To Greet the Sun

by Claus von Bohlen

  ‘Christiane was friends with a younger girl whom Siggi liked. I suggested to Christiane that Siggi and I could swim across the lake in the night and visit them in the girls’ camp. Of course, I didn’t know when we would be able to swim across, and there were sentries who guarded our camp every night. If we got caught, not only would we be in a lot of trouble but so would the sentries who had failed to stop us.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ asked Pietro.

  ‘Well, punishments could be quite brutal. One boy who fell asleep on sentry duty was made to run around the perimeter of the camp wearing all the clothes he had while the HJ leaders stood round and booted him in the bottom. It was a very hot day and he eventually collapsed. But the worst punishment would have been the shame of being kicked out of the HJ. That could also happen, but usually only for the most serious crimes.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Like unnatural acts, for instance. Boys who were caught engaging in acts of a homosexual nature were expelled. That was the law.’

  ‘I see. So, you didn’t want to swim across because you knew that whoever was on sentry duty would also be punished if they failed to stop you?’ said Pietro.

  ‘That’s right. It was Siggi’s idea to swim across on the night on which we were both on sentry duty ourselves. Also, Siggi knew that there would be a full moon that night. That worried me even more; it would be much easier to see us in the water. However, Siggi thought it was a good omen. He liked things like that – full moons and summer solstices and so on.’

  I paused for a moment, thinking to myself how strange it was that in the Hitler Youth we were encouraged to think in terms of pre-Christian rites and rituals in the same way that the hippy people do today, and yet it was in the context of a completely opposite ideology.

  ‘So, Siggi knew there would be a full moon,’ prompted Pietro.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And that was the night we were due to be on sentry duty, so I asked a girl in my class to pass on a message to Christiane that we would try to swim across the lake.’

  ‘You really liked Christiane,’ said Pietro. Was it a question? I couldn’t tell. I said:

  ‘Yes. Yes I did. I used to think of her a lot. I often thought of her as I had seen her on the Zeppelin field – eyes shining in the reflected glow of the searchlights.’

  Christiane had meant a lot to me. Well, I can’t pretend that I knew her all that well, but she had certainly fueled my fantasies. The thought of seeing her alone and in the dark at the girls’ camp, on the other side of the lake, had been almost unbearably exciting.

  ‘Siggi and I were both very excited,’ I said. ‘The lake was bigger than anything we had swum across before. Also, those glacial Alpine lakes are extremely deep, deeper than anyone knows. I was frightened by the thought of prehistoric creatures lurking in the depths, ascending to the surface once a month to graze on Hitler Youth boys by the light of a full moon.’

  I saw Pietro smile.

  ‘And that was also the day of the climbing competition,’ I said. ‘A great day.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Pietro.

  Chapter 15

  THE MORNING of the climbing competition dawned brightly. We checked our equipment in the early light. There were two other teams of climbers in the final; each pair had to climb the three new routes marked out on the Drachenwand – the fifty metre rock face behind our camp. The climbing instructors had marked out the new routes and secured the pitons the evening before. We had not yet seen them, but we were to be timed on each route and at the end all the times would be added together to determine the winning pair.

  Siggi and I both climbed well. Siggi led, going up ahead of me and clipping the rope to the pitons while I belayed him from below. It was a pleasure to watch him climb. He was so smooth and graceful on the rock face – no scratching or scrabbling. I remember the way his hands moved over the stone, both curious and reverential. At times they seemed to stroke the rock. When Siggi neared the end of the rope, he would find a ledge from which to belay me while I climbed the same route, unclipping the rope and the carabiners from the pitons as I went. I did not climb as naturally as he did; it was more of a fight for me. However, having watched him closely, I knew where the hand holds and foot holds were, and I was able to climb the pitch almost as fast as he had.

