Two Brothers

The Adopted Son Berlin, 1935

IT WAS VERY late when Otto returned home having, it seemed to him, almost floated across Berlin on a cloud of happiness, descending to earth only once in order to dispose of the buttons in a great mound of horse shit on Köpenicker Strasse.

It was late but to Otto’s surprise, Wolfgang, Frieda and Paulus were still up.

They were waiting for him.

His family.

‘About bloody time,’ Paulus snapped. ‘Mum and Dad want to talk to us and they won’t tell me what it’s about on my own so we’ve had to wait for you and I haven’t been able to study all evening.’

‘I’m heartbroken, mate,’ Otto said. ‘Oh, by the way, Dagmar’s agreed to be my girl. Sorry but that’s how it goes.’

Whatever Paulus had been thinking about his mother’s strange behaviour he forgot it at once in the face of this terrible pronouncement.

‘You’re lying!’

‘Ask her if you like,’ Otto replied. ‘Ring her, she’ll be up.’

The devastation on Paulus’s face made Otto wish he hadn’t put it so bluntly, but then he knew there was never going to be any easy way to say it.

Paulus got out of his chair; he looked close to tears.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ he said, trying to sound calm. ‘Whatever it is you want to say will have to keep. I’m tired, I’m going to bed.’

Frieda smiled. A sad smile.

‘No, Pauly,’ she said, ‘you have to stay. I want to talk to you both. You’ll have to fight about Dagmar another time.’

‘Fight’s over,’ Otto said smugly. ‘I’ve won.’

Perhaps it was the word ‘fight’ that gave Frieda pause for thought. She had been so intent on what she needed to say that she had not noticed Otto’s dishevelled appearance.

‘Where have you been, Ottsy?’

‘Out,’ Otto replied.

‘Is that blood on your shirt?’ Frieda asked, fear starting in her eyes.

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

Paulus knew. ‘You’ve done it, haven’t you?’

Otto merely shrugged.

‘Done what, Otto!’ Frieda asked with rising alarm. ‘Tell me what you’ve done.’

Otto did not reply but instead went and grabbed some bread and put the kettle on the gas. Frieda turned to Paulus.

‘What’s he done, Pauly?’ she said. ‘You obviously know.’

Now it was Paulus’s turn to shrug.

‘Him and his mates said they were going to mug a storm trooper. I suppose they must have done it.’

‘Thanks,’ Otto said, putting beef dripping on his bread. ‘Big mouth, eh?’

‘You’d have boasted about it in the end anyway,’ Paulus replied. ‘Just like you’ve obviously been boasting to Dagmar.’

‘Oh, Ottsy,’ Frieda said.

‘Well what if I did! I’m proud of it! We slapped those bastards about a bit and made them squeal like the cowards they are. And next time I’m going to do one on my own. Man to man. I’ll kill him too. I only didn’t kill one tonight because Paulus bloody begged me—’

‘I didn’t beg you, mate!’ Paulus snapped. ‘I told you you’ll make it worse for all of us!’

‘How? How can it be any worse? We’re not even citizens any more. We get spat at on buses! Pushed out of shops. Kicked and punched every day. Our girls are insulted and worse. We can’t join anything, we can’t go anywhere! They’re taking everything away from us! Everything!’

‘Keep your voice down, you stupid bastard,’ Paulus hissed.

Wolfgang and Frieda were sitting at the table in silence as Otto and Paulus traded harsh words.

‘Yeah that’s right, Pauly, whisper! Whisper in your own home! Don’t you see? We’re crawling! They are making us Jews crawl. Well this Jew ain’t crawling any more! I made Dagmar smile tonight because I took a bit of revenge for her dad. When did you last see her smile? We have to stand up for ourselves. Nobody’s going to help us Jews. Everybody hates us even in the countries that pretend they don’t! Only Jews can help Jews!’

Otto had taken his flick-knife from his pocket. He was brandishing it as he spoke. ‘I’m sick of this,’ he said. ‘I’m going out.’

‘Otto!’ Frieda said, her tone demanding silence. ‘Don’t you dare leave this house. You have to listen to me. We have to talk.’

Otto stopped. The boys glanced at each other and then looked at their mother. Something was up. They fell silent.

‘Yes, Mum?’ Otto said almost contritely.

Frieda looked at him steadily. The time had come.

‘Ottsy, baby. Darling boy… darling son. You’re not a Jew.’

Both boys stared at her for a moment.

Paulus was the first to speak.

‘What?’ he said. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Mum?’ Then his voice brightened. ‘Hey! Have you found us a goy in the family records! Wow, Mum, are we Mischlinge? Some Mischlinge can still use the swimming pools!’

Frieda shook her head sadly. ‘I’m not talking about you, Pauly. Or your father and me. I’m talking about Ottsy. I’m sorry, darling. I never wanted it to come out like this.’

‘What? What to come out?’ Again it was Paulus who asked. Otto was still silent.

‘Otto. Darling. Daddy and I love you more than life itself. You know that, don’t you? Paulus and you are our darling boys and…’

Now Otto spoke.

‘What are you trying to tell me, Mum?’

