A Fight in Silence

by Melanie Metzenthin

  ‘That’s most commendable of you, Leonie,’ commented Fritz.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ she said with a puzzled frown.

  ‘That you want to spare the male population the prospect of being tied to you for all eternity and suffering the torment of your moods.’

  ‘Oh, charming!’

  ‘I mean it!’ His grin grew broader.

  ‘Richard, why do you spend any time with this man?’ asked Leonie. ‘He’s not a bit like you.’

  ‘I like honest men.’

  ‘Oh, I see, and so I’m a beast with moods, am I?’

  ‘That’s not what I said,’ Fritz shot back, ‘although you are of course a lady with moods.’

  ‘That sounds about right, so you may sit near me today.’

  ‘May I, or must I?’

  ‘That’s for you to decide.’ With a knowing smile, Leonie went off to mingle with the other guests. Fritz gave a little cough.

  ‘Just watch yourself there,’ observed Richard. ‘You could still end up as the man on the receiving end of her moods.’

  ‘Thanks for the tip, but don’t worry, I can look after myself,’ Fritz said, clapping Richard on the shoulder, and then vanished among the assembled company.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Paula. ‘Another engagement on the horizon?’

  ‘Leonie and Fritz, d’you mean? No, never. They’re too similar, and that’s why they’re always niggling. Anyway, I know Fritz has got an eye on a nurse, Dorothea, and she seems to have both her pretty eyes on him!’

  ‘Why didn’t he bring her along, then?’

  ‘Too soon, otherwise I’d have suggested it.’

  He smiled adoringly at Paula and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  Once the final guest had arrived, the festive table was officially declared open. The sun had brightened the sky and the rich aroma of coffee and cocoa, the latter a treat for the children, now mingled with the sweet scent of cherry blossom.

  Richard’s father opened the formalities. ‘We’re gathered here today to celebrate the engagement of my son, Richard, to the charming Paula Engelhardt. It is always a very special occasion when the finest from two families unite, by which I mean of course their children. And so we celebrate Richard and Paula’s commitment to marry as soon as Richard graduates, to set up home together and raise a family.’ He paused. ‘You all know me – I’m not much of a talker, more of a doer and a man with a love of good baking, so without further ado, I’ll hand over to Paula’s father, Dr Engelhardt, so that everyone else with a sweet tooth – and I know that includes my grandchildren – won’t have to wait too much longer for this wonderful spread!’

  Everyone laughed and applauded.

  ‘Thank you, Hans-Kurt,’ said Paula’s father. ‘I’ve thought a great deal about what I could say today, have written a few words and then rewritten them, as I want them to mean something to you all. But what more can I possibly add to what Hans-Kurt has already said? He has summed it up to perfection and so I’ll keep it brief. I’ll admit that I was highly sceptical when I met first Richard. This wasn’t because of you, my dear Richard, but quite simply because a father needs time to feel sure that his daughter is giving her heart to the right man. If one day you have a daughter of your own, you’ll understand. Every young man poses a potential threat to your child’s happiness until one of them wins over the father’s heart too. And that’s precisely what you have done, through your inimitable patience, your faultless behaviour and your reliability. I cannot think of anyone I’d rather see by Paula’s side. And now let us enjoy at last the wonderful delights on offer!’

  More laughter and even more applause. Leonie whispered to Paula. ‘Now that’s what I call two really good speeches – I hope they do the same on your wedding day. But do you really both want to wait until Richard finishes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Paula whispered back. ‘Richard wants to be financially independent when we’re married.’

  ‘So he’s prepared to go without the marital pleasures?’

  ‘Leonie, you’re so indiscreet!’

  ‘You already know that. So? Are you waiting, or . . .? You know what I’m getting at.’

  ‘Would you prefer a slice of the cream gateau or the strawberry flan? I can also really recommend the almond cake and I know you love Frau Koch’s apple cake.’

  Leonie rolled her eyes. ‘You’re being evasive.’

  ‘Do have the cream gateau, Leonie – it’s a dream.’

