MASTER KLOTZ’s  VIOLIN or A DAY in the LIFE of Mr. ROSNER in BERLIN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About the book.

Venue: - Berlin . Two time periods :

1.Berlin April 14, 1933 .

The first months of coming to power of the  National Socialist German Party , and the first attempts of "final solution" of so called Jewish question. 

But the time of total extermination of people because of their ethnicity has not come yet .

2 West Berlin on 13-14 August 1961 .

Time when construction of "Berlin Wall" has began by the initiative of the communist party of the USSR and the communist regime in the GDR and the Wall has divided Germany apart as an "iron curtain" for many years

Summary:

In 1933 . The feeling of fear of losing rare violin so depressed the musician that one day in Berlin, he remembered as a dreadful dream. Iviolinist can reached nternal and creative freedom only after a voluntary exile from Nazi Germany .

In 1961 . In parallel story line is described the fate of another friend of Rosner, Heinz , hurrying to a meeting with a famous musician – instrumentalist.

Heinz , by coincidence, is one of the first to die at the Berlin Wall .

 

 

P A R T O N E

 

P R O L O G U E

 

Episode 1

 

WEST BERLIN.

1961. August 13th. Morning.

09:00

Posters, posters, posters …

telling the world that BENJAMIN ROSNER is coming to West Berlin.

.

Paperboys – boys in caps

shout out in phrases learned by heart:

 

«B E N J A M I N R O S N E R

in

WEST BERLIN!»

 

«TWO DAYS ONLY – THE 13TH AND 14TH OF AUGUST

1961»

 

« TWO CONCERTS

IN BERLIN KONZERTHAUS!»

 

«DO NOT DELAY!»

 

«MUSIC BY THE GREAT MENDELSSOHN PLAYED

BY THE WORLD RENOWNED VIOLINIST!»

* * *

 

1961. August 13th. Evening

 

21:30

 

Berlin Konzerthaus concert hall.

 

The violin concerto finale with the Felix Mendelssohn Orchestra - Concerto in E minor. Op.64.

 

The soloist is world-renowned musician BENJAMIN ROSNER.

 

The apotheosis. The last stroke of the bow. The ecstatic audience is fascinated by the famous violinist’s playing.

 

The conductor thanks the musician. He is brimming with artistic satisfaction.

 

The orchestra rises to its feet in recognition of the violinist.

 

The faces in the hall: emotion, the pleasure of the Great Mendelssohn’s work and its virtuoso execution by maestro Mr Rosner.

 

The audience: sparkling jewels; opulent ball gowns with deep necklines; black suits and dinner jackets; pince-nez and hand-held abanico fans; bouquets of flowers held here and there by the violinist’s female followers.

 

Yes, this concert, without a doubt, was a musical celebration, as always so eagerly awaited by music lovers.

 

Applause, applause…

 

“Bravo, bravo, Benny!” yell Rosner’s silver-haired friends, his classmates years ago at Berlin’s Higher School of Music.

 

The maestro bows before the public. The orchestra “applauds” ROSNER with their bows held against the bodies of their violins, violas, celli and double-basses in the traditional way.

 

The conductor, at first hesitantly, extends his hand to the violinist, and then, hugging him, bows to the audience, smiles and swiftly heads off stage.

ROSNER is handed baskets full of flowers.

 

The violinist leaves the stage, but repeatedly comes back on (at the behest of the audience!); waving and bowing he thanks the people who so value his talent.

 

 

Episode 2

 

The soloist’s dressing room.

 

The door opens abruptly; the musician enters his spacious room; he rubs his violin with a piece of soft velvet and carefully places it into its metallic case, lined inside with a soft, red padding.

There is an inscription on the violin case – BENJAMIN ROSNER

 

BENJAMIN, or BENNY as those closest to the musician call him, ROSNER approaches the window.

 

August 13, 1961.

 

The rainy weather of Berlin’s summer. The view of the city in the evening instils a sad mood.

 

The light from cars’ headlines is reflected on the wet tarmac.

 

Billboard lighting flicker along the streets.

 

The violinist’s eyes meticulously observe the grey buildings, the parks, the streets crowded with dripping umbrellas, and the late evening darkening silhouettes of the bridges over the river.

* * *

(He used to study at Berlin’s Higher School of Music; he knows Berlin well, but Mr ROSNER was born and grew up in Vienna, the place where, as a child, his young hands first picked up a violin and experienced the surprise of the first sounds made by a bow touching the strings)

* * *

Rain.

The traffic on the streets of West Berlin is easing.

There, coming down the wide steps of the concert hall the audience gradually disperses, full of unforgettable impressions.

A familiar scene for the musician: virtuosic playing, applause, flowers, tiredness; as always, a slight feeling of dissatisfaction after a concert performance; a gulp of champagne; a drag on a Cuban cigar.

The cigar smoke slowly drifts and dissipates in the dressing room…..

 

Episode 3

1961. August 13th.

22:00

 

A car is making its way down a wide avenue, its black colouring glistening in the rain. The car stops outside the magnificent building of the Konzerthaus.

Summer rain.

Two man leave the car holding umbrellas and go up the steps. Leather coats, soaked moccasins; moving a little nervously, but demurely.

 

One has in his hands a slightly worse-for-wear black briefcase, the other – a violin case.

They leave their umbrellas in the cloakroom, after which they make their way steadily along the purple carpet fitted over the marble steps of the stairs.

Second floor. The corridor has been filled with the baskets of flowers given to ROSNER by his adoring audience after the public performance.

There, the door to the famous musician’s dressing room.

 

Episode 4

1961. August 13.

22:15

 

Three people are sitting in the dressing room: ROSNER and two men that have arrived to talk business with him.

 

ROSNER: Cigars? I have some from Habana which have the most extraordinary aroma. Perhaps a mineral water or Perrier? A sip of champagne?

WEBER: Thank you. Please don’t go to any trouble, maestro!

KÖHLER: No, no!

 

They thank the violinist and decline.

 

ROSNER: Haven’t we met before, Mr WEBER?

WEBER: I’d rather not remember it! I feel so awkward about it…

ROSNER: A lot of time has passed. It was… 1933, April. Yes, no mistake, April! And where was it that we met back then?

WEBER: We met in Mittenwald, in the Post Hotel. I remember as if it were yesterday how the Festival Organising Committee secretary told us you were coming, FRIDA WIRT. We were waiting for you. If truth be told, our only interest was in the violin…

ROSNER: Is that so?

WEBER: Circumstances, circumstances…

ROSNER: I’m not accusing you of anything. God forbid. Yes, you’re absolutely right – the circumstances were not the most pleasant. I hadn’t come to Mittenwald alone. You might remember, I had a young lady with me...

WEBER: I’d say “a beautiful brunette”.

ROSNER: Agreed. And you know, I’m actually very grateful to you.

WEBER: Really? Out of interest, why?

ROSNER: That’s for me to know.

WEBER: You intrigue me.

ROSNER: Even so, I can’t say. Right, let’s put that to one side. Down to business!

WEBER: Precisely why I came.

ROSNER: Did you make it to the concert? Mr WEBER, I had the Konzerthaus box office put some complimentary tickets aside in your name.

WEBER: I was late! We were delayed at the checkpoint. You yourself understand, an old violin (particularly one belonging to Master Klotz!) arouses everyone’s suspicions, but nothing happened, thank God! We weren’t arrested and were let through. I’m joking, of course, but holding a piece of fine art like that is troublesome. Besides, there’s a more compelling reason we were delayed: you must know that last night, August the 13th, at 1am, the Communist area decided to start building the Berlin Wall, which has divided the city into two parts – East and West. The border between the so-called German Democratic Republic and West Berlin is shut. It was a real feat getting here to meet with you. Everyone’s had it up to here with what’s going on.

ROSNER: We are aware of what’s happening. I had hoped you would come to the concert. Such a pity, but not your fault, of course! The events surrounding the Berlin Wall, as I know, are unfolding very quickly. Many believe force will be used to resolve the issue!

WEBER: The situation is critical! As you know, as recently as yesterday, getting from Western Germany by car or railway was somewhat tricky but was entirely possible. What about tomorrow? I’ve no idea! Please excuse me, I seem to have got in a muddle! Please allow me to introduce to you: with me is Mr KÖHLER – an experience notary from Munich – a professional of the highest order.

 

The violinist greeted the notary for a second time with a gentle nod.

 

ROSNER: I am pleased to see you, Mr Köhler.

WEBER: Mr ROSNER, you of course know about our, how should I put it – delicate mission! I am presenting the German side, the Museum of Stringed Instruments in Mittenwald!

ROSNER: Anyone who loves string music knows about “String City” in Mittenwald in the foothills of the Alps – the land of the Klotz master dynasty.

WEBER: And even so, I can’t call my mission a solemn one…

ROSNER: Quite so – it was a difficult case! Master Klotz’s violin, like a capricious lady, gave me her fair share of hassle a number of years ago. But, you could also say it was the other way round: Within a year she was “tired” of me – dragging her around the whole of Berlin. I’m surprised she didn’t fall apart and turn into a splinters. It’s strange. Then the violin gracefully “retired” from me and, on my life, I sighed with relief – I was happy it had.

WEBER: I apologise again!

ROSNER: What do you have to do with it? Were you serving with the storm troopers? Were you a member of the Nazi Party or sympathise with Hitler?

WEBER God forbid! I’m an ordinary fifth-generation Bavarian, and that’s all. I’m just a servant – I serve the “museum cause”, as they say!

ROSNER: Glad to hear it!

KÖHLER: I have the authority to announce that the Klotz Family Museum of Stringed Instruments has decided to return “something that was lost” to you. The Ministry of Culture is in full agreement with them. The issue at hand is of fundament importance. I have been charged with drawing up the official documentation about the receipt and handing over of item number...

 

The notary takes some documents from his briefcase and leaf through them.

 

ROSNER: “Lost”? “They” simply took the violin from me. Yes, now it’s probably not worth getting into the nitty-gritty or delving into the past! This item, as you called it, is a work of art! Piece is a funny word to use when talking about something so grand. I mean, you wouldn’t call the Mona Lisa an item!

KÖHLER: For you this is Master Mathias Klotz’s violin, a “capricious lady” as you pleased to say, but for me, an old bureaucrat, this instrument is a piece – and consequently is a numbered, valuable item, which I, your humble servant, are obliged to hand not to a musician, but to a citizen of the United States of America, one BENJAMIN ROSNER – a gentleman with a passport and a passport number.

ROSNER: But you deigned to call the violin a “numbered item”?

KÖHLER: You can’t not number them! Everything has to be accounted for! Astronauts have all the stars numbers, as far as I know!

ROSNER: I hope, they won’t assign me – a Jewish violinist – a number! Please forgive me, I took that out on you, but you yourself understand…

WEBER: We’d better resolve the issue of returning it.

KÖHLER: Yes, we have to hurry. We have to “break out” of West Berlin “at all costs”! We’re meant to be in Munich by tomorrow, so you, Mr ROSNER, need to put your signature on a few documents.

ROSNER: You’ll be surprised, but the museum’s decision to return the violin to me is stirring up some unpleasant associations in my head. All to do with the past. For two months I thought about only one thing – to accept or not to accept your offer. I don’t want to be ungrateful, but for me picking up this instrument, which belonged to Master Klotz, means returning to the worrying and concerns of back then, but giving you a categorical “NO” would be inconsiderate both to the museum, and to the West German authorities. What happens if I ended up changing my mind and saying ‘no’ to the violin?

WEBER: When we were on our way to West Berlin, we were sure you would accept the decision once and for all. That’s why we came. Otherwise we wouldn’t have gone anywhere. It’s painfully difficult getting into West Berlin. Turned down? Are you kidding? This is the work of Master Klotz!

KÖHLER: If you refuse, you will have to reimburse us – the museum representative and the notary, i.e. the “item return” party – for our losses!

ROSNER: Not a problem.

KÖHLER: I say again, it was no easy for us to get to West Berlin, particularly with such precious cargo. The market price for this violin is well known. Besides, time is money, as they say.

WEBER: Turned down? On what grounds can you turn it down, Mr ROSNER? It’s a “Klotz”! “Mathias Klotz”!

ROSNER: In no way am I belittling the achievements of the great master, but now I have this, look, in that case there “rests” a Stradivarius! My property, I’ll have you know! And your instrument, I well know…

WEBER: Is being handed to you for your own use…

KÖHLER: For ten years! That is the period agreed back in early 1932, which can be confirmed in writing. I assure you, you’ll be able to extend the term with the agreement of both parties.

ROSNER: Unfortunately, back then I hadn’t had the opportunity to hold an instrument made by Master Klotz when I was playing in public. Mr WEBER, as a matter of interest, is the violin still in good condition?

WEBER: Mint condition. Would you like to have a look?

ROSNER: No! No way! Just looking at that old case, which I’ve known for so long, gives me all sorts of different feelings!

WEBER: Are you actually saying ‘no’ to the violin?

ROSNER: Even this morning I was so looking forward to our meeting, but now… I understand I cannot carry on playing Master Klotz’s violin! And, well, hanging a masterpiece like that on the wall, as you can see, would be an act devoid of conscience!

 

He lit a cigar, went up to the window and, standing with his back to the city, folded his arms across his chest.

 

KÖHLER: A notary does not look for a reason. I can only state the fact of your turning down the violin, and consequently, fill out all the documentation and move on. My mission will have been exhausted.

WEBER: Last word, Mr. ROSNER.

ROSNER: After many years on the road, returning to a once cherished, but obstinate woman can leave you definitively disenchanted. Forgive me.

WEBER: You’re a strange PERSON.

KÖHLER: A woman, again?

ROSNER: Yes, I’ve always associated violins with a lady. Sometimes I fall in love at first sight, but sometimes I haven’t even laid a finger on some ‘items’ - as you say - made by respected masters. I was at first, of course, fascinated by the instrument by Master Klotz, from the first sound… however, it turned out back then that our “friendship” was not possible. You well know, you can’t step into the same river twice.

WEBER: “You can’t force love”, as they say! Mister KÖHLER, fill everything out as is necessary, and let’s get out of here. I’m sorry, very sorry about this.

ROSNER: And yet: I’d like to believe that you understand my decision and won’t judge me.

KÖHLER: Judge you? I’m not paid to judge people. You will pay a fine, that’s all.

WEBER: I trust the reason behind, and the contents of, our confidential meeting will continue to remain secret. It’s in neither or our interests that the musical community learn of the maestro’s rejection of an instrument made by Mathias Klotz.

ROSNER: Oh, quite! I know how to keep quiet.

KÖHLER: (hands documents to violinist to sign): Here you’ll see the fee that you’ll have to pay for our trouble!

 

ROSNER reaches into his pocket for his cheque book and does everything the notary requires of him, and signs the papers.

 

The guests says goodbye to Mr ROSNER who, somewhat regretfully, grazes a hand over the old case holding the instrument that he has just turned down.

 

* * *

 

August 13, 1961.

23:45

The violinist is alone.

 

He sits in a large leather armchair, smokes a cigar, looks at his reflection in the mirror and there – a smile of regret distorts his face.

Yes, a lot of time has passed since then.

Now the memories make maestro ROSNER smile bitterly, but in those distant days the hopelessness of the situation meant he was verging on a nervous breakdown.

Memories, memories…

 

 

P A R T T W O

 

F E A R

 

(A few episodes from the young Jewish musician’s life in Berlin)

* * *

Music in the background: “I STILL HAVE MY SUITCASE IN BERLIN” sung by Marlene Dietrich.

 

The memories from 20 years ago take Mr ROSNER back to Berlin at the turn of the 20th century.

 

The melodies of Marlene Dietrich’s songs alternated with those of Nazi marches, based on the context of events.

 

“HORST WESSEL” can especially often be heard.

* * *

-

Episode 5
​BERLIN. 
Early 1930s.                    
​ The first months of Nazi rule.
​ Almost documentary-style, black-and-white shots:
           
 
Early morning.

The city is waking.

​Street cleaners are sweeping the roads. Milkmen are handing out drums of milk to shop owners. Fresh-out-the-oven bread and baked goods are being brought to the bread stalls from the bakeries. Barely anyone is on the trams that appear, thundering along the rails. Dustmen empty bins into waiting canvas-topped dustcarts.

Water sprays out of enormous rubber hoses onto the streets. Shutters are being opened up here and there up on the high-rise buildings – women appear on the balconies wearing aprons. First they water the flowers, then they eye the street from above, their gaze to the gloomy Berlin sky and then talk to neighbours, who are leaning out on their windowsills to whisper them “good morning” with a nod of the head:

- Good Morning!

-Hello,!
​- Looks like nice weather today, don’t you think?
- You don’t say! My husband’s joints starting playing up again yesterday. Which probably means rain.

- It’s a sure sign! Nothing you can do about it! We’ll just have to drag our umbrellas around with us!

- Absolutely.

As dawn slowly breaks, the dark grey streets gradually change colour, turning silvery in the first rays of morning sun.

There is no rain in sight. The heavy clouds drudgingly pull apart, revealing long strips of blue sky.

A sunny morning.

The first passers-by hurrying around on their errands appear, along with car and wagons carrying tanks full of kerosene. Traders are opening up their stalls and shops, lifting up the shutters – and here come the first chance buyers: taking home warm baguettes, buns, bottles of milk…

Everything is as it usually and doggedly is – from the get-go German order shows its control over the law-abiding city dwellers, but there is another Berlin – a city of Bohemians and debauchery, of hard-nosed criminals, and thieves and bloodied knives; a city of obscene rhymes in the air, of drug addicts, homosexuals, prostitutes and gangsters.

Berlin’s underworld was still asleep: its dreams filled with the foul language of street fights, bursting with the stretched faces of anaemic morphine and cocaine lovers, of city dwellers’ shrieks as they are robbed by thieves, who dump their emptied wallets into the trash. These dreams are filled with the sobbing of ladies of easy virtue, beaten black-and-blue by their pimp masters, and with the sounds of a tango and a Charleston…

The capital’s entertainment venues are in no hurry to heave open their shutters at this ungodly hour: - It’s still a long time till the evening and a respectable gentleman, such as Herr Müller, who scurries to his clerk’s office early in the morning, alas (or perhaps thankfully) does not frequent cabarets and other such seedy places.

But now, the dawning of a brand new era: the storm troopers, dogs faithful to the National Socialist party – the winners at the last elections.

Suspicious-looking youngsters wander in packs, but for longer distances they prefer holding on to trucks, blaring Horst Wessel’s song at the top of their voices, a song heard more and more on the radio since 30 January 1933, drowning out the melodic tones of Berliners’ beloved Marlene Dietrich.

 

And so, two trucks thunder over the cobbles of one of Berlin’s many streets, taking storm troops somewhere, or rather young people who have sung themselves hoarse with songs of the new times, people who would hang the poorest and most wretched elderly Jew from the nearest post without a second’s hesitation – people who (to their mind) are the greatest evil on this Earth.

 

And there, staggering along, a drunk vagrant comes zigzagging down the road (Blumenstrasse, for instance), heading towards his filthy basement of a hideout, when he spots Frau Kepke – something like that – and tips his grubby hat to her, and with a shout, greets the plump German lady:

 

- Good morning to you, dear lady!

- Morning, morning, - the lady answers, then loudly addressing the entire neighbourhood with the “two words”, - Not long now! Our Führer will soon bring order to the place!

As if in response, someone turns on the radio, thronging the air with the ubiquitous Horst Wessel melody:

- “Banners up…”

Berlin welcomes the new day with a song penned by one of the town’s peddlers who was recently murdered by the same type of scum of society – a communist with a criminal past, who was later sent in a flash to “the other world” by Wessel’s pals in retaliation.

However, the storm troopers’ and party leaders’ much-loved hymn has remained – and from daybreak it fills the city air, as if as a warning to both young and old Berliners:

- Different times are here, citizens! Quite different times!

Episode 6

 

BENJAMIN (BENNY) ROSNER’s voice, overlaid by shots of morning in Berlin:

 

- After graduating from music school in Vienna, still a promising young violinist, I was determined to continue my education not in Austria, but in Berlin, in the Higher School of Music, under Professor CARL FLESCH, who had returned to Germany from Baltimore (in the USA) and in 1928 headed the “Violin Class”.

 

Also in 1928, having waved goodbye to my parents, I arrived in Berlin, rented a room in a communal flat near Gustav Adolf-Platz, and successfully passed my exams in the Higher School of Music, the Conservatory, and in the space of nearly five years honed my playing skills under Maestro FLESCH.

 

The results of my musical education were so impressive that at the end of 1932 (December 24), at a formal gathering of the Higher Music School’s professors and students (to my surprise and immense delight!) a special decision by the rectory was announced.

 

* * *

Episode 7

 

December 24, 1932.

18:00

Conservatory Hall.

Formal gathering.

Professor FLESCH asks to speak.

Applause.

 

CARL FLESCH: Gentlemen! Your attention, please! We – the Berlin Higher School of Music and the Museum of Stringed Instruments in Mittenwald – are giving Master Klotz’s violin to our student, ROSNER, to use for ten years! BENNY, your talent has earned you this great honour. My most heart-felt congratulations! In April next year you will take your skills to the traditional Music Festival in Mittenwald, in the birthplace of the Klotz family violins masters.

ROSNER: This is a huge honour for me!

CARL FLESCH: Now, we’re all interested to know what you will surprise the music-savvy German public with? What will you play there, if it’s not a secret?

ROSNER: Mendelssohn-Bartholdy!

 

Applause.

 

CARL FLESCH: Wonderful! I wish you well!

VOICES: Bravo, Bravo! Well done, BENNY!

 

That’s how they handed me Master Klotz’s violin.

My happiness knew no bounds.

 

-

 

Episode 8

 

Everything went on as usual. I worked like an ox. Maestro didn’t hide how satisfied he was with my results.

No, no, we were certain that a furore was inevitable!

* * *

It happened already after the ill-fated day – January 30, 1933 – the day when the Nazi Party actually came to power, when old Hindenburg made Hitler Reichskanzler (Chancellor of Germany).

One day (April 7 or 8, I don’t remember exactly which) the maestro and I, as we often did, stayed some time in a small café in Berlin called Berloga – opposite our musical institution.

 

We drank coffee, ate cakes, and chatted…

 

Suddenly the professor touched on the subject of the upcoming Festival in Mittenwald, which was traditionally held once every three years.

 

CARL FLESCH: BENNY, I’m really glad that you

love Mendelssohn so much, but…

ME: Problems?

CARL FLESCH: Well, don’t you read the papers?

Look around you, at the very least.

ME: I play violin from dawn till dusk.

CARL FLESCH: And it shows. You have succeeded as a musician but “look out the window”. Look at what’s happening, just look at it! We’re in for rough times ahead.

ME: Are you talking about that Jew-fearing madman Hitler? My neighbour, Frau SCHEUBNER says that horned character won’t last half a year in power!

CARL FLESCH: Hitler hates Jews!

ME: Yes, but we have enough enemies

without Hitler!

CARL FLESCH: But just imagine: Mendelssohn, the Jewish composer, played by Rosner, the Jewish musician, with Flesch, the Jewish conductor! With that, my old friend, the Rabbi of Munich, who is a big Mendelssohn fan, is also going to be sitting in Mittenwald famous concert hall. It’s practically a synagogue! At least change the composer. Take something from your German repertoire or, at worst, play Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto – angelic music indeed. Plus you performed Tchaikovsky’s first violin concerto in Hamburg the year before last during the student holidays. A few rehearsals and everything will be shipshape, my friend! Well, just make a decision!

ME: Do calm yourself, maestro! Antisemitism will never seriously affect us. I mean, of course, you might come across some everyday excesses, but that’s it. We are apolitical musicians and nothing more. I’m not even a German citizen.

CARL FLESCH: That sounds very naïve,

young man. Everyday excesses!

ME: You think that if I don’t play Mendelssohn the Nazis will stop persecuting the Jews?

CARL FLESCH: Sometimes it seems that your performances at the Festival might well not happen at all. I said, “might”! Caution is a valuable asset these days, but, I confess, these are just the assumptions of an old, slightly cowardly professor!

ME: Cowardly?

CARL FLESCH: Well, just a little! I want to hope that the authority of the Berlin Higher School of Music will not allow politicians or their accomplices to interfere with the sacred arts. Plus, the Festival is an international event. It seems to me that at the beginning of their time in power the Nazis would gain little by opposing a musical celebration. Plus, I was told by people in the know that there are a lot of people in the National-Socialist Party who are decent, educated and loyal to humanistic ideals, and don’t find this clown Hitler to their liking.

ME: Then we’ll play Tchaikovsky next time, but this spring, dear Maestro, let the violin of Germany’s Master Klotz ­­pay homage to the talent of Mendelssohn, the Jew. They deserve each other!

 

The maestro waved his hand.

 

CARL FLESCH: Fine! Agreed. You’ve convinced me.

Let it all be the way it was planned.

ME: Mendelssohn’s music should sound

ever more majestic to spite the Nazis!

CARL FLESCH: You sly old dog, BENNY!

Jewish and so cunning!

ME: And perhaps I’m German or,

worst case scenario, Italian?

CARL FLESCH: As the Nazis say, you, young man, have “wrong nose”! Which means you’re a Jew, and a cunning one!

 

We started laughing loudly.

 

ME: I hope the date of my performance won’t be changed? Are we still on for April the 20th?

CARL FLESCH: Yes, Thursday, April 20, 1933 it is. Garçon, two cognacs and another two coffees (he asks the waiter).

ME: But professor, I’m just…

CARL FLESCH: One small glass, my boy, won’t do you any harm. But no more, no more. We have to drink, we really do, to your impending success and to Master Klotz’s violin. Indeed they say, “a Yid hanged himself for the Company”!

ME: I’ll do it.

CARL FLESCH: No, no, this is the start of a brilliant career. You’re a very talented violinist. The time will come when you’ll have a violin by the great Stradivarius in your hands to show off. But for now, make friends with that impeccable instrument, made by the German master from Mittenwald. Believe an experienced musician – fortune will always be on your side! BENNY, look after your God-given gift and increase it with hard work. To you! To Master Klotz’s legacy and to me as well, God damn it!

ROSNER: Maestro, it is a great pleasure to be called you student! To your health!

 

That evening, my head was spinning just after that one – one glass of cognac; after all, it was the first glass I’d ever had.

Then, I gradually sobered up, came to my senses, and calmly accompanied the maestro home.

* * *

But precisely that evening, on the way home, remembering the look of alarm on the professor’s face when he spoke about the politics of the Nazis, the start of the oppressing of the Jews, the “advantages” of Tchaikovsky over Mendelssohn, I first experienced that feeling of FEAR that I hadn’t previously known, the feeling of bleak uncertainty EMERGING INSIDE ME, but very soon the “culprit of the alarm” had been identified: the first glass of cognac I’d ever had!

I relaxed and, humming the melody from the film Blue Angel, quickly headed home, carefully cradling in my arms the case holding Master Klotz’s violin.

* * *

Episode 9

Berlin. 1933.

A typical morning at number 33 on Glücklichstrasse – an old, well-built Berlin house. ‘V’ residents in the communal flat each greeted the new day in their own way: running down the long corridor, banging and crashing in the kitchen, a dissatisfied grumbling by the door to the bathroom or the toilet, sounds from the radio, conversations, ladies gossiping…

A young man (BENNY ROSNER) goes out onto the balcony, clumsily waving his arms around – as if attempting morning exercises. From deep inside the room, Marlene Dietrich can be heard singing on the radio.

 

* * *

BENNY ROSNER explains:

 

In our flat there lived lodgers (including me) who rented rooms from the owner, a Mr KRAUSE, who owned five-room apartments on the second floor, right above a pub called the Helles–Bergschloss–bier.

 

In the room next to mine lived a cabaret singer and dancer – a pretty thing called MARIKA ERDELY.

She slept during the day, and when evening came she went to work.

 

MARIKA came to Berlin from Budapest and, as with all cabaret singers, she dreamed about working in Paris. So desperately wanting to get on a train from Berlin to Paris, the German capital was just a stopover point for MARIKA.

 

Episode 10

 

MARIKA and I often saw each other in the mornings on the stairwell in the house, when I was heading to the Conservatory and she, quite the opposite, was returning home from work, as in the “Berlin Bear Cub” cabaret.

 

When we met, MARIKA would gently touch my hand, and we would strike up a conservation.

 

MARIKA: BENNY, you’ve put on weight again!

 

(In truth, she was right: I was always “sneaking” sweet and bready-type things, and I loved fine wines and liqueurs)

 

ME: (Brazenly denying my chubbiness)

Absolutely not! You just think that!

MARIKA: I know very well you can’t go past Mrs Hisler’s bakery without a second look! Don’t go overboard on the sweet and bready-type things. Now, just look at me!

 

Right then she grabbed onto her thighs with both hands provocatively, spun on the spot and brazenly stuck out her backside, repeating the same phrase.

 

MARIKA: Ah, my boy, only Paris can assuage me! Only Paris!

ME: Well, there are enough entertainment venues in Berlin! You’re beautiful, popular, have your own circle of male fans and berserk female fans, you earn well and, I’m sure, you’ll soon become a star of European cabaret!

 

My words of praise made her laugh.

 

MARIKA: Thank God I’ve been lounging around in bed already and that haven’t seen that grey monstrosity outside they call Berlin. And the cabaret bars here are only refined pubs. The Prussians have no imagination. I should be living life to the full, and seeing not you every morning, my little one, but the sails spinning on the Moulin Rouge, or at the very least, the Eiffel Tower.

 

* * *

Then she looked intently at her attractive breasts, which were almost fully uncovered for the world to see, tugged the plunging neckline of her tight-fitting dress down and, spotting me blush, flung herself at me.

 

ME: Have you gone mad! Frau Sontag will throw us both out of the window! She goes to see Hans Axman the milkman at this time! More to the point, I’m engaged!

MARIKA: BENNY, you know that it’s women that mainly get me going! Don’t get upset. I’m certainly not planning on getting married to you, and Frau Sontag is a monster; let her go and take care of her fat-bottomed German women, who get up to god-knows-what after their Sunday services at Church! But come on, BENNY, why don’t we go to Paris together? I’ll sing and dance, and you’ll play the fiddle in, let’s say, the Moulin Rouge! At the very worst you’ll be entertaining people on the Champs-Elysées – street musicians get plenty of money!

ME: Have you forgotten again that I have a fiancée? Moulin Rouge? Champs-Elysées? If only maestro CARL FLESCH could hear you now!

 

After this we went our separate ways till the next morning.

 

Yes, she didn’t hide that she was attracted mostly to women; underscoring her “active” beginning, MARIKA ERDELY regularly dressed in black-and-white men’s suits.

 

Close-fitting jackets, flared trousers, white shirts with gold cufflinks and thick ties of varying colours or silk scarves – that was her style.

She looked very elegant dressed that way, and even more so when she decorated her beautiful head with a wide-brimmed hat, twizzling a silver-trimmed cane in her hand.

