For new readers: THE MAN WHO FEEDS THE SWANS is a novel placed on line one chapter every 2 days. To start at the beginning, you need to go back in the posts to Part 1 dated July 3. I had thought of scrapping this, but I see about 20+ folk seem to be reading it, so I'll persevere. However, there are 71 chapters plus an epilogue so you'll need stamina and patience to get to the end, which should be sometime before Christmas!
Chapter 6:
Markenburg: October 1929.
He who asks is a fool for five
minutes.
But he who does not ask remains a
fool forever.
Chinese
Proverb
Gunther
had seen the girl of his desires again. His father had sent him with a load of
barrels on the cart to the railway station. It was a cool, fine mid-October
morning and birds sang in the trees which were shedding their drying leaves
along the road side into town.
After
he had attended to the paperwork in the goods office, he was giving the horse
some water as a train pulled into the station. Gunther found trains fascinating,
always wondering where they were going and where they had been. It seemed
remarkable that those steel rails linked the cities of Europe and beyond, and
he longed to travel. This train was from Koblenz, bound for Trier. Only four
passengers alighted at Markenburg. There were two old ladies, being helped with
luggage by a porter, then a stocky man in some kind of military uniform. There
was a huge blast of steam and smoke from the locomotive which sent a dense white
mist along the platform, and just as Gunther was about to get back onto the
cart, emerging like an angel from the clouds, there she was.
She
was wearing a straw hat with flowers and a cream cotton two-piece. Her feet, in
smart polished brown button-up boots, were dainty and she walked in a dignified
manner as her heels clicked on the flagstones. But it was her face, her eyes,
her hair. To Gunther she seemed like an oil painting. Her skin was faintly
olive in complexion, her eyes brown like chocolate, her dark chestnut hair
falling from her hat in thick, natural waves onto her shoulders. Yes, it was
the Markenburg girl of his dreams, his fixated desire he had never dared to
discuss with his beer-swilling mates lest they broke the magic in their usual
crude fashion. Yet who was she? He had to know.
He
let her walk away from the station and onto the leaf-strewn road leading into
town. Although he wasn’t due to travel in that direction, he decided he’d trot
along a few paces behind her. As he drew nearer, he did something very bold,
something which was, for Gunther, very brave. He took off his cap and pulled
alongside her. His heart beating hard, he took a deep breath.
“Are
you going into town?” he asked. She looked up at him, and to his sheer delight,
smiled.
“What
business is it of yours?”
“Er
… none; I thought that I might offer you a ride. Save you walking.”
She
walked on and he kept pace on the cart.
“Do
you think I’m an invalid or something?” she said, smiling still.
“No,
you look very fit,” he replied, realising how cheeky this must have sounded.
Then she stopped walking, and he halted the cart.
“Well,”
she said, “I’ll accept a ride. Just behave yourself, because I know who you
are.” Gunther found this comment
slightly disturbing. She clambered up onto the seat alongside him. He slapped
the reins and the horse broke into a steady trot. He cast a sidelong glance at
her. Whatever her profile, she seemed beautiful from any angle.
“You
said you know who I am.”
“Yes.
You work at the Reisemann vineyard above the river. That’s a long climb. I bet
the poor horse hates it.”
“How
do you know I work up there?” he asked.
“Because
I know your brother.”
Gunther
felt a pang of bitter disappointment. Albert was older than him. More
experienced. He’d been popular in Markenburg before he left for Munich. Damn
you, Albert, he thought; have you been here already and without realising
ruined my dreams about this girl?
“So.
You know Albert. How well do you know him?”
She
ran her long, elegant fingers through her hair and gave a little laugh.
“He
used to come and see me some nights down by the jetty when I fed the swans. He
was always asking who I was and if I’d go out with him.”
“And
did you?”
“Of
course not. And I never told him who I was, but he probably knew anyway and he
wanted me to know everything about him. I told him to mind his own business. He
probably found out everything he needed to know from his friends. I haven’t
seen him for a long time. Has he gone away?” Her answer gave Gunther some
comfort.
“Yes.
He’s working in a furniture factory in Munich. He writes sometimes, and sends
my mother a few marks when he can afford it. He keeps promising to come home
for a few days but he doesn’t. Anyway, if you wouldn’t tell him your name, how about telling me?”
