White Lies

by Rudolph Bader

  The activities of the first evening indeed confirmed this vague hope. The sisters worked together as a team, preparing little Lisa’s tea and the bigger meal for the rest of the family. When George came home, the whole evening seemed like a happy party for Nora. By seven, Lisa was asleep in her cot while the two sisters, George and Andrew finally sat down to their supper. George told them the latest news from his work, Andrew chatted away about his plans for the construction of a whole village on the moon, built entirely from Lego pieces. The two sisters also contributed to the conversation, but while the two males grew more and more enthusiastic about their topics, the sisters gradually fell silent, both of them realizing individually that they would have to come to a common agreement about Margaret’s role within this family sooner or later.

  After the evening meal, George got Andrew to bed while Nora and Margaret worked together in the kitchen, finally tidying everything. Margaret indeed turned out to be a great help for Nora.

  In bed, later that night, Nora raised the subject of her sister’s visit with George. They had this routine of discussing important issues in bed, before they finally relaxed and fell asleep. Sometimes they were so relaxed after everything had been said that they got aroused and made love before going to sleep. But not tonight. Nora felt she had to get some sort of perspective on the situation before she could relax. She explained her mixed feelings to a sleepy George, who was completely relaxed and couldn’t see a problem if his sister-in-law wanted to stay in their house for a longer period.

  “She’s your sister, she’s pleasant to be with, and she’s a great help with the children, isn’t she?” he asked.

  “Yes, you’re right, of course,” Nora had to admit.

  They continued discussing various aspects of Margaret’s stay, and eventually Nora could relax, too, falling asleep in her husband’s warm embrace.

  The next three days were full of daily routines, before the sisters drove to their father’s house in Eastbourne. They offered to help him with their mother’s things, but he refused, maintaining that he had to come to terms with his own situation before any action could be taken into consideration. So, they just had a pleasant chat with him and invited him to a nice lunch of fish and chips with a pint of Bombardier at the Pilot Inn.

  Driving home on the A27, Nora asked Margaret if she had any idea of how long she was going to stay. “It isn’t that I would mind if you wanted to stay a lot longer. It’s just that I could make my own plans if I knew,” she explained.

  “Of course, I understand,” Margaret replied. “Would you have me for a longer period? Say, two or three months, perhaps?” She looked at her sister sideways. Nora was concentrating on the traffic along the Lewes bypass, which gave her an excuse for remaining silent before answering.

  “I think it shouldn’t be a problem,” she said at last. “In fact, I’ve been thinking of a wild plan for myself in case you intended to stay for such a long period. So, yes! You’re quite welcome.”

  “What’s your plan, then?”

  Nora negotiated the turn off the A27 and the roundabout that took them onto the A23 before she came up with her daring proposition.

  “If you’re willing to stay in our house and really look after things, I could go away for a few weeks for myself. You know, Lucy next door would be a great help, and as you’ve seen, George can look after himself, and he’s willing to help with the children and with the evening chores.”

  “Oh, that’s an altogether new ball-game,” Margaret said with a heavy American accent. “Where do you want to go? Is everything okay between you and George?”

  “Of course, everything is okay. In fact, I’ve hinted at such a possibility to George, and he was very supportive. I think he’d understand.”

  “Not every husband would, I can tell you that. But tell me: Where do you want to go? Have you got any definite plans?”

  “Well, I’ve been hoping to do this for quite some time. I’d like to travel to Germany.”

  “What do you want to go there for? You were there during your university days.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I was in Hamburg, and I visited Berlin. But this time I want to go to other places.”

  “Just to get to know other places? Or to brush up your German?”

  “Partly yes, but I also want to find out a few things about the past, you know.”

  “Oh, Nora dear! Your old hobby-horse again? You want to dig up more stuff about Dad’s past? Is that it? You can’t let sleeping dogs lie?”

  Nora let this sink in while she turned off the A23, idling down the slip-road to join the A272. Once on the new road, she let her VW Golf shoot off, accelerating faster than it was her custom, as if she wanted to rush to Germany faster than possible.

  “You know perfectly well that I’ve always been interested in what had happened to Dad before he came to the States, especially during the War.”

  “Is your interest more professional or rather more personal?” Margaret raised her eyebrows and made a critically enquiring face.

  “I don’t really know myself. There’s a lot of personal interest, too, of course. Did you know that Dad had a lover before the War? Her name was Anna. And he still has a problem with one of his old buddies, an awful fellow called Wolfgang.”

  “Isn’t that his own business? Why do you want to dig up his past?”

  “Because I’m convinced there’s more than he’s told us. There has to be some terrible secret. I want him to confront his own past and make his peace. But I also have to know for myself. I want to know our father for who he is and for what he was during that terrible time when everybody in Germany had to decide where they stood. Dad has told me a number of things that have definitely raised my curiosity.”

  “What things?”

  “Well, what about his little speech at the funeral?”

