The Undertaking Page 3

  ‘I’ll go and see what there is.’

  He lit a cigarette and looked through the dawn light at the room, at the sagging curtains and the cheap, functional dressing table. His parents’ furniture was old and ornate, passed from one generation to the next.

  She returned with a hot drink and bread.

  ‘It’s not the real coffee. Father must have taken it to his room. He’s very protective of anything given by Dr Weinart.’

  ‘Who is Dr Weinart?’

  ‘I’m not really sure. I know they were together in the last war. I haven’t met him.’

  Faber drank.

  ‘My God, Katharina. It’s disgusting.’

  ‘They say that if you think of it as coffee, then it tastes like coffee.’

  ‘I’m not that bloody mad. Not yet anyway. We get better than this on the front.’

  ‘I suppose that’s a good thing. You need it more than we do.’

  ‘It is until I get leave.’

  He set down the cup and plate and pulled her to him.

  ‘So, you were telling me what you were like as a girl.’

  ‘Yes, and I was so interesting that you fell asleep.’

  He nuzzled his face into her hair.

  ‘I am so sorry, Katharina Spinell. I will not fall asleep again. Now, tell me what were you like?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was always good, but my mother adores my brother.’

  He dropped his head onto the pillow and snored. She laughed and slapped him on the arm.

  ‘You’re so unfair to me,’ she said.

  He kissed her.

  ‘So you were a daddy’s girl?’

  ‘I suppose so. And you?’

  ‘I was never a daddy’s girl.’

  They laughed, and he kissed her on the cheeks and lips, moving to her neck.

  ‘And you, Peter Faber?’

  ‘All I have done is march. Left right, left right. Youth movement, war, pack on my back – it’s all I have done so far in my life.’

  She kissed his lips, his cheeks.

  ‘You must have done something else,’ she said.

  He slipped his hand under her nightdress.

  ‘Let me see if there is anything else I can remember.’

  He ran his hands over her bottom, stomach and breasts.

  ‘I’m remembering,’ he said.

  She opened the buttons of her brother’s pyjamas and fingered his chest.

  ‘We need to fatten you up a bit, Mr Faber.’

  He took off the pyjamas and pushed up her nightdress.

  ‘You do that, Katharina Spinell. Turn me into a doctor’s fat son.’

  They giggled and she parted her legs.

  ‘Next time I’ll bring you flowers and chocolates,’ he said.

  ‘I only like dark chocolate. And white flowers.’

  ‘You’re a very fussy woman, Mrs Faber.’

  ‘I’m very particular, Mr Faber.’

  When it was fully bright outside, she pulled a robe over her nakedness and went to the kitchen.

  ‘Katharina, you should dress for breakfast,’ said Mrs Spinell.

  ‘I’m not staying.’

  ‘You have to eat breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll take food back to Peter.’

  ‘Sit down and have yours first.’

  ‘No, I’ll take mine too. Is there any ham?’

  ‘Hopefully later today.’

  Her father put down his newspaper.

  ‘Be a good girl, Katharina, and do as your mother asks.’

  She moved towards the hob.

  ‘How did you sleep, Mother?’

  ‘Not very well. Your bed is very small.’

  ‘I’ve been saying that for years. It’s a child’s bed, Mother.’

  ‘You’re still my child, Katharina.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Mother.’

  Mr Spinell rustled the newspaper.

  ‘Fetch Peter and have breakfast with us,’ said Mr Spinell.

  ‘He would rather eat in the room, Father.’

  ‘Your mother has set the table for you both.’

  ‘I’ll take the tray.’

  She hummed to discourage further interference, loaded coffee, cheese and bread onto the tray and went back to the room. Faber was waiting for her, smiling, tugging at her robe as she set down the tray, sliding it off her as she poured coffee. Dr Weinart’s coffee. He buried himself in her.

  He sat again on the chair under the light and she, humming, picked lice from his hair.

  ‘I should cut it,’ she said.

