ISBF26: Carnival by Peter Philipps

Carnival

Surveys made after the German defeat revealed that most Germans still thought that… “Nazism was a good deal badly carried out, and that Hitler was a great German leader.”

Michael Beschloss, The Conquerors

It took Lieutenant Roger Block only about a minute to realize he had allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. But by then he had found an empty table and ordered a beer from a passing waiter. What the hell, he thought, decided to stay put, and sat back as a steady stream of people, most wearing costumes, drifted into the Gothic, high-ceilinged dining hall. There were the customary clowns, pirates, and animals, Salome with her seven veils, and a few couples in formal attire. Colored paper chains and lanterns hung in the air already  heavy with cigarette smoke. Spirits were at a high pitch, and hilarity seemed the order of the night.  

Minutes later all ten seats at his table were taken. Only one person acknowledged his presence, a petite blonde in a strapless white gown, who seated herself on his right and, in  perfect English, introduced herself as Alma.

“Roger,” he said, accepting her cool hand. “Nice to meet you, and please excuse my uniform.”

“Ach, I thought it was your costume she said with a wink. “Nice to meet you too, Roger,” she said, pronouncing it “Raadjah.”

“Are you a student?”

“Ja, we are all from the university.”

“With one exception,” he said, pointing at himself. She smiled indulgently and he explained that he’d been strolling around town when he came upon multiple signs for a Fasching party at the university. “I was curious, bought a ticket on the spur of the moment, and here I am.”

“You pass for a student,” she said.

He laughed and complimented her on her English.

“English,” she told him reddening, is a required subject.” She took a closer look at hm and added, “I see you are a lieutenant. My father was a Hauptman, a captain in the Wehrmacht.”

Block fingered the gold bar on his right shoulder, decided not to pursue the subject, and asked, “What would you like to drink?”

She cast a dubious glance at his half-empty stein and allowed that she didn’t care for beer.

“Then how about a glass of Riesling?”

“That would be wunderbar.”

 When Block turned to look for a waiter he noticed that none of the students at his table had anything to drink. “Are they too poor,” he whispered to Alma, “or still underage?”

“I think they are…they are waiting for you.”

Waiting for the rich American, he thought, and told himself that the next time he went into town he would wear civvies. Just then the waiter who had brought him his first beer came by, and Block ordered wine for Alma and beer for all the others.

“That is so nice of you,” she said.

He shrugged, waited until everyone had been served, and then raised his stein and said, “Prosit, meine Freunde.”

“The lieutenant speaks German?” asked a student at the far end of the table.

Block held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Ein bisschen,” he said. “A little.” Then, “Do all of you speak English?”

“Ja, we learn it in school,” the student answered.

“So Alma told  me.”

 “Did the Herr Leutnant study German in school?” another student wanted to know.

“No. The little I know I picked up since I got here. And please call me Roger.”

“This is very difficult for us,” said a student dressed as Napoleon, who introduced himself as Klaus.

“If Alma can do it,” Block said, “you can too, Klaus.” 

Alma rose to take a bow and accidentally knocked over her glass. Some of the wine dribbled on Block’s khakis and her dress. Amid a chorus of gasps, she apologized and rushed from the table to look for a towel.

Another student immediately took her place. “My name is Stefan Gruber,” he said in a high-pitched voice, “and I would like to ask the lieutenant how much longer the Occupation will last. It is already ten years since the war ended.”

Block made a who-knows gesture and told him he would have to give back the seat when Alma returned.

 “Ya, of course. But first I would like to ask the lieutenant where he is coming from.”

“San Francisco.”

“I hear this is a very beautiful city. You Americans are so lucky.”

“What do you mean?”

“Because your cities were not bombed. As you see, here are still many ruins. We suffered terribly.”

Block was about to respond but changed his mind. He lit a cigarette and turned to look for Alma.

“You killed thousands of innocent people, women and children,” Stefan persisted.

Block loosened his collar. “Look here, Stefan,” he said.  “I didn’t come here to talk about the war. Let’s instead have another round.” He called the waiter over and motioned him to bring more beers and wine for Alma.

“I had family in Dresden,” a female voice piped up. “Why did you firebomb this beautiful city?”

“Please tell me your name.”

“Clara Schmidt,” the student answered and got to her feet. “Some of my relatives were so bad burned they could not be identified. It was… I don’t know how you say in English— unmenschlich” (inhuman).

Before Block could react, Alma returned and started to apply a towel to his  pants. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“The lieutenant and I were discussing politics,” Clara Schmidt replied defiantly.

Alma chided her by saying, “Tonight is not a time to talk about politics.” To Block she said, “On Fasching we forget all our difficulties. Tonight is meant for pleasure.” 

 “Does that mean anything goes?” he asked.

“What does that mean?”

“Wait and see. Meantime let’s dance.”

“Okay.” She rose half-way in her seat when the student dressed as Napoleon called out, “I’m waiting to hear the lieutenant answer Stefan’s question.”

“Halt’s Maul!” Alma scolded. “It means shut up,” she whispered in Block’s ear.

 “The bombing of our cities was not morally correct,” another student broke in. “It was murder, especially in the case of Dresden, which was not an important military target.”

