Irma (A Tragedy)
I R M A
(A Tragedy)
PETER
BERGER
Copyright © Peter Berger 2022
All rights reserved
One Generation passes away,
and another generation comes: but the earth abides
for ever.
Ecclesiastes 1:4
CONTENTS:
1. An Encounter 1
2. Her Sad Story 10
3. Bruno’s Perspective 19
4. Kurt Sums Up 31
5. Postscript 40
F O R E W O R D
A pebble thrown into a pond of smooth water is
bound to cause ripples. A skilled mathematician can work out the extent
thereof, provided he is given the pebble’s weight and the velocity at which it
travels. Nonetheless, his task becomes impossible if intervening factors affect
the spread of the ripples.
This, indeed, is the position in
real life. Cause and effect are often not determined by the nature of the event
and its impact but by surrounding circumstances.
Irma’s story is a case in point. Two
events are related in detail. The outcome, though, is unforeseeable until the
end of the narrative.
It is hoped that this notion will be
in the eyes of those who read the book.
AN ENCOUNTER
(Narrated by Peter
Berger)
(1982)
I
One of the perks enjoyed by
academics is the invitation to a conference. I was delighted to receive one
from the Faculty of Law of the National University of Singapore after the end of my third year as a professor
at
As one of my colleagues was familiar
with the place, I asked for his advice about suitable hotels.
“You ought to avoid Nusa Dua. This
is an expensive and yet unpleasant spot. Try to get a room in
Unfortunately, our travel agent was
unable to book a room in that location but recommended a unit in a hotel in
another resort:
My colleague’s eyes opened wide when
I went over so as to get further information on day tours.
“
“What is wrong with that?” I asked
perplexed.
“This is the very spot in which
people bathe in the nude!”
“The travel agent told me the
grounds of the hotel were pleasant and self- contained.”
“I see,” he muttered. “Well, you
might prefer to stay in the compound.”
“Good advice,” I confirmed
smilingly.
II
The hotel was indeed comfortable. It had a swimming pool as well as a
gym. I thought to myself that this was the very place in which you could spend
a few days without venturing out.
To my surprise, Pat suggested that
we have a stroll on the beach. Seeing my patent hesitation, she chided me:
“The breeze is mild and pleasant and
we have a warm day. You won’t catch a cold!”
Like most hypochondriacs, I was keen
not to be taken as such. I therefore nodded my consent.
“You might wear your track suit.
It’ll keep you comfy,” she soothed me.
“Good idea,” I said and put on the
garment. In an attempt to hide my paunch, I let the top hang over. Pat grinned.
The first sight we came across was
vulgar. A middle-aged man, with a pronounced beer belly, was stretched out
naked on the beach. An ageing local woman massaged him. I felt sorry for her.
She possibly carried on so as to earn a few pennies.
We next encountered a group of male
and female youngsters, who were rushing to the beach to immerse themselves in
the sea. The only clothes they wore were caps used by the girls to protect
their hair; and some of them had sun glasses.
“We better return to the hotel,”
chided Pat. “So this is the sort of place of our hotel. No wonder you wanted to
have a stroll along the beach!”
“But I suggested that we stay in the
hotel,” I protested and made a point of staring on the patch of sand in front
of me. Pat appeared appeased but looked at me askance.
As soon as the group of nudists was
out of sight, I raised my head. It was then that my glance fell on her. She was
basking – stark naked – in the sun, just outside the doorway of a small rental
hut. I couldn’t help admiring her firm breasts, loose chestnut brown hair and
splendid figure. For just a moment our eyes met and I noticed that a gentle
warm smile descended on her face.
Pat, who had not taken in the scene,
steered us in the direction of the hotel. When we arrived, she told me she had not slept well
the previous night and was still plagued by jet lag.
“Why don’t you go to the gym and
work off some steam. You can have a swim in the pool afterward. Just change in
the shower from this track suit to your swimming trunks.”
“And you?” I asked with concern.
“I’ll have a nap. It will do me
good.”
III
Initially I headed for the gym.
Then, impulsively, I made a turn and proceeded to the beach. She was still
sunbathing in front of her accommodation.
“So, you did decide to come over.”
Her German accent was unmistakable.
“You knew, didn’t you?” I replied in
her own tongue.
“So, you speak fluent German,” she
replied. “Where are you from?” I was pleased to note that she addressed me
informally, using “Du” instead of “Sie”.
“I live in
“In Hamburg,” she said in a
matter-of-fact tone.
“A splendid town.”
“Do you know it?”
“It houses the
“Are you a lawyer?”
“An academic lawyer. I teach banking
law.”
“Oh well,” she replied. Noticing that once again a soft smile
descended on her face, I added: “You look like Botticelli’s Venus.”
“Quite a flatterer,” she grinned
and, holding the door open, beckoned me in.
“You are beautifully tanned,” I told
her when I was getting ready to leave, knowing full well that she too had
enjoyed our encounter.
“This is the object, Herr Flatterer
[Schmeichler],” she laughed happily. Then, impulsively, she added: “Why
don’t you look me up if you visit
I spent the rest of the afternoon in
the hotel’s gym. When I returned to our suite, Pat was getting up:
“Did you have a nice swim?”
“I spent my time in the gym,” I told
her a half-truth.
“Hopefully you managed to get a few
pounds off! And I am hungry. Please get us something from room service.”
A few days later we proceeded to
After our return to Monash –
following the conference on banking law in Singapore – I met my professorial
colleague in the corridor just outside his office.
“Well, did you enjoy
“A lovely spot; but we spent most of
the time in the hotel and also took some day excursions.”
“Did you walk along the beach?”
“We did. Pat did not like what we
saw.”
“I warned you!”
IV
The next two years were stressful.
Our Dean took his sabbatical – another academic perk – and spent his leave in a
Canadian university. Reluctantly, I agreed to assume the role of Acting Dean
and was genuinely relieved when the real incumbent returned and took back his
job.
After another six months, it was my
turn to demand a sabbatical. Initially, I intended to spend it in
To my relief, Pat liked
During the first week I felt
forlorn. I used to share my life with Pat and kept missing her. Fortunately,
there were some moderately priced eateries in our part of the town and, in any
event, the Institute had a “meals on wheels service”. In addition, colleagues
were pleased to keep me company from time to time. Some – like me – were keen
to go to the theatre and to the renowned local opera. Another attraction was
the weekly session of organ music in the famed
Then, one bright day, I came across
the piece of paper I had kept in my wallet ever since my brief escapade in
V
A formal, impersonal voice
answered, advising me that I was connected with a well-known commercial firm.
“May I speak with Mrs. [“Frau”
in German], Irma?” I said with trepidation, thinking it proper to confer on her
the formal title bestowed on mature women. The less formal – Miss – seemed out
of place in this sedate and conservative environment.
“I’ll see if she is available,” was
the brief, formal reply. “What shall I tell her? Actually, with whom am I
talking?”
“Just tell her I am a friend she met
in
For a moment the line went mute. I
started to feel uncomfortable when it came back to life.
“Lunch break is at 1.00 p.m. Irma
suggests you come over at a quarter to one.”
“And the address?” I asked uneasily
and then jotted it dawn in my pocket diary.
