To Greet the Sun

by Claus von Bohlen

  ‘Which show?’

  ‘Histórias Humanas – have you seen it?’

  ‘No, I am afraid not,’ I replied truthfully.

  Ruben Raposo shifted his weight forward on the sofa and addressed me:

  ‘Histórias Humanas has been running for eight years. We have a million viewers nationwide and the concept has been exported to Chile, Argentina, Peru and Bolivia. The show consists of an extended interview with an individual whose life is of special interest – that would be you, Senhor Eisinger. I conduct the in-depth interview, which is our point of departure. The interview will later be edited together with other relevant scenes, in this case old footage of the Hitler Youth and of early Alpinists, as well as newsreel from the Second World War. We may even send a film crew of our own up to the Hörnli hut – it depends. In any case, it doesn’t matter that you are unfamiliar with the programme. I often find that the most successful interviews are with people who have not seen my show; they do not know what to expect and do not try to pre-empt me.’ Dr. Raposo brought his palms together and leant back against the sofa.

  ‘You will be interviewing me yourself?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Dr. Raposo.

  ‘I thought Pietro was going to interview me,’ I said.

  ‘Pietro is helping me to produce the show. There is no question of him conducting the interview,’ said Dr. Raposo.

  I had expressly informed Pietro that I wanted him to interview me. I am not in the habit of divulging my life’s story to anyone, let alone to strangers. I looked towards Pietro and for a moment I thought I saw a flicker of guilt cross his face.

  ‘I am sorry, Seu Otto,’ he said. ‘I tried to call you but I was unable to reach you. It would be impossible for me to conduct the interview on Dr. Raposo’s show. But I have spoken at length to Dr. Raposo and I can assure you that he will be asking you exactly the same questions that I asked you. Just tell him what you told me.’

  ‘If the questions are the same, then why don’t you ask them?’ I asked.

  ‘Because it is my show,’ interrupted Dr. Raposo with an arrogant air of finality.

  ‘I see,’ I said.

  I was not at all happy about being interviewed by Dr. Raposo. He made me feel ill at ease.

  *

  A few moments later a girl with a clipboard in her hands came into the room.

  ‘The make-up artist has just arrived,’ she announced.

  Ruben Raposo turned to me:

  ‘Do you have a quiet place to do your make-up? With all the lights and cameras it’s going to get busy in here.’

  ‘I never wear make-up,’ I said.

  ‘Please, Senhor Eisinger, we are professionals,’ said Ruben Raposo.

  I was not sure what he meant by this. I was about to point out to him that, whether Ruben Raposo was a professional or not, he would have to get used to the idea that Otto Eisinger does not wear make-up, but before I could state this Pietro said, ‘With the lights they’ll be using it’s important. It’s normal. No one will notice.’

  The earnestness of Pietro’s expression persuaded me. There are times when stubbornness is a virtue, and others when it is not. I pride myself on my ability to differentiate the two.

  *

  Once my face had been amply powdered, I returned downstairs to find that my study had been turned upside down. Two chairs had been moved so that they were almost opposite each other; there was a camera mounted on a tripod pointing at each chair. The heavy mahogany coffee table had been taken from the middle of the room and propped up against the wall. The bookshelves behind the desk had been cleared of my collection of antique snuff boxes. The boxes had been replaced with a selection of leather-bound books which were not my own. This, presumably, was to make me appear more learned.

  Through the open front door I could see a number of people smoking. Beyond them, at the end of my drive, a group of local children were trying to see what was going on. A guard was holding them back. As I turned my back to the door I caught sight of Anna-Maria standing by herself in the corridor.

  ‘Seu Otto,’ she said, ‘I tried to stop them. I told them to leave your things alone but they said you wouldn’t mind and they would put them back. They even moved your snuff boxes.’

  I had once become quite irate with Anna-Maria for moving things around in my study. In fact, as I recall, she had broken the hidden hinge on one of the snuff boxes by trying to clean it. On that occasion, I had sternly informed her never to touch anything in that room again. To have one’s personal possessions moved about for whatever reason is very enervating. However, I was touched by Anna-Maria’s distress on my behalf.

