One Sunday morning in the sacristy, the pastor had asked about her parents’ previous life and remarked appreciatively that they had lived in several worlds. Presumably, this also applied to the visitors at home. Sometimes one of them would unexpectedly appear in front of the door, stating, »I just want to stop by.« Charlotte did not understand it. You should not have to impose yourself so impertinently on a family that has had enough worries of its own.

Mrs Liebig, the stout Silesian woman with lively brown eyes and a peculiar accent, took over the discussion and pulled Charlotte out of her thoughts, ranting about the monstrosity of the Warsaw Treaty. She was arguing that one had concluded the loss of vast parts of the state’s territory, and her beloved Breslau was gone. It would remain her country, her homeland, forever, she exclaimed indignantly, adding that only someone who had been affected could understand what it meant to give up everything and settle in a foreign land against one’s will. When you had to leave your loved ones behind, whether they were missing, dead, or imprisoned, it cast a shadow over your life, and it lasted forever.

The crystal-green drink in her fingers threatened to spill over. The two narrow gold rings on her right ring finger demonstrated her widowhood. Mrs Kowalski added that she remembered exactly the faded map of Germany that had hung on the school wall with its outdated borders from before the war, even during the Polish and Soviet post-war administrations; she was convinced that countless Germans had carefully kept it in their closets. Charlotte understood the hidden reference to those who bemoaned the time of the Nazis and the lost war. Rafael had obviously listened cautiously. He became agitated and wrinkled his nose.

»Believe me: The international response to Willy Brandt’s state visit to Warsaw was obviously positive! He took the first step toward reconciliation and normalisation with the Eastern European countries, especially Poland.« Mrs Kowalski straightened her back.

»Do you really believe, Mr Skrzypek, that the Poles will draw a line under the issue of guilt and atonement? They are going to accuse us Germans of being indifferent to the crimes of National Socialism under the rug.« Wasn’t that true? Charlotte asked herself. »The excitement around Brandt’s kneeling and his subsequent television address, in which he asked for understanding, had long since evaporated. The expellee associations will never recognise the Oder-Neisse line as the eastern border,« finished Mrs Kowalski her statement, and Mrs Liebig nodded in agreement. Now her father, who had silently joined the group a moment earlier, spoke up. Politically, Brandt had achieved nothing in terms of recognition of Poland’s Western border, he said. Decisions of the magnitude of border shifts were not the responsibility of the Federal Republic, as this was prohibited by the victorious powers, and, not to be forgotten, drawing a border required an agreement between East and West Germany. Her father added that he had already mentioned the discrepancies during the last conversation in this room, that the GDR was further away than ever, and the issue remained unresolved. But all in all, as far as he could judge, Brandt had achieved an enormous amount, both abroad and in Germany.

»Despite all the adversity,« her father concluded. »We belong together, the residents from East and West Germany. The Berlin Wall may seem high and insurmountable, but one can tear down walls. We speak the same language, and we should not forget our shared history.«

Mrs Liebig’s eyes flashed; the subject constantly stirred her up. She did not care about the GDR and kept talking.

Charlotte’s mind had long since wandered off. Mrs Liebig’s voice became louder; she said that she and all other affected children had been minors, much too young. They had not harmed anyone, and now all Germans were being tarred with the same brush. Germans have been unpopular and all found guilty by the victorious powers. Yet they had played with their Jewish neighbours’ children without reservation until their parents forbade them. It seemed as though nobody was paying attention to her repeated lamentations about the years of hunger, the lack of support, and the poor treatment they had received from their fellow countrymen. She concluded by defending her membership in a homeland association, which she felt was a logical choice, even though most people might not understand it. From a political perspective, it was clear that Mother did not identify with these individuals.

»We don’t want to go back anyway, so what’s all the fuss about? My homeland has been wiped out – a foreign land housed foreign residents. This discussion is pointless, just like the hope of ever returning there. It’s gone, like most of the memories in my brain. I agree with you that we are victims who are not recognised. On the contrary, abroad, one points the finger at the Germans.«

Suddenly, Charlotte remembered a comment her mother had made about the residents from other countries working for her father in her early childhood. In her opinion, the foreign workers were paid employees. Nobody cared that they, too, had been pitiful victims, forced to work for the Germans. Nobody reflected on their further fate. Charlotte took a deep breath, causing Rafael to look at her, half amused, half curious, bringing her back from her thoughts to the conversation at hand. »Mr Skrzypek, has Poland ever demanded compensation for the millions of its countrymen whom the Nazis forced to work during the time of Hitler?« she asked abruptly.

