An
anxiety of a different sort gripped him the moment he thought of his
grandmother. Without even thinking about it, he increased his pace and clenched
his fist as if anticipating something threatening at home. The distress made
him perspire despite the cold, to the
point where he was still tense when he arrived home, turned the knob of the
front door and pushed it open.
Alexandra
Herzl saw Hans the moment he stepped inside
and looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face.
“Hans!
What is it?” she asked, sitting up on the
sofa, dimming her eyes in that manner of hers that said she was expecting bad
news.
Hans
almost chuckled. “Nothing! Or not much, Oma!” he replied, wondering why
his hands were trembling.
“Then
why are you walking around as if you have just been exiled to hell.”
He
stopped pacing about, looked at her for a moment and then shrugged. “My Dear Oma is always in the dark over
everything that goes on beyond this house. We are heading into hell already.”
“What
are you talking about?”
“The
man who calls himself Der Führer of our fatherland has promulgated new
laws, Oma! They are discriminatory and they make me want to cry for
Germany,” Hans said with a note of exasperation in his voice.
“Sit
down.”
“What?”
“Please,
sit down.”
He
hesitated for a moment and then sat down on the arm of the sofa, instead of the
spot by her side that she indicated with a series of taps.
“What
is it, Hans?” she repeated, dimming her eyes.
He
rubbed his forehead with both hands, before uttering a tired sigh. He felt like
crying. “A lot is going on, Oma,” he muttered in a barely audible tone.
“What
about that stench of beer on your breath?” Alexandra Herzl said with a note of
reproach in her voice.
He
tried to smile, but the expression on his face stayed rueful. “Where else can
we find happiness for a day other than from something that can offer momentary
relief, something like the booze? A form of solace, isn’t it?”
Alexandra
Herzl put aside her thread and knitting pins on the sofa, all the while
regarding her grandson with unutterable concern. “You allowed things to get to
you, huh?”
“My
Dear Oma, I was upset. I left work today to buy the papers, and guess
what I found? This trash, which confirms my worst fears,” he said and put the
papers beside her.
Alexandra
Herzl fidgeted with her hair for a moment, never taking her eyes off the
newspapers. Finally, she looked at Hans with a furrowed brow before bringing
her eyes back to the papers. Her lips twitched a little when she picked one up,
which she read briefly before tossing it away. He was wondering what was going
through her mind when she grabbed another
paper and flipped through the pages nervously. At length, she sighed and darted
a nervous look at him.
“This
paper calls them the Nuremberg laws,” she said finally.
“Yes,
Oma! Adolf Hitler is now legally in power. And he is beginning to
implement his crazy plans for the German people. I never believed Lorenz
Ulbricht before the elections even after
he said all those crazy things during his campaigns in Berlin,” Hans said with
a sigh, pushed the knitting pins aside, reclined on the sofa and then nodded
wearily.
“I
too never take people like him seriously?”
“Oma,
he talked of taking the German people through a purification process.”
“What
is this nonsense about a purification process? And this talk of the German
people? We are all German people.”
“Nein,
Oma. His notion of the German people or the master race is different from
what you and I think. To people like them, a true German must be full-blooded.
Except for the few xenophobes, nobody believed him back then. Now, everything
seems―”
“Things
will change for the better. Trust me on this one,” she stuttered, picked up her
thread and pins and started knitting again with trembling hands.
“Tell
me, Oma!”
She
looked at him but did not utter a word.
“What
do you think is going to happen after this?”
“What
do you mean?”
“You
told me you read Adolf Hitler’s book, Mein
Kampf.”
“Yes,
I did.”
“And
you didn’t take it seriously?”
“The
points he made there are ridiculous.”
“The
man outlined his program for the fatherland in that book in a clear manner.
Some patriotic Germans would stop regarding Germany as home the moment he
starts implementing his warped ideas. Do you foresee disaster for the German
people if you, I, everyone in this country and the rest of the world fail to
stop him now? Tell me. Perhaps I am exaggerating my fears.”
Alexandra
Herzl sighed and dropped back on the sofa. “The German people have a path to
their destiny. It is their problem to decide whether to walk it with the
Austrian or not.”
“But,
Oma!” Hans called, paused, and then continued, “I have this disturbing
worry deep in my heart that you can help me put to rest. Perhaps your wisdom
can help me clarify a few things.”
