No Light (8 page)

Mother was having another party and the house was full of her friends. Everyone drank wine and talked very loudly. I recognised some of them from before as people she sang with in the opera. She was currently performing in
Peer Gynt
at the Staatsoper House in Charlottenburg. I sat by the fire in the drawing room alongside Herr Lang and his wife Ingrid who lived next door. Herr Lang was talking to me about school.

“So, Ralf, how is your new school. You attend the Französisches Gymnasium in Derfflingerstrabe do you not?”

“Yes sir. I like the school. We are taught in French. Mother says that it will benefit me to have a second language as I may wish to travel in the future.”

“French is a good language to have Ralf”, Ingrid said. “Our daughter Estelle works in Paris. You remember Estelle don’t you?”

I had a vague recollection of her as a small thin girl with a rabbit face.

“Of course I do Frau Lang. Does she like Paris?”

“She loves being there. She says that Paris is the most civilized city in the world.

I didn’t want to talk about Estelle so I said I had to go upstairs to finish my homework. On the way I passed mother talking to a woman I had not seen before.

“Where are you going Ralf?”

“To my bedroom”

The other woman began sniggering.

“Stop it Emma”, mother retorted. “Have you been helping Silke serve drinks Ralf?”

I hadn’t but said I had. I could tell my mother was a little drunk. She swayed slightly on her high-heeled shoes and leaned against Emma. She always leaned on somebody when she drank too much wine. She smelled lovely though and I complimented her on her perfume.

“Isn’t my son a darling?”

“He is very handsome Cecilia”, Emma replied. “He will break many a girl’s heart. I just love his blonde hair.”

He gets that from his father who fortunately is no longer with us.

“Mamma!” I shouted.

“Well he isn’t…he walked out just after you were born and went to live with that Isobel Ritter in Munich. But we survived, didn’t we my sweet?”

She bent down and kissed me on the cheek.  Her thick black hair tickled my face.

“I love you Ralf”, she whispered.

I rubbed the back of my hand across my cheek and continued to my room. Once there I locked the door and lay on my bed. I had been reading a passage from
Death in Venice
by Thomas Mann. Herr Siegler my literature teacher had given the passage as homework, a small section where Mann talks about his central character Gustav von Aschenbach.

There were profound reasons for his attachment to the sea: he loved it because as a hardworking artist he needed rest, needed to escape from the demanding complexity of phenomena and lie hidden on the bosom of the simple and tremendous; because of a forbidden longing deep within him that ran quite contrary to his life's task and was for that very reason seductive, a longing for the unarticulated and immeasurable, for eternity, for nothingness. To rest in the arms of perfection is the desire of any man intent upon creating excellence; and is not nothingness a form of perfection…?

Is not nothingness a form of perfection? I didn’t fully understand the passage but the words intrigued me. I felt that behind the words lay meanings I was not familiar with. Stimulated by von Aschenbach’s desires I continued to read until a knock on the door interrupted me.

“Ralf”

It was Mother.

“I am reading.”

“Please open the door.”

Mother annoyed me immensely when she drank too much because whenever that happened she became obsessed with herself. Normally she was kind and considerate but after too much wine her mood changed and she tilted quickly between extremes of sadness and happiness. It was difficult at times to know who the real person was. I unlocked the door.

“Any good?”

“What?”

“The book.”

“Yes it’s by Thomas Mann.”

“Really? Are you able to understand it?”

“Most of it.”

“Can you come downstairs for a while? We are about to sing and I would love you to join us.”

She gave me one of her pleading smiles and we went downstairs to join the guests who were now gathered around the piano. Mother’s latest boyfriend Kurt was sitting on the stool. He began playing
Puttin’ on the Ritz
. The song was in English. I couldn’t speak English very well so I hummed along. Suddenly, mother’s friend Emma grabbed me and began leaping around like a crazy woman forcing me to jump and down. I immediately tried to free myself from her grip but this only encouraged her further and she began kicking her legs wildly. When the song finished Kurt went straight into
Let’s Face the Music and Dance.
Thankfully this song was much slower and Emma was unable to continue her insane cavorting. She gave me a sad look and released my hands. I fled at once and managed to squeeze in beside Kurt and the piano. He gave me a big smile and winked. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I was relieved to see mother beside me though my sense of relief was premature. When the song ended mother announced that I would sing. I pleaded with her to be spared the indignity but she ignored me and announced to everyone that this was my favourite song taught to me recently by my grandmother. That was news to me. My favourite song of the moment was one I had made up with my classmates concerning our history teacher Fraulein Bauer and sung to the tune of Frere Jacques.