A beautiful lady! I enjoyed talking with her.

I’ll say it openly: that restless and temperamental Magyar was of constant amusement to me, and that’s all, for I loved a girl called ESTHER.

 

Episode 11

 

Once I nearly hit the roof when MARIKA, having met me somewhere in town, started talking about our neighbour HEINRICH STETKE, an artist and sculptor from the sixth floor.

Above the apartment, he had an enormous workshop instead of an attic, whose windows sparkled when the cold, northern sun looked in, even in winter.

 

MARIKA: Have I got news for you, BENNY. You’ll die laughing. Yesterday, that idiot STETKE (from the sixth floor) asked me to pose for him with half my clothes off or even (if I agreed!) totally naked! He wants to draw “The Bathing of Brunhilda in the Magical Spring”.

ME: STETKE the artist? The gigantomanic painter who’s also a monumentalist sculptor? The upholder of National-Socialistic ideas? I detest him! And what did you tell him?

MARIKA: O, «Meine Liebe», the answer I gave him was quite vague. Let him hope I’ll strip off in front of him!

ME: Do you really want to “turn into” Brunhilda?

MARIKA: Tell me you’re jealous and I’ll kiss you! Just once! No more! You’re engaged, after all! Well, and I’m mostly turned on by women! Remember that and stop ogling my bottom!

ME: Yes, I’m engaged to a modest,

beautiful Jewish girl, and your STETKE is a Nazi!

MARIKA: My STETKE? Ha-ha..

ME: I do not recommend you take your clothes off for random Nazi artists!

MARIKA: (Laughing) Oh yeah? And maybe you’re in love with me? If that’s so, I’ll tell STETKE ‘no’. Joking, joking…

ME: Brunhilda!

MARIKA: Fine, and who is she, this Brunhilda?

ME: I don’t know! Must be something from an old German fairy tale or myth.

MARIKA: From a fairy tale? How romantic! STETKE will fill the bath up with hot water, I – completely naked – will slide into the tub. And then he will draw, draw, draw me, and say a lot of various stupid, stupid, stupid things. I already find it amusing!

ME: Ah, what happy little things we are.

MARIKA: This is no time for irony. After all, I haven’t made my mind up yet.

ME: I hope you have enough wits about you to tell STETKE – who’s got enough on his plate – you won’t do it: he’s been making sketches of a super portrait of Hitler.

MARIKA: What? Well, that is news.

ME: Don’t pretend now!

MARIKA: How should I know? I come home in the morning, go out late in the evening. Do you mean to say that Hitler has been at my shows? God speed!

ME: I haven’t seen him, but Frau SCHEUBNER, who’s not been best-pleased by these visits, is always grumbling, and Frau SONTAG, the artist’s housekeeper, is on the verge of crying with ecstasy! It turns out they nearly came to blows over it. ARNO was telling me about it.

MARIKA: Well, the things that go on in our house.

ME: Can you imagine, STETKE has to draw

a portrait 3 metres tall!

MARIKA: And why not 5 or 10 metres?

Apparently these Nazis have a penchant for

all things gigantic.

ME: The bad thing is that Hitler’s visits paralyse the entire street – there are storm troopers on every corner stopping and searching people for no good reason! Hitler’s around? Then you can bet you can’t go into your home until the freshly-baked Reichskanzler has left the place.

MARIKA: And when will all this nonsense end?

ME: Ask STETKE! You’re his friend after all!

MARIKA: Can you imagine if I suddenly see Hitler in that artist’s workshop or in the entrance to our building. I’ll die of fright! Ok, BENNY! I give you my word, there’ll be no Brunhilda.

ME: Honest?

MARIKA: I still have to think about it…

 

And laughing, she said goodbye to me, advanced a few steps and then spun round abruptly and said:

 

MARIKA: Honest, honest, BENNY!

 

* * *

Talking with MARIKA I felt like an absolutely liberated person – often joking, played the buffoon and even get up to mischief.

When it happened that we didn’t see each other in the morning, I felt a little flat, but I love ESTHER and only her!

 

Episode 12

 

Apart from MARIKA, the others living in the communal flat were:

 

1. OTTO BRACK – a lonely, fat PERSON, about 55 years old – owner of a stall on Mittelstrasse where his trade is all this smoked and cured – sausages, Krakow sausages, ham and so on. He was a vehement Nazi loyalist – he was constantly in storm trooper uniform.

 

2. Frau HELGA SCHEUBNER (typical German housekeeper) and her husband Mr KONRAD SCHNEUBER (disabled WWI veteran, hero of the Battle of Artois, who got about in a wheelchair and was always dressed in military overcoat decorated with the crosses awarded to him, covering his legs like a Scottish shawl; he was always meticulously shaven and for some reason always holding a loaded rifle).

 

3. ARNO BACH, 38 years old – a very interesting subject – a physicist, engineer, whose calling was to be a pyrotechnic chargeman, a handyman – a complete scatterbrain, but I found him likeable as at least he had such a musical surname. In the time he didn’t spend preparing explosive devices (bombs, firecrackers, fireworks, and so on) he, as I found out, was rather fond of watch mechanisms.

 

* * *

OTTO BRACK, of course, had no sympathy for me as a Jew.

When I played the violin at home, that poisonous man during his radio up full blast, from which Adolf Hitler’s agitated voice constantly emanated (particularly after January 30, 1933 – the day the Nazis actually won).

 

So that is how this housemate wanted to interfere with my music playing, but this unfortunate fellow did not know about my extraordinary ability to concentrate of my favourite thing: when I played on the violin, my hearing apparatus tuned out the Führer and I, BENNY ROSNER, could wholeheartedly enjoy the work of great composers.

 

For an outsider looking on, the picture was simply comical:

For example:

1. To the melody from Tartini’s Devil’s Trill sonata, OTTO BRACK’s radio added the sound of Hitler’s voice giving these instructions:

“If you remember that Frederick the Great stood up to his adversary, twenty times greater in strength, then you’ll even seem like a shitty little failure to yourself…”

 

2. Over a backdrop of melodious passages of Grieg’s Sonata No. 2, Hitler shouted:

“Norway will become Northern Europe’s central electric power station. That way, Norwegians will finally fulfil their duty to Europe…”

 

3. Beethoven’s Sonata No. 5 was decorated with the newly-minted Reichskanzler ordering Germans about again:

“We will no longer allow Germans to emigrate to America…”

 

4. The Führer’s voice boomed over the melody of Wieniawski’s Polonaise:

“Many Jews are unaware of the destructive nature of their existence. But he who destroys life condemns himself to death, and nothing else can happen with him!”

 

5. Fragments of melodies from Brahms Concerto for violin and orchestra (in D major) were broken through by Hitler’s voice:

“You should not value the life of every single living creature so highly. If that life is necessary, it will not die!”

 

And so on.

 

Of course, Mr BRACK was surprised by my patience and my not entering into conflict with him.

 

It nearly drove the shopkeeper to insanity – he turned off the radio, came out into the corridor, stopped by my door and yelled with all his might:

 

«Die Fahne hoch! Die Raihen fast geschlossen!

SA marschiert mit ruhig fastem Schritt!....»

 

I answered the Horst Wessel song, which had set my teeth on edge, with passages of fantasies on themes from Carmen the opera in the interpretation of Sarasate.

In my personal fight with Nazism my Olympic levels of placidity were winning, and, of course, my talent for not listening to anything besides music - let alone for not taking the ravings of a madman, however high the podium from which he spouted it might be.

 

Everything ended with Mr BRACK issuing an aggressive battle-cry:

“Jews out of Germany! German beer will improve without them!”

 

Episode 13

 

While I was in the kitchen brewing my morning coffee, as usual, I saw a few of my housemates and, despite my various sympathies and “antipathies”, wished every one of them a good morning.

 

ME: Good morning.

FRAU SCHEUBNER: Hello, Mr ROSNER.

BRACK: Heil Hitler!

(He thrust forward his right arm)

FRAU SCHEUBNER: I made you some meat pies yesterday and kept them for you, BENNY! There they are on the plate covered with the napkin. Help yourself, too, OTTO.

ME: Thank you.

BRACK: Thank you very much. They appear to be from pork meat, but the pies are delicious, as always, and you’ll really like them, Mr ROSNER.

FRAU SCHEUBNER:You obnoxious person, OTTO! What are you talking about ‘pork’, they’re beef pies!

ME: I know they’re beef pies, but to spite you, Mr BRACK, I would eat pork ones, too!

BRACK: What a heroic gesture! And perhaps you’re not a Jew?

ME: Anything’s possible.

BRACK: The shape of your skull speaks volume: I know better than that! I hope that soon our apartment will be rid of not only this improper skull, but also of that improper music and you, to the joy of decent Germans, will return to Vienna.

ME: Improper? And pray tell, which music is proper music?

BRACK: Folk music and jolly marches!

ME: And what’s Wagner? Where did you lose him?

FRAU SCHEUBNER:OTTO’s never heard anyone of that name!

BRACK: That’s where you’re wrong. Our Führer has this to say: “When I listen to Wagner, I sense the rhythms of the Ancient World”.

FRAU SCHEUBNER: Haha! How sweet! Six months from now your Hitler will be nowhere to be seen! Everyone knows he’s a temporary figure. We Germans are not so stupid as to put up with a madman at the head of the government. You look, it’s not BENNY who should be leaving Berlin, but you and your “jolly” company that should be scuttling out of Germany to the sound of that marching music.

BRACK: We won the election, and we came to power to build the Third Reich!

FRAU SCHEUBNER: I, a German, say to you, and I am deadly serious: you come to destroy us, but this will never happen!

BRACK: I suspect you, Frau SCHEUBNER, are reading Marx by night, and meeting the Raised Fist/Red Front committeemen by day!

FRAU SCHEUBNER: And what’s it got to do with you?

BRACK: I am a patriot!

ME: Calm down, Mr BRACK. It’s plain to see your blood pressure has gone up. You’re all, excuse the colour, red. I will most certainly be leaving Germany after I’ve performed my Mendelssohn violin concerto and shall not attempt to teach you, Germans, any sense. It’s got nothing to do with me who sits in the Reichstag – Hitler or some other Hohenzollern! Thank God in Austria the Jewish communities live in peace and tranquillity.

BRACK: What Austria is there? Where have you seen this Austria? Austria is a part of the great fatherland, and Mendelssohn is a Jew, and I do not like the sound of your concert!

ME: We’re already printing the posters. So, I’m going to be playing Mendelssohn on Thursday, April the 20th, in Mittenwald – to spite you and your party! It was all already decided two months ago!

BRACK: Two months ago Germany was being run by idiots! Ha ha ha…

FRAU SCHEUBNER: They might well have been idiots, but at least they weren’t madmen!

BRACK: What’s the difference?

FRAU SCHEUBNER: Poor Germany!

BRACK: OK. Let’s talk about the fate of our fatherland another time. I have a full day ahead today.

FRAU SCHEUBNER: Really? And I’ve got ham

that needs selling!

BRACK: I’m on official business!

FRAU SCHEUBNER: Well, that is news. What an honour,

what an honour…

BRACK: There’s nothing to hide! This evening we’re going to be burning books that are harmful to our nation! The flames of the pyre will cleanse the filthy air over Berlin!

ME: And whose books might you be burning, Mr BRACK?

BRACK: I don’t know yet, but the list has been ratified by the Student Union and there are no mistakes!

FRAU SCHEUBNER: And there I was thinking you were going, “as per usual”, to the theatre or the opera this evening.

BRACK: Are you joking?

FRAU SCHEUBNER: What are you talking about! After all you’re the “intelligent” one round here!

BRACK: Intelligent? Please do not offend me, dear lady! As for theatres and operas, we National-Socialists will get to those hotbeds of Jewish culture, and I mean we’ll get to them! When I hear the word “culture” I want to fire a gun!

FRAU SCHEUBNER: Oh well, OTTO, you were in a hurry, it seems. And now I’ve got a headache from all your talking! Now take your tea and go in peace!

BRACK: Wait, wait, wait just a second! BENNY, you said your concert is scheduled for April the 20th, is that right?

ME: Yes, April the 20th, a Thursday, at 8pm sharp in Mittenwald.

BRACK: On our dear Führer’s birthday?

ME: What’s that got to do with anything? Just a coincidence, that’s all.

BRACK: No, Mr ROSNER, it’s not a coincidence. That is malicious intent!

ME: Have you gone completely mad?

BRACK: Do you think we’ll allow, on the day of celebration for all patriots, music by a Jewish Mendelssohn to be played by a Jewish ROSNER? And perhaps your conductor’s a Jew as well? I suppose you’ve already looked and got some Zionist! Come on, own up…

ME: None of your business! Why don’t you go and stand guard outside STETKE’s door – the Führer’s got plenty of enemies! At the very least go and pick up firewood for the pyre to burn some books on. It’s your path, you were appointed!

BRACK: Yes, I fear for the life of our nation’s leader. I was against these domestic visits for the sessions. Really, STETKE should go and visit the Führer and make the sketches there, but our Reichskanzler is very humble. He values the work of artists! The Führer draws beautifully himself, and he’s a dab-hand at architecture, too. Heil Hitler!

FRAU SCHEUBNER: Good morning to you, OTTO, and please stop trying to make this incomprehensible “Heil Hitler” a part of everyday speech, instead of the usual, normal greeting we use.

BRACK: I advise you to get used to the new times, dear lady. We shall indeed refine the German language soon, as it’s recently become a rather dull thing with no patriotic spark. Here are some examples of everyday phrases an Aryan needs: “Hands up!”, “Open fire!”, “Everybody down!”, “Death to the Jews!”, “Heil Hitler”. I have honour.

 

Episode 14

 

Before leaving the house, as usual KONRAD SCHEUBNER, trundling along into the corridor in his wheelchair, accompanied me out.

After January 30, 1933, the conversations were always on the same subject.

 

KONRAD: BENNY, how are you doing? When’s the concert?

ME: Soon. I can take you to Mittenwald.

KONRAD: Yes, of course you can. You Jews know how to keep your word.

ME: Finally I’ve heard something nice about myself in this house.

KONRAD: Have I ever told you about Silberstein? He fought with me on the western line and was a sly little thing.

ME: You’ve told me a few times.

KONRAD: So, you listen to me carefully. That Silberstein often went over the front line, sorted out his mischief with the French and so, in the end, us Germans we holding French rifles, and the French were firing at the enemy, i.e. our soldiers, with German weapons! Funny, no?

ME: I’m lost for words!

KONRAD: And back then he was serving in the 2nd company of the first reserve battalion, you know, he was elected Reichskanzler and STETKE’s painting him! Pffft, damn it…

ME: Hitler!

KONRAD: Have I talked about him?

ME: Yes, of course, more than once.

KONRAD: Right, so listen to me carefully. This Hitler was brave, no doubt, but he was also a little crazy; he never touched schnapps or tobacco. I’ve always been suspicious of people who don’t drink. I didn’t like Hitler, and he didn’t like Jews. From dawn till dusk the only thing he talked about was Jews. That mouthy corporal dumped not only all of Germany’s, but the entire Solar System’s woes on the Jews! We laughed at him, but can you see what an important persona that Austrian, Hitler, has hatched? Here’s my advice, BENNY: up sticks and leave Germany, and quickly. I don’t like this Nazi lord coming to power, I don’t.

 

Often our conversations were interrupted by the sound of a small explosive ‘crack’ coming from ARNO BACH’s room. Already used to it, Mr SCHNEUBER and I used to go and fearfully look in on the housemate, always finding that engineer and explosives-expert of ours in the same position – hanging by one hand from the chandelier, with a half-cremated thatch of hair and a face blackened by the smoke. And of course his things were strewn around the spacious room.

 

At the time, the engineer tried to smile, but his grimace always wanted made me want to cry.

 

ARNO BACH: Good morning, gentlemen!

 

We retreated without saying a word and then KONRAD SCHEUBNER in a quiet voice yet again insisted on the complete rubbish – not so much to me, but rather trying to convince himself of the housemate’s lunacy.

 

KONRAD: They say our engineer is drinking sulphuric acid instead of his morning coffee!

 

My answer made me sound like an idiot.

 

ME: What are you on about! Is that possible?

KONRAD: I believe it is! Of course!

 

In the end, laden with all the morning’s inspirations, and a little fatigued by the “kitchen debate” between OTTO BRACK and FRAU SCHEUBNER, I ended up in the entranceway.

 

As I go down the stairs I normally bump into MARIKA, returning from her night shift at the infamous “Berlin Bear Cub” cabaret.

 

My mood was always lightened by meeting that happy Magyar girl so much that, as I left home, my smiled at the whole of Berlin, which in turn prompted some passers-by to be suspicious of the state of my mental health.

 

Episode 15

(A Day in the Life of Benny Rosner in Berlin)

April 14, 1933.

07:30

 

That morning ARNOLD (ARNO) BACH was waiting for me at the door to our flat.

 

ARNO: BENNY, it’s done!

 

He was holding my silver watch with its gold and gold-plated chain, which our engineer had been mending for three months.

* * *

Frankly speaking, I never really expected I’d get it back with a working mechanism.

Two or three times I had politely asked the engineer to return “my goods”, which my father had bought me about 5 years again in Switzerland as a present for my first public audition at the Zurich Conservatory.

ARNO flatly refused to return the watch to me, saying that the tuning of the musical mechanism required a lot of time and attention.

I should note that my pocket watch played Strauss’s Blue Danube every 30 minutes and I didn’t even need to open the lid: after every 30 minutes ticked by, the tune came out of my jacket pocket – lifting my heart and reminding me of VIENNA, my hometown and the most beautiful city in Europe.

* * *

And so, on the morning of April 14 he turned my watch to me!

ME: Thank you, ARNO! Finally!

How much do I owe you?

ARNO: Ah, you know I won’t accept money

from my neighbours.

ME: But you’ve been tinkering with my watch for nearly three months. You’ve spent ages on it. I feel awkward.

ARNO: For the most talented musician in Berlin, I don’t mind.

ME: Thank you. Does it play?

ARNO: Works and plays! And does it play! Please, there’s no need to open the watch up now.

ME: What’s wrong?

ARNO: Open it when you go out!

 

He laughed and brought his right index finger up to his temple.

 

ARNO: I’m also a little genius.

 

I looked at him suspiciously.

 

ME: I hope you haven’t put a bomb in my watch!

ARNO: How badly you think of me!

I’ve practically pulled off a miracle!

A watch with a surprise!

ME: OK, ARNO, thanks again.

I’m in your debt. See you.

ARNO: Good bye, BENNY!

Remember only to open it once you’re outside!

ME: OK, but you’ve intrigued me!

 

Finally I left the flat, but – to my annoyance – had missed MARIKA; our morning meetings were a good sign for me. I was confused, but there was certainly no time for any distracting thoughts.

It was the day I was meant to be “polishing” the opening and finale sections of Mendelssohn-Bartholdy’s violin concerto at the Conservatory.

* * *

There was plenty of time left until the beginning of the rehearsal.

First of all, I decided to stop by the printer’s to make sure the posters had been printed and sent to Mittenwald.

Besides which, I absolutely had to meet ESTHER’s father, a tailor known throughout Berlin, by the name of SOLOMON HIRSCH – he was sewing my first ever concert tails.

 

Last of all, I had to make sure once again with the HIRSCH family – who were so dear to me – that ESTHER and I were getting on the “Munich train” that night to go to Mittenwald.

 

We were engaged and, of course, I wanted to dedicate my auspicious performance at the Festival to her, happily defiantly presenting ESTHER, who would be welling up with tears, with flowers in front of the audience.

* * *

Mr HIRSCH’s workshop was on the way to the Conservatory (the Berlin Higher School of Music) and I had previously sampled the happiness of meeting Fraulein ESTER, from the first fitting for my tails – as I wanted to look smart for my “fateful concert”.

 

I had in my had the case holding the violin made by Master Klotz and it seemed passers-by were giving me looks of admiration, as if they knew that the case held one of the most beautiful-sounding stringed instruments in Germany.

 

It was drizzling April showers.

 

I always treated the violin like a beloved woman, held in the arms of an emotional medieval knight in armour, ready to lay down his life to honour this darling lady.

 

Walking along the pavement, I often stopped and squeezed the case up against my chest, as if to feel the instrument’s heart beating as one with my pulse.

 

Despite the rainy weather, I was feeling upbeat.

* * *

At the tram stop I remembered about the watch – and shivering with excitement I took the ticking device out of my jacket pocket, and carefully lifted up the lid.

 

Suddenly ARNO BACH’s surprise kept me waiting no longer: I listened raptly to the watch’s music. Then closed it a few times, only to reopen the lid.

 

Ah, my God, the melody was the one and only… the Hava Nagila!

 

Only the last schmuck on God’s earth didn’t know the “Hava Nagila”, the Jewish song with Abraham Zevi Idelsohn’s words set to the old Hasidic melody!

 

The song – which means “Let’s Rejoice!” – was normally sung at family celebrations and we children always sang it from the bottom of our hearts to the grown-ups:

“Uru, uru ahim! Uru ahim be-lev cameah” – “Awake, awake, brothers! Awake brothers with a happy heart!”

 

Of course, I had nothing against the song itself, but in Berlin, where anti-Semitic sentiment was gradually gaining strength, walking around the city opening up your watch, telling someone what the time was with the watch blaring out the “Hava Nagila”, to put it lightly, could be seen as a Jewish protest against the new government’s anti-Semitism .

 

I should add that the melody played quite loudly, and only a deaf person wouldn’t hear it.

 

The watch was only silent when the lid was closed, so finding out the time without hearing the “Hava Nagila” was not possible.

Well, that was a surprise!

ARNO BACH had really stitched me up!

 

I decided I would have a talk with him in the correct manner, but for now I would have to walk around the city escorted by the extremely popular Jewish song.

 

And in the end, I was able to hide the watch, but my inner decency would not allow me to deceive people: Lord knows who or where I had to hurry to! That’s how I reasoned with myself and suddenly the tram came into view in the distance, trundling noisily along the rails.

 

Episode 16.

April 14, 1933.

08:00

 

So, I got into a half-empty Berlin tram and headed off towards the printing house.

There was long wooden seating along both sides of the carriage.

Passengers were half-heartedly looking up and down at each other, reading newspapers or eavesdropping on strangers’ conversations.

The conductor was shouting out the names of the stops at the top of his voice; people were getting on and off the tram, after which the carriage went the distance between the streets and the squares, and back again.

 

On the morning of April 14, 1933, I remembered a conversation between two German women sitting next to me, sat with bags with bottles of milk and baguettes on their laps.

They were talking about the things that they had both bought.

 

FIRST FRAU: What wonderfully baked bread!

Do you mind my asking where you bought it?

SECOND FRAU: At Mitwol’s on Buterbrodstrasse, but he’s a few pfennigs more than you’ll find in most bakeries, but they sell milk for the same price everywhere, but as you know, there’s a lack of it at the moment and shoppers aren’t always able to get some and a forced to queue up all morning. My dear lady, the post-war times, alas, have gone on and are still with us.

FIRST FRAU: We’ll just have to hope for the best. After all, things are changing…

SECOND FRAU: And the government is also changing.

FIRST FRAU: They say people live on hope. Do you think that one with the moustache will be able to bring about some order?

SECOND FRAU: Oh, yes! He’s bursting with energy! I find his speeches on the radio so arousing – I’ll tell you for nothing, it takes 10 years off me, and I get the urge to play a naughty little game on the sofa with my man! Ah, honest to God!

FIRST FRAU: Oh, come off it. Really?

SECOND FRAU: Our Führer is hot stuff. And most importantly, he protects the interests of Germans; he’s trying to return us some of that lost self-esteem. After we lost the war and that humiliating Treaty of Versailles we were all washed out, and our once “Stately Berlin” was transformed into Sodom and Gomorrah – drug addicts everywhere, thieves, gangsters, homosexuals, prostitutes and swindlers. And whose hands does this all play into? The Jews’, of course! Just look around; just look. The Jews are now even fatter.

FIRST FRAU: They say the “Jewish question” is now more relevant than ever before!

SECOND FRAU: I’ll tell you a secret, from one German lady to another, that there are big changes afoot both here and abroad.

FIRST FRAU: How do you know?

SECOND FRAU: My brother joined the ranks of the National Socialists before the “victory”. Even while times were tough for the party, he always used to help out his comrades!

FIRST FRAU: You don’t say!

SECOND FRAU: The Nazis have it all planned month-by-month. Real plans, real things! But to start with, they’ll sort out the Jews – that’s for sure!

FIRST FRAU: How?

SECOND FRAU: How should I know? But they’ll deal with them, don’t you worry!

FIRST FRAU: Let me put it another way: perhaps there’s no point blaming all our problems and failures on the poor Jews? Look, one of my relatives’ families was always friendly with their neighbours, a couple called the Katznelsons, and later they had a daughter, who went on to marry the Katznelsons’ son. He’s a decent young man – works in the bank as a clerk.

SECOND FRAU: They intermarried with Jews? My God, they’ve killed their daughter! And they had no one to guide them back to the path of the righteous? Please pass on my condolences to your nieces and nephews. They have difficult days ahead.

FIRST FRAU: At the end of it, the young people will end up going to Warsaw. The Katznelsons have relatives with money there. They own a diamond-cutting company.

SECOND FRAU: That’s a good solution. They’re all trash – Poles, Russians or the Jews. The main thing is to cleanse Germany, and then we Germans will live in glory.

FIRST FRAU: And who was it that thought all this up?

SECOND FRAU: Our guy, with the moustache. Congratulations – we don’t even have to think anymore – he knows everything, and he’s assuming all the responsibility for German people’s actions. Finally, Germany has a true, strong master – Adolf Hitler!

FIRST FRAU: How interesting! You’ve opened my eyes, but what a pity! Ah, here’s my stop. I must bid you farewell. Good bye.

SECOND FRAU: Good bye and be careful! Stay away from the Jews and the Communists. We have no greater enemies! Farewell.

 

The FIRST FRAU left the tram at the stop and here I could not stop myself; I turned abruptly to look at the SECOND FRAU.

 

The conversation between the two women had opened my eyes to the reality of things more than any article I had read in all those liberal newspapers.

 

ME: Do you not think, dear lady, that this notorious “Jewish question” will drive half the population of Germany mad?

SECOND FRAU: And why only half the population, my good man?... Wait a second, wait a second – ah, of course, you’re a Jew! That nose could certainly make up for any passport! Just you remember, Jew, that we Germans are now one united nation and, following the orders of our Führer, we live as one – either we rise together out of the ashes of our humiliating war defeat, or we die together! There’ll be no more “halves” or “quarters”. Just one people! Just one people!

 

The man in the black glasses sitting opposite from me could no longer keep quiet and turned to the SECOND FRAU.

 

MAN IN BLACK GLASSES: What notion of “ashes” are you talking about, madam? Your thugs from the so-called “storm trooper ranks” and “Student Union” are burning Heine’s books in a pyre!

SECOND FRAU: Not Heine’s – Heine the Jew’s books! Good riddance to him!

MAN IN BLACK GLASSES: His work is a classic of German literature, although you wouldn’t understand that, and it’d be less painful for me to be deaf, blind and dumb in my own fatherland than see this complete mess!

ME: Now that’s a good solution to the question – be deaf, blind and dumb! Yes, the gentlemen’s hands will be untied and then they’ll push the German people into the abyss!

SECOND FRAU: We’re not fighting against the German people; we’re fighting against you – Jews – and you’ll certainly be thrown onto the heap.

ME: Thank the Lord, I’m actually from Austria and your problems won’t affect me, but while pyres burn on the streets of German cities, while they burn Heine’s books, history will pass a severe sentence on you Germans.

 

And this is where it turned into a real scandal. The passengers on the tram split into two opposing factions and starting hurling accusations at each other:

 

- Down with the Marxists!

- The National Socialists are Germany’s true downfall!

- The Jewish Conspiracy – that’s what the whole nation should stand up against!

- Shopping prices are going up!

- Hitler will put everything in its rightful place! Believe him and we are saved!

- Hitler is certainly not the same as Bismarck!

………………………

I managed to jump off the tram after I felt the hostile gaze of a broad-shouldered man, who was clenching his fists in readiness to attack enemy number one – the Jew – and this was a Jew with a violin. If a fight had broken out in the carriage, then I wouldn’t be carrying Master Klotz’s instrument anyone, but a bunch of wooden splinters.

 

And then I decided – never to get involved in German quarrels, just to concentrate on my own things and, after April 20, leave the country as fast as possible – a country I was witnessing turning into something that was incomprehensible and alien to me.

 

 

Episode 17

April 14, 1933

08:30

 

At the Guttenberg Heritage printing house I knocked on director MAX LUTZE’s office door, then poked my head into the room and seeing Mr Lutze (a plump, bald man, whose trousers were held up by wide, red braces) waved me into his room.

 

We met like old friends, although he and I had only spoken once before, here precisely a month ago when we discussed how the poster should look for the concert slated for April 20 that year in Mittenwald.

 

LUTZE: Ah, my dear ROSNER, hello there! How are you doing? What’s new? I’ve been expecting you since yesterday! The Berlin Higher School of Music transferred the money to cover the cost of printing the concert posters into my bank account exactly a week ago! So, we sent them off to Mittenwald yesterday and they’ve probably already been put up all over the city by now. So, please convey to dear Professor FLESCH that everything is in order. I haven’t had the chance to call him. Business, business…

ME: I’m immensely pleased, Mr LUTZE!

LUTZE: So, have a look, open one up. Do you like it?

ME: Very nice; very nice indeed!

LUTZE: Take a seat, take a seat, Mr ROSNER!

Catch your breath! Coffee?

ME: I will, if it’s no bother.

LUTZE: (at the top of his voice) GRETCHEN! Two cups of coffee, dear. Please, take your coat off, dear BENNY, make yourself comfortable, let’s talk, he-he, we’ll have a gossip.

ME: Thank you, Sir.

 

I sat in the armchair next to the desk.

 

LUTZE: I must admit, I’m very pleased we’ve met. There’s been so much said and written about you. It’s a great honour for me to have printed the first poster for a musician with such a big future ahead of him. Your maestro FLESCH says the whole world will know about ROSNER in a few years’ time.

ME: Don’t exaggerate! I haven’t shown myself as anything special so far. We’ll see how they react in Mittenwald. If everything goes to plan, I’ll go back to Vienna with my head held high.

LUTZE: And when are you planning on leaving

for Vienna?

ME: Soon. There’s nothing for me to do in Berlin anymore.

LUTZE: I wish you all the best.

ME: Yes, I really hope everything works out. My career as a musician depends on it, and God forbid I “stuff up” my performance. It’s well known that the German public is spoiled musically. I’m a little worried, if truth be told.

LUTZE: Everything will be fine;

everything will be wonderful, my young friend.

ME: I know the Festival organizers will definitely send you out an invitation. I hope you and your wife will grace me with your presence in Mittenwald.

