Waiting for Walter

S. Balfour A.

Description

Set partly in late 1950's London, Waiting for Walter follows the fortunes of two people over a forty-year time span, crisscrossing between countries. Days before his son's marriage to an Asian girl, Martin is obsessed by a chance sighting of a familiar young woman on the other side of the street. Whilst wading through old love letters in his attic, a dried-up gingko leaf falls to the floor and he is transported back to his romantic past and the girl who waited. In 1958, Martin, a Jewish boy, met Leni, a young German au pair, at The Moulin Rouge club in London. After a tempestuous start, they fell passionately in love. Secret plans to marry are made but in the aftermath of WW2 and the Holocaust, the forces of prejudice are against them. Martin's father is unmovable.Unable to bridge the deep-rooted cultural divide, Martin cannot walk away from either his father or the girl he loves. He makes a promise to each that he cannot keep. Now in their sixties, and after years of sworn silence, Martin and Leni arrange to meet once more in Heidelberg. There, a single act of beauty and courage finally re-unites them in an unexpected farewell, leaving Martin with a heartbreaking dilemma...Waiting for Walteris a unique and powerfully moving love story with a historical setting and a strong sense of jeopardy. It will appeal to fans of Julian Barnes, David Nichols, and Colm Tibn.

Sujets

• Gran Londres
• Greater London
• Grand Londres
• London

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 janvier 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785898020
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

About the Author
A.S. Balfour has been writing plays since the 1960s. He won a prize in a National Play Competition for his play Pastoral . He won an Arts Council grant for his play, Marcus Rex , performed in Birmingham in 1977. The Hokey Cokey Man , his last play, was produced at the New End Theatre in Hampstead in 2009, based on the life and times of his grandfather, Al Tabor, a society bandleader who wrote The Hokey Cokey during the war. To see photos and hear Al’s music visit
www.thehokeycokeyman.com.
Waiting for Walter is his first novel.
Waiting for Walter





A. S. Balfour
Copyright © 2017 Alan Balfour

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,
or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in
any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the
publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with
the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries
concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events
and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Wooden Heart
Words & Music by Kay Twomey, Ben Wiseman, Fred Wise & Bert Kaempfert
© Copyright 1960 Gladys Music Incorporated, USA.
All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured.
Used by permission or Music Sales Limited.

Matador
9 Priory Business Park,
Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,
Leicestershire. LE8 0RX
Tel: [phone]
Email: [e-mail]
Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador
Twitter: @matadorbooks

ISBN 9781785898020

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
For all those who struggle to meet across the cultural divide.
Contents
About the Author
FOREWORD
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
FOREWORD
In the spring of 2011, while on holiday in Prague with friends, I visited Franz Kafka’s house. There I bought a book. In it, I came across a short story by Dora Diamont, Kafka’s lover, about a walk in a Berlin park where Kafka saw a little girl sobbing. When she told Kafka that she had lost her doll, he told her not to worry as he knew where her doll was and said he had a letter for her from the doll. He promised to bring it the next day. The following morning he ran to the park with the letter and read it to her. The doll said even though she loved her very much, she was tired of living in the same family and needed a change, but she promised to write every day and share her adventures.
Over the next three weeks Kafka told the little girl all about the doll’s new family, her new school friends and her new-found obligations.
Having to bring the story to an end and fearful of upsetting the little girl, Kafka told her, sadly, this was to be the last letter, but the good news was the doll had met a handsome young man and was going to get married. Kafka described all the wedding preparations and their beautiful new house far away in the country in great detail. The doll said she hoped her friend would understand. She did – and the little girl skipped away happily.
Kafka died of TB one year later.
Three months after I read this affecting tale, I began writing Waiting for Walter , a love story about learning to say goodbye..

A. S. Balfour
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I thank my family for their unquantifiable support during the five years it took to write this novel.

Thanks to my dear, late friend, Ted Dickson, with whom, for so many years, we shared a writer’s spade.

Thanks to Sundra for allowing me to quote from her poem Jetty , one of a collection called Starchild .

In the great divide between Germans and Jews in the run up to and during WW2, it is with special thanks I remember three remarkable men: Pastor Dietrich Bonnhoefer, Pastor Martin Niemöller and Pastor Hermann Maas.

Thanks must go to the poet Nelly Sachs, the first German jew, post war, to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature.