Fraulein Bauer, Fraulein Bauer

Has big boobs, has big boobs

That I’d love to fondle

That I’d love to fondle

Ding dang dong, ding dang dong.

It became apparent to me that Kurt and mother had discussed my humiliation beforehand. He launched into the opening of
All Mein Gedanken
and I was forced to begin singing. I was anxious not to forget the words but thankfully some of the guests joined in. This gave me confidence and I managed to continue to the end without any major lapses of memory. I received loud applause and a ruffle of my hair from mother. Kurt continued with
Night and Day
and I retreated once more to the drawing room to sit around the fire with Herr Lang and his friends.

“Ah Ralf you’re back. Tell Herr Groer about your school?”

Herr Groer stood by the fireplace. He was a tall thin man with blonde hair and he looked quite young. I wondered if he was a teacher.

“What does he want to know?” I replied.

“Herr Lang tells me that you attend the Französisches Gymnasium in Derfflingerstrabe.” Herr Groer said.

“Yes. I like the teachers especially Herr Siegler who teaches me literature.”

“A lot of teachers at your school are Jews are they not?”

“Jurgen, please! He’s only twelve.” Herr Lang remarked.

“Almost a man, I’d say.” Jurgen replied

“Herr Siegler is not Jewish. He is German but there are quite a few who are. My best friend Aaron is Jewish.” I replied proudly.

“What do you think of Jews Ralf?”

“That’s enough!” Herr Lang was on his feet now. “You have no business asking him that. We don’t all share your obvious love of National Socialism and the anti-Semitic ranting of your leader.”

“Oh sit down Herr Lange! I was only talking to the boy.”

“What is National Socialism”, I asked?

“The scourge of this country”, Frau Lang replied. This prompted a few nods from the others in the group.

“Scourge of the country!” Jurgen said loudly. “Herr Hitler is restoring our dignity and courage especially for young people who resent the humiliation imposed on them by their parents after the last War. Scourge indeed. The scourge of this country is that old fool sitting in the Reichstag supported by Jews and Communists.”

I had no idea who the old fool was or what Jurgen was talking about but it sounded exciting. He seemed passionate and determined.

“That old fool you refer to is the one who is keeping this country together”, someone shouted.

“All lies! They have been telling us lies for fourteen years”, Jurgen continued. And the biggest liar is the Jew. Is not their very existence founded on a lie? They call themselves a religious community when in reality they are a race. Schopenhauer called the Jew, The Great Master of Lies and those who do not realize the veracity of that statement or do not wish to believe it will never be able to help us expose the truth.”

“Schopenhauer! That con man!” Herr Lang insisted. “He used philosophy to promote racism. All his talk about eugenics and heredity was merely a cover up for an elitist anti-semetic view of a world populated by a so-called superior race. None of what he says means anything when held up to scrutiny.”

“I disagree”, Jurgen replied. “The premise for Schopenhauer’s ideas is self-preservation and that is something the German people are extremely concerned with. We have mass unemployment, the country is in debt to those who have attempted to conquer us while behind them lurks the Jew bankers and money makers. And I would also challenge your assertion that his philosophies are racist. He reminds us that the highest civilizations and cultures are found exclusively among the white races but he is also against differentiating against races and has always lamented the treatment of black people in America. He realised that black people while naturally inferior to white people and incapable of higher thought and aspirations must be allowed to develop what they are good at namely manual work.”

I was intrigued by this discussion and even more impressed by Jurgen’s confidence. Herr Lang was principal of the Goethe School in Wilmersdorf and a very knowledgeable man.

“Ah Jurgen”, Herr Lang stated, “You suffer from the exuberance and folly of youth. Herr Hitler attracts you because he gives you permission to attack the establishment. It is too easy to dip into Schopenhauer’s misguided writings and cherry pick the ones that suit you. That is what Herr Hitler is doing. He is not a philosopher but merely the mouthpiece of the ideas of others. He is an ambitious politician who uses philosophy as a tool to further his cause. The real philosopher may use the ideas of others but he does so only as a means of validating his own original thought. It seems to me that your National Socialist ideals are merely a regurgitation of old ideas and a mish-mash of what went before. They may be imaginative but they are not unique. Ah, Cecilia, you have joined us.”