Arriving on time, I was met by an
elegantly dressed receptionist. She wore a trendy brown trouser suit, her
hairstyle was fashionable even if conservative and a pair of horny spectacles
camouflaged her eyes. Then, smilingly, she took them off. For a moment I looked
at her in amazement. After another few seconds I recalled her smile.
“So now you recognise me,” she
grinned. “Took you quite a while.” She now addressed me as “Sie” and no
longer with familiar, far less formal, “Du”.
“You look so very different,” I told
her when I found my voice. Naturally, I assumed the formal mode of address.
“This is
“I understand,” I conceded.
“It is a different world,” she
added.
“It is indeed. Well, are you by any
chance free for lunch?”
“I am,” she responded willingly.
“But I’ll have to be back at work by 2.30.”
“You better recommend a restaurant.
You know
“There are some excellent seafood
restaurants near the harbour,” she told me. “There is a direct bus.”
As we stepped out of the building I
hailed a passing cab. The driver smiled knowingly when she gave him the
address.
“This way we’ll have some more time
to talk,” I explained when she looked at me searchingly.
We reached our destination in about
ten minutes. As we alighted, she explained that there were three restaurants in
the lane. The one to the right was informal. The food was excellent but the
accommodation rather basic. The middle restaurant was a notch up. The food was
equally good but slightly more expensive. The restaurant to the left boasted
three Michelin stars. It was outstanding but, of course, so was the price.
“Have you been to it?” I wanted to
know.
“I have: when Bruno and I decided to
get formally engaged.”
“You can visit it again today.”
“That would be nice; but let me warn
you again: it is pricy.”
“This is a special occasion. Come,
let’s go in.”
Having settled comfortably at an
elegant table, I asked her what were the house specialties.
“The
“I’ll try it; but how about you?”
“I’ll have the same.”
“And will you have wine?”
“Normally I don’t drink during the
day; but, yes, today is an exception.”
She viewed with approval the carafe
of the Rosè recommended by the formally
dressed waiter. I felt pleased with myself. In a manner of speaking, I was
thanking her for our encounter at
During the excellent meal, she
steered the conversation to me. She then told me that Bruno and she had already
fixed a day for their wedding.
“It will be a formal and yet simple
ceremony, attended by family and just a few close friends, about twenty people
altogether.”
“Have you been to
“No, I haven’t. You see, I am paid a
good salary and earlier on I was able to go for a sunshine break and, in
winter, for skiing in the
“I thought that most newly wed
couples rented flats,” I let my surprise show.
“True,” she said, “but Bruno, who is
an experienced banker, thinks property prices will skyrocket and so we have
decided to buy. We have already found a pleasant cottage in an upcoming
suburb.”
“That’s good planning. And, yes, I
agree with Bruno’s prediction. Pat and I have properties in Singapore and in
Australia. Pat was keen to buy a house
in Hamburg but then had to fly back early.”
“I understand. Actually, do you feel
at home here?”
“I like
“I see. I am a Hamburgese born and
bred. I like the town despite our horrid climate.”
“And do you plan to have a large
family?”
“I intend to have at least one son
and one daughter.”
“I hope the daughter will be as
charming as her mother.”
“Flatterer,” she grinned. “You are
incorrigible,” and just for once she addressed me informally, as “Du”;
and the lovely smile descended on her face.
We boarded a bus, which took us back
to the centre of town. As prescribed by good manners, I offered to accompany
her during the short walk back to her office. Just before we reached our
destination, my eye caught a florist’s shop. As it was still early, she agreed
to step in.
She watched with interest as I
selected some carnations and gladiolas.
“Have a look at these lovely white roses. Why don’t you get one?”
It was a delightful bouquet. Just
before she took her leave, I handed it to her.
“Please give it to Irma. I’m sure
you’ll meet her today. And, please, tell her that her friend from
“A Viennese Schlager,” she let her
surprise show. “Which Schlager?’
“The opening line reads: ‘Merci, Mon
Ami, es war wunderschön [Thank
you, dear Friend, it was wonderful].”
“I’ll
convey the message and deliver the flowers this very evening. And well, thanks
for looking me up. All the best to you and goodbye.”
VI
Feeling
certain that some exercise would do me good after the heavy meal, I walked back
to the institute. When I arrived, the friendly librarian advised me that they
had managed to borrow from
“I
don’t think it has been much in use,” she said. “Some of the pages are uncut.
You can use this paper knife if you come across them. But you will have to read
it in cubicle 3. Books borrowed from other institutions can be read only
there.”
The
report was printed in the traditional, currently obsolete, Kurent cursive
script and the style was obscure. It required concentration and, before long, I
was immersed in it. This was my real vocation. Irma and
HER SAD STORY
(Narrated by Irma)
(2002)
(Translated from the German by Peter
Berger)
I
Dr. Ursula Tiras looked at me with
concern. Initially, she had refused to be consulted by a friend. Even after I
told her that I simply needed a second opinion, she remained reluctant.
Finally, after I said that I needed the advice of a person close to me, she
agreed to consider the case. Her first reaction when she studied Dr. Braun’s
detailed medical report was predictable: she averted her eyes. When she found
her voice, she told me she would like to have one test repeated. The result was
now in front of her.
“Well, what is your diagnosis?” I wanted to know.
“I am afraid I have to agree with Dr. Braun. It is bone metastases
cancer. The only hope is chemotherapy. Let us anticipate it works. It is, I
fear, far too late for radiotherapy and an operation would be insufficient. The
malignity has penetrated the spine. Why on earth didn’t you consult your GP
when you felt lumps in your breast?”
“I couldn’t be bothered,” I told her. “It never occurred to me that I had
cancer, that is, not until I started to feel sick; and you know: generally, I
avoid doctors.”
“You’ll have to start taking tablets right away! Did Dr. Braun give you a
prescription?”
“I have decided not to take them,” I told her. “Please tell me: what
would be the prognosis in that case?”
“We can’t be sure. If you take the tablets the chances are much better.
You may even be cured.”
“How likely is that?”
“Unpredictable at this stage. I really can’t tell.”
“I’ll think it over,” I soothed her.
“Don’t ponder too long. At this stage the cancer keeps spreading. Every
day counts. And you had better go back to Dr. Braun. He is good and reliable.
From time to time, I ask patients to go to him for a second opinion. He’ll see
to it that expenses are borne by the insurers.”
“Actually, I am uninsured. The policy had lapsed a few months ago and I
did not renew it. Sheer negligence on my part.”
II
Back at home, I thought things over. Bruno needed me. So did my children.
However, I was not prepared to delay what I thought was inevitable. They were
bound to learn how to exist without me.
On further reflection, I decided that I had to put my house into
order. I had started speculating with
money by investing a small amount. By now it had multiplied many times over. I
had to make sure it would be available when required.
I knew that Peter Berger – who had by now asked Bruno and me to call him
by his boyhood nickname of ‘Bushi’ – was due to arrive in
When Bruno and I got engaged we had agreed not to refer to events that
took place in the past. I knew that I was not the first woman in Bruno’s life.
He knew that I had been an emancipated girl before I met him. Occasionally, I
wonder whether he guessed that one of my encounters had been with Bushi. When
the Bergers came over for dinner they brought with them the customary bunch of
flowers to be handed to the hosting wife. Bruno used to grin when my face lit
up as I came across the white rose that graced the bouquet. Pat – Bushi’s wife
– looked at me warily on one occasion.