  ‘OK, so I take it that no answer is the answer, then.’

  Paula smiled.

  The promised band turned up a little later and as the allotment garden was now too small they spread on to the pathway as well. First came the standard dances, especially the waltzes so beloved by all age groups. Then, during the break, Paula spotted Leonie whispering with the musicians, before tapping a silver spoon against some crockery to get everyone’s attention.

  ‘In my family we have a wonderful dance for engagements and weddings,’ she announced. ‘It’s a round dance for everyone to take part in, and so it’s a way of sharing our joy. I’ve just asked the band, and they know the piece – it’s called “Hava Nagila”. Who’s done it before?’

  Several couples on Dr Engelhardt’s side indicated that they knew it. Paula noted they were all her father’s Jewish friends.

  ‘Good, we’ll show you!’ said Leonie, asking everyone who knew the dance to join her in a little demonstration of the steps.

  ‘The music’s slow at first, then gets faster and faster, but don’t worry – it’s great fun!’ Leonie reassured them after the demonstration. ‘So now we have to line up, man, woman, man, woman, alternating and holding hands.’

  Richard was laughing with delight, but Paula noticed that Fritz only sighed.

  ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you like dances like that?’

  ‘I’ve got two left feet, and it could all go horribly wrong!’

  ‘Yes, there’s no doubt you’re about to ruin everything and take us all with you,’ remarked Richard drily. ‘You’ll slip and we’ll go down like dominoes, but it’ll be highly entertaining at least.’

  ‘Never mind!’ Leonie was back with them again. ‘Come on, Paula, let’s look after this man with the peculiar feet.’

  ‘Richard! Can’t you save me from this?’ Fritz implored him. ‘Don’t you need someone to watch over the cake – make sure it doesn’t go stale, or something?’

  ‘Be a man, Fritz! Anyone who can cut open people’s stomachs can manage this!’

  ‘So much for empathetic psychiatrists,’ muttered Fritz, as he obediently held hands with Paula on one side and Leonie on the other.

  Once they’d all lined up and the music had started, Fritz showed himself to be no more inept than anyone else trying the dance for the first time. And as soon as it had finished, he was among those calling for a second round.

  ‘There, you see. Feet cured?’ asked Leonie.

  ‘Well, you know, I clearly underestimated my ability yet again.’

  ‘You’re modest enough to be a future Professor Sauerbach!’ Richard liked teasing his friend.

  Fritz grinned. ‘Save your breath for the next round – the music could well be a lot faster.’

  He was right there, and a few of the older guests got quite puffed out. But before the next dance round had ended, angry voices in the main street reached them, so loud they carried from beyond the little railway line. The band stopped playing and all the guests listened hard to what was happening up on the embankment. It sounded like a brawl between two rival groups.

  ‘It’s those Nazis against the communists again,’ Paula heard Richard’s father, Hans-Kurt, say. ‘It happens here more often now. People call that part of the allotment gardens Little Moscow, and the Nazis can’t help but come over all the time in their joke of a uniform to strut around and cause trouble.’

  ‘And if there’s a decent fight to be had, the communists don’t need asking twice,’ remarked Richard. ‘With so many idiots
around, psychiatry has a golden future.’

  ‘I fear it’s surgery we need here first,’ said Fritz. Three young men in work overalls had just broken away from the melee, carrying a fourth man to safety; he was bleeding from the head.

  ‘We could do with some first aid!’ one of them called out. ‘They’ve beaten him half to death.’

  ‘Bring him here!’ commanded Fritz. ‘I’ll take a look at him.’

  The three did as they were told and placed their comrade carefully on the grass.

  ‘Is there a telephone anywhere around here?’ asked Fritz. ‘We need the police.’

  ‘The bar at the station has a telephone,’ replied Margit. ‘I’ll go. It’s better they don’t see any of you men up there. I reckon they’ll leave a woman in peace.’

  Meanwhile, Richard’s mother had brought over a pile of white serviettes for Fritz to bind the wounds with.