She
was quiet for a moment.
“Ruth.
You must be Gunther?”
It
seemed a small triumph that his pushy brother couldn’t get her to reveal her
identity yet he had succeeded.
“You’re
a lot like Albert. How did your family get so tall and strong?”
“Hard
work and clean living.” This made her laugh.
“And
what about you?” she asked, “will you be leaving home too?”
“If
I get the chance, yes. I want to be a sailor or a railwayman.”
She
leaned forward a little and looked him up and down.
“I
can see you as a sailor. But not on a locomotive. Anyway, the uniform’s better
in the navy.” He smiled, mentally agreeing with her. They had entered the town
now and passed under the Kaiser Wilhelm Bridge heading for the main street. She
grabbed his arm. The feel of her fingers through his sleeve was thrilling.
“You
can drop me off here.” They pulled to a halt. He leapt down from the cart and
in a gallant gesture helped her to alight. Her hands felt like warm velvet.
She
climbed down, and her hair almost brushed his face. It was like breathing in at
the gates of heaven. He climbed back on board. She stood for a moment on the
pavement, looking up at him.
“Thank
you, Gunther.” She began to walk away.
“Ruth?”
he blurted, “er… if you wouldn’t see Albert, would you see me again?” She
stopped, turned and smiled sweetly.
“I
don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, and walked off into the crowd.
For
the next three days it rained, and then a letter came from Albert. He had lost
his job in the Munich factory. The economic climate as it was, losing
employment was bad news, but Frau Reisemann was still excited at the prospect
of her older son’s return home.
“He
says he is coming home but only for a week, to collect some things. You must
talk to him, Viktor, try and get him to stay home.”
Viktor
was hanging his rain-soaked coat up and simply made a dismissive grunting
noise.
“Promise
me you’ll talk to him –“
Viktor
turned and glared at his wife.
“Enough!
He’s young. He’s done his bit here – if he wants to go and look for other work,
then it’s nothing to do with us. Let him go. You heard what Karl said last
week. Unemployment has now gone well beyond three million. Winter’s almost here.
We can’t feed another mouth here.” Elena sighed and gazed through the window at
the rain.
“Well,
I just wish he’d tell us more about what he does down there in Munich. His
letters are sketchy, to say the least. He’s a good woodworker, so surely
someone else will take him on.”
“He’d
be better off emigrating,” said Viktor, “because they need lads like him in
America. Whatever he’s doing in Munich, he’ll never get anywhere. He’s wasting
his time.”
“Oh,”
said Elena, “let’s all be so cheerful, eh? It doesn’t help when Karl comes
around with his latest agitations and his gloomy news. But you can’t dampen my
spirit. I’m happy, because Albert is
coming. He’ll be on the four’o’clock
train the day after tomorrow and Gunther can go down to the station to pick him
up.”
Later,
the rain stopped and there was a brilliant sunset. After dinner, Gunther took
his father’s old opera glasses and sitting out on the porch as the sun was
going down, he looked through them at the town, trying to imagine if anyone was
having a good time down there. He scanned along the river bank and his heart
skipped a beat when he saw Ruth. She was on the end of the ferry jetty holding
a small wicker basket from which she threw some handfuls of what looked like
bread or something edible, which the swans and ducks eagerly gobbled up.
Gunther wondered, what with the struggles they’d all had and the state of the
economy, what kind of household she came from where they could afford to not
only feed themselves, but wild swans and ducks. Yet such questions evaporated
as he focused on her lovely form and the graceful swing of her arms. He peered
at her until she’d finished and it was almost dark, and then she vanished along
the promenade and into the town. I must try to meet her again, he thought. I
won’t take no for an answer. She is too beautiful and fascinating to resist.
The
following day the Reisemann’s closest neighbour, the farmer’s wife, Gudrun Neumann,
called by late in the morning to see Elena. Good hearted though she was, Frau
Neumann was a noted old gossip, but whatever snippets of local news she brought
were usually worth listening to. Elena poured coffee as the portly, red-faced matron
told her tale.
“You
wouldn’t believe it, Elena. You know the Burgomeister, Hans Liebling, well, I always
thought he was a bit of a killjoy, and as you know he’s always sticking his
nose in other people’s business. So, apparently, last night he was out on his
terrace just above Frielingstrasse, and had been shouting at some noisy drunks
below on the street. He had been leaning on his garden fence when it gave way. As
you know, it’s a fifteen foot drop to the street below, and as he fell, the
broken branch of an old tree punctured his side and tore a huge wound near his
stomach.”