The close friendship that sprang up between the two men was grounded in
their common interest in matters of banking. On the first occasion, when Bruno
had invited them to come for dinner, I was genuinely surprised to see that his
friend was none other than the fellow I had met one day in
Bushi came to
“Is that you, Irma?” Bushi asked.
“Who else?”
“I hope dinner in your place on the coming Tuesday is unchanged. I am
looking forward to it!”
“Actually, when do you arrive in
“Late on Sunday evening. I thought it best to have a day of rest prior to
my meeting with Bruno. We have a tricky case and I must be fully alert when we
plan our course.”
“Are you then free for lunch on Monday? Would you be able to come to the
restaurant in which we met that time?”
“Of course,” he assured me. “I remember the place well but have forgotten
the address.”
“I’ll email it to you; the booking will be under my name for 12.30.”
“That’s fine, Irma. I hope it is nothing serious.”
“I’ll tell you all about it when we meet. Bye for now.”
III
Bushi arrived at the restaurant before me. He was no longer the middle
aged man whom I had met in
“It is good to see you, Irma. You look well. Please tell me what is on
your mind.”
“Have a look at this medical report.” I asked him and shoved Dr. Braun’s
report over to him. I sensed that he took it in instantly. He then collected
his thoughts.
“Have you started to take the pills?” he asked in a shaky voice.
“I have decided to give them a miss!”
“A final decision?”
“Yes. I know the prognosis is poor. In all probability the pills will
just delay the inevitable.”
“How on earth did this happen?”
“Heaven has no favourites, Bushi.”
“Once the cancer penetrates the bones, it is often a slow and painful
process. A good friend of mine got it because his prostate cancer was diagnosed
too late.”
“Did he go on chemotherapy?”
“He did; it gained him a few months.”
“They must have been painful,” I surmised.
“They were indeed. Still, the medicine
was the only hope.”
“I don’t want to experience this final struggle. You understand, don’t
you?”
“I do,” he confirmed and averted his eyes.
I sensed that it was time to tell him my object for arranging this
lunch. Bushi had met my son, Kurt, and
my daughter, Marta, when Pat and he came over for visits. Over the years he
became friendly with them. Marta called him ‘Uncle Bushi’ and, after some
lengthy conversations, picked up his hobby of collecting European porcelain.
Kurt often discussed with him classic books.
I was aware that, although Marta had inherited my good looks, she was as
shy and as reticent as Bruno. She needed guidance and protection. Kurt
inherited Bruno’s physique but had a temperament akin to mine. He was forceful
and spontaneous. He would know how to look after himself.
“Obviously, you have decided how to handle this dismal development. So
how do I come in?” asked Bushi.
“I hope to live comfortably for at least a few more months. After that I
may have to take strong painkillers …”
“… like morphine?” he wanted to know.
“Dr. Braun will prescribe what is needed. I may be groggy when I am on
that medication.”
“An unavoidable side effect,” Bushi conceded. “Well …”
“… At that stage I shall have to inform Bruno. It won’t be easy; but I
have already made my plan.”
“I see; so how can I be of assistance?”
“Well, over the years I often listened to Bruno and to you when you
talked about banking and finance. I have also visited a number of sites available on my computer. I
invested a legacy left to me by a relative and look how much I have
accumulated.”
Bushi looked with amazement at the bank statement I showed him.
“That’s an awful lot of money, Irma. More than what a banker or academic
receives by way of salary over more than ten years.”
“It is a tidy little sum,” I conceded. “The problem is what to do with
it. That’s where you come in. I need your advice.”
“Why not simply add Bruno as joint
account holder?”
“I want to make sure that Marta has it when she has grown up.”
“Why not instruct Bruno to use the money in this manner? This is the
easiest and neatest way. Surely, you do trust Bruno.”
“Of course I do. I have trusted him with my life. But suppose he falls
into the hands of a greedy second wife: a ‘Mrs. Wrong’?”
“Bruno will not remarry; he will remain true to his love for you. Also,
Bruno is a shrewd observer. He is most unlikely to step into a net spun by a
gold digger!” Bushi spoke firmly. I knew he was basically right but continued
to feel uneasy.
“Can you be certain of this? Can you?”
“The future is not ours to see, Irma’chen. Still, I would take the risk.”
Bushi had not bestowed on me a cozy name previously. I realised how
deeply he was moved and that I could count on him.
“But suppose I do not want to take the risk. What would be the best
safeguard?”
“In that case, why not use the trust device? It is fundamental that the
donor cannot constitute himself as trustee. Why not nominate Bruno?”
“But I want to avoid any situation in which the funds are handled by him.
Would you, Bushi, act as trustee? I know that you keep such matters from Pat.”
“Actually, I do keep my personal and professional lives apart. But you
want the trust to remain intact for a long time.”
“I do.”
“Then I am not the right person. I am close to retirement and – as you
know – suffer from diabetes and hypertension. I think a purely professional
arrangement is to be preferred.”
“Go ahead. I want all the money to be paid out to Marta on her twenty
fifth birthday.”
“And Kurt?”
“Kurt will always know how to look after himself. He has my instincts and
personality. He will make his own fortune.”
“All the same: leaving all of it to Marta would be a slap in his face – a
slap from the grave. I am sure that this is not your intention; but your act
may be misunderstood.”
“Well, Bushi, what do you suggest?”
“Open a trust account with …”
“… a Swiss Bank?”
“…actually, we can do better than that. I know an English firm which
specializes in trusts of this sort. The current general manager is a
trustworthy person. I can get in touch with him today. If he is agreeable, I’ll
let you have his details when I come over for dinner tomorrow. I’ll simply pass
a slip of paper to you.”
“And if he passes away before the trust expires?”
“We’ll confer on him the discretion to appoint a substitute trustee if,
for any reason, he is unable to carry on and, in the event of his demise, the
discretion would be conferred on his successor.”
“And how about the beneficiary?”
“I suggest the trust be dissolved on Marta’s 25th birthday and
the proceeds be shared by your children in equal portions or in any other
manner they agree upon. I am confident that Kurt would not want to touch the
money if he did not need it. I know him.”
“Alright, go ahead.”
“I only wish you wanted to discuss happier matters,” his voice shook but
he tried to keep a straight face. Even so, I noticed that he was close to
tears.
When we left the restaurant, I hailed a taxi and offered to drop Bushi
near the Institute’s flat he occupied. Neither of us had more to say. Still,
before Bushi arrived he said to me:
“I have always been grateful. Our encounter gave me a shot of confidence.”
“I know,” I replied. “I noticed how you had buried your head in the sand
so as to assure Pat you were not looking elsewhere. Your patent discomfort
encouraged me to smile.”
“It is good to know this. Well,
I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow evening as arranged.”
Both Kurt and Marta were out next evening. When Bruno went to fetch a
book from his library, Bushi passed me a piece of paper with a name and
telephone number. Beneath it he wrote: “he expects your call.”
IV
I did my best to camouflage my deteriorating health. Some five months
after my meeting with Bushi, I had to start taking painkillers. Dr. Braun gave
me the prescription willingly but tried – once again – to convince me to give a
try to chemotherapy. I stood my ground and refused. A few weeks later, I had to
increase the dosage. Even so, pain came and went.
