Berlin: A Novel

by Pierre Frei

  'If you call me Herr Glaser again I shall use Henriette for you,' he threatens her, smiling. 'I'm Tom to my friends.'

  The Harsteins from the neighbouring estate have come to dinner, the local clergyman Pastor Wunsig and his wife, the veterinarian and his wife. And a certain Herr Fanselow, the district farmers' leader. A kind of Party agricultural official,' the Baron surmises. 'He could help us finance the new stud farm. That would be a good contribution to National Socialism - or in this case local Socialism.' The Baron is prepared to move with the times.

  Wearing boots to dinner? Detta doesn't take to Fanselow at all.

  It turns out that the man used to be a shoe salesman at Leiser's in Berlin. The Party has given him his lucrative position as a functionary in the country because of his record as a 'meritorious old campaigner', someone who backed the National Socialists from their early days. He hasn't the faintest idea about farming or stock breeding, but he lards his conversation with jargon about 'blood and the soil', 'sound Reich husbandry' and 'iron ploughshares'. Detta thinks it all rather silly.

  'Have you seen the plans for our stud farm yet?' Father steers the conversation straight to the subject on his mind. A project intended to benefit all the farms in the area. With your Party's support it could be up and running in half the time.'

  Fanselow dismisses the idea. 'Later, Baron. First we must cleanse the new Germany of Jewish bloodsuckers and parasites. Take our own district here. Two Jewish doctors, a Jewish dentist, a Jewish notary. And the architect of the stud farm you're planning is called GrUnspan. They'll all have to go.'

  'Oh, and will our friend here have to go too? Or when you were introduced did you conveniently overlook the fact that Fraulein Miriam's surname is Goldberg?' Hans-Georg asks sharply.

  Bensing brings in a platter of crayfish. 'We mustn't let the last month without an R in it go by uncelebrated,' says the Baroness, smiling as she changes the subject. 'Will you do the honours, Pastor?'

  Wunsig says grace, his voice loud and clear. All but Fanselow bend their heads. 'I suppose,' Detta challenges him, that as a Local Socialist you don't believe in God?'

  'National Socialist,' Fanselow corrects her, and announces grandly: 'I believe in the German spirit as it manifests itself at this historic time and place.'

  'My plaice had an awful lot of bones in it last Friday,' says Detta innocently, earning herself an amused look from the airman and a glance of annoyance from the champion of good Reich husbandry, who is waiting for someone else to tackle the crayfish first. He's never eaten them before, Detta realizes.

  'Do you like crayfish, Herr Fanselow?' Detta pushes her plate aside and spreads her napkin on the table in front of her with a business-like air. She holds her soup spoon in her left hand. With her right hand, she picks up a crayfish by driving her fork into its soft part. Fanselow does the same. She ceremoniously transfers the shellfish from the platter to her spoon. Fanselow follows her example. Then she puts down her fork and takes the crayfish from her spoon with the serving tongs. She drops it from chest height to her napkin.

  'Here, Herr Fanselow.' She politely hands him the serving tongs. The others are watching this performance, spellbound. Miriam is grinning to herself. Detta carefully folds all four corners of her napkin over the crayfish and brings her fist down on it a couple of times. Fanselow copies her. Detta unfolds the corners of the napkin. 'Delicious,' she murmurs. Fanselow opens his own napkin and looks rather doubtfully at the smashed crayfish inside. Then he begins poking about in the ruins with his fork.

  Detta tips her work of destruction off the napkin and into the dish standing ready for the shells, lifts a couple of fresh crayfish to her plate with the tongs, and skilfully takes them apart with her fingers, one by one. 'Enjoying your crayfish?' she asks her neighbour with a sweet smile.

  'That was very naughty of you,' her mother reprimands her after dinner, when the gentlemen have adjourned to the library for cognac and cigars.

  'The man's a commoner and an anti-Semitist,' Detta says, her tongue tripping over the word.

  'Well, yes, he is certainly an anti-Semite,' her mother corrects her. 'Heaven knows what he and his kind have in store for us. All the same, he is our guest.'

  Miriam has brought some gramophone records from Berlin. Jack Hylton and His Orchestra. 'They play on the "Eden" roof garden. Fabulous, really fabulous.'

  'Negro music,' grumbles Fanselow. Anything so alien to our race should be banned.'