Elena’s
jaw dropped as her coffee cup clattered into the saucer.
“Good
heavens Gudrun – is he alright?”
“Oh
good lord,” continued Gudrun, “You’ve not heard the half of it. There was quite
a commotion, and Frau Liebling ran down the steps with her housemaid, Lotte,
but they found the Burgomeister lying unconscious in a pool of blood. So
straight away they sent Lotte to bring the physician, Doctor Rollmann, but Frau
Rollmann told Lotte that the good doctor was away in Trier. There’s that old nurse
in town called Hette Oesten, and Frau Liebling then sent for her to come to the
Burgomeister, yet she said that the wound was too serious for her to properly
deal with, and he needed surgery. He was still bleeding all over the place, and
had become very weak, when Hette suddenly surprised everyone when she said ‘Go
and get the old Jew – the Rabbi!’”
“The Rabbi?” asked Elena, wide-eyed. Gudrun
continued.
“Now,
here’s the surprise – not many people in Markenburg know that before he was a
Rabbi, Ernst Thielemann was a well-respected surgeon in Berlin. I had read
somewhere that lots of Jewish lawyers and doctors often fancy becoming Rabbis
later in life. They’re a funny lot, eh? Now, you’d think with the brownshirt
boys making a constant fuss about the Jews that the old man wouldn’t have
turned out, but he did. Rabbi Thielemann took his medicine case and went with
Hette to the poor Burgomeister. When he got there, a small crowd had gathered,
and he asked a man in a nearby house for the loan of his handcart. They carefully
loaded poor Liebling onto the cart, pushed it back up the steep pathway to the
Burgomeister’s house, and over the next two or three hours Thielemann performed
an operation, stitched everything up, then sat with Herr Liebling all through
the night. The news was apparently, early this morning, that the Burgomeister,
although still very ill, will recover, and the Rabbi has agreed to attend him
until Dr. Rollmann returns from Trier. I know there’s a lot of bad stuff in the
papers about Jews, but it’s a piece of good luck for Herr Liebling that someone
remembered who the Rabbi used to be. So, you see, Elena, even Jews come in
handy sometimes!”
Throughout
this exciting outburst Elena had sat in amazement, frequently putting her hand
to her mouth.
“Are
you saying that Jews are useless then, Frau Neumann?” asked Gunther. Elena
shook her head and looked at her son.
“No,
I don’t think she means that, do you?”
Frau
Neumann took a sip of coffee and looked first at Gunther and then at Elena.
“Well,
they have become a bit of a pest, haven’t they? My Herman says they’re in
league with the Americans and the Russian Bolsheviks and they’ve bled our
economy dry.”
Elena
looked away and paused, thinking carefully before responding.
“And
has the Rabbi sent the Burgomeister a bill?”
Gudrun
looked surprised.
“Oh
– well … I never thought of that. I bet he will – you know what Jews are like.”
“So,”
said Elena, “If Dr. Rollmann had been there, he would’ve done it for nothing?
Out of the good of his heart? Well, Gudrun, it’s a shame we can’t just accept
the fact that the Rabbi was there and prepared to save a fellow human being.
And anyway, he’s hardly guilty of – what was it you said – ‘bleeding the
economy dry’ – he’s only in the same job as Father Heinzel – just a different
religion. At least he doesn’t go around expecting gifts from working people. We
don’t have many Jews in Markenburg, but those we do have seem to work hard and
keep themselves to themselves. I’ll bet if your Herman had been in the
Burgomeister’s place you’d have welcomed the Rabbi with open arms.”
Elena
had seen another side to her old neighbour, and she didn’t like it. Gudrun’s
expression had changed from one of a hitherto jolly old matron to something
much darker as she glanced from Elena to Gunther. She got up and walked to the
door, and paused before making her exit.
“You
know, Elena, you have some very odd ideas sometimes...”
There
was excitement in the Reisemann household on the day of Albert’s return home.
Gunther steered the cart into the station yard just before the train arrived.