“What is the matter, Mom?” asked Marta one day. “Kurt and I have noticed
that you tire easily and, this very morning, I saw you taking a pill. Are you
unwell?”
“Everybody is unwell from time to time,” I tried to fend her off.
“I know,” she confirmed. “But, Mom, you seem to get spasms frequently.”
“Has Bruno noticed anything?” I tried to sound casual but was
apprehensive.
“I believe Dad senses that something is wrong. He dotes on you and
prefers not to ask. But, yes, he senses.”
For just a moment I hesitated. Then, with a shrug, I showed Marta Dr.
Braun’s diagnostic report. It took her a while to digest it.
“This report is dated some seven months ago. Has the chemotherapy been
effective?”
“I decided to give it a miss. You see, I was not prepared to start
treatment. They would have removed one of my breasts. This would have been the
very first step; and I was not prepared to go on living as a one breasted
woman. The tablet I took this morning is morphine. It alleviates the pain.”
Marta kept staring at me. She was speechless. The notion of my succumbing
to a prolonged sickness without seeking therapy was inconceivable.
“Mom,” she said at long last, “don’t you realise that we love you? We
would have remained loyal to you regardless of the operation. So would Dad: he
loves your personality – your high
spirits – even more than your looks.”
“I know; but my good looks have always been part of my personality. In
the wake of the operation, I would have lost my bearings!”
“What can I say,” she replied at long last. “So Kurt was right. He drew
my attention to your bearings some time
ago. We decided not to talk to you because we knew how much you treasured your
privacy. But this is ghastly! Don’t you think we have had the right to know?”
“Bad news never comes too late,” I told her, forcing the ghost of a
smile.
“But Dad, Kurt and I love you. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”
“Parents normally predecease their children. The converse is tragic!”
Marta looked shattered. I knew how she felt when told that I was nearing
the end. Eventually, she asked whether it would be best if she told it to
Bruno.
“No, Marta, I have to do so myself. It may take me a few days.”
“Please don’t wait too long. I suspect Dad is about to raise the
subject with you.”
After some three days, Marta told me that both Kurt and she were going to
be out in the evening.
“This, Mom, will give you the opportunity to talk to Dad when the two of
you are alone at the dining table. It will be better for him to be told by
yourself.”
I knew that Marta was right. I hated the idea of conveying bad news to
Bruno. He was bound to be dismayed. The time, though, was rife.
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE: Irma
Steiner (neé Schmidt) wrote her
brief account in German. My translation seeks to convey the feelings expressed
in her text. It is important to add that she passed away a few months after her
frank chat with Bruno. It is my belief that he failed to recover from his loss.
Neither did her offspring. The fact that both Kurt (his son) and Marta (his
daughter) never married grieved Bruno. He would have liked to have
grandchildren. He tells us all about it in his short memoirs, which I propose
to translate into English.
BRUNO’S PERSPECTIVE
(Excerpts from Bruno’ Diary)
(2015)
(translated from the German original
by Peter Berger)
[Editorial Note: The excerpts,
taken from Bruno’s diary, were written in Hochdeutsch, viz. “BBC German”, and
covered his life story from his third year in primary school until his
deterioration in the wake of a heart
complaint. The diary is currently owned by his daughter, Marta, who has very
kindly lent it to me. As this tome deals with Irma’s life and legacy, I
translated and included only the passages relevant to it. Bruno’s brilliant
attainment in school, in his gymnasium [viz. a secondary school with a
humanist orientation] and finally in the Faculty of Law of the
I
Today is Marta’s 25th
birthday. To celebrate it, I took her
and Kurt (her older brother) to the up-market restaurant in the harbour
district – the very restaurant in which Irma and I had sealed our engagement. I
recall her warm smile when she put on the ring I had commissioned for her.
Apart from the birthday festivity,
we had to decide what to do with money which Irma left in a trust handled by a
firm in
Under the trust deed the proceeds
were to be shared in equal portions by Kurt and Marta. As neither of them
wanted to touch the money, we had to decide what steps to take. It was only
natural that the two of them asked me to help them find a solution. Kurt
pointed out that he had already become wealthy as his commercial enterprise
became a real success. Marta, too, was well off. Under Peter’s influence she
became a collector of European porcelain. She also traded in it very
profitably.
Initially, Kurt and Marta wanted to
contribute the money to a charitable organisation. I convinced them that the
money would be used even more effectively if it were devoted to a prize to be
given in Irma’s name. In the end, we agreed to found the Irma Steiner
Foundation, which would annually award a
prize to the most accomplished ballroom dancer. Irma loved dancing and I was
satisfied that, if she were still with us, she would approve of our scheme. As
the firm employed by Irma was effective and trustworthy, we thought it would be
only right to leave the funds with them, albeit under a lasting arrangement.
We had a pleasant celebration
throughout the evening. As I came home shortly before midnight, I kept
thinking about my happy days with Irma
and how they came to a sad, premature, end.
II
Odd to say, my first meeting with
Irma was fortuitous. I had intended to spend the evening at home, seeking to
unravel a problem faced by me as head of the legal team of my bank. A term in
one of our contracts with a difficult customer applied German law but included
a clause referring disputes to arbitration by the International Chamber of
Commerce. A disagreement had arisen and our customer was militant. I was
satisfied that our claim was sound but knew that a hearing before an ICC
tribunal was bound to be costly. As our customer was no longer financially
viable, I doubted our ability to recover costs. I tried, accordingly, to come
up with a solution based on mediation.
My reflections were interrupted by
the arrival of my bosom pall, Klaus, who wanted me to come with him to a dinner
followed by a dance. He pointed out that I had spent a large amount of money on
dancing lessons but never went out. In the end, I agreed to join him.
The evening commenced with a variété
held whilst the patrons had their evening meal. Some tables were taken by
groups of young men and women who came over to see the show. Others were
occupied by groups of either men or women, who came with the ulterior motive of
making new acquaintances.
Shortly after the show was over, the organiser invited people to dance.
Klaus looked with interest at a very good-looking girl, sitting at a table near
ours. He went over full of confidence and invited her. He looked genuinely
bewildered when she turned him down but, within a few seconds, invited another
girl.
I looked at the girl who turned him
down with interest and, to my surprise, a soft smile descended on her face.
Encouraged I walked over and asked her. To my delight she agreed. Initially,
the orchestra played a tango followed by a waltz. I had mastered these but felt lost when they switched to a polka. To
my relief, the girl started to lead and, actually, taught me the steps. When we
finished, I complimented her and expressed the hope that she had enjoyed
herself. She answered affirmatively and then mentioned she felt the need for
some refreshments.
The other girls at her table grinned
as I led her out. Before long I got a
taxi and proceeded to a discreet lane in the harbour district, which boasted
three restaurants. I told her that the one to the left was formal and
unsuitable for a mere supper. The restaurant to the right, which served
excellent food and snacks, was not suitable for a relaxing evening. I
patronized it when I felt the need to unravel some legal issue whilst having a
quick meal. We ended up going to the remaining restaurant, which was just right
for the occasion.