Alexander
Herzl dropped her knitting gears again, took a deep breath and then looked at
Hans. “What is it?”
Hans
rose and pocketed his hands as if that would calm his agitated nerves. He was
on the verge of saying something when he thought about it and started pacing
the room instead. His grandmother watched him in silence. At length, he
stopped, regarded her, and then sat down quietly on the arm of the sofa.
“It
concerns my grandfather,” he blurted out.
Alexander
Herzl nodded. “Go ahead,” she mumbled barely above a whisper.
“Tell
me! What feelings had he deep in his heart for Germany? Mami told me he was a
colonel in the army of the Kaiser until 1916. That was the year he died from an
untimely explosion in an ammunition depot.”
“Yes,
that’s what happened.”
“His
feelings, his feeling…his feelings,” Hans continued, articulating the words as
if hoping to get the best meaning out of them.
An
expression of deep concern suddenly appeared on Alexander Herzl’s face. “Yes,
his feelings. What about them?”
“Oma,
did he ever worry that the Germany he was prepared to die for could one day be
against his people? Did it even cross his mind that the Germany he was so proud
of could one day choose a demagogue like that Austrian to lead it?”
Alexandra
Herzl closed her eyes and sighed. “Come and sit here,” he beckoned Hans over,
tapping the left half of the sofa.
Hans
said nothing as he moved over to her side. She too did not utter a word for a
moment as if she knew very well that he was worried and that he felt unwanted.
She placed her left hand on his shoulder out of an impulse and was glad that he
relaxed a little. “You don’t have to tell me how upset you are."
“Ja,
Oma! I am upset. I am sad. My spirit has been battered.”
“Don’t
say that!”
“You
know, Mami took me to the Jewish cemetery in Stuttgart. I was ten years old at
the time. She showed me Opa’s grave.”
“He
was a brave man. I chose him over several suitors because of his deep heart,
wide intelligence, and indefatigable
spirit.”
“She
told me about Uncle Matthäus too. He was not buried there because he was a Messianic
Jew. He accepted Jesus Christ, his identity as a Jew and the words of the
Talmud.”
Alexandra
Herzl nodded. “He had his father’s heart and his mother’s mind.”
“You
hardly ever talked about your son.”
“Those
are all pains of the past, hurtful memories I dread recalling.”
“My
point, Oma, is that the people in power don’t want to acknowledge the
twelve thousand Jewish soldiers who died fighting for Germany and the Kaiser. I
am a product of that legacy.”
“I
don’t think I ever told your mother about this. But the fact is, my maternal
grandmother was Jewish. She abandoned her faith after she married my maternal
grandfather.”
Hans
was silent for a moment. “Going by halakha, you are Jewish.”
She
nodded. “So, I share your concerns and want you to share my optimism.”
“It
is hard to.”
“Don’t
allow yourself to be worked up by some of Hitler’s exaggerations. I strongly
believe there is a future for your grandfather’s people here. There is a place
for them everywhere because they are a unique people, created for a purpose in
this crazy world. I think Hitler wants to work out something new for the Jews.
Germany can’t do without them.”
Hans
was at the point of laughing but realized
instantly that it was not funny. He could not muster the spirit. His
grandmother was blind in her faith in the German people. She too was like most of
the people of Rastatt who were shielding themselves from the reality of the
changing Germany. He heaved a sigh, moved his head to the side and stared at
the wall with brooding eyes.
“I
love your generous sentiments. Believe me, Oma! I want to put my faith
in your optimism, but I can’t,” he muttered, turned around and rested a hand on
his grandmother’s shoulder.
“Thank
you,” she responded, wondering what else to say.
“Oma,
do you know something?”
“Tell
me,” she said, feigning enthusiasm.
Hans
looked at her and tried to smile. “I am your grandson, and I know how you feel
about this, But Germany isn’t the right place for me. Yes, Oma! It is
not for me, not anymore. I shall go to Kamerun. I discussed this the other day
with Mami and Herr Heinrich, and they were objective about it.”
“What
do you mean they are objective?”
“They
too aren’t against the idea of moving out of Germany if the situation in the
country gets to a crisis point for a certain
category of people. It is bad, Oma. Believe me! I have every reason to
think it is time for me to look for that safe haven before the situation
deteriorates even further.”
Alexandra
Herzl nodded. “I see! You didn’t trust the way I would take it until now?” she
said, dimming her eyes.
“I
knew how you would feel.”
