know what’s important.”
“That may be. But in a classroom, you can’t respond to each individual student in the way you need to. Besides, there are the curricula. Or do you learn what you really want to learn from Mrs. Siebert and Mr. Dahlmann? And do they teach it the way that suits you best?”
I hadn’t really thought about it. All in all, I was very satisfied with my teachers. They had never tried to send me to a school for disabled. Special schools for visually impaired or blind students like today did not exist at that time.16 Moreover, blindness was not as much of a problem in the post-war years as it is today, because many soldiers had returned home blind from the battles.
I still clearly remember Mrs. Melzer, my very first teacher in primary school. She had been reactivated for teaching at the age of 70, because there were hardly any teachers immediately after the war. Of course, she had heard about my visual impairment, but she never said a word about it. She always found time to spell the new words with her index finger in my hand, so that I gradually got an idea of the writing. When she came along and took my wrist, I knew that I had to open my hand. Then she wrote the respective letter with her finger or a tiny stick in the palm of my hand. And she urged Renate, a neighbor’s child, to spell and read out all the new words to me several times. In return, I helped Renate with the arithmetic problems. Like most visually impaired people, I could imagine abstract things quite well.
Mrs. Melzer—by the way, she insisted that we addressed her as ‘Fräulein’—was quite modern from the point of view of that time. There were almost no schoolbooks. Whenever possible, she did not content herself with descriptions or blackboard drawings, but brought a wide variety of objects into the classroom. While the others drew the objects in their notebooks and wrote the corresponding word next to them, I was allowed to touch, move back and forth and sometimes even smell the objects in peace!
As the electricity often failed, we did not have to wait for the bell to ring at the end of the lesson. Mrs. Melzer was free in the timing. Furthermore, she had a fairly precise idea of our learning possibilities. The lessons were tailored to our individual needs, and when we had done our daily workload, we were allowed to go home. As I was dependent on Renate, I tried as best I could to help her with the tasks that were difficult for her.
“Well, David, my primary school teacher was very responsive to each of us. The good ones got more challenging tasks, while she dealt with the weaker ones.”
“You were very lucky. By the way, in the first years after the war, not everything was as regulated as it is today. It was no different with me. Our Mr. Lehmann, already high in his seventies, was empathy in person. But today …”
“Do you know what you want to become?”
“Yes, for over a year now. I’m going to study psychology; later on, I’ll open a practice. I’ve already chosen the suitable university.”
“Which one?”
“I want to study in Mainz; I have even enrolled.”
“Already? You still have time until you graduate.”
“Yes, but as most universities they have long waits in psychology.”
Finally, it was the turn of Jailhouse Rock. First David controlled my movements, then we rocked independently. I was very delighted. But soon I lost, as so often, the sense for the right direction. Without intent I landed on David’s body like in a hug. And what did David do? He grabbed me gently but decisively by my upper arms and pushed me away. I muttered something about apologizing.
“No problem. That can happen.”
Before I could reply anything, we heard someone unlock the apartment door. David’s father came into the room.
“Hello, Cecilia, how nice of you to come upstairs.”
“Yes, David taught me the hip swing of Elvis. I can do it pretty well now.”
“Fine, that’s really vital these days!” He laughed. “Well, don’t let me interrupt you. I have to finish an urgent report for tomorrow.”
We made one or two more attempts with Teddy Bear, but somehow the air was out. Finally, I said goodbye and David brought me downstairs to the front door.
The experience worried me. In the following days I thought about it a lot. But it wasn’t like a missed opportunity. No, it was something quite different. The insignificant event brought me to the question that I often asked myself: What did I look like? What effect did my appearance have on others? Was I attractive? I asked everyone again and again—my family, our acquaintances, my friends. They described me as tall, slim, blond, with green eyes. But that did not answer my basic question: How did I appear to the opposite sex? Moreover, I was aware that probably nobody would have confronted me with the truth. Who would tell an almost blind girl that she was not particularly attractive? Was a visually impaired person not punished enough?
I kept thinking about this. What would a girl look like, that David could fall in love with? I could hardly imagine. The longer I thought about it, the more I realized that I had never heard of a girl in connection with David.
At my next opportunity I interviewed Alina. I thought my question was very clever:
“Tell me, do you know David’s girlfriend?”
“What do you mean?” Alina returned baffled.
“Well, if he has a girlfriend, then you surely know her.”
“David never had a girlfriend.”
“What do you mean?”
“Can’t you guess?” came another counter-question from Alina.
“Do you want to say he is not interested in girls?”
“Exactly. Haven’t you noticed that David is almost exclusively with boys?”
Even thinking about it carefully, I had never noticed that. When we met in the schoolyard, it was always David who came up to me to have a chat. How could I have noticed that he had previously only been with male schoolmates? I explained it to Alina who immediately apologized:
“How stupid of me! Please excuse me. But while we are on the subject: May I ask you something?”
“Oh, sure.” I was curious.
“How do you find out that you like someone? I mean, a man.”
“There are many reasons. First of all, I always listen carefully to what he says and how he says it.”
“OK, then you’ll know if he’s a smart guy or a blather. So what?”
“The most important thing is the voice. Does it have a sound that somehow attracts me, that sets off a vibration in me. Breathing is also important. Does it go together with what he says?”
Alina was really the optimal conversation partner for me. This was confirmed by her next question:
“Do you mean to say that you soon notice if someone is lying or telling the truth? If someone is honest?”
“Sort of.”
“I never thought about that. I suppose
