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COUSIN FRITZ
A year before Germany annexed Poland Cousin Fritz, at my mother’s invitation, annexed our home. He was a proud peacock, with his thick accent and his wayward grammar. What fascinated me most of all was watching him smoke. A right performance – tapping the cigarette on his case, fixing it into the holder, lighting the match with a dramatic flourish! I watched it all, breathlessly, and coveted his cigarette case.
It was hammered
out of an English shell-case, he said. It had fallen into a German trench
at Flanders without exploding. The soldiers had diffused the shell and
used the casing to make gifts for family back home. Fritz bought it at
a market in Berlin.
‘I am thinking that Johnny would be liking to smoke a cigarette,
no?’ Cousin Fritz said, as we walked back from chapel that Easter
Sunday morning.
My mother laughed, slapping his arm then taking it to lean on. ‘He’s convinced you’re a spy, Fritz, and that your cigarette case contains all your secrets.’
‘No,
I’m not.’ I sulked, scowling at my mother for embarrassing
me.
They burst into fits of giggles and shooed me away.
They were always doing that to me – making me walk on ahead while they conferred with each other. Except when Father was around.
Father – your great-grandfather – was waiting for us when we got in. As was Grandmama, a sour old woman, ensconced at the dining table with her ear trumpet resting on Mother’s best Irish linen.
We ate almost in silence, an April squall hanging over the table. This would not do for Fritz. He had to take break the silence.
‘Charles, tell me, your work in London has reached a satisfactory conclusion, yes?’
‘Now, Fritz, you know that I cannot talk about it.’
My cousin was non-plussed.
‘Surely a general enquiry does not compromise the secrets of your government?’
My father stared at Fritz, until his fair skin blushed and blotched. Grandmama coughed loudly.
My mother rose from the table to attend her, but was waved away in favour of Sophia, Grandmama’s maid. Mother re-sat herself, smoothing a hand through her hair.
‘You Germans are all the same.’
We pretended
we didn’t hear. Grandmama was ancient and therefore had the right
to speak her mind. Not like today…
After lunch my father retired to his study. Sophia wheeled Grandmama into
the Orangery, while Mother and Fritz walked outside together, as usual.
I sneaked back into the dining room, on the off-chance.
It was there! It was there! Now was my chance to discover its secrets. I crossed the floor with one eye on the door. My hand reached out unsteadily, my heart pounded in my chest. Once I had proof Father would sling Fritz out, would smile again. And I would get a medal from the King. For bravery.
‘Johnny. You were not about to take one of my cigarettes, were you? Or maybe you really think I am a spy?’
Sly dog – springing from nowhere. But what could you expect?
‘I was going to bring it to you. I know you don’t like to be without it.’
He crouched beside me now and I caught the scent of tobacco and perfume on his skin. He smiled his pencil-thin smile, his wiry moustache bristling out above his lip.
‘I leave the day after tomorrow, Johnny. So, let me be doing this thing for you. I will take the case now and hide it somewhere in the house, for you to find. If you discover upon it, then it will be yours. And all my secrets. If, however, it remains hidden, then you must give something precious of yours as reward.’
I was speechless. What thing of mine could he possibly desire? He took my silence as agreement and swept the case off the table, exiting into the afternoon sun via the french doors.
The hunt began
next day, after breakfast. Father was leaving, escorting Grandmama back
to London; the staff had the day off.
‘Everything is set for your trip, Fritz?’
‘Yes Charles. Everything is well. I leave tomorrow – reluctantly – as you say.’
‘I wish you didn’t have to go, Fritz. I get so lonely in the house, without a man around.’
‘Melanie, you are forgetting your fine son. He is the man of the house, without your husband.’
Father glared at Mother, who glared back. My head was too full of the hunt to understand.
Fritz leaned across to me, pretending he wanted some marmalade. ‘Our game begins soon, mein Herr.’
He winked. His eyelashes were fantastically long. He was so different to my father. Softer, warmer. No wonder Mother spent so much time with him.
‘I think it will be your last visit to us, for a while, Fritz.’
‘And why would that be, Charles? I wish to be back in the bosoms of my family as hastily as I may.’
I giggled, until Father glowered.
‘The tension between our two governments may make it too difficult.’
Fritz frowned, ‘The National Socialists do not make representations of me.’
My father’s eyebrow arched, ‘No, I’m sure they don’t.’
