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Back The Hiding Game
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Naomi Wood
  3. Dedication page
  4. Epigraph page
  5. 1
  6. WEIMAR, 1922
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. DESSAU, 1929
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. BERLIN, 1932
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. Thank you
  62. Praise
  63. The Hiding Game
  64. Also by Naomi Wood

I was surprised to see Irmi heading toward us, her boots slung around her neck. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

‘I was persuaded,’ she replied. ‘The last hurrah, and all that.’

I wanted to tell Irmi everything: what had happened with Jenö, with Walter, with me and Charlotte. But she didn’t want to know; she had made that clear. And if she did, she could ask Kaspar. And so I kept quiet. I had learnt at least one thing.

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After skating we walked past the Kaiserhof as the flag snapped on the Chancellery behind us. Irmi ducked down, not wanting to be seen by her boss, and Kaspar hid her in his overcoat, so that he looked like a bloated camel, especially with his winter tan. I scanned the bar to see if Ernst was in there. He wasn’t; neither was Mrs Steiner; and neither, of course, was Walter. Uniformed men were starting early with cocktails and smart parted hair.

‘You wouldn’t even be able to afford a glass of water,’ said Irmi. ‘Come on.’

We walked down Unter den Linden. Only weeks ago men had marched here with torches. Now, Kaspar and Charlotte were horsing about. Irmi kept on dragging them along, asking them to hurry; she wanted to see Teddy. We let her go on without us, and before Kaspar was to be re united with Dacia (I was surprised she’d lasted so long) the three of us stopped for fried potatoes with bacon at Friedrichstrasse, and the waiter had the good grace not to shame us for only ordering two plates between three.

With my mouth full of bacon and potatoes, I heard the trains’ shrieks below. They reminded me of Charlotte’s screams as she and Kaspar had fallen on top of each other at the ice rink and Irmi – who was a strong enough skater but no match for them both – had tried to disentangle them but fallen over herself. As I too had fallen helplessly into the pile of bodies, I had thought, with the clarity that comes in these moments: here they are! My Berlin friends!

‘Serious Painter,’ says Charlotte to me. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘Nothing,’ I say, ‘nothing.’

I skewer more potato. Charlotte scoots closer. Jenö’s words turn to dust. The bacon is good: so salty and hot. Charlotte laughs at one of Kaspar’s dumb jokes. And, despite everything, I think how happy I am.

52

Berlin

A month later, Jenö’s warnings came true. Steiner did have his sights on the Bauhaus, and the school was violently raided. For the third time in the Director’s career the school’s looms were wrecked, its canvases ruined, and its windows smashed. The contents of drawers and files – a decade’s worth of the Director’s notes, all the way back to the Citizens’ Survey and the Metal Ball – scattered by Storm Troopers. Rain came in at the windows and drenched the papers.