The great disappointment of the day for him, however, was Anna’s absence from school. He wondered if she might have changed her mind, she might be angry at him. He had gone too far with her last night. How could he know?
After school, he walked to her house and rang the bell. It was the first time that he had the courage to do that, the first time he mustered the courage to face her mother, who might open the door. He had prepared a suitable pretext for his visit. Since Anna appeared to be ill, he was bringing her their homework from school. But when the door was opened, it was by Anna herself. Her face looked pale and her hair was in disorder. She looked sleepy. But when she saw him, her face lit up with a very happy smile. Her eyes lost their dullness and began to shine, and her whole body stood more upright. She cleared her throat.
“Oh, Manfred!” she croaked in a hoarse voice.
“Hey, are you all right? I’ve been so worried. When you weren’t at school, you know, after last night...”
“I’ve been feeling ill. My head spins, and I feel weak in my knees,” she said, touching her forehead as if to prove her condition with this gesture. “But now you’re here I feel a lot better. Do come in.” She opened the door wider.
He stepped in and asked, “Are you on your own?”
“Yes, but not for much longer. Mother should be home within the next half-hour or so. You’ll have to leave soon.”
Once the door was closed behind them they fell into each other’s arms and kissed with all their passion. But after a minute or two, she disengaged herself from him. It was an effort for both of them.
She assured him that she had no regrets, that everything was good between them and that she would be back at school after another day or two. He gave her the homework from school, they had a quick peep in their English book and he explained which exercises they had to do in writing for the next English lesson. Then, after another very tender embrace, he left her house and walked home along the banks of the Elster and then up to the Galgenberg. As he was walking up the hill, it suddenly dawned upon him that the name Galgenberg was the opposite of what he had found out about the naming of historical events. It reminded you of the most terrible punishment that humans could inflict on others. Then he dismissed the thought and accelerated his steps up the hill. It was a cold day.
Four
In the hot summer of the following year - Manfred had only just turned seventeen - he was walking along one of the faceless streets in Untermhaus when he came across Wolfgang Löffel, who was wearing a very stylish new grey pin-striped, double-breasted suit, which gave him a much more adult look.
“Wow, you do look something!” Manfred smiled. “You look like a really grown-up man in this suit.”
“I am a grown-up man,” Wolfgang answered.
Manfred remembered that Wolfgang was a year older because he had been ill for a long time when he was a small boy, and that was why his education was delayed by one year. Since they had spent most of their school years in the same class, Manfred had forgotten their age difference.
Wolfgang straightened his back and adopted a proud attitude. “Da staunst du, was?” he chuckled and snorted.
Manfred had to admit he was impressed. “Indeed, I am surprised. You even look taller. But what are you wearing such a gorgeous outfit for? Are you leaving school? That would be unwise, only a year before our Abitur exam.”
“Of course not. But I have to plan my career.” Wolfgang hesitated, then after a pause continued, “Can you keep a secret?”
“It depends.”
“Oh, you are a deep one. Always evasive, the true Zauderer, like Hamlet.”
“Don’t say that. It’s only... I mean, how can I promise to keep a secret before I know what the secret is? That’s a childish attitude, asking people to make promises they don’t know they can keep.”
“Keep your hair on, man! I only meant to find out if you can be told things in confidence–”
“–and you wanted to make yourself more important. You’ve always been fond of putting on a great show about yourself.”
“Well, my friend, you seem to know me better than I know myself. But let that be and listen to what I’ve got to tell you.”
“Ok, but let’s go to that café over there. If we have to discuss such important secrets I feel more comfortable sitting down and having a cup of coffee to help me digest it all.”
The two young men sauntered over to the small café on the street corner. It was a place they both knew well. When they entered, the young waitress greeted them as regulars. She was quite good-looking, with a slender figure and fine legs, as most boys were quick to detect. She wore the usual black dress with a frilly white apron.
They sat down by the window and ordered their coffees. As the waitress walked away from their table they both followed her with their eager eyes.
“A real head-turner, that one! I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that bottom of hers. I wonder if she’d let me get a taste of her,” Wolfgang remarked.
Although Manfred had also looked at the backside of the young woman for a brief moment, he felt uneasy about his friend’s vulgar comments. Ever since he’d got together with Anna and enjoyed the real pleasures of a truly fulfilling love-life, he felt a little disgusted about the way some of the other boys spoke about girls. He decided to let it pass this time, but he made a mental note of Wolfgang’s low opinion of women.
“Well, what’s that secret of yours?” he asked.
“Nothing’s certain, as yet. But I’m seeing good old Finkenschmidt later this afternoon.”
“You mean, the Finkenschmidt who used to be our physical education teacher until last year? Herbert von Finkenschmidt?”
“That’s the man. Good old Herbert has built up his connections since he left teaching, and he’s going to help me.”
Manfred noted the familiar use of the first name but didn’t comment on it. “How is he going to help you?”
