Time Heals No Wounds (7 page)

She had sensed scraping, followed by a slight creaking noise. Suddenly, a small flap had swung open—at the exact spot where Merle had suspected a door. A bright beam of light shone into the room. The long period of darkness had made her eyes incredibly sensitive, and she had quickly closed them because of the pain.

There had been another scraping noise and then a loud bang. She peeked warily through her fingers. She saw nothing, only darkness. Just as she was about to dismiss the experience as a figment of her imagination, she again heard footsteps growing softer and moving away.

“No!” she had screamed. “Who are you? Please, tell me what you want!”

Without thinking, she had jumped off the bed and run to the spot where she believed the door to be. She threw herself against the wall and pounded it in desperation.

“Let me out! I want out of here! Please!” She’d dropped to the floor and carefully felt around, bumping into hard and soft objects. Then she had noticed a new smell. Food! Someone had brought her food! She identified fresh bread, sliced cucumber, and a big piece of cheese. A bottle of water had also been placed inside. Merle had forced herself to take only small sips in order to ration the liquid.

Now, a day later, Merle’s stomach was rebelling. She pressed the button on her watch; it was almost 6:00 p.m. She was terrified to discover that the hands now had a weak glow: the watch’s battery was running out. She had turned the light on too often over the past few days, using the soft light in an attempt to make out the details of the room, though her efforts had been in vain.

If only she could talk to someone! She had never been a particularly communicative person, even though her social skills had vastly improved in recent years. But after days of silence and the absence of human contact, she noticed that her mind gradually began to drift.

“Not anymore!” she shouted into the darkness. It sounded wrong: her voice was hoarse and strange. “I can’t lose my mind! If there’s no one here to talk to, then I’ll talk to myself!” Again her thoughts slid back to the past, and she shivered. “I escaped the darkness once before, and I’ll do it again!”

Merle sat up in the bed. She had succeeded! She had found a weapon against the darkness and loneliness. Her bright voice became more certain, and she felt calmer.

“I still don’t understand why Mom hated me. She got a lot of money from the government because of me, and she spent it on herself. Had I not taken what belonged to me, I’d probably still be stuck in that awful house.”

It was only by accident that Merle had found out her mother’s secret. A professor had given them an assignment to write a short biography about any relative of their choosing. Since Merle had known virtually nothing about her grandparents or her mother, she had first tried to make up a story. But her thoughts had wandered as she wrote, so she tore up the paper.

In the days that followed, Merle had constantly thought about Mrs. Bernstein, a friend of her mother’s who had always been kind to her. Strangely, she’d been unable to remember her face but could recall her hands. They were soft and delicate, and Mrs. Bernstein had lovingly caressed Merle’s hair and given her affection like she had never known.

Merle had read a newspaper article about the famous Amber Room, which had been lost during the Second World War, and the memory had come flooding back to her. Amber had received an amber brooch from Merle’s mother for her birthday. Merle, who at the time was eight years old, had greatly admired the brooch. “What a wonderful gift,” Amber had said. “Now I have jewelry to match my name. Amber is wearing amber, what do you think about that, Merle?” Amber! Amber Bernstein! Merle had quickly flipped through the phone book, and sure enough, there was an Amber Bernstein living in Merle’s hometown. But it had taken three days before Merle had gathered enough courage to call her. She had dialed and wanted to hang up when a warm female voice answered. Was this really a good idea?

“Uh . . . hello, Mrs. Bernstein,” Merle had finally said. “This is Merle von Hohenstein. Do you remember me?”

For a moment, there was only static.

“Merle von Hohenstein? My God, it’s been so long! Twenty years? Of course I remember you. How are you?”

“Good. It . . . it might sound strange, but I’m calling because I’m trying to find out something about my family history and my past. My mother never told me anything and . . .” She had sounded desperate and did her best to fight back tears.

“And now you’re hoping I can tell you something?” Mrs. Bernstein’s voice had grown warmer. “Merle, I’m very glad to hear from you. Your mother was a bit . . . peculiar. I’ve been wondering all these years how you’ve been.”

“What do you know about my father?”

“Not much, your mother rarely spoke openly to me. I had to promise her that I would not tell anyone about it.”

“Mrs. Bernstein, you’re my only hope! Please!”

“Well, your mother and I have had no contact for almost twenty years, so I don’t think I owe her anything anymore.”

“She’ll never know anything about it,” Merle said.

