White Lies

Rudolph Bader

Description

In Nazi Germany, young Manfred is hardly aware of the influence that draws him into the existing political system. After the War he changes his name and builds up a new career, starting a family, first in the States, later in Britain. While his friends and family have no idea of his activities during the War, his daughter Nora and his grandson Andrew, being interested in recent history, begin to suspect their (grand-) father's dark secret. How far does moral responsibility go? Can really heavy guilt ever be expiated in Dostoyevsky's sense or is there no hope for atonement by later generations? Is it ever too late to learn fundamental lessons from political developments?

Sujets

• Sagas

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 04 juillet 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785388842
• Langue: English

Extrait

WHITE LIES
RUDOLPH BADER





First published in 2018 by
AG Books
www.agbooks.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2018 Rudolph Bader
The right of Rudolph Bader to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



Part One
One
When their mother called them to leave their games in the garden and come back into the house, it was the beginning of something so unbelievably meaningful, so big and yet so problematical, so influential, so determining, so full of traumatic consequences and so absolutely shattering in their lives. At least that was what bothered his mind and sometimes his conscience through the later years of his more mature life.
“Boys! Where are you? Come back in, I want you here in the kitchen at once!”
This call wouldn’t have been such an unusual event - their mother often called them in from the garden, usually when lunch was ready - had it not been for the time of the day and for her tone. Manfred understood at once that there had to be some important matter, much more important than an announcement of potato soup and sausages. He did not know about Thomas, who was older but somehow less sensitive, but Manfred thought he could detect not only the importance of the matter at hand, but equally a slight concern or even worry in his mother’s voice. It was her wording as well as her forced tone.
When the boys arrived in the frame of the kitchen door, their mother was wiping her hands on her apron. She was such a beautiful woman, always pale and sometimes a little frail. But she maintained the authority required of all German mothers of her generation. A role, Manfred sensed, which did not always come easy to her. She seemed nervous. “I want you in the house because I just had a message from your father. He’ll be home earlier tonight because he has some great news. He asked us to prepare for a celebration.”
“What are we celebrating?” Thomas asked.
“Shall we get presents?” Manfred wanted to know.
“I don’t think so. But you will see. I don’t want to spoil your father’s joy in telling you himself. He’ll expect us to be ready for him when he comes home. So, quick, quick! We haven’t got a lot of time. Thomas, you take this brown purse and run to Frau Helmbrecht’s shop round the corner. Here’s a list of things I need.”
“But Mama, Father can bring all these things from his shop.”
“Don’t argue, Thomas. He’s not coming from his shop, he’s coming straight back from a meeting in town. And you, Manfred, you get the fine tablecloth from the bottom drawer in the sideboard and the fine silverware and lay the table for dinner in the dining-room. Don’t forget the Bohemian crystal glasses; they’re at the back of the middle shelf. Off you go, boys. I want your father to be proud of you.”
What could it be that was so important? Manfred was puzzled and a little apprehensive. He knew he couldn’t always rely on his parents’ word. Especially Father liked to announce things in a theatrical manner, usually standing in the middle of their living-room, so that you expected some really great things to follow. But more often than not, things turned out to be some silly news that only concerned the grown-ups. For the boys it was often a disappointment. He remembered the flamboyant announcement only just over a year ago, when it turned out Father had merely decided to refurbish his shop. Why should that have been of any concern to the boys? Sometimes he asked himself why parents did what they were doing. This puzzle, or rather the extended version of this question, was to become one of the repeated enigmas to occupy his adult mind: Why do people do what they do? He puzzled over the logical concept that there had to be reasons, ideas, objectives, motivations behind people’s actions.
* * *
Of his early childhood he would remember very little in later life. It was a peaceful period of unspoilt happiness, and he would remember it as a time of permanent summer with clear blue skies and comforting temperatures. He particularly liked to listen to the blackbirds in spring and to the rasping sound of the crickets in July. Despite the blissful nature of those early years, one of the earliest memories concerned his brother’s attempt at superiority. His brother Thomas, who was two years older and whom he admired in every possible way, was convinced that he was responsible for their games, their choice of trees to climb and the formation of all their friendships.
“Now, look here, Freddy,” he admonished him from time to time when his reign appeared to be questioned, “I’m a lot older than you. So, it’s only natural you should have to obey my orders. It’s the way of the world.”
Though he hated to be called Freddy, Manfred usually went along with this order of things. After all, this arrangement also had its advantages. Thomas’s spirit of adventure and courage was far greater than his own, which meant that the older boy initiated most of their more daring games and led his younger brother into many an adventure that Manfred wouldn’t have missed for anything in the world once he managed to look back after all had gone well. It certainly was the case with the huge oak that Thomas climbed first and that proved to become their look-out over several neighbours’ gardens. Under his leadership, the boys built what they considered their tree-house, which in time became Manfred’s favourite retreat, even long after his brother had lost interest in watching other people’s private activities in their back gardens. It was hardly a tree-house but rather a higgledy-piggledy accumulation of wooden pieces, boards, planks, rafters and the like which they could get hold of. The largest pieces came from a near-by building-site on the Galgenberg, appropriated on Thomas’s initiative and under his guidance.
Thomas was tall for his age, with dark brown hair that hung down in wisps over his eyes when he moved his head too quickly. He didn’t seem to mind that, and his younger brother often wondered how anyone could live with his hair in his face most of the time. Their mother, who seemed to be quite relaxed about their appearances as long as they didn’t get into real trouble with any of the neighbours, also tolerated it and only very occasionally remarked that he might need another haircut. He was her first born, clearly her favourite, and she considered him very handsome even from childhood. It was true, he had a winning smile on his broad face with prominent cheekbones, his brown eyes were beautiful, although he would often keep them narrowed to two slits, which, together with his relatively broad nose, gave him a slightly Mongolian look. One of his classmates would later call him Genghis Khan when he wanted to annoy him. Thomas didn’t mind what he looked like, certainly not during his childhood. Puberty and adolescence were still far away.
Manfred was different. In fact, he looked so different that people were often surprised to learn that they were brothers. He was a small boy, even small for his age, with very fair and curly hair, and with clear blue eyes. Also, he was rather shy and generally preferred to remain silent while all the other children fought over vocal supremacy. He just couldn’t see the point of raising his voice to convince others. He believed that truth and the right way of things would always win in the end anyway. He knew he wasn’t his parents’ favourite child, and he accepted the fact that whenever there was a treat for only one of them it was always his brother who would get it. However, as he approached kindergarten age, he sometimes thought he would show them all one day. One day they would all see what he could achieve. He sensed that you didn’t need to shout when you wanted people to listen to you. There appeared to be enormous charisma and a capacity to exercise power over others in a quiet and even voice if you put enough energy and conviction into what you were going to say.
Life in Thuringia in the 1920s was a strange experience, although the boys did not know this, being quite unaware of the social and political upheavals of the time when they attended the overcrowded kindergarten in Untermhaus, an older and more established quarter of their hometown of Gera. Their father explained to them why the area was called Untermhaus. It was because those streets were first developed and built up in the time after the Thirty Years’ War, in the 17 th century, just below the castle - hence Unterm Haus - which dominated the valley. The Reussen Schloss obtained its name from the dynasty that had first built or at least first occupied it - in those days one never knew how legitimate such occupations were - and the name of course first means “Russians”. Later in life, Manfred would read that fascinating picaresque novel by the seventeenth-century writer Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen, enjoying those long Baroque names, that early novel set in the Thirty Years’ War, where the Russians were still called “Reussen”. When he discovered that so many years later, he remembered his father’s explanation. But already during his childhood, Manfred had he