“You see, Herbert has joined the Wehrmacht, the Army, and he indicated he might put in a good word with his superior officer. The thing is, I am so desperate to join up. I can’t stand this hanging around, waiting, waiting, for what? For a war that’s never going to happen? I’m so sick of waiting. I want to do something for our country.”
“Can’t you wait until after our Abitur exam?”
“That’s too far off. I have to act now.”
“Well, as for myself, I can’t say I’m so desperate. The longer we can keep peace the better, if you ask me.”
“And let the English and the bloody Russians taunt us and exploit us into eternity? The German people have to stand up now!” Wolfgang’s voice had reached a high pitch, which made an elderly couple stare at them from another table.
Silence followed. Manfred didn’t know how to react to this outburst. The waitress appeared with their coffees. When she walked away, Wolfgang’s eager eyes followed her again. Manfred didn’t look at her.
“To come back to more immediate desires,” Wolfgang smirked, “I really think I ought to do something about that fine piece of female attraction.”
“Haven’t you got a girlfriend?” Manfred asked, hoping to get his friend onto a more civilised level.
“Pah! You don’t have to go in for a girlfriend, you know all that mumbo-jumbo about holding hands, saying you love each other and swearing everlasting faithfulness. Bullshit, that is! All a man needs is good sex. And believe me, women are the same. All they’re after is a man who can give it to them.”
“I find that vulgar and disgusting.”
“Oho! You’ve become a softie, a sissy. You’re not saying you go in for all that soft talk, are you?”
“I admit I am. But in that department, we probably have to agree to disagree. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“Ok, man. But I can tell you, there’re a number of gi
rls at our school that are only waiting for it. They’re hot.”
“Oh, come off it!” Manfred tried to steer their conversation in a different direction. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“No, wait. Let me just finish this. There are at least two hot girls that spring to my mind when I think of our school.”
“Now, who would that be?” Manfred asked just to humour him.
“Charlotte Landmeyer and Anna Kleinschmidt.”
Manfred felt a stab in his chest. Not Anna! How could Wolfgang see her in such a light? And how could he speak of her in such vulgar terms? He knew that Thomas was still with Charlotte, although he’d never seen them together recently, but he felt he had to defend his wonderful Anna, his love. It was expected of him by common decency. But he was so shocked he couldn’t utter a word.
“Hey, man! Do you agree? Aren’t they hot? I might try to grab one of them for myself one of these days.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore,” Manfred said and emptied his cup in one gulp. Then he stood up, placed the money for his coffee on the table and turned to leave.
“You can’t just go like that!” Wolfgang protested.
Manfred didn’t care for Wolfgang’s awful designs on girls. He left the café and walked to the riverbank, where he sat down on a wooden bench. The backside of the bench carried a brass plaque, “Sponsored by the NSDAP Section of Untermhaus”. Manfred registered the plaque and saw his own impression confirmed that the Party had now really infiltrated and drenched every aspect of their lives. How could it be wrong then? He remembered that only a year or two ago he had had his doubts, but now he’d come to the conclusion that the Party - despite some of its negative slogans and its flaws in some other aspects - was in truth the instrument his country needed to set things right again. The Party had the willingness and the means. He knew from his brother that the most effective sub-organisations of the Party, especially the Schutz Staffel and the Gestapo, by now had control over who was getting into high positions in the armed forces and in the administration. So, it was probably only a matter of time until they would start something that would rock the whole country and put their enemies in their places. A war? They were probably only waiting for a provocation from either of their political opponents or their neighbours. Would it be initiated by the English, the Russians or even the Poles? Somehow, Germany’s eastern neighbours seemed more likely to start a war.
Then his thoughts turned to Wolfgang. He was really someone who could get what he wanted, but Manfred was sure he wouldn’t get his dirty hands on his beloved Anna. In a way, Wolfgang’s attitude reflected the whole nation’s present state. Manfred suddenly stumbled over this parallel. The vulgarity, the frustration, the ambitions. Probably, individuals as well as nations sometimes needed such attitudes: the vulgar elements to do the dirty work, the frustrated minds to see the stark reality of their own position, and the ambitions to act and do something to change this.
Over the next few weeks, the weather turned even hotter, and in August it was extremely hot, hotter than Manfred could remember. On some days, the thermometer would climb up to 37 or even 38 degrees in the afternoon. He wiped the sweat from his face when he entered Frau Helmbrecht’s shop on his way back from school one Monday afternoon. He had to get some groceries for his father and himself, not a great deal these days since his brother was away.
“Oh, these are bad times,” Frau Helmbrecht sighed as she was handing him the small bag of groceries. “Everything still all right at home?”
“Well, Thomas has been away in the Wehrmacht for nearly two months now.”
“Has he? I was wondering, I haven’t seen him for a while. Do you know how he is? Is he stationed far away?”
“We don’t know. In his letters he tells us it’s a good life in the Army, but he isn’t allowed to let us know where he’s stationed. It’s all secret.”
