Mother gave him a charming smile. ‘You’re not bloated, Ludi – just a little plump.’ She patted the front of his coat.
He laughed. ‘I asked for that.’ The tension eased. Herr Franck picked up the speaking tube and gave instructions to Ritter.
Carla was thrilled to be in a car with Werner, and she wanted to make the most of it by talking to him, but at first she could not think what to speak about. She really wanted to say: ‘When you’re older, do you think you might marry a girl with dark hair and green eyes, about three years younger than yourself, and clever?’ Eventually she pointed to his skates and said: ‘Do you have a match today?’
‘No, just practice after school.’
‘What position do you play in?’ She knew nothing about ice hockey, but there were always positions in team games.
‘Right wing.’
‘Isn’t it a rather dangerous sport?’
‘Not if you’re quick.’
‘You must be ever such a good skater.’
‘Not bad,’ he said modestly.
Once again, Carla caught her mother watching her with an enigmatic little smile. Had she guessed how Carla felt about Werner? Carla felt another blush coming.
Then the car came to a stop outside a school building, and Werner got out. ‘Goodbye, everyone!’ he said, and ran through the gates into the yard.
Ritter drove on, following the south bank of the Landwehr Canal. Carla looked at the barges, their loads of coal topped with snow like mountains. She felt a sense of disappointment. She had contrived to spend longer with Werner, by hinting that she wanted a lift, then she had wasted the time talking about ice hockey.
What would she have liked to have talked to him about? She did not know.
Herr Franck said to Mother: ‘I read your column in
‘I hope you enjoyed it.’
‘I was sorry to see you writing disrespectfully about our chancellor.’
‘Do you think journalists should write respectfully about politicians?’ Mother replied cheerfully. ‘That’s radical. The Nazi press would have to be polite about my husband! They wouldn’t like that.’
‘Not all politicians, obviously,’ Franck said irritably.
They crossed the teeming junction of Potsdamer Platz. Cars and trams vied with horse-drawn carts and pedestrians in a chaotic melee.
Mother said: ‘Isn’t it better for the press to be able to criticize everyone equally?’
‘A wonderful idea,’ he said. ‘But you socialists live in a dream world. We practical men know that Germany cannot live on ideas. People must have bread and shoes and coal.’
‘I quite agree,’ Mother said. ‘I could use more coal myself. But I want Carla and Erik to grow up as citizens of a free country.’
‘You overrate freedom. It doesn’t make people happy. They prefer leadership. I want Werner and Frieda and poor Axel to grow up in a country that is proud, and disciplined, and united.’
‘And in order to be united, we need young thugs in brown shirts to beat up elderly Jewish shopkeepers?’
‘Politics is rough. Nothing we can do about it.’
‘On the contrary, you and I are leaders, Ludwig, in our different ways. It’s our responsibility to make politics less rough – more honest, more rational, less violent. If we do not do that, we fail in our patriotic duty.’
Herr Franck bristled.
Carla did not know much about men, but she realized that they did not like to be lectured on their duty by women. Mother must have forgotten to press her charm switch this morning. But everyone was tense. The coming election had them all on edge.
The car reached Leipziger Platz. ‘Where may I drop you?” Herr Franck said coldly.
‘Just here will be fine,’ said Mother.
Franck tapped on the glass partition. Ritter stopped the car and hurried to open the door.
Mother said: ‘I do hope Frieda gets better soon.’
‘Thank you.’
They got out and Ritter closed the door.
The office was several minutes’ walk away, but Mother clearly had not wanted to stay any longer in the car. Carla hoped Mother was not going to quarrel permanently with Herr Franck. That might make it difficult for her to see Frieda and Werner. She would hate that.
They set off at a brisk pace. ‘Try not to make a nuisance of yourself at the office,’ Mother said. The note of