Frieda tried to speak. Words she had been preparing in her mind for so long. Trying to think of a way to show her son that she loved him with all her heart and that what she had to tell him was good news. That unlike the rest of the family, Otto had a chance, a chance for a normal life. A life without fear.

But she knew that Otto would not want that chance.

He loved his family. His mother, his father, and his grandparents. He was inseparable from his twin brother no matter how much they might fight. And in a strange way Otto had even decided that he loved being a Jew. Because Otto was the fighter of the family, fiercely loyal and worryingly reckless. He loved a cause and Hitler had given him the cause of all causes. And now along with everything else in Otto’s life it was to be pulled from under him.

Frieda could not speak.

‘What, Mum?’ Otto asked again. ‘What are you trying to tell me?’

It was Wolfgang who said it. Wolfgang spoke less and less these days. Preferring to smoke in silence when his lungs permitted and drink whatever he could find. But he spoke now. Briefly strong again for Frieda.

‘You’re adopted, Otts,’ he said gently, his hollow cheekbones casting deep shadows across his thin, prematurely aged face. ‘Mum had twins but one of them was stillborn. Your natural mother died in childbirth and you had no father. We took you as our own. Right there and then on the day you were both born. Neither you nor Pauly had been alive an hour when we first put you together. And that’s how it’s been ever since.’

‘You’re our twins,’ Frieda said softly, ‘our beloved boys. But you didn’t start life inside me, Otts. Though I love you like you did.’

Both boys simply stared open-mouthed.

‘We never gave it a thought,’ Frieda continued quickly, ‘it didn’t matter to us. You’re our boys, that’s all. But then Hitler came and suddenly it mattered. Blood mattered. Blood, blood, bloody blood! They never shut up about blood! It’s a fetish, a perversion. It’s insane. I’ve referred patients for a hundred transfusions. We never once used to ask what the donor’s damned religion was!’

Frieda tailed off. Both boys were still staring in silent shock. It was Wolfgang who tried to be practical, tried to move past the emotion by bringing the conversation back to specifics.

‘The thing is, Ottsy,’ he said, ‘with these new laws, everybody’s family history is going to be investigated by law. They are going to decide once and for all who is a Jew in their eyes, and who isn’t. Mum, Paulus and me are Jews, Otts. And you aren’t.’

Still Otto could not reply; he had sunk into a chair, the knife still in his hand.

‘Blimey, Otts, mate,’ Paulus said, forcing a laugh into his voice. ‘That’s good news, eh? Who’d have thought it? Looks like you’re off the hook. We should celebrate.’

Now Otto found his voice, turning to his brother. His blank, drained face suddenly vivid red with anger.

‘You think I want that! You stupid bastard! You think I want to be off the fucking hook?’

‘Otto, please,’ Frieda said.

‘You can’t tell me off,’ Otto said rounding on her, ‘you’re not my mum!’

‘Don’t say that, Otto,’ Frieda gasped. ‘Never say that. Not ever! I am your mum.’

‘You just said I wasn’t your son! Pauly’s your son. I’m not. I come from God knows where! I’m not even a Jew. Who am I? I’m no one!’

‘That’s not true, Otts,’ Wolfgang said. ‘You’re one of us. Our family. It’s only the Nazis who are doing this to us. I—’

‘Why didn’t you tell me before! All these years you’ve known that I’m not your son!’

‘You are. You are our son!’

‘Hey, Otto!’ Paulus said sharply, and now his face was angry too. ‘Don’t attack Mum! This is a shock to me too you know. But really, what does it matter? Like Mum says, blood is crap. Race is crap.’

‘Family isn’t!’ Otto replied.

‘Exactly, and that’s what we are!’ Paulus said. ‘What happened when we were born happened, that’s all. Lots of kids got adopted after the war. Personally if I were you I’d be pleased.’

‘Pleased?’ Otto gasped. ‘Are you crazy?’

‘Of course I’d be pleased!’ Paulus was as angry as Otto. ‘Because I’d know I was no less your brother and Mum and Dad were no less my parents. The only difference would be that I wouldn’t have an entire country wishing I was dead…’

‘I wish I was dead!’

‘No!’ Frieda wailed.

‘That’s just stupid!’ Paulus said. ‘So what if you’re not a Jew?’

‘I am a Jew,’ Otto protested. ‘I don’t want to be one of them. I nearly killed one tonight. Why are you telling me this now? I’m a Jew!’

‘Because you were going to find out anyway,’ Frieda said. ‘You have to see that, Otts. The Gestapo is going to go through every detail of every single person in Germany. Everyone is going to be categorized. Your history is documented. The adoption forms are at the hospital. Your birth certificate is at the town hall. We had to tell you and we have to make a plan…’

‘Plan! What plan?’ Otto said through tears. ‘There is no plan! Because there’s no me! There’s no Otto Stengel. He never existed. I don’t exist.’

Otto grabbed his coat and once more made for the door.

‘Otto! Please!’ Frieda cried, tears running down her face.

‘Otto, stop,’ Paulus demanded, ‘you have to stop.’

‘Who are you shouting at?’ Otto said with a wild and angry snarl. ‘Who are you giving orders to? You’re not my brother!’