Ice Cold (7 page)

Hans is at Soller’s too, he thinks it’s a very funny story. Says he guesses ‘that artist fellow thought himself cock of the walk’, and Hans crows like a rooster, again and again. They laugh, Hans, Anna and Kathie, laugh until the tears run down their cheeks.

But in the course of the evening they forget all about the story. A blond man comes into Soller’s and sits down by Kathie, asking if the place next to her is free. Kathie doesn’t say no. She likes the blond man, she makes eyes at him, and he smiles at her. Is she new here? He’s never seen her here before, though he comes to Soller’s almost every day. He teases her, and as she’s hungry she lets him buy her a meal; after all, she’s had nothing hot to eat all day, only that snack on the Wiesn and a mug of coffee.

Around midnight Anna leaves, and Kathie goes with her. The blond man accompanies them for a bit, says he’s going their way. So they all arrive back in Ickstattstrasse together.

I remember the day I met the girl very clearly. It was 29 September 1938. A Thursday. The day when Mussolini came to Munich. Not a thing I’d be likely to forget. My wife wanted to go into town, see the Duce. ‘You don’t get to see him every day, and with a bit of luck we’ll see him driving towards the Feldherrenhalle in the open car.’ My Lisbeth was wild about the Duce, said she absolutely had to see him. ‘Such a fine-looking man.’ I’d have liked to go into town with her too, but I couldn’t. That was the day I had to stand in for my mate Zimmermann. Zimmermann was due to give a talk to the people on the air-raid precautions course. He’d been an ambulance man in the war, same as me. But then he was sick for a while, so I stepped in for him. My Lisbeth was a bit cross because I couldn’t go with her, but still, she went to town on her own. By train, in the morning. There were one or two things she had to do, she was going to meet her cousin and
then spend the evening with her, just in case it all went on late. I had the day off because originally I’d been going to Munich too. And I still had some holiday due to me, so the trip to Munich would have been a nice idea.

The 29th was another lovely summer’s day, and I didn’t want to spend my day off sitting around at home on my own. I went for a bike ride in the morning. First I went to the station with my Lisbeth, and then I went straight on to Hohenpeissenberg to see an old friend who used to work with me. It’s a nice ride from where we live, just right for a day’s outing.

I spent the day with my old friend. He’s retired already, his wife died not long ago, so mostly he’s alone. That’s the way the world goes. We went into the garden and drank coffee there, because like I said, it was lovely weather that day. His daughter, she lives nearby, she’d baked a cake with plum topping specially. We had a good time. It’ll have been around four in the afternoon when I started home. I had to go to the air-raid precautions course in the evening and give that talk, and I wanted to look through the notes Zimmermann had given me first.

So I cycled back to Peissenberg along the main road. It must have been around kilometre-stone 50
when I saw the woman. She was lying there a few metres ahead of me, right on top of the tree-trunks stacked to the right of the carriageway. I didn’t even have to get off my bike to see the girl was completely exhausted.

I know about these things, you see, I was in an ambulance unit in the war, so I can judge that kind of condition. I don’t know how many people I saw at the time, exhausted like that. Must have been dozens, if not hundreds.

The girl’s bicycle was lying at the side of the road next to her. At least, I assumed it was hers, because there wasn’t another soul in sight anywhere. There was a cardboard box on the carrier of the bike. I’d say it was about 45 by 30 centimetres. I remember that cardboard box because I was surprised it hadn’t slipped off the carrier when she let the bike fall in the grass. Can’t remember what colour it was now, no, only seeing the box still there on the carrier.

So I got off my own bicycle and went over to the girl. ‘Can I help you?’ I asked her. ‘Are you feeling ill? Is there anything I can do for you?’ She said, ‘No, thank you, everything’s all right, I just feel so terribly tired.’

I asked if she’d fallen off her bike or had an accident. But she wouldn’t accept any help. ‘No,
thanks, I’m fine, just so, so tired,’ she repeated.