“Fine! I have always regretted abandoning you to your mother. You certainly have not had it easy. But I would prefer not to speak about it over the phone. I just had a hip operation and can’t leave the house. Would you like to come visit?”

Merle had at first been hesitant but nevertheless arranged to meet Mrs. Bernstein the following weekend at her apartment.

“And the visit was one of my best decisions,” Merle said in the darkness of her cell. “If I had known what Amber had to say, I would have visited her so much earlier.”

Then, just like the evening before, she could hear slow footsteps approaching. Merle’s mind raced. The door opened, and a tray was pushed inside. This time, Merle was cautious and did not look directly into the light. Even if it streamed in for only a few seconds, it was enough to memorize the shadowy outlines of the room. The walls were gray with no plaster, and there was a single lightbulb dangling above. The bed seemed well built and made from dark wooden boards. In the corner, she saw the metal bucket and thought about its awful smell. She looked back and saw some kind of dog door installed in a heavy metal door. She tried to make out more details, but it slammed shut, and Merle heard a bolt slide into place and click. She did not see a door handle. Obviously, it could only be opened from the outside.

Merle smelled cooked vegetables. She carefully got out of bed and groped along the wall toward the door, feeling the cold iron. She got down on her knees and almost immediately discovered the spot where the dog door had been installed. She pushed against it, at first carefully and then with all her strength, hoping to move it, even just a little. But it did not budge.

Merle leaned back against it. She found a bowl with a spoon on a small tray and wolfed down the vegetable stew.

“Well, at least I know more than I did before,” she said after she scraped the bowl clean with a finger.

Merle shivered. Suddenly, she was slightly dizzy and then overcome with sleep. Her arms felt heavy, and it was only with great difficulty that she could keep her eyes open.

“Damn it, the . . . food. There must . . . a sedative . . .” Powerless, she fell to her side and fought against the fatigue. “Can’t fall asleep . . . who knows what . . .”

T
UESDAY
A
FTERNOON

Hannes left the doctor’s office in a bad mood and stepped out into the balmy afternoon. Music flowed from the caf
é
s and mingled with the customers’ snippets of conversation and laughter. Fritz had dropped him off on his way back to the station, and he had sat for an hour in the waiting room before he had finally been allowed to show his swollen knee to Dr. Mey. The sobering diagnosis had only further fanned his resentment toward Ole, the old fisherman who had caused his injury.

“Mr. Niehaus, there still has been no improvement. You’ll need to keep off your knee,” the doctor had said. “I’m writing you a prescription for an ointment, which will help, but unfortunately, you’re going to have to postpone any further athletic activity. If you don’t, this relatively minor injury could turn into something much more serious that could keep you out for the season.”

Hannes had reluctantly decided to follow her advice. The World Cup was in less than two weeks, and the competition was his last chance to qualify for the world championships. There was also the possibility of qualifying for the Olympic Games next year, and he was secretly still hoping for a miracle. At thirty-two, this would be his last chance to compete as an athlete in the Olympics. The thought of Ralf paddling his canoe through the Olympic course while Hannes sat at home watching on television was painful and motivating.

On his way home, Hannes remembered he had to find a gift for Ines. He had almost forgotten about her spontaneous birthday invitation, but now he had no real desire to attend. Since he had not managed to build a real social network, he decided the birthday party would be a unique opportunity to make some friends. And although Ines had said no gifts, he could not come empty-handed.

After considering several ideas, Hannes was struck by a familiar sound a couple of blocks away. Like on most afternoons, Anton was standing next to the entrance to the city park, playing his violin. Anton was a true character and well known in the neighborhood. He had been a professional musician and now lived off a small pension. But he had not given up music, and with his snow-white hair, suit, and bow tie, he maintained a dignified appearance.

Hannes watched Anton play. As he went to drop a coin in the red-velvet-lined box, an idea popped into his head. Anton did not play on the street to supplement his pension. The money he earned went to a charity he had devoted himself to. The neighborhood was not hip or trendy: there were no mothers driving their kids to piano lessons in R
ange Rovers. Anton gave free music lessons to poor children from the neighborhood. With the proceeds from his busking, he rented a rehearsal room and bought several instruments on which children from around the world could try their first notes. Last spring, he and his students had given a concert in the park, and even if there had been a few slipups here and there, the children’s excitement and joy had deeply moved the audience.

Since Ines worked in development, surely she would appreciate it if he gave her something meaningful instead of some sort of embarrassing gift. When Anton put down his violin, Hannes walked up to him and told him about his idea. He requested that Anton play a birthday song while he filmed him with his phone. Anton obliged with a cheerful version of S
tevie Wonder’s “Happy Birthday.” He then bowed and waved sheepishly at the camera.