I have quoted from Rainer Maria Rilke’s magical Letters to a Young Poet.

I say a ‘hello’ also to Goethe for his poem on the gingko biloba leaf.

And finally thanks to the unknown little girl in a Berlin park who lost her precious doll and to her saviour, Franz Kafka, who helped her say goodbye to it.
CHAPTER 1

She was walking towards Bond Street Station on the other side of the street when he saw her. A girl above average height, head of long blonde hair held high, clothed in a tight green sweater. The same swing of the hips inside a tight white cotton skirt. It was uncanny! She even wore the same white stilettos and the same white handbag swung by her side. Dodging the traffic he rushed across the road and called out, “Leni!” She couldn’t have heard because she turned into the Tube station and made her way down the steps of the Underground. He ran after her but lost sight when she melted into the rush-hour throng.
That night he dreamt she ran towards him across a vast graveyard under a moonlit sky calling his name. He reached out to her but as fast as she ran she couldn’t close the distance. Then as if out of nowhere, she grasped his hand. Martin sat bolt upright in a sweat. He rubbed his hand and turned towards his wife. Her breathing, unlike his, was regular and deep. He rested his head back on the pillow. He hadn’t stopped thinking of Leni all day. What were the chances of seeing a girl the image of Leni dressed in the same 1950s fashion walking down Oxford Street in 2002? Of course he hadn’t seen her face-on and logic said even if he had she would’ve had to be a youthful doppelgänger or else a figment of his imagination. None of these obvious probabilities reduced the impact of this mysterious sighting.
Then there was the dream. He wasn’t a believer in matters mystic, but that was twice now in the last twenty-four hours he’d had a strange sense of an invisible force bending him towards her.
At breakfast as Esther spoke of their son Ben’s up and coming wedding to Lara the beautiful Hindu girl, Martin tapped lightly on the shell of his soft boiled egg without making an impression.
“For goodness’ sake! What on earth are you dreaming about?!” Esther exclaimed. Then, not receiving an answer she continued, “Arul thinks it’s wonderful our two great cultures are coming together. Don’t you agree?”
Martin finally broke into the egg. “Absolutely!”
“Did you know that in a Hindu wedding the bride and groom are supposed to circle a fire seven times? I’m glad they’ve decided to stick with the Sheva B’rachot !”
He couldnt wait for Esther to leave for her office so he could go upstairs, pull down the loft hatch and climb the rickety wooden ladder into the unheavenly void where all the clutter of their long, agreeable marriage was stored.
Once inside the loft he sat down on an upturned orange crate and surveyed the dusty boxes of goodness-knows-what-was-inside. The sun’s rays pierced the roof window and he was blinded by a dazzle of light reflecting off the buckle on an old grey canvas bag. He shaded his eyes with his hand. Crouching to avoid the rafters he walked over and unzipped the bag. Among the many envelopes inside, a photo caught his eye. He took it out. He couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful nineteen-year-old girl in the picture. She was posing next to an old tree, one white stiletto pointing slightly forward in front of the other. She wore a dark jumper over a straight white skirt and carried a small white handbag over her right arm. Her full flowing fair hair fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were laughing and the tip of her tongue poked out in mock anger. Heidelberg Castle was in the background. He smiled and wished she were still cross with him. He took his wallet out of his back pocket and put the photo inside. Then looking down at the heap of envelopes he picked up an early letter to him after she’d returned home to Germany. It was in the old green ink and the familiar pressed flower was pasted on the top right-hand corner. He held it up and inhaled deeply. Even after all these years there was still the faint scent of Chanel No. 5. His heart leapt as he recalled his personal introduction to German-Jewish relations and the start of their passionate love affair in London.

Kehl.Tuesday, 20 Jan 1959, 10pm
My wonderful darling,
Five minutes ago I have been talking to you on the telephone. I hardly can believe it. My heart is still beating so fast, I feel as if I have a fever. When I put the receiver down, I sank into the armchair and everything swam round and round. I thought I would faint. I cannot stop thinking of you whatever I do. Why cannot I be with you? It is all so terribly depressing. One minute I dream I am dancing with you at the Moulin Rouge. Then I open my eyes and you are not here. Many boys ask me out but I see only you, darling. My mother says it is hopeless our love. There is a big wall between us. But I am determined to climb it. Even if I can’t I still will love you al