Winter of the World

Jazz records were banned because most of the best musicians were Negroes. The Nazis had to denigrate anything that was done well by non-Aryans: it threatened their theories of superiority. Unfortunately for them, Germans loved jazz just as much as everyone else. People who visited other countries brought records home, and you could buy them from American sailors in Hamburg. There was a lively black market.

Werner had lots of discs, of course. He had everything: a car, modern clothes, cigarettes, money. He was still Carla’s dream boy, though he always went for girls older than she – women, really. Everyone assumed he went to bed with them. Carla was a virgin.

Werner’s earnest friend Heinrich von Kessel immediately came up to them and started to dance with Frieda. He wore a black jacket and waistcoat, which looked dramatic with his longish dark hair. He was devoted to Frieda. She liked him – she enjoyed talking to clever men – but she would not go out with him because he was too old, twenty-five or twenty-six.

Soon a boy Carla did not know came and danced with her, and the evening was off to a good start.

She abandoned herself to the music: the irresistible sexual drumbeat, the suggestively crooned lyrics, the exhilarating trumpet solos, the joyous flight of the clarinet. She whirled and kicked, let her skirt flare outrageously high, fell into the arms of her partner and sprang out again.

When they had danced for an hour or so Werner put on a slow tune. Frieda and Heinrich began dancing cheek to cheek. There was no one available whom Carla liked enough for slow dancing, so she left the room and went to get a Coke. Germany was not at war with America so Coca-Cola syrup was imported and bottled in Germany.

To her surprise, Werner followed her out, leaving someone else to put on records for a while. She was flattered that the most attractive man in the room wanted to talk to her.

She told him about Kurt being moved to Akelberg, and Werner said the same thing had happened to his brother, Axel, who was fifteen. Axel had been born with spina bifida. ‘Could the same treatment work for both of them?’ he said with a frown.

‘I doubt it, but I don’t really know,’ Carla said.

‘Why is it that medical men never explain what they’re doing?’ Werner said irritably.

She laughed humourlessly. ‘They think that if ordinary people understand medicine they won’t hero-worship doctors any longer.’

‘Same principle as a conjurer: it’s more impressive if you don’t know how it’s done,’ said Werner. ‘Doctors are as egocentric as anyone else.’

‘More so,’ said Carla. ‘As a nurse, I know.’

She told him about the leaflet she had read on the train. Werner said: ‘How did you feel about it?’

Carla hesitated. It was dangerous to speak honestly about such things. But she had known Werner all her life, he had always been left-wing, and he was a Swing Kid. She could trust him. She said: ‘I’m pleased someone is opposing the Nazis. It shows that not all Germans are paralysed by fear.’

‘There are lots of things you can do against the Nazis,’ he said quietly. ‘Not just wearing lipstick.’

She assumed he meant she could distribute such leaflets. Could he be involved in such activity? No, he was too much of a playboy. Heinrich might be different: he was very intense.

‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m too scared.’

They finished their Cokes and returned to the storeroom. It was packed, now, with hardly room enough to dance.

To Carla’s surprise, Werner asked her for the last dance. He put on Bing Crosby singing ‘Only Forever’. Carla was thrilled. He held her close and they swayed, rather than danced, to the slow ballad.

At the end, by tradition, someone turned off the light for a minute, so that couples could kiss. Carla was embarrassed: she had known Werner since they were children. But she had always been attracted to him, and now she turned her face up eagerly. As she had expected, he kissed her expertly, and she returned the kiss with enthusiasm. To her delight she felt his hand gently grasp her breast. She encouraged him by opening her mouth. Then the light came on and it was all over.

‘Well,’ she said breathlessly, ‘that was a surprise.’

He gave his most charming smile. ‘Perhaps I can surprise you again some time.’

(ii)

Carla was passing through the hall, on her way to the kitchen for breakfast, when the phone rang. She picked up the handset. ‘Carla von Ulrich.’

She heard Frieda’s voice. ‘Oh, Carla, my little brother’s dead!’

‘What?’ Carla could hardly believe it. ‘Frieda, I’m so sorry! Where did it happen?’

‘In that hospital.’ Frieda was sobbing.

Carla recalled Werner telling her that Axel had been sent to the same Akelberg hospital as Kurt. ‘How did he die?’

‘Appendicitis.’