Hannes handed Anton thirty euros, and his eyes lit up. “I know what I’m going to do with the money. There’s a little boy from Africa in my band who’s very talented. I’ll take him to the symphony.”

“Great idea! That’s perfect!” Hannes said, then told Anton that Ines had been an aid worker in Africa.

Hannes continued on his way, his knee hurting a bit less. He entered the small park through the gates near the old fire station and took a shortcut through a field. After the long day, he looked forward to a cool shower. As he rounded a bush, he almost collided with two men. A guy with blond dreadlocks exchanged some cash for a small bag. Startled, the men looked up at Hannes before running away. He couldn’t believe it! That was . . .

“Ben!” he shouted at the fugitives. “Ben, stop!”

Ben, who had taken the small plastic bag, hesitantly slowed down and turned around. He was embarrassed as he walked over to Hannes. “So I guess this is what you’d call caught in the act. Are you going to cuff me now?”

“Normally, I would! What are you doing?”

“This is just to relax!” Ben waved one of the bags full of marijuana.

“Still! There’s a playground over there! Why do you have to conduct your drug deals here of all places?”

“Drugs, drugs, drugs . . . Such a strong word for something so trivial. Others get drunk, I get stoned. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that selling marijuana is illegal, as is purchasing it.”

“So what are you going to do?” Ben asked and sighed.

Hannes thought for a moment and then pulled himself together. “I have a party to go to! There’s a good chance I may forget about what I saw here.”

“Man, I knew you were all right.”

“Don’t go around saying I caught you and let you go. Not even at the party. You’re still coming, right?”

“Yeah, man, I’ll keep it between us. You can count on me.”

Hannes shook his head.

“No, really. I’ll never forget it! If you need something, just contact me . . . You can of course also have some.” He grinned and waved the plastic bag.

“I’m a competitive athlete, you know. Anyway, are you coming tonight?”

“Of course! I have a really cool gift for Ines. See you later—and thanks again!” He playfully punched Hannes on the shoulder, turned around, and jogged away.

Hannes looked around, hoping no one had seen anything. Fortunately, no one was there, and he rushed home to get into the shower.

An hour later, he got off the bus and studied the map of the neighborhood posted at the bus stop. Ines and Kalle lived across town in an area he was completely unfamiliar with. He walked past a noisy group of teens in front of a pool hall and passed the blinking lights of a sex shop which threw a kaleidoscope of colors onto the street. Two blocks later, he was surrounded by silence broken only by the excited barking of a terrier. He walked by a row of houses and stopped in front of number 72. He glanced through the names listed next to the doorbells. Seconds after he had pressed the top button, the door buzzed and the fluorescent hall lights switched on.

“You have to walk up to the fifth floor. Unfortunately, there’s no elevator,” a tinny voice said through the intercom.

He sighed and readied his knee for the climb.

“Man, and you are a competitive athlete?” Ben greeted him as he reached the final landing. “That took forever!”

Ben laughed and leaned against the open doorway. Ines and Kalle came to the door, beaming.

“It’s great you could come!” Ines said and gave him a warm hug. “I was afraid you might all change your minds and last night would just be a one-time encounter.”

“How can you live so high up with your fear of heights?” Hannes joked to Kalle and then shook his hand.

“Be glad you didn’t help us move,” he said with a laugh. “That was the day we lost our friends.”

The apartment was in excellent condition and tastefully decorated. Ines brought several plates of finger food into the living room.

“Elke’s not here yet, but we should probably start. Hannes, would you like something to drink?”

“Beer,” Hannes and Ben said in unison, and in no time they were holding cold bottles.

“To the final hours of my youth,” said Ines, after which they all clinked their drinks.

At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Ines sidled over to the intercom. “Elke’s on her way up,” she said from the hallway.

“Anyone else coming besides Elke?” asked Hannes. “Or did you actually lose all your friends in your move?”

“We still have a few,” Kalle said, laughing. “But Ines didn’t really want to have a big party, and you know how it is: it’s hard getting people to come at the last minute. Sometimes we have to schedule something weeks in advance, otherwise we would never get to see our friends.”

“Yeah, it was so much easier back in college,” Hannes said, and as if on command, they all turned to look at Ben.

He laughed and shrugged. “Hearing you say that really makes me want to finish school . . .”

“I’ll say this: enjoy every day! How much longer do you have until you’re done?” Ines asked.

