2

          Fleur adjusted to widowhood as best she could, and did so with confidence. She was well respected having been the doctor’s wife but she feared she could not depend on many patient friendships forever. In her memory lurked the pain and anguish of being an alien during the last world war. If a second world war broke out, as many considered an inevitable clash to defeat Communisms on Germany’s front door, there would be no Willy to support her. As the weeks progressed these thoughts grew stronger in her mind. Her blood was not German and never could be.

          One morning she rose early and started the day by organising an April spring clean. She dusted the high ceilings, folded rugs and hung them on the clothesline by the side of the house. She took a cane beater to them assaulting the rugs with a fury she did not know she possessed. Puffs of dust drifted skyward. In her concentration she did not hear the postman approach.

          ‘Post for you Frau Richter. I thought I heard some beating! Goodness me, I’m glad you were not my class teacher! You have a strong right hand!’ he laughed.

          ‘Oh you surprised me!’ she responded.

          ‘I could see that,’ he said.

          He handed her letters.

          ‘There’s one from abroad in this lot,’ he said.

          ‘Thank you.’

          Fleur’s heart lifted. News from home was always welcomed. Her parents’ letters following Willy’s death had been a great solace for her. Another letter would add to her comfort. She wondered if they had received her last letter written a month ago. Would this letter just be a response to that or would there be more news of home.  She gave the hanging rug one final thrashing and looked upwards. It was a clear sky. She left the rugs to hang while she attended to her necessary rituals, prior to reading personal correspondence. The whistling kettle sat bubbling on the stove.  Then she washed her hands with vigour and excitement. Clearing her kitchen table and setting her hot coffee by her place, she took hold of a sharp knife and opened her letter from Scotland, her eyes lingering on the Aberdonian franked stamp. It was a brief letter but contained clues that made her anxious from several different angles. 

          She sipped her coffee and held the cup with both hands as the letter lay flat before her tearful eyes. She read it twice then sat back to decide how she could respond to her parent’s satisfaction. But what would satisfy her and what would become of 17 year old Otto? The letter had perhaps come at an inconvenient time.

          Fleur cringed at her mother’s last line. If her letter had been intercepted, a knock on the door would be forthcoming. Criticism of the State would have dire consequences, as Fleur knew. What on earth was mother thinking about!

          Her parents’ aging was a constant concern. She had not visited them for eight years and when leaving them on that occasion, as each time before, she wondered if she would ever see them again. But now it

was more pressing, not just because of their age but also because of the tension in her life at present. Whenever she felt anxiety Fleur could rely on a personal solution contained in her black box. A box she had not opened much since Willy had died. She retired to her sitting room, unclipped the lid and assembled the double reed of her oboe. On this occasion she placed on her music stand Anton Bruckner’s Symphony No 5 in B flat major and turned to play the Adagio: Sehr Langsam.  While she played soulfully, she remembered Anton Bruckner was not German, he was Austrian. She dedicated her music that afternoon to all who might suffer because of the forceful acquisition of Bruckner’s land and people.

          Fleur had the rest of the day to reflect on her options but one she had already taken. She had left her mother’s letter on the dining room table for Otto to read when he returned home from school.

          At 4:25pm the key turned in the latch. A bag was thrown down on the hall floor. Otto was home.

          ‘Hello darling. I’m in the sitting room.’

          Otto came in holding a glass of water. He raised it to his lips and drank it all in one gulp. A loud burping sound came from his larynx.

          ‘Otto!’

          ‘Sorry mother. I was thirsty.’

          ‘Hmmm. Not what I expect you to do elsewhere.’

          ‘Of course not.’

          Fleur said no more and awaited Otto to find his grandparent’s letter on the table. But Otto sat down somewhat exhausted having run home from school.

          ‘Mother, I don’t think I could be a doctor just yet.’

          ‘Why not?’

          ‘Well, I have so much time to give to the Hitler Youth in preparation for my time in the army. I can’t see me studying medicine too. When I turn eighteen on October 6th, I’ll be joining the army.’

          ‘But Otto even the army needs doctors.’

          ‘True.’

          ‘Give it some thought. Or perhaps you might like to be a dentist. The army needs them too and your Uncle Karl can advise you on that profession, not so?’

          ‘Hmmm.....maybe.’

          ‘There’s a letter from your grandparents on the table for you to read,’ said Fleur at last.

          Otto got up from his slouched position and collected the letter from the table. He read it as he returned to sit by his mother.’

          ‘You’re not going are you?’

          ‘Maybe.’

          ‘What will I do?’

          ‘Karl and Renate would be pleased to have you stay with them, while I’m away.’

          ‘So it’s all agreed? You have made your mind up. You have decided to go to Scotland. For how long?

          ‘I’m not sure. Your grandparents are aging. I’m not sure if I’ll see them if I don’t go soon.’

          ‘So when are you going?

          ‘September I think.’

          ‘I’ll have one month left at school. That means only a month with Karl and Renate.

          ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

          ‘I’d also like to mention that your father left a sum of marks which you will receive on your twenty-first birthday.’

          ‘I may need it then. If Communism is defeated, I can then start to study medicine.’

          ‘I like your plan Otto. You make me proud. Come here.’ They lingered in their embrace.

          Otto smiled at his mother knowing his perceived plan had met her approval. They came together again in a stronger clench. As Otto’s lips lay close to Fleur’s ear, Otto gave a heartfelt quiet wish.

          ‘Give my love to Grandmother and Grandfather.’

          ‘I will of course Otto. I will.’