  ‘Really sorry we’ve disturbed your party,’ one of the young men said apologetically, ‘but we couldn’t let that shower of Brownshirts go parading around like that without doing something. You’ve got to show them who’s boss.’

  Nobody spoke. Paula watched Fritz tending to the wound with a makeshift bandage as the injured man slowly came to.

  ‘He doesn’t look too bad,’ concluded Fritz as he finished the job. ‘There’s probably no concussion, but he ought to go home and get to bed and let his own doctor take a look at it.’

  The brawl was still in full flow, and Paula was wondering whether Margit had managed to get to the station without mishap when four men in brown shirts broke away from the fight and followed the path down towards the Hellmers’ allotment. They stood in front of the assembled guests.

  ‘We’re looking for four agitators who attacked us for no reason,’ said the eldest one, twenty at most, a wiry lad with a pleasant enough face but for his hostile expression.

  Richard’s father stepped forward. ‘This is a private party,’ he explained. ‘We have no knowledge of agitators, only of an injured man to whom we have given first aid.’

  ‘We’ll look after him,’ said the young man in the brown shirt. ‘Hand him over to us.’

  ‘I’m not handing over anything to you. Disputes between rowdy youths are of no interest to us – that’s a matter for the police. What we do know is our duty as German citizens to offer first aid to the injured. Do you understand?’

  ‘They’re commie swine!’

  ‘I don’t care who they are.’ Richard’s father was emphatic. ‘I would like you to leave, because this is a private party. As for the rest of it, it seems to me that the party whose badge you’re wearing is very much in favour of protecting German blood so please leave now before any more German blood is spilt.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘No, it’s a request for you to leave and to stop beating people who have taken refuge here. If you choose to disregard my request, you’ll soon find out that our guests include a large number of strongly built manual workers who know only too well how to use their fists and would have no hesitation in showing any troublemakers it’s our right to be here.’

  Before anyone could say another word, there was a sound of police sirens. Paula heaved a sigh of relief – Margit had made it.

  ‘All right, we’ll go,’ said the young man, giving way. ‘But I’m warning you not to engage with any more communists.’

  Richard’s father stared at him in silence, then turned away. The four Brownshirts took themselves off.

  ‘Thank you,’ said one of the young men.

  ‘I didn’t do it for you,’ replied Richard’s father in a stern voice. ‘I only wanted to stop more heads getting smashed in. Street fights make no sense to me whatsoever, regardless of what they’re about or who’s involved. Now gather up your comrades and get out of here.’

  ‘You should show us more understanding – those Nazis are dangerous.’

  ‘When I see what your political idols are getting up to in Russia, I’d say they’re equally dangerous,’ retorted Richard’s father, his expression fierce. ‘And now I bid you good day.’

  Once the four communists had left, Richard’s father asked the band to play another waltz, saying, ‘I need something to calm me.’ Then he took his wife by the hand and danced with a vigour Paula would never have thought possible for a chap of his age.

  ‘So how about us?’ asked Richard, following her gaze. He held out his hand.

  ‘My pleasure,’ she said. ‘It would be shameful if we didn’t have the staying power of our parents!’

  Chapter 9

  Saturday 6 August 1927 was the first time Richard deliberately entered false information on an official document. This was the registration form at a little guest house in Binz on the island of Rügen, where he wanted to spend a few carefree days with Paula. He registered them as a married couple, Richard and Paula Hellmer. He knew from Fritz that a serious-looking couple would never be asked for their marriage certificate, but back then it still required some courage. Fortunately, nobody noticed his hesitation, least of all Paula, who hadn’t needed much persuading and was ready at his side for any new adventure.

  The guest house was so near the water they could enjoy the smells and sounds of the sea and the cries of the seagulls that woke them in the morning.