LUTZE: Yes, of course. It’s a great honour for us.

I will certainly come.

 

Here GRETCHEN – a beautiful blonde – brought in on a tray two coffees of coffee with biscuits and sugar, and before leaving the room, she tenderly touched my shoulder, saying:

 

GRETCHEN: You know I’ll come to the concert with MAX! They say there’s still snow in Mittenwald. Maybe I’ll be able to do some skiing!

 

She headed for the door. My eyes, absorbed, followed her; this German lady was indeed painfully “appetizing”.

 

LUTZE: Yes, if my wife says no, I’ll take GRETCHEN with me. She knows a thing or two about music and loves showing off during the entr’acte. He-he…

ME: As you wish, Mr LUTZE!

* * *

Without knocking or any unnecessary courtesy, two workers came into Mr LUTZE’s office, carrying in an enormous, seemingly hastily painted portrait, as I had suspected, of some or other German king or knight.

Silently and without asking permission, they took down a canvas with Rembrandt van Rijn’s The Sacrifice of Isaac and replaced it with the shoddy drawing by a blatant amateur.

 

Taking away the wooden ladder and the copy of the Dutch master’s artwork, the workers clumsily bashed into to the doorframe.

 

At this point GRETCHEN came into the room.

 

LUTZE: How do you like that, poppet?

GRETCHEN: Oh my God, how awful!

LUTZE: This, by the way, is Friedrich Barbarossa – the King of Germany, the Holy Roman Emperor…

GRETCHEN: It’s not about the king!

LUTZE: What then, kiddo?

GRETCHEN: It’s the picture – it’s just terrible!

LUTZE: And what more do you demand from Schlosser the house painter? The most important thing is that Friedrich himself is hanging in the office! It’s times like this that the German people, looking into the future with hope, shouldn’t forget heroes from times gone by! A lot of different people come to see me in my office. Each of them looks beadily at the interior of the printing house director’s office! Representatives of the party in power wouldn’t take kindly to seeing pictures of Abraham and Isaac on my working room walls!

GRETCHEN: Such a pity to part with that painting!

LUTZE: I’ll give it to a museum – let them deal with it!

GRETCHEN: More coffee for you?

ME: Thank you.

LUTZE: Thanks. That’ll be all, dear.

 

Leaving, GRETCHEN again tenderly ran her fingers over my shoulder and said:

 

GRETCHEN: I much prefer Isaac to the scribblings of that drunkard Schlosser! Bye!

 

ME: I see you’re quickly dealing with the “Jewish question”, Sir!

LUTZE: Between you and me, can you imagine having to look each day at that Friedrich, who’s been deformed at the hands of Schlosser, our house painter?

ME: “Isaac” would certainly land you in it with the new bosses, but Friedrich is good for all occasions!

LUTZE: It cost me four bottles of schnapps – not more than that. Ha-ha… But I’ll have it replaced with for something more up-to-date later!

ME: Who will you swap King Friedrich for? Hitler, perhaps?

LUTZE: Whatever they say! I think all office interiors in Germany will soon look pretty alike, and people will be similar to each other, as well as their words, and their deeds, and thoughts…

ME: It’s regrettable! Will you put up with it all, this mess?

LUTZE: You know, they’re all very dear to me – a stein of Bavarian beer after lunch; a soft bed in the bedroom; a poker party with my friend; a Christmas tree with multi-coloured shiny toys and burning candles; the fun my kids bring; my poppet, GRETCHEN… These little earthly joys are dear to me! I’m no hero! I’m a Burger who abides by the law and submits to the legitimate, and I repeat, legitimate Reichskanzler – that means, appointed by Hindenburg – whether it’s Hitler or, let’s say, some “Fritz Schweinkopfer”! I don’t care! I just want a quiet life for myself and my children. For this, my dear BENNY, I’m prepared to look at that portrait of Friedrich Barbarossa for what remains of my life. May that be my punishment for tranquillity and prosperity! You can even sell your soul to Mephistopheles for that, ha-ha-ha…

ME: Please, live however you please, but the limits of this harmony can be destroyed in an instant!

LUTZE: Who by? Under which circumstances?

ME: By a madman politician and

the politics of a madman!

LUTZE: If “our Burger” sees that his own wellbeing is in danger, he won’t re-elect the National-Socialists for another term.

ME: Please do not judge me for my categorical judgment: fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Schizophrenics either “stay at the helm” or they fall, but they never make their own way down the “ladder of power”.

LUTZE: If so, then I think you citizens of Austria shouldn’t be feeling quite so safe! Have you heard of such a thing as “Anschluss”?

ME: And global public opinion?

LUTZE: Fairy tales for naïve people.

ME: But there’s some kind of

“international political morality”, isn’t there?

LUTZE: It’s not all that bad! On the contrary, Hitler will tear the Treaty of Versailles to shreds and return Germany to its former glory. And also, only he can crush unemployment, destroy the criminal element, return lost land and bring territories inhabited by Germans into the Fatherland – like, Sudetenland!

ME: And what about the “Jewish question”?

LUTZE: It’s no big deal. Just empty bravado. Hitler only took the anti-Semitism card from the deck during the run-up to the election. He doesn’t need it now.

ME: If your judgments are right, then hang “Abraham and Isaac” bravely back up on the wall and I will leave here with peace of mind!

LUTZE: You’re a cunning one, my friend! Cunning! I see you’re not just good at the violin, but you’re adept at debating as well. Name how long and your “Isaac” will return. It’ll definitely return.

ME: I live in hope, dear LUTZE! Although in a country where they burn the great Heine’s books, hope, believe me, is always in short supply!

LUTZE: The cost of time!

ME: The atmosphere here seems to be getting a little suffocating.

LUTZE: I’m sure the concert will go ahead as planned, and then you can calmly leave Germany – the place where you don’t have enough air to breathe!

ME: God willing!

LUTZE: But problems aren’t totally out of the question at the Festival either. Open up that piece of paper and read out the surnames of the composer, conductor and soloist again. It caught my eye as soon as I saw it, but I did my work proudly. Today Mittenwald is covered in your posters, although that doesn’t mean your public performance is “in the bag”!

ME: Did you notice that it’s on April 20?

LUTZE: The Führer’s birthday, yes! What an awful coincidence!

ME: I’m really relying on maestro FLESCH’s authority!

LUTZE: Of course!

ME: Well, and the Berlin Higher School of Music

also won’t allow the concert to be a failure.

LUTZE: It’s an international festival!

ME: Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but the musical life of Germany is absolutely independent of politics. Or am I wrong?

LUTZE: I’d want to believe it is …

ME: If so, with your permission I’ll to be on my way.

LUTZE: Good bye, my friend.

You’ve forgotten to take a poster with you.

ME: Keep it as a souvenir! I’ll find myself one

in Mittenwald!

But now I must hurry to the tailor’s.

LUTZE: I suppose that’ll be for your tails?

ME: SOLOMON HIRSCH

himself is making it –

incidentally, he’s my fiancée’s father!

LUTZE: Well I… Congratulations, congratulations.

ME: Yes, it’s a pleasure for me, too! I’d like my parents, my relatives and friends to come from Vienna for my public performance. Everything has to be “shipshape”, as they say.

LUTZE: Wonderful, BENNY! I feel like I’ve already tasted the satisfaction of your playing!

ME: Thank you, Sir! And please come to Mittenwald! I look forward to seeing you there!

 

We parted company at the doorway of the Guttenberg Heritage publishers.

 

As for GRETCHEN, she blew me a goodbye kiss out of an open second-floor window, and then shouted:

 

GRETCHEN: Hey, hey, Mr Musician, will it be snowing

in the mountain? Even a little…

ME: Mittenwald is a winter resort, my dear Fraulein! What’s more, I was told the restaurant there has a wonderful band! You’ll have fun with or without skies!

GRETCHEN: Wait for me! I adore dancing the slow waltz or the foxtrot with a cheerful cavalier who knows how to move – what could be better?

ME: Only the music of Mendelssohn!

GRETCHEN: Really? I don’t think so, but I shan’t miss your concert. You’re cute with or without your violin. Please send a telegram confirming the date of your performance, otherwise MAX won’t leave even the building.

ME: Certainly. See you in Mittenwald, dear Fraulein.

GRETCHEN: See you… Incidentally, BENNY, when are you heading to Bavaria?

ME: Tonight, on the last train for Munich.

GRETCHEN: Bon voyage!

 

 

Episode 18

April 14, 1933

09:30

Having bought some sweets, as usual, I set off for SOLOMON HIRSCH’s workshop, which was closer to Gendarmenplatz. His workshop was on the first floor of a tall, old Berlin style, five-storey building built at the turn of the century, if I’m not mistaken, in the Neoclassical style.

 

As for the family of the renowned tailor, they lived on the second floor, directly above the workshop; there was the wife (Frau PERLE – the housewife), their 20-year-old daughter (Fraulein ESTHER – who had aspirations of continuing her musical studies in Vienna) and their 15-year-old son (JOSEF or JOSSY – at high school/gymnasium).

 

I had known the HIRSCHES for more than just a couple of years.

 

When I first arrived in Berlin, I often had to avail myself of SOLOMON HIRSCH’s services: I had two suits and a coat sewn by him. We became friends.

 

Soon our friendship expanded into something more significant – ESTHER and I liked each other, and then my parents came to Berlin, having known the HIRSCHES for many years, and in the traditional Jewish way, we got engaged.

 

* * *

Seven Episodes (black-and-white, slightly speeded-up frame rate accompanying by music from Marlene Dietrich earlier repertoire) in the style of a silent movie, showing the relationship between ROSNER and the HIRSCH family, with the musician talking over the pictures:

 

1. (18a) As usual, before the fitting started I went up to the second floor to see the tailor’s family, sometimes drinking tea with them (having already bought some sweet things from Frau HISLER for the tailor’s wife and daughter), sometimes playing chess with JOSEF, and on Jewish holidays I often had lunch with the whole family.

 

2. (18b) They often forced me to play on the grand piano and sing old Hasidic songs that I had learned from my grandfather, which lives in Linz.

I played, they had a laugh and sang along.

I always thought that SOLOMON and PERLE had attempted, using their well-known intentions, to sort of bring ESTHER – and beautiful, modest girl – and ME closer together.

 

3. (18с) At first, when she saw me, she used to begin embroidering multi-coloured threated on a white canvas with considerable zeal, and then when we had become accustomed to one another,

 

4. (18d) ESTHER used to show me family photo albums and then softly caress my hand with her fingers.

 

5. (18е) ESTHER and I often went for a walk around Berlin’s streets and parks, popping into cafés, going to the zoo, going to concerts in the Berlin Higher School of Music….

 

6. (18f) And a month ago I first kissed her on the cheek when we were sat on the merry-go-round.

 

7. (18h) The engagement.

The musical accompaniment behind the monologue can be interchanged with Jewish melodies; e.g. during the engagement.

 

* * *

Episode 18 (continued)

 

Yes, they are a rich, prosperous Jewish family: comfort, calmness, cleanliness, tastefully-chosen furniture, shop windows oozing with trinkets, porcelain ballerinas and shepherd girls, an antique grand piano, chandeliers dripping with crystals, scenic portraits of their forefathers as well as portraits of Rabbis well-known in Berlin circles, a spitz dog with a red bow and a smell wafted out of the kitchen of goose, let’s just say, roasted to fit the holiday spirit – with quince.

 

The time I spent with the HIRSCH family was very enjoyable – I was always received with their family warmth, which I had been sorely lacking in Berlin.

 

After all I was living in a “nuthouse”, next to some extremely, extremely strange subjects, i.e. ARNO BACH, KONRAD SCHEUBNER, OTTO BRACK, HENRICH STETKE the artist, Frau SONTAG, and so on.

* * *

I went in the entrance, slowly climbed the marble steps to the second floor and rang the doorbell.

ESTHER opened the door to the apartment, and she seemed somehow frightened, pale.

 

I handed her the box with the sweets and we spoke to each other in the hallway.

 

ESTHER: Thank you. Please, come in, BENNY!

Father’s home!

ME: I’ve missed you. So badly! Dear ESTHER, I’m so happy to be going to Mittenwald with you to the Festival! Only… Only you’re pale, dazed! Are you OK?

ESTHER: Why are you asking me about that?

ME: Usually, your maid always used to open the door.

ESTHER: Oh yes?

ME: Why isn’t your father? What’s wrong? And your hands are like ice. Has something happened?

ESTHER: Apparently it has…

ME: Are you well?

ESTHER: Yes.

ME: Take me into the room, please.

 

We went into the spacious room and the first thing I saw were the tearful eyes of Frau PERLE and the look on SOLOMON HIRSCH’s face, terrified by something. He was sat in his armchair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

 

ME: If I may be of any use, just ask!

I’m at your service!

FRAU PERLE: What a disaster! What a disaster! Dear BENNY, how can we even start turning to someone for help? I’m at my wits’ end.

ME: Have you been burgled? Berlin’s crawling with thieves and gangsters, not to mention drug addicts.

FRAU PERLE: Burgled? No! I’m not sure what it’s called.

ME: Should we call a doctor for Mr HIRSCH?

ESTHER: Father doesn’t need a doctor, he needs Germany!

FRAU PERLE:My dear, don’t be naïve. How can a doctor help a country that’s gradually going stir crazy?

ME: Don’t tell me they’ve shut down your workshop?

FRAU PERLE: It hasn’t come to that yet, but it’d be better if they just gave a single order saying that Jews in Germany have no rights and that they have a day to leave everything they see here.

ME: They haven’t shut down the workshop, you’re all more or less alive and well, nobody’s burgled you. Ah, where’s JOSSY?

ESTHER: He’s in the office! He hasn’t eaten since this morning, he’s just sat at the chessboard and won’t talk to anyone!

ME: OK, I’ll see him later. I repeat, what has happened that is so unimaginable if the workshop hasn’t been shut down, you’re all present and correct, and the apartment hasn’t been burgled? What can it be?

SOLOMON: The humiliation!

ESTHER: Father’s had his scissors taken.

ME: Taken or lost?

ESTHER: No, just taken!

ME: Who by?

FRAU PERLE: This morning the storm troopers burst into the workshop and took away SOLOMON’s cutting scissors, leaving behind the thread! They took them away, joking, incidentally, laughing and humiliating the poor old tailor!

ME: And I thought [it was something awful]! Buy a new pair of scissors and let that be the end of it!

FRAU PERLE: Not possible, BENNY!

ME: Why?

SOLOMON: Because those scissors were passed down to me from my father, and to him by my grandfather, who was also a tailor! Those old scissors were a family relic! They were so old! Who can say who old they were! I’ve never even held another pair of scissors! Now, BENNY, I won’t be able to work because they’ve taken my tailor’s soul away. You see, if I hold an unfamiliar pair, I’ll always be reminded of my loss. And if I’m always thinking about what I’ve lost, I won’t be able to really put my heart into my profession, or, I should say, into the art of a tailor’s business; I’ll turn into a split person! That kind of PERSON is good-for-nothing. He can be a craftsman – and nothing more! I, SOLOMON HIRSCH, always prided myself on how, taking after my forefathers, I was part of the circle of people who know the art of cutting and sewing. Do you understand me? PERLE, my dear, they knew, they knew full-well, what they want to take from me and my family. The workshop? I can open a workshop in Prague or Hamburg or Vienna.. or even in Buenos Aires, but those scissors – like holy books – always accompanied the Hirsch family wherever it went – for better for worse! They fed us! Literally fed us! I’m dead. I cannot make your tails, dear BENNY! The tails of my dreams and yours! I dreamt about them! I could smell that concert suit and, even though I hadn’t yet made it, I was already proud of it! So that’s it, of course. No one will return me my scissors. No one!

FRAU PERLE: What grief! What grief!

ME: How I understand everything, Mr HIRSCH.

SOLOMON: Please sympathise with me, people!

FRAU PERLE: This is what humiliation truly is!

ESTHER: Mama, I don’t want to live in this country anymore! It’s alien to me! It would have been so much better if Papa had just lost them or if someone had stolen the scissors.

SOLOMON: My child, you’re right – a hundred times right! The theft or loss is nothing compared to who they so brazenly took away a tailor’s scissors, laughing.

 

The door opened, and JOSEF came out of the office; after some seconds of silence, he suddenly turned to me.

 

JOSEF: I don’t want to live in this country anymore either! I don’t recognise it anymore!

SOLOMON: We’ll leave! We’ll definitely leave – be it to the ends of the Earth, but we’re not gypsies and do we not take our things with us? We need to sort out an awful lot of things.

 

They started weeping.

Everyone was crying – the children, the parents…

 

At that moment these tears seemed to me to be the starts of an unimaginably great tragedy, the essence of which was still difficult to me to understand.

 

SOLOMON HIRSCH’s woes were completely understandable.

 

After they’d calmed down a little, I again asked to take ESTHER with me to the Festival in Mittenwald, and then on to Vienna together.

 

ME: So you won’t be against the idea of me taking ESTHER to Mittenwald. After the Festival we plan to go across the border. We can take YOSSI with us!

YOSSI I’m staying with Papa until our affairs in Berlin are put in order! Until then it won’t be easy for me to go to Austria.

ME: You’ve grown up, YOSSI!

ESTHER: And we hadn’t realised!

 

After which all three hugged the boy and started crying again.

 

ME: I hope the upsetting “scissors incident” will not interfere with our trip to Mittenwald? I have two tickets for the night train.

FRAU PERLE: No, of course! ESTHER is going with you. The situation is are such that it is best if both you and we leave Germany as soon as we can, although many of our Jews are sure that today’s anti-Semitism is a temporary thing and that everything will soon come full circle. We’ll see you off.

ME: Please, don’t worry. Everyone’s having a difficult day today. We will just drop by to pick up ESTHER’s things and we’ll say good bye here.

ESTHER: Yes, it’d be better that way.

ME: Good bye. I’m sorry…

 

 

Episode 19

 

I was confused and, a little frightened, I left through the hallway grabbing the violin case containing Master Klotz’s instrument, holding it really tightly to my chest; then I was stopped in my tracks and couldn’t move from the spot.

What could I do? How could I help the poor man?

Complete helplessness, anger and hopelessness took hold of me and then I wanted to scream to the entire city that I didn’t want to stay in the country, a place where they so brazenly humiliate people.

 

ESTHER came up to me.

 

She (dressed in a very beautiful white dress) stood there silently. She was like one of heaven’s angels.

ESTHER wiped away her tears with a handkerchief.

 

She fixed her gaze at the violin case that I was holding with both hands so tightly against my chest; after a short pause she said:

 

ESTHER: BENNY, I think they’ll be after that violin soon!

ME: Why?

ESTHER: A violin that’s the work of

German Master Klotz?

And we’re Jews!

ME: So what! Then you should deprive German women of their jewels. After all, their diamonds were cut by Jewish jewellers in Amsterdam!

ESTHER: You’re naïve, BENNY!

ME: And that’s a bad thing?

ESTHER: I like you even that way.

ME: Good bye, my dear! I’ll come by for you.

The quicker we leave, the better.

ESTHER: I can’t wait to leave Berlin either. I don’t recognise my own city. Every day it becomes more and more alien to me.

ME: I hope it’ll be a little easier to breathe

in Mittenwald.

ESTHER: God willing, as they say.

 

She kissed me on the cheek and quick flew back into the room from the corridor.

On my own, I swayed with happiness, of course, and it had not been for the wall, I would have definitely ended up in a pile on the carpet.

 

Quietly I left the apartment, tiptoed down the steps and onto the street, where not one of the city’s big broken clock faces had any of its hands left.

 

 

Episode 20

April 14, 1933.

10:30

 

Making my way down the street, I heard laughter erupting noisily behind me, mixed with obscene remarks and threats towards Jews.

 

I turned round to see a group of Brownshirts, who were walking about ten paces behind me. I thought the smutty remarks and boorish behaviour were being levelled in my direction.

Of course, I decided to hide somewhere to avoid any difficulties.

Fortunately, I was next to the “Bear’s” café.

I dived momentarily into the drinking establishment, which I knew well, in order to rid myself of my Nazi escort, drink a cup of coffee, smoke a cigarette, recover my senses, and soon slowly set off for the Conservatory.

I was a regular here.

 

WAITER: Welcome! What would Sir like? Your usual, Mr ROSNER?

ME: Hello, HANS! Yes, please – a Viennese coffee,

a cheese sandwich and some cigarettes!

WAITER: Please, use the chair for your instrument!

ME: I’m afraid I’ll have to hide it under the table today.

WAITER: As you wish, Mr ROSNER! One second! I’ll be right back!

ME: Thank you, HANS!

 

He went off and I, with nothing to do, starting looking indifferently at the people in the café. There were various people: sat around as cheerful company were young people, old people, single people, couples: they were talking, sometimes loudly, drinking coffee, beer, schnapps, cognac, the “bespectacled” ones were reading newspapers, smoking cigars and cigarettes.

Ladies of “the oldest profession” sat alone in rather indecent poses, some of which (quite out of the blue!) started nodding ‘hello’ to me and smiling.

 

I noticed that one of Berlin’s thieves, HEINZ – known better as “The AXE” – was here. He was wearing an expensive suit, smoking a cigar, sipping wine and talking with an extremely beautiful girl, who sat with a “black fox” casually draped across her bare shoulders, its silver highlights glittering.

 

She was somewhat similar to Picasso’s “The Absinthe Drinker”. I knew HEINZ through ARNO BACH – he often called on my pyrotechnic specialist of a neighbour and (I can say with certainty) bought handmade bombs off him which were not particularly powerful.

 

I was worried that, sooner or later, our engineer would blow us sky high.

 

ARNO told me about his “mischief” with “bombs” when he let slip – blind drunk – that Berlin’s gangsters only bought from him the explosives required to blow open the locks on safes.

 

Also, “The AXE” was also interested in MARIKA ERDELY and frequently left enormous baskets of the most expensive, freshest flowers outside the singer’s door, and then our corridor smelled like the florist’s on Blumenstrasse.

 

“The AXE”, having recognised me – or rather the housemate of Bach the Explosives Man and the beautiful Magyar – he waved to me, which invited considerable interest from the others there as to know I was.

 

Out of politeness, I replied back with a nod and a smile.

 

Soon, HANS came back.

 

HANS: Bon appetite, Mr ROSNER!

ME: Thank you!

 

As I drank my “Viennese” coffee I was reminded of my home city, Mother and Father, the Blue Danube, the Habsburg Palace and whistled the tune to one of Strauss’s waltzes – I was missing Vienna which is, as I say, the most beautiful city in Europe – at least for me! The voice of Marlene Dietrich emanated from the gramophone. The atmosphere in the café was idyllic.

 

All of a sudden I had the urge to play something soulful – perhaps Hungarian – on the violin, but back then my “status” as a serious musician did not allow me to “mess around” with the instrument.

 

Earlier, three year or so before, I could have jumped up on the chair, direct my eyes to the most beautiful lady in the drinking establishment, and dedicate to her an “intoxicating Bessarabian gypsy tune”!

* * *

Suddenly storm troopers – or Brownshirts as they called them, the “chained dogs” of the Nazi party – burst into the café. I recognised them from the street. Alas, I had been unable to shake them off.

 

These Brownshirts – six or seven of them, I think – were commanded by the GRUPPENFÜHRER – the Group Leader.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Attention, citizens, attention! Auxiliary Police! I repeat, Auxiliary Police! Have your passports ready! Document check! Document check! No need to panic!

 

Suddenly, my good acquaintance, HEINZ, the Berlin “criminal element” – “The AXE” as some people called him – sarcastically and not in the politest way possible addressed the chief storm trooper.

 

THE AXE: Hey, ROLF, don’t you recognise me? Do you really think that I – HEINZ THE AXE – am going to show my old cellmate my passport, which I don’t have and never have? You’d be better off joining me over here and I’ll introduce you to the most beautiful girl in Berlin, Mademoiselle IRMA! What do you reckon, my friend? Don’t worry; she’s not a Communist, or a Jew!

 

Everyone started laughing.

 

The STORM TROOPERS started looking uncomfortable!

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: We will fight again criminal elements like you, HEINZ, tooth and nail! The only thing I can say is: get out of here while you’re still intact! You and your friends have no place in the new Germany! Out!

IRMA: (To the Gruppenführer)

And I’m supposed to stay here with

you? Clever boy!

 

Everyone laughed again.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Both of you, out. I repeat,

the New Germany has no space for you.

THE AXE: You’d be better off owning up, in front of honest people, to how you straggled that poor “Erik the Shorty” with your own hands in the prison toilet that night after you, ROLF, lost 200 marks to him in a card game! Not falsified any documents for a while? The death chamber and the man-eating rat dungeon are “crying” for you! Ha-ha-ha… And also the arm of the law!

IRMA: ROLF, I need a venereal doctor’s note confirming I’m totally clear of syphilis! Could you forge one? I’ll pay you well…

 

Everyone laughed except the storm troopers.

 

The war of words between the two “friends” worked perfectly for me – fearing I would lose the violin (remembering the incident with HIRSCH’s scissors!) I quietly made my way towards the toilet, hid in the cubicle and, with the door ajar, watched what was happening in the main room from afar.

 

Again, my fleeing had to do with the FEAR of losing the violin and the thought of HIRSCH’s scissors which had been expropriated by the Brownshirts a few hours before.

 

Yes, I realised my undoubtedly embarrassingly comical situation, but losing that instrument – Master Klotz’s work – would have been a tragedy for me.

 

“Maybe I should have refused the violin in the first place and just dropped everything and gone to Vienne,” I whispered, also instantly frightened by my quiet voice and cowardice.

“I’ll die, but I won’t give them what I’ve earned by all my work!”, I pepped myself up again quietly, and hoped for the best – perhaps they wouldn’t find me after all and everything would be OK!

 

At that time the unsavoury dialogue between the GRUPPENFÜHRER, ROLF and HEINZ THE AXE continued in the café.

 

THE AXE: Leave me and these people alone, ROLF! We’re trying to relax here and have no desire to stand in front of you looking as if we’ve been accused of something! Get out of here, you and your henchmen! I’m not afraid of you, you miserable little counterfeiter!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: One more word and you will regret all this, HEINZ!

THE AXE: I’m an “honest thief” and I remain as such even under the current Reichskanzler! But you, ROLF, are the guard dog of a raving lunatic by the name of ADOLF HITLER! Ha-ha-ha…

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Arrest him! Take him to the station! Move!

 

Two storm troopers, faces like thunder, headed towards THE AXE.

 

THE AXE: Thanks, ROLF! I owe you one after today! And I’m used to paying back my debts on time.

GRUPPENFÜHRER: You will be convicted of insulting the Führer!

THE AXE: Thanks you, ROLF! I’m very grateful to you, ROLF, for your understanding and friendship!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: (to his henchmen) Take this malignant criminal and sly fox HEINZ REINECKE (otherwise known as THE AXE!) from this public eating establishment!

THE AXE: Me a sly fox? Thank you, ROLF! But just look at yourself in the mirror, as long as it doesn’t shatter at the sight of you! You’re like an orang-utan, ROLF! No, a gorilla!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Shut uuuup!

THE AXE: And your Hitler is a maggot! Ha-ha-ha….

 

The Brownshirts, shouting and swearing, barely managed to twist THE AXE’s hands behind his back and drag him out of the café.

 

“That HEINZ is a brave little one, I swear!” I whispered.

 

IRMA, of course, ran after HEINZ THE AXE, but suddenly stopped in the doorway, and turned to address everyone in the café with a quiet, calm voice:

 

IRMA: Of course, I might end up in prison today, but you miserable sheep, don’t you fool yourself into thinking you’re free! When a schizophrenic is sat at the helm of government, it means we’re surrounded by barbed wire! Drink your coffee, or it’ll go cold! Drink your schnapps until the Führer looks more like Marika Rökk! Heil Hitler, you scum!

 

Then she abruptly brushed off the hands of the Brownshirt who was attempting to pull her roughly through the door, and THE AXE’s girlfriend went outside with her head held high.

* * *

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Gentlemen! The incident is over! We will cleanse Germany of criminals, like this “AXE” and his lover; we will cleanse it of gypsies, of Jews, of Communists and all other scum! But now, JEWS! ON YOUR FEEEEET!

 

A few PEOPLE rose from the chairs and stood silently waiting for the GRUPPENFÜHRER’s orders. The storm troopers checked their passports; one of them – for some reason, at the top of his voice – informed the GRUPPENFÜHRER:

 

STORM TROOPER: Mein GRUPPENFÜHRER,

there are six Jews in the café –

one woman, five men!

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: The Jews cannot stay in the café! O-o-o-ut! This is my personal initiative! You may complain where you wish and when you wish! Very soon all you Jews will be having your own “cafés” and “restaurants”, but there’ll be another 100 people round the table! Just remember: after January the 30th, life in Germany changed radically! Each to his own! But work, only daily work will make you free people! Jews, o-o-out! Quick, quick…

 

The Jews stood up and quietly left the café.

 

It was so painful for me to watch it all: they left in silence, not a word of protest, not a peep, just drooping heads and silence!

 

The storm troopers were checking passports, both the visitors’ and the staff’s.

While this disgrace was going on, the GRUPPENFÜHRER was shouting out –

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: We will reclaim Alsace and Lorraine, we will free our Sudeten brethren from the Slavic rot, and we will reunite with our Austrian motherland! We’ll eliminate unemployment! We’ll build autobahns, hospitals, tunnels, bridges, power stations and sports facilities for young gymnasts! We’ll build new cities with new architecture and new monuments! Bread and milk will be free! Medicines will be free! Work will be available to all Germans! If we so order, the Rhine will flow to the East! A scrap of paper is all that will remain of the Treaty of Versailles! We’ll build the Third/Thousand-Year Reich! Jews will know their place, and all Communists and Pacifists will be put up against the wall! Flags high!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A storm trooper kicked open the cubicle door and, grabbing me by the collar, took me to the GRUPPENFÜHRER together with the violin case.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Jewish?

 

I kept my silence, but stood upright and tightly clasped the handle of the case with my fingers.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Passport!

 

I handed him my passport.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: BENJAMIN ROSNER! A Jew! Open the case! I’m telling you, open the case!

 

Spying the violin, and not a bloodied butcher’s knife, he lost interest and waved his hand in disappointment.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: An Austrian citizen?

ME: An Austrian citizen!

 

The storm trooper leader thought for a second.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: What do you do?

ME: I’m a student at Berlin Higher School

of Music!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Higher?

ME: Higher School of Music!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Sit down in your place!

You can stay! What injustice! He can stay!

 

The storm troopers looked surprised, shrugging in disbelief, but at the same time they sighed deeply and even seemed sad.

 

Suddenly, this ROLF’s eyes fixed on the gilded chain of my watch, lying silently in my pocket.

 

Without asking, he took the Swiss mechanism from my pocket and, holding it in his hands, carefully looked at the cover, and smiled maliciously.

 

ME: Do you want to know the time?

