‘Ja, ja - das ist korrekt,” Edi responded seriously, as if he had just been reprimanded for blasphemy in religion class.
“Just joking - I am always happy to hear from you,” I added quickly. “Let me put you on the speaker phone for a couple of minutes, until I get my clothes back on. I just came out of the shower.
“Speaker..... what phone? I can call again a little later perhaps, yes?”
“No, no, absolutely not, it’s fine - it’s late enough for you”.
“Everything o.k. in Canada?” Edi inquired.
He was too much the old school gentleman to come right out and ask about how things were between Rachel and myself. Or, heaven forbid, ask whether she was still around in my life.
“You mean politically, economically, environmentally, health-wise, Rachel and me or just how are you?”
“Forget the ‘allys’ - I’m not interested in weather reports.”
“More or less o.k. then, thank you. Actually, it’s less. Rachel and I have separated.”
I had thrown out the last sentence like an exclamation mark. It hung there for several seconds.
“Yes, Rachel told me.”
“She did?”
“How do you think I was able to get your number?”
“And yes, I am saddened but not surprised. How do you feel about it?” Edi wanted to know.
“What?”
“Having left Rachel, of course.”
“Mixed. Sort of relieved, but not sure what to expect.”
“Makes sense.”
“What does?”
“What you just said. How you feel.”
“Oh that, yes - I guess so.”
“Where are you living?”
“A small apartment. Just for now. It’s in the same neighborhood. There is still the Montreal condo. I go there periodically.”
“Any new friends?”
“Well, the guys I play golf and tennis with. Some poker buddies. A circle of acquaintances here. My old friends in Montreal.”
“Michael! This is Edi you’re talking to. A lady friend, of course, is what I meant.
“Too soon to tell.”
Edi groaned.
“Anything else I should know and you wouldn’t tell me?”
“No, not really. Just plain getting older - waking up with aches and pains, you know.”
“Wouldn’t know what you’re talking about. I mean the aches and pains.”
“Really?”– my voice betrayed disbelief.
“Well, what do you think? It’s the miracle of waking up again that let’s you forget about the aches and pains.”
“I can hardly wait to get there.”
Our conversation had hit stride again. Two cousins connected by deep friendship. Every few months, Edi or I would call each other. But the topic of our conversations rarely migrated back more than half a century.
“Do you remember talking to me about my father’s manuscript at your house some years back?”
Although I had tried to pose the question in a casual manner, Edi appeared to sense that it was anything but.
“Of course. Are you giving that subject some further thought?”
“More than that. I have decided to write about our family history and events of the time. I want to complete what he had been unable to finish; also with the help of my mother’s journal, the other documents - and expand beyond perhaps.”
“Fantastisch”. Edi sounded genuinely excited.
“It’s a big project,” I cautioned.
“Well yes, but perhaps this is a good time for it. It may add some focus to your life right now. Have you started?”
“Not exactly. There is so much I don’t know. A great deal more research needs to be done before going any further. I know our truth was better than..............”
Fiction, I thought, but didn’t say it. I stopped myself in mid-sentence. What was I saying? Certainly not better - the sick, the hungry, the shelter-less, the displaced - perhaps more poignant than fiction, but hardly better.
“I’m sorry - I really didn’t mean that. Nothing was better - everything was shit,” I added lamely.
“You’re correct. The truth was ugly during our early years. In fact, it was beyond ugly.” Edi responded after a moment.
“You should know better than anyone.”
There was another pause. Edi had been part of the Hitler Youth, drafted at sixteen in late 1942 and sent to Stalingrad just months before the mass surrender by the German Sixth Army. Several hundred thousand Russian and German soldiers perished in battle or during the mid-winter retreat by the remnants of German forces. He had somehow made it back across the Polish border, but then along with nearly a thousand others, spent some of the best years of his youth in a Russian POW camp before being transported to Sachsenhausen, one of several former Nazi concentration camps the Russians had ‘liberated’ in the summer of 1945. An experience he never spoke of, but which had nearly cost him his life. I knew from having seen a diary entry along with other papers we inspected during my last visit. I could still feel the chill reading it.
“You know,” Edi said into the vacuum of my straying thoughts, “my basement was filled with all kinds of stuff - archives of reports, letters, newspaper clippings, eyewitness accounts and editorials of those years; more importantly, the personal stories of those who had been a part of the war years and our eventual expulsion. I had contact with many of them over the years.”
Edi was in his element, off and running.
“Unfortunately, I shipped most of it to our association in Augsburg last year,” he added.
“You will probably find a lot of material there that’s relevant to what you plan to work on. I also still have many files and papers relating to our family with me in the house in Salzburg.”
“It would be good,” I said, my mind now focused back on our conversation, “if we could just spend time together again over a few days. I mean, just to talk about what you remember.”
I knew that I had blocked out the worst and remembered the best – unlike Edi, I had been sheltered and protected by my parents.
“You’re always welcome to come and stay for as long as you wish. And remember the 18th of December “, Edi added. He would be eighty then. Germans were big on birthdays with round numbers measured by decades and quarter-centuries. Only the minutest of planning, hand-graved invitations and culinary feasts would do.
“I’m working on some projects that might take me over again soon.”
The moment it slipped out, I regretted it. There was nothing concrete on the horizon. Was it to show that I’m not yet been confined to chronicling the past like Edi? Except for some lapses in earlier years, I had managed to keep my word and show up in Munich every few years -sometimes unannounced - working on something or other while in Germany.
“So, good - we’ll leave it for tonight that you will come again soon.”
Edi didn’t add that time was not exactly on our side at this stage