One Last Summer (2007) Page 11

  ‘It could still be there?’

  ‘The Russians looted and stripped every house in East Prussia. I promise you, there’s nothing left behind those broken walls except empty rooms.’

  ‘And ghosts?’ Laura ventured.

  ‘Perhaps. But not mine.’ Charlotte walked back into the room and sank down into a chair.

  ‘You should have told us what it was like.’

  ‘Too many people looked back instead of forward at the end of the war, Laura. That was the last thing I wanted for my sons and grandchildren.’

  ‘Claus would have dragged you here years ago if he’d known he had an ancestral home like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ Charlotte asked. ‘It has no roof, no windows, gypsies living in the outbuildings. Another few years of freezing winters and warm summers will destroy the fabric even more, making it so unstable it will have to be pulled down before it collapses.’

  ‘It could still be saved.’

  ‘Not by me, and not by Erich or Claus,’ Charlotte said decisively. ‘When Germany was reunified, the West German government agreed that no reparation could be given or claims recognized for land, buildings or possessions lost in what is now Polish territory.’

  ‘But it could be for sale,’ Laura persisted. ‘Few people would want a house in that condition. We might be able to pick it up for a song.’

  ‘Even if we did, no one in our family has the kind of money needed to renovate Bergensee, let alone restore it to what it was. Besides,’ Charlotte reminded her, ‘none of us speaks Polish, so why would we want to live here?’

  ‘You’ve never said much about Grunwaldsee.’

  ‘You’ll see it for yourself,’ Charlotte replied evasively.

  ‘Would you like to dine here, alone in your room?’ Laura asked tactfully.

  ‘I know it’s dreadfully anti-social of me, but would you mind?’

  ‘Not at all. I have to unpack and get my bearings. I love exploring new places on my own. You never know who you’re going to meet.’

  ‘Thank you for being understanding. And for being here with me.’

  Laura went to the door. ‘They serve breakfast until ten; shall I call you at nine?’

  ‘I promise you, I’ll be more human then.’

  ‘You’re always human, Oma.’ Laura kissed her grandmother, before leaving her in the shades of a country long gone and the ghosts she sensed were crowding her out of the room.

  WEDNESDAY, 20 DECEMBER 1939

  Papa is dead. Even now, when I have written the words, I can’t believe it. The telegram came at midday. He died last night of a heart attack in a hotel in Munich. They are sending his body home for burial. Mama is hysterical with grief. I sent for the doctor and he sedated her. He telephoned the authorities, who told him that the coffin will be sealed and cannot on any account be opened. He explained to me that the features sometimes contort during a heart attack and we should remember Papa as he was, not as he will look now.

  I am trying to be strong and do what Papa would have wished, simply because there is no one else to organize Papa’s funeral, although, like Mama, I would like to take to my bed, pull the blankets over my head and shut out the world.

  The doctor promised me that Mama wouldn’t wake for at least six hours, so I asked Minna to sit with her. Then I telephoned the pastor and Papa and Mama von Letteberg. Because Papa von Letteberg is in the War Office, I hoped he would be able to contact Paul and Wilhelm and arrange leave so they would be able to come home for the funeral. I also telephoned Greta in Poland. It was hateful having to tell her about Papa on the telephone. She sounded so odd that afterwards I telephoned her lodgings again and told one of the BDM girls about Papa. She promised that she would look after Greta until her travel warrant comes through.

  Brunon was in the hall when the telegram came, so I asked him to gather all the workers together. It should have been Mama, Wilhelm or Paul telling them that Papa had died, but because Mama was in no condition to face anyone and the boys were away, the responsibility fell to me. I have never felt so unequal to a task. But now Papa has gone, someone has to manage Grunwaldsee until the war ends and the twins return. It is only right that I should shoulder as much of the burden as I can to spare Mama some of the work and worry. If only I didn’t feel so ill with this pregnancy.