“What are you going on about now Peter”, mother exclaimed!

“Oh nothing, Jurgen and I are only discussing the benefits of philosophy.”

“How boring.”

Jurgen looked perplexed and I could see he was anxious to continue the debate but when mother said something was boring then that was the end of it.

“What do you do Jurgen?” she continued. Are you a friend of Peter’s?

“No Frau Hartmann I came with Heinz Gerhardt.”

“Heinz, yes, he is singing with the rest of us in the next room. Do you sing?”

“Not very well Frau Hartmaan. I am an accountant. My passion is numbers.”

“Oh I’m sure even accountants are capable of singing. Now Ralf, time for bed. You have school in the morning and I’m sure your head has been filled with enough nonsense for one evening. Say goodnight to our guests.”

I reluctantly took my leave but before I left I went quickly to Jurgen and told him that I was interested in what he said and that I was sorry for the way Herr Lang had spoken to him.

“Thank you Ralf but don’t worry, I am used to it. Hopefully we will meet again soon. Have you heard of the Hitler-Jugend?”

I shook my head.

“You should find out more about it. There are quite a few branches in Berlin. Remember young people have a right to be heard.”

I was dying to find out more but mother was once again ordering me to my room. When I climbed into bed I began thinking of a world that lay beyond my experience, a world of excitement and mystery that I wanted to be part of. I craved a life like von Aschenbach’s, where anything was possible. Jurgen was right. We were young and old people had no right to insist that we should be like them. We wanted change and we demanded to be heard!

In 1933 the Französisches Gymnasium
was closed by the new government and I transferred to the Goethe School with Herr Lang as my principal. This was a sad occasion, I had to say farewell to Herr Siegler but I liked the new school and was particularly pleased to see Aaron there. He became one of my closest friends. However our time together was short-lived. He graduated in 1935 and initially attended the Alice Salomon University of Applied Sciences but after the government fired all the Jewish lecturers and put pressure on Jewish students to leave, his family
moved to Budapest and Aaron enrolled in Pázmány Péter University. He sent me letters from time to time but suddenly they stopped and I didn’t hear from him again.

I wasn’t too happy to see Otto Becker at my new school. Since the Sniper incident he hadn’t spoken to me nor had I retaliated. We just ignored each other and I made sure I sat as far away from him as possible. Imagine my surprise when one day he came up to me during lunch. I was discussing the forthcoming Hitler-Jugend march to Nuremburg with some boys in my class.

“Hello Ralf.”

“What do you want fat boy?” I replied?

That amused the others! There were plenty of guffaws and loud laughs! Otto though was not deterred.

“I wanted to ask you about the Hitler-Jugend. I know you are a member.”

My friends cheered and that irritated me.

“There’s an office in Ulandstrasse, but they won’t take you, you’re too fat and you don’t look Aryan.”

This was certainly true! He had thick black hair and looked Italian. In spite of that one of my friends, Reinhardt jumped to his defence.

“You are cruel Ralf. I think our Fuhrer wishes everybody to join the Hitler-Jugend. You can join in the school Otto.”

“Who do I have to see to join?” Otto enquired.

“Herr Farber in History”, someone else replied.

Otto left and I turned on Reinhardt.

“Why did you tell him that? I can’t stand him. He’s a fat slob with no manners who only messes around. I know him from elementary school. He’s no good.”

“It doesn’t matter”, Reinhardt replied. Joining the Hitler-Jugend will train him in discipline and obedience. So, what about this march?”

We assembled at the grave of Herbert Norkus in Plotzensee before marching to the bus station and travelling by coach to Leipzig where we joined other groups from around the country. Herbert had been murdered by Communists while distributing party leaflets and was a hero of our movement. From Leipzig we continued to Nuremburg walking the 270 kilometres in four days. I was so excited. This was my first time at a rally and I was only being allowed to go because mother was in Paris performing
Carmen
. After the rally she expected me to join her.

