All Ralf’s life, which although was quite short, he had never known the love from his Father that most boys his age had grown accustomed too. In all the seven years that Ralf had known he had always been locked away in the dark away from children his own age. In the cupboard under the stairs Ralf had become used to the solace he got from being on his own. However, this didn’t help Ralf’s imagination to wander and the shadow in the corner of the cupboard had that indefinable quality of a presence, the usual childish suggestion of a lurking, living thing that comes so easily in silence and solitude. Ralf had grown up with him all his life. He was Ralf’s only real companion.
That soon changed a couple of weeks later. Ralf had now forgotten about his experience in being locked in the cupboard, the more he thought about it the more his imagination told him it had been a big adventure. Ralf did know, however, why he had been locked away-for exactly the same reason why he had been locked away the time before that. Ralf’s Father, Rudolf, was a very strict Roman Catholic, and Father raised Ralf on very austere religious and military discipline. Ralf, on the other hand, could see no point in religion; why worship a God when he lived in the greatest country in the world? Why worship a God when he could look up to the Heroes of the First World War? Why worship a God when Franz Höss, the biggest boy in school, says that worshipping a God is for Nancy boys and he will hit you if you disagree with him. Ralf knew that Franz Höss could hit quite hard, and he didn’t really want to be hit; Father would find out, he always found out.
It was the warm spring month of 1918 and Ralf began to see a new face around the house. She was always attired in a white apron, which Ralf thought was silly as she wasn’t doing any painting, and she had an air of mystery about her. One afternoon, when coming home from school, Ralf was surprised to find the funny lady looking into his wardrobe. Ralf had private things in that wardrobe that nobody had ever seen, not even his only friend at school Wilhelm. “What are you doing?” Ralf asked dubiously. He was trying to be polite, but Ralf was not the sort who was good at being polite, so his question sounded more like a command. Ralf quite liked the way it rolled off his tongue. The funny ladies face turned red and she started when she heard Ralf coming in. She was about to reply when Ralf chipped in “your face is funny, you’ve gone all red like the stripe on that flag”. He pointed to the wall were a red, white and black striped flag was hung up tidily. The funny lady stared back, licked her bottom lip and then answered Ralf, keeping her eyes pinned to the floor “Master Ralph, I am taking out your school uniform and all of your school books”. She looked up for the first time and a brief moment of recognition passed across Ralf’s face; but only brief for he lost his train of thought entirely when he weighed up the situation. “And what do you think gives you permission to go through my wardrobe?” Ralf asked. “And how on earth do you know my name?” Ralf, being only seven, could not quite comprehend the situation he was in. He had always enjoyed school, even though he didn’t have many friends, and he couldn’t think why on earth Mother or Father would do such a thing. When Ralf again looked at the funny lady he saw her pointing towards the stairs where a burly looking silhouette blotted out the light coming in from the door. Father stepped in, supporting himself by a single black cane. His eyes were covered by a shade, which Ralf was thankful for as he wasn’t fond of Father’s insipid stare; and his lower lip, half averted, hung pale and pink from his perfect white teeth. Father had an air about him that gave him a confident and prickly demeanour-he seemed to exude power; it crackled in the air around him like static electricity, and the way his clothes hung about his muscular frame gave him the look of an aristocrat. Around his neck hung a gold cross on a gold chain, which-Ralf knew-he barely left home without. Ralf wondered if there was a permanent shadow on Father’s chest where the gold cross-hung. Father made straight for the funny lady, who retired with Father’s permission, and then sat, rather clumsily, on Ralf’s bed on the opposite side of the room before indicating a spot for Ralf to sit on the floor at Father’s feet. When Ralf was sitting as comfortable as a small boy can when sitting on a hard wooden floor, Father gave a small fit of coughs-which Ralf knew meant that Father would make a speech-and then opened the conversation with his usual phrases. “Have you done your chores?”
“Yes Father”
“Have you said the Lords Prayer?”
“Yes Father, of course I have”
“Good, have you brushed your teeth?”, Ralf struggled to remember
“Err, yes I have Father”
“I’ll ask you again” Father’s voice got louder and more aggressive, Ralf bared to look up and meet Father’s gaze and he wished he hadn’t, for he caught a momentary glimpse of Father’s eyes, small and bright and inflamed, and felt the earth slide under him as Father overpowered him.
“Yes Father, of course I’ve brushed my teeth-Mother was watching me-that funny lady also, and…”
“What funny lady?” Father interrupted, for it was considered ok in the household for Father to interrupt everyone, but when Ralf did it he had to go to the cupboard and the stairs, and Ralf didn’t like the cupboard under the stairs. Not one bit.
“What do you mean Father? Haven’t you seen her? Why she was in here just a moment ago, looking at all my stuff-and” Ralf added “she knows my name”
“Who? You mean Amalasuintha our new maid”
“Made, made?” Ralf let the words roll around in his mouth “Where was she made?” Bruno tilted his head and said the words with a doubtful expression, what Father just said didn’t make sense-and Father wasn’t one to talk nonsense.
