Page 39 of The German Mother

The pony and trap set off at a fast pace, trotting through the streets of the little town. Some of the shops were boarded up and the people looked downtrodden, wearing shabby clothes, their skin pale and pasty. There was none of the elegance of Munich, or even Nuremberg. Minki was relieved when Goebbels cracked the whip and they headed out into the countryside, passing fields of wheat, the young green shoots now poking above the brown soil. Finally, Goebbels pulled sharply on the reins, guiding the pony down a long avenue lined on either side by tall plane trees.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Minki.

‘Just wait.’ Goebbels smiled gleefully. ‘You’ll soon see.’

Peering ahead, Minki glimpsed a pinkish structure through the trees. At the end of the avenue, Joseph brought the pony and trap to a halt, leapt down, tied the pony to a nearby tree and helped Minki down onto the ground. In front of them stood an impressive rose-coloured castle, surrounded by a moat.

‘Joe, what on earth are we doing here?’

‘Patience,’ he said. He took her hand and together they crossed a stone bridge over the moat; the water was filled with large orange carp, their scales flashing brightly in the afternoon sun. Passing beneath a stone arch, they emerged into a large courtyard, where colourful peacocks strutted and squawked aggressively. One large male fanned out his tail feathers as if to say, ‘keep out’.

Minki instinctively grabbed Joseph’s arm.

‘Don’t be frightened, he’s just protecting his women.’ Goebbels pointed at the brown females lying sleepily in the sun. He guided Minki past the sleeping birds and they walked through a second archway. In front of them was a stunning castle with turrets at each corner, and a romantic stone loggia down one side.

‘What is this place?’ asked Minki. ‘It doesn’t look German.’

‘It dates back, originally, to the eleventh century, but in the sixteenth someone rebuilt it in Italian Renaissance style. Look at that loggia…It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’

Minki nodded. ‘Fabulous. Very romantic. Who does it belong to?’

‘It was in the same family for generations, but they couldn’t afford to keep it up, so the local authority took it over – they own it now.’

‘And why have you brought me here?’

‘Because I intend to live in it one day,’ said Goebbels, smiling broadly.

‘You? How on earth would you be able to afford a place like this? You can’t even scrape enough money together to move out of your parents’ house.’

He grimaced slightly – with embarrassment, she presumed. ‘I don’t know exactly, but I just have a feeling, you know…’ He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Let me show you around.’

‘Are we allowed?’

‘There’s a door they sometimes forget to lock…follow me.’

He led her to the side of the loggia, and pulled aside a thick wall of ivy, revealing an oak door. As he turned the heavy handle, the door opened onto a dark, dusty corridor. ‘Ah…just as I thought,’ he said, beckoning her to follow him.

In the fading afternoon light, he guided her through the deserted rooms. The once magnificent parquet floors were now covered in dust, and what little furniture had been left was hidden by dustsheets. Lifting one corner, she found a gilded sofa, now eaten away by mice, its wadding spewing out of the faded silk upholstery.

‘How sad,’ said Minki, as they walked from room to room. ‘It was obviously a beautiful house. It should be filled with people – children and parties. It’s awful seeing it abandoned in this way.’

‘I agree…’ He took her in his arms. ‘Perhaps you and I might fill it one day?’ He kissed her lips tenderly. ‘Oh, I’m so happy to see you, Minki. I thought you’d abandoned me.’

‘Well, perhaps I did for a while,’ she replied shyly. ‘Besides, I thought you had abandoned me. Are you still seeing that other woman?’

‘Else, you mean? Yes, from time to time.’

Minki pulled angrily away. ‘So you’re not really interested in me at all, are you?’

‘I am, Minki…it’s just difficult.’ He sounded pained.

‘Why? You’re never very complimentary about her. What did you call her…a human dumpling?’

He blushed at the memory. ‘I’d forgotten about that. It’s true – she’s not the most intellectual woman…and she’s Jewish of course.’

‘So, what’s the allure?’

‘I don’t know…I am addicted to love, I suppose.’ He took her hand again and kissed it. ‘Like you, perhaps?’