Our march from Leipzig was exhilarating. Led by Herr Farber we sang songs and cheered loudly as we passed through villages and towns. Our favourite song was
Es zittern die morschen Knochen
and we always sang with great fervour and devotion,

We will march on, 
when everything has fallen to pieces; 
Freedom stood up in Germany 
and the world belongs to you tomorrow.

But my joyfulness was tempered by Otto who had joined our movement shortly after our conversation in the school. He had been permitted to attend the rally even though he had attended no meetings or classes. Our corps met on Monday of each week and we were instructed in National Socialist principles and doctrine. I knew the importance of marching to Nuremburg knew the significance of our rallies and understood the depth of feeling our Fuhrer had for Germany and our people. I learned about our Aryan philosophy and was introduced to works by Grimm, Miegel and Benn. I delighted in how they described the German people as the cleanest, most honest most efficient and most industrious people in Europe and how they proudly promoted our ancestral vitality. Herr Goebels had once said that the soul of the German people must express itself again. I knew they had burnt books in the early days and this disturbed me but I was told that anything that prevented expression of our national identity must be destroyed. I felt proud to be a part of it and excited to be at the forefront of something modern and contemporary. But Otto knew nothing of this, had read nothing and learned nothing. For him everything was an adventure, an opportunity to mess around with his new found friends, meet girls and feel important.

Bayreuth was one of our stops on the march to Nuremburg and it was there that I met Leni Himmel. She was with a BDM (Bund Deutscher Mädel
)
group from Potsdam. They were our female counterparts, The League of German Maidens
.
I should have known Leni before this as she attended the Berlinisches Gymnasium zum Grauen Kloster
in Klosterstrabe. It was one of the most prestigious schools in Berlin and had many links to the Goethe Institute not least in debating. Encouraged by Herr Farber I had joined the debating group and had already competed twice against Leni’s school. She told me that she had visited my school during one of our matches. How had I never noticed her? She was beautiful with ideal Aryan features.

Our night in Bayreuth was special. Alcohol was officially prohibited but some of the older looking boys managed to procure a few bottles of Schnapps and we had a little party in one of the tents with Leni and two of her friends. Smoking was also prohibited but after two bottles we didn’t care and soon the tent was thick with tobacco fumes. Leni said that she didn’t like smoke and decided to return to her tent. Night had fallen and she asked me to accompany her. I agreed immediately. Not only was this an opportunity to spend some time alone with her, but I knew that if I hadn’t left I would have punched Otto, who was now extremely drunk and annoying everyone with his pinching and swearing.

The night was cool and we walked slowly among the tents trying to drag out our time together, speaking at first about the Hitler-Jugend and our calling by the Fuhrer before discussing the Olympic Games held earlier in the year. Leni had seen some film of the games at her local cinema and said she was disappointed that some of her sporting heroes especially Lilli Henoch and Gretel Bergman had been barred from competing. I agreed that was unfair, they were our best athletes but there must have been a reason.

“I was told they were banned because they were Jewish”, Leni remarked.

“I don’t think the Fuhrer would have sanctioned that”, I replied. “He is a great fan of sport and would have known that Henoch and Bergman were the best. No, there must have been another reason. Maybe it had nothing to do with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Other countries may have objected.”

“Do you think so?”

We moved on to talking about music, literature and art. Leni admitted that she loved the impressionist paintings of Monet and Van Gogh though she knew that the Reich Culture Chamber viewed this art as degenerate. I suggested that we could still harbour some desire for the things of the past. I for one still loved the American songs of my mother’s parties and loved listening to her practicing her operatic arias. I told her about my love for Thomas Mann but we were in a new world now, a world which demanded order and the reality was that unless we rid ourselves of impurity and subversion we would not survive.

I must have impressed her for she smiled tenderly then took my hand and placed it gently on her breast. I was instantly overcome by desire and leaned forward and kissed her firmly on the lips. She recoiled saying my breath reeked of smoke and alcohol. I was confused. She ran towards her tent and I followed without really knowing what I was supposed to do. We reached her tent and scrambled inside. She grabbed me and kissed me with an intensity I had not yet experienced. I could not resist her, could not resist her lips, her smell and her body.