He stepped onto the platform where a few other people were waiting, and was
dismayed to see three young SA men lounging on the bench by the waiting room. He
knew two of them from school. Walther Ruckerl and Fritz Hausser had always
knocked the small kids around in the schoolyard. Yet Gunther recalled how they
had always avoided any confrontation with him and his brother. The big
Reisemann boys were not worth tangling with, and both were handy with their
fists. Seeing these two ignorant oafs in their brown uniforms and swastika armbands,
sprawled on that bench made Gunther feel almost angry. Hausser scowled at him.
“See
your big brother’s coming home today, then?”
“How
did you know that?” asked Gunther.
“He’s
been in touch. He’s a big cheese now, you know.”
Gunther
was puzzled. Why would Albert have been in contact with these idiots? He had no
intention of speaking further with them so walked away to the end of the
platform. Soon, the train arrived, and he realised he was in the wrong place,
as through the clouds of steam he saw Albert disembarking about four carriages
away. Walther and Fritz and their dumb friend got to him before Gunther, but he
was stopped in his tracks when he saw how Albert was dressed. He too was
wearing an SA uniform, but with black breeches, a black tie and a black cap
adorned with a silver death’s head. The only flash of colour was the swastika
armband, but even that was edged in black. Although Gunther’s beloved brother,
and even allowing for how much he had longed to see him, the image of him now
in this uniform made him feel quite nauseous. He was carrying a suitcase in one
hand, and under his other arm, a brown paper parcel, which he gave to Hausser.
They all made the raised-arm salute and as Hausser and his mates left, Albert
spotted Gunther and broke into a broad smile. They ran towards one another, met
and hugged. Gunther stood back from Albert and looked him up and down.
“What
the hell is this?” he said.
Albert
simply grinned.
“Never
mind that – have you brought the cart? I don’t fancy the trek up that hill with
this case.”
The
first five minutes on the cart were silent but for the clip-clop of the horse’s
hooves.
“I
didn’t know you were friendly with those … those clowns,” said Gunther.
“They
may be clowns,” replied Albert, “but we need them. And they need us. Anyway, as
Germany’s become nothing but a circus, even clowns have their place. Now
they’ve got a purpose in life, an excellent ringmaster and some discipline.”
Gunther
was confused, temporarily lost for words. Was this really his big brother or
some kind of Bavarian doppelganger?
“What
was in the parcel?”
“Party
promotional leaflets. Membership’s lagging behind here, so we need to build it
up.”
Gunther
wanted to ask him other questions, but every time he cast a sideways glance and
saw the uniform, it felt as if he was taking a stranger home. What had happened
to his brother? He knew this was going to cause ructions when mother and father
saw him, and he was right.
They
were delighted to see him, but the joy was short-lived and father, looking
Albert up and down, began straight away.
“What
the hell have you got yourself into now?” he wailed.
Albert
took off his cap and loosened his tie.
“I’m
working for the fatherland,” he said, then eagerly began drinking the cold
apple juice his mother had poured. Viktor sighed.
“My
God…the ‘fatherland’? Good heavens,
Albert – that’s what I did in the trenches, and look where that got us. What kind of uniform is this? Is it the SA, or are you
one of Hitler’s tram drivers?”
Albert
smashed his fist on the table and stood up.
“Father!
Have some respect for the Führer and for this uniform. I am one of the
privileged few – a member of the Schutzstaffel
– Adolf Hitler’s personal bodyguard. Germany is on the path to greatness, and I
hoped you’d be proud of me.”
“Well,”
said mother, “you do look very smart but your Uncle Karl brought us a copy of
Herr Hitler’s book, Mein Kampf, and we found it very disturbing.”
“Incoherent,
spiteful, and badly written,” added Viktor.
“It
might be all those things,” said Albert, “but it contains the truth, and that’s
what you liberals can’t face up to.”
Elena
sat at the table and placed her head in her hands.
“How
did you end up joining this… this rabble?”
asked Viktor.
“What’s
the point of telling you anything at all? I may as well have stayed in Munich,
where at least I’m welcome. I worked hard, did some good work for the Bluthner
business, and even got the old man a big order. And what was my reward? The
sack. And who’s to blame? Yes, father, you’ll say ‘the recession’ and ‘the
economy’. But who created this mess? The Jews.
That’s why your son is out of regular work and in this uniform. Don’t
you want a better country, or do you want us to live in debt to the Yanks, the
Bolsheviks and the Jews for ever and ever?”