Ben shrugged. “I’m not going to stress myself out. My father died early and left me enough money to get by the next few years.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that you live off of your father’s money?” asked Hannes.

“Not at all. It’s not taking me so long because I’m lazy. I devote a lot of my time to fighting neo-Nazis. There are more important things than finishing your degree on time. Besides, my father would have been proud. He spent his entire life fighting the far right and was active in a victims association. His father, my grandfather, was murdered in a concentration camp.”

There was an apprehensive silence.

“Was he Jewish?” Elke asked.

Everyone looked at the door because no one had heard her come in.

“Hello, Elke,” said Ben. “No, he wasn’t Jewish; he was a Communist. And for that he was shot in the back of the head . . .”

The conversation turned to Ben’s activism, and with each successive story, Elke seemed to hold him in greater esteem. Hannes too realized he had great respect for Ben’s commitment, especially since he didn’t come across as a show-off when he told his stories. Instead, he seemed very determined, and his knowledge of the Nazi era and current neo-Nazi scene was impressive. It made sense why he had decided to study history, even if later he would probably have trouble staying afloat financially.

“Well, enough of that,” Ben said, getting up from his chair. “After all, this is a birthday party . . . I’m going to go have a smoke. May I use your balcony?”

Hannes followed him to the balcony door. Ben looked at him in the reflection of the windows and grinned. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one out.

“All perfectly legal,” he said to Hannes and disappeared onto the balcony.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Ines.

“No idea,” Hannes said.

When Ben came back into the room reeking of stale cigarette smoke, Hannes was already recounting the events of his day. He was unsure how much he was allowed to say and avoided details. Nevertheless, they hung on his every word.

“You really have an exciting job,” said Kalle. “You’re lucky.”

“Don’t say that,” Hannes said, and he described his morning visit to the medical examiner. “And besides, we’re just groping in the dark right now. We have no leads and no clues. So, as an events manager, you probably have some good stories.”

But Kalle was dismissive. “It sounds more exciting than it is. At first, I thought it was great, working with real stars and making these big, lavish events happen. But the majority of my work is routine, and celebrities are not always known for their cooperation. They’re accustomed to being treated like royalty and develop an attitude.”

“Speaking of which, I just remembered. Ines, I have a present for you.”

“But I had said—”

Hannes waved aside her protests and pulled out his cell phone. “It’s not a gift in the traditional sense,” he said and explained the story.

Touched, Ines watched the old violinist’s performance and excitedly hugged Hannes. Apparently, Ines’s job as an aid worker had also made a big impression on Ben, who had sponsored a girl in Africa on her behalf, as well as on Elke, who had made a donation to Doctors Without Borders in Ines’s name.

“This is really unbelievable,” Ines said and laughed. “Thank you so much! You’ve really made my day. And it’s definitely better than a bottle of perfume or some stupid knickknack.”

“Yeah, and we already have enough of those,” said Kalle, and everyone laughed.

Ines wagged her finger at him. “You’re not so innocent yourself, my dear! Kalle collects coasters from around the world, and there are three drawers full of them in the cabinet.”

They turned their attention back to the finger food, and the discussion became less serious. Kalle demonstrated his skills as a DJ. Old party hits boomed from the speakers, livening everyone up.

“It almost makes you feel old,” Elke said, rattling her bracelets. “Teenagers probably consider these songs oldies now.”

“If they even recognize them,” said Ines.

At midnight, Elke looked at her watch and jumped up in surprise. “I should head home now, I’ve got a bunch of kids waiting for me tomorrow morning.”

“Oh come on! They might be easier to deal with if you’re hungover!” Ines joked. “Tonight’s been really fun. Let’s not think about work for once. There’s no reason why we can’t go a little crazy from time to time. We should really let loose!”

Ines walked over to a chair and pushed it against the wall. Kalle supported her efforts to keep the party going by dimming the lights and turning up the volume.

“We’ll see when your colleagues come and ask us to keep it down,” Elke teased Hannes, then kicked off her shoes and began to hop around the room. Soon the group transformed the living room into a dance floor. It was only when the morning light crept through the windows that Elke at last acknowledged how tired—and perhaps old—she felt.

Promising to get together again sometime soon, they exchanged phone numbers and headed out into the early morning. The birds were already chirping as Hannes, slightly swaying, attempted to hail a cab. A feeling of happiness flowed through him, and he vowed to enjoy life to the fullest. The dead body and the station were far from his thoughts.