A Pious Killing Read online

  Sean’s life as a German medical student began in a whirl of introductions and parties. His days were divided between the University and the Clinic where Max looked out for him and guided his development as a doctor. The Senior Consultant in charge of their department was a big man named Florian Fuchs. He was a humourless man with a literal train of mind. When Sean was introduced to him he remained seated but held out a hand to offer a soft handshake.

  Fuchs’ office was a very plush affair with a carpet; the first carpeted office Sean had ever seen, and a large, ornate, gold-leaf mirror above a marble mantelpiece. The whole interior seemed like it didn’t belong to the more utilitarian Friedrichshain building at all. Sean also noticed the twin pots that stood at each end of the mantelpiece. He noticed them because they each contained two miniature flags on twelve inch sticks. The flags bore the crooked cross insignia of the Nazi Party.

  “Now Mr Schneider,” Fuchs continued after the introductions had been completed, “Where are you going to put Mr Colquhoun?”

  “He’ll be directly below me, Sir. I intend to lead his instruction personally.”

  “And where will you give him an office?”

  “I thought he could share with Meyer on the first floor.”

  “Well he could,” said Fuchs. “But why not have him in with you?”

  “That would be ideal but unfortunately I share with Hildberg and there is not room for three desks in our room.”

  “Hildberg,” said Fuchs, his tone expressed disgust. “Hildberg,” he repeated. He rose slowly from his chair, his bulky figure dominating the space between mantel and desk and he turned to look towards the mantelpiece. Sean could see the man’s face reflected in the mirror and watched his dark gaze fall upon the twin swastikas at each end of the mantel.

  “One day we will sort out the Hildbergs of this world for good and all.”

  He turned around to face them, one of the miniature flags now being toyed with in his big hands.

  “Move Hildberg to the first floor and put Mr. Colquhoun in with you,” he ordered.

  “But, Sir,” Max rejoined, “What about Hildberg’s seniority?”

  “As far as I am concerned Mr Schneider,” Fuchs replied taking obvious pleasure in his own rejoinder, “Seniority and Hildberg are mutually exclusive concepts.”

  And so, later on that day, with extreme discomfort, Sean stood by as Hildberg first heard from Max that he was to be moved to a new office on the first floor and then had to stand witness to the removal of Hildberg’s desk and effects from the office that he had, until now, occupied.

  Hildberg protested to Max. He wanted to know what he had done to deserve this humiliation. Why had he been singled out for this treatment? His protest was not made in anger. Throughout the procedure he remained in control and respectful. But Sean saw the humiliation and frustration in his eyes and he wished he had stayed at home in Ireland rather than be the unwitting cause of this man’s distress. He felt a strong resentment towards Fuchs for using him this way to achieve some internal victory at Hildberg’s expense. He was also fascinated by the process in a dispassionate way. He could not imagine this happening at home without Fuchs finding himself in a blazing row or even a fist fight. But here, although the emotions were at flaming point, on the surface everything remained calm. Was this the famous German national characteristic that he would have to learn to accept?

  “Look Hildberg,” Max said, beginning to show a little impatience with Hildberg’s continuing protest, “If you want to take this further you’ll have to speak to Fuchs. It was his decision; he ordered the change.”

  “Fuchs,” said Hildberg nodding in resignation. He removed his spectacles and wiped the lenses with a white cloth he had drawn from his pocket. “Well, why am I not surprised!” he said. With that he carried the last of his belongings and left the office.

  After a week and a half had passed and Sean had settled into more permanent lodgings near to the Alexanderplatz railway station, he made the decision to approach Hildberg and offer his apologies for his role in his humiliation. The after-taste of the incident was spoiling all other experiences he was encountering. If he was going to enjoy Berlin with an untroubled conscience he would have to lance this particular boil. He had found it impossible to approach Hildberg at work to resolve the issue that he worried was hanging between them.

  After a large dinner at the family table of his hosts he lay on his bed only semi aware of the clattering trains running by outside his bedroom window. After his first night in the bedroom he had been startled awake by the first train to leave Alexanderplatz at 6.30am. He had thought the noise of the trains would drive him insane. But within a few days he found he hardly noticed them at all.

  He had a piece of paper in his hand containing Hildberg’s home address, which he had acquired from one of the receptionists at the hospital. He fingered it gently and re-read it as he waited for his decision to get up and go to arrive in his brain.

  He turned his collar up against the cold as he entered the U-Bahn station and caught the subway car to Hildberg’s district. When he reached the address on the paper, he was impressed with Hildberg’s location. He had a first floor residence in an eight courtyard complex known as the Hakesche Hofe in Berlin’s Mitte district.

