family home in Lutherstadt Wittenberg, arriving in mid-afternoon. His last scheduled visit had been in September, his next was not until Christmas. Concerned about how his mother might react to an unscheduled visit, he knocked on the door and waited. When no one came, he opened the door with his key and stepped inside.
“Hello, Mother. It’s me, Max.”
No answer.
There was no one in the front parlor. He found his mother in the kitchen, standing on a chair, reaching into a kitchen cupboard.
She pointed to a biscuit tin on the table. “Hand me up that tin, will you.”
No surprise to see him walk into her kitchen on an unscheduled date. Typical Mother! He had expected some sort of negative reaction, but the one thing you could rely on was her unpredictability.
Max handed her the tin. She placed it in the cupboard and he helped her down.
She held him at arm’s length and looked him over. “You’re a bit thin. Have they been feeding you properly in Berlin?”
They?
“Yes, Mother. There’s nothing wrong with my diet. How’ve you been?”
“Weren’t you here just a couple of weeks ago?”
“Nearly three weeks, yes. I came because I have news. I would have used the telephone if you had one.”
“Wait for me in the front parlor. I’ll make tea.”
Max was still uncertain how she might react to his unscheduled visit. It wasn’t even a Saturday! She had a mercurial temperament. His childhood memories were littered with her screaming fits triggered by his actions. His most vivid recollection was of the day she found him trimming his fingernails in the kitchen. He was ten. He paid dearly for that mistake. She worked herself into such a state that she had to be sedated and taken to hospital.
He needn’t have worried. She seemed unfazed by his unscheduled visit. Nor was she concerned that he might have bad news. Upon her return from the kitchen she spent 15 minutes telling him about the comings and goings at the women’s guild and a hotly contested flower-arranging competition. The promised tea never materialized.
Eventually, the conversation got around to his private life.
“How’s Anna?”
“She’s well, thank you, Mother. It’s Anna I came to talk to you about.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Max-Christian! Didn’t I warn you about taking precautions? Oh, you young people—”
“It’s nothing like that, Mother. She’s not pregnant. We’ve decided to get married.”
She frowned. “She’s part-Jewish isn’t she? Isn’t that illegal now?”
“Yes, but we’ve been granted special permission.”
She held up her hands. “I don’t want to know any more about that. But I hope you’ll both be very happy. Have you picked a date?”
“We don’t have a date. We’re planning a spring wedding. The department store won’t give Anna any time off until after the winter season.”
“Where will the wedding be? She’s not Lutheran, I think.”
“She’s Roman Catholic. We thought we might get married in Berlin. It’s not far for you to come and Anna’s parents won’t mind travelling from Dresden.”
She grabbed his hand and held on to it. “It’s a pity your father’s not here. Wait here for a minute.” She left him and went upstairs.
He laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had an exchange so free of sidetracks. He waited a few minutes. When she failed to return, he followed her upstairs. He found her in one of the spare bedrooms surrounded by old family photographs. She laughed. “Look at this one. This is you and me in Nuremberg at a rally. Do you remember?”
They spent an hour going through the photographs together. When Max said he had to leave she reached into the pocket in her apron and handed him a cigarette lighter. “This was your father’s. I want you to have it.”
He examined the lighter. It was steel, shaped like a tiny book, engraved with the date: May 1916. He had never seen it before.
“I can’t take this, mother. You have so
“Hello, Mother. It’s me, Max.”
No answer.
There was no one in the front parlor. He found his mother in the kitchen, standing on a chair, reaching into a kitchen cupboard.
She pointed to a biscuit tin on the table. “Hand me up that tin, will you.”
No surprise to see him walk into her kitchen on an unscheduled date. Typical Mother! He had expected some sort of negative reaction, but the one thing you could rely on was her unpredictability.
Max handed her the tin. She placed it in the cupboard and he helped her down.
She held him at arm’s length and looked him over. “You’re a bit thin. Have they been feeding you properly in Berlin?”
They?
“Yes, Mother. There’s nothing wrong with my diet. How’ve you been?”
“Weren’t you here just a couple of weeks ago?”
“Nearly three weeks, yes. I came because I have news. I would have used the telephone if you had one.”
“Wait for me in the front parlor. I’ll make tea.”
Max was still uncertain how she might react to his unscheduled visit. It wasn’t even a Saturday! She had a mercurial temperament. His childhood memories were littered with her screaming fits triggered by his actions. His most vivid recollection was of the day she found him trimming his fingernails in the kitchen. He was ten. He paid dearly for that mistake. She worked herself into such a state that she had to be sedated and taken to hospital.
He needn’t have worried. She seemed unfazed by his unscheduled visit. Nor was she concerned that he might have bad news. Upon her return from the kitchen she spent 15 minutes telling him about the comings and goings at the women’s guild and a hotly contested flower-arranging competition. The promised tea never materialized.
Eventually, the conversation got around to his private life.
“How’s Anna?”
“She’s well, thank you, Mother. It’s Anna I came to talk to you about.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Max-Christian! Didn’t I warn you about taking precautions? Oh, you young people—”
“It’s nothing like that, Mother. She’s not pregnant. We’ve decided to get married.”
She frowned. “She’s part-Jewish isn’t she? Isn’t that illegal now?”
“Yes, but we’ve been granted special permission.”
She held up her hands. “I don’t want to know any more about that. But I hope you’ll both be very happy. Have you picked a date?”
“We don’t have a date. We’re planning a spring wedding. The department store won’t give Anna any time off until after the winter season.”
“Where will the wedding be? She’s not Lutheran, I think.”
“She’s Roman Catholic. We thought we might get married in Berlin. It’s not far for you to come and Anna’s parents won’t mind travelling from Dresden.”
She grabbed his hand and held on to it. “It’s a pity your father’s not here. Wait here for a minute.” She left him and went upstairs.
He laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had an exchange so free of sidetracks. He waited a few minutes. When she failed to return, he followed her upstairs. He found her in one of the spare bedrooms surrounded by old family photographs. She laughed. “Look at this one. This is you and me in Nuremberg at a rally. Do you remember?”
They spent an hour going through the photographs together. When Max said he had to leave she reached into the pocket in her apron and handed him a cigarette lighter. “This was your father’s. I want you to have it.”
He examined the lighter. It was steel, shaped like a tiny book, engraved with the date: May 1916. He had never seen it before.
“I can’t take this, mother. You have so
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