  Papa and Mama von Letteberg drove all the way from Berlin and arrived late this evening. They are wonderful. Papa von Letteberg had already telephoned Wilhelm and Paul’s commanders, and sent a telegram to Claus, who is away from his headquarters. He helped me to arrange the order of service for Papa’s funeral, which will be held on Christmas Eve, and promised that they would stay with me at Grunwaldsee until New Year’s Day.

  They think I am resting but the last thing I want to do is go to bed. I know I won’t be able to sleep, and the doctor can’t give me any sedatives because of the baby. So I went into Mama’s room, sent Minna to bed, and now I am sitting with Mama, writing this.

  It is hard to believe that we will never see Papa again. The door to his dressing room is open. I can see his dresser and, resting on top of it, the amber panelled box he keeps his shirt studs and tiepins in. Next to it are his silver hairbrushes. He never would take them away from Grunwaldsee because he thought them too ostentatious for travelling. Will they send his clothes and plain wooden brushes back with him when he comes home?

  He will be arriving in Allenstein on Saturday afternoon on the three o’clock train. I am going to meet it. Papa von Letteberg didn’t want me to, but I insisted. Papa von Letteberg ordered a hearse to meet the train. I would probably have sent Brunon with a cart. I have so much to learn. I am lucky to have Brunon. Whatever else, I must make more of an effort to fight my weakness and sickness. I have to be strong, for Mama and Wilhelm and Paul’s sake, because, when this war is over, the boys will return, and it is my responsibility to see that the estate of Grunwaldsee is run properly until such time as they can take over.

  Our home is so precious and it is the duty of my brothers and me to care for it, to keep it safe and in good condition until we can pass it on to the generation who will come after us, and I must look after Mama, too. It is what Papa would have expected of me. I must be strong. I simply must.

  ‘Well, now we’re finally here, what would you like to do first?’ Laura asked, as she and Charlotte queued at the breakfast buffet.

  ‘Eat, if there’s any food left.’ Charlotte stepped back to avoid being elbowed by a large German, who was intent on piling half the cold meats from the buffet on to his plate.

  Laura picked up a bread basket. ‘What rolls would you like? Sesame, poppy seed, wholemeal, milk?’

  ‘You choose.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking; if you don’t want to go to Grunwaldsee today, we could wander around the town. From what I saw on the way in, some of the buildings look old and interesting, and there is bound to be a craft shop or art gallery.’

  ‘There’s an art exhibition in the castle,’ the waitress informed them shyly in English when she set the coffee they had asked for on their table. ‘It’s French poster art from the nineteenth century.’

  ‘What do you think, Oma?’ Laura looked at Charlotte.

  ‘Are you that sensitive, or am I being that obvious?’ Charlotte picked up the cafetière and poured herself a cup.

  ‘You don’t have to be overly sensitive to realize that the sight of Bergensee upset you. It was dreadful. I was in tears and I didn’t know the house before it was derelict.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to see Grunwaldsee in the same condition.’

  ‘We could ask around to find out if the house is still standing.’

  ‘No,’ Charlotte broke in quickly. ‘I know it’s irrational but I don’t want to discuss Grunwaldsee with anyone until I have been there and seen it for myself.’

  ‘But there can’t possibly be anyone left in the town who knows you,’ Laura said.

  ‘No, there won’t be, but you saw those gypsies yesterday. They knew the name
von Letteberg, yet they couldn’t have moved into Bergensee until after the war. Their families have probably been living in those outbuildings for decades. Wouldn’t you resent someone turning up and saying it was theirs?’

  ‘You didn’t and you’d lived there,’ Laura pointed out. ‘And, if I were them, I’d like to find out something about the history of the house.’

  ‘Unlike you, I don’t think they are the slightest bit interested.’

  ‘They can’t blame you for wanting to visit your old home.’

  ‘From the stories I’ve heard from friends who have already come back, some of the present owners are more amenable than others when it comes to showing the old owners over their property.’ Charlotte buttered a roll and placed a slice of smoked cheese on top.

  ‘Perhaps they realize no compensation was paid, and are afraid of people making claims against their homes.’ Laura poured milk into her coffee.