  ‘Are you any good?’

  ‘Would you notice?’

  She cut the fringe dangling from his receding hairline, and sheared the back of his head with her father’s clippers. She wiped the loose hairs from his neck and face, kissed him and left the room. She returned with a basin of steaming water.

  ‘You will want for nothing,’ he said.

  ‘All I want is to be away from my parents.’

  ‘I’ll buy a big house with a garden.’

  ‘How, as a teacher?’

  ‘I’ll find a way.’

  She knelt in front of him, lifted and lowered his right foot, then his left, into the water, splashing his shins and calves, rubbing her hands over his ankles and heels, over his bruises and calluses, squeezing and releasing the flesh of each toe until she could feel the weight of his fatigue. She dried each foot and led him to bed, tucking him between the still-damp sheets. She went back to the kitchen.

  ‘He’s exhausted,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Mother?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Fine, then.’

  Mrs Spinell stabbed at a potato with her rusting peeler.

  ‘This is not a hotel, Katharina.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘Fine, then.’

  ‘Fine, what?’

  ‘A little more decorum and respect for your parents would be appreciated.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘Dinner will be at six, Katharina.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  At dinner, they held hands beneath the table, tangled feet and answered any questions put to them. When it was over, he undressed her under the bedroom light and gently unpicked the pins from her hair, watching as each lock fell the length of her unblemished back.

  The following evening, after dinner, Mr Spinell insisted that Faber accompany him to the city centre.

  ‘Dr Weinart will be there.’

  ‘But we had plans, Father.’

  ‘Peter needs to meet the doctor before he goes back, Katharina.’

  Faber took her brother’s coat, but walked a little behind her father through silent, shuttered streets. Mr Spinell halted in front of the opera house, its damage almost fully repaired.

  ‘You see, Faber, we are invincible. Anything they bomb, we fix.’

  They walked down steps into a fuggy warmth of men. Faber stood at the edge of the crowd, envying its drunkenness. Mr Spinell disappeared for some time and returned with four tankards of beer.

  ‘Get stuck in, Faber.’

  They toasted Katharina, and Faber was soon surrounded by men in brown uniform, all older than he, lauding his efforts at Kiev.

  ‘You remind us of ourselves,’ said Mr Spinell, ‘only we want you to do better. To hammer them all this time.’

  ‘I can’t do any worse.’

  They laughed, raised their glasses and drank. Dr Weinart joined them.

  ‘Your father-in-law has told me all about you, Mr Faber. It’s an honourable thing you have done.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Marrying Miss Spinell. Securing the future of our nation.’

  ‘We are very happy, Dr Weinart.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  The doctor sipped from his small glass of beer.

  ‘You have chosen a good family, Mr Faber. Mr Spinell works very hard for me, and I hugely appreciate his support.’

  ‘I
’m glad.’

  ‘So the next thing, Mr Faber, is to find you some work. Good, useful work.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘What are your interests?’

  ‘I’m a teacher.’

  ‘I know that, just like your father.’

  ‘And my grandfather.’

  ‘A fine tradition, but you can break free if you want to.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Decide for yourself. It is your life, Mr Faber. Not your father’s. Or your grandfather’s.’

  Faber drew from his tankard.

  ‘Have you anything in mind?’

  ‘Berlin will soon be the centre of the world, Mr Faber.’

  ‘Indeed it will, Dr Weinart,’ said Mr Spinell.

  ‘We will need to educate our new empire, to communicate to our new citizens what it is to be a true German.’

  ‘So not farming?’

  Dr Weinart laughed.

  ‘You don’t look like a farmer to me.’

  ‘Mr Spinell thought that I could be turned into one.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘I still hold out hope, Dr Weinart.’

  They all laughed.

  ‘Will I be well paid?’

  ‘You’ll be looked after.’

  ‘Enough for a house and garden?’

  ‘We take good care of our own, Mr Faber.’

  The speeches began and Faber moved away to stand by the wall. Dr Weinart, his black uniform impeccably pressed, came and stood beside him.