When we sat down, I introduced
myself and learned that her name was Irma Schmidt. As both of us had had an
evening meal at the variété, I ordered a cheese plate and liqueurs. Before
long, Irma turned the conversation to me. I, in turn, found out that she was
employed as secretary cum receptionist by a leading commercial firm which,
actually, was a customer of our bank. It dawned on me that on some occasions
she might have answered the phone when I had rung her employer.
As prescribed by good mores, I saw
her back to her flat. Before we parted I asked her, with trepidation, whether
she would like to go out with me again. She agreed to go to a cinema later in
the week and to have an early dinner. She would come to the restaurant after
work.
Irma and I started to go steady. We
went to the theatre, to two performances of the opera and to our symphony
orchestra. On some occasions we went to a dance. Usually, I came by car, picked
her up from her office and proceeded to the functions. Still, when we were
likely to have a few drinks, I preferred to go by taxi.
After some three months, Irma told
me she was entitled to three weeks vacation. As I had not taken any breaks
during the proceeding three years, I was happy to accommodate and suggested we
travel through
Originally, we were thinking of
traversing all of Continental Europe but, before long, realised that our three
weeks were inadequate. Italy alone could easily be the destination of a four-
or five-weeks visit. In the end, we decided to stick to the Rhine and from
there proceed via
III
On the first day of our tour, we
drove all the way from
On the very next day we proceeded to
drive up the German coast of the
As we sped past the famed Lorelei,
Irma observed that – when stripped of the myth – it was similar in shape to
other rocky mountain tops. I had to agree.
We stopped for lunch in Bacharach.
The dining hall had an excellent view of the
Next day I took the wheel in the
morning and drove us via
Once we settled in the room and
unpacked our suitcases, Irma observed that a shower would do me good; she, too,
wanted to take one. When I replied that ladies ought to come first, she grinned
and suggested that we take it together. I looked at her in sheer bewilderment.
I had been intimate with girls on a number of occasions. In each case I
proceeded with the girl’s encouragement but Irma’s directness baffled me. Then,
as I regained my composure, I smiled at her appreciatively.
When I finished drying her, she
suggested – in a straightforward and unabashed manner – that it was time to go
to bed. As we lay there, relaxed and happy, I told her that I had fallen in
love with her and asked her to marry me. Holding me tightly in her arms, she
replied that she thought we were right for one another and should be able to
have a happy and harmonious marriage. Still, it was advisable to get engaged
and live together for a while. This, she told me, was the acid test. Reminding
me that I had told her that Klaus, with whom I shared a large flat, had moved
to
We had a good time in the
Kaiserstuhl, spent mainly on visiting vineyards spread throughout this charming
part of
After our sojourn in this lovely
corner of
Sensing that I was exhausted after the challenging drive, she suggested
we break our journey in the picturesque town of
Irma looked approvingly at the neat tub cum shower and told me she wanted
to take a bath. She let me dry her and then waited for me in the double bed
whilst I took a quick shower. As I held her in my arms, I felt confident that
life with her by my side would be pleasing, interesting and rewarding.
Next morning we left early and arrived in
We enjoyed our days in
Back in
My next move was to take Irma with me to a jeweler of my acquaintance. I
asked her to choose the engagement ring. Unabashed she asked me how much I
wanted to spend. She liked the Kohinoor but appreciated that it was unavailable
and, in any event, beyond our means. We ended up selecting an attractive
blue-white diamond and an imaginative setting. It was ready after five days. I
booked a table in the elegant restaurant near the harbour district to celebrate
our engagement. Irma smiled happily as I put the ring on her finger. The chief
waiter, who took our orders, recommended the
One of the subjects we discussed on that memorable day was the
acquisition of a home. I told Irma that,
in my opinion, properties were likely to go up in price. We concluded that it
would be best to acquire a cottage in an upcoming suburb. Irma emphasised that
we would need a four-room house. She wanted to have a substantial family and a
small house would become unsuitable in due course.
Luck was on our side. Before long we found a suitable place and were able
to raise the required deposit. Obtaining a mortgage was easy: my employers
wrote me a favourable reference. The
future looked bright and clear. I did not see any cloud on the horizon.
After a few months, Irma suggested we get married. In a way, the formal
wedding was an anti-climax. As both of us were brought up in protestant homes,
we opted for a church wedding followed by a modest function attended only by
close friends and relatives. Klaus, who flew up from
IV
I believe that these early years
of marriage were the happiest in my life. We went out regularly and, in due
course, acquired a circle of friends. Irma was a sound chef and, actually, I,
too, was accomplished. People liked to come over and usually invited us back
within a few weeks.
Professionally, too, I had a rewarding time. One evening I attended a
lecture in our
A few months later, when the term in his university came to an end and
was followed by a six weeks break, Peter came over again to do some work in the
Institute. On this occasion, he dealt with bills of exchange, which were no
longer in regular use in our time. His
work was devoted mainly to the historical rise and fall of the instrument and
to a comparison of its use in common and civil law countries. I was amused when
he confided that the holdings of our library were adequate even for the
updating of his common law materials.
As he came for a period of six weeks, his wife accompanied him. Irma, to
whom I told all about this emerging friendship, suggested I invite them for
dinner. Mrs. Berger turned out to be of Chinese origin. As prescribed by our
mores, they brought flowers to the hostess. Irma placed them in a vase but from
the slight surprise displayed by both her and by Peter, I sensed that these two
had met before. Mrs. Berger, too, noticed. Still, throughout the evening Irma
and Peter acted as if they had met for the first time on this occasion. I was
pleased to note that my Irma and Mrs. Berger, who asked us to call her Pat, got
on well with one another.
A few months later Peter’s University sponsored a conference on issues in
international trade. I was invited to speak and decided to take a few weeks
vacation so as to have the time to tour the region. On Peter’s recommendation
we gave a miss to
We adopted his advice, especially as Irma said she had been to both Bali
and
V
Back in
Irma had a comfortable pregnancy. To my delight, she decided to remain as
active as ever. I recall, in particular, a break we spent at
Irma stayed in our master bedroom for most months of her pregnancy. Just
four week before delivery she decided to move into her own room. In 1987 she
gave birth to a boy. We pondered about the name and, eventually, settled on
Kurt – a good traditional German name. We gave a miss to Franz because it was
borne by an uncle of mine and we had no wish to give the impression that we
were naming our boy after him. As a middle name, we opted for Karl: the German
version of Charles. We thought it right to bestow on our newborn the personal
name of Charlemagne.
Irma decided to breast feed little Kurt. For some five weeks we stayed
put. Then Irma urged me to accept an invitation for dinner in the house of
friends. We took Kurt with us in a cot and Irma went to change his nappies
during the evening. Kurt was a good baby. He cried when he sought attention
but, generally, was quiet and unassuming. I suspect that he was not aware of
his being the centre of our home.
Irma was keen to maintain an active social life. Originally, Irma’s
mother acted as babysitter. Later on, we found a young woman, who performed the
service professionally. Once we trusted her in full, we went away for weekends
and when Kurt was about two years old we took him with us on a trip to
At the beginning of 1989, Irma had her second pregnancy. This time she
had a difficult time. It turned out that she suffered from high blood pressure
and a serious bout of influenza had its adverse effect. At one stage, the
gynecologist asked Irma to consider a clinical abortion. Irma refused to hear
of it. Late in the year she delivered, prematurely, a daughter. We decided to
name her Marta: the very name borne by Irma’s mother. Kurt, who was by then
some two years old, did not feel deprived. To the contrary, he bestowed great
affection on his little sister and, I believe, took her to his heart. We saw to
it that he never felt neglected.
