Mutter

As Lukas manoeuvred his bicycle eastwards from the bookshop along Oranienstrasse, he had to swerve to avoid running into shoppers, soldiers and the odd automobile alike. A frantic driver called out “Achtung, Junge!” as Lukas narrowly avoided being side-swiped by a lorry bringing a load of vegetables into town.

Lukas pedaled madly up the ramp to the Oberbaum Bridge, catching the eye of a handsome young man in a brown shirt and matching tie. Lukas thought he filled out his Sturmabteilung uniform very smartly. The Brownshirt smiled back at Lukas appraisingly.

Then Lukas had to turn his attention to navigating the lower deck of the Oberbaumbrucke without getting run over, or worse, falling into the Spree River. His mother’s flat was located on the other side of the Spree in the working-class district of Berlin, now called Horst-Wessel-Stadt after the young Brownshirt who was assassinated by the communists in ‘30. To this day his mother still stubbornly calls their neighbourhood by its original name of Friedrichshain.

As he passed under the first tower Lukas remembered his mother telling him that the Oberbaumbrucke was one of Berlin’s most famous landmarks. Its name meant something like Upper Tree Bridge. In 1732, when the first wooden bridge was built across the Spree, it served as the eastern gate to Berlin. The bridge included a boom made out of a heavy tree trunk covered in metal spikes, which could be placed across the river at night to dissuade smugglers.

Since that time the bridge had been modified greatly, to a length of 154 metres, making it Berlin’s longest bridge. By the late 1800s Berlin had expanded so much that the bridge could no longer accommodate the volume of traffic. The wooden bridge was ultimately replaced with a double-decker stone span, incorporating various aesthetic elements such as two gothic towers, pointed arches, cross-vaults and coats of arms. The bottom deck Lukas pedaled across allowed pedestrians, bicycles and automobiles to cross the Spree, while the upper deck carried the U-Bahn commuter trains over the river.

Lukas directed his bicycle towards a dark building containing cheap walk-ups. He eased it into its usual spot under the wooden staircase at the back of building and climbed up to the flat he shared with his mother. Schatten, the building’s adopted cat sat curled up on the landing, looking up at him hopefully for scraps. He reached down to stroke the cat “Es tut mir leid Schatten, I have nothing for you today.”

He used his passepartout to unlock the door to the flat and was assaulted by the smell of boiled cabbage.

“Luka, is that you,” his mother shouted from somewhere inside the flat.

“Jawohl! I have that song you wanted. The boy at the bookshop found it for me. Cabbage again for dinner, Mutter?” He grimaced.

The attic flat that he shared with his mother was simply one long space that had been partitioned after the Great War into two bedrooms, his mother’s at the front, with his at the back. In between was a kitchenette with a two-burner stove and lavatory room behind that. They used the small space left at the front of the attic as their salon. That is where he found his mother.

Gertrude is sitting on the sofa of the salon, with a jar of Weiss beer at her elbow. “Things are becoming more and more dear, my Luka, light of my life. It was pretty much all I could afford at market.” He handed the record over to his mother.

Gertrude might have been considered pretty once, but she had fallen into hard times since Lukas’ father Howard died from the pandemic of ‘19. It was a challenge bringing Lukas up all by herself in the neurotic world of the Weimar Republic. Lukas knew she would never thank the allied powers who triumphed over her husband and the Imperial Army for the indignities inflicted upon herself and her precious Deutschland.

Meagre furnishings filled their flat, which Gertrude had cadged from friends, neighbours and even some that were filched from right under Max’s nose. Max was the proprietor of Kaftan effectively making him Gertrude’s Kommandant.

A free-standing Victrola gramophone, which had been his father’s before the Great War, stands at pride of place beside their tiny coal stove, providing the only heat in the flat, cold now as it is late spring and Berlin is fortunately not Siberia.

Lukas’ schalmei, a single-reed brass musical instrument that he was trying to learn how to play, was propped against a music stand, with some loose sheets of music. Lukas found playing the instrument very frustrating since his mother could only sing by ear. Teaching him to read the martial sheet music he picked up for it at school was simply out of the question.

Handing the record back to him, his mother said “Put it on the gramophone for me, Luka. Max expects me at Kaftan tomorrow night and I told him I would have something new to sing for him.”

He placed the heavy disc on the platter, switched the motor on and dropped the needle onto the surface of the record. His mother closed her eyes and swayed to the tinny sound coming from the cone of the gramophone.

Stomach grumbling, “When are we eating, Mutter?” Luka asked.

“I think the Kohleintopf should be almost ready.” I will dish it out for us after I have made some notes for the Pianist at the Kaftan. He gets his unterhose in a knot if he doesn’t know the chords to accompany me while I sing my song.”