  Miriam dances exuberantly with Hans-Georg. She knows the latest steps of the shimmy. Detta isn't at all jealous of her any more. After all, she has her airman now. In high spirits, she tries out the wild contortions of the dance with him. But best of all is resting in his arms as they dance a slow foxtrot. She's never been so close to a man before. Except for Hans-Georg, but of course that's quite different.

  'Wednesday, 1 August '34. Fabulous airman lands here. He's a friend of Hans-Georg, his name is Thomas Glaser but he asked me to call him Tom. A few guests to dinner. A Herr Fanselow, no idea how to eat crayfish. If he'd been nice I'd have shown him, tactfully, how to do it. But he was a horrible man and said nasty things about Herr Gri nspan, and how all the Jews would have to go. I suppose he meant Miriam too. Hans-Georg put him in his place, and I made him look a fool over the crayfish. Well, he deserved it.

  Thursday, 2 Aug. '34. 1 borrow Vati's driving cap and his big owl goggles. Everyone's gathered on the lawn behind the house. The estate workers and their families are gaping at the aeroplane. Tom shows HansGeorg how you start the propeller turning. I climb up on the left wing and squeeze into the front seat. Tom gets in behind me. I hope he can see well enough.

  The engine coughs wearily a couple of times, but then thinks better of it and starts. We bump across the lawn, the trees are coming closer uncomfortably fast. Then they're below us. We're flying!!!

  Aichborn quickly gets smaller. People wave. I turn round. Tom smiles at me. Life's so wonderful! The engine roars. Suddenly the ground is above me, and so is my stomach. I discover later that it's called looping the loop.

  Phew - my stomach and the ground are back in their proper places. I take a deep breath. After a quarter of an hour we drop straight down, it's like being in a lift. Tom catches his aircraft up just above the ground and brings it down safely on the lawn. Everyone applauds. I climb out and try jumping elegantly off the wing, but my knees are soft as butter. Luckily Hans-Georg catches me.

  Another adventure in the afternoon. Miriam lets me drive her fabulous car. Jeschke taught me to drive a tractor a couple of years ago, and it's not so very different, except that the roadster is considerably faster and has good brakes, which are useful when a haycart unexpectedly crosses the road. People around here aren't expecting fast, white sports cars, only Dr Kluge's old Opel ...'

  The diary entry was a year in the past, but Detta was re-reading it, as she had so often before ...

  'Thomas asks, don't I ever come to Berlin? I know why. He can't live without me. He flies off after tea. I take refuge in my room. I feel like a widow. Or worse.

  Reich President Hindenburg died today. Vati says without him that man Hitler will go right off the rails. I don't care. I'm not interested in politics. All I want is to go to Berlin - and Tom! Aichborn is really nice, but nothing goes on here except country life.

  Vati says Berlin is out of the question. Mother would like me to wait until I've come of age. A whole year. How am I going to bear it without Thomas...?'

  Detta closed the diary and put it in her shoulder bag. Her cases were packed. Bensing was waiting downstairs with the Maybach to drive her to the railway station. Liselotte, the estate manager's daughter, was going to exercise the horses daily, which took a weight off Detta's mind.

  She would stay with Miriam at first. Hans-Georg had fixed that. Berlin, here I come, she thought, meaning Tom Glaser. She could hardly wait to see him again. She had written to him quite often, but he hadn't answered. He probably wasn't much of a letter-writer. And then he was sitting his exam
to be a commercial pilot. That would be taking all his time. Flight Captain Glaser didn't sound bad, she thought, imagining his delight and surprise when she turned up. She hadn't told him she was coming to Berlin.

  Miriam Goldberg lived in the new Westend area of the city. The banking heiress owned the top floor of a modern building in Gumbinner Allee. Many streets here had East-Prussian names. Before Detta's astonished eyes, wide glass doors opened on to a big roof garden with a swimming pool, an extraordinary luxury even for this fashionable part of Berlin in the year 1935. 'You can swim naked up here, no one can see,' her hostess told her. Detta blushed; she would never have dared think of such a thing. 'Come on, I'll show you your quarters.' Her 'quarters' were a modern little sitting room with a bedroom next to it and a black-tiled bathroom. Detta couldn't help thinking of the zinc bathtub and roaring stove in the bathroom at Aichborn.

  Miriam pointed to Detta's modest suitcases. 'You don't seem to have brought much to wear. Never mind, we'll have a glass of bubbly and then go to Horn's. Horn's have the most fashionable things.'