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Whatever next, an Aryan asking a

Jew the time!? Ha-ha-ha….

 

The storm troopers laughed.

 

ME: That’s your business!

 

To my surprise, I understood that he wasn’t planning on taking my watch from me, but the feeling that the Hava Nagila was about to play to the whole café scared me.

 

What was meant to happen, happened – he opened the lid and instantly the Hassidic melody started playing.

The mechanism worked every time!

Well done, ARNO!

The melody was really playing quite loudly!

 

The GRUPPENFÜHRER didn’t even look at the clockface. He addressed his men.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Friends! Comrades on a common fight! Jews’ cunning knows no bounds! Just look, listen, and then never ever judge yourself for killing a Jew! This “non-human” had, ha-ha, the melody, ha-ha, of an Austrian, or rather, Tyrolean folk song put into his watch! But there is no Austria! No Austria! Austria is a province of our common homeland! You can’t fool me! I’ve been to Innsbruck.

 

The storm troopers were smiling and talking amongst themselves:

- You can’t catch our ROLF out! It’s a German melody! Our music!

- He’s seen a lot on this Earth!

- The Jews are hiding behind German culture!

- Yes, exactly, German! Austrians do not exist in the wild!

- Well done, ROLF!

- He’ll show those Jews, gypsies, Slavs and Blacks “what’s for”!

- Our ROLF – “the guy doesn’t miss a shot!”

- He went to prison together with our dear Führer!

- What an honour! What I wouldn’t give to be in the same cell with our dear Führer!

- You have everything in front of you! Hope and wait!

- Heil Hitler!

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Yes, I know this song well! The Tyrolean Germans sing it, normally in beerhouses! It’s called “Mein Vater ist ein Appenzeller!” and the chorus is always adorned with a yodel. Ha-ha-ha… Yo-yo-yo-….

 

I was, of course, starting to seriously question the state of the GRUPPENFÜHRER’s mental health status, but, what could I do? I had to stand and hear out the utter nonsense they were spewing.

 

Finally, he returned the watch to me and “wrapped up” what he was saying.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Friends, as you see, he is a lousy Jew, but he’s a citizen of Austria! I could of course have him thrown out of this place, for being a Jew, and it would be justified! But unfortunately, I cannot force a foreign national out of a café, after all I am law-abiding! For now Austria is an independent state! My brothers-in-arms, your hearts are pained, I see the tears of disappointment welling in your eyes, but understand that I am not even authorised to remove citizens of our countries from public toilets! But when Austria becomes part of Great Germany and if, in those not-so-distant, blessed times I see this miserable violinist standing anywhere near an Aryan child, or a German public toilet, I swear to our common cause, he will be shot! Heil Hitler!

 

THE STORM TROOPERS, IN UNISON, CRY: Heil Hitler!

Singing “Flags High”, they left the café.

* * *

I sat in my seat, blankly staring into a tall cup with cold, Viennese coffee.

 

Everyone was silent, but I noticed that people were eating their sandwiches in a frenzied manner, greedily, with their heads held down close to the table tops, as if they were hungry animals…

 

Meat, cheese, bread – washed down with beer, wine, spirit, coffee, tea…

They coughed, sneezed, groaned…

It was difficult to me to stand up and leave the place.

Soon I noticed that sitting in this café had become unpleasant for absolutely everyone: people with their heads down started leaving the eating establishment in silence and then scattered in all directions.

 

Episode 21

April 14, 1933

11:30

I was last to leave and headed towards the Conservatory, having realised on that day for the first time that the streets of Berlin were a danger to me for one reason alone – I was a JEW.

I feared that Brownshirts could appear from nowhere and take Master Klotz’s violin from me at any moment.

They would take it for one reason alone – I was a JEW and that meant that on German soil I didn’t have the right to hold in my hands an instrument made by a German master without the permission of the authorities to do so.

What’s more, I discovered something totally incomprehensible: I was a JEW, and that meant that in this country I HAD NO RIGHT to do what I loved (whether it be FISHING even, or TIGHTROPE WALKING, or KEEPING A HERBARIUM, etc.) without the authorities’ say-so.

 

Shovel, pick, hoe! Please, Mr ROSNER, choose one!

 

The Mittenwald concert and the fate of the HIRSCH family meant I couldn’t just run away and save myself.

For me it was crucially important to achieve what had been planned.

Otherwise everything would have been for nothing – and I would have lost respect for myself!

Yes, it was Master Klotz’s violin that I should be holding during the concert, scheduled for April 20, a Thursday, in Mittenwald. There was no other option.

 

But remembering the story with HIRSCH’s scissors turned my stomach.

On the way to the Conservatory two questions were tormenting me:

Will they take the violin off me? Will they not take the violin off me?

Will they take the violin off me? Will they not take the violin off me?

* * *

 

Yes, the “Hirsch Scissor complex” that had possessed me since the morning and taken hold in my brain, like a harmful virus, would not leave me be.

 

Heading to the Conservatory, I was not thinking about the musical passages, alas.

In short, I was thinking about everything except music.

 

“That’s far enough!” I nearly screamed out loud when I realised how far my mind had strayed from Mendelssohn.

 

Spotting Brownshirts in the distance on the other side of the road, I hid in entranceways, courtyards, crouched behind dumpsters, stood pressed up against the foliage of big trees, put the case on the kerb and sat upon it, hiding it from the intrusive gaze of storm troopers or “decent” citizens, who were prepared to condemn people “with or without a reason”.

 

Yes, I tried walking with my hat over my eyes, attempting not to draw attention to my Semitic face.

 

I needed to get to the Conservatory and leave Master Klotz’s violin in the maestro’s office, in a small, private place – the safe, at least for a few hours until I left for Mittenwald. I liked the idea.

 

Just one thing make me feel calmer about the Festival of violin music – that it was an international showcase of musicians and that, to my reckoning, there was nothing the Nazis could do there.

 

………………………………………

One way or another, I zigzagged and squiggled my way through the streets of Berlin; I was acting eccentrically and passers-by were noticing the fact. People were looking at me suspiciously.

 

In the end, it all came to a point when I met a police officer.

…………………………………….

Having inspected my passport, the officer carefully looked me in the eye, almost squashing his nose against my face and, satisfied I was completely sober, he smiled.

 

The police officer’s “smile” surprised me so much that I was ready to hug and kiss him.

 

Yes, the Brownshirts really frightened me.

 

I should note that the German police system in 1933 was still in the old style, and the Nazis had yet to get in the “driver’s seat”.

 

POLICE OFFICER: Can I help you?

ME: What did you say, officer?

POLICE OFFICER: Can I help you?

 

He smiled a second time.

 

My Lord, this unexpected kindness by someone from the German authorities, towards a Jew, nearly sent me so crazy as to offer to give him Master Klotz’s violin! I’m joking, of course, but my good feelings towards the Polizei were limitless.

 

POLICE OFFICER: Can I help take you somewhere?

 

What attention! What attention this was to a subject of a different nationality and one “pitted hostilely” against the Germans! A shiver went through my body.

 

ME: Take me? Are you joking? There’s no need to make jokes at this Jewish violinist’s expense.

POLICE OFFICER: We follow instructions. We help people.

 

I remembered the expression on the slightly loony GRUPPENFÜHRER’s face – that ROLF from the “Bear’s” café – and I asked the officer a stupid, but given the circumstances to Germany at that point, completely reasonable(?) question:

 

ME: Do you consider the Jews in Germany people?

POLICE OFFICER: Of course!

ME: Repeat it, please!

POLICE OFFICER: Jews in Germany are people!

ME: Where did such a nice person as you come from?

POLICE OFFICER: I was born in Zwickau!

ME: No, no, you were born in America! You’re an American police officer!

POLICE OFFICER: Why’s that?

 

Of course, this officer was terminally stupid, but really rather good-natured.

He really, really made a mark on me!

 

ME: Why? Tell me, why do you believe Jews are people?

POLICE OFFICER: Why not? I’ve had no word about new guidance on this matter! In the office we had a meeting a few days ago; there was a speech by Chief Inspector WERNICKE, who gave the lower-level ranks new policies; there was nothing said about Jews.

ME: Then why are the storm troopers in such a rage? Can you explain that to me, Herr “Good Cop”.

POLICE OFFICER: They’re repeating what the new Chancellor has been constantly talking about, that… I mean… what’s his… the one with the moustache!

ME: Adolf Hitler!

POLICE OFFICER: Hitler! That’s it, Hitler!

ME: Well?

POLICE OFFICER: And who’s listening to him? And you should calm down a bit, Mr…

ME: ROSNER!

POLICE OFFICER: Mr ROSNER, I look at you as a police officer and think: what a jumpy young man you are! Constantly winking at me, and your hands are shaking! You are sick as well as being a Jew?

ME: I’ve had a difficult day today!

POLICE OFFICER: Where are we off to?

ME: To a rehearsal in the Conservatory! I’m a violinist – tra-la-la, tra-la-la…

POLICE OFFICER: All the same. I’ll walk you. God knows what might happen to you. Young, but jumpy! You know, you need to have a good rest. Best of all, up in the mountains. The most wondrous place is Mittenwald! My aunt lives up there! If you like, I’ll give you the address. Go there and calm your nerves, drink fresh milk and get to bed early. Will you be able to remember Frau GREINER’s address or should I write it down? I’m at your disposal. Mittenwald! It’s next to Garmisch-Partenkirchen – 30 minutes away by train!

ME: On the border with Austria.

POLICE OFFICER: Exactly right. Yes, from there you can go over to your homeland by foot!

ME: It’ll definitely go, Herr “Good Cop”! Don’t put your auntie to any bother. I’ll find somewhere to stay.

POLICE OFFICER: That’s your business, Mr Violinist. I could have helped… But I’ll take you on now, otherwise you’ll end up under a tram!

ME: Off we go then!

 

We had set off. He walked ahead and his enormous figure totally eclipsed me – I would go behind him, as if invisible – in complete safety.

My happiness knew no bounds: it was a pleasurable walk along the street, knowing that they wouldn’t harass you, arrest you, take anything from you or bash you over the head.

Feeling protected, I got a bit cocky.

 

There were some Brownshirts heading towards us; there were four of them; deciding to have a bit of fun, a bit of tease, I stuck my tongue out and that very instant, the storm troopers, like guard dogs, prepared to attack. But assuming that the enormous police officer and I were “in it together”, they hesitated, assuming the officer was taking me to the station as some kind of lunatic.

But we continued on and soon, having thanked my guard, I headed to the main door of the Conservatory building, and then suddenly turned and shouted:

 

ME: Hey, thank you, kind POLICE OFFICER!

Say, what’s your name?

POLICE OFFICER: ADOLF!

 

Untoward associations with Hitler momentarily returned me to my clinic status of the notorious “Hirsch Syndrome”!

 

I ran into the large hall on the first floor; I began to spin, twisting between the marble pillars, until I calmed down a bit. Afterwards, I went to the rehearsal hall, when Maestro and the Student Symphonic Orchestra ensemble were waiting for me.

 

 

Episode 22

April 14, 1933

13:00

The Rehearsal

A small hall where student orchestras and choirs did their “dirty work”.

Maestro FLESCH conducting.

 

We polished the first part of Felix Mendelssohn’s violin concerto with orchestra – the Allegro molto appassionato (in E minor).

 

I can always concentrate on my work and rid my head of any daily ups-and-downs, and it seemed to me that Master Klotz’s violin sounded completely appropriate for music of this stature.

 

On the technical side of things, I never had any problems, and I had not need to work on my inspiration for I felt completely at one – heart and soul – with the genius of Mendelssohn.

 

In short, I thought Maestro was satisfied.

 

The violin sounded flawless – clean, melodious, filling the entire hall with magical sounds, and I got the impression of what effect would be created by an even bigger concerto hall, where Master Klotz’s instrument should show everyone what it was capable of.

 

Yes, immortal music requires instrument of the highest order!

Sometimes while he was conducting, the professor would shout out –

FLESCH: Tempo, tempo…

 

He was talking to the orchestra. He didn’t even dare look in my direction, for fear of “offending” me with the waves of his baton. He was certain of ROSNER’s mastery and practically had not input into the soloist’s playing.

 

Quite the contrary – the professor mainly worked on fitting all the instruments of the orchestra’s harmonious sound to Master Klotz’s violin.

 

In the “breathers”, Maestro sat next to me, silently and put his hand on my shoulder – a gesture higher than any other praise!

Yes, Mittenwald would still find out who EDDIE ROSNER was!

After two hours we moved onto the third movement – the Allegretto non troppo – Allegro molto vivace (in E minor).

 

It seemed to me that here there were pretty much no issues with my playing, but the orchestra still needed some work.

 

I had been given Master Klotz’s violin to use for ten years at the end of 1932 and within three and a half months we (the violin and I) had become one.

 

Maestro convinced me that Stradivariuses and Amatis sound particularly fascinating, and that in the not-so-distant future I would be playing on practically perfect instruments. I had a long way to go before my hands worked any wonders on a “Stradivarius”.

 

Of course, there was absolutely no sense in going to Mittenwald without this wonderful violin.

 

After all, a person used to riding Pegasus around the clouds would hardly then get on a donkey!

 

Holding something less “perfected”, I could fail as a performer.

 

……………………..

During the process of creative “ecstasy”, as I was playing the concerto finale, the rehearsal hall door was nearly taken off its hinges by someone knocking on it; whoever it was persistently knocked several more times.

We had to the open the doors.

……………………..

Good God!

I would rather have seen a thousand devils dancing on Bald Mountain!

I would have rather agree to see Papus (with his goats’ horns and hooves) than to run into GRUPPENFÜHRER ROLF who had descended upon the “Bear’s” café just a few hours ago, “canoodled” the Jews in his own, Nazi-esque way!

………………………….

GRUPPENFÜHRER: A-a-a-a-a, Mr Austrian Citizen! I recognised you! Your surname’s ROSNER if I’m not mistaken! What are you doing here? Illegal gathering? Printing anti-government leaflets?

FLESCH: Gentlemen, this is a rehearsal of the Higher School of Music orchestra! Kindly leave the hall!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Are you a Jew like Mr ROSNER?

FLESCH: I’m Conservatory Professor CARL FLESCH!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: You’re not answering my question!

FLESCH: Yes, I’m Jewish and I’m proud of it!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: (To the storm troopers)

He’s found something to be proud of!

Ha-ha-ha…

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

If we were Jews,

we would all hang ourselves!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: (To the storm troopers)

You’re absolutely right,

my brothers-in-arms! I’d hang myself as well! Ha-ha-ha…

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

Thank you for the vote

of confidence, Herr GRUPPENFÜHRER!

FLESCH: Please…

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Wait a minute, there’s no need to rush!

So, what do you call a rehearsal?

FLESCH: It’s…

GRUPPENFÜHRER: A-a-a-a, trouble answering? I’ll tell you! You want to poison the people of the glorious city of Berlin!

FLESCH: This is absurd, military citizen!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: I’m not military!

I’m a representative of the “Auxiliary Police”!

FLESCH: Then you should know even better that our intentions do not include poisoning the city we were live! …Live for now!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: That’s it! “For now”! You’re poisoning our heroic city with “improper music”! Ha-ha-ha…

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

“Improper music”!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: We received word from a true member of the National-Socialist Party that you are playing music by a sworn enemy of all German people – Mendelssohn the Jew!

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

Unacceptable!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: We received word that both the conductor and the solist are Jews! Ha-ha-ha…

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

Unacceptable!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: And we also received word that this ugly mess was being created with a violin made by German Master Klotz – a true tenth-generation Aryan!

STORM TROOPERS:(In unison)

What? A German instrument in the hands of a Jew? You’re joking, Herr GRUPPENFÜHRER?

That’s unimaginable!

Tell us you’re joking and we’ll calm down!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: The horror of it all is that I have yet to receive specific instructions to confiscate the instrument and, as such, cannot protect the Aryan violin from its Zionist conspiracy!

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

Why?

GRUPPENFÜHRER: My loyal comrades! We are not yet strong enough to stop this “improper music” – “enemy music” – from being spread! It’s not even been three months since our Führer has been came to power!

ME: Could you then please explain

what “proper music” is?

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Folk music and German marches!

Well, and maybe… Wagner!

FLESCH: On behalf of Richard, I thank you !

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

He’s laughing at us!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: My brothers-in-arms! Show these “musicians” an example of “proper music”! Cleanse their brains of all that rubbish! Ha-ha-ha… Listen and learn from German folk! Ha-ha-ha…

 

In unison, the STORM TROOPERS loudly started singing a folk music:

 

 

* * *

“O, du schöner Westerwald

Heute wollen wir marschirґn,

einen neuen Marsch probieren,

in dem schönen Westerwald,

ja da pfeift der Wind so kalt

Und die Grete und der Hans

Gehen des Sonntags gern zum tanz,

Weil das Tanzen Freude macht

Und das Herz im Leibe lacht.

Ist das Tanzen dann vorbei,

Gibt es meistens Schlägerei,

Und dem Bursch, den das nicht freut

Sagt man, er hat keinen Schneid!”

* * *

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: My energy has been rekindled!

There’s an example of “proper”

music for you!

 

Then unexpectedly, surprising even the STORM TROOPERS, the GRUPPENFÜHRER turned to face the musicians (they were standing, looking at each other and slyly smiling!) and screamed in a wild voice.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Everyone sit! Everyone sit down in your places! ROSNER and the Professor, you sit too!

 

We obeyed.

 

The GRUPPENFÜHRER started slowly pacing in front of the storm troopers, who were standing in a line, hands crossed behind his back.

The Brownshirts looked at their leader ecstatically, expecting him to do something extraordinary. They talked amongst themselves, clearly hoping ROLF would hear them:

 

STORM TROOPER 1 : Our ROLF never misses a shot!

STORM TROOPER 2: He’ll show those Jews and Commies!

STORM TROOPER 3: Our ROLF is the Führer’s brother-in-arms!

STORM TROOPER 4: We should be proud of our mentor!

STORM TROOPER 5: ROLF was in Stadelheim prison with the Führer!

STORM TROOPER 6: He was in the Beer Hall Putsch!

STORM TROOPER 1: He did a huge amount for our common victory!

STORM TROOPER 2: We’re strongest united! With ROLF we can’t fail!

STORM TROOPER 3: On February the 27th he

arrested that Communist Lubbe –

the Reichstag rattler!

STORM TROOPER 4: ROLF’s our guy!

 

Satisfied with what his subordinates were saying, the GRUPPENFÜHRER started whistling the tune to a Horst Wessel song and, stopping, carefully looked down at his sparkly clean boots.

Then he addressed his troops.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Do you remember my command during the “Jew check” in the café?

STORM TROOPER 1:Right you are, GRUPPENFÜHRER!

You said “Jews on your feeeeet!”

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Absolutely correct! But now we’re in a place of music! Who’ll tell me what a “place of music” is?

STORM TROOPER 2: A hotbed of Zionism!

STORM TROOPER 3: A second synagogue!

STORM TROOPER 4: A safe house for Communists

and Pacifists!

STORM TROOPER 5: Personnel reserve for the “Rot Front”!

STORM TROOPER 6: It’s somewhere that every piano

might have a bomb hidden inside it!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: All correct, my comrades! I’m proud of you! Our fight is only beginning and I’m sure we have enough strength between us! We’ll be sipping champagne in Paris, London, Moscow, New York and even at the North Pole! Ha-ha-ha!

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

Heil Hitler!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Attention! Attention! Given that we are now in the Conservatory, my command will sound different.

 

The STORM TROOPERS looked at each other excitedly, expecting some congenial from their leader…

And then, turning to us, the musicians, the GRUPPENFÜHRER suddenly roared like a wounded lion.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Germans! On your feet!

 

Just two double-bass players stood up! That’s all! One, two – count them on one hand!

The stupid STORM TROOPERS didn’t understand a thing.

They remained silent. Of course they wanted to know what ROLF meant by his “updated order”, and were to shy to ask their leader.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: You see that two people are standing!

And what does that mean?

 

The STORM TROOPERS remained silent, staring at the Conservatory’s parquet floor. They were ashamed! They hadn’t understood ROLF’s “brilliant command”. What shame!

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Two people standing! More accurately, two Germans standing!

 

The STORM TROOPERS had nothing to say for themselves.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: If two Germans have stood up,

then those who remained seated are…

 

Silence.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Are….

 

Silence.

 

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Those who remained seated

are Jews! Understand?

 

The STORM TROOPERS, overwhelmed by their leader’s intellect, slowly came around. They looked around and then shouted in unison:

 

STORM TROOPERS: The ones sat down are Jews!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Yes, the ones sat down are Jews!

STORM TROOPER 1 But there are a lot of them here!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: It’s a Conservatory!

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

Aaaaaaaaaaah….

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Do you now understand what a

dangerous place we’re in!

STORM TROOPERS:b (In unison)

Right!

Understood, Herr GRUPPENFÜHRER!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: This is not the “Bear’s” café! You need eyes in the back of your head here! We’ll thank the Lord above if we leave here alive and well! To my greatest regret, we need go and leave this place! This was an inspection, a trial check, or more simply – a quick look at Berlin’s national makeup! Unfortunately, I do not yet have the authority to shoot, on site, enemies of the NSDAP or the whole German people! Instantly, we reacted to word from a true member of our “movement” and we have satisfied ourselves that here, in the Berlin Higher School of Music, Jewish musicians are playing Jewish music, and they are being accompanied (the shame, the shame!) by two Germans, two miscreants – who are not even German, but probably Jews! I’m talking about the double-bass players!

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

Heil Hitler!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: And now, I speak to you, un-slaughtered descendants of Abraham and Isaac! We are leaving! But soon millions of Germans, bedevilled by the Jews, will break in here, into this synagogue of a Conservatory, and bring order!

STORM TROOPERS: (In unison)

The global Jewish conspiracy the Nazis have always warned about will not come to pass!

GRUPPENFÜHRER: Troops, fall in! ROSNER, get your watch out and let’s finally hear your “Tyrolean tune”. It’ll be jollier for us to march to! Attention! To the right! Start singing! Quick march!

 

What I was witnessing was completely absurd.

 

The Brownshirts were marching hard out of the hall to the tune of the “Hava Nagila”, singing a song from a “completely different opera”, as they say:

 

“Tomorrow morning Santa comes

Bringing with him gifts so fun.

Sabre, pipes and also guns,

Bringing with him flags and drums,

Yes, I’d really love to find

An entire army just of mine.”

***

“Morgen kommt der Weihnachtsmann,

Kommt mit seinem Gaben.

Trommel, Pfeifen und Gewehr,

Fahn und Sabel und noch mehr,

Ja, ein ganzes Kriegesheer

Möcht ich gerne haben.”

* * *

 

Episode 23

 

We rehearsed for about an hour more, and then, having left the building, the Professor grabbed me by the arm and quietly said in a slightly hoarse voice.

 

FLESCH: BENNY, I have two questions for you. First: Might you have forgotten that the storm troopers burst in during our orchestral rehearsal today? Have you forgotten the flagrant disgrace they put on? Second: Why did you so want to hide Master Klotz’s violin in the Conservatory, in the safe, when you are leaving for Mittenwald on the last train for Munich tonight? Have you forgotten about that? Answer me: are you extremely frightened by this Nazi orgy taking place in our country? It’s important for me to hear what you have to say.

ME: Important? Why?

FLESCH: After the Brownshirts left you

played wonderfully! Bravo!

ME: Then what’s the problem?

FLESCH: Because before they came, you –

my friend – were playing like a GOD!

ME: The impressions ROLF’s storm troopers first made when I met them in the “Bear’s” café, I managed to hide them somewhere deep in my soul, and then I came to rehearsals completely free of the, frankly, unpleasant associations they’d made. But I didn’t manage it the second time. And after the Brownshirts left the rehearsal hall, when I was playing, I wasn’t JUST thinking about Mendelssohn’s music, but about that “brown filth” as well! Well, and I hid the instrument in the safe out of FEAR THAT I’D LOSE THE VIOLIN! My God, had I forgotten about my trip today? I’m being plagued by the fact that they humiliated HIRSCH the tailor and stopped him working: the Brownshirts took away his SCISSORS!

FLESCH: You should definitely leave Berlin for Mittenwald. Again, you should not stay in the capital – here the SKY IS CLOUDED WITH “A GIANT BLACK SWASTIKA”! I hope that FEAR will not catch you up on the way!

ME: It’s that serious?

FLESCH: I thank God you’re leaving! Happily you are not only a wonderful musician but… Well, you understand that I mean! Do you have your train tickets?

ME: Yes. But, professor, I mean, Bavaria isn’t in America!

FLESCH: I want to hope that the air in “cleaner” in Mittenwald than in “Brown Berlin”! Cleaner for now!

ME: Maybe you’re right.

FLESCH: Try to get you and your fiancée to Austria, your homeland, after the Festival! Take your things with you!

ME: What about you?

FLESCH: I’ll see you in Mittenwald. One the 20th, the concert, and then… I’m sure the Nazis will soon take my professorship from me and throw me out of the country. That’s the best-case scenario!

ME: And you think it could be something worse?

FLESCH: Oh, yes! For instance, prison, sudden death from a brick falling on my head or, at the end of the day, execution! You know my wife is also Jewish! So, I’m doubly in the firing line!

ME: So then, see you in Mittenwald, Maestro!

FLESCH: I truly hope so, dear BENNY! But in my consciousness FEAR is getting deeper and deeper into my roots! Don’t judge me – it’s just a sober look at today’s events!

 

Looking into each other’s eyes, we briefly stood silent, and then parted.

* * *

It so happened that after April 14, 1933, I would never meet Maestro FLESCH AGAIN.

I’ll say why - later.

Later, I found out from the newspapers that in 1935 the Nazis threw the professor and his wife out of Germany (having revoked both of them of their citizenship).

CARL FLESCH died in Lucerne in Switzerland in 1944.

 

Episode 24

April 14, 1933.

18:30

Night falling.

 

Storm troopers squadrons were marching down the streets, mainly made up of those from the Nazi Party and the “German Student Union” with the Hitlerjugend. The last two were practically leading the torch marches and book-burning ceremonies.

They were shouting out anti-Jew, anti-Marxist and anti-Pacifist slogans. It was all termed a preparation for the “Rally Against the Non-German Spirit”.

The storm troopers were chanting:

 

- Adolf Hitler is the great genius of all times!

- Adolf Hitler is the embodiment of strength and might, goodness and justice!

- We love our Führer more than life itself!

- With Adolf Hitler to a better future!

- Germany will live, even if we must die!

- A person might fall, the flag – never!

- Wake up, Germany!

 

After which they all started singing Horst Wessel’s “Flags High!” in a friendly way.

As if under a witch’s spell, I was going along the path alongside the marching storm troopers, gripping the violin case to my chest.

 

Besides myself, crowds of townsfolk were accompanying the ceremony. People kept coming and coming.

 

After a while, coming to my senses, I turned and realised I could not go back or get away from the march.

People were pushing me forward, and it was already pointless trying to fight against this “river of iron”.

 

I was afraid I could break or lose the violin.

 

Suddenly, everyone stopped and listened in to what a hoarse voice was saying.

 

VOICE: Our most dangerous enemy is the Jew and those who depend on them. A Jew can only think in a Jewish way. When he writes in German, he’s lying. A German writing in German, but not thinking in German, is a traitor! A student not talking and writing in German is utterly unthinkable and he will not be true to his intended use. We want to root out lies, we want to stigmatize treachery, and we want students not of frivolous thoughts, but of discipline and political education. We want to consider Jews as foreigners and we want to capture people’s spirits.

 

“Heil Hitler!” the storm troopers answered in unison, and the mass of people continued moving. Despite it not being dark enough of the streets, the marching Nazis lit hundreds of flaming torches.

 

I had guessed that the Brownshirts were heading towards the Gendarmenplatz where literature the Nazis found objectionable would be burned.

 

My position was unenviable:

 

Yes, firstly I was afraid that the violin case would fall out of my arms, be crushed by the crowds and turn Master Klotz’s creation into splinters.

 

Of course, I was also worried for my own life: if any of the “decent Burgers” of the glorious Prussian city of Berlin were to look carefully enough at the Semitic features on my face, they would tenderize me into a Kosher Jewish chop!

 

The agitated mass of people was behaving like one, deranged, high-and-mighty person: it was shouting the same slogans, at the same time, in one voice and it was ready to knock the blocks off any of the Führer’s enemies in one blow: Jews, gypsies, Marxists, Pacifists and even Japanese people, should they not be able to prove they were Japanese, which would mean they were… Jews!

 

I could have laughed at the stupidity the German had so quickly acquired, were it not for the omen of tragic events – and not only on a German scale.

 

The Brownshirts sang:

 

* * *

“Deutschland, Deutschland über alles,

über alles in der Welt,

wenn es stets zu Schutz und Trutze

brüderlich zusammenhält.

Von der Maas bis an die Memel,

von der Etsch bis an den Belt,

Deutschland, Deutschland über alles,

über alles in der Welt!”

 

Behind the marching column of Nazis, a truck full of books was slowing advancing.

 

Seeing they were books from a distance was, of course, impossible.

 

Seeing an elderly man with a scared look on his face, I looked around.

 

I asked him, without expecting a clear answer:

 

ME: Whose books are they burning?

MAN: Does it make any difference? This is just the prelude! Just remember, where they’re burning books now eventually they’ll be burning people! You didn’t ask me and I didn’t tell you anything. You didn’t see me here, and I didn’t see you! All the best, excuse me…

 

I think he shocked himself by his eloquence.

* * *

It’s not worth starting up a conversation with a stranger! I had learned another of “New” Germany’s lessons.

 

You guarantee your survival by being deaf and dumb.

You guarantee your safety by being a Nazism apologist.

The new norms of civil behaviour, to my surprise, were very quickly being absorbed into public consciousness!

* * *

A MAN WITH GINGER HAIR stood up on a car door step and, reading out a propaganda leaflet, shouted at the top of his voice:

- ‘No’ to class wars and materialism! ‘Yes’ to nationalism and an idealistic outlook.

I commit the works of Marx and Kautsky to the flames!!!

Down with decadence and moral decay! An orderly family for an orderly state!

I commit the works of Henrich Mann, Ernst Glezer and Erich Kästner to the flames!!!

We will speak up against political deviants and traitors, and give all our forces to the people and the government!

I commit the work of Friedrich Förster to the flames!!!

‘No’ to the corruption of the soul and sexual promiscuity! Long live the nobility of the human soul!

I commit the work of Sigmund Freud to the flames!!!

‘No’ to the falsification of our history and the tarnishing of great names; we will sanctify our past!

I commit the works of Emil Ludwig and Werner Hegemann to the flames!!!

‘No’ to anti-popular, Democratic-Jewish journalism in the years of the national renaissance!

I commit the works of Theodor Wolff and George Bernhard to the flames!!!

‘No’ to the gutter press which betrays the world war heroes. Long live educating the young in the spirit of true historicism!

I commit the work of Erich Maria Remarque to the flames!!!