The World has Become Small

The Kaftan cabaret was located across the Spree in the Kreuzberg district, not far from Gertrude’s flat in Friedrichshain. Kreuzberg was known as the meeting place for the demi-monde, where Deutsche, Judische, black, gypsy and queer were welcome to enjoy all the weird and wonderful that Berlin had to offer.

Gertrude usually walked across the Oberbaumbrucke to have a look at der Spree, but tonight, carrying a large bundle on her back, she hopped onto a U-Bahn train at Warschauer station instead. After a handful of stops she was at Kreuzberg station walking the rest of the way to the club on foot.

Gertrude is met at the backstage door by Fritz, the cabaret’s mountain of a bouncer. “Max is in rare form tonight. Dora didn’t show up again.”

“Oh, what’s that noise I hear on stage? Not the Moschkowitz again!”

“Max said it was either them or crack open a whole barrel of beer for the crowd ‘Gratis’. They are halfway loaded already,” laughed Fritz.

“Mein Gott! I am going to try something new tonight.”

“Good luck, I hope they like it,” “and Max,” he said to himself under his breath, while ushering Gertrude into the dark interior of the cabaret.

Gertrude closed the door to her cramped dressing room and dumped the contents of her bundle onto the floor, thinking to herself, “Howard, dearest husband, forgive me for what I am about to do with your things tonight!”

As she sat at her dressing table, put on her makeup and pomaded her red hair, snippets of the Moschkowitz’s bawdy song in Yiddish floated down to irritate her:

Esther:

Shmerl, dear, I beg you, how can you start up with another WOMAN?

You run around to all of the CIRCUMCISIONS but you don’t care about MY worries!

Jakob:

You’re a fool, a real GOSSIP, not the first one, not the tenth one.

All girls are HOLY to me - THEY give me their best PORTIONS!

Esther:

Oy, you’re having a great time out there but I don’t have a PENNY!

Jakob:

I eat! I eat! I eat, dear, but no more than a LITTLE. I work hard to put FOOD on the plate!

Six or seven livers, eight or nine bagels, ten or eleven gizzards, twelve or thirteen chickens, and today a piece of gefilte FISH!

This is my COMFORT, and a DELIGHT to my soul in this LIFE!

Gertrude folded her clothes on the dressing table and put on her costume, remembering a bit about what Max had told her about the Moschkowitz’s. Evidently Esther had met her husband Jakob while touring in Poland and after the Great War they emigrated to Berlin, where they established their performing career and appeared in various Yiddish cabarets, cafes and stage revues, including the Kaftan. Many people, including Gertrude herself, found the couple went a bit too far sometimes.

Esther:

Oy, better than having a HUSBAND like you, my dear Shmerl, I’d rather have DEBT!

Jakob:

Better than having such HEARTACHE, you should be a jilted WOMAN!

Esther and Jakob together:

Let’s make peace instead! Peace is good for EVERYBODY.

Peace, peace is a fine THING!

Peace makes you HAPPY. Let there be peace already!

Oy, let the enemies FIGHT, they can have that pleasure.

Dear God, good God, let there be peace already!

Oy, God, make my heart happy, put an end to being BITTER!

Dear God, good God, let there be peace already![1]

At last, they finished their rude duet, to boisterous clapping and jeers. Pulling on her boots, Max knocked on her dressing room door, “Schnell! Gertie you are on in one minute!”

“Ja, ja Max!” she shouted as she moved towards the door.

As Gertrude mounted the wings to the stage, she heard the Master of Ceremonies proclaim, “Thank you Esther and Jakob for your VERY RESTRAINED performance. Now, Damen, Herren, queers and the rest of you lot, put your hands together in a VERY warm welcome for Gertie the Great! You NEVER know what you are going to get, and you probably won’t like it EITHER!”

The pianist looked up from his keyboard to see Gertrude stride across the stage in her husband’s Imperial Army uniform, his cap and medals glinting above her left breast, topped off by a fake Hitler moustache. “Oh Gertie, what are you up to now,” frowned the pianist to himself.

Gertrude passed a handful of dog-eared pages with rudimentary chord changes over to the pianist while the crowd clapped, stomped their feet and roared loudly. Some of the more intoxicated patrons shouted rude comments at her.

The pianist sniffed, scanned the pages quickly and hissed, “Gertie, what key is this supposed to be in?”

Absentmindedly she replied, “A-Minor, I think.”

Gertrude smiled and turned to the crowd, “This is called The World has Become Small[2]. Pianist, you may begin.” The pianist gently played the first bar and then Gertrude sang along in German to his sweet accompaniment:

We fly over the ocean, and high into the stratosphere.

We see from New York to Teheran, and turn the ocean into dry land.

We converse between Oslo and Samarkand, without even raising our voices.