  We climbed the first two routes effortlessly and posted the fastest times on each. It was almost midday by the time we started on the third route. By now the other HJ boys and the Jungvolk who had spent the morning exercising outside the camp had returned. There was quite a crowd at the base of the Drachenwand. Siggi was well known for his climbing exploits – he had climbed certain routes by himself that even the instructors could not scale. The only exception was Kurt Gruber, the eighteen-year-old Bavarian climber in charge of our company. However, since he was a native of those mountains, he was thought to have an unfair advantage.

  Gruber was widely respected. He was only eighteen but he had already seen action and been promoted to the role of HJ leader. We all hero-worshipped him to some extent. But I wouldn’t say he was popular; people were too afraid of him, especially the younger boys. Siggi, on the other hand, was extremely popular. He was friendly and easy-going. That might have been a problem for some boys; after all, the HJ was founded on principles of strict obedience and discipline. However, Siggi’s charm and his reputation as a fearless climber and gifted all-round athlete meant that he managed to avoid confrontation with the more authoritarian figures – even Kurt Gruber treated him with indulgence. It also meant that the crowd that had gathered at the base of the rockface at the start of our third climb wanted us to win.

  The third climb was probably the hardest although Siggi, with the crowd cheering below, made light work of the first pitch. When he had reached a ledge where he could secure himself and the rope, he called down to me to follow. I couldn’t see him because the ledge was above a slight overhang; nor could he see me. Nevertheless, I was confident that I would be able to follow his exact route.

  It was midday by the time I started to climb. I could feel the sun vertically above me, burning my shoulders. The Drachenswand was in shade for most of the day and I was not used to climbing in direct sunlight. The glare of the light on the rock made me wince and after just a few minutes sweat began to drip into my eyes. The beginning of the climb had still been in shade and I had not thought to remove my jumper; my skin against the rough woollen material now began to itch.

  Somehow I must have deviated from the route Siggi had taken since I found myself having to make use of a narrow crack, wedging my forearms between the two rock slabs in a technique I had rarely used. The crack became so narrow that soon I could only insert my hands, and then just my fingers. The rock around me was completely smooth; there were no hand holds or foot holds, only the crack. I saw that the crack came to an end a few metres in front of me – the two sides of the crack fused seamlessly back together. My arms were starting to tire; I had been climbing too aggressively, fighting the rock. I realised I would have to climb down in order to climb up again. I began to feel anxious – climbing down is never pleasant. However, once I was in a stable position with my weight on my legs, I leant my forehead against the rockface for a few seconds to compose myself. I took a few deep breaths and blinked the sweat from my eyes. Then I closed my eyes and tried to imagine being somewhere completely different; I imagined swimming in the cool waters of the lake, my limbs suspended in its liquid embrace. When I opened my eyes again I felt much calmer.

  The overhang of Siggi’s ledge was directly above me. I called up to Siggi to give me some slack, then I retreated back along the crack. I recognised the route he had taken and followed it, catching up with him on the ledge. We both climbed the next pitch fluidly and I lifted the flag at the top of the climb to indicate to the timekeeper below to stop the clock. We jogged down the walk off though the woods and around the back of the cliff for the third time that morning. I knew that my error in following the crevice had cost us valuable
minutes but as we approached the group of spectators at the bottom of the cliff their cheering grew louder. They clapped us on the back as we jogged to the timekeeper’s desk. The timekeeper confirmed that all the results were in. We had won the competition. Then Kurt Gruber shook our hands and said that the results would be officially announced at roll call the following morning. We went to get the lunch that the Hungarian cooks had been keeping back for us, but neither of us was hungry. We both felt euphoric.

  After winning that climbing competition, I felt as though nothing could ever go wrong. That, I suppose, is the confidence of youth. I never considered the possibility of any outcome other than success. After lunch we attended our afternoon classes. We were excused training in the early evening because we had won the competition and because we would have to be on sentry duty that night. We tried to rest but we were both too excited by the prospect of the night swim to the girls’ camp; we only dozed fitfully. After the evening meal we sat around the campfire whilst Kurt Gruber told the story of Siegfried slaying the dragon. This was a tribute to Siggi and we both felt honoured by it, although I don’t think that any of the other boys realised why it was significant. When Kurt Gruber finished telling the story and the songs were starting, we made our way to the perimeter fence to begin our sentry duty. Even from where we were positioned, we could hear the singing in the distance. As we sat and listened, the full moon rose above the Drachenswand; it bathed the rockface in pale silver light and reflected off the black waters of the lake in front of us.

