother with no means to help. His mother ran the family estate. Did everything hoping one day he would do the work. Driven by the collapse in the German economy after the war, her fear of losing the estate as well as her husband, his mother like many others with nowhere else to turn had supported the rise of Adolf Hitler, ‘our only chance of survival as a family’, as she put it as the financial situation on their estate grew worse and worse.
“May the bombs on my plane explode and kill us,” he whispered to the night. “Please God don’t let me burn to death as my plane falls out of the sky.” A devout Catholic, Jürgen crossed himself, hoping it would give him the strength in his mind to feel better.
Far away, beyond where they had ridden their horses, an owl hooted. Jürgen listened, smiling when the bird’s call was answered by its mate.
“Thank you, God,” he said, the call of the bird soothing his panic, the fear of burning to death over England the following week subsiding too.
A cool breeze came up from the direction of the owls and with it the smell of fresh-cut hay he had seen lying on the fields waiting for the pitchforks to turn it in the morning, the winter food for the cows almost ready to go in the barns. From that moment the looming war for Jürgen was far away.
The moon appeared above the hills, a half-moon giving light to the land, a pale light with long shadows, no colour to be seen. Slowly as the moon rose Jürgen could see the shape of the trees. To the far right a glint of moonlight on the water, a lake or pond, Jürgen did not know. Leaning with his elbows on the windowsill he pushed himself nearer the night outside, trying to better smell the hay. For a long while his mind stayed blank.
The owl call so close startled his mind, bringing back the panic and the fear. It hooted again. It was her! Summoning his strength, Jürgen made a sound that might have been an owl. The sound came back to him with barely a pause.
Closing the window to the night as softly as possible, his heart racing with a new form of panic, he went to the bedroom door and slowly turned the knob. The door came open, letting him smell the dust in the corridor. Like a thief, Jürgen stole back to his bed, pulling the sheets up under his chin. He waited. Now the moonlight was pouring into his room, letting him watch the door open and close, the girl in his room. Melina crossed to the window and carefully pulled the curtains. The springs made noises from under his back. A hand found his hand. Her body found his body. Thanking God for not dying a virgin, Jürgen Mann made love for the first time in his life, the rest of the world excluded from his mind. Then she kissed him softly on the lips and went. Not a word. Not a sound. Soon after Jürgen fell into a dreamless sleep, himself and the world at peace. She had opened the curtains and the sash window to let in the night.
In the morning there was blood on the sheets. Taking his pocket knife from the pocket of his trousers he had hung over the chair before going to bed, Jürgen cut himself over the stains on the sheet, making a trail of blood run up over his pillow to forestall any suspicions the maid might have.
Smiling, Jürgen bound up his arm with his handkerchief and dressed and went down to breakfast. He was a man in the true sense of the word, no longer afraid. If they shot him down in flames he would be remembering making love to the most beautiful woman in the world. At breakfast, only his eyes said thank you to Melina. It was enough. She had understood his fear. Then they went out riding through the fields of hay.
“What happened to your arm?” asked Erwin.
“I accidentally cut myself.”
“Sleep all right?”
“Never better. And you, Erwin?”
“The moment my head hit the pillow. Roast lamb’s my favourite.”
They had taken their lunch and swimming costumes in the saddle bags hung over the rumps of the horses. The water Jürgen had seen glinting in the night was a small lake on the other side of the forest. Only half the von Lieberman estate was under cultivation. The old trees of the forest had been growing for centuries. Far away were the Alps and the safety of neutral Switzerland. Someone had said to Jürgen, Switzerland would be left out of the war, a safe haven for the money of the rich.
There were wild ducks on the water. The water was cold, fed by the Alps from far away, trickling down through the rocks and earth to the plains through the forest. Melina kept close to Erwin. Gabby was next to Hans Bengler. Ferdinand Engel, the second navigator, had a faraway gaze, not looking at the girls when they came back dressed in their bathing costumes. It was strange seeing a body for the first time he had held so close. They were all laughing, making little jokes. The sun was warm though a cool wind was blowing down to the lake from the Alps.
They swam first. Ferdinand, the clown, pretended he was drowning in the middle of the lake, having changed his faraway look. They all raced out to him knowing what was going to happen, leaving the girls behind close to shore. Erwin ducked his navigator for Ferdinand’s trouble. They all laughed. Everyone splashed at everyone. The ducks got up off the water and landed further down the lake where the deer were watching them splashing, poised for flight. When the ducks came down on the water, the deer bounded away to the safety of the forest. Jürgen gave them a one-handed wave from the water. Then they all swam back together and ate their lunch wrapped in towels having found a place to sit out of the wind.