Well, what would you have done? I wasn’t going to leave the girl alone there, I couldn’t, not with her in that state. So I asked where she’d come from.

‘Steingarden.’

Had she come straight from Steingarden? ‘No, from Füssen,’ she told me.

‘For heaven’s sake, you must already have cycled nearly fifty-five kilometres today. Where were you making for?’

‘Starnberg.’

‘You can’t possibly get there, not in your present state. It’s another thirty kilometres or so from here to Starnberg, maybe thirty-five. You must drink something. Do you have anything to drink with you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, you have to drink something, child, and have a bite to eat too. A little thing like you!’

I mean, tell me honestly, how could I leave her alone in that state? Not the way she was, there at the side of the road. So I persuaded her to let me go with her part of the way. I picked her bicycle up, and we pushed the bikes along side by side. I wouldn’t let her ride hers, she was so exhausted. So I took the short cut through the woods with her. By the time we came out again on the old state
highway, she was strong enough to get on her bike again. We cycled on together to Peissenberg.

On the way I talked to her. She told me she was going to look for a job in Munich. Her home was in Unterellegg, near Sonthofen in the Allgäu. She had a sister in Munich, she said, a married sister who lived in Sendling, and another sister who had moved to Munich quite recently and was getting married soon. She was going to visit both her sisters, and she was taking the bicycle to one of them, because it really belonged to her, the sister. That’s why she was travelling by bike and not on the train, on account of taking the bike to her sister in Munich. And she wanted to go to her younger sister’s wedding. Her mother was coming to the wedding in Munich as well, and they’d meet up there.

When I said it would have been more sensible to come by train and take the bicycle as luggage, all she said was, ‘I can’t afford the train, by myself or with the bike. I’d have had to borrow the money. Anyway, I cycled to Munich once before, so it came in really useful that I could go on my sister’s bike. If only that horrible man hadn’t followed me on his bicycle at Steingarden, I wouldn’t have been all out of breath like that. He rode along beside me all the time, and he kept trying to look
under my skirt. I was scared he might pull me off my bike. I’m not having any of that, I thought, and I cycled like crazy until I was sure he wasn’t following me any more.’

So finally, when we reached Peissenberg, I said she could come home with me, freshen up a bit and stay the night if she liked. It would surely be better for her to have a rest, I said. But she refused, she said she really had to cycle on to Starnberg today.

I felt sorry for her, so I gave her ten pfennigs for something from the bakery. ‘Since it seems that’s all I can do for you,’ I told her. She was glad to accept the ten-pfennig piece. She went into the shop, and I waited outside with the bikes. When she came out, she asked me if I could lend her a little more money, she’d like to buy some sausage from the butcher’s shop too. So I gave her another thirty-five pfennigs for some sliced cold meat. She said she’d never met anyone as kind as me, she didn’t know how to thank me. I asked her again if she wouldn’t change her mind. ‘The offer’s still open,’ I said, ‘you could stay the night with me.’ But she shook her head again and said no, she really did want to go on. She’d easily do the thirty-five kilometres now she’d had something to eat.

So we went on a little further together, and I
said goodbye to her outside my place. I stood outside the door for a while, watching her cycle off. Then I went indoors. It must have been nearly six o’clock, and I had to look through the notes for my talk. It was getting late.

What did she look like? All I know for sure is she was wearing a green raincoat and a dirndl dress. Her hair? Oh, her hair was bobbed, know what I mean? It suited her thin face. All things considered I’d say she was a pretty girl.

It was getting late now. She didn’t remember Munich being quite such a long way off. When she cycled there five years ago, the same stretch of road had seemed far shorter. Had she been wrong? And she hadn’t been nearly as tired and exhausted as she was today. Of course, if that man in Steingarden hadn’t followed her she could have paced her strength much better. But she’d cycled as if the Devil himself were after her, and just before reaching Peissen-berg she simply couldn’t go on. Everything went black in front of her eyes, and she found it hard to catch her breath. Her lungs were short of air. She hadn’t eaten all day either. She was exhausted, so she sat down on the tree-trunks at the side of the road in the sunlight. But after a while even sitting was too tiring, so she simply lay down. She very nearly fell asleep, she was so tired, she’d closed her eyes and was listening to her own breathing.