Alexandra
Herzl wiped a suppressed tear. “I will miss you. Of course, I will miss you,”
she whimpered with a sigh.
“I
am sorry, Oma.”
“There
is no reason for you to be afraid. We Germans are a civilized people.”
Hans
reflected for a moment and then shook his
head in disapproval. “Times are changing. Events are moving against people like
us. I must act now. It took a lot of prudent thinking for me to make this
decision to go to Kamerun. It is the best option for me. I have a father there
who is enthusiastic about having his son with him.”
A
faint smile suddenly appeared on Alexandra Herzl’s lips, making them quiver. It
also lit up her eyes in a sweet moment of reminiscence. “Josef is a good and
intelligent man,” she said.
“You
mean my father?” Hans mumbled in a barely audible voice.
“Yes,
your father. Take it from me that he is a wonderful man. No decent person can
afford to regret knowing such a wonderful soul. You should be proud of him.”
Hans
nodded as he fought back the mist developing in his eyes and the conflicting
emotions and thoughts racing through his heart and mind. “You are the person I
will miss the most not returning home to every day.”
“Oh,
Hans,” she muttered and took him in her arms. Hans had not expected his
grandmother to turn around all of a sudden and embrace him. His conception that
Germans were not so effusively emotional was deep-seated, which is why he had
not expected her to be so demonstrative in her sentimentality. But then, he
responded to her deep, affectionate, and unexpected embrace, all the same, wrapping his arms around her in an upsurge
of emotion he never imagined he could muster. He did so without even thinking
about it.
“Oma!”
he mumbled.
“I
will miss you too,” she said. “But missing you would be a lot easier to handle
than the thought of losing you,” she added.
With
soothing words muttered, mutual promises exchanged, and emotions suppressed and
expressed, Hans felt relieved. However, he did something strange to his nature
as he went down on his knees, took his grandmother’s right hand, and kissed it
reverently, surprising her in the process.
“You
have been too dear to me, Oma. Our separation is not going to last
forever. Nazism wouldn’t survive us,” he said.
Alexandra Herzl found it difficult to fall
asleep that night. She read the letter from her daughter in Berlin three times
and committed the contents to memory before putting it away in her chest. The
half glass of brandy she had intended to be her only for the night led her to
the second and then to another, to the point where her head was swirling when
the clock in the sitting room struck 02:00 hours. Yet the urge to continue
drinking would not go away. Perhaps another drink would help, she
thought.
The
sound of an early morning bird squeaking outside interrupted her thoughts. She
even thought the sound was fanciful and wondered for a moment what species the
bird could be. But she did not dwell on it as she poured herself the fourth
glass of whisky, indifferent to the effect it could have on the sedative she
had just taken. She gulped down the drink, slipped under the bedcovers and
reflected on the contents of the letter.
The
trend of events in Germany was making Karina apprehensive. She stated she was
getting worried beyond the endurance of her nerves because she was half-Jewish,
and her husband was a big shot in the Communist party. And now, she would have
to contend with the pressing issue of her grandson’s future in the country as
well. Her daughter barely mentioned Hans in the letter, probably because she
did not want to share some useful information with her. She closed her eyes and
wondered whether the letter contained any hint that Karina too was thinking of
leaving the country.
Alexandra
Herzl got up from bed for the umpteenth time, placed the glass on the stool and
walked to the mirror. She looked at her reflection and concluded that the
person staring back at her did not look fortunate at all. Her husband and her
only son had sacrificed their lives in a purposeless war that ended with the
German people defeated and consumed by a festering sense of vengeance that was
becoming frightening. She no longer found comfort in her long-held perception
of Germans as rational people. The quest for vengeance was blinding her people,
threatening to throw them all into another abyss, perhaps a far worse one than
the ordeal they went through during and after the Great War.
And
now, even her beloved grandson was fleeing the land of his birth, the land his
ancestors had fought and died for. Worrying thoughts haunted her mind until the
quietness of the morning sent her staggering back to her bed where she fell
asleep minutes after she closed her eyes.
Hans also had a hard time falling asleep
that night. He drank a glass of whisky, ate cucumbers, and even thought a glass
of milk would help to soothe the feeling of unease that he was having a hard
time dispelling. However, when he realized the futility of his efforts in
overcoming his restlessness, he went for the encyclopedia again, hoping to get
more information about Kamerun. He started with the territory’s history.