“What do you mean ‘where was she made?’ Are you mad boy?” Father stood up, as if to show Ralf that he was in command, and that he was also bigger and stronger and that with just four words he could make Ralf go to the cupboard under the stairs, which he knew Ralf didn’t like. Father then jerked his head back so suddenly that it startled poor Ralf, and he gave Ralf another glace of his red eyes from under the shade, red and raw from countless nights of no sleep. Ralf knew all to well that Father had nightmares, but Ralf didn’t like to promote the fact that he knew. As a consequence, Ralf looked away but only to see the monstrous shadow of Father crouched upon the wall mocking Father’s every actions in a sadistic sort of way.
Ralf suddenly felt so small and useless when he looked up to see the height and power that Father had. He suddenly felt like crawling into a hole and staying there until Fathers’ cold stare was looking elsewhere. Ralf couldn’t see why Father acted in such a menacing way-of course Ralf knew it was reminiscent of Fathers’ great military background, but it was time that Father treated Ralf like a seven year old who only has one Friend called Wilhelm and who may have also just been burgled by a Funny Lady who wears an apron but hasn’t done any painting.
“Father why do you say I’m mad? I mean…” Ralf stood up as if to show Father that he wasn’t so small after all. He then licked his lips, which were rather dry, and before he knew it the words that he would wish he hadn’t said…were said “…I mean you must be mad if your eyes are red and raw and you have had countless nights of no sleep and you don’t realise that I may have been burgled by someone that you think has been made?” Father hit him. Hard. A lot harder than Ralph had ever been hit in his life. Ralph was too scared to cry as he awaited the other blow, which he knew would follow suit. But no blow came. Ralph dared to look up at Father and saw a quieter sombre man-hunched over as though he was in pain. Ralph saw the reflection of Father’s eyes in the window, as he didn’t wish to look into them, and he saw that Father’s cold, insipid stare, had been replaced by a look of trepidation.
“Ralph my lad” Father spoke, in whisper as though it were dangerous for someone to overhear. “ I am sorry for being the man that I am, I am sorry for my the country that we live in- a defeated country, a...” He paused, Ralph thought that he was about to cry but instead he looked through the window over Baden-Baden and signalled for Ralph to join him. Ralph joined his Father and stared over the tops of the houses of Baden-Baden, which looked more like the toys that Ralph kept buried in his wardrobe.
“Ralph, I think it is time I told you about what has become of the Fatherland, and also about the funny lady you speak of…”
******************
And Ralph stood staring at that view some twenty-six years later and he recounted everything that Father had told him. He laughed to himself when he though how he had ever thought of Amalasuintha as a funny lady, for she had turned out to be a good companion to talk to during Father’s depression years. Her daughter now worked in the Höwess household as seemed to share a similar bond with Ralf’s son Bruno as Ralf had shared with Amalasuintha. Ralph also thought to himself that if he had never had that conversation with Father then he would not be the man he was today. Of course, being the man he was today his Mother and Father no longer lived in this drab home-instead he had moved them closer to his home in Berlin, the same home where he would greet the Fuehrer in two days time to discuss his future. As his son liked to say, and he liked to say to himself, “he was a man to watch out for, and the Fury had big things in mind for him”. He took one last look at the view; over the destroyed city and smouldering wreckage of the homes of Baden-Baden; at the ink night sky, where RAF bombers flew overhead, broken only by the fluffy white thistledown of Anti-Aircraft-Fire-before turning away-leaving the view that he had grown up with for some sixteen years. Ralph then took out his perfect white handkerchief and wiped the blood of his face. He then stared down at the bodies of the Jewish family, who now-once-had inhabited the home, and he spat at the ground where their bodies lay, huddled together in an untidy pile. He stared at his old bedroom wall but only see the dark stain of hateful Jewish blood smeared across it, and he then stared at his old wooden floorboard where his rug had once been, but only to be greeted with the steadily contorting body of a small Jewish boy. He smiled to himself as he kicked the small boy in the side remembering his horrible years at school and when his Father bullied him, releasing the cork on his bottled pain and torment. He then drew out his 1908 pattern Luger, and fired the rest of the eight-round box magazine into the boy’s emaciated body until the small mess that was the young boys’ corpse moved no more. It was dark in the room, but the Luger’s muzzle flash picked out everything in a vivid yellow light making the shadows cower and quiver as if they were afraid of a demonic menace in the room. The light also abbreviated Ralph’s facial features into a truly credible monstrous contortion of what could be his normal appearance in five years time, given that he had genocide for breakfast, lunch and tea. Ralph then pulled all four dead bodies down the stairs, not caring for the ugly smear of blood that trailed behind, and dumped them inside the cupboard under the stairs. He stared into the room where he had spent many lonely nights with nothing but the shadow in the corner and the smell of his own urine to keep him company, and smiled under his breath as he considered that he was returning the ethereal cupboard with more bodies and more ghastly smells to feast on.
As Ralph walked out of the door not caring to close it, he said his last goodbye to the house and to the city of Baden-Baden. This city was now no more to him than a distant and slightly forlorn memory, a black mark on this new rich and prospering Germany. He walked hunched over as though he was bearing a heavy lumber-one that only he could carry-before walking away in the still pitch-blackness until night had him in Her clutches. As he walked home his mind strayed to his family-and he wondered if his son Bruno had done well in his Geography test, if his daughter Gretel’s dancing classes had gone well. He also wondered what was for dinner, his usual nights work of tidying up always made him rather peckish.