  ‘Thank you, Anna-Maria,’ I said. ‘It is an irritation and I am grateful for your concern. However, I fear that matters are beyond our control. We shall have to wait until the circus has moved on.’

  The girl with the clipboard appeared at my shoulder.

  ‘Senhor Eisinger, are you ready?’ she asked.

  I nodded, whereupon she went outside and called to the group of technicians who were smoking. They shuffled into the house; they were bearded and dishevelled and reeked of cigarettes. While I settled into my seat opposite Ruben Raposo, the lights were switched on and trained on two large, white screens at the back of the study. Two more lights were angled towards Dr. Raposo and myself. A girl walked around taking readings on a lightmeter. White sheets were held up to the cameras which the cameramen then adjusted. I was introduced to the director. He was a tall man standing at the back of the room. He was studying two television screens and muttering occasional comments to the cameramen. Two other men wearing bulbous headphones angled a couple of furry microphones above our heads.

  While all this was going on, Ruben Raposo opened a file of notes on his lap. He explained to me that I should take my time and answer his questions as fully as possible. I should try to include the question in the answer. Since the show was not live we could re-shoot any questions or answers as the director saw fit.

  Now that the room was quiet, the tension was palpable. I looked around for Pietro. He was standing at the back of the room but I could barely make him out because of the strong lights trained on me. I would have liked to catch his eye. I was beginning to feel anxious.

  My mind went back to the afternoon of the surfing competition. I remembered the hot sun, the sickly caipirinha, and Marina asking me to help Pietro by doing this interview. I also remembered my resolution of that afternoon – to stick to the facts. Nothing but the facts.

  Chapter 26

  THE TALL director walked into the middle of the room and snapped shut the film slate. Adopting a regal air, Ruben Raposo said:

  ‘Senhor Otto Eisinger, the hero of Sambaqui, it is a pleasure to meet you,’ then he leant forward to shake my hand.

  ‘So, Senhor Eisinger, you are known to the Brazilian public as the man who attempted to apprehend two gunmen.’

  ‘Not two. One. I tried to hit one of them,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sorry, you tried to hit one gunman,’ said Dr. Raposo. ‘How did you try to hit him?’

  ‘I tried to hit him with my walking stick,’ I replied.

  ‘May I ask how old you now are?’ asked Dr. Raposo.

  ‘I am seventy-seven.’

  Dr. Raposo held my gaze for a moment before asking, ‘Isn’t that a little old for such acts of heroism?’

  ‘One is never too old for heroism,’ I said.

  ‘Cut! Cut!’ called the director from the back of the room. ‘Go tight on that.’ The camera lens that was trained on me moved a few centimetres. ‘Senhor Eisinger, please will you say that again,’ said the director.

  ‘Say what again?’

  ‘What you just said.’

  ‘That one is never too old for heroism?’

  ‘Say it with conviction,’ chimed in Ruben Raposo.

  ‘One is never too old for heroism,’ I said.

  ‘More conviction,’ repeated Raposo.

  I said it again, louder.
r />   ‘Good,’ said the director, exchanging a brief look with Ruben Raposo.

  ‘So, Senhor Eisinger, what made you hit the gunman with your stick?’ asked Ruben Raposo.

  I thought for a moment. ‘I was angry,’ I said.

  ‘Why were you angry?’

  ‘I was angry because he didn’t think I was worth watching.’

  Ruben Raposo gave me a searching look, then he said, ‘Is that the only reason you were angry?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied.

  He paused for a moment. ‘But is it not also true,’ he said, ‘that you had just seen photographs in a magazine that reminded you of your time in the Hitler Youth?’

  ‘That is true,’ I said, ‘but that is not why I was angry.’

  ‘But did those photos not remind you of the fact that you had been decorated as a war hero when you were in the Hitler Youth?’

  ‘I was not decorated. I was told that I would be commended for a decoration which I never received. And by that time I was in the Volkssturm and only nominally the Hitler Youth.’