She’d slept at her auntie’s in Füssen last night. She cycled away straight after breakfast, at four in the morning. She’d borrowed two marks for the journey, but in the end she didn’t buy anything to eat with the money.

Lying there like that, gradually getting her breath back, she never noticed the man. And when he spoke to her so suddenly and unexpectedly she was really alarmed at first. He was getting on in years a bit, he wore plus-fours. He asked in a kind, attentive way if there was anything wrong, had she had an accident, did she need his help, all that soft soap. At first she wished he’d simply go away and leave her alone. But then she remembered the horrible man in Steingarden, and she was glad he was there and would go with her part of the way.

At least, she was glad of it at first, but when he insisted on taking the short cut because she was still so tired from cycling, and he told her how his wife was away all day and spending the night in Munich ‘with her cousin, on account of seeing Mussolini’, she felt he was pestering her a little. He kept coming closer, then he put his arm around her shoulders as if by chance, even his voice suddenly sounded over-familiar. He seemed a little weird to her, a little strange. She was relieved when they reached the road and she could get on her bike at last.

She let him buy her something to eat in Peissenberg. Why not? That way she could save her two marks. But when he repeated his invitation for her to stay with him
overnight, she refused again. Never mind how thoughtful he sounded – ‘But my child, you’re still worn out!’ and ‘I just can’t let you go on in that state, my child!’ All that ‘my child’ business, it got on her nerves. Why didn’t he say straight out what he wanted? She wasn’t a child any more.

No, she most certainly was not, she had a child of her own; that’s what came of walking out with Heinrich. The little boy was three years old now. Heinrich had been a dead loss. Hadn’t paid a penny of maintenance, didn’t even intend to. But to be honest, he couldn’t have paid anyway. He’d been a layabout, no use to anyone. Always shooting his mouth off, nothing behind his fine talk. The last she’d heard of him, he was in jail. They arrested him for something or other, exactly what she didn’t know, didn’t care either. She found a foster family for the little boy. What would she do with a child when she didn’t even have enough money for herself? She was going to look for a job in Munich. She’d tried that once before, five years ago, she’d spent a couple of weeks there. But times had been much worse then than they were these days. She’d heard it was easier now, and with the reference Dr Kaiser had given her she was sure she’d find a job as a maid in Munich. She was certain she would. She had a nice feeling that everything in her life was about to change for the better.

She’d thought just now it would be a good idea to find somewhere to sleep. She was tired. Her legs felt so heavy. She’d almost stopped at the last inn she passed to ask for a
bed for the night, spending the last of her money on a night’s rest. But then she changed her mind at the last minute and cycled on. She’d get there today, she was sure she would. It wouldn’t be far from Oderling, she’d soon have reached her journey’s end. It wouldn’t be far now.

My name is Regina Adlhoch, I live in Unterellegg in the Wertach area.

My late husband was a farmer. I live on the farm with my son – it’s his now – and my daughter-in-law.

I came here because my daughter Kuni is missing. Kunigunde Adlhoch, that’s her full name.

Kuni was born on 21 August 1915 in Unterellegg.

I last saw her on 28 September 1938.

Up till the beginning of September Kuni was still working for Dr Kaiser in Freiburg. I can’t tell you why she left her job there, I don’t know. She didn’t tell me anything about it. She came out to the farm and stayed three weeks. She slept with me in the little annexe I moved into when my son inherited the farm. I don’t think things were going well for her, because she always came home to me when things weren’t going well.

After three weeks she said she’d be off again. I didn’t ask her any questions, I didn’t want to. So she set off on 28 September early in the morning on the bike, to go to our relations in Füssen. She
slept there on the night of the 28th. The family there told me she got up early on the 29th and set out on the bike again for Munich.