took his child’s hand lovingly. ‘I thought as much. It means to change or revise. And I wish to revise what I said to you last week, change my opinion … I believe it is perfectly all right for a gentleman to tell a lie, if it is a matter of life and death … if it is to save his life. Or the lives of others, of course.’
Maxim nodded.
‘Do you understand me?’
‘I think so, Papa.’
‘Very good, Maxim. You’re a clever boy, I know that, and you are learning quickly. Now … there is something else I want to tell you, and it is this. A man must have valour, honour and nobility if he is to be of great character. I want you to remember that when you grow up.’
‘Yes, Papa, I will.’
His grandmother said, ‘Your father’s brothers Heinrich and Peter had valour … they were very courageous … they went to fight for their country in the Great War and they were not afraid. That is what valour means.’
‘The dead uncles … they were brave,’ Maxim said with a little frown.
‘Yes, the dead uncles were,’ his grandmother answered. ‘And your grandfathers were both men of honour because they never did anything that was cruel or wicked, unjust or dishonest –’
‘Dinner is ready everyone,’ Ursula announced from the doorway. ‘Marta is waiting to serve.’
‘We shall come at once, my darling,’ Sigmund said, rising immediately. ‘Now, Maxim, run along with your mother. We will follow.’ He lifted him down from the sofa, then reached into his pocket and took out a slip of paper. ‘Here you are. I have written out the new words for you, as well as their meaning.’
Maxim took it, put it safely in his pocket. He kept all of these pieces of paper which his father had been giving him for the last few weeks. ‘Thank you, Papa, and I will remember. Always.’
Sigmund gazed down at him, marvelling at the beauty and brightness of the boy. He really was exceptional, highly intelligent and articulate for his age, an extraordinary child. He smoothed his hand over Maxim’s blond head, and then went to help his mother out of the chair, escorted her slowly across the room.
Maxim ran ahead to Ursula, who stood waiting in the doorway.
She took his hand in hers and together they crossed the baronial marble entrance hall, walking in the direction of the dining room.
‘And what was Papa telling you tonight, my darling?’
‘He said that when I grow up I must be a man of valour, honour and nobility.’
Ursula said, very softly, ‘If you are, then you will be exactly like your father.’
Maxim shut his eyes tightly and listened as his mother performed the ritual of blessing the shabbat candles.
‘Baruch-ata Adonai Elohaynu, melech ha-olam asher kid’shanu b’mits-votav v’tsivanu l’hadlik nayr shel Shabbat,’ she said slowly in her light clear voice which he always loved to listen to, and most especially when she spoke Hebrew. She made the words sound like music.
‘Amen,’ he sang as she finished, joining in with everyone else. And then he opened his eyes.
They all sat down around the large table with its snow-white cloth and silver candelabra and crystal goblets which sparkled in the candlelight. Papa was at the head, Mutti at the other end facing his father, and he and Theodora sat together opposite Grandmama.
Now it was his father’s turn to perform the ritual.
He blessed the red wine in a little silver cup and said the Kiddush in Hebrew, and then he murmured another blessing, this time over the chollah, the two twisted loaves of bread in the silver basket under the embroidered linen napkin.
Once the blessings were finished, his father lifted the napkin, made a little ceremony of breaking the bread, and passed it around to everyone at the table. And at last Marta was allowed to serve the food, which Frau Müller had been cooking all afternoon in the big kitchen. Marta always served the dinner on Friday because it was Walter’s night off, when he went to see his daughter and her children. He knew a lot about the butler’s grandchildren. Walter told him many things when he sneaked into the kitchen on baking days. Walter would sit him at Frau Müller’s baking table and give him a Berliner Pfannkuchen, oozing jelly, and a glass of milk, and talk to him, and slip him another jelly doughnut when no one was looking. Except that Frau Müller always noticed. ‘You spoil that child,’ she would tell Walter, who fortunately never paid any attention to her. Walter and he were very good friends.
Maxim settled back in the chair, waiting.
Everything always happened the way he knew it would, and as it had for as long as he could remember. ‘The rituals of the sabbath are important to us all, and should be properly observed,’ his mother had often told him. He liked rituals and looked forward to them. They were special, somehow.
Friday was his most favourite night of the week, and for lots of reasons. For one thing, he and Teddy were permitted to have dinner with his mother and father in the grand dining room, instead of eating alone together in the nursery as they generally did, except on Teddy’s day off. For another, he was with Mutti, Papa, Teddy and Grandmama, the four people he loved the most in the whole wide world; also, he got to stay up late; and finally the things he enjoyed the most were served. Piping-hot chicken soup, then a roasted chicken, all golden and crisp on the outside and juicy on the inside, or beef flanken or perhaps steamed carp, and there would be little potato pancakes and apple sauce, or sweet shredded carrots and potato dumplings. And at the end of the meal there was always something wonderful, such as apple strudel which melted in his mouth.
Yes, Friday was the best night of the week. It was like the beginning of a holiday. His father did not go to The Bank on Saturday and Sunday, and so they did many things and had such a lot of fun together. Friday night was … was … festive. Yes, that was it exactly. Except that tonight no one seemed very festive. His mother was quiet, so very still. She had been like this for ages, and he kept wondering why. He had asked Teddy, just the other day, and she had not really given him an answer. All she had said was that his mother had things on her mind, and even though he had pestered her a lot she had not told him anything else.
Mutti did not laugh very much any more, and her beautiful face was sad, like when Grandfather Neuman died. He thought she was cross with him, but Teddy said this wasn’t so, and he believed Teddy. She always told him the truth. Besides, he hadn’t been a bad boy. In fact, he had been an angel lately, so Teddy said.
The tantalising aroma of chicken soup floated delicately on the air, and Maxim’s nose twitched when Marta placed one of the steaming porcelain bowls in front of him.
‘Danke schön, Marta,’ he said, and picked up his silver spoon. He dipped it in the clear golden liquid, scooped up a sliver of carrot and a curly bit of noodle, and took his first mouthful. It tasted delicious. This was definitely the soup he liked the best. He wished they had it every day.
His father and his grandmother talked non-stop about this and that, and occasionally his mother joined in, but he and Teddy were as quiet as mice, as they always were, not speaking unless they were spoken to, when they had to reply.
After they had all finished the soup, Gerda, the other downstairs maid,