  Margaret didn’t answer. They were silent for the remaining journey and reached Horsham in good time. As they were getting out of the car Nora stepped up to her sister and took her in her arms. “There’s no hurry to decide. Also, I’ve got to talk things through with George and with Dad. I certainly need some more information from Dad before I can make my definite plans. Let’s just think about the whole thing for a few days before we take it any further.”

  Part Three

  Thirteen

  It was a cold Tuesday evening when Andrew White parked his Ford Escort in the narrow spot which was allocated to his flat in the dark back alley. Today it seemed particularly dark because the weather was bleak with low clouds and even a touch of sea-mist pushing in from the English Channel. He locked his car and realized that it could actually do with a wash, it was so dirty, but then what was the point with such an old car? It was a faded red and looked its age carrying an “M” registration, which belonged to the old system of registration marks and identified it immediately as a car from the last century. But he didn’t mind, not belonging to the category of car-buffs like most of his friends. Any old banger would do for him as long as it took him from A to B.

  He climbed the stairs to his flat. It was his first flat, and he was quite proud of being a property owner. Although, if you looked at it carefully, you had to admit that it was really the bank who owned most of it. He had just been lucky to get it on his minimal deposit. True, what had made it possible was not only the special deal offered by the bank to young people they called “first-time buyers”, but also his parents’ generous contribution. Both he and his sister Lisa had received fifty thousand pounds each on their twenty-first birthdays. Their parents had made it a condition that the gift was meant to help them buy their first homes. His twenty-first had been more than three years ago, while Lisa had only had hers last year. She was still at university up North, although at the moment she was down in Sussex because she could work better on her M.A. thesis in her parents’ home. He, on the other hand, had left all ac
ademic efforts and ambitions behind him. True, he had his bachelor’s degree in Social Studies, which had got him a part-time job in the local council offices, but what interested him much more these days was his piano. He knew he could never become a proper pianist, but his ambitions as an amateur were a constant challenge for him while he felt he could truly express himself through his musical activities. He never performed for an audience; his piano music was for his own enjoyment and personal fulfilment. On this Tuesday evening he was just coming home from his piano lesson. In his mind, he was still going through the Bach Fantasy which he’d been working on with his piano teacher.

  The warmth of his flat surprised him. He found the switch and turned down the temperature on the thermostat. He took the sheet music from his briefcase and stacked it on his piano, which was a middle-aged Yamaha. Usually, when he came home from his lesson, he immediately sat down at his piano to try out his new achievements, to check if the things he’d been working out with his teacher still worked at home. But tonight, he had other plans.

  He got himself a quick snack of bread and cheese with a glass of orange juice before settling down in front of the TV set. He wanted to watch the pictures of the Inauguration Ceremony for the first Black American President. He saw this as a historic date. Today, on the 20th of January 2009, the world was entering a new phase because its greatest super-power was about to change. Of this he was certain. This was going to be the end of America’s backwardness and brutal inhumanity driven by its pioneer-mentality. At last the United States might find its way to democratic values propagated by figures like Abraham Lincoln. Some of the worst black spots in American un-culture might be overcome at last, such as the redneck madness with guns, the death penalty or the concentration camp of Guantánamo. Andrew felt that he was full of hope and expectation.

  After his TV session, he felt tired. He walked to his small kitchen to make himself a sandwich. He loved a ham and tomato sandwich in the evening, often late at night. He had the illusion that it helped him fall asleep when he went to bed. As he was putting the remaining pack of ham back into the fridge, his eyes fell on his mobile phone that he had left next to the coffee machine earlier. It was still switched off from his piano lesson. He switched it on. Once it had made its connection with the provider, it beeped. There were two messages, one from his friend Dave and another from his sister Lisa. Dave’s message suggested they meet for a late pint at the pub. He ignored it. It was too late now. He opened Lisa’s message.

  “Please call me asap. It’s about Mum. Urgent! Love. L,” it said.

  Andrew sat down with his sandwich and wondered what Lisa could possibly have to tell him about their mother which was so urgent. He dearly loved his little sister, but he knew her well enough to understand that she tended to overreact at times. She was so emotional. Sometimes he listened to her emotional outbreaks in silence, knowing full well that what she was going on about was only half as dramatic in reality, and often he managed to calm her down once her energy was spent, and they could discuss the matter at hand much more realistically. So, he decided to wait until the next day before calling her.

  When he woke up in the morning, he found three more messages on his mobile. They were all from Lisa, urging him to call her. She was considerate enough not to call him in the middle of the night, but she wanted to speak to him as soon as possible. It was now just seven o’clock, and it was still dark outside. Andrew loved getting up early in the morning. It gave him an opportunity to settle his thoughts, to look ahead at the new day and to sort a few things that needed sorting. For example, he usually answered his email messages and often did his on-line banking in the early hours of the morning. There was only one message from Amazon, the cheap on-line bookshop, informing him that the book he’d ordered had now been despatched. It was quite an expensive book about Germany in the Second World War, with lots of pictures and a host of facts. He was fully aware of the fact that he could find most of this information on the Internet, but he somehow felt that things were more accurate in properly researched books.