  Ruben Raposo opened the file on his lap. After a moment he said: ‘And in the Jungvolk before the Hitler Youth?’

  ‘That is correct,’ I replied.

  ‘Can you tell me how you became a member of the Jungvolk?’

  ‘There’s not a lot to tell. The Jungvolk became mandatory in 1938. I was eight years old. That was deemed old enough.’

  ‘But tell me about the initiation ceremony,’ he said. ‘That was surely a memorable day for you. What happened that day?’

  ‘At Marienburg? Well, we were initiated in an enormous castle. Or at least, it seemed enormous to me then. It might not seem so big now.’

  I noticed that Pietro had appeared just behind Ruben Raposo’s chair and was whispering something to him. Dr. Raposo nodded and then Pietro said to me: ‘Seu Otto, do you remember telling me about finding the amber? Will you tell Dr. Raposo about that?’

  ‘The amber? On the beach?’

  Pietro nodded and Ruben Raposo said, ‘Tell me about the amber.’

  ‘Well, that was the same day as the initiation,’ I said. ‘It was the first time I had ever seen the sea. There were about twenty of us, and two teachers from our school who were also leaders of our Heim – that was the name for the place where the Hitler Youth used to meet. We took the overnight train to Danzig and then on to Zoppot. The ceremony at Marienburg wasn’t until the evening, so we had the whole afternoon in Zoppot. The teachers took us down to the beach. It was very wide and very windy. We weren’t allowed to swim but we were allowed to get our feet wet. That was enough for most of us – the Baltic is very cold.

  ‘After a while I left the others and started to walk along the beach by myself. It was all new to me – the wind and the spray and the sand beneath my feet. It was also the first time I had ever been away from home. Just as I was about to turn back towards the group I saw a small, brown, shiny stone lying on the sand. I picked it up; it was very light. I spat on it and polished it on my shorts, then I held it up towards the sun. In the middle of the stone I could see an insect’s wing, very delicate and perfectly preserved. I could also smell a faint trace of pine. Later I found out that amber is the resin from the ancient pine forests of the north. The resin used to drip from prehistoric trees and trap the insects inside.’

  ‘And what happened to that piece of amber?’ asked Dr. Raposo.

  ‘What happened to that piece? Well, I kept it as a sort of talisman. I kept it for a number of years. I had it with me in Hamburg, when I boarded the ship to Porto Alegre. That was in 1947. I left as soon as I got my papers. My father had relatives who lived in Blumenau and who had emigrated before the war. They were friends with the Hering family. They promised to look after me when I arrived, and to help me find work. I was only 17 but I was desperate to leave Germany – I wanted a new start, a fresh beginning. My mother didn’t feel that way; she stayed in Germany, but she came with me to Hamburg to see me off. I said goodbye to her on the quay. She was very tearful but I wasn’t upset at all. I couldn’t wait to get to Brazil.’

  While I was speaking, Ruben Raposo kept nodding ever so slightly with his head. When I paused, he raised his eyebrows and urged me on with a more significant nod. I found it quite enervating.

  ‘The crossing took five weeks,’ I said. ‘I was very excited when Porto Alegre finally came into view, still shrouded by mist, on the morning of the last day at sea. I was standing on the deck; the other passengers had not yet woken. I could feel a faint breath of wind on my face and could see the green hills rolling back from the port. It was my first glimpse of the Americas, of the New World, and also of my future. I realised that in this new world I could shape my own destiny. It was a moment of great significance for me and I felt that somehow I had to mark it. That was when I decided to throw the piece of amber into the water at the entrance to Porto Alegre. I felt for it in my pocket. I held it up towards the sun one last time to see the fly’s wing, then I threw it as far as I could into the water of the port.’

  Ruben Raposo looked up. ‘A symbolic moment,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it was,’ I replied.

  Dr. Raposo had returned to the open file of notes on his lap.

  ‘You did not tell Pietro about throwing the amber into the sea?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘But you did tell him that you gave the amber as a gift to your friend Siegfried. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Tell me about Siegfried,’ said Dr. Raposo.