  'Thanks, but I don't have that much money. Mother says I should go to Brenninkmeyer's if I need anything.'

  'Oh, we won't need money at Horn's. They send the bills to Herr Schott. He's Grandfather's authorized signatory. He's always complaining I spend too much, but he has strict orders to settle it all, right up to the last minute.' Miriam disappeared. Detta was already picturing herself in an elegant dress. Tom would be so surprised to see how the girl of last year had blossomed. She could hardly wait.

  'What do you mean, the last minute?' she called through the open kitchen door.

  'Grandfather's finally moving the bank to Portugal. The family's left already. I'm following soon. A man from the Ministry of Economic Affairs is taking over this apartment. So it'll be goodbye Horn. Braun and all the other divine fashion houses. Heaven knows what kind of shops they have in Lisbon.' A loud pop. Miriam emerged from the kitchen with an opened bottle of Taittinger and two glasses.

  Detta pointed to a silver-framed photograph. It showed Lieutenant HansGeorg von Aichborn on horseback. And he has to be away in Trakehnen just now,' she lamented.

  'He'll be back next week,' Miriam consoled her.

  'You and Hans-Georg - do you see each other often?'

  Miriam poured the champagne. 'Cheers, little one. Not quite so often now he's insisting he wants to marry me.'

  'Don't you want to marry him, then?'

  The regimental adjutant came to see me the other day. Major Count von Stuckwitz. Your brother would have to resign his commission if we married. The major told me so straight out.'

  'What nonsense,' said Detta, shaking her head. 'Little Prince Ratibor married a Fraulein Schulz. His friends formed a guard of honour with their drawn swords outside the church. Snobbery is a thing of the past.' She sipped her champagne. It tickled her nose.

  Miriam gave her a thin smile. A Fraulein Schulz is more acceptable these days than a Fraulein Goldberg.'

  'What do you mean? You're beautiful, rich, well educated, amazingly chic and you can outshine anyone, not just at the regimental ball either.'

  'Thanks for the compliment. But Jews are undesirable as wives for officers in the new German army. Don't be shocked, my dear, Georgie and I have no end of fun in bed. He confuses that with love, so he thinks he has to make our affair legitimate at the altar. If he were there beside the Tejo he'd be longing for Potsdam and the 'von Neun' regiment, and in the end he'd blame me. Anyway, I've no intention of playing the mother and housewife. Cheers.' Miriam drained her glass in a single draught. 'Come on, let's go and plunder Horn's,' she cried, apparently without a care in the world. But Detta sensed the depth of her hurt.

  They raced along Heerstrasse in the open BMW, in the direction of the city. A long convoy of trucks came towards them. 'Building materials for the Olympic stadium.' Miriam explained. 'Next year's games are to outshine any that have gone before. Georgie and his friend Stubbendorf are already training their horses like mad for the three-day eventing.'

  The atmosphere at Horn's was muted. Elegant, cool ladies were having the latest models shown to them. Young salesgirls hurried silently to and fro. The directrice was with a stout customer, recommending a loosely draped ensemble. 'Paris is showing fluid lines this season.'

  'It looks all baggy,' the customer objected.

  'I'll be happy to show you something close-fitting. If you'd just excuse me for a moment, madam?' Smiling, the directrice walked towards the two young visitors. 'Fraulein Goldberg, how kind of you to honour us like this!'

  'Frau Mohr, my friend Henriette von Aichborn urgently needs something to wear.'

  'Of course, ladies. What did you have in mind, Fraulein von Aichborn?'

  'Something really chic for the afternoon that could go on into the evening,' Detta said hastily. She wanted all her weapons ready to hand in case her airman asked her out to dinner.

  'We can't always find the time we need to change. can we?' said Frau Mohr.

  'Where, may I ask, is my dress?' The stout customer was shooting poisonous glances at Miriam. 'Fancy keeping a person waiting on account of a Jewish tramp!'

  'Did you hear what she said, Miriam?' Detta was outraged.

  The directrice shrugged, and said quietly. 'We're getting a new type of customer these days. Her husband is some kind of big noise in the Party.'

  'I do understand your impatience, my dear People's Comrade,' Miriam said to the woman, sweet as sugar. 'But perhaps the trainee is having difficulty finding something in your amazing size.'