In the morning I left Leni and returned to my comrades who were sitting around the campfire eating sausages and drinking coffee. Leni’s friends were still there and one of them, Helga seemed to have taken a shine to Otto. He looked so smug and triumphant as he sat with his arms draped over her shoulders relishing his conquest. I ignored him at first until he began taunting me. The ignorant fool yapped on about my night with Leni daring me to reveal details and asking me if she was any good. When I’d had enough I rushed at him, grabbed his greasy hair with one hand and punched his face with the other. Helga screamed as she was elbowed to one side. Otto tried to free himself so I pushed him down, sat on top of him and punched him again. He began whimpering. I turned to the others and shouted.

“This ignorant fucker is finished here!”

Later that day Otto returned to Berlin and we continued to Nuremburg. We were overwhelmed by the numbers attending. There must have been tens of thousands filling the cafes and restaurants. We could hear singing coming from the Bierkellers and everyone appeared joyful and pleasant. Leni attended a rally of the German’s Women League on Friday morning while our group engaged in physical exercise activity. We stood in regimented lines and followed our leader as he barked out instructions over the public address system. At times I was overcome with emotion watching the thousands of arms rising and falling in unison, the multitude of bodies all working in harmony. Later I met Leni for lunch. She described the Women’s rally, how they had sung, “
Our Fate was to be a free People
” and how their leader Frau Scholtz-Klink spoke about being part of a new revolution that was different from what had gone before. This time there was to be no bloodshed, no uproar.

“It was so stimulating Ralf. She gave us a whole history of the struggle of European women and called our fight against Communism a battle between Good and Evil. We are the Good because we understand and accept God’s order for the world and must oppose those who want to replace eternal laws.”

And then the Fuhrer spoke. I felt so privileged. I’ll never forget his opening words,

A person who is not joyful cannot sense joy. One needs optimism in order to live and it begins with children. It takes optimism to bring a child into the world! When a child is born, the mother receives it with joy. She worships this small creature.

“He called it a gift to the German nation. Oh how we applauded and cheered. I felt so proud to be a woman. And I felt safe Ralf. He told us that no woman would ever have to hold a grenade or raise a gun because our men would protect us. National Socialism, he said, would see to that.”

“What was he like?” I asked her?

“He was lovely Ralf. Smaller than I thought but he was a long way away.”

“I can’t wait to see him.”

I was falling in love with her; falling in love with her twinkling eyes, noticing how she wriggled her nose when she became excited, how she used her hands to emphasise what she said, almost swooning with desire when she ran her long fingers through her beautiful blonde hair and laughing at her giggles and sighs. Oh I wanted her so much and she me. After lunch we ran to her tent. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

My opportunity to see the Fuhrer came the next day when he addressed the Hitler-Jugend. What a sight! The speaking platform was full of our leaders all smiling and waving. Draped behind were huge banners displaying our party flag. The Fuhrer walked among us waving and giving the salute. He stopped occasionally to speak to the boys and as I was fortunate to be near the front I became nervous that he might stop and speak to me. As he drew near I was almost breathless. Then he stopped and offered me his hand. I think I grabbed it a little too firmly. He smiled warmly.

“My Fuhrer I am Ralf Hartmaan from Berlin, heil my Fuhrer!” I stammered.

“Welcome Ralf”, he replied, “you are a warrior of the Fatherland.”

“Yes my Fuhrer.”

“Good! We need soldiers like you.”

With that he moved on. I was dumbstruck. The boys either side nudged me with their elbows and someone behind patted my back. Everyone was grinning. The Fuhrer approached the platform. The atmosphere was electrifying.

My German Youth!

You have the good fortune of witnessing a time of both upheaval and greatness. That is a fate not bestowed upon all generations. When I think back on the youth of my own time and on the time of my own youth, it seems truly empty to me compared to what fills today’s time; what tasks today’s time is faced with, and what tasks are facing today’s youth. It is really wonderful to live in such an age and to be allowed to grow and mature in it. And this great good fortune is yours! You are not experiencing the reconstruction of a state, for you did not know the old Reich. You are experiencing the birth of a great age…

And so it seemed. How proud I was to be a part of this. How fortunate I was to be living now. This man had transformed our lives. He gave us such hope, such respect and he was right, I didn’t know anything about the old Reich and to be honest I didn’t really care. I was young and I wanted to live. I had no interest in soldiers dying in stinking trenches other than it must have been horrible for them. I knew that the youth of the last generation had perished in that war. That was not going to happen to me. I felt strong and purposeful and something else. I felt unique. He had touched my hand.