  ‘You need some more time with us, Faber. I’ll have your leave extended.’

  ‘You can do that?’

  ‘I’ll get you another week. Ten days, maybe, so that you can come out with us. Let me buy more beer.’

  Faber toasted Dr Weinart, drank and joined in the singing, and the shouting.

  5

  They took the train to the Darmstadt house hidden from the road by a dense laurel hedge. His mother rushed at him, hugging him and chiding him for the surprise. She straightened her skirt and hair when she caught sight of Katharina.

  ‘Excuse me, I’m Peter’s mother. I had no idea that he was home.’

  ‘Mother, this is my wife, Katharina Spinell.’

  Mrs Faber snorted.

  ‘Is this a joke, Peter?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’d better come in. I’ll make some coffee. Your father will be home soon.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘We’ll use the living room.’

  She went before them, hurrying to open the curtains.

  ‘It’s a beautiful room,’ said Katharina.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My mother keeps the curtains drawn to protect the furniture from the sun.’

  ‘And the books, Peter,’ said his mother.

  ‘It works,’ said Katharina. ‘Everything’s perfect.’

  ‘Like a museum,’ said Faber.

  ‘You’re being rude,’ said his mother.

  ‘Don’t think of doing this in our house, Katharina. I want the sun in every room.’

  Faber looked around. Nothing had changed. It never did. He led Katharina to the sofa, sat her down, kissed her, and followed his mother into the kitchen.

  ‘You should have told us, Peter. Warned us.’

  ‘It was all very sudden, Mother.’

  She stood on the tips of her toes to take down the fine china.

  ‘But who is she? How do you know her?’

  ‘I met her through a marriage bureau.’

  ‘What? Have you gone mad, Peter?’

  ‘It meant I got leave. To come home. To be here.’

  ‘And you married for that? A complete stranger?’

  ‘I really like her.’

  ‘Oh, thank God. Your father’s home.’

  His father put his satchel on the counter as he always did, and hugged his son. Mrs Faber talked quietly to her husband.

  ‘It’s a stunt, Peter,’ he said. ‘A Nazi breeding stunt.’

  ‘It’s a deal, Father. Nothing more. And it’s worked out. You’ll really like her.’

  Mr Faber picked up the tray and carried it into the living room, followed by Mrs Faber holding the coffee pot and their son carrying a plate of still-warm shortbread. Katharina stood as they walked in, saluted, and reached out her hand. His parents shook it, but sat down before their guest.

  ‘Katharina lives in Berlin,’ he said. ‘I think that I’ll move there after the war.’

  Mr Faber’s two large, soft hands rose to his face, hovered momentarily in front of his eyes, but moved on through his hair.

  ‘Your job is here, Peter. Your life. Your career. What would you do in Berlin?’

  ‘Katharina’s father will help find me a job. He has contacts. Good political ones.’

  ‘You don’t need the help of politicians to be a good teacher, Peter,’ said Mr Faber.

  ‘I might not teach any more. Not conventionally, anyway.’

  Mr Faber’s derisive laugh startled even his wife.

  ‘All teaching is conventional, Peter. That’s how it works.’

  ‘It’ll be different from classroom teaching. I’ll be teaching the nation.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Germany. Its future.’

  His father sat back into his chair, silent as he drank his coffee.

  ‘Excuse me, young lady – I’m sorry I don’t even know your name,’ said Mr Faber.

  ‘Katharina. Katharina Spinell.’

  ‘Miss Spinell, my son—’

  ‘Mrs Faber, Father. Mrs Faber.’

  ‘Katharina. My son appears to have lost his way. It can happen. War can challenge the mind as vigorously as it can the body.’

  ‘I don’t think that applies here, Father.’

  ‘Since he was a child, Peter has wanted to be a teacher, to work in the same school as his father and grandfather.’

  ‘That has all changed now,’ said Peter, kissing his wife’s hand.