  Richard hired one of the numerous wicker beach chairs, big enough for two, with a striped awning to protect against the bright sunshine – which had of late almost entirely overtaken the traditional bathing machine in popularity. The one next to them was already occupied and surrounded by an imposing sandcastle. King of the castle was a short, red-faced man on the wrong side of fifty with a Kaiser Wilhelm beard that seemed far too large for his face. A red checked handkerchief with a knot at each corner adorned his head. He was wearing an old-fashioned one-piece gents’ swimsuit and made no secret of his opinions, his sandcastle being decorated with a mosaic of mussel shells that formed a row of swastikas. The king’s fair wife, clad in a full-length blue and white bathing dress with long sleeves, took a long and disparaging look at Paula’s deep red modern swimsuit which left her arms and legs uncovered, while Richard had to put up with the red-faced man’s discourse on how a decent German man should wear a respectable one-piece instead of going around in newfangled swimming trunks looking like Friedrich Ebert, although he made no comment on Paula’s outfit.

  ‘You’ve just got to know how to wear it,’ Richard said casually. He called to mind the photograph of the former President of the Reich on the beach wearing poorly fitting bathing trunks with the caption created by his political opponents, ‘A republic exposed’, something which had done the rounds hundreds of times and given rise to a number of satirical songs. But nothing had stopped the triumphant progress of swimming trunks, and when Richard cast his eye around the beach, he realised that he and Paula were far less conspicuous than their conservative neighbours.

  ‘I think we need our own sandcastle in this hostile environment,’ he whispered to Paula. ‘I’ll get hold of a toy bucket and a watering can while you go and collect some shells and little pebbles to make our own mosaic with.’ He gave her a conspiratorial wink.

  ‘What kind of mosaic do you have in mind?’

  ‘One that’ll drive this Nazi mad.’

  ‘You can’t leave it alone, can you?’ She gave him a playful nudge then went down to the water’s edge to fetch what he wanted.

  While Paula went looking for shells, Richard built a wall as high as their neighbour’s, using the watering can to moisten the sand and patting it down with the spade. Once Paula had returned with her bucket nearly full, she settled down in the beach chair.

  ‘D’you know, I could sit here for hours watching you do that?’ she said to Richard. ‘With your lovely athletic body all glistening with sweat.’

  ‘And now we’ve got to listen to this smut!’ hissed her virtuously veiled neighbour. ‘Whatever next!’

  Richard burst out laughing and took a while to get back to work as a result. Their ne
ighbour shook her head in disgust.

  Her displeasure increased when she saw that Richard and Paula were decorating their castle with pebbles placed in such a way as to bear a suspicious resemblance to the Star of David that Leonie sometimes wore as a pendant.

  ‘They’re Jewish stars!’ barked out the king of the castle. ‘Don’t tell me you’re Jews!’

  ‘What on earth are you on about?’ Richard’s face was a picture of innocence. ‘They’re only a few starfish and other little finds from along the shore. But as you’re from India, I expect you’re not familiar with German customs.’

  ‘India?’ the man said, bristling. ‘Have you quite lost your mind?’

  Paula struggled to conceal her mirth as Richard continued, with a deadpan expression on his face.

  ‘Well, you know, you’re wearing a turban of sorts and you’ve decorated your sandcastle with the swastika, the Indian symbol of good fortune, so that’s why I thought, you know . . . Oh, so you’re not from India, then? That does explain why you speak such good German, of course.’

  Paula could no longer contain herself and screamed with laughter.

  ‘That is the last straw! Running around half naked like a jungle savage, flaunting Jewish symbols and insulting decent German citizens! I’ll be reporting this to the lifeguard.’

  ‘You’re free to do that, of course. But I really wouldn’t know why a man can’t be permitted to decorate his own sandcastle with little bits and pieces from the beach, and what is really so exceptional about my style of swimming costume, which, as you so rightly mentioned, was considered fitting eight years ago for the President of the Reich and is now being worn by most of the men here?’

  ‘Or at least by those men with the figure for it,’ added Paula as she ran her hand over Richard’s shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  ‘I cannot allow this! I’m getting the beach superintendent!’

  ‘Willibald, do calm down,’ said his wife. ‘Don’t waste your time on these vulgar people.’

  Willibald carried on mumbling to himself for a while then settled back in his beach chair.