Block looked at Alma for a sign of where she stood, but she seemed elsewhere in her thoughts. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. “Don’t you lecture me about atrocities,” he said, pointing a finger at the speaker. He took Alma’s hand and started for the dance floor when a young woman in a witch’s costume tapped her stein for attention. “My name is Ilse Wittig,” she said in impeccable English, “and I think Stefan is correct. Before the war Dresden was a city with magnificent architecture, more beautiful even than Florence. The bombing was not necessary because the war was almost over.”

“I agree,” said a student dressed as a medieval warrior. “Was it necessary to destroy the beautiful Frauenkirche, this masterpiece of baroque architecture?”

Block loosened his tie. “And you are—?”

“Willy Merten.”

“Listen, Willy. It wasn’t my decision to bomb the cathedral. And it so happens that the London Blitz and the destruction of Warsaw, among other acts of barbarism, occurred long before Dresden was bombed.”

A heavy silence descended over the table. Block wondered whether the students were misinformed or parroting what they had been told by their parents. He lit another cigarette and said, “It is also a fact that the Nazis exterminated six million people because they considered them racially inferior.” 

“If you are speaking about the concentration camps,” a male voice called out, “that is a fabrication of American Jews.”

Block looked around. “Would whoever said that please rise?” 

A student with a red goatee got up and identified himself as Karl-Heinz. “Are you trying to tell me that Auschwitz was a hoax?” he asked.

“This is correct.” 

“Ach,” Alma pleaded, tugging at his sleeve. “It is not good to talk of these things tonight.”

“Hitler did not approve of killing Jews,” a man at a nearby table declared. “Auschwitz was a labor camp. Many people died from illness and old age. But war is war.”

Block looked at Alma. “He looks too old to be a student.”

“That is Professor Zeitzler of the history department.”

“Both sides in any war commit atrocities,” Zeitzler continued.  

 “True,” Block shot back. “But the Nazis committed acts of wanton savagery on a scale never before seen in human history.”

“The Jews deserved to be punished,” said the student named Klaus. “My father told me so.”

“And what did your father do in the war, Klaus?” Block asked sharply.

“He was a lieutenant. Like you. He lost a leg on the Eastern front.”

Every goddamn German I’ve met so far claims to have fought against the Russians, Block mused  “Didn’t any of you have a father or older brother who fought on the Western Front?” he asked.

A few of the students exchanged vague glances.

 “I would like to dance,” Alma pleaded.

“How many of you,” Block asked, ignoring her, “deny the existence of the concentration camps and the mass killings in gas chambers? How many of you deny that Hitler wanted to eliminate every Jewish man, woman, and child? That he wanted to dominate the world?”

“There is no proof that any Jews were exterminated,” a voice at yet another table called out. “Hitler did not wish for war. It was forced on him.”

Block turned to identify the speaker, but Alma begged him again not to let politics spoil the evening.

“This is also my opinion,” said Ilse Wittig. “I think the reports of six million deaths are a big exaggeration.” She remained on her feet, her eyes flashing, waiting for Block to respond.

“Yes, it is correct that many people died,” said Stefan, “but most of them died of natural causes.”

“My parents told me the Jews had too much power before the war,” said a student in a bear costume who had been silent until now.

Next to him a girl in a dirndl nodded vigorously. “I don’t think it is fair that German Jews in America get restitution from our government and we not,” she said. “My parents lost everything from the Allied bombings.”

Block took Alma by the arm and pulled her to the dance floor. “Let’s dance before I do something violent,” he said. After a couple of numbers he had calmed down sufficiently to ask, “What makes your fellow students so hostile?”

“Don’t pay attention to them,” Alma urged, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “They are all tipsy.”

“Yeah. On my tab.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.”  He looked at his watch. “One more dance and then I better be getting back.”

She pursed her lips. “Please stay a while longer. Fasching comes only once a year.”

“Okay,” he said and led her back to the table. “Come to think of it, I don’t even know what Fasching is all about.”

“Really not?”

“Really not.”

She furrowed her brow. “It is a celebration before Lent. Like your Mardi Gras.”

“And what exactly is Lent?”

“It is the period of repentance before Easter,” she answered impatiently.

“What does a nice girl like you have to repent?” he asked.        

“Ach, Raadjah. You are so funny. I personally don’t pay any attention. But my parents are very religious. They go to church and fast and pray for forgiveness of their sins. They also keep away from many pleasures for forty days.” She giggled. “They would not approve of me being here.”

“Forty days? Why so long?”

“Because that is how many days our Savior spent in the desert fasting. How come you don’t know this?”

“Forgive my ignorance,” he said. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “I am Jewish.”

“You are a Jew?” she exclaimed. “I had no idea.” She paused for a moment. “But you don’t have a Jewish nose.”

“Is that meant as a compliment?”

 “Unglaublich,” (incredible) she said. “You of all people should know about these things.”

“Why is that?”

“Because….because you killed Him!” she answered scornfully, reached for her evening bag, and left her seat. “Auf Wiedersehen,  Lieutenant!”

Before he could open his mouth, she dashed toward the nearest exit.

“Is something wrong, Lieutenant?” he heard someone ask.

“You’re damn right something’s wrong,” he barked, banging both fists on the table. He gathered his Zippo and cigarettes, dropped a handful of bills on the table, and declared, “Furthermore, this party is over!” In his haste to get up from the table he knocked over his chair. Without bothering to pick it up, he executed a smart about-face and followed Alma out. But by the time he reached the street she was nowhere in sight. A light rain had started to fall. He kicked an imaginary object and hurried to the corner to look for a taxi to take him back to his bachelor officer quarters.