  Sean let himself into the apartment block and mounted the stairs to number four. After a moment or two he heard someone withdrawing bolts inside the door in response to his push at the bell. Then he thought he heard the sound of someone saying “hush.”

  The door crept open a couple of inches and a female face appeared in the crack that had been revealed. The face was half in shadow but nevertheless Sean could see that it was an extremely attractive face; possibly beautiful in the full light of day.

  “Excuse me, Fraulein,” he said in his most formal German. “My name is Sean Colquhoun. I am a colleague of Mr Raul Hildberg at the Friedrichshain Clinic. I believe he lives here.”

  “Just a moment,” she said, and the door was closed in his face, leaving him to wait on the landing.

  After a long two minutes, the door opened again and there stood Hildberg. He had removed his necktie and collar and he had apparently been eating as there was some slight evidence of food stains at the corners of his mouth.

  Hildberg’s face filled with anxiety as he recognised Sean Colquhoun at his door. Defensively and without a hint of warmth he said, “What do you want?”

  Before Sean could answer this was quickly followed by, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  “I’m very sorry if this is inconvenient but I really did want to speak to you.”

  “You can speak to me at work.”

  “Well I have tried,” said Sean, “But it has not been easy. So I resolved to come here and speak to you tonight. I didn’t want any more time to pass.”

  Suddenly Hildberg was surprised as a hand came from behind him and pulled the door fully open. He turned to see the attractive woman who had initially answered the door standing there. There was a sadness and a reproach in her voice as she spoke to Hildberg.

  “Raul,” she whispered. “What are you doing? What has happened to you? Is this how we welcome visitors to our home?”

  Ignoring Hildberg’s attempted reply she turned to Sean and said, “I am so sorry Mr Colquhoun. Please forgive my husband. He forgets his manners. Please come inside and make yourself at home.”

  Under his wife’s insistent gaze Hildberg stood aside and allowed an uncomfortable Sean to pass along the passageway into the family sitting room.

  The room was very tastefully furnished with a welcoming sofa, a rocking chair with ornate wooden arms, and two matching armchairs in rich floral fabric. A large golden and black rug lay before a blazing fire in the hearth and on it sat two children who, by their looks were obviously the offspring of Mr and Mrs Hildberg. Against the far wall stood a tall bookcase with every shelf full to bursting with books and framed photographs. The children looked up as Sean entered but they did not speak. The elder of t
he two was a girl of about eleven years. She had the striking good looks of her mother with high cheekbones, a delicately curved nose, full lips and a flashing white smile framed within dark wavy locks of hair which tumbled down to her shoulders. ‘Mother and daughter could be twins,’ thought Sean. The other child, a boy of about eight years, was also dark and had strong, good looks and a serious expression.

  In the absence of any attempt at introductions by Hildberg himself, his wife did the honours, “I am Raul’s wife,” she began. “My name is Grete. These are our two children. Lisa is eleven. She is studying music at the Academy. Her instruments are the voice and the violin. This is my son, David. He is seven years old and in first school.”

  ‘Pretty good guess,’ thought Sean

  “Hello Lisa, hello David. My name is Sean and I am very pleased to meet you.”

  By this time Hildberg had followed them into the room and Sean turned to speak to him. But before he could begin Grete insisted on making coffee and providing cake.

  “I came to apologise to you for the way in which I was moved into your office and you were forced to leave. I want you to know that it was not my doing. If I could have prevented it I would have. It was my first day in the hospital. I am a visiting student from a foreign country. I was powerless to affect the decision-making that went on. I want you to know that it was not Max’s doing either. He protested to Dr Fuchs when he suggested the arrangement, but Fuchs was determined.”

  Hildberg and his wife looked at each other. Eventually it was Grete, his wife who spoke, “Sean, you must forgive Raul. He takes everything so seriously.” She reached over and stroked Raul’s hair playfully like a mother with a sulky child. Raul was embarrassed but the gesture began to bring him out of his mood.

  “Grete is right,” he said. “I am over sensitive. If it was not for my lovely wife I would have been crushed under the weight of my own resentments years ago.”

  They sat around the table drinking coffee and eating cake and they asked questions of each other the way people do when they have first met but have formed an instinctive liking for each other and expect to go on to develop a close friendship.

  “So,” asked Raul, “How does Berlin compare to Dublin?”

  “Well, there are differences. Berlin is more like London than Dublin. Dublin has had a history of subservience to London, so it has not had time to develop as a capital city. Dublin also has a much worse housing situation. Much of the population lives in appalling conditions in slum areas. However, we have not been so badly affected by the Wall Street crash as you have here in Germany. We’re still very much a rural economy. I miss the pubs and I miss my sport. You don’t play rugby here, or hurling.”