Events
that took place in the landmass before colonization turned out to be a lot more
interesting. He learned that the territory was at the crossroads of the north-to-south
and the east-to-west migrations throughout the history of the African
continent, making it the only entity with related peoples to all the four major
language groups in Africa. He mused over the fact that Carthaginian sailors and
adventurers visited its coast, and he was amazed that the northern half of the
land became the base from where Ousman Dan Fodio undertook the most
far-reaching spread of Islam in Sub-Saharan Africa before contemporary European
powers grappled with one another to stake their claims on the continent from
its coast. However, when he read that in 1884, Britain lost to Germany by a
fraction of a week’s delay in its quest to make the African territory its
colony, he understood why the British crown never stopped having an interest in
the land.
The
history of German colonial rule was even more explicit. Hans learned that
Kamerun became a German colony in 1884, following its annexation by the German
envoy Dr. Gustav Nachtigal. He found out
that the other major colonial powers recognized Germany’s claim to the
territory during the Berlin conference of that same year, and that German
Kamerun took the shape of a territorial entity after 1884 through the great expeditions
and explorations carried out by prominent figures in the history of the colony.
The outsized figure of Dr. Zintgraff
towered above the others in staking Germany’s claim to the territory.
Hans
also read about the great battles the German Colonial Army called the Schutztruppe
(Protection Force) fought with less subservient ethnic groups, tribes, and clans of the land, notably the
Bafut people. He reserved a great deal of admiration for the hardy explorers
who penetrated the territory's inhospitable eastern forest regions to open vast
areas up as far as the Kadei and Boumba rivers. He was equally amazed by the
speed with which the German colonial administration opened up the territory, a
land they referred to as Germany’s “African Pearl”.
Even
so, Hans acknowledged the high price Kamerunians paid for the progress made
under German colonial rule. The forced labor policies,
forced requisition of land and the harsh reprisal against native opposition
decimated villages, caused the deaths of thousands and moved populations to
“alien parts.” of the land. His curiosity spiked further when he started
reading about Martin Paul Samba and Rudolf Duala Manga Bell — two outstanding
Kamerunians who distinguished themselves at the onset of the Great War. While
Martin Paul Samba was a former top-ranking soldier in the German Colonial Army,
Rudolf Duala Manga Bell was the son of a Duala chief who signed the treaty
recognizing the German annexation of Kamerun. He found it intriguing that the
two former allies of the German colonial government studied in Germany. When he
read about their execution in 1914 for conspiring with the foes of Germany, he
concluded that their deaths marked the biggest scar Germany created on its
former colony.
The
encyclopedia said little about the war itself, except for a brief mention of
its early stages in German Kamerun.
Hans
yawned as he tried to make sense of the last year of German rule in the
territory. The German colonial administration had just eliminated Kamerunian
leaders over differences that could have been resolved, leaving the land devoid
of leading political figures after the Great War. He was convinced Martin Paul
Samba and Rudolf Duala Manga Bell appreciated German values. Now, he understood
why the victorious Allied powers faced no serious opposition from Kamerunians
when they partitioned German Kamerun into French Cameroun and British Cameroons
in Versailles during the post-war peace conference held there. Even his father
was out of Kamerun at the time France and Britain carved up the land.
Hans
sighed, closed the book, put it aside and shut his eyes, willing himself into a
slumber that would stay unbroken for the next six hours.
CHAPTER FOUR
Hans felt a huge sense
of relief when the French embassy in Berlin finally granted him a visa to
travel to French Cameroun. This nerve-stretching test to his resolve began
right from the application process, with an initial refusal from the French
authorities to formalize his ties to the land, even though his father happened
to be a native-born Kamerunian. The ethnic Breton ambassador maintained that he
was German by birth and that he was
bearing the distinctive last name Heinrich, which among other unstated reasons,
failed to qualify him as a Kamerunian.
The gruesomeness of the process did
not prevent Hans from expressing his happiness with the final results. The
passageway to French Cameroun would relieve him of depressing emotions or so he
thought. But he never forgot the bitter experience.
It happened to be an unusually warm
day that late January as if a spell were hovering over the city of Berlin,
lulling both the sinister and benevolent forces trying to shape its destiny.
The tranquillizing feeling stirred such warm emotions in Hans's bosom that he
thought it would be a good idea to share it with Karl Mittenzer, his friend
from high school. He sensed Karl’s nervousness the moment his friend opened the
door for him to get in. Karl received him into his parent’s home in a cordial
manner all the same and then asked him to
settle into a Victorian seat.