»As far as I know, one paid out only a relatively small amount of collective compensation. But payments on an individual basis did not exist.« Charlotte was not surprised by the answer, but she did not want to start another debate about reparations for exploited humans at the time. The ladies from the East would immediately protest and demand their rights. Wasn’t it much more important to look ahead and identify problems before they arose? She loved a saying by Augustine that had become her motto:

In all things, preserve your freedom of spirit, and see where it leads you.

Charlotte focused on her mother. What had changed in her attitude? After the Pomeranian reunion in the “Ostseehalle” in Kiel years ago, she had happily declared that several persons had recognised her as the daughter of the butter merchant Radke. She had previously raved about her hometown in Pomerania, mentioning one or two early childhood memories, after all. What had caused her mind to change, which Charlotte was only now noticing? Perhaps it was the bitter circumstances surrounding the loss of her sister Erika. Death was her mother’s constant companion. After losing her parents and three siblings, he had withdrawn for several years. Then, at the age of fifty, Erika suffered a fatal heart attack, thought to be brought on by her addiction to cigarettes and caffeine. Wolfgang, her husband, had already passed away a long time ago. Mother did not stand him, so she had never been interested in him. At some point, she had also admitted that her sister Erika had lived a permanently listless and depressed life. No wonder that her son, Heiner, had turned up at Harms Street at regular intervals, feeling comfortable with his girl cousins, who adored him. His mother had looked sick and run-down in her final days, with pale skin, a missing incisor, and thin, stringy hair. Charlotte’s mother speculated that depression had been Erika’s constant companion as she had fallen out of the family nest as a teenager, fled from the Russians after serving the Führer for years, attached herself to a man a good twenty years her senior, and drowned her disappointments in cigarettes and coffee. Charlotte would ask her mother later if she still mourned her sister so much after all these years.

She regarded her mother as she transferred the pickled herring salad into a porcelain bowl and then decorated thin slices of brown-black pumpernickel on a flat, round plate. She had put the cod with the small potatoes in the preheated oven in good time, and now it was appetisingly arranged on a wooden board with salad greens, with a good half of the browned potatoes around it and the rest in a dark brown earthenware bowl. They served the hearty dinner, and as expected, the guests pounced on it. Of course, Rafael did not miss out on the delicacy and remained unabashedly seated on the sofa. Charlotte wasn’t hungry. She was amused by the greed with which the illustrious company enjoyed the pickled herring that swam in mayonnaise in between little apple and onion boats.

How tirelessly her mother would cook! Charlotte wondered why Mother hadn’t taken up paid work again. Was it simply lethargy? Bruno did not want her to work as long as the children were at home, was the reason given. Admittedly, the reform of family law had only taken place a few months earlier, which meant that women were no longer required to obtain their husbands’ permission to take up employment. Charlotte had not imagined that the young generation were even aware of this antediluvian law. Telling your wife that she could only pursue a career if it were compatible with her family responsibilities! However, her mother’s generation had seemed to be satisfied with this law. They did not argue.

Charlotte secretly hoped to have a sunny future without having to overcome dark, looming shadows one whole life long. And she did not give up hoping her mother had found a little happiness.

But Charlotte had to let her go; ultimately, the essence of it was that her mother was constantly seeking love. She was seeking love from her daughters and her extended family. Whilst the guests were demanding seconds, Charlotte recalled this relentless yearning her mother had for her numerous cousins. In helpless attempts to compensate for her lack of meaningful ties, she contacted them one after the other, fighting in vain to get their attention. They could have shown her a little interest. They were close blood relatives, nearly siblings, because of a specific constellation: Two sisters had married two brothers. Those were Charlotte’s grandfather, August, and his brother, Leonhard. This one had fourteen children. All but one, a daughter who had drowned, enjoyed the best of health. Charlotte was amazed by her mother’s composure. She struggled with the realisation that these uncles, whom she had never met, had not offered her any advice or support. They had been little more than children when the war ended and had therefore survived unscathed. Now, they were living carefree lives with their families in prestigious professions. Annually, they met in Stralsund, where Mother’s favourite cousin Kunibert lived, her only contact among her cousins since those dark days. Now and then, she wrote him a page-long letter in her childish, round handwriting with dark blue ink. Her mother’s comment on this: Kunibert repeatedly asked in his letters why Gitta’s father, his uncle August, had been so careless and had not fled when the Russians were already at the door. She had to defend her father, August, her mother had explained to her. She had to write that he had done everything for the family. Charlotte wondered why she was running after her cousins, who surely had no interest in her. Her initial admiration for Mother’s activities around her cousins had turned to pity. She would not stop supporting her mother, not even bat an eyelid. She would listen to her gruesome, fragmentary accounts of her childhood and youth, even if it were pointless, because no one would ever fill the void in her life, no one would ever take her mother’s burden away.