“Of course. It’s the same with our Christian. In April, we knew he was stationed in Danzig, but after that we weren’t allowed to know. Well, let’s hope it’s all for the best.”
On leaving the shop, Manfred came across Frau Müller, who still helped the Weidmann men sometimes. She never appeared without a sad phrase about their poor mother and always managed to be of use in the household. Sometimes she brought a cake, sometimes she did a few chores in the kitchen or in the garden. She was a good angel for the Weidmanns.
“Oh, Manfred dear, how are you?” she beamed. Despite her sadness over the loss of poor Elfriede Weidmann, even after all these years, she was generally a cheerful and optimistic person.
“Thank you, Frau Müller, we’re fine. And how are you?”
“I know I shouldn’t complain, I mean I didn’t have to suffer such a loss as you poor boys, losing your dear mother and having to cope on your own now. But it is a sad thing to have both my boys in the Wehrmacht. I only hope they’re getting enough to eat where they are.”
“I’m sure the Wehrmacht is feeding them well, Frau Müller.”
“Are you? Well then, I won’t complain. But it is so sad to come home to an empty house. It was bad enough when my Reinhold had to join in January, but now my Horst, my baby, my little Hottie, had to go, too. And I don’t even know where they are.”
Manfred couldn’t help smiling in his mind when Frau Müller called her youngest son Hottie. He was called Horst, a good old German name, but whenever her emotions overwhelmed her she would call him Hottie.
“Haven’t you heard from him, then?”
“Oh yes, I had a letter from him. He’s all right. In fact, he has fallen in love with a girl, he writes. He doesn’t write much about her, but I think she’s got a Polish name. Now, what good German boy would fall in love with a dirty little Polish girl? That really gets me worried.”
“Many German families give their children exotic names. I wouldn’t worry too much. The good thing is that he has fallen in love, isn’t it?”
“You think so?” She didn’t sound convinced.
They said good-bye. Manfred walked up the garden path to the front door and let himself into the house. He put away his meagre shopping and sat down to his homework for school. But he found it hard to concentrate. So many of his friends and acquaintances were in the Wehrmacht! When would his Stellungsbefehl come? When would they call him up? Suddenly, he came to a conclusion. He would take the initiative himself, like Wolfgang. But he wouldn’t just join the Wehrmacht and let them make him crawl around in the mud in awful infantry training. He would aim for some higher task, something where he could do his service in a comfortable office.
He remembered that Father had told him about one of his customers who had been in high places for over three years. What was his name?
When Father came home in the evening Manfred asked him. “Who was that customer of yours, you know, the one who made his career in the Party and works for some important government office?”
“You mean Adolf Keppler?”
“That’s him. Yes. Do you think he could do something for me if I approached him?”
“What have you got in mind?” Father asked, looking him straight in the eyes. “You know, you can’t get a decent position unless you join the Party, and I wouldn’t allow that.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Manfred lied. “I can look after myself. But will you give me his address and phone number, please?”
“If you promise to stay away from that Lumpenpack, the Party. And mind you, you’ll get your Abitur exam before you join the Army or any other organisation involved in politics or government. It’s bad enough to have one son in the Wehrmacht. I want you to stay at home for at least another year. Is that understood?”
“That’s all right, Father. Don’t worry.”
“Will you promise?”
“Yes, Father,” he lied again.
When Manfred lay in bed later that night,
he thought about the discussion with his father. It was fine. Father had given him Adolf Keppler’s address and phone number. This was good. He could contact him now. Nevertheless, he had a strange feeling about the promise he’d given his father. He knew he wouldn’t keep it. Of course, he would join the Party, there was no other way. He realised this was the first time ever that he had lied to his father. These were hard times, he told himself. One had to take hard decisions. And after all, these were only white lies. Small lies that were necessary for some greater cause.
He still couldn’t go to sleep. After about two hours, he had to get up to go to the toilet. As he was sitting on the toilet, listening to the silence in the house, he felt a twitch in his left shoulder.
After that, it took him a long time to go to sleep. And when he finally dropped off it was into a very troubled sleep.
* * *
Adolf Keppler received him personally in an office in the town centre. On the telephone, they had only briefly discussed possible opportunities for Manfred if he wanted to be of use to the cause of his Fatherland, to the Party and to the Führer, without having to join the dirty low business of infantry training in the Army. Keppler had told him to come to his office on the following day. Now, Keppler’s secretary, a strikingly beautiful woman in her thirties, led him to Keppler’s inner office.
“So, what do you have in mind?” Keppler asked after their initial greetings and customary polite phrases. He was a very tall man with an impressive figure, very short-cut hair, a long scar on his left cheek - probably from a cut by rapier in some initiation-ritual in his old students’ brotherhood, his Burschenschaft, Manfred speculated - and a ruddy complexion. His eyes were a steely blue, and his clean-shaven face ended in a square jaw. He smiled.
White Lies Page 7