“Arrangements for me to leave Germany
have been finalized,” Hans said, half an hour after
he got in.
Karl coughed uneasily and moved in his
seat. “Oh, my friend, I don’t know whether I should be happy for you or be
worried about Germany! It is sad, especially with all our good citizens that
have left or the increasing number that are in the process of leaving. We
cannot pretend that this development is not draining Germany of some of its
valuable brains. It is an exodus.”
“Did you just say exodus?”
“Uh-huh! I think most of the people
leaving are convinced Germany doesn’t want them.”
Hans nodded and scratched his chin.
“Did my plans surprise you?”
Hans barely noticed the split of a
second smile that crossed Karl’s face, but he processed it all the same. “Rosa
told me you want to go to Africa. What is there in Kamerun for you?”
Hans nodded again, fighting off his
suspicions. Rosa Niessen was his girlfriend for two years until she found out
that he cheated on her with a blonde Sorb and decided to call off their
relationship. He was still determined to get her back, if not, then reconcile
with her before leaving for French Cameroun. That notwithstanding, Rosa could
be vindictive in a self-punitive way.
“My sister told me she has been away
from Berlin for more than a month now.”
Karl nodded. “She is still in Dortmund
with an uncle. Speaking from what I heard on the grapevine, she got herself a
good and befitting job over there. She is lucky.”
“It appears the Nazis are providing
jobs for their kinds only.”
Karl shrugged, avoiding his friend’s
eyes. “Der Führer promised jobs before the elections. He is a great
leader except that―,” he said and emitted a cough of discomfort.
“Except what?” Hans asked, never
taking his eyes off his friend’s face.
“Well!” Karl winced and shifted
uneasily in his seat. “Sometimes, it is okay to turn a blind eye to the few
faults if the aim is for the greater good. Don’t you agree with me on this
one?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I am talking about,”
Karl said with a note of exasperation in his voice. “Do I have to scream it out
that his policies against the Jews are somehow disturbing?”
“It is unbelievable, Karl! I think you
were about to justify his actions.”
Karl groaned. “Why don’t we skip this
topic? I don’t think anything good is going to come out of it.”
“I can’t believe it, Kumpel!”
Hans stuttered, “You sounded a while ago like someone who is indifferent to the
problem. Those men at the top are insane, Karl! Ethnic Germans are not the only
ones behind all the good things that happened or that are happening in Germany.
This country was built by all its citizens.”
“Had unpatriotic non-Germans not been
living within our borders, we wouldn’t have lost the Great War.”
An expression of shock and disbelief
settled on Hans’s face to the point where he bit his left thumb without
intending to. “You are harboring a discomforting view,” he said finally in a labored
voice.
“I have been thinking too.”
“Phew!” Hans gasped. “What now? That
Germany was stabbed in the back during the Great War as Der Führer claims?”
“Not exactly!"
“That Jews, Communists, Socialists and
other alien elements are responsible for our defeat; that the loss of Alsace,
Lorraine and the lands of Holy Prussia are their faults too?”
“That’s not exactly how I look at
things.”
Then Hans chortled. He did not want
to, but he could not dispel the conflicting thoughts racing through his mind.
“So, tell me, my dear friend. Who caused the defeat of our Germany?”
“It is so obvious. We were cursed with
renegades, the selfish and the cowardly. And the truth is that they came from
several camps.”
“Be candid, my friend. Why don’t you
scream it out to my face that you think renegade, selfish and cowardly
non-Germans betrayed Germany? That the Jews are precisely the traitors you have
in mind.”
“You are putting words into my mouth.”
“Oh, common! Why don’t you face it;
why don’t you admit it?”
“I still think we should avoid arguing
about subjects you and I cannot influence. Trust me, Hans; nothing good will
come out of our different views on this sensitive topic.”
“A man’s dreams, plans, and works should be open for
self-analysis. Do not let others be the judge on something you are better
placed to explain.”
“I am getting another drink. Do you
want a refill?” Karl asked, indicating the whisky bottle.
Hans shook his head no. “I am fine.”
Karl nodded to show that he
understood. Then he poured himself half a glass, took a sip, savored it for a
while and then sat down again.
