condemned to the natural world in spite of himself, was busy taking all kinds of liberties with the lady at his master’s table. She went to light a cigarette and he provided the flame. He must have thought they had something in common, an urban brand of savoir-vivre or something of the kind. There was no stopping him.
‘Be sure to pass my recommendation on to your husband. About the KdF. Tell him Heinrich Kraus urges him to do so. I know his heart is in the right place. He’s not one for jumping on bandwagons. He was a member of the Party from its earliest beginnings. I can ask around if you like, find out from my old chums who he should get in touch with.’
No one said a word. Not even when the twins left the table and darted off toward the field, like a couple of colts let loose.
‘Why, I made a similar recommendation to you. Remember, sir? Fencing lessons for the working classes. Raeren would be ideal. Bags of room for Kraft durch Freude.’
‘Freude,’ von Bötticher muttered. ‘Joy has nothing to do with fencing. Fencing is an art, a world away from seeing who can jump furthest in a sandpit. How can I explain in terms you might understand? It is the difference between my Megaira and a carthorse.’
‘Oh, I would have loved to go on a trip like that. If only to the cabaret.’
‘Free time controlled by the state can hardly be called free time.’
‘You and your imperialist cronies don’t want the workers to have anything, you old Stahlhelm rogue.’
The word crackled in the air. I had no idea what it meant, but Leni leaped out of her chair, grabbed the first thing she could lay her hands on—the carving fork—and waved it in Heinz’s face. ‘Sir, you must forgive him. You know he can’t hold his drink. Just look at the old mongrel, all bark and no bite. He’ll never interfere in your affairs, sir. You know that don’t you? Heaven forbid.’
Von Bötticher let out a deep sigh. ‘It’s fine, Leni. His Communist prattle is fascinating in its way. Stahlhelm rogue? Interesting choice of words. Lest you forget, Heinz, we fought for this fatherland of yours.’
‘As did we all,’ said Heinz. ‘And I am anything but a Communist.’
‘Communist, socialist … what exactly did you do during the war? I don’t believe I’ve ever asked you. Wait, let me refresh your glass. This, in case you hadn’t noticed, is an outstanding Riesling from the Rheingau. A great German wine, with more than a hint of National Socialism, after all I am sharing it with you, my worker.’
Leni was still wielding the carving fork. She did not look at her husband: he had become someone to be spoken about, not spoken to, a point she was eager for their master to grasp. ‘No more drink for him. Does him no good at all. See for yourself, he’s no use to anyone.’
‘Surely a real man can handle a glass of wine? Even the ladies are drinking it! Come, Heinz, enlighten me. How did you spend the years between fourteen and eighteen?’
‘Twenty-fifth reserve corps, Lodz. Until I wound up in the field hospital.’
Out on the grass, the twins were spinning around like mad, hanging from each other’s arms. It was a game I knew from the school playground. As the paving stones whirled beneath your feet, you clung to your partner’s wrists for dear life—by that stage slowing down was no easy matter. It was best to close your eyes, and give in to the blur of terror and delight. The twins had long since surrendered to centrifugal force. They were perfectly in balance, so what had they to fear?
‘Take a leaf out of our book,’ said von Bötticher. ‘We find joy in the close companionship of a select company. Why invite the masses in? What is there left to enjoy if everyone is doing the same? The new politics is focused on the neutral. The faceless masses.’
‘Look who’s talking,’ giggled the mother. ‘Faceless, indeed.’
‘The anonymous multitudes. Who wants to devote their energies to them? We are all prepared to help our fellow man, provided we are free to decide which fellow we help. Where’s the good in depriving people of their natural instinct to love their neighbour?’
‘Matthias says factory strikes are a thing of the past,’ said Heinz. ‘They’ve fixed everything up. Life’s getting better, brighter. Showers, bigger windows. That is what the Führer has done for the worker. Oh, if only I could … ’
Von Bötticher dashed his glass to the ground. ‘Then go, man! Don’t let me hold you back. I gave you work when you were out on the street, when that union of yours could do nothing for you. And now I have to put up with this? Run on back to your stinking city, perhaps they’ll have a job for you now.’
This was the last straw for Heinz. He rose melodramatically to his feet, untied his apron and tossed it aside. He must have had an entirely different image of himself, the image of the worker on the posters, gazing off into the distance, sun rising behind his broad shoulders. He was drunk, his eyes were watery, and the veins were pulsing beneath the thin skin of his forehead. ‘No sooner said!’ he roared. ‘I am not your property. Come Leni, our work here is done.’
Leni ran off and Heinz tottered along behind her, putting an end to any pretence of manliness by bending down to pick up the carving fork she had dropped in the gravel.
‘Well, this is turning out to be quite an evening,’ said the mother. She sat on the chair with her knees drawn up in front of her, the red coat dress draped around her shoulders. Cleopatra. Hadn’t she given birth to twins after a fling with Mark Antony, a married man, and wooed him a second time four years later? Another persistent piece of skirt. Perhaps there’s not much mothering to be done when your children always have each other to fall back on. The mother sat with her back to her children, she had no desire to see that bizarre little dance of theirs. They danced in the pink glow of sunset without music and without an audience, just as birds and native tribesmen have no need of such things. They spun around each other, tumbled across the grass, walked on their hands with their belly buttons showing. Sometimes they seemed to merge into one, like a disappearing trick with mirrors. Just watching them made me dizzy. Gingerly, I put my empty glass back down on the table, having held onto it all this time for fear it might be refilled. The house echoed with wailing and the slamming of doors. Von Bötticher looked around under his chair and found nothing. He gave a tragic smile, the only kind in his repertoire. By this time I had realized that some of his facial nerves must have been severed and looking stern was the expression that came most readily to him. Heinz, an alarming shade of puce, re-emerged from the house with his wife trailing wearily behind him. They looked like sailors after a stormy voyage. ‘Sir! Sir!’ The words could be heard from afar. It was a pitiful display. ‘I spoke out of turn. Please accept my apologies. I only wanted to offer a word of advice. It’s none of my business … not my place … I wouldn’t dare! I’m a humble gardener, sir, in every way your subordinate, no question about it.’
‘Apology accepted,’ said von Bötticher, pointing to the apron lying on the grass. ‘You are not worthy of a duel. From tomorrow you will grease Megaira’s hooves every day, do you understand?’
‘Listen to Egon,’ the mother slurred. She uncoiled from her garden chair and flopped onto his lap, burying her nose in the spot where her toes had been. She was not a natural blonde. Dark hair curled in the nape of her neck like tree roots on a riverbank. ‘Listen to my sweet hussar. Look at me, my hussar sweetheart, at this little horsey of yours. Saddle her up, ride her all you want. See how well I’ve been broken in, mein lieber Leibhusar!’
‘Janna! Come here,’ hissed Leni. ‘A nice young girl like