Like most prematurely born babies, Marta was weak. When she was but six
months old, she contracted fever and coughed. The physician was concerned and,
I believe, was relieved when she recovered. By the end of the year, Irma gave
up her job. She felt that at this stage of her life, her children’s welfare had
become the first priority. Due to Marta’s sickly disposition we did not travel
during this period. Occasionally, we invited friends but skipped invitations by
explaining that we were unable to leave home.
[EDITORIAL NOTE: For the next
few years Bruno’s diary concentrates on his children’s welfare and progress. As
this saga deals with Irma’s life and legacy, there is no point in reproducing
his words in detail. Suffice it to say that, professionally, Bruno went from
strength to strength. He was even offered a post in his bank’s headquarters
but, on consideration, decided to stay in
Kurt and
Marta were growing. Kurt finished his primary school and a gymnasium with good
grades but, to Bruno’s disappointment, decided not to go to college. Instead,
he opted for a crash course in banking and finance, which – he felt – would
enable him to acquire the knowledge needed for starting a business. Marta, who
overcame her sickly disposition and who was still in secondary school, made up
her mind to embark on Germanic Studies.
During the
entire period the Bergers visited the Steiners whenever Pat and I came to
By and large, life continued to flow smoothly. It took me a while to
overcome the disappointment I, Bruno Steiner, felt when Kurt decided to give a
miss to tertiary education. All in all, though, life went on as usual. With Irma by my side, I did not
feel that I was reaching middle age. When my wife and children celebrated my 51st
birthday, I felt bewildered.
Professionally, I gained recognition. On Peter Berger’s prompting and
with the support promised by an American friend, I let my name run for election
to an international academy of commercial and consumer law. I was elected and
was pleased to deliver a paper dealing with banking law and practice. Once
again, the bank offered me a place in its headquarters in
Then, shortly after the birthday celebration, I noticed that something
was remiss with Irma. As far as I knew, she had a strong constitution and,
except for the occasional cold or flu, she was singularly healthy. I was
therefore concerned when she started to plead headaches and from time to time
did not finish her meal. My unease grew when she started to take tablets.
Initially, I thought they might be Panadol, or some other form of paracetemol,
but I then noticed that she took them regularly.
When Irma decided to move to a spare bedroom, I felt alarmed. Her excuse
– to the effect that she suffered from bouts of insomnia – seemed artificial. I
was going to ask her bluntly about her health when one evening, when both
children were out and we dined alone, Irma showed me her medical report. She
had cancer.
When I asked whether she had taken the proposed chemotherapy medicines,
she told me that she had decided against it. The tablets she took were strong
painkillers. Recently, she had to be put on morphine.
For a while, I kept staring at the report. I had to struggle for
self-control: pain and bewilderment engulfed me. It was clear to me that, if I
had had been in Irma’s position, I should have tried to act in Irma’s manner.
Still, I felt that not many people would have had Irma’s courage. I knew that I
might have succumbed to the need to share, the need to get misery off my chest.
When, after a while, I raised my eyes, Irma was looking at me calmly but
searchingly. She looked reassured when I confided that I understood her
decision and actually admired her resolve.
For the remaining months of that horrid year, I tried my best to keep
Irma going. A long trip was ruled out. We had to ensure that medical facilities
were within easy reach. Even so, we took some risks. For instance, we spent a
weekend in Zermatt followed by a few days in
Late in 2002 Irma departed.
[EDITORIAN END NOTE: Bruno’s
diary covers his remaining years. As this tome concentrates on Irma, it is unnecessary to cover this period in detail.
My impression is that the inescapable ageing process was sped up in Bruno’s
case by Irma’s demise. It is clear from his entries that he had no wish to
remarry. He repelled all approaches, including some made by women who would
have tried to accommodate him. For a number of years he flew to Sumatra and
spent his yearly break in
In 2007 I faced my own ordeal. Pat developed a blood and
bone-marrow complaint which, to my dismay, developed into full blown leukemia,
viz. blood cancer. I did whatever I could to comfort her but in 2011 she
perished. During the years of her struggle I often rang up Bruno with whom I
shared my own sufferings. I believe that his support and counsel assisted me to
retain my presence of mind.
I am deeply
grateful to him. Shortly, after Pat’s demise I flew to
About one year later, Bruno succumbed to heart disease. He died peacefully in 2016.
His only complaint was that neither Kurt nor Marta married and that, in
consequence, he would never become a grandfather.]
KURT SUMS UP
(Narrated by Peter Berger)
(2019)
(based on conversations of Peter
Berger with Kurt)
[EDITORIAL CLARIFICATION: Did
Irma’s story come to an end with the narrative emerging from the passages
selected from Bruno’s diary? On reflections, I concluded this was not so.
Irma’s personality was bound to have had an effect on her two children: Kurt
and Marta.
To start with, I approached Marta. We had remained in
close contact although, for reasons of age, I seldom flew to
I next turned to Kurt. He had by then moved from
Originally, he was as reluctant as his sister, pointing
out that generally it was best to leave the past behind. In the end, he agreed
to have a series of chats with me provided I answered two questions related to
issues that, he felt, needed to be tackled. I agreed and, thereafter, spent a
few evening with Charles (or ‘Kurt’, as I shall continue to call him) in his
prestigious club. Wishing to convince me of his having turned himself into an
honorary Englishmen, he addressed me principally in English. I, however, was
keen to talk about events that happened during his youth. Accordingly, I kept
turning the conversation to German.
After my return to
Kurt invited me to dine with him in
his club. It was close to Piccadilly and appeared old, well established and
conservative. Over the starters served at the first dinner, we engaged in small
talk relating to Kurt’s life in
When our main courses were served, I
raised the questions I wanted to discuss.
“Yes, Uncle Peter,” he told me. “She
was a devoted mother and looked after us well.”
“Did she try to control you?”
“No, she encouraged us to be
independent. It is, of course, possible that I inherited her ‘autonomous gene’.
So, I think, did Marta. Mother, though, induced us to sort out our own
problems, often by appearing to ignore them. Still, she was always there when
needed.”
“Please give me some examples,
Kurt.”
“When I was about five years old, I
had a bad flu. Mother nursed me devotedly and, to keep me occupied, read me
passage from Wilhelm Busch’s stories; I think it was Max and Moritz. A
few years later, when both Marta and I got chickenpox, she read us stories of
the Grimm Brothers. At the same time, she did not get involved in our affairs.
I recall how I came screaming to her after a boy bullied me in school. She told
me that I had to sort these things on my own. Well, when that chap tried to
bully me again I stood my ground.”
“So, this is how she taught you to
be independent,” I observed.
“It was,” he affirmed.
“Nevertheless, she influenced our interests. For instance, she guided both of
us to the music of Bach, Beethoven and – her favourite – Franz Schubert. To
date, I can hum the tunes of his unfinished symphony. Later in life, I used to
read books she borrowed from a lending library. One of them was Sons and
Lovers; others were Franz Werfel’s Forty Days of the Musa Dagh and
Herman Hesse’s, Narcissus and Goldmund.”
