The Calm Before the Storm

As a little girl I considered the library a sanctuary for enjoyment and learning. Every Saturday afternoon after Paps returned from work, he would present gifts to my mother and me, a bunch of flowers for Mustch and a pineapple or a coconut for me—both rare in Germany in those days. Then, he and I would rush to the library to spend the rest of the afternoon there. The panelled walls were lined on three sides with books, mostly classics in German, French, and English. Some volumes were leather bound, their titles embossed on the cover in gold. There were books of poetry, history, science, art, philosophy, and biography. Who could ever read all of them I often wondered!

Spaces on the shelves were filled with Meissen porcelain figurines and crystal vases as well as hand-carved wooden sculptures from Africa brought to us from the Congo by my Uncle Hans.⁴ Two large couches in soft velvet, several deeply cushioned armchairs, Paps’ enormous wooden desk, a few straight-back chairs, and a coffee table completed the furniture. Underfoot, oriental carpets in patterns of blue, red, and beige lay over the polished parquet flooring. Bunches of lilacs, tulips, chrysanthemums, and other varieties of seasonal flowers stood in vases. But the highlight of our Saturday afternoons together was when Paps would play with me or read to me.

“What would you like to do, Lorechen?⁵ Whatever you say, that’s what we’ll do.”

Usually I wanted Paps to read to me. We would cuddle in one of the chairs and begin with Schiller’s Der Erlkönig as it was my favourite. I would ask him to read it over and over again even though it never failed to frighten me.⁶ I felt safe on his lap, his strong arms around me, but I still shivered with apprehension every time he read that story.

Sometimes I wanted him to recite poetry, other times I asked for the fascinating Greek myths of gods and mortals, the enchanting Arthurian legends, or a Shakespearean play with Paps speaking the different parts in different voices. Fairy tales and children’s stories I saved for Mutsch to read to me. Other times we would play games, such as checkers and chess.

Best of all were the late autumn afternoons when the sun set early. The whole room glowed red, purple, and mauve as the sun’s rays crept back along the carpets. Then Paps would sing our favourite tune, Guten Abend, gute Nacht, in his mellow tenor voice as we stood in front of the window watching the sun go down.

During one of those afternoons a thunderstorm developed quickly. The morning had been dark. And the wind had gradually picked up. Bolts of lightning zigzagged across the black sky and roars of thunder bellowed from the firmament. Like galloping horses, the clouds feverishly charged by. As we watched in awe, sheets of rain crashed into the windowpanes.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Paps mused. “It’s nature’s show of unforgiving force. Nothing man can create will ever be as potent or as sinister.”

“Really, Paps?” I asked, attempting to hide my fearfulness.

“Yes, nothing ever will compare.”

A few years later I realized that was one of the few times when my father was wrong. How unaware we were then! How did we not see the parallels? Yet, how could we have known? Like a freight train hurtling across the country at full-speed, the National Socialist German Workers’ Party was stampeding through Germany, gaining supporters and converts and becoming more powerful and influential by the day.⁷

A human storm of unimaginable might and terror was brewing.

It was in our cherished library in the year 1928 or 1929 that my father sat me down, gathered his breath, and explained how the terror, later to be called the Holocaust, began. “As it is with many things, the actions of the few profoundly influence the lives of the many. This is true both of virtue and of evil.”

“You’ll tell me of the genesis?” I asked.

He snapped. “Don’t use that word! This evil can’t be chronicled with words from Scripture! It’s better to . . .” he thought for a moment, “. . . to say pestilence.”

“Yes, father.”

“Remember there’s so much good in people. Think of the battlefield medics and nurses who tended to the legions of wounded during the Great War. Their courageous actions affected scores of people.”

Then he became visibly shaken. “I’m grateful for the numbers of caring, civil and righteous people, those who’ve helped us and who’ve concealed us from the Nazi wolves whose prey will surely total thousands, perhaps tens of thousands. And I fear this is only the beginning! We must also acknowledge the prayers and consolation offered by rabbis and priests to the multitudes of grieving families. In those ways,” he whispered, “the good of the few eases the sorrow of the many.”

He was quiet. “It was about eight months after you were born. It was cold outside. On my way home from work I stopped to rest at a street corner. On the curb was a pile of newspapers just for the taking. They were issues of the Völkischer Beobachter, the newspaper of the Nazi Party. Stacks of them were everywhere in Berlin. I read it to keep abreast of the events of the day. The featured article that day concerned a rally to be held in Munich. I understand now that few realized, save perhaps the dozen or so founders themselves, that the meeting would mark the onset of the plague that would ravage most of Europe.⁸ It was then that the political, social, religious, and racial contagion commenced.”

Against these insidious developments just outside our door, there were also times of calm and cheerful expectation. Birthday celebrations have always been important to us and my father’s birthday on the twenty-fifth of May was always a happy day.

I remember as a young child drawing pictures with my colouring pencils and struggling even with Mutsch’s help to write a birthday message of Alles Gute zum Geburtstag in script on a piece of tag board. My poster looked wonderful to me but Mutsch said to do it again to make it more presentable for Paps. And so I did, dozens of times.

I remember that in the weeks prior to my father’s birthdays, Mutsch and I would sometimes reserve one or two days to shop for gifts. We would pick a book or two and one time we chose a piece of sculpture for Paps’ desk.

All during these preparatory phases Mutsch would swear me to secrecy. I would be bursting to tell Paps every time we sat for supper or cuddled in the library. To keep silent was the hardest thing for me!

After all these years I still can smell the sweet aroma of the Bienenstock cake baking in the oven on my father’s birthday and the culinary perfume of sauerbraten cooking on the stove wafting all around. Mutsch would prepare green beans and spaetzle along with trays of cheeses and garden vegetables. I would present rafts of Roggenbrot, delicious rye bread, and butter to the table. Under Mutsch’s direction Gerta arranged crystal wine glasses for the adults.

Soon, Omi and Opa, Uncle Alfred and Aunt Hilde with their daughter, my little cousin Gert, Uncle Hans and Aunt Lotte, my other Uncle Hans and his wife, Aunt Evchen, or, as we always call her, Eva, and Aunt Jenny, Paps’ oldest sibling, all arrived to wish him happy birthday, spend time with him, and celebrate the precious gift of family.⁹

On his fortieth birthday, I saw Paps, who was standing by the window talking with Omi and Gerta, lose his balance as he drank from his glass. Omi reached to steady him. The wine splashed onto his shirt cuff and the glass nearly fell from his hand. Uncle Alfred saw this and went to Paps. Gerta ran to the kitchen to get some cloths and cleanser.

“I’m fine. I just feel a little dizzy. I think a headache is on its way. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

And so, we lolled about gabbing while Aunt Jenny finished setting the dessert plates as Mutsch readied to bring the Bienenstock to the table. Paps was already sitting down, his elbows on the table edge, his forehead resting in the cup of his palm. Suddenly, he sat up straight, thanked everyone for celebrating his day, and proceeded to cut the cake. What a happy day that was!

None of us knew at the time that Paps was already suffering from debilitating headaches and that he would continue to suffer from them for many years to come. Had we known perhaps something could have been done for him.