  Frau Mohr discreetly separated the combatants. 'Perhaps you young ladies would like to go into the small salon? Giselle has a figure like Fraulein von Aichborn's. She'll show you a selection.'

  'Why didn't you biff the woman?' asked Detta furiously. 'She deserved it.'

  'On no account let anyone provoke you, that's what Grandfather has always told us. Oh, Giselle, there you are! No, not yellow polka dots for my friend. Could you show us something in a plain colour? When are you seeing your airman?'

  'When we leave here. He doesn't know I'm coming. I want to surprise him. I do hope he'll be at home.'

  'Wouldn't it be better to warn him first?'

  'Why?'

  Miriam did not answer, but called, 'Yes, the blue silk is perfect. Giselle, please help Fraulein von Aichborn into it.'

  Hat, handbag and shoes completed the picture of an elegant young lady. Elated, the two of them left the fashion house after Miriam had tried on an ocelot fur. 'No, bad for Herr Schott's blood pressure and too warm for Lisbon,' she decided. 'Where does your airman live?'

  Detta consulted her little notebook. In Nestorstrasse. Could you drop me just outside the door?'

  A surprise. I know.' Stepping on the gas, Miriam drove down the Kurfiirstendamm to the corner of Nestorstrasse. 'Bring him along this evening. It's my farewell party.'

  A farewell party? Why?'

  In reply, Miriam made an irritated gesture that embraced the entire Kurftirstendamm, its elegant pedestrians and luxurious shops. 'Good luck with your airman, my dear.' The car roared away.

  Detta went into the building. As the lift carried her up she checked herself in the mirror to make sure the seams of her stockings were straight, smoothed down her new dress, and tipped her hat slightly to one side. Hm, not bad. But suppose he wasn't at home?

  He was, and he looked even better than a year ago. What a man, she rejoiced! It took him a moment to recognize her. 'Detta, how nice. I had no idea you were in Berlin. Do come in. You're really grown-up now.' He closed the door behind her.

  The living room was furnished in the modern style. There were photographs of aircraft hanging on the walls, and a propeller dangling over the kitchen doorway.

  'Sit down. Ulli will be here in a moment. She'll be so pleased to meet you.'

  'Ulli?' A dreadful foreboding came over her.

  'Ulrike Spielhagen. Girl Friday to the director of Lufthansa, my new boss. We're getting married next week
. I'll make some tea.'

  Detta was paralysed. 'You must come to our wedding,' she heard him say from the kitchen. 'Do you like Leibnitz biscuits? I'm afraid that's all I have. The fact is, I'm hardly ever at home. Our chief pilot is instructing me on the JU 52 at the moment. It's a three-engined plane. I'm going to be second pilot on the Tromso run to start with.' He brought a tray with a teapot and cups. 'Will you be mother. as the English say?'

  She poured the tea. Inside, she had turned to ice. She couldn't think, was incapable of reacting, just stood listlessly outside herself and listened with detachment to Fraulein Henriette von Aichborn making polite conversation. 'Lapsang Souchong, my favourite tea. I love that smoky aroma.'

  'How are your parents?'

  'Fine, thank you. They offered Mother the chair of the Countrywomen's Association, but it would have meant joining the Party, and she's not keen on that. Father is fully occupied with the new stud farm.'

  'Would you like to have dinner with us? They have fresh mussels at Schlichter's.'

  'Thank you, but no; I have another engagement. I'm afraid I'll have to leave. Please give my regards to your fiancee, although I haven't met her. My congratulations to you both.'

  She ran like the wind to nearby Kurfiirstendamm. Only there did her inner paralysis give way. 'Taxi! Taxi!' She shouted, so loudly that people turned in surprise. A cab drew up. 'What's the panic, little lady?' asked the moustached driver good-humouredly. 'To Gumbinner Allee, please.' She dropped into the back seat and closed her eyes. Over. It was all over. Tom Glaser didn't love her. As the cab rattled along through the dense afternoon traffic, she wanted just one thing: to die. She hoped she could find some sleeping tablets in Miriam's apartment. Or should she make a noose from the cord of her dressing gown? Or of course she could equally well open the door of the cab and throw herself in front of the next tram. Jumping from the radio tower they were just passing was another possibility. Then again, she could cut her wrists, preferably in the bath. There were five and a half litres of blood contained in the human body: she'd read that somewhere.