“Der Führer has great plans for
this country,” he said at length and then cleared his throat, “Yes, his plans
are far-reaching and colossal. They need men to coordinate those plans. As a
matter of fact, the security service approached me for a job. Hell, I have been
a lawyer without a job for months.”
“Don’t get yourself mixed up with
them.”
Karl shrugged and took a slug of the
whisky. “I appreciate your concerns, Kumpel. Unfortunately, words alone
do not help. I need to apply my intelligence for the good of this country.
Can’t you see? I too must contribute to the growing strength of the Reich.”
“Not by becoming a member of a
security force whose allegiance is to the Nazi party.”
“You are wrong!” Karl cried all of a
sudden.
“Wrong?” Hans retorted in a slightly
elevated voice. “Whom or what do you think you would be serving? It certainly
won’t be the Germany our grandfathers and parents fought to defend! You will
end up serving an idea, my dear friend. Look! They are going to mess up our
people’s conscience.”
“I have a mind of my own.”
“Tell me something,” Hans said with
steel in his voice, “My mother is partly Jewish. Can you refuse orders that
would deprive people like her of certain rights as Germans?”
“I said I have a mind of my own. That
mind considers her as a German with all the rights that come with being a proud
child of the fatherland.”
“And what about the others―someone
like Alex, our mutual friend?”
“Come on Hans, let’s talk about
something else?”
“And what about someone like me, the
son of a Negro and a half-Jewish woman?”
“You are upset, Kumpel.”
In the moment of eerie quietness that
ensued, the friends avoided each other’s eyes. Even their faces betrayed their
uneasiness as they grappled with their thoughts.
Hans blushed finally. “I can see
growing insanity all around us, Karl. It is eating deeper and deeper into our
beloved Germany. I wonder if something can be done about it. It is as if it
must reach its logical conclusion,” he said in a brooding voice.
“I see no insanity.”
“Yes, there is a whole lot of it. It
is becoming incurable. Rational people are almost helpless in the face of this
growing madness. That is what I want you to look at. There is hardly anything
you can do to fight it.”
“Don’t underestimate me.”
“Why don’t you relocate to Austria or
Switzerland before this whole madness consumes you too? You have relatives
across our southern borders.”
Karl’s face turned crimson all of a
sudden. That was the moment Hans realized his friend was a soul in conflict. He
watched Karl take a deep breath and then put his drink down on the side stool.
“You know I love Germany. I am from
Wurttemberg. Germany is my home. Yes, Hans! Germany’s greatness ought to be
restored.”
“My father has a growing business. We
can work for him and enjoy the fun of life out there in that frontier world,”
Hans said desperately, “We have German-owned plantations in both French
Cameroun and British Cameroons. And they are expanding. There are jobs there
for us. Why don’t we move to Africa and stake it out there until this madness
is over?”
Karl shook his head in what Hans
supposed was feigned rue. “What you are saying sounds ridiculous. This is my
home. I must stay here. Things will improve. Der Führer’s actions do not
constitute policies. They are just temporary measures to stabilize things and
get Germany on its feet again,” he said in a sudden frenzy that surprised Hans.
Hans sat back in his seat and
plastered his friend with a quizzical look. Then it finally dawned on him. Why
did he doubt their mutual friend Humfried Schwarz when he expressed his grave
misgivings about Karl? His friend could be flirting with Nazism after all.
Humfried had even floated his suspicions that Karl and Rosa were involved. Why
had he dismissed Humfried’s words three months ago, as if it never crossed his
mind that Karl thought of him as a rival at one point in their long friendship?
Now, he was convinced that his friend was developing a dangerous streak.
Hans’s thoughts raced to a conclusion,
pitting rationality against instincts. Despite Karl’s cordial smiles, he too
possessed the unscrupulous ambition luring some ethnic Germans to the ideology
of the Nazis. He wondered why he failed all along to discern the perilous
nature of his friend’s ambitions.
“I can see you have already made up
your mind,” Hans muttered.
Karl nodded. “It has been carefully
thought over. Candidly speaking, you are exceptional from the lot Der Führer
is against. I understand your decision to leave Germany. It is regrettable,
but I want you to know that Germany needs people like you more than it needs
me.”
“Your thought?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Hans chortled and looked at his friend
with an incredulous expression on his face. “What are you talking about?”
“I know irrational people are in our
midst. They are incapable of distinguishing the good from the bad.”