From southernmost Tierra del Fuego, we can listen to Jack Hylton from London.

The world has become small.

Just a reflection, so teeny-tiny small!

A pretty ball you like to play with.

It belongs to you now, and to everybody else, too,

It’s just waiting for your plans for it.

Will you use the power you’ve gained for the Good?

Or will it blind you with its glory?

The world has become small, just a reflection of what human power has made of it.

We’ve harnessed technology and felt so clever and wise.

We’ve laid steel tracks over the earth, and now we’re derailing ourselves.

Chinese coolies, Japanese lords, the white Europeans, they were always so far apart.

Now they’re getting closer and closer.

The world’s become cramped, so terribly cramped!

You can’t see the air for the wires!

It’s become a hustle and bustle, it’s become a fight, for your place in the sun.

What good to you is the harvest that was safely stored?

Your evil neighbour will take it away from you.

The world’s become cramped, it’s become a struggle for the smallest bit of trash.

We roar along with a thousand horsepower and can’t ever let it go again.

We’re sitting in the Tower of Babel and we can only hate each other.

We’ve electrified the light but we still can’t see each other.

We’ve invented Esperanto but we’ll never understand each other.

The world has become vast, so terribly vast, and all hopes are just pipe dreams.

You’ve become so clever and you’re ready and willing to be mere chaff in this vast world.

What your brain invented for your own good has bound and not redeemed you.

The world has become vast, and now the time has come for you not to knuckle under, but to rise above it!

Stunned silence ensued as the last notes of Gertrude’s song faded away, but then slowly, ever so slowly, the crowd began to clap. She bowed to the crowd first, the pianist second and Max last. He had been watching her performance from the wings. She exited the stage with the pianist staring daggers at her back.

“Well, wasn’t that a sight to behold! Our BELOVED Führer at the Kaftan. I NEVER thought that would HAPPEN! And he sings like a bird too,” sneered the Master of Ceremonies at the crowd.

Max accosted Gertrude at her dressing room door. “Next time why don’t you try something more romantic, huh Gertie? And leave the soldier’s uniforms for your bedroom antics!” He tossed the payment for her song, a handful of marks and pfennigs, on her dressing table and stormed out.

“How did it go?” Fritz asked after Gertrude changed and was heading out the back door.

“About as expected.” Gertrude sighed as she went out into the Berlin night, with her bundle securely strapped to her back.

Return to the Bookshop

It was his mother’s habit to always sleep late after a show. She turned into a bear if she did not get a good night’s sleep. As Lukas had woken up early as usual, he spent the time padding quietly around their flat in his bare feet, trying not to wake her. He tidied up their tiny kitchen from last night’s supper and then went out on the back porch with a magazine. It was called Der Eigene and he dared not show it to his mother because he did not know how she would react to it. The first page stated that it had been started in 1896 as a compendium of homophil articles and interviews celebrating socialism, the perfect male physique and man-on-man love.

Lukas was sitting cross-legged on the landing leafing through the pages when Schatten jumped up onto his lap purring and looking up at him expectantly for a treat. He reached into the pocket of his dungarees and offered the cat a piece of overcooked bratwurst from their dinner the night before.

While the smoke-grey cat devoured the sausage Lukas read an article:

Male love has been with us since the time of the Greeks…

It was considered to be the greatest compliment for a boy to be picked by an older man to learn the joys of man-on-man love…

Oral and anal worship of the penis pleases the giver and the receiver in a multitude of ways…

“Luka, what is it that you have there?”

Putting the cat down on the landing, Lukas said “Vergib mir Mutter, I did not hear you get up. It is simply something that I borrowed from a boy at the Rowing Clubhouse.”

“I see,” his mother said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t let the Nazis see you with that. It is verboten!”

Lukas, folding the magazine, said, “Jawohl Mutter, did you manage to get some rest last night?”

“Nein, my new song did not go over well with Max. He was furious and told me I had to sing something romantic next time.”

“Oh, what will you do now?”

“I have an idea for another song, not really my taste, but one that Max may approve of.”

“I will go and see if Jacob has it.”

“Oh, is Jacob your new friend now?”

“Well, we just met the other day, but I think I might invite him to rowing practice. They are always looking for more boys to compete in the Olympic Games. Hitler wants to put the Russians and the British in their place next summer.”

“Mein Gott! Will this story never end,” his mother retorted.

While his mother made waffles for breakfast on the two-burner stove in their kitchenette, Lukas put the magazine back into its hiding spot in his bedroom and finished dressing. He wolfed down his mother’s waffles, while she told him the name of the song and handed him some marks.