“She saw to it that you had a
liberal education,” I mused.
“Don’t forget my father’s influence.
He introduced me to Russian literature. His favourites were Dostoyevsky and
Chekhov. Mother liked Tolstoy. I developed a liking for Gogol. His Dead
Souls is outstanding. I have read it many times. What a pity he destroyed
the second volume.”
“Did you tell her you did not intend
to go to college?”
“I was only 15 years old when she
had her final struggle. But, yes, I had made up my mind by then and told her.”
“Did she remonstrate with you?” I
wanted to know.
“No. She didn’t. She did ask what
had prompted me to give tertiary education a miss. When I explained that I was
fed up with a regime of cramming and of examinations, she nodded her approval.”
“Did she persuade you to take
lessons in music?”
“Both she and father were pleased
when I opted for the violin. Marta preferred dancing. In this regard, she
followed in mother’s footsteps. She also took piano lessons. Like mother, she
admired Chopin and List. Occasionally, mother played Waltzes and we – I mean
Marta and I – danced. On some occasions, father played the piano and I danced
with mother. She enjoyed it!”
“What did Irma think about Marta’s
friendship with Gerda?”
“Well, when mother passed away,
Marta was only 13 years old. At this stage the two girls enjoyed a mere
friendship. I believe it became a romance a few years later. My guess, though,
is that mother would not have objected to it. As you know, Gerda and Marta
started to live openly together only about one year ago. I believe mother would
have accepted the liaison without question. She would have felt that Marta had
to plan her own life. Mother was not a prude.”
“I know this; and I think your
assessment is correct. How about your father?”
“I think he would have liked to have
had grandchildren. As you know, I have remained single and Marta’s orientation
indicated that she, too, would be childless. Still, when Marta told the two of
us that Gerda and she were contemplating adoption, he expressed strong views,
Uncle Peter.”
“I suspect he told her that the only
justification for an adoption was the child’s need. I think he would have
doubted the wisdom of adopting a child so as to satisfy the fosters’ needs.”
“Spot on,” confirmed Kurt. “He did,
however, refrain from expressing any view about same sex relationships.”
“He would,” I agreed. “He was
liberally minded. Actually, my own views are similar.”
At this stage, the waiter came to
clear the table. Knowing that I was a diabetic, Kurt asked me to order a cheese
platter. He also offered a liqueur. He did not bat an eye when I asked for a
cognac although he, himself, asked for a glass of port.
We had our next dinner after two
days. Kurt rejected my offer to host it and insisted on our going back to his
club. Once again, we talked about current events during our starters. When the
main courses were served, I assumed the courage to ask Kurt why he had remained
single.
“That’s simple, Uncle Peter. I
thought I had found the right girl. I proposed but she preferred a good friend
of mine. She is happily married to him. I had a number of affairs but did not
find another girl I wanted to marry.”
“It’s getting late in the day.
Before long you will be 50 years old,” I pointed out.
“Quite so,” he agreed and shrugged
his shoulders. “In all probability, I shall remain and old bachelor: a Yunggeselle.”
“Are you trying to find a girl who
resembles your late mother?”
“Not really. I should have preferred
a girl who was more docile and less impulsive than mother. But, Uncle Peter,
don’t you realise that, in the end, it is all a question of luck?”
“Please explain yourself.”
“Well, suppose father had not gone
for the outing at which he met mother. Would he have chanced on her?”
“I see what you mean,” I conceded,
thinking to myself that, if I had not gone for a walk on the
“I’m glad you agree. Actually,
suppose a boy lives in
“I’m told that nowadays many matches
take place on the basis of internet dating.”
“True. But even in such cases there
is an element of luck. Two suitable
people may never meet on the internet
because they use different networks.”
“I have to agree. Actually, the very
nature of an individual is fortuitous: it depends on the genes on the sperm
which fertilizes the ovum. Bear in mind that Einstein’s parents were ordinary
people. His genius is largely the outcome of the moment of conception.”
“Quite so, Uncle Peter. Take Marta
and me: we are the offspring of the same couple but, actually, are very
different people!”
“In what manner?”
“Well, I am an extrovert and Marta
is introverted.”
“Is this not an outcome of your home
life?”
“To a certain extent it is. As you
know, we attended the same unisex primary school. Marta was by two years my
junior and so of another batch than mine. Still, right from the start, I acted
as her protector, especially during intervals between classes. This underscored
my extroverted nature; she was shy and retiring. You are right in thinking that
a great deal depended on the respective genes which we inherited. And these
depended on an incident at the mating moment. Still, environmental factors
contributed to the shaping of our personalities.”
“I agree, Kurt. And, yes, Marta and
you are very different individuals.”
The waiter appeared once again. At
Kurt’s suggestion I ordered a cheese platter but decided to give a miss to the
cognac. Kurt ordered a
Our final dinner took place just
before the end of my stay in
“Well, Uncle Peter, Marta and I have
concluded that mother and you met before she got engaged to father.”
“You are observant,” I conceded and
then told him all about my encounter in
“In a way, you acted out of
character, Uncle. Didn’t you?”
“I did, rather,” I confirmed.
“Usually, I would have ignored an inviting glance. To start with, I took the
marriage oath seriously. Further, I would have feared that, if I went ahead, I
should be encountered by the girl’s strong-arm man, who would ‘invite’ me to
sign an IOU.”
“Why, then, did you proceed on this
occasion?”
“Darned if I know! Just for once, I
let me instincts prevail.”
“And normally, you would be guided
by your rational mind and, I suspect, by any ensuing inhibitions – if this is
the right word.”
“Actually, it is; and your analysis
is sound. Bear in mind that, at that time, my marriage became a difficult one.
Have Marta and you discussed this aspect?”
“No, we haven’t. You see, Uncle
Peter, we didn’t figure out when you became unhappy at home. You see, we simply
concluded that mother and you had met; but we were unable to work out where and
when. Marta thought you might have met at a party. She will be surprised to
have the full facts; that is, if you have no objection to my telling her.”
“I don’t; you can tell her.”
“Your remained grateful to mother
for many years after.”
“True. You see, Kurt, my late wife
complained that I was unable … to make her happy. I felt unfulfilled and
diminished. My encounter with your late mother established that it was not
really my … H’m … fault. It takes two to Tango. Chemistry works only if both
parties … meet. You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“I do, Uncle Peter. Actually, now
all is clear. I have finally grasped why you romanticized mother for many
years. I believe she took you out of a morass.”
“Didn’t she ever,” I voiced my
agreement.
We had by then taken our main
courses. Kurt offered me a cheese platter and a cognac. I told him that I did
not feel like eating anything else and asked for a whisky.
“As a young lecturer in
“You look as if you could do with a
sip. I’ll see if they have any Malt Whiskey.”
The pungent drink revived me. I had
been feeling weak and desolate during our chat.
“Look here, Uncle Peter: I know you
are tired. But I want to raise the second question. Would you rather leave it
for another time?”
“Not really,” I told him. “Just let
me have one more drink.”
“Look here, Uncle,” said Kurt after
I had gulped down the second whisky, “Marta and I felt certain that you got
mother in touch with the trust company. I should like to know whether you were
also familiar with mother’s condition.”