Hans smiled wryly. “Ah! You mean the
good from the bad! That too has become a basis for
distinguishing people from one another or precisely one group from another. I
always thought the bad are the criminals and those less enthusiastic about the
welfare of Germany.”
Karl gulped empty his glass of drink,
his demeanor overbearing. “Let’s put it this way. I hold you, Alex and Humfried
in high esteem. I shall always be available to safeguard your interests. That is, if the need arises and if it is within my
powers.”
Hans shook his head in disbelief.
“Within your powers, you said?”
“Within my powers,” Karl reiterated.
“You are getting yourself into a
group, my dear friend. Most of us have an idea of how they operate. Henceforth,
do not be surprised when people start judging you based on the activities of
the group you associate with. People will start judging you as a Nazi,
irrespective of the extent of your involvement with that party. Once you get
in, you are in, Kumpel. Never forget that.”
“Perhaps you are right. Who knows?”
Karl said with a shrug. “I bear no malice against you and your people. But I
have Germany in my heart.”
Hans got up and regarded his friend
fixedly for a moment. “I’m leaving now,” he said and started for the door.
Karl got up too and went after him.
“Hans!” he called, stopping him just as he put his hand on the knob.
Hans turned around and regarded his
friend with brooding eyes. “Yes, Karl.”
“I know there are moments when I might
even be viewed as a difficult person to understand. I even wonder what I truly
stand for. But what else can we hold onto to ensure our sanity besides our love for something beyond
ourselves―our love for our families, our love for our fatherland?”
“Don’t fool yourself, Kumpel.
Our love for our country is worth nothing if it deprives us of our sense of humanity if it destroys positive consensus. Do
we have any form of consensus in Germany today? No, no! We do not. Rationalism
isn’t cheap anymore.”
Karl laughed uncomfortably and ruffled
his hair. “Come on, Kumpel! You have your olde freund hier. I am
the same buddy you will find tomorrow.”
Hans turned around and looked Karl in
the eye, forcing him to look away. “I hope so,” he said with a note of sadness
in his voice.
“Do you want to leave now?”
Hans nodded.
“In that case, greet your family for
me.”
“When do you plan to visit us? My
mother asked about you.”
“I don’t know. We are facing uncertain
times.”
“I look forward to seeing you again
before I board the ship,” Hans said and patted Karl on the shoulder in an
awkward manner.
Karl nodded and leaned on the door.
“Also, I don’t think I can go that far.”
“That far? What do you mean?”
“I cannot go that far in seeing you
off.”
“Why?” Hans asked, dimming his eyes in
the momentary haze of incomprehension that glutted his mind.
“There is someone,” Karl said, took a
deep breath and then continued, “I am expecting someone any moment from now. He
is important. Commitments you know,” he stuttered
and then shrugged apologetically.
Hans looked at his friend deeply for a
moment and understood. “You don’t need to explain anything to me,” he said with
a faint smile, “I understand,” he added, opened the door, and walked out. He
did not even greet his friend goodbye or goodnight.
He was still furious when he took the
second bend from the Mittenzer home. Karl was undergoing a lot of
transformation like someone searching for a new role for himself in the new
regime in Germany. Humfried was right. Why did he doubt the effusive Prussian
only for it to dawn on him today that Karl was embracing Nazism with open arms? He was sure his friend’s apology not to
see him off was a polite excuse not to be seen with him. Hans bit his lip and
trudged on.
It was only nine o’clock, but the
night carried an eerie quietness with it as if the neighborhood were bracing
for a disaster. Even the streets looked slightly deserted too. True they were
usually scanty at that hour of the season. Or
perhaps there is a reason, he thought. He had been away from the capital
for two years, so he could not dismiss the possibility of changes so easily. It
was a chilly night too, forcing Hans to pocket his hands and quicken his pace.
He kept walking for a couple of minutes preoccupied with his thoughts and
paying little attention to the things and people around him. The only time he
slowed down a little was when he was just yards away from the intersection to
the next street. In fact, he heard voices with a worrying ring in them but failed to dwell on them. However,
someone called his name, forcing him to snap out of his thoughts and raise his
head.
That was the moment he first saw them.
There were five men altogether, and they were in their late twenties or early
thirties. He immediately deduced from the men’s facial expressions, tall
statures, slightly muscular frames, hardened looks and outfits that they were
involved with the paramilitary. He heaved his shoulders and kept on walking
despite the chill that ran up his spine.