  Andrew had inherited his mother’s keen interest in history and particularly European history of the twentieth century. Lisa often teased him about it. Sometimes they had heated arguments about the usefulness of history, but he didn’t mind. He was convinced that humanity could learn a great deal from a critical view on all history, particularly on more recent history. Besides, his mother had inspired him too much. History was in their blood, he felt. He knew his mother had found out lots of things about Grandfather’s time in Germany, things she was keeping to herself. True, she’d told him a few facts, but there were still lots of open questions.

  Just before eight he called Lisa. She answered on the first ring.

  “So, what’s up?” he demanded.

  “Oh, my poor Andrew, it’s so terrible,” she answered, hardly able to suppress her sobs. “Mum had a stroke. She’s in hospital. It’s so unexpected, it’s so early. She’s only in her early fifties. Oh, poor Mum!”

  “That’s bad news, indeed,” he said. “But what about her chances?”

  “Oh, it’s all so sad! I couldn’t sleep all night. Why didn’t you call me last night? What if I died and you never knew because you’re not getting important messages! You have no consideration for your family, you have no feelings!”

  “Oh, come on, Lisa. Calm down. Just tell me where she is, so I can visit the hospital and speak to the doctors.”

  Lisa sniffed for a moment before she managed to answer her brother in a level voice. “She’s at the DGH, and I’m also going there this morning.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell my office, and I’ll be there by half nine.”

  “Oh, thank you. You’re such a good brother. It’s so kind of you to come, too.”

  “Of course. No problem. See you there.”

  He quickly organized his absence from his office and managed to be at the hospital by half-past nine, as promised. Lisa was already sitting there in the reception area. He kissed her on her cheek, which was still wet from crying, and sat down beside her.

  “I’ve already asked to see the doctor,” she informed him. “We can’t visit Mum until later. She’s in intensive care. Also, I’ve spoken to Dad on the phone. He’s in New York, but he’s flying home tonight.”

  Soon the doctor arrived. He introduced himself as Dr Banerjee. He was a friendly man of medium height with an extremely winning expression on his brown face. His sparkling eyes were nearly black. Andrew liked him immediately, feeling he could trust this doctor.

  Dr Banerjee gave them a full report of their mother’s case. She’d had a stroke, but she had a good chance to survive with only minor complications. One couldn’t say much more at this stage. The doctor gave them a lecture on the exact medical condition. They understood that their mother might come out with a small handicap such as a partly paralysed left arm and possibly a weakened mind. Time would tell.

  Later, Andrew and Lisa could visit their mother, but she was too weak and drugged to talk coherently. They held her hand for a while, then left. In front of the hospital, Andrew had to calm his sister down. She threw her arms in the air and concluded at last, “Such is life! In the middle of life, we are near death!” Andrew knew better than to respond to this, so he just took his leave. They agreed to visit again as often as possible. Lisa said she was planning to stay for another two weeks anyway before returning to her university.

  Andrew spent the afternoon at work. At one point he got a bit bored. He had to fill in some lists. He stopped and sank into deep thoughts. What if his mother was dying? Dad would be shattered, but he’d be able to cope. He was more worried about Lisa. She was so close to Mum emotionally, while he himself was rather close to her intellectually.

  Suddenly, the idea struck him that if she died a lot of valuable information would be lost, things she had researched about Granddad all those years ago. A pity Granddad was no lo
nger in a condition in which he could talk about his own past in any coherent and comprehensive way. He was in a nursing home in Southfields Road. At eighty-six, he was suffering from a special form of dementia. Andrew had tried to talk to him on his last visit at the nursing home, but the answers he got from Granddad didn’t make sense. Andrew always felt rather depressed after every visit, and he wondered how much the old man still realized.

  He picked up his mobile and called Lisa.

  “When’s Dad due home?” he asked her.

  “He’ll be arriving at Heathrow early tomorrow morning. But Auntie Margaret’s coming down from London. I’ll pick her up from the station in twenty minutes and take her to the hospital.”

  “Okay, shall we all get together later?”

  “Yes, let’s meet at home, say after half six?”

  They rang off, and Andrew fell back into his deep thoughts. He thought of Auntie Margaret. She was a very courageous woman who called a spade a spade. More than seventeen years ago, she’d left her family, her husband and her two children, back in the States, and moved in with her best friend Helen from Newcastle. At first, the two lovers lived in Newcastle before moving down to London. They’d now been in London for over five years and after some initial problems, the family - i.e. Mum and Dad - had accepted the situation. After all, this was the twenty-first century. Most people had a gay person in their families. In a way, he quite liked both of them, Margaret and Helen. Helen still had that funny Geordie accent, and they seemed to be very happy together.

  Then his thoughts again took him to Granddad, who’d been in Germany during the last war. Now that his mother might be incapacitated to a certain degree it seemed even more important to talk to her about what she knew of Granddad’s past. He decided to take up the subject with her again as soon as possible. Once she would have recovered from the worst of her stroke.