‘No’ to the contamination and mutilation of our native German language! Fortify your concern about our language – the greatest treasure our nation has. Fire, devour Alfred Kerr’s work!!!

‘No’ to insolence and arrogance. ‘Yes’ to respect and deference to the German national spirit!

May the flames swallow the works of Tucholsky and Osetski!!!!

 

 

I listened carefully to the storm trooper. It was a sweeping, indiscriminate list of authors, some of whom I definitely did not sympathize with; however, even to think about burning their books, not to mention mocking them, only someone who was mentally unwell could do.

With every passing hour, I was more and more convinced that my decision to leave Germany was the right one!

* * *

The procession of storm troopers with burning torches, and the townsfolk accompanying them, came to the square. The Brownshirts formed a circle around a blazing pyre made out of bales of old newspapers. This was the opening scene – so to speak – of this particular show!

 

At the same time, I did not manage to push my way out of the crowd.

Fearing making any rash movements, and thinking about how best to keep the violin in one piece, I decided to stay put and watch the show to the end. I have no idea what to call it; probably a “farce with elements of tragic comedy”.

 

Yes, I was pained and ashamed for the Germans, particularly as I was completely surrounded by their radiantly-happy faces, who, in the space of nearly three months, had yet to master the new greetings (such as ‘Heil Hitler’), and so simply cheerfully shouted out the name of the new Reichskanzler:

 

BERLINERS: Adolf, Adolf, Adolf!

 

Members of the “Student Union”, dressed in storm trooper uniform, pretty much led this orgy of excitement.

It had all been meticulously planned.

 

For example, a young PERSON held up a book written by someone who was “objectionable to the German spirit” to the ecstatic crowd, and loudly stated the “harmful” writer’s or poet’s or scientist’s surname, and threw their printer work onto the pyre. After this, another Nazi came onto the stage and everything repeated again.

The fire was burning intensely.

 

The crimson colour of the flames flickered in waves across the faces of those surrounding the fire.

The spectacle was phantasmagorical and it sent shudders of fear through my body.

 

At times I shut my eyes and gripped the violin case even more tightly.

Then a conversation between two men standing before him caught my ear.

I couldn’t see their faces, but by what they were saying I could tell that I had “doubles” of the “café Gruppenführer”, Rolf, and my Nazi sausage-selling housemate OTTO BRACK, standing behind me.

 

“ROLF”: I understand why the writers, but we definitely need to extend our list. Say, why aren’t we burning composers?

“BRACK”: You’re right, but how do we do it?

“ROLF”: Simple! We should destroy their notes!

“BRACK”: Good man! Right decision!

“ROLF”: We should write to the relevant authorities! I hope the “Student Union” will respond quickly to the working masses!

“BRACK”: I wonder, who should we start with?

“ROLF”: Mendelssohn! I’ll tell you frankly, we have enough problems with the Germans – and there are a lot of Jews hidden among them!

“BRACK”: Agreed! Apart from Wagner all our composers

are a bit suspect!

“ROLF”: My friend says Schubert never touched pork!

“BRACK”: Then we know all we need to about him!

Turns out he was a Jew! Burn!

“ROLF”: And then we’ll destroy the paintings and the sculptures; we’ll blow up the architectural monuments, the cities – we’ll wipe a lot of countries off the face of the Earth… England, France, Poland, Russia, Italy… Ah, sorry, we’ll leave Italy for the moment.

“BRACK”: And what do we do about singers, musicians, artists?

“ROLF”: All on the pyre, alive!

“BRACK”: People?

“ROLF”: They are not people!

“BRACK”: Ah, I completely forgot!

 

We laughed, satisfied with how busy their plans were looking.

* * *

About 30 feet away from me I saw ESTHER, squashed in amongst all the other people. She looked like she looking for someone.

“That’s all I need before I leave Berlin!” I thought as I started, with great difficulty, to push my way through to her.

 

In the whirlpool of people she of course wouldn’t be able to notice, so I shouted at the top of my voice, in an attempt to get her attention:

 

ME: Fraulein! Fraulein!

 

What did I have to hide… I did not want to shout out her name!

ESTHER sounds pretty Jewish, particularly in a country where “Schubert didn’t touch pork”!

It was difficult, but I managed to reach her.

 

ME: ESTHER!

 

I whispered in her ear as I put a hand on Mademoiselle HIRSCH’s shoulder.

 

ESTHER: BENNY, what are you doing here? Gosh, I’m so happy to see you! So happy! How did you come from?

ME: I was going home after rehearsals and I happened to end up in the thick of it! The mass of people, literally, dragged me onto the square! And what about you, dear? Couldn’t you find somewhere better to be in Berlin? For your information they’re burning Marx on the pyre, and if memory serves, he was a relative of your grandfather ABRAHAM.

ESTHER: You’ve still got your sense of humour, seeing this mess?

ME: There’s nothing that can be done about it. You know, they’re planning on blowing up all the cities and wiping nearly all the countries from the face of the Earth?

ESTHER: (Laughing) Why?

ME: So we, Jews, have nowhere to run! They’re “not touching” Italy quite yet! Joking aside, what made you come here?

ESTHER: I’m looking for YOSSI!

ME: What happened?

ESTHER: Turns out YOSSI was boasting in front out our baker, Mr DREYFUS, that he was going to show these storm troopers “what’s what”. And Frau COHEN saw my little brother going from our district towards the square with other Jewish boys! I’m in some terrible nightmare! My father is killing himself over those scissors; mama is crying all day; and now this with YOSSI! As if there wasn’t enough already! Particularly today that we’re leaving. We have to find him straightaway! Oooh, on his own head be it!

ME: Looking for him here! What!?

ESTHER: Then we need to get ourselves out of this damned crowd and look in the alleyways, courtyards, cul-de-sacs… even on the roofs.

ME: We’ll try! We have a lot of time until

our train leaves!

* * *

Suddenly I was struck by a genius idea!

 

ME: (Shouting and pushing people out the way) Excuse me, please, pregnant lady coming through! Excuse me, please, pregnant lady!

 

ESTHER followed, grimacing, showing that someone here on the square was about to give birth and name it Addy, or Adolf!

Our acting duet worked.

ME: Pregnant German lady!

Pregnant German lady!

Out the way, people! Out the way, people!

ESTHER: Please, please…

ME: (My request turning into an order)

Pregnant Aryan lady! Out the way, gentlemen! Pregnant Aryan lady! Let Frau Braun through! Let Frau Braun through!

 

People, eyeing our quite un-Aryan features with some suspicious, although awkward, cleared the way, creating a gangway allowing us to tear ourselves to freedom.

 

Episode 25

April 14, 1933.

19:30

We ended up on an empty street corner where we could catch our breath, pull ourselves together after the madness on the square.

 

ME: How do you feel, Frau Braun?

ESTHER: Heil Hitler!

ME: Not even worth saying that as a joke!

ESTHER: Do you know the difference between the Jews and the Nazis?

ME: Haven’t really compared!

ESTHER: The Nazis can’t laugh at themselves! Haven’t you noticed?

ME: You hit the nail on the head! You’re absolutely right. Seeing their reflection in the mirror, they often chuckle but never smile.

ESTHER: It means things are bad for them!

I mean, not everyone can laugh at

themselves delicately.

ME: Yes, after all, Nazis can’t be cheered up, but until they finally disappear, they are capable of causing an awful lot of evil.

* * *

The search of ESTHER’s brother should, of course, have been carried out separately, but we didn’t want to split up and went round the squares together, through the small streets, hoping to find YOSSI who probably wanted to avenge the storm troopers over the scissors.

 

Perhaps this naïve youngster wanted to solve all of Germany’s probably with this “heroic act”?

Yes, well, “blessed are those who believe”!

 

We walked quickly, looking around, but for obvious reasons, we didn’t want to be shouting out the Jewish name “YOSSI”.

 

ESTHER had her wits about her:

 

ESTHER: Brother! Brooooother!

 

We looked at each other and we somehow found ourselves uncomfortable at the entire absurdity of the situation.

 

Certainly, living in a country where presenting yourself using your name and surname was a cause for fear, was hardly a happy way for anyone to live…

 

Episode 26

 

We had turned into a dark dead-end road and, as we turned around, we immediately noticed the dark-grey silhouettes of three men blocking our path back onto the street.

 

ME: They’ve come for us!

ESTHER: My God, the violin!

 

Click. One of the men flicked opened a switchblade, making his intentions of robbing us very clear. A flash of the knife blade instilled terror in us and served as a simultaneous, cold reminder of the undisputable fact that 1930s Berlin really was a city of thieves and gangsters. Their appearance, footwear, behaviour – all characteristic of Berlin’s criminal element.

 

ROBBER 1: (Talking to sidekick)

KURT, go and retrieve the things they’ve stolen from honest people!

 

KURT considered “things we had stolen from honest people” to be my wallet, Esther’s purse, and the violin.

They took what little money there was, but their interest in the violin seemed uncertain. They looked Master Klotz’s violin up and down and dithered over whether to take it with them or to throw it back to us.

 

Realizing the violin had been lost, I could sense a nervous feeling engulfing me – making me tremble from head to toe, and I readied myself to pounce.

 

I decided to go for it: either I fought for the violin, or I died. Being robbed and humiliated like that for me meant not only losing the instrument, but also my honour and ESTHER’s respect.

 

KURT: What do we do, CAPTAIN?

CAPTAIN: We need to ask “THE AXE”!

ROBBER 3: And what about these two? Do we kill them or what?

CAPTAIN: No blood!

ROBBER 3: Don’t you get jokes?

Well, I’m off. I’ll call you.

CAPTAIN: Quick as you can, URI! He’s in the Bear’s café, together with that little cutie IRMA. Tell him to hurry. And you should get a spurt on, too. I’m not wasting my time. The “harvest” could be much better elsewhere. They don’t call me the CAPTAIN for nothing! Goddamn it!

KURT: Okay! I’m going!

 

I breathed a sigh of relief: “THE AXE” definitely knew who I was – after all he had been buying bombs (or whatever it was) from my housemate, ARNO BACH. Still, I was hoping that there could not be two “AXES” in Berlin. Surely there was just one. That meant ESTHER and I would soon be freed from the humiliation of being the victims of a robbery.

 

I was buoyed by the fact that I had seen HEINZ THE AXE just a few hours ago in the Bear café, where he had been involved in a confrontation with the storm troopers.

 

I was hoping he would get me out of this sticky situation. Despite my positive mood, I kept my emotions hidden and whispered to ESTHER:

 

ME: Calm down, my dear!

They’re going to give us everything back!

ESTHER: Have you had your wits completely frightened from you? This CAPTAIN is a real butcher, and “THE AXE” is even worse! They’d cut down everyone in Berlin for a pfennig! I’ve read about them in the crime section of one of the evening papers. This is terrible!

ME: “THE AXE” and I go way back! But I don’t know this CAPTAIN – he must be new.

ESTHER: Are you quite sane?

ME: Completely!

ESTHER: No, BENNY! You’re not!

ME: (Carefree, whistling a tune from my criminal repertoire) I remember how we robbed a bank three years ago…

ESTHER: Shut up, or I’ll cosh you over the head with your miserable violin case!

ME: Anything but the violin case! It’s been making a mockery of me as it is! I’ll be quiet. But soon you’ll see…

CAPTAIN: (Speaking to me) Hey, which of you is the musician – you or your girlfriend?

ME: Let’s say it’s me!

CAPTAIN: The violin looks old.

ME: What’s it to you? Let “THE AXE” sort it out!

KURT: You’re very brave all of a sudden, sunshine! Perhaps the angels are flapping their way to help you out right now. Yikes, what a brave boy!

CAPTAIN: All sorts of funny things happen to people who’re faced with death – some get down on their knees, others get all rowdy!

KURT: You don’t say, CAPTAIN! How do you know all about that?

CAPTAIN: I worked as an executioner in prison… Part time! Ha-ha-ha…

ESTHER: You’re going to…

CAPTAIN: If you behave, you’ll get away with a fright and having these things, which belong to the people, confiscated. Otherwise… You’re for it!

ESTHER: Don’t take any notice of my BENNY. He’s mentally unstable!

CAPTAIN: I don’t even take notice of the Lord God. I saunter around like a street cat from Kaiserstrasse!

ESTHER: (Flattering him) May your enemies never prosper. Wow, you’re a brave PERSON!

KURT: You’re right there! Our CAPTAIN is an amazing guy!

CAPTAIN: You wouldn’t want to be one of my enemies! Ha-ha….

KURT: No sign of “THE AXE”, and we’re cutting it fine! And we’re in this poxy place – a dead-end! You won’t get away if they come at you with a weapon from behind!

CAPTAIN: Hold it!

KURT: And what else have we got to do, but have a smoke and wait!

 

Ten minutes or so went by and “THE AXE” turned up accompanied by URI, who walked a few steps behind the boss as a sign of respect, bowing submissively.

 

“THE AXE”: Why did you call? Something serious?

CAPTAIN: Look at this violin! Seems really old! I’d have taken it for myself without a second’s thought, but if the instrument is important, you won’t be getting your cut! The “snoops” really go after these things! You remember what they sent “Humpback Walter” down for? It was nothing to look at, but then it turned out it was a sculpture of some Italian guy, Canova!

“THE AXE”: I remember; how couldn’t you! “Humpback Walter” is still stewing in the “zugunder”!

KURT: Your word, “AXE”!

“THE AXE”: I see the instrument is an antique! You keep yourself out of trouble! Who did you take it from?

URI: From that guy and his girlfriend over there!

“THE AXE”: (Talking to us) Come forward!

(Talking to the CAPTAIN) We’re giving it back and that’s the end to it – we’re honest thieves, not tramps!

 

ESTHER and I approached HEINZ THE AXE – the terror of all of Berlin’s gangsters (thank you, Lord!) recognized me immediately.

 

“THE AXE”: Bah! Familiar faces!

Well, buddy, twice in one day!

We should celebrate!

ME: Hello, HEINZ!

“THE AXE”: You with your girlfriend, BENNY?

ME: This is ESTHER, my fiancée!

“THE AXE”: ESTHER, forgive my friends!

(To the gang)

Give them back what you’ve taken!

 

…THE AXE’s command rang out and instantly the wallet, purse and violin were returned to their owners.

 

“THE AXE”: CAPTAIN, KURT and you, URI! Before you stands a famous violinist – BENNY ROSNER, and his fiancée Mademoiselle ESTHER! Make sure you remember their faces. Again, remember their faces! I trust there will be no more misunderstandings!

CAPTAIN: Got it!

KURT: Whatever you say, “AXE”!

URI: It was just a small mistake! Forgive us!

“THE AXE”: CAPTAIN, you are au fait with the rules of Berlin’s robbers, aren’t you? The rules are strict but fair!

CAPTAIN: I’ve known them since I was a child!

“THE AXE”: So! The rule says: no taking things from people that they need for work! For my friend, BENNY, his violin is his work tool! Got it? And you, KURT, listen carefully: if they took away your knife, who would you be? Right! You’d be a poxy sheep that even a child could upset! But with a knife, you’re a gangster who all of Prussia knows: KURT THE FIGHTING COCKEREL! A RESPECTED PERSON! It means a knife is your “work” tool, your “business”! Am I speaking sense?

CAPTAIN: All correct and by the book!

URI: And we should have left the wallets and purses!

“THE AXE”: You good-for-nothing Jew, URI! Robbing from your own! Didn’t I tell you this is BENNY ROSNER!?

URI: I didn’t hear!

“THE AXE”: Didn’t hear!

CAPTAIN: The issue’s been dealt with.

Okay, we’re off, “AXE”. It’ll be dark tonight.

“THE AXE”: I don’t recommend you walk about tonight. Things are going off all around. You can see what’s been happening on the square. They’re burning books! I fear the day they start throwing people on the pyre isn’t so very far away. It’s time to up sticks and leave this madhouse that Germany has become! Okay, see you, brothers!

 

They bade each other goodbye and the CAPTAIN, in an utterly refined matter, kissed ESTHER’s hand.

 

“THE AXE”: (Talking to us) Would you do one thing for me?

ME: Well, of course! We owe you one!

ESTHER: And I haven’t even had the chance to thank you, Mr “AXE”!

“THE AXE”: Mademoiselle, please call me HEINZ. And the same goes for you, BENNY ROSNER. I respect your talent! I remember once I had to go to a concert at the Berlin Higher School of Music. The visit was purely of a professional nature. I’ll spare you the details. I think you understand what was going on. Anyway, we were preparing ourselves for “work” and I was simply enthralled by your performance. If I’m not mistaken, you were playing Grieg’s Sonata No.3 for Violin. My God, you played like a GOD! I’ll never forget it! We ended up leaving all the mink fur coats hanging in the cloakroom. After the Grieg I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s evening! You know, I had always wanted to meet you. I was telling ARNO that recently.

ME: Well, that is news to me! Yes, I was playing the Grieg!

“THE AXE”: News? I was born to a traditional, Prussian, musical family. My father was a church organist; my mother had a marvellous mezzo-soprano. At home we often put on “family concerts” at Christmas and Easter. Then war came. My father was killed somewhere in Transylvania. My mother died of typhoid. I was left on my own and had to choose my own “path” in life. Something I regret it, but only sometimes!

ME: What a sad story!

Tell me, HEINZ, what do you need from us?

“THE AXE”: It’s been a tough day. IRMA, my girlfriend, you know, left me – probably looking for cocaine. Soon I’ll have to choose: prison or emigration. Things aren’t going our way. So I wanted you to come and sit with me in the Berlin Bear Cub to round the day off, while they still call me the King of the Thiefdom of Berlin!

ESTHER: You’re inviting us to a cabaret?

“THE AXE”: Don’t worry! The Bear Cub is a perfectly decent place. You could even call it “respectable”. Gering was in there just the day before yesterday!

ESTHER, ME: (Together)

Who’s Gering?

“THE AXE”: One of the gangster chiefs!

ESTHER: (Naïvely)

I’m sorry, does he “work” with you?

“THE AXE”: God forbid! He “works” for

Hitler’s gang!

They’re completely different!

ME: HEINZ, you know, we’re really in a sticky situation! We probably can’t take you up on your kind offer. Forgive us! Problems, you know. And all that aside, we’re off to Mittenwald tonight. On the Munich train.

“THE AXE”: The Munich train? That’s not for ages – middle of the night! And for the time being, I solve Berlin’s problems! For the time being!

ESTHER: I’m looking for my brother, YOSSI. He must be on the square somewhere with his friends – mainly Jewish kids, and I’m sure he’s planning something terrible to do to those Brownshirts.

“THE AXE”: How old is he?

ESTHER: He’ll soon be sixteen. His name is YOSSI HIRSCH!

“THE AXE”: Are you aware of what he has devised that is so “terrible”?

ESTHER: Of course not.

“THE AXE”: As for your brother and this band of Jewish rascals, I’ll find them – while they haven’t burnt down the Reichstag for a second time!

ME: Are you sure you can, HEINZ?

“THE AXE”: No, I’m not sure and, well, if I’m not sure, that means you definitely won’t find the little troublemakers!

ESTHER: What can we do?

“THE AXE”: What can we do? Let’s go to

the Bear Cub.

We’ll be able to see from there.

ESTHER: But you’ll make sure we aren’t late for our train?

“THE AXE”: My dear Fraulein, when I say something I mean it! I’ll have you know I’m always one step ahead of those police hounds when it’s got to do with searching for lost people and lost things!

ME: In all honesty, we have no other option! You, HEINZ, appeared like a guardian angel!

ESTHER: Thank you in advance for the help!

 

“THE AXE”: Okay. As that’s the way it is, things won’t wait. My people normally gather near the cabaret, as it happens. If they can’t help us, who can?

 

We came out of the street and headed for HEINZ THE AXE’s car.

 

 

Episode 27

April 14, 1933

20:30

 

It was a Bugatti 50T – a beautiful, well looked-after car. THE AXE got us to the front doors of the Berlin Bear Cub cabaret in a flash. There were crowds of people around the entrance: the faces of Berlin’s Bohemian and criminal underworlds.

 

You could see storm troopers and police officers in some places, as well as the security service agents – highly conspicuous by their behaviour: holding up newspapers unfolded and looking the other way, wearing dark glasses which they frequently straightened with a poke of their index finger.

 

We got out of the car and, as we slowly made our way up the wide staircase, I noticed people were stepping aside to let us through. Men, women, even Brownshirts were respectfully nodding to greet THE AXE, and some of the people there were clearly showing off to the whole world that they were “like that” with one of Berlin’s gangster chiefs.

 

Many of them waved at him to say ‘hello’, shouting:

 

- How are you doing, HEINZ?

- Where’ve you been, buddy?

- They say you cleaned up at the casino last night!

- Hope you have a great time!

- You look great!

- Hey, AXE, your bird gone off with someone!

- Oi, old man, let’s have a chinwag about the old days in the Fatman Schickedanz’s

restaurant!

- Hi, HEINZ!

* * *

With an almost imperceptible gesture of his finger THE AXE called over a middle-aged man.

They went off together.

 

I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but I saw that the man was nodding and looked around himself warily at the same time. Then he left and THE AXE came back and quietly “reported” to us.

 

“THE AXE”: That was BLOODY RUDOLF. We call him RUDDY THE RASCAL! Mademoiselle ESTHER, he can find not only your brother, but also his придачу of the Bible’s Moses, Solomon and Isaac, even if they’re not in Berlin today!

ESTHER: This RUDDY seems to me to be a very nice person!

“THE AXE”: I see you like black humour!

ME: Yes, of course she was joking, but I’m sure this “BLOODY RUDOLF” is a high-flying bird!

“THE AXE”: He’s sharp! He’s got a network of informers. Your brother’s called YOSSI HIRSCH, right?

ESTHER: That’s right.

ME: I’m really counting on you, HEINZ!

“THE AXE”: Well then, on we go!

 

 

Episode 28

April 14, 1933

21:00

 

The manager of the casino greeted us with outstretched arms.

 

MANAGER: Welcome once again, HEINZ!

“THE AXE”: (Introducing us) My friends – the wondrous ESTHER and world-famous violinist, Mr ROSNER!

MANAGER: Good evening! As you enter, VIP table number two will be set for you. Please….

 

However comical it all looked, I had my five fingers clasped so tightly around the violin case handle that there was no blood running in them; but I wasn’t going to let it out of my sight even in the casino.

* * *

 

We sat round the table which was already sporting a bottle of Veuve Clicquot French champagne chilling in a bucket of ice, plates of glistening black and red caviar (imported from Soviet Russia in exchange for German machinery), bread, butter and bitter chocolate. A minute later, a waiter brought over some Brazilian coffee.

 

“THE AXE”: We’re in luck! The show hasn’t started yet. I’ll tell you now that the highlight of the show is a performance by someone you know well…

ME: I can guess!

“THE AXE”: Yes, your housemate – MARIKA ERDELY!

ME: What joy! I remember those wonderfully-smelling roses you left outside that beautiful Magyar’s door!

“THE AXE:” It’s a sin, but I’ve always liked her!

ESTHER: (To THE AXE) Oh, roses? Now I really respect you, HEINZ! She is beautiful. I saw a picture of her in Art New. BENNY often talks about her. He always describes her as cheerful and entertaining.

“THE AXE”: Ah, what an interesting house you have, dear BENNY! Explosives expert and engineer ARNO in a room next to cabaret star MARIKA ERDELY and BENNY ROSNER – a violinist with a big future ahead of him!

ME: (Continuing) We also have a Nazi shopkeeper, OTTO BRACK – and a Battle of Artois hero, KONRAD SCHEUBNER! As well as SHTETKE the artist (interestingly, Hitler himself comes over to his place for portrait drawing sessions!) – they say SHTETKE’s making an enormous portrait of the Führer!

“THE AXE”: The whole of Berlin knows about that! Your house, number 33 Glücklichstrasse – no offence, but it’s a real madhouse! You’re better off sitting in prison than sharing a house with people like that! I’m surprised my friend ARNO BACH hasn’t managed to blow you all up yet! Yup, a real madhouse all right!

ME: I dream of the day I can leave that place!

 

The MANAGER came up to our table – he was a bald MAN in an evening suit which had been exquisitely sewn, and closely eyeing its stitching, I remembered that I would have to go to the Festival without concert tails due to SOLOMON HIRSCH’s as-yet unresolved problems – having been left bereft of his antique, family scissors.

 

I suddenly felt sad, distanced from reality by my recollections, but then the MANAGER’s bassy voice instantly snapped me back to the casino.

 

MANAGER: The show will begin on your say-so, HEINZ! The artists are waiting!

“THE AXE”: What’s on today?

MANAGER: We’ve got a new programme!

“THE AXE”: Glad to hear it! What’s it called?

MANAGER: “The Cheerful Widow”

“THE AXE”: We have a Fraulein in our company.

I hope the show won’t make her blush!

MANAGER: Nothing smutty in it! Everything’s above board – nothing more than you’d see in the Moulin Rouge! The flyer is anti-Jewish, but it’s quite decent!

ME: Congratulations! How modern!

MANAGER: We hope the show will bring in big audiences!

ESTHER: Particularly storm troopers!

MANAGER: Non olet pecunia! Money doesn’t stink, as they say! No bearing a grudge, now – it’s just a joke!

ME: You can be joking while putting up your gallows in the square…

MANAGER: I promise you you’ll enjoy the show!

“THE AXE”: Okay. What’s there to argue about?

Await my signal!

MANAGER: As you wish, HEINZ! I’m waiting.

 

At this point couples were dancing the foxtrot, accompanied by a fine-sounding orchestra – everything was very pleasant.

 

I looked around. Nearly all the tables were taken.

 

The Bear Cub attracted the kind of public you would expect to find in an establishment of this sort: the criminal element; hagglers; ladies with their cavaliers (with no family ties!); high-society prostitutes seated separately, waiting for the right financial offer to come their way; middle-ranking military clerks; rich, young sons of Prussian landowners who had just arrived in the capital; Russian émigrés (which were numerous in Berlin at the time) and so on and so forth.

 

I noticed storm troopers sitting at a few tables. They looked uncomfortable, but at the same time trying their best to adapt quickly to the new setting: the Brownshirts were cackling loudly, drinking a lot, occasionally shouting out Heil Hitler which I found repugnant, and with mouths agape, trying to hold back their saliva as they ogled at the beautiful ladies who were dancing and thrusting out their backsides as they did so.

 

Aside from the mindless Nazis present, everything was really quite wonderful. Nothing could change that!

 

Times had changed and, of course, the favoured-ones had also changed!

It also seemed to me that the cabaret’s regulars were trying not to mix with the storm troopers – and so were ignoring them. Then, right in front of me, a number of respectable ladies refused to dance with the Führer’s “brave boys” – but the storm troopers then quickly found some jolly, giggling ladies – red-cheeked German ladies with chunky thighs.

 

They spun around on the parquet floor like peasants from Swabia: dancing extremely quickly, noisily, indecently, and not at all in time with the music.

 

Sometimes the storm troopers would bawl out some folksongs, bouncing up and down on their chairs.

 

They were the ones who found this “punishing number” the funniest, and, of course, there was no end to their laughing, smutty jokes and empty wine glasses after each subsequent libation to the brotherhood!

* * *

Suddenly, I saw BLOODY RUDOLF (or RUDDY THE RASCAL) making his way hastily over to us, with a kind of careless, arrogant look on his face which said he hadn’t come empty-handed.

 

“THE AXE”: Look, here comes our valiant RUDDY! I see he has something to cheer us up!

ESTHER: (Standing up) It can’t be that they’ve

found my brother. So quickly?

ME: I think they have! Let’s see

what he has to say!

 

RUDDY came up to our table and, without paying ESTHER or me any heed, reported the results of the search to THE AXE.

 

RUDDY: I’ve brought a whole array (ватага) of youngsters! They’re back there stood in a quiet corner by the cloakroom, waiting for us.

ESTHER: YOSSI?

RUDDY: We’ve got one of those! YOSSI KIRSCH!

ME: No! It’s HIRSCH!

RUDDY: Oh, KIRSCH, HIRSCH –

what’s the difference?

The main thing is that he’s here!

“THE AXE”: Where did you catch them, old boy?

RUDDY: On a roof of one of the buildings! They threw an enormous drum of engine oil from there, smack-bang, just five minutes before the marching storm troopers took to the streets with burning torches!

ESTHER: My God!

“THE AXE”: Not bad, not bad…

ME: And what happened?

RUDDY: First, using the panic they generated, I managed to take the group of pipsqueaks off the roof and get them to a safe place! Second, I saw with my own eyes what then happened on the street when the rabble of Brownshirts started slipping over on the engine oil with burning torches in their hands!

* * *

 

Episode 28A

 

RUDDY’s story is accompanied by black-and-white, slightly speeded-up pictures, showing the comical scene of the storm troopers falling over, sliding around, tumbling and getting burnt, sliding around on the engine oil.

 

Musical accompaniment – Horst Wessel’s Banners High!

 

* * *

 

“THE AXE”: That’s quite something!

RUDDY: HEINZ, you’ll regret that you didn’t

see that sight for the rest of your life!

“THE AXE”: I can only imagine!

RUDDY: It’s a shame most of the other Nazis went along a different street! If they hadn’t, all the storm troopers would have burned alive. There were only around 20-30 people there and they got away with light injuries, burns – but what an unimaginable delight!

ESTHER: Mr RUDOLF, please take me to my brother!

RUDDY: Nothing could be simpler!

ME: Well, what about the money!

“THE AXE”: Let’s go.

 

 

Episode 29

 

Near the cloakroom we saw the “band of criminals” and, of course, young HIRSCH. (There were about five or six people there, if I remember correctly).

 

I understood that ESTHER’s brother had been shaken-up not so much by the incident with the Nazis, or the possible consequences for it by the authorities (had he been arrested), but rather by his meeting such an infamous figure of Berlin’s criminal world as BLOODY RUDOLF!

 

RUDDY: (Introducing us to the “heroes of the day”)

Here you go! Please have a look!

 

ESTHER ran over to her brother and hugged him without saying a word.

 

Stood there apparently inseparable from my violin, I looked like a musician who had come to a requiem at someone’s funeral – stupid and funny.

 

“THE AXE”: Hello, honest company!

 

The boys, heads bowed, stood silently, looking out at THE AXE – quite certainly the most legendary gangster of the time – from under their eyebrows.

 

RUDDY: (To those who had been detained)

All Jews?

ESTHER: Yes. I’ve known them since they were

all kids. They’re our neighbours.

RUDDY: (Approaching THE AXE)

I’ll tell you this, HEINZ, a Jewish criminal is three times as dangerous as a German one.

“THE AXE”: Why’s that then?

RUDDY: Jews dream bigger! He’s deep in thought!

“THE AXE”: The idea with the oil was good! I wouldn’t have thought of that!

RUDDY: There – I told you, bigger dreams!