“I was,” I confirmed and narrated my
last lunch with Irma.
“Did you try to convince her to take
the chemotherapy pills?”
“No, Kurt, I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“To start with she showed me the
doctor’s report, which was seven months old by then. I knew the cancer would
have spread and that the prognosis was poor, very poor. But there was another
reason. I sensed that Irma had made up her mind. I saw no point in arguing with
her.”
“Actually, what did you feel?”
“My initial reaction was shock. I
had been aware that your mother needed advice; but I had hoped she would
discuss some investments. Her precarious condition came as a blow. I then felt
dismayed.”
“For mother?”
“For her and for Bruno. I knew that
Irma was the gamut of his life. I feared for him.”
“Did she swear you to secrecy?”
“No, Kurt. Irma knew I would not
talk. You see, she understood my nature; understood it well.”
For a while both of us held our
peace. There was nothing further to relate. Then I broke the silence:
“Did your father ever get over her
demise? I suspect he never recovered.”
“He didn’t, Uncle Peter. Mother was
his entire world. He became a morose old man.”
“I know,” I confirmed.
Kurt drove me back to my hotel. On
the way we reverted to Bruno. I knew he had remained with his bank for a few
years. He then opted for early retirement. During his years of service, he had acquired a
number of investment properties as well as dividend yielding shares. He lived
comfortably on the ensuing income.
Apologetically,
I reminded Kurt that for four long years – starting at 2007 – I had to cope
with my own ordeal: Pat’s prolonged sickness. During that period, I had little
time to spare and was unable to fly over to
“I know, Uncle Peter. You had a
tough time. Furthermore, your love for Auntie Pat was long over.”
“It was, Kurt. I simply fulfilled my
obligations as spouse. It was not easy. Towards the end Pat became paranoid; I
had to take a flat in
“I believe, Uncle, that Auntie Pat
was a nice woman. Regrettably, you were not suited to one another: chalk and
cheese, as they say.”
“True,” I conceded. “The end was sad
but – all in all – it was a release.”
Kurt drove on. He then asked whether
I intended to stop in
“That was my intention, Kurt. But I
am too tired. In two days I fly directly back to
“Have they called on you before?”
“They did, rather. They stopped in
“I thought that people of your
generation looked askance on such unions.”
“Some do. I have come to the
conclusion that any happy union is good!”
“I agree,” said Kurt. He then told
me that Marta and he corresponded sporadically. She looked him up whenever she
came to
“Do you like Gerda?” I wanted to
know.
“I do, Uncle. She is a sport. But
tell me, what are you doing tomorrow?”
“I want to see the new production of
An Inspector Calls. I’ve seen the play years ago and am curious to see
the new interpretation of the once controversial play. The day after I have to
take my flight.”
“I should have liked to drive you to
the airport but have a really busy day. I’ll see that my driver accompanies
you.”
Two days later I boarded a flight to
P O S T S C R I P T
(by Peter Berger)
(2022)
Back in
Just a few weeks after my flight
back to base, the World Health Organisation declared that Covid-19 constituted
a pandemic. It was common knowledge that cases took place prior to this. The
general view, though, had been that the disease would subside or run its course
within a few weeks or perhaps three or four months. Regrettably, it went on for
years.
The pandemic had far reaching
effects on both Marta and Kurt. It will be recalled that Marta and Gerda had
moved to
In Gerda’s case the infection was
not severe. She recovered after ten days. Marta, alas, had a bad bout. She had
to be hospitalized and spent a number of days in the Intensive Care Unit. When
she recovered, it turned out that her enterprise was adversely affected by her
ordeal. To start with, she lost some customers. In addition, prices plummeted.
Undoubtedly, the top class items retained their value and remained sought
after. Usually, though, these were auctioned by well known houses. Marta dealt
mainly in second tier items and the market for those underwent a nosedive.
To keep themselves afloat, Marta
sold some of her museum quality pieces. Her earnings, though, were inadequate.
At this stage Gerda became the main bread winner. As an ‘executive secretary’ (whatever this may
mean) she commanded a good salary. As the two girls decided not to travel or
take expensive breaks, they continued to live comfortably though not as
lavishly as before.
Their plans to visit me had to be
shelved. We communicated by emails and by occasional telephone calls placed
through a facility known as WhatsApp. Regrettably, these became sporadic. I
sensed that the geographical distance played a role. Still, I bought a few good
items from Marta. One of them is a replica of a dog. It is beautiful and –
unlike real pets – does not require attention and feeding.
Kurt profiteered from the pandemic.
Years before the outbreak, he had bought shares that skyrocketed in the
disaster’s wake. He sold them and, although he was still relatively young
decided to retire and return to the German speaking world. On my advice, he
opted for
When the pandemic seemed to ease,
the world had another crisis.
There have been unsuccessful
attempts to stop the conflict. Tragically, the Russians bombarded many
Ukrainian towns and led to the escape of millions of civilians, who became
refugees. Some of them were children, whose parents perished in the mayhem.
Gerda, whose grandparents had
migrated to
The total amount acquired by Marta
was utilized for the foundation of an orphanage for Ukrainian children, named
The Kurt Steiner Home. By June 2022 the Foundation acquired a roomy house in
On my prompting, Marta and Gerda
engaged two language teachers, so as to assist the children to acquire a good
command of German and a reading knowledge of English. I do believe that
children assigned to this orphanage have every chance for a good life and
career. The two women are taking good care of all in their charge. In reality,
they too have benefited: their maternal instincts have been satisfied.
The two girls spent their breaks
mainly in
Marta and Gerda rang me frequently
at the stage of the planning and of the construction of the orphanage. My
advanced age ruled out my attendance at the formal launching of the facility.
My heart, though, was there.
Late in April, they initiated a
video call to celebrate my eighty ninth birthday. It was a pleasant occasion
and I was glad to see them. Then, as my glance fell on Gerda, my vision
blurred: for just a moment I saw another face.
“What happened to you, Uncle Peter?”
asked a startled Marta. “You look as if you had seen a ghost.”
“Marta is right, Peter,” agreed
Gerda. “You were looking at me but I think you saw someone else, didn’t you?”
“I did, rather,” I mumbled when I
found my voice. “A hallucination, undoubtedly.”
“Who appeared, Uncle Peter?” asked
Marta.
“Actually, was it the face of
Marta’s mother?” persisted Gerda when I felt unable to answer coherently.
“It was,” I conceded. “For just a
moment Irma appeared in front of my eyes.”
“I understand,” volunteered Gerda.
“And perhaps it was not sheer coincidence.”
“Please, explain yourself,” I
entreated.
“You see, I thrive to take as much
care of Marta as Irma took of Bruno and of friends she met before her path
crossed with his.”
“Spot on,” I told her. “As said by
the Ecclesiast: “That which has been, is that which shall be … and there is
nothing new under the sun [Ecc. 1:9].”
“What do you mean?” asked a
perplexed Gerda.
“You see, many years ago a cycle – a
ripple in a pond – was triggered off by my encounter with Irma. She left her
mark on me and others; and now – many years thereafter – your own devotion to
her daughter and to your charges brings the story to its end.”
“You may be right, dear Uncle
Peter,” summed up Marta.
Gerda nodded and gently replaced the
receiver.
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