  ‘I don’t see why. Did something happen, Peter?’

  ‘I’m married, Father. I have a different life ahead.’

  ‘I married, Peter, and it changed nothing.’

  ‘My wife is very beautiful.’

  ‘And your mother wasn’t?’

  The train back was almost empty, so she stretched across the seat and placed her head on his lap. He draped his coat over her and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. When they reached Berlin, he nuzzled at her ear, whispering her awake.

  Her mother had kept dinner for them, potato and vegetable soup, which they ate in the kitchen until her father came home.

  ‘Where’s your mother?’

  ‘Bed.’

  ‘Fine. You may go, too, Katharina. I need your husband tonight.’

  ‘What for?’ said Katharina.

  ‘Dr Weinart wants him.’

  Faber jumped into the back of a truck filled with men in brown uniform. They passed a uniform to him. It was too short, but he pulled it on anyway and sat as silently as the other men. The truck stopped at the top of a wide tree-lined street and the men got out, the doctor emerging from the front cab. He shook Faber’s hand.

  ‘Thank you for joining us, Mr Faber.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You take that house over there. Number seventy-one.’

  ‘What do I do with it?’

  ‘Just get in.’

  Faber went, knocked at the door and pushed the doorbell. He received no reply, and returned to Dr Weinart.

  ‘There’s nobody home.’

  ‘They’re in there, Faber.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  He lifted the brass knocker and slammed it heavily against the door. He shouted through the keyhole, but the house inside remained still.

  ‘Maybe they’ve gone out, Dr Weinart.’

  ‘There’s nowhere for them to go, Faber.’

  ‘We could come back later.’

  The doctor snorted.

  ‘Get in there, Faber.’<
br />
  ‘How?’

  ‘Jesus Christ, you’re a soldier, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not this kind of soldier.’

  ‘Move, or I’ll ship you out with those fucking Jews.’

  The doctor blew his whistle. Six men carrying a telegraph pole charged the width of the street and battered at the door until it splintered, cracked and finally imploded. Faber stepped over the debris and hurried up the stairs after the doctor and his father-in-law.

  ‘Do as I do, Faber,’ said Mr Spinell. ‘And make sure the doctor sees you doing it.’

  They found them, two old men, three women and four children behind a false wall under the stairs. Faber put his gun to their backs and marched them into a truck parked under darkened street lamps.

  The following nights, he smashed soup tureens and china clocks, irritated that he had to leave Katharina to drag snivelling children from attics and cellars. He shouted and screamed at them, struck their legs and backs with the butt of his gun, slapped them across the face when they took too long moving down the stairs, more comfortable with howls of hatred than pleas for mercy.

  Katharina was always waiting for him afterwards, always warm. On the seventh day, as the sun rose, he took a wide band of wedding gold from an old woman. Later he slipped it on his wife’s finger.

  ‘I need you, Katharina.’

  They built a routine for themselves, the young married couple; they spent mornings in bed, and afternoons in the park, always on the same bench overlooking the lake.

  ‘I think that we should have four children,’ he said.

  ‘Two boys and two girls.’

  ‘But no traditional names. Or family names. We’re starting everything again, Katharina. Doing it our way.’

  He spent nights with Dr Weinart, moving across Berlin, while she stayed home, humming, singing, twisting the wedding band on her finger.

  6

  He folded her brother’s pyjamas and tucked them under the pillow, his back to Katharina as she pinned up her hair.

  ‘Do you promise me you’ll come back?’ she said.

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘How can I be sure?’

  He pulled on his socks and boots, and went to her.

  ‘You stink,’ she said.

  ‘Your mother likes disinfectant.’

  ‘Leaving as you arrived.’

  He kissed her.

  ‘I’ll be back, Katharina. Just wait for me.’

  ‘I’ll be here. In this room. This bed.’

  They went to the kitchen and sat down to breakfast with her parents.

  ‘He’ll be back sooner than you think, Katharina,’ said her father. ‘There’s not long left in this.’