ESTHER: These are boys from decent families. They wouldn’t hurt a fly! It’s just when they beat you, and I mean beat you badly, you have to respond! No?

RUDDY: They beat us too, dear Fraulein! No one is born a criminal, and no one has yet been born as such, except for Max Land or “MAX THE CANNIBAL”, who ate “GERMAN FROM HAMBURG” (“THE SAX PLAYER”) alive whilst they were in custody together! HEINZ’ll back me up!

“THE AXE”: The Nazis will reap what they sow, but I think they’ve got plenty of evil in them yet!

RUDDY: So what should we do with the kids, HEINZ?

“THE AXE”: What should we do? Take them one-by-one to their homes and make sure they don’t poke so much as their noses outside their front doors for a week.

ESTHER: Can’t YOSSI stay with us?

“THE AXE”: I don’t think so! I think “house arrest” would be better for him than sitting in a prison cell with the rats.

RUDDY: (Addressing the boys) You are all to keep your lips firmly sealed and not talk to each other for the next month! Understood?

BOYS: (Quietly and unenergetically) Understood.

RUDDY: First we’ll get you clean and, well, then I’ll get you sorted out. Stay calm. HEINZ, I won’t see harm come to them. That trick with the engine oil really tickled me. We should be thinking of things like that. Recently I got to see a circus for free! Ha-ha – they just fell over each other, holding burning torches! We should get our thinking caps on.

 

ESTHER and I said goodbye to YOSSI, who seemed a little gloomy but also as if he had really grown up in the space of a single day.

 

ESTHER: (Speaking to her brother) They’ll be taking me home. No need for mama or papa to worry.

YOSSI: Okay. But what are you doing in a cabaret? Doesn’t your train leave tonight?

ESTHER: I’m here with BENNY! Understood?

YOSSI: Aaaah. So you won’t be late?

ESTHER: For the train?

YOSSI: Well, yeah.

ESTHER: Of course not. But if I’m not home

by midnight….

YOSSI: Then I’ll be at the platform with your suitcase.

ESTHER: That’s just the emergency

scenario, remember!

YOSSI: I’m no fool, don’t you worry!

ESTHER: (To her brother) Right you are! And I know it was you who thought up that trick with the engine oil. You’re a proper gangster!

ME: (To YOSSI)

Just you listen to uncle RUDDY!

 

BLOODY RUDOLF seemed (to me at least!) to be quite taken by the phrase “Uncle Rudolf”! After all it was the first time in his life when he had felt like a person with a family.

 

BLOODY RUDOLF, winking to THE AXE, headed with the boys towards the bathroom – they needed to get the attic dust off the group of Jewish adolescents.

 

Episode 30

 

Re-entering the hall, HEINZ gave a small gesture of his hand to the MANAGER, who in turn went over to the conductor, whispered two words into his ear, and the colourful show – “The Cheerful Widow” – began.

 

We sat round table 2. The waiter topped up our champagne glasses.

 

“THE AXE”: To our meeting and to our prosperity!

 

I happily drank my fizzing glass of champagne and started to feel mellow, free and even like a happy person, but it was still worth keeping a random eye on that ill-fated violin case under the table, which meant I was never completely at ease.

 

“THE AXE”: BENNY, we should drink more!

We’ve had a tough day!

ME: What about the train?

“THE AXE”: Trust me, that train isn’t going

anywhere without you!

ME: I don’t doubt it, but, if you would, tell me how you managed to slip away from ROLF’s storm troopers in the Bear café?

“THE AXE”: The answer is simple: for the time being, Berlin’s gangsters are part of an authoritative organization! The “Brownies” made sure not to meddle in our business. Right now Hitler’s main enemy are the Communists! And then, it’s the Jews, after which it’ll be time for Germany’s criminal factions – thieves, robbers, drug dealers, brothels and the rest of them. The Führer will then go after the mentally ill, handicapped, homosexuals and well, after that…

ME: What’s after that?

“THE AXE”: War!

ESTHER: How do you know that, HEINZ?

“THE AXE”: Always keep my ear to the ground. I always know!

ME: Understood.

ESTHER: There’s plenty I don’t understand. Everything’s changing so quickly – for the worse. Today my parents, lifelong Berliners, decided to move away from Berlin – probably to Poland. It’s quieter there, although they say the Poles don’t really like the Jews. We have a lot of relatives in Krakow, but our family leaving will involve big expenses. The house, the workshop…. You understand.

“THE AXE”: It’s quite possible they’re rethink their decision to leave Germany. Whatever they might say, people always look to the future with hope! Mr HIRSCH will not find it easy to “weigh anchor”!

ESTHER: Do you know papa?

“THE AXE”: He’s a famous tailor in Berlin. He sews my suits for me.

ESTHER: Forgive me, I don’t remember you being in the workshop.

“THE AXE”: My “extreme business” requires me to be able to change both my external and internal worlds – a little make-up, the right wig for the situation required by the suit, the right moves, a tweak of the voice and… there’s a different person standing before you!

ESTHER: Aaah. You could probably get up on a stage and play someone from Shakespeare.

“THE AXE”: Shakespearean passions? I’ll tell you something, I’ve always dreamed of that, but…

ESTHER: It’s not too late!

“THE AXE”: Anything could happen, but I’ll probably say ‘no’ to any roles involving criminals or policemen!

ME: (Raising a glass) To your future

artistic success, HEINZ!

ESTHER: Hear, hear!

“THE AXE”: And I wish that you, BENNY,

become the highest-paid violinist

in the world!

ESTHER, ME: Fine by us!

 

Laughter

 

We drank champagne, turned to the stage and enjoyed ourselves.

 

ME: I’m happy everything ended well.

YOSSI is probably already home.

“THE AXE”: RUDDY will keep his word.

ESTHER: Thank you, HEINZ!

“THE AXE”: To you! Oh, and please, don’t worry

about being late for the Munich train!

 

Every drained glass of champagne made me feel better, but the whole time the violin and I remained bound together – I had the case clenched between my knees. I’d had enough!

 

Yes, fear of losing the instrument meant I couldn’t relax fully. I admit, I was even worried about going to the toilet! Of course, it would have been funny to go there holding the violin case, but however the comical the situation might be, I would have even gone to the lavatory (forgive me!) only with Master Klotz’s violin with me.

 

The show continued….

 

* * *

 

ESTHER was raptly following the show and was clearly enjoying herself, but when MARIKA took to the stage as the “cheerful widow”, Fraulein HIRSCH even started applauding.

 

There was no end to the song and dance, and there was nothing anti-Semitic in it that I noticed, except for the slightly loose dance of one drunk Rabbi: if of course you can call the dancing miniature of “The Fiancé from the Synagogue” anti-Semitic.

 

The plot of the show was simple: a rich Jew has died; the widow is planning to marry again; she is visited by fiancés (with songs and dances); one inconsolable madame also sings and dances frantically; the late husband is jealous of his wife all the way “from the other side” and often visits her in the guise of a comical ghost, which the public seemed to find particularly amusing. And so on and so forth….

 

MARIKA was “on fire”!

 

Fans threw her flowers, and shouted:

- Bravo, bravooooo!

 

Bowing down, turning to face various directions, she showed everyone her attractive bosom and seductive behind and…. It began again:

- Bravo, bravooooo!

* * *

Suddenly, unexpectedly, a man dressed in storm trooper uniform, a big stein of beer in his hand, marched in militarily style over to our table – it was my housemate (talk of the devil!) – the notorious OTTO BRACK. It wasn’t difficult to tell he was completely drunk.

 

Shame I hadn’t noticed his presence at the cabaret earlier! It was not one of life’s nicer surprises, and of course there was no way we could slip away. I thought he was about ready to make a scene, insult me and the whole group of people I was with.

* * *

BRACK: Aaaaaa, my dear ROSNER!

 

“Dear”? That word particularly made my ears prick up!

This heinous man had always hated me for being a Jew and always tried to play dirty tricks on me – also for me being a Jew.

 

BRACK: I’m so happy to see you! I’m so happy to see you!

After all, we all started with Adam and all people are

b r o t h e r s!

 

He was making a point of ignoring ESTHER and HEINZ, but they were paying no heed to the frantic Brownshirt.

 

To ease the awkward situation, I took the housemate over to the bar.

 

BRACK: My dear ROSNER! My dear ROSNER!

 

I started to doubt that the person in front of me really was Mr BRACK! What “brotherhood” was he talking about? Maybe he’d fallen out of bed?

 

BRACK: I’m the happiest man in the world today!

ME: Have you got married, OTTO?

BRACK: Not on your life! I can’t stand women! They’re stupid and only think about… well, you understand…about… ha-ha…

ME: Are you drunk?

BRACK: Oh, yes! I’ve been drinking schnapps! I’m drinking good ol’ German beer! I have a serious reason for getting drunk, but I’m not drunk! I’m just merry!

ME: Why are you so happy, OTTO? Have you killed a Jew? Have you martyred some Jewish children? Burned down a synagogue? Have you blown up the Comintern - “Third International”? Should I be congratulating you?

BRACK: I haven’t been killing anyone! I haven’t got to that… yet…

ME: Such a pity! I do sympathize, really I do! You have everything ahead of you! No need to worry so! You’ll still show yourself! Oh, how you’ll show yourself!

BRACK: Yeah, but…

ME: Aaaaa, you want to hit me on the head with a sledgehammer and you’re getting a taster of the enormous enjoyment you’d get from that ahead of time?

BRACK: I don’t want to hit you! On my word! At least not today!

ME: Thank you, OTTO!

BRACK: If I were to explain to you why I’m so happy, I’d have to tell you something extremely secret!

ME: Then you’re better off not telling me! I’m a Jew after all – enemy of the state and animals with non-cloven hooves!

BRACK: What do non-cloven-hooved animals

have anything to do with this?

ME: For your unadulterated happiness!

BRACK: Are you planning on poisoning

all the poor non-cloven-hooved

animals in Germany?

ME: No flies on you, OTTO!

BRACK: And the grasshoppers, too?

ME: That’s what all Jews dream about!

BRACK: Do you people have no pity! By day you play the violin, by night you’re after poor insects and….

ME: Non-cloven-hooved animals!

BRACK: That’s right! Aren’t you tormented

by remorse?

ME: We are. I’m quite disgusted myself

that I’m a Jew!

 

As always, my irony went straight over BRACK’s head. I had learned one thing though – a drunken OTTO’s intellect was no different from that of a sober OTTO.

 

BRACK: That’s why I love you, BENNY! I knew you were tormented by your Jewishness! Nothing you can do about it! Not everyone can be born a BRACK!

ME: Or a Hitler!

BRACK: Hitler! Oh, that’s not even happiness

– that’s blessed!

ME: Well, okay, all the best to you and I wish you unadulterated “National-Socialist happiness”!

BRACK: You’re leaving?

ME: I’ve got a lot to do! I’m off to Mittenwald soon, to the Festival of Music! And then there are my friends: it’s a little bit awkward in front of them.

BRACK: Mittenwald? We need to celebrate!

ME: Forgive me, I’ve had a tough day today.

BRACK: You’re invited to our table!

ME: To drink German beer?

BRACK: Sorry, but you haven’t quite earned that yet! German beer for a Jew is like one of the Führer’s speeches for someone who’s deaf and dumb! Ha-ha….

ME: Now, I look at you, Mr BRACK, and I wonder where you went to school, what kind of family you grew up in, which books you read.

BRACK: I had no basic education, I grew up in an orphanage, I learned to read in prison – which is where I ended up after the Beer Putsch, and I’ve only read one book – my teacher’s book – Mein Kampf!

ME: So you haven’t lived life in vain after all!

BRACK: I was “born” when I first picked up Hitler’s book!

ME: So how old are you now?

BRACK: You’re a sly one, Benny! But here’s what I’ll say: every year I’ll be younger and younger! The Führer needs energetic Germans. So much to do! So much to do!

ME: I shan’t get in your way! Get those knives sharpened, ОТТО!

BRACK: Fine! My brothers-in-arms were waiting for me, but as you’re leaving I’ll tell you what happened precisely an hour ago! It’s a secret!

ME: I’m listening! Quick as you can, please!

* * *

 

Episode 30A

 

Black-and-white, slightly speeded-up “old cinema” pictures, in the background as OTTO BRACK is telling his story and something from Wagner accompanying, e.g. Valkyrie, Siegfried or, as a last resort, Ring of Nibelung.

 

T h e s t o r y o f a N a t i o n a l – S o c i a l i s t

 

BRACK: An hour ago a number of cars pulled up outside our house. I stood by the entranceway, holding our copy of the Der Schturmer (Storm trooper) weekly magazine, reading its articles on burning topics, learning a lesson or two, drawing upon deep knowledge, as it were!

I tell you, BENNY, not to offend you but Der Schturmer has always managed to tear the mask off the face of Germany’s Jewish population, showing it for what it really is. The magazine showed their true essence, as the enemies of progressive humanity. So there!

I saw the shining cars,

and realized that it was HIM!!!!!

Yes, our dear leader had come to see SHTETKE, for a portrait session, the lucky thing – the Führer of the German people, Adolf Hitler.

It was the happiest moment of my life! I started crying!

I decided I should move aside – wanting to clear the way, but I was so worried I couldn’t move an inch! The Reichskanzler’s guards ran up to me and, seeing the unexpected confusion of one of the Führer’s loyal soldiers, they politely asked me to step aside.

The only thing I could do was to stretch out my right hand and shout Heil Hitler at the top of my voice!

* * *

HE moved forward and asked the guards to leave me alone, then HE came up to me and, as a sign of friendliness, put his hand on my shoulder.

 

HE (HITLER): Your name, storm trooper?

ME: BRACK! OTTO BRACK, my Führer!

HE: What a beautiful surname!!

 

I burst into tears with happiness!

Suddenly the Führer blushed and in his gaze I saw the iron will of the German people. HE started to speak, gesturing with both hands.

Yes, his words were always

directed straight at my heart.

I can’t remember much of what he said, but a few words were burned onto my soul like a brand of National Socialism.

The Führer spoke tirelessly.

 

HE: There is one word that has never been familiar to me – capitulation! I just put my uniform – which is dear and sacred to me – back on. I will not take it off until we are victorious, for I will not survive defeat. My whole life belongs to my people – more than ever before. Now I’m the first soldier of the German Reich. In the face of our great goal, no sacrifices can be too big. He who wants to live must fight, and he who does not want to fight for his place in this world of eternal battle, he does not deserve to live. Choose your path and follow it to the end.

ME: Yes, my Führer!

HE: Jews are parasites on the body of other people, creating a state within a state with no desire to leave. Judaism isn’t even a religion. It’s a people with certain racial characteristics. The Talmud is not a religious book aimed at preparing people to live in eternity, it’s just a practical guide for a comfortable life in today’s world. The religious doctrines of Judaism are dedicated to the preservation of the purity of Jewish blood, and not a religion as such. The Jewish spirit is working on the destruction of Germany. For hours on end, the young dark-haired Jew lies in wait with Satanic happiness in his eyes for unsuspecting Aryan girls, whom he will taint with his blood and, in so doing, rob the nation... Any means that he can get his hands on he will use to destroy the racial peculiarities of the German people… Jews even brought Negros to the banks of the Rhine with one clear goal in their minds – to abhorrent white races by “hybridization” – clashing their culture and political heights so they can scarab into the newly-vacated space.

ME: Yes, my Führer!

HE: Farewell, my loyal soldier! We’ll meet on the battlefield to beat the enemy or we will fall together, but 1000 years hence we shall rise from the ashes!

ME: Yes, my Führer!

He shook my hand and took shelter in the entranceway. After that, the guards went into the house; then, all of a sudden, Hitler’s party deputy came up to me, Genosse RUDOLF HESS! He embraced me like a brother and congratulated me.

 

HESS: What a lucky man you are, BRACK! You were speaking with our dear Reichskanzler! Remember this day forever! That’s something to tell your grandchildren!

 

ME: I cried, holding my arm up in the sign of the greeting, and shouting at the top of my voice Heil Hitler!

 

That, with the inexplicable howling and giggling of happiness, is how the loyal member of the National Socialist Party ended his story.

* * *

BRACK: And that’s what happened to me today, just an hour ago, my dear BENNY! My happiness eclipses all the hatred I have towards you, Jew, and that’s why I’m being so good-natured and have the right to a glass or two, and you, unhappy person, can go to your Jew friends and drink schnapps. You have my leave. Oh, how I envy that bastard SHTETKE! Right now he has our dear Führer stood right in front of him, and he’s drawing, drawing, drawing….

 

Staggering, OTTO left me and I breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

The show soon finished and I ended up not seeing the final part of the widow’s cheerful story. That senseless BRACK’s monologue had stopped me getting into what was happening on the stage, although I really had nothing to complain about. When the spectacle finished the whistles and warm applause of the joyous audience drowned out everything – and it was as if I were somewhere in South America, at a football stadium, at the very moment a goal was scored in the back of a European team’s net.

 

MARIKA stood in front of the ramp and people brought her baskets full of flowers. She blew kisses to her audience in thanks, and one overly-excited member of the audience stamped and stomped his feet in ecstasy.

Wherever you looked, drunken storm troopers were running up to the cabaret star, holding her aloft and carrying the Magyar beauty in zigzags between the tables.

 

Suddenly, spotting me, particularly with my terrible violin case, MARIKA started to wipe her eyes in surprise and, fully sure it was ME, started laughing loudly. Nothing to hide, it was my first time in a cabaret bar.

 

MARIKA: Hey, BENNY! Well, what a day!

Don’t leave without me!

“THE AXE”: My dear, we’re waiting! Get yourself changed quickly and get yourself over to our table!

MARIKA: HEINZ? I didn’t notice you there!

ME: (Shouting) Hey, you were amazing…!

 

But she didn’t hear my compliment. The storm troopers continued carrying her around the hall.

 

ESTHER: HEINZ, you must feel right at home here.

 

Everyone knows and respects you.

 

“THE AXE”: That’s my job, Fraulein ESTHER!

* * *

ESTHER hurried home: of course, she wholeheartedly wanted to be there for her folks after such a nightmare of a day.

 

The incident with the family scissors and YOSSI’s prank would have sent anyone round the twist.

 

Despite everything, we were planning on getting out of Berlin as fast as possible to Mittenwald, and from there (after the Festival where I intended to win over the sophisticated Germany public by my performance!) head for Austria.

 

And after the incident with the scissors, ESTHER’s parents had also expressed an interest in leaving Germany, but it would require more than a couple of weeks for the rich family to put their affairs in order and resolve a string of issues encountered when to moving from one country to another.

 

As I say, my performance at the Festival was for me a significant event: success there would open the doors of many, many of Europe’s concert halls. Despite the outrages being carried out by the storm troopers and the noticeable changes to Berlin’s socio-political climate – for the worse – I was sad to be leaving the Germany that I loved and respected; however, the dark cloud hanging in front of me, one of FEAR, hastened my departure.

 

* * *

 

Sitting in the Berlin Bear Cub cabaret together (to my great surprise!) with that “decent” gangster (HEINZ had been carrying himself worthily, intelligently, extremely reserved!), those words uttered to me a few hours before in the Conservatory by Professor FLESCH kept repeating in my head:

- Before the Nazis burst into the rehearsal hall you were playing like a G O D!

- After the Nazis left the rehearsal hall, you played simply marvellously! Bravo!

 

And then, just a few minutes earlier, remembering my performance in the Berlin Higher School of Music where I played Grieg’s Sonata No.3, HEINZ had reiterated Maestro FLESCH’s words, saying that I played like a GOD there!

 

What did it mean? I had wanted to ask HEINZ THE AXE what the difference was between playing a piece perfectly and like a G O D!

 

* * *

ESTHER and I were in a hurry, but the opportunity to sit round the same table as cabaret star MARIKA ERDELY, who had promised she would definitely come and see us, just slightly outweighed my girl’s.

 

Female curiosity, seeing someone famous for her scandalous adventures in the flesh, took its course and ESTHER was looking towards the stage wings – waiting impatiently for Berlin’s Bohemia ambassador to put in an appearance.

 

The orchestra carried on playing popular tunes. Couples twirled round dancing and the evening was back in the swing of things.

 

I was bad at dancing; I really couldn’t get a feel for it, whereas ESTHER was always noted for her good moves, feel for rhythm, and her musical ear. She loved to be seen dancing.

 

Pardoning myself, I asked HEINZ to pair up with my girl and invite her out for the Tango, but unfortunately it turned out THE AXE could not tell the difference between a waltz and a passo doble – he was actually worse than I was!

 

In fact, none of the gentlemen in the Bear Cub had the nerve to approach ESTHER for one simple reason – people were frightened of THE AXE! ESTHER was bored.

 

She had to pass the time waiting for MARIKA ERDELY to appear by drinking champagne, watching the gleeful audience and occasionally yawning, covering her mouth with her hand.

 

* * *

 

Finally!

 

She revealed herself to the public holding a cane and wearing a white men’s suit, white hat and white cape which covered her shoulders. The colour of her thick, red tie with a sparkling, modestly-priced precious stone – à la brilliant! – sliced through the snow-white scenery.

 

Applause broke out. Men went up to her and invited her to their table, kissed her white gloves and handed Madame ERDELY various pieces of paper and business cards. Their delight was endless.

 

Well accustomed to that sort of pushy attention from her fans, MARIKA kept her cool and, walking towards us like a Parisian model, the beautiful Magyar smiled, seducing everyone and everything in her path, although there was no one in particular that she was aiming her sweep-you-off-your-feet smile at: it was as if she belonged to the entire world and, at the same time, to nobody.

 

I will be honest: this was the first time I had seen this MARIKA!

 

I was proud I could to say that the star of the cabaret was my housemate, and that our relationship could be called “brother-and-sisterly”!

 

We stood up, welcoming the heroine of the evening. She came close to us, practically rubbing cheeks, smiled and with her attentive female gaze studied my fiancée, right from head to toe.

 

MARIKA: Aaaaaa, this must be ESTHER,

the great musician’s lady.

Am I right, BENNY?

ME: (Chuckling)

How did you guess?

MARIKA: (To me)

By your sparkling eyes!

ESTHER: (To Marika)

Good evening! You were marvellous!

I’m so glad we could meet!

“THE AXE”: (To Marika)

Ah, I take my hat off to you, my dear! Tonight your talent, singing and dancing, eclipsed even the charismatic Marlene Dietrich! I swear I’m not exaggerating!

ME: (To Marika)

I had no idea you were so charming! Your place really is in the Moulin Rouge or on Broadway! Musicals really are your thing! Bravo!

“THE AXE”: Congratulations, my dear!

MARIKA: I’m shattered! Let’s sit for a while, my dears! Let’s have a chat! A drink! Well done, BENNY! You have a very beautiful girl! You’re wonderful, ESTHER! You have an Eastern face, and that’s really worth something in Berlin!

ESTHER: Thank you, MARIKA!

MARIKA: I want to toast your future, ESTHER and BENNY! All the happiness to you! L’chaim!

ESTHER, ME: (Together)

L’chaim!

“THE AXE”: I wish you both the very best!

ESTHER, look after BENNY!

He’s got talent!

ESTHER: Have you heard him play?

MARIKA: HEINZ, no fibs now!

“THE AXE”: It was a long time ago! He was playing Grieg’s Sonato No.3 in the Berlin Higher School of Music.

MARIKA: And?

“THE AXE”: (Repeating the word I found so sacred for

a second time)

He played like a G O D!

MARIKA: “AXE”, well it turns out you’re

a music-lover! Who’d have thought!

ME: HEINZ grew up in a musical family!

MARIKA: Well, that is a surprise! I thought the only thing you were interested in were bank safes!

“THE AXE”: Even criminals have their weaknesses.

MARIKA: Dear HEINZ, I can just imagine you whistling the tune to something by Ferenz Liszt while you’re at “work”!

“THE AXE”: It’s not “Ferenz”, it’s “Franz”!

MARIKA: I’ll have you know, in Hungary we call him “Ferenz”! By the way, BENNY, what’s this case you’ve befriended? You’re sat there, clutching this damned case with both hands, looking at it anxiously, almost with fear! Have you got a violin in there or some kind of Jewish gold? Or perhaps some Amsterdam diamonds?

ESTHER: It’s a violin!

ME: Master Klotz’s violin! Mathias Klotz

from Mittenwald.

MARIKA: Well, if it’s a violin, give us a look!

 

Warily, I opened the lid of the case just a crack, giving them just a peek at the wondrous instrument.

 

MARIKA: Wow, it really is a violin!

“THE AXE”: Is it expensive?

ME: Yes!

“THE AXE”: More than an Amati or a Stradivarius?

ME: Of course not, but instruments made by the Klotz dynasty are highly regarded in the music world.

MARIKA: Now you’ve intrigued me, BENNY!

Come on, play us something!

ME: Play? Here?

MARIKA: Don’t be shy! You remember how

it was that wonderful Berlin morning…

 

* * *

 

Episode 30B

 

T h e s t o r y o f M a r i k a E r d e l y

 

(Black-and-white pictures, slightly speeded-up, behind Marika’s story)

 

MARIKA: You remember, I was coming back home from the cabaret. Hurrying to the Conservatory as you always were, you met me on the stairwell in the entranceway to our house. I was in a poxy mood because… I don’t recall why… well, I won’t… it’s not interesting anyway… Anyway, whose business is it why an artiste from an entertainment venue like this might have tears in her eyes.

I know you were running late for a rehearsal, BENNY, but noticing that something simply wasn’t right with your Magyar, you stopped, hugged me and looked into my eyes with sympathy, wanting to sort things out and to help me.

 

BENNY: Hey, buddy, what’s got you all shaken-up?

ME: Nothing.

BENNY: But you seemed to be crying.

ME: I was. Women often cry.

They say they cry for no reason at all.

BENNY: Oh my! I think women came up with that themselves. Tears don’t just happen for no reason.

ME: It happens.

 

I smiled randomly.

 

BENNY: That’s better!

ME: Okay. Everything’s fine. Go to the Conservatory otherwise your professor will punish you – put you in the corner or make you crawl under the piano!

BENNY: Leave you, my friend, knowing that something isn’t right?

 

You called me “friend”, not “girlfriend” – sometimes you even called me “brother”, well, you know why…

 

ME: So what? I know how to smooth things over!

BENNY: So do I!

ME: How do you?

BENNY: Close your eyes.

 

I closed my eyes and, honestly, did not peek. After some time I heard your voice – it was a little higher up and further away.

 

BENNY: You can open them!

 

Of course, I was surprised when I saw you standing upstairs with a violin in your hands.

 

ME: Oh, BENNY!

 

I can’t describe how happy I was! I remember you began to play a medley of Hungarian and gypsy tunes!

 

Yes, you played like a G O D!

 

My head carried on spinning, giddy with happiness, for an eternity! When the “staircase concert” finished, I couldn’t remember the reason behind my morning tears.

 

You quickly packed up and left, leaving me astonished, but also happy.

 

MARIKA finished her story.

 

* * *

 

I (BENNY ROSNER) remember that morning well.

 

MARIKA: Isn’t the cabaret better than number 33 Glücklichstrasse? You’re an artist, after all! To hell with why ever you might be doubting yourself! Play and show the public what real music is! After “The Cheerful Widow” they need something good to put their brains right!

BENNY: I would play, it’s just…

ESTHER: We’re not exactly asking for Beethoven! Play a wholehearted pub tune, or at least something Hungarian or Romanian! We’d all love it! Even those soused storm troopers – who think Horst Wessel’s song is the be all and end all – even they’d love it!

“THE AXE”: For the Nazis, history began on January 30, 1933!

MARIKA: BENNY, come on, show those joyless Brownshirts that there’s more than just Nazi marches – there’s Tartini’s Devil’s Trill or something like that! Play us something to round off the evening! After all, you’re off to Wessterwald tonight, aren’t you?

ME: Mittenwald! Play? I’m scared! You understand me, my dear friends, I’m scared! I’m sure these mangy Nazis will take Master Klotz’s violin from me, and then I won’t be able to play at the Festival in Mittenwald! I have very, very little time! I have to make it to Mittenwald and run onto the stage straightaway! Different times are upon us: a violin made by a German master in the hands of a Jewish fiddler is complete gobbledygook! I just have to get there! Otherwise all that work will be for nothing and I won’t be able to right the situation for years! Do you understand? It’s easy!

“THE AXE”: My Lord, what a lot of emotion! Panic! At the very worst you could play on another violin!

ME: No, no, no! People, that’s quite impossible! No way!

MARIKA: Why? There are a lot of good violins!

ME: Can’t you see? I’m aiming for PERFECTION! Everything has to be in its rightful place: genius music, a world-renowned conductor, a perfect-sounding orchestra, an instrument made by a master, and a classic performance by the soloist with God-given talent! IT GOES TOGETHER – AS A WHOLE!

“THE AXE”; Maybe I’m wrong, but you, BENNY, have forgotten about ONE THING in that long list.

ME: What exactly?

“THE AXE”: I’ll tell you a little later. Just you wait.

MARIKA: Since our dear BENNY is not willing to give us a little concert, I will just have to make a toast!

ME: That’s more like it! We’re all ears!

MARIKA: (Standing up) To Berlin! Berlin – the city where we met each other, loved each other, and the city we shall never forget wherever this little devil called Fate might drag us!

“THE AXE”: (Standing up) Hear, hear!

ESTHER: To the city where I was born!

ME: To the city where I found my love!

 

We drained our glasses.

 

MARIKA: (To ESTHER) My dear, do you dance?

ME: She was born to dance!

MARIKA: I see that these two men are sat here as if nailed to their seats, while all the time this beautiful Fraulein is getting quite bored.

“THE AXE”: BENNY and I were not born to dance!

MARIKA: I have an idea!

 

MARIKA whispered something into ESTHER’s ear and, to everyone’s amazement, the star of the cabaret, dressed in a man’s suit, suavely invited ESTHER, a little lost and flustered by this point, to dance.

 

She agreed and, before taking to the dance floor, winked at me. Aside from the fact that both dancers were women, there was no real visual dissonance: the dress ESTHER was wearing, which certainly was no ball gown, had been sewn so skilfully by SOLOMON HIRSCH, that you could have easily worn it to a royal reception at Buckingham Palace.

 

They danced a Boston Waltz and, it was the first time I had seen an improvised Boston Waltz!

 

The trick was that MARIKA and ESTHER rarely merged like a couple. They were constantly dancing close together, then dancing further apart, spinning round and round each other….

 

Occasionally, when the tune peaked musically, the dance momentarily transformed into a traditional Boston Waltz, “the unity of two people”.

 

The fleeting flashes where they came together delighted everyone, and then, to my delight, the crowd applauded incessantly.

 

Unsurprisingly, the other couples who were dancing gradually made way for them, handing the floor to the dancing fantasies that were MARIKA, and ESTHER, too.

 

Enthralled, we watched the fairy tale performance. Of course, words cannot describe all the inspired moves the couple was dancing.