Lukas climbed onto his bicycle and returned to the bookshop. Opening the front door, he could see that it was quite busy. The radio blared a news report from the back of the shop “The German government is behind schedule in completing the Reichssportfeld, their ambitious project in the northwest end of Berlin, which will host the games of Olympiad XI next summer. Organizers are still hopeful that the much-anticipated extension of the U-Bahn line can be completed in time…”

Both Jacob and his father were tending to customers. Lukas moved around them to the back looking for the record collection. Thumbing though the racks of wax, Lukas found the song his mother was looking for called Ich Tanz und Mein Herz Weint. Jacob came up from behind “Oh, that’s a really good one. Papa listens to that one all the time on the radio. He tells me it reminds him of Mama. Is that one for your mother also? Is there anything else that you need Lukas?”

“Ja, Mutter wants to try this one at Kaftan sometime. May I pay for it now?”

“Of course, follow me to the cash register.” Jacob rang his purchase in and handed the record over to Lukas.

“Look, do you know about the Olympic Games next year?”

“Yes, it’s all they ever talk about on Papa’s radio.”

“Well, I have been thinking of competing in the rowing competition. It is a lot of work but feels really good too. Would you like to join me? I am looking for a mate for the coxless pair.”

“Yes, I would have to ask Papa’s permission first, of course.”

“We train on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays before class at the Rowing Clubhouse on der Spree.” Lukas told him.

“Maybe I will see you there sometime.”

“Bring swimming trunks, a towel and runners if you come. Auf Wiedersehen, Jacob.”

Morning Prayers

“Ahem, Kiva it is time for us to make our obeisance to Yahweh.”

“Yes, Papa,” Jacob replied. “Would you like to me read the Ashrei?” He pulled the worn Tanakh down from the shelf in their front parlour. The shelf also held their menorah, mezuzah, dreidels and other ceremonial Jewish tshatshkes.

“Yes, Kiva.” His father sat on the chesterfield while Jacob opened the Tanakh to Psalm 145 and recited in Hebrew:

I will extol thee, my God; and I will bless thy name for ever and ever.

Every day will I bless thee; and I will praise thy name for ever and ever.

Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised; and their greatness is unsearchable.

One generation shall praise thy works to another, and shall declare thy mighty acts.

I will speak of the glorious honour of thy majesty, and of thy wondrous works.

And men shall speak of the might of thy terrible acts: and I will declare thy greatness.

They shall abundantly utter the memory of thy great goodness, and shall sing of thy righteousness.

The LORD is gracious, and full of compassion; slow to anger, and of great mercy.

The LORD is good to all: and their tender mercies are over all their works.

All thy works shall praise thee, O LORD; and thy saints shall bless thee.

They shall speak of the glory of thy kingdom, and talk of thy power;

To make known to the sons of men his mighty acts, and the glorious majesty of their kingdom.

Thy kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and thy dominion endureth throughout all generations.

The LORD is faithful in all their words, and gracious in all their deeds.

The LORD upholdeth all that fall, and raiseth up all those that be bowed down.

The eyes of all wait upon thee; and thou givest them their meat in due season.

Thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the desire of every living thing.

The LORD is righteous in all their ways, and holy in all their works.

The LORD is nigh unto all them that call upon them, to all that call upon them in truth.

They will fulfil the desire of them that fear: They also will hear the cry, and will save them.

The LORD preserveth all that love them: but all the wicked will they destroy.

My mouth shall speak the praise of the LORD: and let all flesh bless their holy name for ever and ever.

As Jacob finished the psalm his father intoned Acheinu Kol Bet Isroel, as a closure to their morning prayers, in his rich, deep voice:

As for our brothers, the whole house of Israel,

Who are given over to trouble or captivity,

Whether they abide on the sea or on the dry land.

May the All-present have mercy upon them,

Our brothers, the whole house of Israel,

And bring them from trouble to enlargement,

And from darkness to light,

And from subjection to redemption,

Now speedily and soon.

And let us say: AMEN.

“AMEN.” Jacob repeated.

“Thank you, Kiva, for leading the obeisance for us this morning.”

“Papa, I have something to ask you, if I may?” Jacob asked shyly.

“Speak, Kiva.”

“A boy asked me if I would like to join the rowing team.”

“Was this the dark-haired boy who was in the shop yesterday?”

“Yes, Papa. He said they are looking for boys to complete in the Olympic Games, next summer.”

“Something misgives me in this, Kiva. There are boys at der Spree who are mixed up in the wrong things.” His father frowned at him.

“I promise to be careful, and Lukas will look after me, I’m sure.”

“See that he does, Kiva! I can’t forbid you from at least trying it out.”

Jacob ran over to hug his father. “Thank you, Papa!”

[1] Peace in the Home, author unknown. Translated from Yiddish by the Semer Ensemble.

[2] The World has Become Small, German lyrics by Fred Endrikat. Translated by the Semer Ensemble.

Next Chapter: Chapters 6 to 9 - Temptation