Read Online News From Berlin by Otto de Kat - Free Book Online Page A

care less about an injured Congolese stranded in London. He wanted to find his mother. His mother. The big word his life had orbited around for months, for years. His mother, who had been captured and who might not be dead. The mother he had been forced to leave behind when his father told him to run for his life. Quick as a flash he had run, as fast as an antelope.
    Kate put her hand on his sleeve, saying, “Of course,” although she had no idea if such a thing was possible. A soldier being discharged from hospital to free up much-needed space – would that mean he was discharged from the army, too? Probably not, but she didn’t even want to consider the question. Matteous’s enemy was completely different from everybody else’s. He had fought without any idea of who he was fighting against. Caught up in a war of strangers against strangers, in a conflict whose causes and aims were beyondhis ken. He had drifted into the army because he had lost his family, because he had to go somewhere, anywhere, to avoid dying of heartache. And he had rescued that officer to avoid having to flee into the jungle all over again. Strong enough at last to hoist a man on his shoulders, away from the frontline and the bloodshed, without fear. In the jumble of French, English and Swahili, Kate could hear his grief about his mother. She took his hand, enclosed it in both of hers, and lifted the three hands to her chest for a moment, the way he always did in greeting. The dark hand, the dark face so close to hers.

Chapter 7
     
    Carl sang her a sweet birthday ditty in German and gave her a hug, then pulled back the curtains and opened the window. The birds would do the rest of the singing, he said. The weather was warm, perfect for a birthday celebration. Friends would be arriving later that evening, as many as twenty. They would all be bringing some food. Drink, too.
    Carl left for work later than usual. The previous evening they had stayed up late, going over and over what the Gestapo might and might not know. Emma was sick with worry about her father, while Carl was becoming increasingly nervous on her account. He tried not to show it, but he was besieged by a constant, light form of panic. They had a file on her, they were watching her. Which meant that he too was being watched, as well as Trott. They had fallen asleep holding hands, worn out from all their speculations.
    Emma saw him to the garden gate, and watched as he walked down the road, their rural byroad on the outskirts of the violence. His train would take him to the unimaginable amphitheatre of crime: a free performance, all day long. Shewould not focus on that, it was too overwhelming. The events were beyond her. She inhaled the fragrance of the June gardens all around, and tried to follow Carl in her mind once he was out of sight, boarding the train, leaving Dahlem towards the city centre. She wanted to hang on to his physical presence, the body in which she had nestled herself. But that was a dream, wishful thinking. There he was, walking away from her, without her, thinking ahead to what might await him at his office. He might spare a thought for her now and then, recalling how she had returned his embrace. And had sighed about getting old: “Twenty-nine, Carl, I’m twenty-nine now, don’t you think I’m old?” He had said it was the world that was old, not her.
    She had a busy day ahead: tidy up the house, unpack those bags that had been blocking the hall for the past two days, go to the few shops that still had anything left to sell, lay the table for twenty people. As if nothing was the matter, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to celebrate one’s birthday. Come what may. Well, twenty people were coming. Their friends from Dahlem, a few from Zehlendorf, a few from the city centre, and even somebody from Potsdam, who would be staying the night – they might all end up staying the night, if there was an air-raid warning. She had seen thedevastation