The Catastrophe

My apathy and sadness evaporated the moment I suddenly realized that I had to write down our story. I was so sure that I did not hesitate for a second and started immediately. For more than a week, I sat at the kitchen table almost day and night and wrote one notebook after another full, about to the point where I regularly went to visit Anni and Little Bruno. But after that, the events came at such a rapid pace that I no longer had time to write everything down. I am aware that I do not have much time left, so I only tell what is important for the outcome of the story.

About a week went by in which we, my mother and I, remained paralyzed at home and had no idea how things would would continue. One morning my mother decided to go over to the merchant and call Uncle Frieder. When she came home, she was a changed woman. "Come on, quick, we're going to Uncle Frieder's!" As if the disaster didn't exist, she put on her makeup and her best clothes. I quietly got ready to go and shortly after we were on the autobus. I had my leather briefcase with my papers, Mr. Mayerhofer's report card, and my writing notebooks. Maybe, I thought I would be able to start afresh somewhere right away.

Hours later, we hurried through the streets toward Uncle Frieder's house. The first thing that aroused my suspicion were the two uniformed men standing outside his house, just as if this were an official residence. We slowed our steps, and I noticed that my mother was suddenly freezing again. I put my arm around her shoulders and held her tightly as we walked slowly toward the house. The guards ignored us as we passed.

As we climbed the stairs, I took the small bronze statue with the small marble base out of my briefcase. Uncle Frieder had given it to me for my birthday, it was Hermes, the Messenger of the Gods and the God of Merchants. He knew how much I was fascinated by Greek mythology. But now I wanted to throw it at his feet, him, the traitor who had abandoned my mother in the deepest distress. I know now how unjust I was to him, but at that time I still thought so.

My mother walked purposefully toward Uncle Freder's study; she obviously knew where we were expected. She opened the large, heavy wooden door and we entered. The room was darkened; someone had drawn the heavy curtains. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw why. Uncle Frieder was standing behind the big desk, trying to hide his face. Someone had beaten him and messed up his face badly.

A small movement in the background alerted me and directed my gaze to Volker, Uncle Frieder's son. He was more than two years older than me, but small and lanky. It was only the second time I had seen him, but his uniform and strapping demeanor again made me uneasy and anxious; for he always seemed like an irritable tiger, ready to pounce. I was afraid of him because I felt that he was insidious and dangerous.

My mother spontaneously walked up to Uncle Frieder to hug him in greeting, but stopped her stride when Uncle Frieder took a step back. He glanced briefly at Volker, then looked at her long and hard. He embraced her and whispered in a low voice, "My love!" Mother bowed her head and wept silently.

"Nothing will come of marrying!" barked Volker, coming toward me with the soles of his boots cracking, "I will not allow my father to marry a Jew–whore!"

And at the very moment I heard this word, I saw flashes before my eyes, struck wildly and impetuously into that hated face, blindly punching the word. I will never forget the ugly cracking sound when Hermes broke his nose. Blood shot out of his nose, he screamed like hell, and I let Hermes fall to the ground. Horrified and full of panic I stared at my mother and Uncle Frieder, she had fled to his chest and looked at me with her eyes widened in terror and in horror.

Volker was screaming like a banshee, yelling that he was going to kill me. I took one last look at my mother, then turned and ran out. Volker staggered out into the stairwell behind me, yelling "Robbery!", "Murder!", "Stop him!" and "the Jew bastard is fleeing!"

I fled, flying like a bird down the stairs and past the stunned uniformed men into the street. Anger and fear gave me unimagined strength as I sprinted down the street and into the maze of alleys. I hooked like a rabbit and soon stood on the banks of the Isar river. I ran along the bank to the next exit and ran down the steps. Above me I heard the shouting of the pursuers and the patter of their boots. I looked left, I looked right, but I could not decide. I ran a few steps further, turned around again and ran upstream. As if the gods had heard my desperate plea, a black limousine majestically turned into the river road on the opposite bank. The sun was reflected on the windshield, the beam blinded me for a moment, and then shone onward, onto the seawall, a long, golden index finger of the Gods pointing to a tiny, dark entrance. Then the light disappeared again, the hint had sufficed and the Gods turned back to their Goddesses or seduced earth girls and forgot all about me.

As I ran, I raised my bloodied hand and thanked them. I squeezed through the narrow entrance and carefully felt my way along the dark corridor. It ended after only a few meters, but there was a small chamber to the left. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I discovered the heavy iron grate next to the entrance with which the room could be closed. Without thinking long, I stepped into the room and pulled the grate shut from the inside. It was very difficult, and when it was finally closed, I heard a bolt click into place from above. I did not think about the bolt, because I was probably safe here, and that had priority now. The stone floor was cold and damp, I sat down anyway, pressed my briefcase against me and waited.

Outside they were making noise, running up and down. After some time I heard that they had brought dogs with them. The dogs found my scent only after some time and led them to the dark corridor where my hiding place was. I hid in the corner behind the entrance and held my breath.

They came closer, the dogs barking like crazy.

The torchlight shone into the hallway, getting brighter and brighter. One came up to the iron grate, shook it and called over his shoulder that he was not here, go on, go on! He shook the grate again, and I heard the bolt sinking creakingly deeper and snapped with a bright sound somewhere. The hasher once again shone his light into my space and calmed his German shepherd, who growled low and confident of victory. "Silly dog, what are you growling at, there's no one around," then he turned and ran after the others.

Soon the sounds died down, my thumping subsided, and I sat back down on the ground and waited. The little bit of brightness came from the daylight, but in the evening it became pitch dark. I fell asleep sitting up and didn't wake up until the next morning. I waited while it got a little brighter and began to think about my situation. My pursuers had been looking for me for a few hours in the afternoon, but then had apparently given up. Now it was quiet, actually too quiet.

I inspected the iron grate at the entrance to my hiding place. A heavy iron construction, no part thinner than a finger. And then there was the bolt, hidden somewhere above and not visible from the inside. I wouldn't be able to get the door open without tools. I tried for hours to find the bolt.

It had to have somehow slipped from the top of the outside wall in front of the grate. I could reach a finger or two through the grate, but not all the way to the bolt. Even when I pushed a pencil through with two fingers and felt everything at the top, I couldn't find and reach the bolt. The hours passed, but I could not get hold of the bolt. When darkness fell again, I cried.

I was trapped.

I slept very fitfully and woke up in the middle of the night. It was pitch black. I pondered and thought about my situation. Perhaps I was lucky and could be freed without that Volker and his henchmen got their hands on me. I screamed for help and listened strained, but I heard nothing and was not heard.

I could comfort myself for a while with the fact that somebody would still hear my calls and free me from my shitty situation. I had no wristwatch, tried nevertheless to develop a sense of time and I called for help three times every quarter of an hour, then listened for minutes. In between, I sat down again and continued writing as best I could in this twilight.