  ‘Siegfried was my best friend in the Hitler Youth. And he was my climbing partner.’

  Ruben Raposo allowed a lengthy pause to develop. ‘Please, Senhor Eisinger,’ he said, ‘it would be much better if you could answer my questions as fully as possible.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Thank you. So, can you tell me why you gave Siegfried your talisman?’

  ‘I gave Siegfried my talisman because we swore an oath of friendship. It seemed like the right thing to do.’

  ‘And this oath of friendship was a blood oath?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that we both cut our hands and mingled our blood. We were drunk,’ I said.

  ‘How did you cut your hands?’

  ‘With a knife.’

  ‘With the Hitler Youth knife you had recently been awarded?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘What was the knife like?’

  ‘Just like a normal knife, maybe a bit longer.’

  ‘Was it about this long?’ Dr. Raposo held his hands about twenty centimetres apart. ‘And did it not have a groove on one side of the blade?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you feel when you held the knife?’

  ‘Well, I suppose I felt proud. It was a great honour–’

  ‘Did it make you feel powerful? Do you not think it was a fetish object designed to empower adolescent boys–’

  ‘Ruben,’ the tall man at the back interrupted. Ruben Raposo turned to the back of the room and said something I didn’t catch, then he turned back to me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Where were we? Yes, the blood oath. You were drunk. That was when Siegfried confessed to you that he was being abused by one of the older boys,’ Dr. Raposo looked down at his notes once more, ‘by Kurt Gruber, is that right?’

  ‘No, I don’t remember that.’

  ‘Siegfried didn’t tell you that Kurt Gruber was abusing him?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  Dr. Raposo fired a look towards Pietro at the back of the room. Then he said, ‘But was it not Kurt Gruber who recommended that you should be awarded the knife when you ought really to have been punished? Did Kurt not sometimes climb just with Siegfried, leaving you behind? Did he not share a room with Siegfried in Zermatt, leaving you with the Austrians?’

  ‘Kurt Gruber was older than us but he was also our friend,’ I said.

  Dr. Rapos
o paused again. ‘Did Siegfried once tell you that Kurt made him do things he didn’t want to do?’

  I didn’t reply. The back of my neck was beginning to prickle with heat. The room seemed to be contracting around me.

  ‘Did Siegfried tell you that Kurt made him do things he didn’t want to do?’ repeated Dr. Raposo, speaking very deliberately.

  ‘I don’t remember. Maybe I told Pietro that. But none of us wanted to do things like sentry duty. It was very boring. You had to stay awake all night and–’

  ‘Senhor Eisinger,’ interrupted Ruben Raposo, ‘Unless Pietro’s account of what you told him in the hospital is inaccurate, I have the distinct impression that you are hiding the truth. I ask myself why you would do that?’

  I leant back to rub my neck against my collar. ‘I am not hiding the truth,’ I said. ‘I was confused in the hospital, that is all. I had been given a lot of morphine. I am sure Pietro did not mean to mislead you; sometimes one hears what one wants to hear. You of all people must know that.’

  There was movement at the back of the room where Pietro was standing but again the bright lights prevented me from seeing his face.

  ‘Let us return to the piece of amber. You gave it to Siegfried when you swore the blood oath, but he later gave it back to you. Tell me about that.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That was on the morning of the day that Siegfried climbed to the summit of the Matterhorn. The day he died. We were sleeping in the Hörnli hut, which is built on the rocky shoulder at the foot of the northeast ridge. I was woken in the middle of the night by the sound of Siegfried getting ready. My bunk was nearest the door and I felt the cold night air when he opened it. I asked him where he was going and he repeated a line from his favourite Hitler Youth song. Then he closed the door and–’

  ‘What exactly did he say?’

  ‘He said: “Wir Jungen schreiten gläubig der Sonne zugewandt.” It means: “We young step out in faith to greet the sun.”’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then I woke up a few hours later, just after dawn, and I found the piece of amber on the pillow beside my head.’