Two Brothers

arm, isn’t she? I’ll bet all that Aryan blonde hair looks lovely under the black beret.’

Otto and Paulus let it go. They knew that Silke was no Nazi but were far too caught up in the joy of seeing Dagmar again to waste any more time defending the fourth but absent member of the club.

And Dagmar was far too full of her party and the glamorous new life that beckoned in the USA to waste any more time talking about Silke either, or to do any music for that matter, so Wolfgang gave it up, poured himself a schnapps and announced that school was out.

‘There’s a few marks,’ he said giving some money to Paulus. ‘Go and get me a pack of Lucky Strikes and don’t smoke more than half on the way home.’

Delighted at this unexpected pass out, the three thirteen-year-olds tumbled out of the apartment into the lift and then out into the local streets. Just as they had done so often during happier times.

Although Dagmar in fact had probably never been happier than she was that very afternoon. And as the three of them wandered the streets together, she held the boys’ hands and almost danced for joy.

The boys, however, were not dancing.

They wanted to look happy for her but could not prevent themselves from kicking moodily at the kerbstones as they walked and even Dagmar’s offer to stand them each a Coca-Cola to go with the cigarettes didn’t seem to raise their spirits.

‘So you’re really going then,’ Paulus asked. ‘I mean all the way to America?’

‘Of course I am. What possible reason could anyone have for wanting to stay here?’

‘No,’ Paulus conceded sadly, ‘I suppose that’s true.’

They had wandered as far as the Volkspark and were standing beneath a favourite tree. A great plane around which they had chased each other a hundred times. Paulus picked up a stick and threw it angrily at a squirrel. Otto picked up another and snapped it over his knee, thus giving him two shots, both of which were as futile as Paulus’s effort had been.

‘Are you jealous, boys?’ Dagmar asked, her tone no longer gleeful but quieter now, almost gentle. ‘I’d understand if you were. I know I’d be terribly terribly jealous if it was you that had got your visas and not me.’

‘Of course we’re not jealous,’ Paulus replied angrily. ‘How could we ever mind anything that made you so happy?’

‘We only want you to be safe,’ Otto added. ‘It’s all we care about.’

‘We love you,’ Paulus muttered. ‘You know that, we’ve told you often enough.’

‘I do know that, boys,’ Dagmar said, her eyes glistening wet, ‘and you must promise to always love me because I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t. You saved me after all. You risked everything for me.’

Standing between them now she took their hands.

‘That was nothing!’ Otto said, reddening fiercely and staring at the ground. ‘We’d do it ten times… a hundred.’

‘Except now we won’t need to,’ Paulus added, ‘because you’re going to be safe, which is really brilliant and just the best thing… It’s only that we’re going to miss you, that’s all.’

‘Oh, boys,’ Dagmar said, squeezing their hands, the glistening in her eyes turning to two single tears, one for each cheek, one for each of them. ‘Dear darling boys, I shall miss you too. Every single day. And I’ll write, I promise, every day if I can and send you lots of chewing gum.’

‘Yes, but the thing is…’ Paulus said and then hesitated.

‘Yes?’ Dagmar asked.

‘The thing is…’

‘What?’

Paulus was also red in the face now, a rare sight indeed, his colouring being so much darker than Otto’s. He kicked at the dry grass and stuck the hand that wasn’t held by Dagmar deep into his pocket.

‘Just so long as you know… That one day…’

‘Yes, Pauly,’ Dagmar said, smiling again now. ‘One day what?’

‘One day you’re going to marry me, that’s all.’

‘He means me,’ said Otto quickly.

‘Yes, all right,’ Paulus conceded. ‘One day you’re going to marry me or Otto. That is, one or the other of us. We’ve talked about it. Lots as a matter of fact and we’ve decided.’

‘Yeah,’ Otto added. ‘We’ve decided. We need that to be clear.’ Dagmar’s face spread into the broadest smile. She plonked herself down beneath the tree pulling both boys down beside her. Her skirt billowed out around her on the grass. She let go of their hands and drew her bare legs up to her chest, throwing her arms around her knees. Her shiny painted toenails twinkled through her open sandals.

‘Oh Pauly, Ottsy! You are silly. Of course I’ll marry you. Both of you! At once if you like. You’re my best friends and you always will be. And of course I shan’t even look at any American boys!’

‘Good,’ the boys grunted.

‘Unless of course they’re Clark Gable. Have you seen Red Dust? God he is so dishy! But other than Clark Gable I absolutely promise.’

The boys’ mood lightened now. They had said what they needed to say and the principle had been established.

The Fischers Throw a Party Berlin, 1933

FRIEDA, WOLFGANG AND the twins got out of their cab at the entrance to the famous old Kempinski hotel. That splendid portal which had in the past regularly welcomed royalty and heads of state and which had for so long bustled with the richest and most elegant people in Berlin.

Being Jewish-owned the hotel had of course been much defaced with paint in recent months, but much to Wolfgang and Frieda’s relief there was no gauntlet of SA pickets to run on the night of the party. The Fischers had not announced the event in the social papers as they would have done in previous years, and the only evidence that the police were aware of the celebration at all was the two black-leather-coated figures in Homburg hats who stood at the entrance just behind the doorman with notebooks and pencils in hand.

Unfortunately, however, it was not just the SA who were absent from the party that night.

There was no sign of other guests either. From hearing Dagmar talk about the extent of the invitation list, the Stengels had been expecting a jam of cars and a merry throng at the hotel doors, but for the moment at least they had the red carpet which stretched across the pavement to the street to themselves.

‘Perhaps people will come along later,’ Frieda said brightly. ‘After all, we’re bang on time, which everybody knows is not the fashionable time to arrive. I’m sure it’ll fill up. Come on, at least there won’t be a queue for drinks.’

The four of them entered the lobby of the hotel and were politely directed to the grand ballroom which was situated at the rear of the building along a number of thickly carpeted corridors.

‘I know what it is!’ Frieda said. ‘Of course! The ballroom has a separate entrance, I remember now. I came to some doctors’ do here years ago and we all entered from the street behind.’

But whether or not they had got the right entrance, when finally they arrived at the gilded doors to the ballroom there was still no throng of people bustling to get in. Just the Fishers themselves, waiting to greet their guests.

They made a handsome threesome. Magnificent in a way.

The very cream of rich Berlin society.

Herr Fischer upright in formal evening dress, a service medal at his chest and a sash representing the Berlin Chamber of Commerce across his shoulder. Frau Fischer in a full-length gown, cut low at the bosom to accommodate a fabulous diamond necklace that was surely worth a fortune.

And then there was Dagmar.

The boys’ jaws almost dropped to the level of the carpet with selfconscious admiration when they saw her.