 

The orchestra – in the space of one bar – played three different tunes, which fitted the Boston Waltz, three times. The drunken storm troopers, jaws dangling open in amazement, watched on as the couple danced, meaning even THEY didn’t seem to feel the need to shout Heil Hitler every ten minutes:

- Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler!

* * *

Yes, the dance left everyone speechless!

Forgetting about the ordeals the day had brought, and the Berlin-Munich night train we had to catch far from my mind, I relished the two ladies’ ritzy steps, but my blissfulness came to a sudden end when the cursed violin case suddenly slipped and very nearly crashed onto the parquet floor.

 

That’s when everything came full circle: I finished off the glass of champagne I was drinking and reminded HEINZ:

 

ME: HEINZ, you said that I’d forgotten

ONE thing in my long list!

“THE AXE”: (Confused)

I don’t follow, BENNY!

ME: I was talking about the main components to raise a successful performance to one of perfection: the composer, conductor, orchestra, soloist and the quality of the instrument.

“THE AXE”: Ahh! But you’d forgotten one thing!

ME: Tell me! I’m all ears!

“THE AXE”: Tell you? Ah, you won’t understand!

ME: Why’s that, then?

“THE AXE”: Don’t argue with me, please,

BENNY! You’re a God-given

musician but…

ME: Go on, go on…

“THE AXE”: FEAR had a hold over you!

ME: Absolutely right! I’m completely aware of it – sometimes FEAR has stopped me from moving altogether! It’s not just about losing Master Klotz’s violin. It all started this morning when I realized that people were following me and the circumstances are such that I, as a citizen and musician, am absolutely defenceless.

“THE AXE”: You listen to me! I have robbed banks and post trains, museums, apartments, exhibition halls, but I wouldn’t descend to slashing passengers’ bags in a tram, taking pennies from their wallets and purses for amusement – going unnoticed! You tell me, what’s the most important thing for someone of my “profession”, or – more accurately, and if the definition doesn’t offend you, my “art”?

ME: Money!

“THE AXE”: (Smiling) Do you really think that low of me?

ME: A lot of money!

“THE AXE”: (Laughing)

That’d be too easy. I threw money

away when I was behind bars.

ME: Stop talking in riddles!

“THE AXE”: Listen, for me the most important thing is the freedom to choose, freedom to act. When I’m bored, I get on a tram, and I transmogrify into a pickpocket. I’m a “free agent”, whose stage is the streets, the squares, dark alleyways, banks, post trains, other people’s apartments, museums, exhibition galleries and, yes, trams. I’m sinful but it’s my choice. HEINZ is “THE AXE”: always has been, always will be.

“Craftsmen” – average criminals – depends on a lot of things. They are devoid of artistic talent, internal freedom, and they have no influence on events. Do you get me?

ME: I’m trying…

“THE AXE”: The very best of luck! Don’t ask me

for any more explanations.

ME: You know what a Master Klotz

violin sounds like?

You can’t express it in words…

“THE AXE”: Ah, the violin! What a treasure! A person would think that this much-respected instrument from Mittenwald, without asking anyone’s permission, just “jumps” out of the case and starts playing by itself! So, I’m interested where that leaves you, BENNY.

ME: I don’t understand. What are you

getting at?

“THE AXE”: If you carry on fumbling around in the same vein, then Mr ROSNER will soon forever lose Mr VIOLINIST!

 

HEINZ laughed heartily.

I suspected he was enjoying explaining everything to me

as some kind of riddle.

 

“THE AXE”: To you good health, BENNY! L’chaim!

ME: (A little confused)

L’chaim!

 

* * *

It turned out the wondrous ladies’ dance was far from being over when storm troopers burst into the cabaret – there were about ten of them. The orchestra fell silent instantly.

 

The chief Brownshirt, the Gruppenführer, jumped up onto the stage, pulled out a revolver from its holster, waved it around and, seeing that the alarmed public was still making a racket, fired at the ceiling three times.

 

The storm troopers who were already in the cabaret and those who had just arrived from outside approached the stage. They stood to face us – legs splayed, hands both clasped around their leather belts, and looking threateningly at everyone in the room.

 

People started whispering to each other:

- What’s happened?

- What a shambles! Wherever you look, there they are! I’ve had enough!

- Apparently, their top man’s been bumped off!

- The Reichskanzler?

- Yes, the one with the moustache!

- His name is Hitler! He’s been in office for over two months now! It’s time you remembered!

- They’ve killed that abnormal man? We should celebrate!

- Aren’t you afraid? Even the walls have ears here!

- They’ve burned the books, now there’s just the napkins, table cloths and restaurant menus to go! Ha-ha-ha…

- Something’s definitely happened!

 

The storm trooper with the revolver, standing menacingly on the stage, finally spoke:

 

STORM TROOPER WITH GUN:

Attention! Attention! Half an hour ago the dirty hand of a Communist or a Jews – or perhaps both! – yes, the dirty hand of a conspirator set off a bomb, hoping to “kill Germany”, annihilate the German people, and leave us all without a future, without a father, but the assassination attempt on the Führer went awry! Hitler is alive! He is in the Reichskanzler’s headquarters, working for the good of the nation! I suggest all patriots protest with a torch-lit march, and all storm troopers head to the scene of the crime in an organized but speedy manner, cordon off the building and show the investigators what to do and how to do it. They don’t call us the “auxiliary police” for nothing! Heil Hitler!

 

Of course, the Brownshirts roared back wildly:

- Heil Hitler!

“Where should we go? Where are we headed?” – shouted the Nazis, waving their hands and stomping their feet.

STORM TROOPER WITH GUN: -

Number 33, Glücklikhstrasse!

“Where? Where?” – a few people asked the storm trooper to repeat the address.

STORM TROOPER WITH GUN: -

Number 33, Glücklikhstrasse!

* * *

Ah, my God! That’s OUR HOUSE!

 

Silently, we looked at each other, after which HEINZ whispered into my ear:

“THE AXE”: That ARNO’s blown himself up!

There’s no other explanation!

MARIKA: (Hearing THE AXE’s suggestion)

That’s it! ARNO! It was bound to happen!

ME: And this is no assassination! Our whole apartmen was sitting on a volcano!

ARNO BACH got what was coming to him!

ESTHER: The assassination theory plays nicely into th

hands of the Nazis, just like the theory

of the Reichstag being set on fire by

some Bulgarian Communist.

MARIKA: So it starts.

“THE AXE”: It’s already started!

ME: We have to get home!

God knows what the hell’s happening there.

 

 

Episode 31

April 14, 1933

22:30

 

When the car pulled up outside our house, a terrifying scene greeted us:

The two top floors were enveloped in smoke, and flames were pouring out of the windows.

There could be no doubt that SHTETKE’s workshop had been seriously damaged – with all his drawings and statues and, of course, the sketches of Hitler’s portrait could be nothing but ash by now.

 

Of course, European art would be none the worse-off for it, but the occupants of the house had certainly been left with nothing.

 

By my initial reckoning, it was the artist plus his housemaid, the SCHEUBNERS, ARNO BACH, OTTO BRACK, MARIKA ERDELY and I who were among the casualties.

 

Three of us, MARIKA, BRACK and I, had until a few minutes ago been in the Berlin Bear Cub cabaret. So it remained to see how the artists, his housekeeper – Frau SONTAG, and the Artois battle hero and his wife had fared.

 

The fire brigades were at the scene, standing long ladders up the side of the building, and fighting a heroic battle with the flames: water was being poured on from above, firefighters were running into the building wielding axes, heading up the stairs to the fifth and sixth floors.

 

The storm troopers cordoned off the building. It was obvious that the police forces and the firefighters were obeying their orders without question.

 

Well, these were the “new orders” in “New Germany”!

 

* * *

 

We needed to get to the bottom of the situation, which could have turned out to be unfortunate for us – after all, MARIKA and I both lived in this apartment where (by our reckoning!) a bomb made by ARNO BACH had exploded.

 

It was not out of the question that they could include us on the list of terrorists and enemies of the REICH!

 

A Magyar and a Jew – the Nazis could quite simply put together a case, an outside conspiracy, pitted against the Führer, particularly given that the main suspect in the arson attack on the REICHSTAG was Bulgarian Communist DIMITROV!

 

HEINZ, in an attempt to keep MARIKA and me from unnecessary, unpleasant situations, asked us to stay in the car while he jumped out and disappeared somewhere.

 

MARIKA was smoking a cigarette in a holder.

 

ESTHER, seemingly enthralled, sat in silence.

 

At this time, I was thinking about the things of mine that had been turned to ash, which – fortunately – were of little consequence: two of my factory-line violins had gone up in smoke, along with strings, rosin, two volumes of music scores (which belonged to the Conservatory), a suit and a few other things.

 

I was clutching onto Master Klotz’s violin tightly, and our passports and tickets for the night Berlin-Munich train were in my inside jacket pocket.

 

MARIKA: Hey, BENNY, wake up!

What are you dreaming about?

ME: Just totting up what I’ve lost.

MARIKA: Well?

ME: Nothing special. You?

MARIKA: Luckily, I always left the dresses and suits from my main wardrobe at the cabaret. Of course, I’ll have lost a few things not worth worrying myself about. I had a feeling our explosives expert would be the downfall of this house.

ME: I was always quite at uneasy about it, too. Thank the Lord I kept Klotz’s violin with me. Otherwise…

ESTHER: Quiet. I can imagine what you’d have done.

MARIKA (To ESTHER) He’d have tried to get into the house and…

ME: I’d have burned, to all the Nazis’ delight! There’d have been one less Jew!

MARIKA: We should toast to you being saved!

ME: Fine by me!

ESTHER: Me, too!

MARIKA: You’d be gone without me!

 

And then she went to her bag and took out an uncorked bottle with schnapps in it. We began to drink, passing the bottle between each other and, Lord forgive us, started laughing.

 

It was the kind of laughter that often accompanied a nervous condition.

 

At this point, HEINZ poked his head into the car and we fell silent.

 

“THE AXE”: Okay, listen to me carefully: they’ve found the charred bodies of two people. The wife of the disabled guy, and the artist’s housekeeper. And by the way, your housemate died a minute ago..

ME: Which housemate?

“THE AXE”: The Nazi shopkeeper! SCHRACK,

if I’m not mistaken!

ME: OTTO BRACK!

“THE AXE”: Apparently a granite bust of Bismarck fell on him from the sixth floor – from the artist’s burnt-out workshop! They said BRACK wanted to go into the damned workshop and risk his life to take out the sketches of the Führer’s portrait. They didn’t let him in, and put up a fight and…

ME: How symbolic! BISMARCK fell on the ham and sausage seller’s head!

“THE AXE”: Absolutely right. The storm troopers covered his body with a red banner with a black swastika! They were mourning him as if he were HORST WESSEL!

ME: The morale of the story: never stop a Nazi going into a burning house!

MARIKA: Poor Frau SCHEUBNER!

ME: The only normal woman in that madhouse! I’m really sorry, too.

MARIKA: ARNO BACH is critical injured – they say he’s barely breathing. And the… What’s-his-name?

ME: KONRAD SHEUBNER –

the Artois hero, always armed!

“THE AXE”: He’s got concussion (контузия)! Just look towards the entranceway – they’re leading them somewhere, accompanying by the guards. They’re both now suspects in the assassination attempt on Hitler!

 

The soot-covered explosives expert was lying on a stretcher, and behind him they were pushing the Artois hero through in his wheelchair. They were surrounded by storm troopers.

 

That poor “Artois hero”! The fact he was always carrying that rifle had probably backfired on him.

 

The Nazis were probably convinced that our war casualty was going to shoot Hitler dead with the rifle after the explosion! Mr SCHEUBNER was not in his right mind. I could barely hear what he was saying from the car.

 

MR SCHNEUBNER: Attack! Kill those Frenchies! Advance! Attack!

 

The two of them were under the watchful gaze of the storm troopers.

 

Then those arrested and the convoy of auxiliary police were covered in the dark archway of the neighbouring building. There was no way out from there.

 

I decided that the ambulance teams would take care of the housemates that had been seriously injured in the fire, and afterwards BACH and SCHEUBNER would be taken to a prison hospital.

 

“THE AXE”: What are we going to do?

ME: We need to go to the train station – we won’t have time to say goodbye to ESTHER’s relatives, that’s for sure.

“THE AXE”: Okay! And we’ll put MARIKA up in a fancy hotel! If you’re not against, Madame ERDELY?

MARIKA: Finally, I’ll be living in normal living conditions, and there’ll be nobody trying to blow me up every morning!

“THE AXE”: (Eyeing the bottle of schnapps) What a cosy gathering! Say no more. Permit me to join you.

MARIKA: Sit, HEINZ. It’s somehow boring

without you.

Even the violin case had got a bit boring.

“THE AXE”: And you haven’t offered “him” a drink yet?

ME: “He” doesn’t drink!

MARIKA: So what?

He’ll learn! BENNY didn’t drink either,

if memory serves…

ESTHER: BENNY is just really frightened.

MARIKA: Ah, my dear, that’s how you pander

to your future husband’s drunkenness.

“THE AXE”: Okay, guys! I have to go! I trust there are no salvageable things of yours left upstairs?

ME: Thanks to a purely Jewish habit, I always carry with me a copy of the “Holy Book” – my passport, money and…

“THE AXE”: The most important thing, the instrument!

ME: Yes. What’s surprising about that?

“THE AXE”: Without it, BENNY, you’d definitely succumb!

ESTHER: He’d die!

MARIKA: I’m not addicted as strongly as that to anything! Apparently I have some gypsy blood in me!

 

We drank the schnapps and quietly chatted.

 

The nightmare day had ended with a tragic finale – our apartment at Number 33, Glücklikhstrasse, had burned down, and there could be nothing worse in store, but…

 

* * *

 

HEINZ started up the engine.

 

We should very soon be “making tracks”, as our much-respected driver said:

 

“THE AXE”: You want to know the latest news?

ME: Of course!

MARIKA: Why ask? Tell us what you know.

“THE AXE”: As it happens, I don’t know anything, but there, coming right towards our car is a reporter from Berliner Tageblatt daily newspaper, HELMUT SAILER. I’ll ask my only prison buddy – he probably knows absolutely everything!

ESTHER: Prison?

“THE AXE”: Mr SAILER was accused of violating someone’s private life. He found his way under the bed of a very famous, but also very scandalous, actress and stayed there for two days and two nights, counting her lovers.

MARIKA: He counted them?

“THE AXE”: Turned out to be SEVEN of them!

ME: Well, I’ll be!

“THE AXE”: The eighth lover broke the bed, and Mr SAILER suffered a head injury. Concussion! They found him and sent him to the prison sick bay! Basically, he’s not a bad guy. Hey, HELMUT!

 

The reporter came up to the car and shook hands with HEINZ.

 

REPORTER (SAILER): Good to see you, HEINZ!

I won’t ask what you’re doing here!

“THE AXE”: Yes, you don’t like poking your nose

into other people’s business.

REPORTER: Of course. I was on my way to the

office and suddenly I spotted the fire!

“THE AXE”: What are they thinking?

REPORTER: Just one theory: explosion and attempt on Hitler’s life; I haven’t found out what he was doing here. He left SHTETKE’s at five-fifteen, and the bomb went off an hour-and-a-half or two hours ago.

“THE AXE”: That’s it?

REPORTER: No, that’s not it! A couple of residents from the fifth floor – ARNO BACH and KONRAD SCHEUBNER – were shot while they were trying to escape.

“THE AXE”: You’ve lost it, HELMUT! Escape?! They were both only just alive! I saw them with my own eyes!

REPORTER: I saw them, too! They were half-dead!

“THE AXE”: Then what’s all this about trying

to escape?

REPORTER: I think the storm troopers wanted to spice up the atmosphere and show their worth in front of the bosses. They’re spreading rumours that BACH was a Jew, and that SCHEUBNER secretly frequented a synagogue, too!

ME: But BACH can’t have been a Jew as he’s a BACH!

REPORTER: Sir, my surname is SAILER, but since a certain Mr Gindenburg made a certain Hitler Reichskanzler on January 30, 1933, surnames have not always been a factor when it comes to defining a person’s nationality – now the ACCUSATIONS are as good as PROOF!

MARIKA: ARNO dug his own grave! My God, so sad about Uncle KONRAD!

ME: He was an Artois hero!

“THE AXE”: Time to get ourselves away from this shit!

ESTHER: They’ve already started executions without trail or evidence! And this is only the start!

“THE AXE”: Trying to escape! Ha-ha!

They could have half of Berlin shot!

REPORTER: I don’t think you should be sat here in a car in front of a building which was apparently home to a “nest” of notorious terrorists! They could arrest you for being accomplices. Time for me to be off, too. All the best to you, HEINZ! See you in better times!

“THE AXE”: No point waiting for “better times” here.

 

The reporter quickly left and our car also sped away. We headed for the train station.

 

 

 

Episode 32

April 14, 1933

23:30

 

The train station platform. Half an hour until the train’s departure.

 

HEINZ turned out to be right – we were not late, and now we could calmly say goodbye to MARIKA and “THE AXE”, who had done so much for us. I took out my Swiss watch which played the Hava Nagila from my jacket pocket and gave it to HEINZ as a parting gift.

 

“THE AXE:” What’s this?

ME: To remember me by!

“THE AXE”: It looks expensive, Swiss…

ME: Oh, it wasn’t that expensive, but you won’t have any shame taking it out in public!

“THE AXE”: You don’t mind?

ME: Not at all! You’ll often be reminded of me! By the bye, ARNO BACH fitted the mechanism.

“THE AXE”: Oh yes? So that unfortunate chap wasn’t just into making bombs! Poor ARNO! I’m a little shell-shocked! You know, I’ve always stolen things, or taken them, but I’ve never been showered with gifts, left alone expensive ones.

 

He opened the lid just a crack and …..

the Hava Nagila tune started up.

 

“THE AXE”: Well I never!

ESTHER: Don’t forget us!

 

MARIKA hugged me, then ESTHER, and she was having trouble holding back the tears. Our “Robin Hood” – YOSSI – appeared with his sister’s suitcase.

 

YOSSI: Am I on time?

ESTHER: Yes. What’s happening at home?

YOSSI: The same! We’re probably leaving for Krakow in a month. Everything’s seemed to be decided very quickly. Although lots of people have started trying to talk us out of it – they said there’s no problem!

ME: I’m very pleased you’re leaving! See you soon. There’s no need to worry. The most main thing is that we won’t be here. You’ll be able to set yourselves up nicely in Poland and lead normal lives. No Hitler there, thank God!

ESTHER: What about you, MARIKA? Will you stay?

MARIKA: I’ve got a five-year contract that I’m only a year-and-a-half into. I’ll have to work through my advance at the Berlin Bear Cub. And then, then I hope – finally - to see Paris!

ME: I wish you success!

MARIKA: I really do care for you, dear BENNY!

ME: Just remember SHTETKE’s artist’s hands are still alive and he’ll still try to draw his “Brunhilda at the magic source”!

MARIKA: (Laughing) I’ll have to think about that!

“THE AXE”: There’ll be someone who’ll look in on you in your cabin. He’ll look in on you and then leave. After that there’s no need for you to lock your door.

MARIKA: Everything’ll be fine, my dears! Bon voyage!

ESTHER: I have something to ask of you, HEINZ. Please take YOSSI home!

“THE AXE”: Absolutely!

ME: And one more thing!

“THE AXE”: I’m listening.

ME: Have you got the time?

 

The Hava Nagila rang out once again under the arch of the Berlin train station. We hugged each other and, of course, wished we’d see each other soon in Vienna, Krakow, Paris – on the Moon if it had to be – anywhere but Nazi Germany.

 

 

Episode 33

April 14, 1933

23:59

 

The Berlin-Munich train left the platform. ESTHER and I stood by the window and sadly looked as HEINZ, MARIKA and YOSSI faded into the haze of the train station. Soon their faces were lost in the darkness, and then their silhouettes paled into the gloom.

* * *

We sat opposite one another in silence: a mixture of joy and sadness.

We hoped tomorrow will give us everything we wanted.

* * *

After a while someone knocked on our door, and then came into the cabin without waiting for our permission to do so. We were overjoyed to see the CAPTAIN, our HEINZ.

 

ESTHER: Please have a seat, CAPTAIN. What are you doing here?

CAPTAIN: I’m escorting the train.

ME: Are you going to have a lot to do?

CAPTAIN: I have to get to the bottom of things!

 

Then he called someone and a young person in a cap, which half-covered his face, came into the cabin – he brought in a basket.

 

CAPTAIN: Now, this is for you! THE AXE’s work is done! No need to lock the doors for the night! There are no gangsters on the train except for me and that rascal KURT! Ha-ha…

 

He laughed and left us alone.

 

ESTHER: I wonder when HEINZ managed to

give the order about bringing this basket!

ME: Got me! He didn’t leave us for

a minute! What a strange person!

ESTHER: He’s got a good heart!

ME: I have to agree! Let’s have a look

what they’ve brought us.

* * *

There is probably no need to talk about how overjoyed we were at HEINZ’s attention to detail – in the basket we found, among other things, wine glasses wrapped in napkins, knives, forks and plates…

We drank the expensive German Beerenauslese wine. Thoughts of the unusual and trying day we had just been through bubbled to the surface, and then fizzled away. We talked constantly, gesturing, laughing, sometimes ranting and raving a little, regretting a lot of things, saying how we missed MARIKA and HEINZ – and, of course, looking hopefully to the future.

* * *

ESTHER: BENNY, can you do something for me?

ME: Well, of course, my dear!

ESTHER: Stop hugging that wretched case and…

ME: And?

ESTHER: And come and hug me!

 

We passed on the CAPTAIN’s advice and had the door to our cabin locked shut all night.

 

* * * * *

 

 

Episode 34

April 15, 1933

13:00

Mittenwald

 

We were buzzing on the freshness of the extremely pure air. ESTHER and I immediately believed that this sinful world did have a little piece of heaven: the mountains, forests, the sun, the birdsong mixed in with the almost complete silence – everything made our surroundings feel wonderful: we had been filled with joy by the first rays of the light of the new morning.

 

Walking out onto the modest-sized square in front of the train station, a coachman called out to us, greeting us with a “good morning” and smiling at ESTHER and ME from afar as if we were old friends.

 

Together with ESTHER’s suitcase and the violin case with which I was inseparable, we headed to the two-person horse-drawn carriage and asked the coachman to take us to the hotel.

 

COACHMAN: Welcome to Mittenwald –

home to the masters of string instruments!

 

There could be no doubt that these words had long been learned by heart. After greyish Berlin and our problems there, the man seemed to speak in some kind of very “singsongy” German.

 

ME: We are so glad to be in Mittenwald!

ESTHER: What a delight!

ME: We’re just so happy!

COACHMAN: Wonderful, wonderful…

I shan’t ask which hotel to take you to!

ESTHER: Why’s that?

COACHMAN: Because I’ve already spied that case that young man’s holding which, I hope, has a violin inside!

ME: How do you know it doesn’t have a double bass inside?

 

Everyone laughed. Very slowly, we started moving.

 

COACHMAN: (Turning to face us) Going to the Festival?

ME: Yes!

COACHMAN: Then you need to go to the Festival’s Organizing Committee! Believe me, they really do look after musicians there: you’ll get your hotel and excursions to the picturesque areas around Mittenwald. You can go skiing – there’s snow high up in the mountains till the end of April. You’ll have a great time – just you listen to Uncle WILLIE STRAUS!

ME: STRAUS?

COACHMAN: My surname! I’m from Harmisch-Partenkirchen myself, but once upon a time I made a big mistake – I got married! Ha-ha-ha! Then I moved to Mittenwald! My wife’s surname is GLÜCK! Funny, right? And we’re not so bad at singing!

ESTHER: This place breathes music!

ME: Thank the Lord, my dear!

ESTHER: The concert on the 20th and then…

ME: And then – Vienna –

the most beautiful city in the entire world!

COACHMAN: We’ve had a lot of people arriving! Never been like that before! Before, I remember the musicians would go about their business quietly, but now they barely leave the pubs – they have fun, drink and dance!

ME: Really?

COACHMAN: There are even bust-ups at night.

ESTHER: What on earth! These are serious people!

COACHMAN: They used to be, but now the local

people are afraid to leave their own homes.

ME: You’re kidding! It’s serious music!

A classical repertoire!

COACHMAN: I don’t know anything about

the repertoires. I’m telling you what I see!

ESTHER: Please, go on.

COACHMAN: The day before yesterday, some musicians got drunk in our Bierhofe and a passer-by got mixed up in the fight – a respectable citizen, Doctor Zumbaispiel ! Concussion!

ME: How?

COACHMAN: A stool over the head!

ESTHER: Who?

COACHMAN: The musicians, of course!

ME: Uncle WILLIE, are you sure you’re

not confusing things?

COACHMAN: Yesterday, and you didn’t

hear it from me, they raped little Lizelot!

ME: Who?

COACHMAN: The musicians! Everyone knows about it!

ESTHER: How?

COACHMAN: Apparently they were drinking schnapps together and then they went for a walk in the woods and….

ME: I’m sorry, are we in Mittenwald?

COACHMAN: Most certainly you are!

ME: And this is where the Festival of

Classical Violin Music takes place?

COACHMAN: Classical, Non-Classical – I haven’t got a clue!

ME: What drunkenness, what raping are you talking about, Uncle WILLIE, when Mittenwald ought to be where you can hear BRAHMS, BEETHOVEN, GRIEG and MENDELSSOHN!

COACHMAN: Don’t ask me about Griegs or Mendelssohns, but this year the musicians have just hit the roof! Perhaps they’ve been drinking the wrong beer? God knows! A bit of drunken silliness and the odd scuffle Bavarians can put up with, but rape and singing rude songs all night long, that’s beyond a joke! Are you young’uns really musicians?

ESTHER: My husband is a violinist!

COACHMAN: He’s dressed kind of funny!

ME: Funny? Are you okay, Uncle WILLIE?

COACHMAN: Musicians used to dress like that, but now…

ESTHER: I’m going mad!

COACHMAN: Now it’s all Bavarian national costumes! Bayrische Tracht! The men are wearing leather trousers, embroidered shirts, vests, coats, gaiters, caps with feathers or horsehair brushes in them, thick-soled boots, and the women are wearing pinafores!

ESTHER: Are you joking?

COACHMAN: At the last Festival, two or three years ago, the musicians were dressed completely differently! They went round in suits, white shirts, ties, bows, beautifully shined-up shoes, even top hats….

ME: This is some kind of stupid dream!

COACHMAN: Just look! There they go… Just don’t into a fight with them, please!

 

I saw a group of twenty-or-so people, all dressed in Bavarian national costumes. They were going down the middle of the room, accordions blaring and singing loudly:

 

Oh, dearest Augustine, Augustine, Augustine,

Oh, dearest Augustine, everything is lost,

There’s no money, no girls,

Everything is lost, Augustine,

Oh, dearest Augustine,

Everything lost!

……………………………

O, du lieber Augustin.

Alles ist hin.

* * *

 

ME: Had they come for the Festival?

ESTHER: I’ve got it!

There must be two festivals happening

in Mittenwald at the same time!

ME: You’re right, my dear!

ESTHER: Now everything makes sense!

ME: Tomorrow maestro FLESCH is coming with the orchestra, and in the evening we’ll have the dress rehearsal! We are the ones opening the Festival of Classical Violin Music with Mendelssohn’s Concerto for Violin and Orchestra! Are you listening to us, Uncle WILLIE?

COACHMAN: I’ve heard nothing about this “decent” second festival. So, I’m taking you to the Organizing Committee! They’ll sort everything out there!

ME: Then let’s go!

ESTHER: Thank God, that’s everything put in its place!

COACHMAN: You know what?

ME: What?

COACHMAN: I’ve started to doubt myself. I’ll wait for you by the entrance. If everything’s okay, then let me know and I’ll be on my way. Well, and if you need to get yourselves out of Mittenwald, Uncle WILLIE and his Rosinant are at your service. Okay?

ME: Everything’ll be great!

COACHMAN: Fingers crossed! But I’ll wait.

Okay, we’re here! Don’t forget your case!

ME: Oh, I’d be helpless

without that case, Uncle WILLIE!

ESTHER, are you with me?

ME: Forever!

 

 

Episode 35

April 15, 1933

13:30

 

We went into the famous Post Hotel.

 

The first thing I noticed was the gathering of people: men, women, even children – all dressed in Bavarian costumes; they were filling the hotel’s vast foyer – sat around in armchairs, on stools, sofas and walking back and forth holding accordions, clarinets, violins, bells, ratchets, pipes, drums…

 

The sound of various songs was coming from various places, and it was difficult to pick out one particular tune. It was really noisy!

 

I noticed the hotel’s small Bavarian beer house through the sizeable open door: on the tables, which had mainly musicians sitting at them, there were steins of beer, bottles of schnapps, prune pastries, fried Nurnberg sausages and famous Beskiden sausages, and so on.

 

Of course, many of the musicians were “merry”! They were on their feet dancing and singing at the tops of their voices.

 

ESTHER and I could see the participants of one of the Festivals, and as for the more “solid people”, those who had come for the classical musician festival, they could not be seen at all.

 

I felt as if these – if you like – “serious musicians” might well try to take the violin case away from me, take out the violin and play something jolly on Master Klotz’s violin.

 

That “Berlin fear” had again taken over me.

 

ESTHER: Calm down! We need to find somebody from the Festival Organizing Committee and then we’ll get everything sorted.

ME: Yes, dear!

Everything’ll become clear soon!

* * *

 

I carefully looked around the foyer, and there, far in the corner, I saw my old violinist friend from the Berlin Higher School of Music, WALTER LANGE – an incredibly tall, skinny, slouching young man with glasses, holding a violin case – just as I was – and leaning his back against the wall.

 

ME: (To ESTHER) LANGE will definitely know where I can get my hands on some concert tails around here.

ESTHER: Yes, papa really let you down!

ME: It wasn’t his fault, my dear. I understand.

 

ESTHER and I went up to him, smiling and happy to see him.

 

LANGE: (Looking nonplussed and tired)

Ah. Is that you, ROSNER?

ME: Hi, WALTER! Been here long?

 

He shook my hand in a rather unenergetic way.

 

LANGE: Third day today!

ME: Is everything okay? When are you on? I remember you were rehearsing the BEETHOVEN!

LANGE: I curse the day I came here!

ME: What happened, my dear LANGE?

LANGE: They stole my money! I’ve got only my return ticket to Berlin! I haven’t eaten anything for two days! ROSNER, buy me something! I’m having trouble just standing! Forgive me, BENNY! I need to eat!

ME: Of course, we’ll have lunch together. And what do you mean about Berlin? The Festival is starting on April 20th! Have you had second thoughts? We’re expecting Maestro FLESCH and our Conservatory orchestra any minute now! We’ve got everything ahead of us, and you’re – Berlin, Berlin…

LANGE: So you’re not aware of what’s been happening?

ME: No!