  ‘Legally no claims can be recognized; the new owners know that. And quite a few of the present owners bought their homes from the Communist regime.’

  ‘I thought that wasn’t allowed.’

  ‘It happened, particularly with government workers like policemen.’ Charlotte sat back and looked around the room. Aside from a sprinkling of young people in business suits, most of their fellow hotel guests were elderly and, she suspected, visiting the town for the same reason she was.

  ‘I still think you ought to show Bergensee to Claus.’

  ‘I agree he should see it – if he wants to. But even if we could lay claim to Bergensee or Grunwaldsee – and we can’t – what would I or your Uncle Erich do with the houses? Erich told me that he barely remembers living here. He was only four years old when we had to leave.’ Charlotte closed her eyes against images of her flight from her homeland that had been seared indelibly into her mind.

  ‘Even derelict, Bergensee is still quite something,’ Laura mused. ‘I hope the new owner, whoever he or she is, or will be, is rich.

  You saw the state of the place. What do you think? A million dollars to demolish it? Six million to put it right?’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Laura conceded. ‘But after seeing the house, I envy Claus. His father’s history is so much more interesting than mine, and I can’t imagine having an ancestral home like Bergensee and not wanting to live in it.’

  ‘Then it’s just as well you’re a Templeton and not a von Letteberg. What on earth would you do for work in the middle of Poland, bearing in mind that you can’t speak a word of the language?’

  ‘Sorry, my romantic streak doesn’t run as far as accommodating mundane, everyday things like paying bills and working.’

  ‘A romantic streak is not a bad thing, provided you temper it with a little realism. Without it, I would never have become an artist.’ Charlotte topped up her coffee cup. ‘And although Claus’s family history may be grander than yours, I don’t know about more interesting. Your father told me a few years back that your grandfather traced the Templeton family tree to the fifteenth century after he retired and took up genealogy.’

  Laura made a face. ‘They were cloth merchants in Cheapside who didn’t have the vision or drive to build a Bergensee.’

  ‘Bergensee was just a house. Rich or poor, a person can only live in half-a-dozen rooms at most, and that includes the bathroom and kitchen. The servants and guests filled the rest of Bergensee, which meant none of us had a moment’s privacy or peace when we were there.’ Charlotte pushed her coffee cup and plate away. ‘Shall we look around the town?’

  ‘I’d like that.’ Laura left the table.

  ‘In an hour.’ Charlotte wanted to read more of her diary so she could move on from the tragedy of her father’s death. ‘Since I reached eighty, I like a short rest after breakfast.’

  ‘An hour will be fine, Oma. That will give me time to check my e-mails.’

  ‘Still working?’

  ‘Anxious to know what the station thinks of my last documentary. They should have had the discs by now.’

  *……*……*

  SUNDAY, 24 DECEMBER 1939

  Brunon and the workers did not want to put the Christmas tree up in the hall as usual but I insisted. Papa would not have wanted to disappoint the workers’ children, particularly in wartime when there is so little to look forward to. I am trying to do everything just as Papa would have if he were here. Mama is still too ill to leave her bed.

  Papa von Letteberg and I went to the station yesterday, and found Greta there trying to get a taxi. I don’t know why she hadn’t telephoned home to let us know when she was arriving. I would have sent Brunon to fetch her. She waited with us for the Munich train that brought Papa. I wanted to talk to her but the station wasn’t the right place, and when we reached home we found Frau Gersdoff, the florist, waiting to see us.

  After we’d chosen and ordered wreaths and flowers for Papa, Greta locked herself in her room. I could hear her crying but, as I felt like doing the same, I couldn’t think of anything that I could say to her that might make her stop.

  She had the most dreadful argument with Frau Gersdoff. Apparently there is a shortage of red roses, which isn’t surprising at this time of year. Greta wanted a wreath made up of two hundred buds, but she has had to content herself with a dozen roses and a few lilies. I told her that Papa would have hated an ostentatious display, particularly during wartime, but she wouldn’t listen, and refused to discuss the funeral service Papa von Letteberg and I had arranged. I asked Mama if she approved of the hymns we had chosen but she couldn’t even speak, which was no help at all.

  Wilhelm and Paul came home at lunchtime today, and now we are all dressing for the service. Irena and her parents, and Manfred, who is home on leave, are coming, and Papa and Mama von Letteberg, of course, as well as all our tenants and the workers from the estate. I don’t know who else will be there, but ever since I came upstairs I have heard cars pulling up in the courtyard and the sound of footsteps plodding through the ice and snow down the lane towards the church.

  I went there this morning to look at the flowers. It was horrible to see the crypt open to receive Papa. I simply can’t bear the thought of his coffin being laid in there beside Opa and Oma’s and all the other von Datskis. I haven’t heard a word from Claus, which everyone except me finds strange. I feel cold and empty. I thought marriage would mark the end of my childhood but it didn’t. Papa was always there to love, protect and guide me. Now I am without him, I feel so burdened and so alone.

  Charlotte insisted on driving the rental car into the centre of Allenstein. She headed for the old quarter of the town and parked in a quiet, wide, tree-lined street.

  Laura gazed at the solidly built buildings. ‘These apartment blocks look pre-war.’

  ‘They are. It’s most peculiar; this street hasn’t changed in over sixty years. People and governments have come and gone, yet domestic life is still being carried on here regardless. The Mullers lived on the first floor.’ Charlotte pointed to an Art Deco block that wouldn’t have looked out of place in New York. ‘Above them were the Heines, and that one on the end above the shop was the home of the Freibergs; their father was my father’s second cousin.’

  ‘Did they all get out when the Russians invaded at the end of the war?’ Laura asked.

  ‘No. Frau Muller and her husband were never very bright, bless them. They married late and had one daughter, Nina. She was a great friend of mine. She was working in Berlin when the Russians came. I heard later that she survived the war. Her father worked for the railways. His train was scheduled to go east, and although what was left of the German army was flooding back from the advancing Russians, he insisted on sticking to the timetable he’d been issued with and drove straight towards them. His wife wouldn’t leave without him, although the neighbours begged her to. She insisted on waiting for his return.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘No one ever discovered Herr Muller’s fate, although we guessed it. Frau Muller was gang-raped and murder
ed by Russian soldiers, who threw her body into the street. A German soldier from the town who had been captured by the Russians wrote about what he’d witnessed here years later. Apparently she lay there for days.’

  Laura stared at the window Charlotte had pointed to. It was difficult to imagine horrific scenes being played out in such a quiet, peaceful area. ‘And your relatives the Freibergs?’

  ‘Herr Freiberg was a pharmacist. He poisoned himself, his wife and four children. The oldest was twelve and considered something of a child prodigy by the tutors in the music school.’

  ‘I had no idea things like that happened in East Prussia at the end of the war.’ Tears started into Laura’s eyes.

  ‘It is so strange to be here again.’ Charlotte studied the old convent in front of the apartment block. It was exactly as she remembered; painted cream and brown with black and white garbed nuns walking up and down the steps and into the Catholic church opposite. ‘This is my home town. I knew every street, families in almost every block. Classmates, relatives, business acquaintances of my father’s; people so much a part of my everyday life I took them for granted. I feel as though I’ve woken in a nightmare where the buildings have aged and the people disappeared, yet I am still young.’ She gave Laura a rueful smile. ‘That’s the most appalling thing about old age. Inside I feel no different from when I was eighteen. And just being here makes me think that if I walk around this corner, the aches and pains in my joints will disappear and my brothers will be waiting for me in one of their new cars.’

  Laura took her arm. ‘I can’t imagine enduring what you have. Seeing your home town emptied. Having to run for your life, and now coming back to find everyone gone and everything changed.’

  ‘Not everything.’ Charlotte glanced at the convent. ‘Time to visit the art exhibition in the castle?’

  ‘The chambermaid told me there is an excellent ice cream parlour close by. What’s that saying? “Eat as much ice cream as you can, before the doctor forbids it!” Let’s go there when we’ve seen all we want to in the castle, and order the largest sundaes they have on the menu.’