Viktor
lay his hands palms down on the table and took a deep breath.
“Son
… son. Let’s not fight. Dear, oh dear!
The Jews. Every fifty years or so when the gentile world makes a complete mess
of things, the poor old Jews are wheeled out for the blame. It’s like kicking
your cat because the dog messed on the carpet. I can hardly believe what I’m hearing.
All that education and now this. We looked forward so much to you coming home.
But you could at least have given us some indication in your letters as to what
you’ve been up to. If you fancied politics as a career, fine – but the Nazis?
Haven’t we had enough uniforms, banners and fighting to last us a lifetime? So
come on, you owe it to us to tell us how you’ve arrived at this stage in life.
I’m curious to know.”
“It
was the communists,” said Albert. “A few months ago they’d called a strike in
Munich and had been throwing stones through our workshop windows because we
hadn’t come out and joined them. I’d already found some drinking friends in the
Hofbrauhaus who were unemployed, but they’d got a new sense of purpose by
joining the SA. Remember, it’s a big, well-disciplined organisation, and
without it, political rallies would be hopeless. Hitler is a great speaker, and
people want to hear him, but these red bullies would do anything to stop him.
So when the SA turned up that day and sorted the Bolsheviks out on the street,
we were mightily impressed. I enrolled in the SA straight away, and if you’d
ever heard the Führer speak, you’d know why. You’re always banging on about the
state of this country, father. Well, believe me, Hitler has his finger on the
pulse and he’s not all wind and pee like those Weimar Nancies in their frock
coats – he’s fearless, a man of action, and mark my words, he’ll turn this country
around if we can take power. And the party is growing – 175,000 members now. We
were a joke a couple of years back, but no-one is laughing today.”
“But
they beat people up,” said mother.
“Everybody
beats everyone else up these days!”
shouted Albert. “The socialists, the communists, we even have fights with
Christian democrats. But unless we use our fists now, then we’ll stay on
Europe’s rubbish dump for ever. Don’t you want
a better life? Because I know I do…” The argument raged on for an hour
until mother pleaded with Albert to change into some civilian clothes before
dinner. It was agreed to drop the subject.
After
dinner Albert and Gunther sat out on the veranda. It was almost dark and they
were gazing at the town down by the river. Viktor wasn’t keen on Gunther
smoking but he had a few cigarettes and offered one to Albert.
“No
thanks,” he said, “Reichsführer Himmler
doesn’t want his new SS men to smoke.” Dismayed, Gunther lit his cigarette. Who
the hell was this ‘Reichsführer’ person to come between him and his brother?
“I’ve
been chasing a girl,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
Albert
laughed gently and playfully nudged him on the shoulder.
“And
about time, too. Time you stopped playing with yourself and got your hands on
the real thing. Anyone I know?”
“She’s
called Ruth,” he said, with a hint of pride.
Albert
was quiet for a few moments.
“Dark
haired girl, tall, very pretty?”
“Yes.
She said she already knows you.”
“Feeds
the swans by the river?”
“Yes.
That’s her.”
Albert
stood up and faced his brother, placing his hands on Gunther’s shoulders. His
expression seemed alien; this wasn’t Albert, but someone else; someone slightly
frightening in his dark earnestness.
“You
stupid bloody fool. Don’t you know who she is?”
Before
Gunther could respond, Albert had begun to violently shake him by the shoulders.
“She’s
a damned Jewess! She’s Rabbi
Thielemann’s daughter. A slimy Yid! Have you lost your country bumpkin mind, brother?”
Gunther
tore the hands from his shoulders and pushed him away.
“Well,
that’s bloody rich coming from you, Albert! You seemed to have been keen enough
to know her!”
“Well,
I’ve grown up,” he spat, “and it’s
time you did. The Jews have it coming. They’ve ruined us and they’ll pay. Our
family has a pure racial heritage and I’ve traced us back over four hundred
years. That kind of ancestry is going to be very important in the new Germany.
So, if you love me, love mother and father, and you want to see us prosper,
don’t go around chasing Jews – there’s no future in it. Do you understand?”
Glaring
at him, Gunther stood up, threw his cigarette down and stamped on the butt. Ignoring
Albert, he brushed past him and went inside, almost on the verge of angry tears.
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