  At our summer camp, sentry duty was very dull. I had heard of other places closer to Bochum where it was not uncommon for camps to attack each other at night. That would have been exciting. However, we were the only HJ camp for miles around in these mountains and, since the girls would never attack us, there was really nothing to fear. It was often a struggle to stay awake. But that was not a problem on this occasion – Siggi and I were both nervous.

  We waited until after the singing had ended and the campfire had died out. Then, when we thought that everyone had gone to bed, we left the sentry post and made our way down to the shore of the lake. The water’s edge was fringed with trees. Usually we swam naked in the HJ. However, we did not want to arrive totally naked in the girls’ camp – that would have been too much. So we didn’t take off our underpants, even though I thought Siggi’s looked ridiculous on him – so bright and white in the moonlight against his sunburnt skin.

  We entered the water and stumbled a little on the slippery stones. A few metres in, we were already out of our depth; we started to swim. The two or three centimetres of water on the very surface of the lake were much warmer than the water just a little further down. We struck out towards the opposite shore, a dark band in the distance.

  *

  I slow my stroke to match Siggi’s. The first few minutes of a swim are always the hardest, until you establish a rhythm. I move as stealthily as possible, stroking the backs of my fingers against the surface of the water on the return stroke to minimise splashing. Siggi, beside me, does the same. After a few minutes I feel myself settling into the stroke. My body is very light in the water; my hands feel like they are pulling me forward along an invisible rope. I am aware of the water and the moonlight and of Siggi’s body, never more than a couple of metres away from my own. The future and the past fall away; I feel that I inhabit a perfect present in which all the significant threads of my life come together like strands in a climber’s rope. Winning the climbing competition is the same as dedicating myself to the Hitler Youth, and that is the same as daring to swim the lake. Loving Christiane is the same as loving the Führer, which is the same as loving Germany and the old myths and the Hitler Youth.

  I know that we will get into trouble if we are caught. However, I am not anxious. Deep down, I know that this is the right thing to do. It is what a mythic German hero would have done, what the Führer would have wanted, even if the rules forbid it. I continue swimming, my breathing cyclical and calm, my strokes regular and effortless. When I turn my head to breathe, I catch sight of a flash of moonlit skin – Siggi is still beside me. This is what my world has contracted to: the dark water, my friend, and Christiane waiting for me. I begin to feel that my mind and my body are only very tenuously connected; it is a strange sensation. Then, stranger still, I see us both from above, myself swimming beside Siggi, my body paler than his. There is moonlight on the water, swirls and eddies behind us. I see us from further and further away. We become very small, two pale dots in the darkness of interstellar space.

  I never again experienced anything quite like that.

  *

  There is a wooden jetty sticking out into the water ahead of us. Sitting at the end of the jetty, wrapped in blankets, are two small figures. We swim towards them. As we approach, both figures shrug the blankets off their heads and onto their shoulders. I immediately recognise Christiane. The other girl has long blond hair; I have seen her on the hikes, and of course Siggi has talked about her, but we have never met.

  Siggi and I swim towards the wooden ladder at the end of the jetty. The girls whisper to each other as we climb out, then they hand us their blankets to dry ourselves with. I am shivering. Christiane rubs me through the blanket. The blond girl does the same with Siggi. She has a brown, sunburnt nose and a dusting of freckles. Siggi introduces us. I have forgotten her name, but I remember that her hand in mine felt as small and frail as a young bird.

