The men’s faces darkened. There was renewed shuffling and twisting of bodies. They all knew that Ehrlich was talking about none other than Generals Alfred Keitel and Manfred von Manstein, who led the invasion of Hitler’s troops into Austria.
“Come on, Ehrlich, what were they talking about? Did any of your staff pick up anything?”
Hert’s voice was shaking.
The hotelier shook his head.
“Of course not. They were speaking quietly and any time one of our servers would come within earshot, their conversation would fall silent.”
Yet none of the men assembled in Ehrlich’s basement really needed to know much more.
I stifled a yawn behind the palm of my hand. My God, five-thirty already. The place would be closing in half an hour.
I had been in the library for more than seven hours. Except for bathroom breaks and a hasty sandwich for lunch in the cafeteria, I had been glued to my chair. It had been quiet on this weekday in late October, until now at least. A sprinkling of students here and there, some seniors looking for the distraction of a good read, but mostly library staff scurrying about. The librarian had dropped by once after lunch to check on my progress.
Daylight was fading now, the late autumn sun illuminating the red tile rooftop on the building across the street. I glanced beyond the two ornamental stainless steel tubes suspended from the ceiling by braided metal cables. The objects formed a separation between the table at the edge of the documentary section and the rest of the library within view. The few patrons I was able to discern were moving about briskly. They appeared focused on the objects of their search and determined to claim their prizes prior to closing.
I sighed, pushed the chair back from the table and rose slowly. My legs felt as if they had atrophied. Katarina had instructed me to place all unread material into the lockable wall cabinet. She had also invited me to take material back to the hotel for further study. But I already had other plans.
As I lifted up the first stack of papers, I noticed what appeared to be a homemade flyer, which had fallen out of one of the binders. The paper was signed by ‘Heinrich Jahnel, a concerned citizen’. My exhaustion evaporated at its sight and my pulse began to race. I was in disbelief to find something written by my uncle. I pulled the chair back and began to read:
‘To those of you who have not already learned of yesterday’s address by Kopecky, I shall herewith provide an excerpt of what was said. The following sentiments were offered to both appease and incite the Czech population and cannot harbor well for us Sudeten Germans still remaining in the city, which we and generations of Germans before us have called home. Although every decision on how and when to leave is personal, time clearly is not our side. I now quote from Kopecky’s speech as follows’:
“Liberec will never again be Reichenberg. We will clear Liberec of the German enemies, and we will do it so thoroughly that not the smallest place will remain where the German seed could grow once more. We shall expel all Germans, we shall confiscate their property, we shall de-nationalize not only the town but also the whole area so that the victorious spirit of the Czech people shall permeate the country from the frontier range to the interior. The government is determined to settle the question of the Germans uncompromisingly and unflinchingly. We are aware that in the West, various reactionary protectors of the Germans are at work. But the government will not be misled or softened by any pressure, any campaigns, or any libelous attacks. It is for us a decisive and encouraging fact that the Soviet Union stands by us in the question of expelling the Germans, and that Marshal Stalin himself has the greatest possible understanding for our endeavours to get rid of the Germans. We do not want any Germans along our north-western frontier, we want Czechoslovakia to form one integral territory with Poland and the Soviet Union.”
Kopecky, Minister of Propaganda, July 25th, 1945
There was another short note below from Heinrich.
“To my fellow Sudeten-Germans, I wish you well in your personal journey toward what some day may again be a brighter future for all of us”.
Signed: Ing. Heinrich Hugo Jahnel, Reichenberg, July 26th, 1945
I sat for several minutes staring at the paper in front of me. I wondered how Katerina Trojanova, a woman almost my own age and whose Czech parents may well have been the intended beneficiaries of this address, would feel about me discovering this personal document sixty years later.
I felt an inexplicable sadness. I felt no vengeance toward those who had robbed me of an early childhood of innocence and pleasure. Toward those who had uprooted and torn apart the protective mantle of my family. Over the years, I had experienced periodic bouts of self-pity, associated with the ‘what if’ questions. I had no entitlement to such feelings - or so I had thought until now. Then why this inexplicable feeling of sadness over something that wasn’t mine to mourn?
And then it hit me. The fact that sitting here, so many years later, I had not found a place to call home again. I had rationalized countless moves back and forth across my new country, but there had never been a real emotional connection. Had I negated any prospect of making a new connection somewhere else in the many places I had called home over the years? Sabotaged myself for fear that any new attachment would only be yanked away from me again some day?
I carefully placed the paper into the folder named ‘Photocopies’. I was disappointed not to have found what I searched for most - historic and eyewitness accounts from Czech citizens. I was interested in their perspective on those distant events. If only to balance the plethora of German magazine articles, newspaper clippings and other material available on-line. But perhaps it was hardly surprising that I came away empty-handed. Why should the perpetrators of the crimes have been concerned with keeping detailed written accounts of their actions?
I secured my laptop to the cushioned inner pocket of the briefcase and placed the folders inside. Passing by the bank of elevators, I opted for the self-activated escalator, which afforded an unobstructed view of the city square through the three-story glass and steel construction. To the left, I could make out the gothic columns at the entrance to the theatre. I had seen them in family photos - in one of which my five-year old frame was eagerly strutting behind a military marching band passing by the front of the theatre. To the extreme right of my view and atop a mezzanine of steps were the baroque gargoyles guarding the huge wooden door leading into the foyer of City Hall.
I remembered Edi’s conversation with the head librarian of the old library. What was it she said, which so impressed me?
“A library is a place which must be continually restaged, so that visitors are confronted with the unexpected, finding not only what they were looking for, but also what they never looked for - maybe a need to resolve a complex problem.”
.......a need to resolve a complex problem.
Those words had become etched in my mind.
Chapter 3
Munich, October 2006
Bettina dropped me off at the Munich central railway station, from where she continued her five hour drive home to Vienna.
I proceeded to the lower level for local train connections. The sign above the platform switched to ‘S7 Solln – 6 minutes’ as I stepped off the escalator. The previous train had just pulled out. I smiled. The German penchant for precision and accuracy remained unchanged.
“Of course, we’ve been expecting you; you left the Czech border early this morning. Where are you now?”
Edi’s voice, despite his advancing years, still sounded chipper.
“I just got off at the station in Solln. I’ll be at your house in a few minutes, if it’s o.k.”
“Na ja, wunderbar. We look forward to your