“Black Jew, Hans Heinrich,” one of the
men called out, distinguished himself from the group and approached Hans in a
half-running manner.
Hans realized it was too late to turn
around and make a run for his life. But, why run? He thought. Now, the
men were less than eight yards away, and they looked too malicious for his
liking. The fact that one of them recognized me can be helpful, he
thought. Hans kept on walking in a slightly hesitant manner until they closed
in on him.
“Halt! We want to talk to you,”
one of the brown-shirted men barked.
Hans put up a dignified air as he
stopped. But he did not turn around. “What do you want?” he asked in a calm
voice that was surprising even to his own ears.
“What is it we want?” the second man
quipped.
“The creep lives with that communist?”
the tallest and meanest looking, said, his chevron moustache aligned funnily.
“Ja!” Another growled. “His
father is an African monkey. And worst still, his mother is a Jew married to a
Communist.”
Hans fought back his rising
infuriation. “Verzeihen Sie bitte,
Meine Herren. I am trying to get back home after visiting my
friend. I suppose you don’t mind that.”
“You will get home all right; but not
until after we are done with you,” the third man said with a burst of mocking
laughter that had an insane ring in it.
“Tell us the name of the ape your
Jewish mother fell in love with to conceive you.”
Hans did not respond. Instead, he
turned around and looked at the man who threw the insult. At that moment, he
saw the silhouette of an approaching figure down the street. He could not
discern the face, but the profile looked so much like Karl’s that he was about
to shout out his name. Then the figure stopped, hesitated for a moment, and
then turned around and hurried away.
“I see what you are doing. You are
defying us by not answering our questions. Huh?” the fourth man said and edged
closer.
“He must answer this one or else―,”
the fifth man said.
“What is the question?” one of the men
asked.
“Was the kike who raped your
grandmother circumcised?”
Hans did not utter a word. He knew
that the fifth man knew something about his lineage too.”
“Answer us, black kike,” the first man
ordered.
Hans maintained his tranquility and
sucked his mouth, wondering whether it was Karl backing away after observing
the thugs harassing him or if it was someone else.
“Say something,” one of the men
shouted with a slight plea in his voice.
Hans looked them in the eyes, moving
from one person to the other. Then he settled on the last fellow with a look of
discomfort on his face, the man who had tried to engage him in eye contact. He
was about to say something to the fellow when the others pounced on him —
punching his head, stomach, and back.
They rained him with kicks and shoves that knocked him off his feet and brought
him crashing down by the roadside. Hans tried to fight back, but they quickly
overwhelmed him. However, he managed to shield his face with both hands and
curled to avoid the kicks and blows raining on his body. The men pounded and
cursed him, laughed at him, and mocked him, spat on him, and promised him hell
to the point where he thought he was about to die. Then they dragged him up the
street and abandoned him on the curb. He lay there all bloodied and battered
for about five minutes before he tried to get up again. The first effort saw
him tumbling back. In the end, he managed to crawl onto the pavement.
“Kamerun, Kamerun…Kamerun,” Hans
mumbled, as he tried to make use of his legs.
Eva was reading a
novel in the sitting room when she heard the noise outside. She dropped the
book on the sofa and dragged her feet to the door, gripped by curiosity, fear, and apprehension. She opened the door
with a yawn and then peered outside. The
sight of his half-conscious brother bent over with his buttocks on the
cobblestones forced a scream out of her mouth. Hans was bloody and dirty, with
a big cut on his forehead. With his eyelids and lips so swollen, he was barely
recognizable. She continued screaming and even shut the door before opening it
again.
“Eva!” he gasped and fell on her feet.
“Mami…Mami, Mami—” she continued
screaming haltingly, unable to control her rising hysteria.
Karina failed to retain her usual calm
when she ran to the door and found Eva struggling to get Hans on his feet. She
too uttered a loud, sharp, and piercing cry as if she had to complement her
daughter in her distress. As the women tried to give some support to his
wobbling legs, weeping on his body as they did so, Rudolph Heinrich reached the
scene mouth agape, his shirt unbuttoned and his zip down. He managed to calm
the women down. Then he made Hans rest his weight on his body. Assisted by
Karin and Eva; he carried Hans into his room.
The family helped him undress. Then
they helped him take a bath before they cleaned his wounds.
“Kamerun!” was the last word from
Hans’s lips that night before he passed out into a tranquilizing sleep.
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