*
The house seemed to sigh with relief as it emptied. An echo sprang up in the hallway. My mother shrieked with delight as Fritz picked her up and swung her round. I watched, shocked by the easy charm of the Hun.
‘Jonathan, stop it! You look like your father.’
‘You would be swung as well, no?’
‘He’s far too old for that.’
‘If this is so, let us begin our game.’
‘I need to lie down, after that. Fritz, you’ve made me quite dizzy.’
‘Ah, girls! They are such weaklings.’
He winked at me, but I ignored it. I had a higher calling in mind.
After Mother had gone, Fritz took his handkerchief from his pocket and folded it into a long, narrow band. He fastened this loosely around my eyes and then turned me three times, anti-clockwise.
‘Now, Johnny, count to ten, slowly. Und begin…’
I heard his footsteps, falling lightly across the parquet and continuing up the staircase. Faithfully observing fair play, I counted to ten and then took my blindfold off. In my hand was a piece of paper. I unfolded it and read:
‘To the English spy. Go to the study if you wish to discover the truth…’
The house was completely silent. Fritz had made his escape with characteristic swiftness.
The study! I had seen him come out of there, just last night. I’d wanted to tell Father, but he’d retired early to bed.
So that’s what he’d been upto.
I approached with trepidation – a man’s own study was a sacred space. I remembered times as a small child when Father had permitted me to enter, had lifted me onto his knee, allowed me to look at papers on his desk. But these were secretive times and the study was now strictly out of bounds.
The door screeched on its hinges, causing me unimaginable panic. For a second I believed that Father would tear through the front door, roaring and threatening to wallop me. The long-case clock struck eleven. I had an hour to complete my challenge. Fritz couldn’t go any longer without a cigarette.
At five past eleven I left the study, my throat thick with dust and the lingering smell of Father’s pipe tobacco. Another note in hand.
‘Search my room and find my tickets.’
Fritz’s room! This seemed really too much, searching the things of a family member, a guest in our house. But it was for King and country. And for my family, teetering on the brink of a calamity I could not name.
There was his pot cupboard, his loose change resting on
an oak dish above. I reached under his pillow, drawing out a German newspaper,
but no cigarette case. Inside the paper were two tickets. One in his name
and one in the name of Freda Baurmein.
Eleven-thirty sounded from the hall. The game was all but up. I read the
note the tickets were wrapped in.
‘To the little English spy – many congratulations to you! You have done as requested. Now, come claim your prize on the third floor.’
It was all too easy. He’d done this to spite me, to rob me of enjoyment, like he had ever since he’d arrived. You would think a German relative in the house would provide some excitement, some diversion. All he had caused was division. It was time to make him pay.
I understood now. He was daring me to confront him –
to show the strength my father was too polite to show. I took the stairs
two at a time. I’d show him, what Bulldog grit was, what Johnny
English could do. We would not be walked over again.
From the far end of the landing I heard singing. A beautiful trill –
a sharp, guttural soprano, singing Lili Marlene, like Marlene Dietrich,
whose records Mother had returned with. But it was not a record. And it
could not be Mother. She’d been asked to leave the church choir.
Her enthusiasm could not outweigh her tone-deafness.
Each step I took the blood thundered in my ears. The door to my Mother’s suite was ajar and it was clear that the singing was coming from inside. I crept to the jamb and pressed myself against the woodwork, craning my neck to peer inside. I was ready with my fists, if necessary.
The singing stopped.
‘I am thinking I hear someone outside.’
‘What! Quick! Darling – put your gown back on. It must be Johnny.’
I heard the scrambling of limbs, the flapping of dressing gowns. But the sight that greeted me was one I could not have expected.
‘Mein Herr,’ said Cousin Fritz, ‘you’ve
discovered me! But not my case. So now, I am going to take your mother
Johnny.’
I opened my mouth to speak, but a scream came out instead. It was Fritz,
but not Fritz. The moustache was gone; the hair was tousled and wild.
And, as he bent over to relieve me of the tickets that would take him
and my mother back to Berlin, tomorrow, ‘his’ gown came open,
revealing the most beautiful pair of breasts I’ve ever seen.
‘Johnny. Johnny. She’s my true love. So I have to go. Johnny!’
My mother became increasingly hysterical. I couldn’t bear her screams. I turned tail, ran down the stairs and out of the frontdoor. By the gate to the orchard I bent over and threw up.
*
You don’t believe me? Ask your grandmother. She knows.
I’m going outside for a smoke.