Charlotte heard Rafael call her name. Lost in thought, she had completely blocked out the visit, and Rafael had noticed that she was withdrawn.

»You’re not concerned about what’s happening around us these days, are you?« she asked, hence skilfully sidestepping the question and changing the subject. »What do you think about the latest plane hijacking? The passengers on the Landshut have been stuck in Dubai for two days, in the blazing sun and sweltering heat, with appalling sanitary conditions.«

»This is the brainchild of the Red Army Faction, who carried out this act of terrorism with the help of the Palestinian organisation and want to secure the release of members currently in prison.« Well, Father was informed and expressed his aversion to any violence. However, he did not realise that he was adding fuel to the fire, as the women continued to argue animatedly.

»That’s not surprising. The leftists are extremely dangerous,« Mrs Liebig interjected. Mrs Kowalski supported her with an affirmative nod. Charlotte’s interest dropped to zero. She preferred to retreat. The war had been over for decades. There had long been a consensus that the Germans had been denazified. Whether one believed it or not. The kidnapped employers’ association president, Schleyer, was often presented in a positive light, and one suppressed the fact that he had joined the Nazi Party before the war began. Charlotte preferred to keep that to herself; otherwise, one would surely accuse her of justifying the kidnapping of this highly paid man or even of approving the hijacking. That was far from her mind. All that bothered her was the skewed nature of the debate. How blind was the German state in one eye – would this come back to haunt them one day?

Finally, everyone seemed to have said enough about their old homeland. Mother asked Charlotte to help tidy up and dry the dishes in the kitchen. Mother looked exhausted. »One owns nothing, absolutely nothing,« she whispered as she left the living room; there was no certainty that one would be able to enjoy a happy life surrounded by one’s loved ones. Yes, now Charlotte understood her mother’s thoughts. Her horror of death had somehow dissipated; it seemed that mourning did not exist anymore. The dead, the lost place of longing, the suffering she endured – it had all melted into a dull lump. Home, what did that mean, Charlotte wondered. She did not know what to make of the term. She used to think of home as a romantic fantasy, but now she refused to dwell on it. She had concluded that the word was emotionally charged or a political tool, or both. It seemed strange to her that her family suppressed suffering, yet feelings of home harboured an insatiable longing that was exaggerated and idealised. Mainly, when it no longer existed. She did not need that. For now, the present was all that mattered. Freedom. Independence. Success. She did not want to live a life determined by others, like her parents seemed to live. Their perspective might have been a different one – after all, they had experienced hardship and lack of freedom under Nazi terror and in the GDR. Her father, at least, took everything in his stride; he didn’t care where in the world he pursued his professional way, met friends to play cards, and collected dozens of medals in his cycling club. His second great passion was a fish terrarium, which dominated half the living room. Motionless, he spent much time watching the lively, colourful, slippery creatures he occasionally acquired at an ornamental fish market. He fed the red-tailed black sharks and guppies with devotion, standing dreamily in front of the gently splashing water. Silent and introverted. Completely relaxed. Her father, Bruno, seemed to be communicating with the lively dancing fish.

Finally, the guests had left. Charlotte had not forgotten to check with Mother for her sister Erika.

»Please excuse me asking out of the blue. Do you miss your sister Erika very much?« Mother flinched slightly.

»What makes you ask?« She wanted to buy some time. Charlotte built a bridge for her.

»You visited your sister Erika in Kiel once before you fled to the West. It would have been an opportunity not to return to the GDR. Why did you do it anyway?« Her mother looked half-amused, half-incredulous, as if she had not expected any interest, and her youth had been boring. Charlotte promptly followed up.

»Do you want to hear the story about my trip to Kiel? Are you sure?« Charlotte nodded eagerly. It could help her mother open up more.