Both girls were very beautiful. No one spoke as they ate. The horses had gone off down the lake looking for better grass to eat, the saddles left with the saddle bags where they were eating their lunch out of tins that fitted inside the bags. The tins had had different pictures on their lids. Jürgen’s had a beautiful picture of an eagle in flight. Everything he tried to remember for later on, when they were up in the air waiting for the search lights to light up the cockpit bringing the shells up from the British guns, bringing the British night fighters to shoot him down. End his life so soon. Without her seeing he looked at her as much as possible, the better to remember her face. Once, Erwin caught him looking, making Jürgen turn red in the face. Erwin’s look was not friendly, a flash of anger amid the peaceful picnic on the shore of the lake.
From then on, Jürgen did not look at her, or Gabby. Ferdinand was back staring into space. Soon afte
r, once again dressed, they went to look for the horses. They rode back, Ferdinand trying his jokes. Erwin wasn’t laughing. Could the man have read Jürgen’s mind? The fear came back. Everyone he knew was frightened of Erwin. It was not the father he should have worried about in the middle of the night.
Never once had Jürgen seen Erwin with a woman. But that went for all of them. When they went out from base they all went together. Men out together in town. In the beer gardens. Drinking tall, earthen mugs of beer, their worst sin getting drunk, breaking into song. No one was allowed to look at the girls. They were men together. Comrades in arms. In a book by Cicero, Jürgen had read in the German translation from the Latin, the Roman Legions were the same. Men together. Some of the men of Rome did things to each other but never to girls. It made the bonds of soldiers closer. Made them fight better, according to Cicero.
Forcing himself not to look at Melina, Jürgen stared straight ahead from his horse. They might have been just as brave in battle for all Jürgen knew. He was glad not to be a Roman soldier. He was glad not to be a virgin. Erwin was never going to find out from him.
When they reached the house at the end of a long, slow ride through the lovely country, the tension with Erwin was gone. They were comrades. They were laughing again.
They all ate wild boar for supper in the dining room. There was wine on the table. They drank too much wine on the last night. Not once did he look at her. When Jürgen went to bed the sheets and pillow case had been changed. The maid had said nothing. Jürgen fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.
In the morning, Jürgen gave the maid all the change he had in his pocket. Then he went down to breakfast for the last time. They were all in uniform. Ready to go when the taxi arrived to take them to the station and back to the war. Jürgen never knew whether the owl again called in the night. When he shook hands with Herr von Lieberman, Jürgen felt like Judas Iscariot. The betrayer. His suitcase was on the steps leading down to the driveway with the other baggage. Ready to go.
The taxi arrived. Erwin had preferred to order the taxi. The servants strapped the luggage to the back of the car. They had all shaken hands with the host up on the terrace. They all got in, Jürgen making sure he was the last. One last time he turned round and looked at her standing away up on the terrace. She smiled. A small wave. Jürgen smiled. Saluted her formally and got in the taxi. He could not see her from inside. Neither could Erwin, whose mother Jürgen had seen crying next to Melina when he made his salute. To stop themselves thinking, they were all laughing again as the taxi drove them away.
Melina had stood just back from her mother, to the right of her shoulder so her parents were unable to see the expression on her face. The look followed by the salute sent the same smile to Jürgen Mann in the taxi as the one she had sent to Tinus Oosthuizen in the dinghy at Romanshorn before Harry Brigandshaw flew off in his flying boat no wiser as to what had happened to her father. The look was quizzical, trying to sum up men and decide what to do with them in her life. Was she the sort to swap men like some women she heard of changed their clothes? Was she the family woman who wanted to be a mother? Sex had been a great disappointment, the man now driving away with her brother breaking through her virginity with one almighty thrust and not much else.
Melina smirked to herself at what must have happened to the sheets in Jürgen’s room. Back in her room with the lights on there had been blood all down the inside of her right leg. What a mess. For her the excuse was easy. It was her time of the month. The cut arm at breakfast had almost made her burst out laughing. What had he done with the sheets! In her life the practical side dominated whatever she had in her mind.
She had seen Erwin’s looks of hatred on the lake, giving her a surge of pleasure almost similar to the one she had had on the horse that made up her mind to seduce Jürgen Mann. Erwin was jealous of Jürgen. Melina knew she would like to see men fight over her, the more blood the better. Did her brother secretly want her body? She hoped so. A weapon that big would protect her life. She would always be able to extract from Erwin whatever she wanted. The idea swirled in her mind as the taxi drove slowly away down the drive, the man she had seduced looking back through the rear window, too far away to see her expression of puzzled indifference. Whatever the excitement was all about she now had no idea.
“What a nice young man,” said her mother interrupting the speculation in her mind. “What a nice thing to do. He saluted me. I think that is just so nice.”
“He had his cap on,” said her father who, despite all his trying had failed to get a word from Erwin on their own.