  We follow the girls through the camp and climb up to a point from which we can see the lake below us. We sit on the damp earth and, well, we talk for a while. And we watch the moonlight sparkle on the surface of the water. But the moon is already high in the sky, and Siggi and I both know what that means.

  ‘We have to go,’ I say. ‘We’ve got to be back at our posts when the relief arrives.’

  We walk back down through the forest, to the water’s edge. We kiss the girls goodbye, then we hand them the blankets and wade back into the cold water. We strike out for our own camp once again.

  Swimming back to the camp is much harder. We are both tired and we feel the cold more. Siggi is slowing noticeably. We start to swim breaststroke – that way we can talk to each other. We see our camp in the distance and stare intently at it but all appears quiet – there is no sign that our absence has been noticed.

  After what seems like hours, we are finally able to stand up in the water. We embrace there and then, in the shallows; it has been an exceptional day and, exhausted as we now are, we both want to enjoy the moment. But as we embrace I hear a voice:

  ‘Ach so!’

  We both jump. On the pebble beach I see the looming figure of Kurt Gruber.

  ‘Kommt sofort her,’ he says.

  As I said earlier, we admired Kurt Gruber a lot, but he was not known for his kindness. Quite the opposite. However, I knew that he liked us both, and that he would certainly have respected our success in the climbing earlier that day. I thought I might be able to appeal to his clemency. However, before I could say anything I felt his heavy, calloused climber’s hand on the back of my neck, yanking me out of the water and thrusting me towards the pile of clothes.

  ‘So, Du verschwinde – get lost,’ he said. I picked up my bundle of clothes and saw out of the corner of my eye that Siggi also made a movement in my direction.

  ‘Du bleibst hier – you stay here,’ Kurt said to Siggi. For a brief moment, Siggi’s face appeared frozen in a mask of fear. I had never seen him like that before – Siggi was fearless. But in the next moment he looked at me and nodded, and I imagined that he too was thinking that he could appeal to Kurt’s clemency. In fact, thinking back to Kurt’s fireside rendition of the story of Siegfried and the dragon, I was sure that Siggi’s chances of success were greater than mine. Kurt had always treated Siggi indulgently. But if Siggi were to succeed in persuading Kurt to turn a blind eye to our transgression, it would be best if no one else were there to witness it. So I grabbed my clothes and ran through the woods towards the campsit
e. I got under my blanket and resolved to wait until Siggi reappeared and I knew what our punishment would be. However, despite my anxiety, I was overwhelmed by tiredness and I fell asleep after a short while.

  *

  I was woken by the bugle call at six the following morning. My heart sank when I saw that Siggi’s sleeping bag was empty; I thought that he had probably been made to leave during the night and that I would be following very soon.

  I lined up for roll call that morning full of foreboding. The presence of a large shiny BMW motorbike by the entrance to the camp was another worrying sign; only the SS drove those bikes. Instead of the announcement of our victory in the climbing competition, I now expected a public humiliation, perhaps even an immediate expulsion at the hands of an SS officer. However, I was just lining up in front of the Tingstätte – the meeting place – when I heard Siggi’s voice whisper in my ear, ‘Alles klar’. I looked round to see him standing in the row behind me. He didn’t smile in his usual, easy fashion. In fact, there was something blank and distant in his manner, but before I had a chance to ask him where he had been and what was going to happen to us, Kurt Gruber climbed the small wooden stage at the front of the Tingstätte. He made the usual formal announcements about the programme for the day – eating times, sentry duty and so on. Then he introduced SS Brigadeführer Wolfgang Raue.

  Herr Raue mounted the stage. He was of average height with drawn features and an eye patch; his appearance was at odds with his relative youth. Kurt Gruber announced that before the war Herr Raue had been one of the most famous climbers in Germany, that he had been awarded the Knight’s Cross with oak leaves at Stalingrad, and that he was on sick leave recovering from the injuries he had sustained. Herr Raue strode to the front of the stage, brought his heels together and saluted as if he were springloaded. He smiled and was silent for a long moment. Eventually he spoke: