Читать книгу The Crooked Olive Branch - Frederick Munn - Страница 14

Chapter 6

“At last,” said Hal grabbing his luggage. “We are meeting this Dieter guy where?”

Peter put his finger to his lips and mouthed, ‘Later.’ Hal mouthed back, ‘you’re getting paranoid’.

Hal was clearly ill-tempered. Peter was worried that his friend would lose patience.

This could prove dangerous for his friend. Hal, on the other hand, an American in a very strange environment, was more than uncomfortable with the intrigue and the restrictions this placed upon them.

The station platform was an endless river of travellers. There were armed police everywhere, at every exit.

Peter looked around and whispered. “We meet at the news stand outside”.

Hal replied in a louder than normal voice, “Speak up Pete, we’ve nothing to hide.”

Irritated by his performance back on the train Hal decided enough was enough.

They picked their way through the teeming crowd to the newsstand.

The city centre was thronged with revellers, many dressed in traditional costume.

The men in Lederhosen, the women in blue and white, most wearing hats with feathers. Beer steins decorated almost every horizontal surface. Outside one bar a pig roasted on a spit.

“Just my take of the Fest, no joke. As I imagined.”

“I’m not sure the pig roast is usual.” Peter murmured, not really paying attention and looking round the square. “Where’s Dieter? I can’t see him.”

“This Dieter guy reliable?”

Peter didn’t answer and continued to search for his friend.

Conversation was proving difficult. They were surrounded by people laughing, talking loudly and jostling. A brass band marched into the square followed by a troop of Brownshirts singing loudly, raucously.

“Let’s find a beer,” Hal shouted in Peter’s ear.

“We should wait for Dieter,” Peter shouted back.

“I’m hot and travel weary and looking for a long cool drink. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Peter was jostled by the crowds pouring out of the station. He felt someone place a small slip of paper into his hand. He turned around but saw no one he recognised. No one acknowledged him.

He unfolded the paper and read.

TAXI TO THE FAIRY GROTTO

IN THE ENGLISH GARDEN.

Peter passed the slip to Hal and shouted in his ear.

“Let’s get out of here, take a taxi and get you that drink.” Puzzled at the change of plan, Peter led the way to the taxi rank alongside the station. Just before they got there, one pulled alongside.

The driver alighted and asked. “Herr Barnes?”

“Ja das bin ich.”

“Your taxi.” The driver said in English and opened the rear door.

Hal and Peter climbed in without question, pleased at last that something positive was happening. The taxi driver picked his way slowly through the crowds towards the English Garden to be held up by the marching Brownshirts still singing.

“What’s that song?” Hal asked.

“The tune is the Horst Wessel anthem, but they have changed the words. If I could hear clearly it would help. Suffice to say it sounds arrogant and aggressively anti-Semitic.”

“It would be great if you could try and interpret, please, it will make good copy.”

Peter turned and looked at Hal. “Good copy, what does that mean?”

Hal flushed. “Look Pete, I was going to tell you back on the train when the guy came into the compartment and you slammed me up.”

“Tell me what and why did the guy make the problem? You had a couple of hours to say what you will.”

“There is a connection. Pete I’m sorry. I am not joining your father’s research and development team in Sheffield.”

Peter began to speak and ask why.

Hal interrupted. “I’ve accepted the post of Europe correspondent for the East Coast Press Association. I’ve already got my press card. Got it two days ago. Just before we set off.”

Peter didn’t answer, he just sat wide eyed.

Hal continued. “This has bothered me …” He hesitated then began once more. “I was looking for the best …” He hesitated again. “No, I wasn’t, I flunked it. I’ve been sat on the fence so long my butt aches. Pete, I am so sorry.”

Peter still didn’t answer, so Hal repeated. “I am sorry Pete, really sorry.”

Peter found his voice. “Great so you had another reason to take this trip, including Bochum.”

“I didn’t know that at the time at the bridge.”

“You must have known that it was on the cards.”

“Sure, but I didn’t expect to get the post.”

“But you were short listed?”

“I guess this does look dodgy but there was so much going on and – and I flunked it. How to tell you and your father.”

“Don’t worry about him, he is all self-interest.”

Peter felt betrayed. Now it seemed his best mate was becoming as devious as his father.

This was not Peter’s major concern. This was the whereabouts of Dieter.

There was clearly a problem. This was so not like his German friend.

To Hal it appeared that Peter had got the hump.

“This is what I’ve always wanted, not metallurgy. Metallurgy and Cambridge was my family’s idea. Please understand I didn’t expect to be accepted when I applied, even when I was short listed.”

Hal was tired and thirsty. His priority, however, was to explain his actions.

Peter took a while to try and sort his mind, eventually he asked.

“You said there was a connection, what did you mean?”

“When the guy entered the compartment, I was about to confess.”

Peter thought that, confess was an interesting choice of words. “Why then?”

“I realised what all this Rhys James project was about and that my defection from Cambridge and your father would throw up more problems. It was then that I decided to come clean, when this guy turned up.”

“Talk about it later, Hal, looks like we’ve arrived.”

The taxi pulled in opposite the English Garden. The driver opened the doors.

“Follow me please, gentlemen.” He took their luggage and headed for the bar.

The restaurant was clearly different from the one in Berlin. If this was now Helga’s a clear attempt had been made to give it the appearance of an English venue. Peter, interested in the changes, looked around thinking this could be Helga’s new venture. “I reckon this is Helga and Dieter’s place.”

“What gives Pete, are we staying here?”

“I don’t know but at least we can eat.” Peter was looking around, hoping that Dieter would be there to meet them. There was no sign of him. The fear that something was seriously wrong intensified.

“And get that beer,” said Hal as they walked under the coloured lights into the foyer.

On cue, a waiter appeared.

“Good evening gentlemen, your luggage will be taken care of. I will show you to the washroom.”

“Can we go straight to our rooms to freshen up?”

“Sorry, sir?”

“We are to lodge here?” Hal persisted.

“That I cannot say, sir. I am just your waiter. This is the washroom, please make yourselves comfortable. Do you prefer a table inside or out?”

“Out, I think. Agreed, Hal?”

Hal spread his arms and shrugged but didn’t answer. Peter smiled at the waiter.

“Outside it is then.”

Once the waiter had left, Hal sarcastically remarked, “Sure, how very English.”

Peter realised that Hal was ‘on the edge’ since their arrival and in those few words guessed that there was seething anger about to explode.

Hal placed both hands on the wash basin and took several deep breaths before cupping his hands to drink some water.

“What’s bugging me is that we have yet to meet this Dieter guy. Where is he and what’s more to the point where are our promised lodgings?” He splashed water on his face.

“How well do you know this Dieter guy? Do you trust him?”

“I trust Dieter. It will work, please be patient. I’m sure he’ll do something.”

Peter was now certain there was a problem and was at pains not to convey his anxiety to his friend.

“You trust a guy who doesn’t turn up as promised?”

Peter looked at his friend. He had never seen him like this before. He felt sure it would pass.

He was determined not to get into an argument. Turning his back,he replied. “implicitly!” and left the room.

Hal sighed, wiped his hands and followed.

Peter was tired and worried that plans had changed. That something had happened to Dieter.

Aware they were being manoeuvred without explanation, he approached the waiter. “Can we eat now, please?”

They were shown to a table set a little way out from the others in a very pleasant spot on the edge of the lawns looking out across the huge park.

“Beer, gentlemen or would you prefer the wine list?”

“Beer.” They answered in chorus.

“Light or dark?” Gentlemen?”

“Light.” Again, they spoke together.

Peter tried to lift the mood especially his own.

“Not very English or he would have offered bitter to match our mood.”

Hal, who was in no mood to exchange small talk, didn’t answer. They sat in silence until the beer was served and for a while afterwards. The beer and the ambience served to change their mood.

Hal queried Peter’s association with Dieter. This time his tone was less aggressive.

“How well do you know Dieter?”

The question, reasonable given the circumstances, was tinged with suspicion.

Peter placed his beer back on the table and looked his friend in the eye.

“Very well indeed, in fact I would trust him with my life.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Since thirty-two.” Peter was glad of the opportunity to defend Dieter.

“That long? I figured you’d met at the Olympics.”

“No, Dieter’s mother owned a restaurant on a lake in Berlin. I went there each summer from 1932. Lodged with them. I earned my keep by waiting on at tables.”

“You didn’t meet him last year as I figured” Hal carefully removed his note pad and pencil from his pocket. Peter appeared not to notice.

“No, every year from 32 to 36 we spent the summers together.”

Although more relaxed, he was still worrying what had happened to Dieter.

“And you didn’t just come over last year for the Olympics?”

“No, but I hoped to go to the rowing. The restaurant was so busy it was difficult to get away.

Then there was an incident with the Brownshirts.”

“Brownshirts, you mean the guys who we saw marching and singing … who are they? What are they?” Hal at last got to the copy he was hoping for.

“Independent militia, illegal officially. Unofficially not only tolerated by some Nazis but encouraged; they are rude and arrogant and violent. They focused on the restaurant.”

The waiter arrived to take their order.

“I see you are serving ham,” Peter said, surprised.

The waiter answered in his normal voice to begin with then came closer and lowered his tone.

“Of course, sir, we cater for every taste.” He looked across at a man sitting alone at a nearby table. “In today’s harsh climate it is prudent to accommodate everyone.”

Peter nodded. “Fillet steak for me. You, Henry?”

“Bring it on,” was the reply from Hal, who was noting the waiter’s comments.

Peter lowered his voice “Hal, there’s a chap over on the next table. I do believe we are being watched.”

“What the hell. Why is that?”

“Keep calm Hal, this is serious. It could be that he is a Nazi agent. They could be searching for Dieter. They could be following us, hoping we will lead them to him.”

Peter was convinced that Dieter was evading the Nazi authorities.

Hal continued in a whisper. “Why Dieter?”

“This I believe is Helga’s restaurant. Her place on a lake in Berlin was called Die Feen Grotten. That is The Fairies Grotto. You remember I was saying there was trouble in Berlin with Brownshirts that they targeted Jews and Jewish premises? Well, that morning Dieter, a couple of friends and I were out rowing on the lake when another boat containing several Brownshirts saw us and attacked us.”

“Why did they attack you?”

“One of our friends was wearing a Kippah.”

Hal raised his eyebrows. “A kipper?”

Peter smiled. “A skull cap, as good as saying we are Jewish. I was rowing and easily outpaced them. They followed us to the restaurant and wrecked it. Helga tried to carry on, but they targeted the place. The regular clients drifted away. Now here she probably is, in Munich, re-established and wiser. Even serving ham.”

He looked out across the expanse of the park beyond the restaurant’s gardens. A beautiful autumn evening contrasted sharply with the turmoil in his mind; not knowing where Dieter was or where they were to spend the night.

“So, you were in Berlin to improve your German language skills.”

Hal’s question shook Peter out of his thoughts.

“Yes, every summer for four years and it was a great place to visit. It was perfect. A lovely spot on the lake. There were many tourists, big tippers. 1936 changed all that. The best customers drifted away. The Jewish clientele were frightened off.”

The beer and the ambience plus a greater understanding mellowed Hal’s mood.

By the time the food arrived, he was feeling much more human. He sat back and took a long draught of beer and sighed.

“Beautiful here, like a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

The scene was superb. The sun had set but the sky was still light to the west.

To the east it was a deep blue with a crescent moon already showing low in the distance.

The coloured lights picked up the richness of the flower beds.

“Pete, what was the name of that restaurant in Berlin again?”

Peter sat back. “Die Feen Grotten,” he replied thoughtfully spelling it out for Hal then continuing with his thoughts out loud. “This must be Helga’s place, so, where is she? More to the point where’s Dieter? I hope they are all right. They have done everything to fit in, adopting local customs and choosing German names, even moving home. I just hope this has not been in vain.”

Although the friends appeared to be having a conversation, their minds were in different places. The waiter arrived with the ‘check’.

Payment was politely refused via a written message presented in the cover as though it was the bill. ‘Gentlemen, your taxi will be at the entrance in five minutes to take you to your rooms. Your luggage has gone ahead. Please leave as quietly as possible, thank you.’

Peter passed this to Hal.

“Hal don’t show surprise. I’ll leave a large tip. You go to the men’s room. Leave in five minutes.

Be ready to join me then.