The whole business was ridiculous. She knew Erwin had nothing to do with her father being taken to Berlin. Erwin had told her so in one of his letters. Why one of the servants, a member of the Party holding rank in the Nazi Party far higher than a servant, delivered his letters. The same man who had shopped her father, sick of his liking for the British. Harry Brigandshaw in particular. They had taken in her father to frighten him. To make him toe the Party line for what was to come. The Party, according to Erwin, were using her father’s friendship with the Englishman to further their ends, ‘whatever that meant’ she had thought when she read the letter. Nothing was ever what it seemed. Like the salute she had just received and not her mother.
Happy her period had come that morning, why she had taken the chance the night before, Melina gave a vague wave to the face in the back of the taxi window. She was bored again. Nothing to do now her days at school were over in Switzerland, the government not wanting its young girls to leave the country now Germany was at war. All life was an experience. Melina just hoped the next experience would be better than the last. That the next man would slake her thirst for men, not leave her hanging in the air.
Thoroughly frustrated, Melina went to look for the dogs, hoping a walk in the forest would calm her down. She was no longer a virgin. That was something.
“Can I come with you?” asked Gabby.
“No, you can’t.”
Walking away she left her sister standing with her mouth open, making Melina feel guilty at her rudeness.
The hay was being turned to let the underside dry out in the sun making the field mice run for their lives from the talons of the hawks. Melina watched them. The hawks, with the benefit of telescopic eyes, swooped again and again out over the fields. She could not see whether their talons were clasping mice at that distance. A cock pheasant called stridently from the long, uncut grass at the side of the field where the scythes had been unable to reach.
The elderly field workers took no notice of Melina or the dogs, happy to be working in the sun, pitching the hay. The thought of having to put up with Gabby and her parents, day after day, kept niggling her mind. She was bored, no longer the subject of the airmen’s attentions, their eyes searching her body hungrily at every opportunity, Melena making them believe she had no idea what they were thinking.
The years of boredom ahead seemed endless, ending in a loveless marriage to some besotted neighbour who for some reason wanted children to go through this same process all over again. There had to be some excitement. Sneaking out of her room in the dead of night had been exciting. The desperation of Jürgen Mann wanting her had been exhilarating. Maybe another time, when he knew better what to do, the act of making love would be more rousing, more fulfilling. She wanted to be satiated by a man, not left hanging. The only lifeline thrown in the two days had come from Erwin.
“You should go to Berlin, Melina. You can’t sit at home for the rest of your life hoping some stranger will come along and cart you off to his castle. The Party needs secretaries, girls of good education to work in the office. You speak good enough French and English. Did that school of yours in Geneva teach you how to use a typewriter?”
“Of course not.”
“There are secretarial colleges in Berlin. Cousin Henning will know how to get you in. He’s great. Uncle Werner’s son. Uncle Werner is powerful in the Party. He tells the other army genera
ls what to do. Cousin Henning does something with the Party. Won’t say what. You might like him. Quite a dash with the girls. Some girls like older men. Father shouldn’t complain having to pay your college fees in Berlin now he doesn't have to pay the Swiss. Write to Cousin Henning. The man has a bit of a stutter but that can’t be helped. Went to England in ’37 to visit a therapist friend of Harry Brigandshaw’s. They say the stutter was less pronounced when he came back. One of the chaps in the Party said it was just an excuse to visit London. Who knows? Everyone has something to say. The man should have been more careful. You don’t ever tell anyone what was in my letters?”
“Of course not, Erwin. Mother just thinks Strauss eavesdrops her phone calls. She has no idea he delivers your letters. Why does he do it for you?”
“I got him into the Party. I needed someone to keep an eye on Papa in case he did something stupid. I look after him. If you shout your mouth off too much the Party can have you eliminated. Father is a good man. Just naive. He thinks everyone is nice until they turn on him. I’ll write down Cousin Henning’s address.”
“I think I remember him.”
“You probably do. People look different when we are young. Be careful.”
“Are you going to be all right, Erwin? I worry about you.”
“Of course I am. I’m invincible. ‘Go with the flow’ is the latest phrase. When we win the war all this subterfuge won’t be necessary. Berlin, Melina. You’ll like Berlin. And the Party. You have the right attitude. What do you think of my uniform?”
“Very smart.”
“I think so. You see, I do look after you all despite what Papa thinks. He’s just so old-fashioned.”
The dogs were barking at a hedgehog with its quills up making Melina break out of her thoughts to laugh at their frustration. One of the dogs had pricked his face on a quill and was wiping his nose with his paw. They could smell the food but not get at it through the quills.
“Berlin,” she said looking up at the blue sky. “What a lovely name. If Cousin Henning is as easy as Jürgen Mann, I’ll have him round my little finger in no time.”