LANGE: Okay, I’m not going to be the one to frighten you. You go up to the second floor. First door on the right – that’s the Organizing Committee office. Ask for FRIDA WIRT – she’s a beautiful woman! Laughs for no reason! She’ll get you up-to-speed.

ESTHER: (Nervously) What’s happened, Mr LANGE?

LANGE: I don’t really like talking about it. Sorry. Fraulein, do you have any sweets on you?

ESTHER: No!

LANGE: That’s too bad!

ME: Just a second, my dear.

I’ll be back soon. What nonsense this is.

ESTHER: At least leave the violin case with me.

ME: No, I’ll be drinking my

“cup of poison” to the end.

 

 

Episode 35

 

Entering the room where the Festival Organizing Committee was meant to be, I bumped into the beautiful blonde – German with an opulent shape and girly pigtails.

 

ME: Sorry, I’m looking for

Fraulein WIRT. FRIDA WIRT.

LADY: (Laughing for no reason)

That’s me!

ME: Very pleased to meet you! I’m ROSNER, BENJAMIN ROSNER. I’m taking part in the Festival of Classical Violin Music.

LADY: (Laughing for no reason) ROSNER? BENJAMIN ROSNER? Just a minute! Please, take a seat!

 

I sat down and laid the cursed violin case on my lap.

 

Fraulein WIRT (laughing for no reason) opened a magazine and started quickly flicking through the pages, as if looking for something important.

 

FRIDA: (Without looking up, and laughing for no reason) And why have you come to Mittenwald?

ME: (Angrily, sarcastically) I’ve been dying to go skiing.

FRIDA: (Laughing for no reason) Yesterday we let everyone who’s taking part know that…

ME: (Confused) My Festival?

FRIDA: (Laughing) And someone called LANGE came, too. He’s completely incoherent! Says some Bavarian musicians stolen his money! Well, we took pity on the poor thing and bought him a return ticket to Berlin out of Festival funds. I hope he’s going today! My God, I’m so tired…

ME: Can you please tell me what’s happened?

FRIDA: (Laughing) There!

 

She stood up,

went over to the window,

took a roll of paper from the windowsill

and….. opened it.

 

Loudly I read out the announcement:

 

IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE DEMANDS

OF THE WORKERS OF GERMANY

IN THE CITY OF MITTENWALD,

THE FESTIVAL OF CLASSICAL VIOLIN MUSIC

WILL INSTEAD BE REPLACED BY

THE FESTIVAL OF B A V A R I A N

SINGING ENSEMBLES

 

THE FESTIVAL WILL COMMENCE ON

APRIL 20, 1933, ON THE BIRTHDAY OF

 

А D O L F H I T L E R.

 

ENTRANCE FREE FOR ALL FESTIVAL EVENTS.

 

WELCOME!

 

THE ORGANIZING COMMITTEE

 

I noticed the text of the announcement was written on a white strip of paper that had been stuck over a poster that I knew all too well – one that had completely different contents that I had got to know in Berlin at Mr MAX LUTZE’s Guttenberg Heritage printing house.

 

FRIDA: (Suddenly with a very strict tone)

True, it was late on, but all the same we did inform all participants of your Festival that the old ways are finished. Our long-suffering city is now dealing with the transformation of Germany’s musical culture itself. Now we need banners, marches, folklore and Wagner!

Me: What about bombs?

FRIDA: (Laughing) We haven’t had any

orders regarding bombs quite yet!

ME: Don’t you worry, they’re definitely on their way! By the way, Maestro FLESCH and the Conservatory Orchestra will be arriving tomorrow. What are you going to say to them?

FRIDA: (Laughing) They’re not coming!

ME: Come again?

FRIDA: (Seriously) The question is closed, Mr ROSNER! But we still have one thing we need to take care of as regards you.

ME: I no longer wish to listen to you what you have to say!

FRIDA: It’s to do with

Master Klotz’s violin.

Do you have it?

ME: Yes.

FRIDA: Show it to me!

 

I opened the lid of the case, pulled the instrument out and laid it on Fraulein WIRT’s desk.

 

ME: There!

FRIDA: (Seriously)

Does it play?

ME: I’m sorry?

FRIDA: (Seriously)

What don’t you understand?

I’m asking whether or not it plays!

ME: It does when I’m holding it. Satisfied?

FRIDA: (Laughing)

Yes. Please wait for me.

 

She left the room, leaving me completely distraught.

 

My hands shaking, I rolled up the old poster (with its stuck-on piece of paper and new announcement).

 

I really wanted to strangle, literally, everyone – everyone – everyone who kept on speaking on behalf of the people.

* * *

ESTHER ran into the room. Seeing that I was verging on bursting into tears, she hugged me and whispered:

 

ESTHER: It’ll soon be over.

ME: What are you on about, ESTHER?

ESTHER: I’m not going to keep you guessing

but it’ll all soon be over!

ME: You can’t imagine…

ESTHER: I know everything! There’s not going to be any Festival of Classical Violin Music and they’re going to take Master Klotz’s violin away from you!

ME: Who told you? Will they really take the violin away?

ESTHER: Yes! Quiet down! That gabbling blonde…

ME: Fraulein WIRT!

ESTHER: She’s just “called it in” and

told them the Klotz is here in her room!

ME: That means the authorities and people from the museum will be showing up any minute.

ESTHER: (Kissing me) That’s what I’m saying –

it’ll all soon be over!

ME: I’m so tired, ESTHER!

ESTHER: Calm down!

* * *

Museum representative Mr WEBER and members of the auxiliary police – the storm troopers – came into the room, and without so much as a ‘hello’ soon executed protocol “Confiscation of valuable item number such-and-such from Austrian citizen BENJAMIN ROSNER, to whom the aforementioned item had been given for temporary use”!

 

Everyone signed – even ESTHER and cackling Fraulien WIRT as procedural witnesses of the undertaken.

 

 

Episode 36

 

Going down to the hotel foyer, we were looking for the starving WALTER LANGE to take him out for lunch.

 

We found the lanky violinist in what seemed to us quite a nonsensical place: having fun sat with Bavarian musicians, drinking beer and enjoying some aromatic sausages.

 

LANGE: (In a wonderful mood) BENNY, come here! My friends here are inviting you and your girlfriend! Isn’t that right?

 

He turned to the musicians and they waved at us. I went a bit closer and inquired as to why my good friend’s mood had improved so drastically.

 

LANGE: You know what, they’ve found a place for me! And they’ll find one for you if, of course, you don’t turn them down. What do you say?

ME: You’re going to play in a folk ensemble? After everything you’ve been through with Beethoven?

LANGE: I’m German! I should take pride in my folk heritage! I’m going to play cheery tunes! I’ve had enough of your Beethoven and that Brahms of yours as well! I’m in a good mood! Bavarians won’t leave a person in the lurch! They’re real friends! I’m going to put on a national costume – short trousers and a hat with feathers in it! After today you can consider me a part of my people! We’re going to tear up the Treaty of Versailles! Hei… Heil!

 

He was drunk, cheerful and, it seemed to me, completely content!

 

In unison the Bavarians asked ESTHER and ME to join them at their table.

 

ME: Forgive me, I’m in a hurry. What’s more “unfortunately” we are Jews and, I’m sure, you wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing the table with us.

 

It seemed the musicians couldn’t give a damn about the stupid “Jewish Question”.

 

Bearing their souls, they invited us to join them a second time, and one made quite plain what he felt about the anti-Semitic sentiment going round.

 

BAVARIAN 1: The most important thing for us is that someone is a good person! We’ll make room for you in the group somehow. You can be sure of that! Look, the GESENKLEWERS need a fiddler. Helmut’s completely pissed – he says his hands have got the shakes! Am I right?

BAVARIAN 2: Helmut’s a mediocre fiddler, but…

he’s the right kind of guy.

BAVARIAN 3: He left for Munich yesterday.

We were sat together. It was fun.

 

I thanked the “folklorists” and bade the musicians a warm farewell who, showing their sympathy with the Jew (but also “good person”), affectionately and deafeningly loudly started to sing:

 

Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um, juchee

Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um.

Wenn ich nicht gleich Bier bekumm

Schmeis ich die ganze Kneipe um

Bier her……

===========

Beer over here, Beer over here, or I’ll hit the floor,

Beer over here, Beer over here, or I’ll hit the floor,

If I don’t get a beer right now

I’ll turn the whole tavern upside down,

Beer over here……

 

 

Episode 37

April 15, 1933

14:30

 

We left the hotel.

I hugged ESTHER and instantly was shocked to find the arm so used to clutching the violin case was suddenly as light as a feather!

I looked around at the forest-encrusted mountains that surrounded Mittenwald and suddenly wanted to take off and fly upwards!

 

“Could Master Klotz’s violin really have been that heavy?” I thought, and then asked ESTHER.

 

ME: Could Master Klotz’s violin really have been that heavy?

ESTHER: What are you talking about, BENNY?

ME: I’m talking about a

run-of-the-mill

musician instrument.

ESTHER: Your face has changed.

ME: (Smiling)

Oh, has it?

ESTHER: It’s become clear, like this day!

ME: You know why?

ESTHER: I do! You’re no longer worried they’re going to take that violin off you, and you’re not carrying that fear anymore.

ME: Yes, you’re right! They took away MY FEAR as they confiscated the instrument!

ESTHER: I told you everything would be over soon!

ME: You know, despite everything, Mittenwald really is a wonderful city.

ESTHER: Mittenwald is a truly marvellous city!

ME: (Spotting Uncle WILLIE who had been expecting us) And some of the nicest coachmen in the whole of Germany live here!

ESTHER: (Also noticing WILLIE STRAUS)

Can you imagine, he waited for us!

 

I thought we’d been an eternity.

 

ME: I looked at the time. The hotel clock says we’ve only been held up here an hour. Not more than that…

ESTHER: A lot’s changed in that time!

ME: Really quite a lot, my dear!

 

We headed for the “two-seater” carriage.

 

COACHMAN: That quickly?

ME: Thank you for not leaving.

COACHMAN: Don’t thank me! I’ve got it all calculated – there are no more trains coming in today, and picking up passengers is easiest outside hotels!

ESTHER: And there we were thinking

you were being all altruistic!

COACHMAN: What’s that you said, Fraulein?

ESTHER: Altruistic…!

COACHMAN: My surname’s STRAUS – please call me Uncle WILLIE! I’m at your service! We are we headed?

ME: Austria!

ESTHER: Austria!

ME: Long live Austria!

COACHMAN: What about your Festival?

ME: Another time, Uncle WILLIE!

ESTHER: Another time, Uncle WILLIE!

COACHMAN: Austria is spitting distance from here! My Rosinant will get us to Austria, or more precisely, to the state of Tyrol, in a flash! Well then, make yourselves comfortable… Ah, by the way, where’s your violin?

ESTHER: You’re an extremely observant coachman!

COACHMAN: Well, it was clear how painfully dear it was to you!

ME: Painfully heavy!

COACHMAN: Then congratulations on relieving yourself of that weighty problem! They say it’s all for the best…

ESTHER: All for the best!

COACHMAN: Okay, let’s go! I’ll take you to Seefeld, somewhere nice! From Seefeld you can get to Innsbruck and from there, Vienna isn’t far…

 

 

 

Episode 38

April 15, 1933

16:00

 

We got over the border with no trouble at all: back then (in 1933), the German authorities were happy for Jews to emigrate from Germany.

 

So the border and customs officers wished German citizen ESTHER HIRSCH a pleasant journey, but not a return one.

* * *

The “somewhere nice” that had been promised back in Mittenwald by Uncle WILLIE turned out to be the Hotel Seespitz on Innsbruckstrasse – in the pretty Alpine resort of Seefeld.

 

Saying goodbye, and counting the money we had paid for the trip, the COACHMAN gave us a final lesson:

 

COACHMAN: You know what? A clever person wouldn’t leave Seefeld for anywhere else, if of course he’s got enough in his wallet! Be happy!

 

As the old horse – named Rosinant – turned back towards Germany and then disappeared in the dust from the road, we bade our jolly driver, Mr Straus, farewell together:

“See you in better times, Uncle WILLIE!”

 

Back then, ESTHER and I didn’t suspect that those “better times” would only come in a long, long time.

 

 

Episode 39

April 16, 1933

11:00

 

Having decided to stay at the hotel, we were planning on heading to Vienna (via Innsbruck) the very next morning.

 

We were in much better spirits and if we hadn’t wanted to see the family so badly, we would have stayed in Seefeld for much, much longer.

 

* * *

We made love in the Seespitz, and afterwards I felt as if those two hands that had been relieved of the weightiness of that damned violin case had been usurped by ten limbs, like Shiva, the Indian God!

* * *

 

That night, lying in the same bed as ESTHER, listening to her breathe in her sleep, for the first time in many years I caught myself thinking that life could be lived happily without music stages. “In the end, I could take up piano-tuning – thank God my musical ear hasn’t failed me yet,” I thought.

 

Free from Germany’s fears and concerns, at that moment I suddenly wanted not to play the violin myself, but to listen to other people play and just enjoy the music.

 

However, my hands – which were not constrained by free-thinking intellect – used to play by themselves all the time, and there was nothing I could do about that contradiction.

* * *

Everything for set for my departure when suddenly I saw someone busking next to the grand arch of the hotel’s main doors. He looked like some kind of character from an Andersen tale – with a glowing ginger beard, long плащ, a tatty hat on his head and in front of his shoes – an open case for Austrian pennies, or perhaps even shillings, to be thrown into.

 

He seemed to me like some kind of “Christmas wizard” who granted all children’s wishes.

 

He stood there with his beard, holding his violin and bow, looking at me and smiling.

 

My ESTHER was sat on her suitcase, silent, and – as I noticed – watching us very closely.

 

Some kind of unknown force was willing me to walk over to the street musician. Without a word, the bearded man held the violin out for me. The instrument was old, uncared-for, and there were a few shallow cracks in places.

 

I tuned up the strings and started to play.

 

What was so unusual about the situation was that, по прошествии времени, I couldn’t remember what I had played in front of the Seespitz Hotel!

 

It was also strange that there wasn’t another soul on Innsbruckstrasse during my “street concert”, except for me, the musician and ESTHER; not one carriage or car. Not even anyone coming out of the hotel to see what was happening.

 

But I remember well that I played for quite a long time and that I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

 

I had never experienced such delight from music in all my life.

N e v e r!

When it finished and I handed the violin back to the man with the beard, he uttered the sacred words:

“Y o u p l a y e d l i k e d a G O D!”

 

After that, the man literally disappeared, vanished into thin air.

So had there really been a busker on Innsbruckstrasse?

Had I played on an old, cracked violin on Innsburckstrasse?

To this day I would still be guessing as to whether it had really happened at all, but one testimony leaves me in no doubt:

“Y o u p l a y e d l i k e a G O D!”

ESTHER’s words.

* * *

 

 

 

P A R T T H R E E

 

E P I L O G U E

 

E p i s o d e 4 0

 

WEST BERLIN

 

1961. August 14. Morning.

10:00

 

The Savoy Hotel. The stylish apartment of world-renowned violinist BENJAMIN ROSNER.

 

BENNY ROSNER is in his room. He is sat at his desk, listening to the radio whilst sorting through some business documents. He is wearing an expensive silk bathrobe and smoking a Cuban cigar.

 

* * *

 

The soft tones of Marlene Dietrich’s songs can be heard coming from the radio, with bulletins of the latest news regularly interrupting the music. The top story:

 

T h e B e r l i n W a l l - B e r l i n e r M a u e r !

 

The newsreader:

 

“The wall is being erected upon the resolute recommendation of the secretaries of the Communists and Workers’ Parties of those countries signed up to the Warsaw Pact…”

 

“We remind listeners that until the wall’s construction the border between the western and eastern parts of Berlin was open.”

 

“The dividing line goes right through streets, houses, and 54 canals and other waterways…”

 

“Eighty-one street checkpoints, thirteen interchanges on the metro and the local overground rail network were officially up and running…”

 

“Thirty thousand people fled from the east to the west of Berlin in July 1961 alone.”

 

“On August 7, 1961, the East German Communist Party Politburo took the decision to close the border of the GDR with West Berlin and West Germany…”

 

“Yesterday the East Berlin Police were put on a full state of readiness and at 1am on August 13, 1961, the Berlin Wall began to be built – around 25,000 members of militarized fighting groups from GDR enterprises have occupied the border with West Berlin. Their actions are being covered by parts of the East German Army. The Soviet Army has been readied for action.”

 

* * *

 

BENNY ROSNER was worried: the concert that had been set to go ahead this evening was very close to being called off.

 

People behind the Iron Curtain, whose country had been split off during the course of the night, had also been facing some serious problems overnight.

 

True, the ROSNER Concert tickets had already been sold previous to this, but there was still the possibility they could be returned to the box office.

 

If that were the case, HE would have to play in front of a near-empty auditorium.

The sense of fear he had encountered thirty years ago was gradually coming back to him, although it felt a little different.

 

In the early 1930s the Brownshirts had made his life difficult, and now, in the early 1960s, the Reds wanted to destroy his “fragile world”.

 

The building of the Berlin Wall came with manipulation and blackmail from the USSR and the GDR.

 

The threat of a Third World War was all too real.

 

* * *

 

ESTHER was calling from New York.

 

The married couple’s conversations comprised the same expressions and intonation as always.

 

ESTHER: Can’t you just give it all up and leave

West Berlin?

BENNY: Of course not!

ESTHER: What happens if there’s only one person

in the audience?

BENNY: Then I’ll be playing to one person.

ESTHER: And what if there’s no one there?

BENNY: Well, that can’t happen.

ESTHER: Why?

BENNY: When there’s a big house on fire, there’s always someone living there who tries to sit it out with a handkerchief over their nose to keep the smoke out.

ESTHER: Congratulations for finding one “handkerchiefed listener”. Look after yourself. I shouldn’t have let you go to Germany.

BENNY: You really think?

ESTHER: It’s Germany, after all! Sometimes it seems as if they split Berlin in two just to spite you, the famous Jewish musician! It’s almost funny!

BENNY: You’re turning into a real Aunt Rozele (Tante Rozele) from Brighton-Beach; always missing her courtyard gossiping in Odessa and negotiating with herself!

ESTHER: You might be right! I’ve changed over the years. I’m becoming quite the social butterfly. Poking my nose in everywhere. I enjoy it. I should take up some charity work. I think I should get some well-known Jews together.

BENNY: Which probably means you’ll soon be managing a Kibbutz somewhere out in the Wild West!

 

* * *

 

They laughed.

 

An hour later ESTHER called again, and the conversations carried on in the same vein.

 

* * *

 

 

Episode 41

August 14, 1961

18:00

 

When there were just two hours left until the concert was meant to start, the Konzerthaus manager – a young man wearing a checked jacket – ran into Mr ROSNER’s room without knocking or any of the usual niceties. He was carrying a bag.

 

MANAGER: Mr ROSNER! Mr ROSNER! I’ve rushed here to give you the good news! Not a single Berliner has yet returned a ticket! It’s unfathomable! People have so many worries and problems now. But a full house! Who could’ve guessed?

BENNY: You’re saying that nothing’s going to change in the next two hours?

MANAGER: Certain of it! Anschlag! Full house!

BENNY: Strange. Drink some water! You can barely breathe!

MANAGER: Thank you. Full house! It really is a sign of solidarity with each other, and to the new Germany!

BENNY: Interesting!

MANAGER: Even if they build ten walls ten metres high in Berlin to spite the Communists, the immortal music of Mendelssohn will still be heard. People have begun valuing freedom, they’re breathing freedom and the Germans will never let the Swastika be taken over by the Red Star!

BENNY: Then I’ll be visiting you a good deal.

MANAGER: Yes, Mr ROSNER! Yes, Maestro! We want to listen to music, not three-hour speeches by Communist leaders – whether it’s Ulbricht or Khrushchev! To hell with them!

BENNY: Time to get myself together. I’ll eat with you. Ah, and more importantly! You haven’t forgotten about my request?

MANAGER: How could I, Maestro!

Your friend’s ticket is waiting

in the Konzerthaus box office.

BENNY: We had agreed to meet in West Berlin on the evening of August the 14th. I really hope…

 

 

Episode 42

August 14, 1961

19:00

 

The Konzerthaus

 

On the stage – the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. The soloist – BENJAMIN ROSNER.

Full house. Anschlag.

 

Playing Felix Mendelssohn Violin Concerto No.1 for Orchestra.

 

 

 

Episode 43

EAST BERLIN

August 14, 1961

08:00

 

A parking lot for trucks, tipper trucks, bulldozers and heavy road machinery.

 

The guards’ hut. A small table. A sofa. A chair.

 

An OLD MAN is standing by the doors. He is wearing a threadbare and slightly dirty cloak with a hood. He is smoking and looking through the window.

 

Looking onto the street. A YOUNG MAN is walking quickly over to the parking lot– stooped, carrying a thick book under his arm. He approaches the hut.

 

YOUNG MAN: (Going into the hut, addressing the guard) Good morning, Mr Senior Guard! How was your shift?

OLD MAN: Fine, JOSEF!

The vehicles are all in place, as usual.

JOSEF: Who needs them!

OLD MAN: What are you reading?

JOSEF: Sherlock Holmes.

OLD MAN: And? Is your Sherlock Holmes

catching gangster and murderers?

JOSEF: Where can they hide!

OLD MAN: I’m sure it’s no easy business for him.

JOSEF: Why? You know from the start

he’ll solve all the cases!

OLD MAN: Either English criminals are that stupid, or your Sherlock Holmes is shrewd and resourceful indeed. Which is it?

JOSEF: Both! I only care it’s an interesting read.

OLD MAN: Well, you know best.

I hope you have a peaceful shift.

JOSEF: Where are you off to? Let’s sit and play some chess! There’s no one waiting for you! No wife, no kids. And I’m sat here all day and night on my own. It’s boring!

OLD MAN: Well, that’s where you’re wrong! Today I have to meet up with an old friend!

JOSEF: All the best. When are you next on duty?

OLD MAN: In a couple of weeks.

I’ve taken the time off. I’ve got things to do.

JOSEF: I won’t ask. You won’t tell me anyway. You’re a closed book! They say you’re often in West Berlin.

OLD MAN: I have friends and family there.

JOSEF: Wouldn’t it be better for you just to stay there? You haven’t got a wife or children here.

OLD MAN: I live the way that’s best for me.

What, you got something against that?

JOSEF: It’s just strange. A week ago I saw you at the wheel of some fancy car. And before that I saw you outside an expensive restaurant. All dressed up in a fashionable suit.

OLD MAN: That wasn’t me! You’ve got it wrong!

JOSEF: Comrade Senior Guard, could it be

you’re a spy?

OLD MAN: And who am I working for?

JOSEF: The Americans!

OLD MAN: Scary!

JOSEF: You’re going to the West today as well?

OLD MAN: Maybe.

JOSEF: So you don’t know anything?

OLD MAN: No. Our radio’s not working.

The bulb has blown.

JOSEF: I heard they’ve closed the border and that they’re building some kind of wall. You can’t get over there.

OLD MAN: Nonsense!

JOSEF: It’s Monday. Shame I didn’t think to get a paper. Anyway, you’ll manage. If you wait for the workmen to arrive then you’ll get the latest news off them.

OLD MAN: You love to talk, JOSEF! See you! You read your Sherlock Holmes and keep yourself occupied.

JOSEF: See you, Comrade Senior Guard!

OLD MAN: Comrade?

JOSEF: I know you don’t like that word!

OLD MAN: It’s fine, but people have dragged it through the mud. Goodbye!

 

 

 

 

 

Episode 44

 

THE OLD MAN is on the street; the first thing he does is buy some newspapers. Not walking any more slowly, he opens up the paper and reads the German Socialist Workers’ Party’s Neues Deutschland headline carefully.

 

After a while he leafs through the other papers and then throws the lot into a trash can .

 

He walks quickly through the streets, without looking around him, his head bowed; he stops by a multi-storey apartment block, scans the façade from top to bottom, and then goes in; he goes up to the fifth floor; he goes into a cosy one-room apartment; first he takes a shower and shaves; he drinks a coffee; then he puts on some expensive clothes – a suit, white shirt, navy-blue tie and moccasins.

 

Before our very eyes, the old man transforms into a respectable gentleman.

 

He goes over to his desk, opens a box, and takes out his passport, a wad of dollar bills, West German marks, a gun, and a pocket watch which he carefully places into his suit jacket.

 

The man carefully looks around the room, switches off the light, leaves the apartment and closes the door; he takes the lift down to the first floor and leaves the building.

 

Walking quickly, he comes to Unter den Linden Boulevard. He walks up to a three-door 1961 Buick Skylark cabriolet outside the Hotel Adlon. That sort of car was not often seen in East Berlin – it was too extravagant for a country built on Socialism, but until the events of August 13, 1961, luxury cars often made it into the GDR capital.

 

The respectable gentleman starts up the Buick and heads north, towards BORNHOLMERSTRASSE, but short of his destination, he parks up outside a German beerhouse – the Bierstolz.

 

 

Episode 45

August 14, 1961

11:50

 

He goes into the beerhouse. Its usual clientele have been there since the morning. Men drinking beer, coffee, reading the newspaper and discussing the latest news. Of course, there is only one topic on the agenda – the BERLIN WALL and the new way of things.

 

People are obviously not making their concerns too overt, just in case GDR secret agents are in the crowd.

 

The respectable gentleman greets a number of those present, sits at a table, smokes his pipe and orders a coffee from the waitress.

 

WAITRESS: Right this minute, Mr ADLER!

 

Mr ADLER looks at the clock on the wall – 12:00. Midday, sharp.

 

MR ADLER: I’m in no rush, ULRIKE!

 

A man with a moustache standing a way back by the counter, who is monotonously drying beer and wine glasses with a white tea towel, says ‘hello’ to Mr ADLER.

 

After a while, an extremely fat man in a hat comes into the beerhouse and promptly sits at Mr ADLER’s table, without asking his permission.

 

MR ADLER: What’s the news, UVE?

UVE: Are you heading for the West?

MR ADLER: As it happens that’s what

I’m asking about!

UVE: They’d closed everything since August the 8th, but on the 13th/yesterday a thousand men were building a wall, and getting across to the other side is now impossible.

MR ADLER: Money? Bribe? I’m fine with any of it!

UVE: Maybe at some point, but not today.

MR ADLER: But you understand

I should be in West Berlin this evening!

UVE: I know, but…

MR ADLER: Think!

UVE: You could break through in a car, battering everything in your path out of the way. That’d catch them off-guard!

MR ADLER: It’s an idea!

You think they’d start shooting?

UVE: While they’re pulling

themselves together…

MR ADLER: Perhaps it’d get me through?

UVE: Well, remember you’re the lucky one!

MR ADLER: Done! I’ll risk it! You know there are plenty of reasons I shouldn’t stay in East Berlin! And after all, there’s a wonderful reason for going! Are you with me?

UVE: No! I’ve got a ton of things to do here. I’m not going anywhere! I hope this highhandedness of theirs won’t last for long. Things’ll be back the way they used to be in a year. You can’t just split a nation into two! I’ll take you as far as Bornholmerstrasse, but you’ll be on your own from there to Bösebrücke. I hope you can scurry through over the bridge!

MR ADLER: I will! I’ve got luck on my side!

UVE: Have you got everything with you?

MR ADLER: If anything happens,

I’ll be all guns blazing!

UVE: Got it!

 

As MR ADLER settled his bill with the waitress for the coffee, she wished him well.

 

WAITRESS: All the best, MR ADLER!

MR ADLER: Remember, ULRIKE! My real name is HEINZ! HEINZ REINEKE! They sometimes used to call me “THE AXE”! Joking, of course…

WAITRESS: I’ll remember that! Goodbye,

Mr HEINZ REINEKE!

HEINZ: Goodbye, ULRIKE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Episode 46

August 14, 1961

13:00

 

The two men are sat in the Buick Skylark cabriolet, heading for Bornholmerstrasse.

 

UVE: When you see him, say ‘hello’ from me! Although I doubt he’ll remember me. It was a long time ago and we were so young!

HEINZ: I certainly will!

But even now you look great, CAPTAIN!

CAPTAIN: With this belly?

HEINZ: You’ve got to drink less beer!

CAPTAIN: I’m German!

HEINZ: That’s not some kind of justification for your vices!

CAPTAIN: Fine. Is he waiting for you?

HEINZ: I know there’s a ticket for a loggia with my name on it in the Konzerthaus box office. That’s for sure! You can trust a Jew! What do you think?

CAPTAIN: Completely!

If you could have gone a week ago

it wouldn’t have been a problem!

HEINZ: Who’d have thought the events of one night could have such an impact on people’s destinies?

CAPTAIN: We’re here!

 

The car stopped.

 

HEINZ: If anything….

UVE: You’ve aged, brother!

HEINZ: Well, in that case, goodbye!

UVE: See you, “AXE”!

 

 

Episode 47

 

When the Bösebrücke first hove into view, initially HEINZ REINEKE slowed down; nearing the men in military uniform he stopped the car, but left the motor running.

 

He was being explained something, told that something or other was forbidden, threatened with something or other, but HEINZ was not listening to their voices.

 

He looked at the road looking for the best chance to break through the cordon.

 

It was still possible to get through here, but as they say, hesitation can be fatal.

 

* * *

 

With all his might, HEINZ floored the accelerator – the car, sweeping people out the way and crushing others, tore through to the West like a tornado.

 

Automatic machinegun rounds rang out. HEINZ stooped his head. He held on tight to the steering wheel, but he was already not in control of the way the car was going.

 

He had to go straight, without turning. There wasn’t far to go. A grenade exploded next to the car.

It flung HEINZ, bloodied, from the cabriolet.

* * *

 

As he faded, struggling, “THE AXE” took the antique Swiss watch that BENNY ROSNER had given him on April 14, 1933 at BERLIN Train Station out of his jacket pocket.

 

“THE AXE” used his last ounce of strength to open the lid of the gold-plated watch.

 

To the sound of the Hava Nagila, HEINZ REINEKE’s eyes closed peacefully.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

AFTERWORD

 

The HIRSCHES died in Auschwitz in 1943.

 

* * *

 

YOSSI HIRSCH emigrated to Palestine in 1938, before the WWII started.

 

* * *

 

MARIKA ERDELY went to Paris in 1935. She danced at the Moulin Rouge. She returned to her homeland after the war. She died on November 5, 1956, during the Hungarian Uprising.

 

* * *

 

Artist HENRICH SHTETKE fled to Latin America in 1945. He painted portraits of dictators in Paraguay, Bolivia, Haiti, Nicaragua… His tracks disappear somewhere in the Amazonian jungle.

 

* * *

 

Henrich Shtetke’s portrait of “Brunhilda at the Magical Source” was kept in the private collection of a former Gruppenführer and war criminal by the name of Rolf Buchholtz. He was freed from prison in 1960.

 

 

T H E E N D

 

 

 

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