  Hearing this, seven year old David got up from the rug in front of the fire and approached the table. “What is hurling?” he asked.

  Both David and Lisa listened intently along with Raul and Grete to Sean’s vivid descriptions of hurling and Gaelic football. Sean had them laughing as he recounted some anecdotes from his experiences on the Hurley field. By the end of his account the children, at least, saw him as some latter day northern warrior. Perhaps Raul and Grete did too.

  Grete decided it was bedtime for the children, despite Lisa’s complaints that it was not fair for her to go to bed at the same time as her brother, and she escorted them through the apartment to the bedroom they shared.

  Raul said, “Come on, Sean, “Let me show you a Berlin bar. Perhaps then you will not miss your Dublin pubs so much.”

  As they sipped strong German beer from pint pots Raul said, “It’s because I am a Jew.”

  Sean put his pot down and looked at Raul seeking further explanation.

  “Fuchs. He hates me because I am a Jew. He is a member of the Nazi Party. They have a paranoid hatred of Jews. That’s why he took the opportunity of your arrival to humiliate me.”

  “Do the hospital authorities allow him to practise his anti-Semitism in his post?” asked Sean.

  “Technically no, but in practice, yes. Oh don’t misunderstand me, his anti-Semitism is not allowed full rein. If it were I would not have a job there. But he has his little victories on a day by day basis.”

  “What can you do about it?”

  “Well, if I took my wife’s good advice I would grow up and forget about it.”

  He took another sip of his beer and considered how to explain himself to this foreigner.

  “You see, Sean, we Jews are as German as the Germans. I fought in the Great War. I was seventeen years old when I was captured by the French at the Marne. We are fully integrated into German society. But at the same time we have always suffered anti-Semitism. I expect it is the same in Ireland.”

  Sean gulped at the directness of Raul’s question. As he thought about attitudes in Ireland he was well aware of the presence of anti-Semitism in his native country.

  Raul continued, “As a minority group we have so much experience of dealing with prejudice that it’s like water over a stone; it erodes, but so slightly you think you hardly notice. This Hitler fellow; he’s a joke. The German people will never allow him to come to power. We will ride out Hitler like we have ridden out surges in anti-Semitism before. And when he has retreated into the obscurity he has come from we will still be here, loyal Germans working hard and living our lives.”

  The two men sipped their beers for a few moments in silence.

  “My problem is,” ruminated Raul, “I take it all to heart. I am too sensitive. It does no good to be sensitive and a Jew.”

  “I’m not sure if I should say this,” ventured Sean. “I mean no offence by it.”

  “Say what you are thinking Sean. You will not offend me, I promise you.”

  “Well, you don’t look… that is, I mean, I would not have thought you were Jewish.”

  Raul spluttered into his beer with laughter as he looked into Sean’s embarrassed face.

  “Relax Sean. You’re right. In the sense you mean we are not Jewish at all. Grete and I converted to Protestantism in our university days. Hence, no pigtails, no skull caps!”

  Sean looked even more nonplussed now, if that were possible.

  “So, what exactly is Fuchs’ problem?”

  “It’s to do with Hitler’s teachings about blood and race. As far as Fuchs is concerned - once a Jew, always a Jew. To him I’m as Jewish as the most devout Rabbi.”

  “So you mean he’s been through your files to investigate your background?” Sean asked.

  “Absolutely. Make no mistake. He’s been through yours as well. You must be free from the taint of Jewish blood. But look, let’s not dwell on this anymore. I am very grateful for your kind gesture in coming to see me and my family tonight. Let’s make it the start of a lasting friendship. Like I say, my problem is mainly paranoia and soon the Nazis and their Herr Hitler will blow away with the dust of history.”

  As good as their word, the two men became firm friends and Sean was a regular guest in the Hildberg household. At least three times a week Grete would save Sean from the dreariness of his digs and invite him to share in their family meal. On Sundays Sean would sometimes offer to take the children out to the Tiergarten or for a boat ride along the Spree.

  Lisa loved to walk in the Volkspark Friedrichshain and to play tag around the Marchenbrunnen fairy tale fountain. She loved to dodge between the animal sculptures and the figures from Grimms’ Fairy Tales. She also loved to visit Museum Island in the middle of the Spree River. Her favourite outing was to the Old National Gallery, where she would happily view the paintings for hours. One day when he knew the choir would be practising, Sean took the children to the Lustgarten, beside which sits the Berlin Cathedral. Lisa would be happy listening to the heavenly choral singing, but David would become restless after half an hour.