Crippled

By Glenn Evens

“Crippled” is a thrilling novel about the aftermath of the Cold War in Germany, and the way in which it affected the lives of Maria Garchow, Alfred Zomer and Günther Bromst in a horrific way.

The novel is already available in Dutch and English, and will also be translated into Brazilian Portuguese as well as Spanish.                               

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Feb 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781507140833

Book preview

Crippled

Glenn Evens

––––––––

Translated by Katie Roskams 

Crippled

Written By Glenn Evens

Copyright © 2016 Glenn Evens

All rights reserved

Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

www.babelcube.com

Translated by Katie Roskams

––––––––

Babelcube Books and Babelcube are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

Crippled

Glenn Evens

Acknowledgements

With thanks to Bennie, Evy, Glenn, Judith, Karin and Wilko. They were a source of inspiration while I was writing this book.

1

East Germany, 1985

Maria Garchow was amazed when the large vase she had received from Aunt Ulrike shattered into pieces against the wall, narrowly missing her face. Although she generally responded to any unexpected occurrence with wit, she now found herself dumbstruck. Her drunken husband stood over her, his face damp with sweat, with bloodshot eyes and a cruel grimace on his face. She stood motionless, waiting to see what would happen next. The man she thought she knew so well staggered towards her, striking her pretty face with his clenched fist; an insane show of violence that caused her to fall to the ground. He knelt over her, forcing her face towards him so she wouldn't miss anything he had to say.

I know what you're up to, Maria, he snapped. She felt specks of his saliva on her cheeks and gagged in disgust. She did not turn her eyes away, because despite his violence, in her mind, she was the one who was in charge. She was physically no match for him, and was still astounded by the first - and, if she had anything to do with it, the last time he had hit her. Maria was temporarily overcome, numbed by a mixture of disbelief and pain.

He said no more than that one threatening sentence and Maria found that she lacked the strength to respond at that point. He stood up, turned around, and left the wretched flat.

Maria got slowly to her feet, seeing that the power socket beside her had not escaped the brutal violence unscathed either.

Her relationship with Dré, of course, had a history. He was a year older and was one of her admirers in high school, and although she had seen very little in him to begin with, she began to regard him as someone who would do. Dré was half a head taller than Maria and she had to admit it: he was certainly attractive. At least he fulfilled two important criteria.

There had been other lovers. Like Karl, who had been a real charmer, and Matthias, a terribly attractive classmate who could get any girl he wanted simply by being in their vicinity. But Karl was more of a plaything than a real candidate for marriage and Maria loved him in the same way that you might love a puppy. Another issue was that he was ten centimetres shorter than her, which Maria found to be an insurmountable issue. She used to feel guilty about her short-sightedness, for not being able to look any further than her own nose.

Matthias seemed perfect, but was a total lummox when it came to women. The grossest of insults rolled from his lips without him ever seeming to pay any heed to it, but he still gave the impression that it was not meant in bad way, that inside, he was perfectly suited to civilised society. Although she initially gave him the benefit of the doubt, it soon proved that this brand of nasty stupidity could be traced back to his parents; both his father and his mother seemed so far removed from civilised society that she felt sure this character trait had to have been genetically determined. In the end, Maria had made a mental list of pros and cons, and Dré was the one who surfaced as a reasonable alternative.

Her mother had told her that it was prudent to take a look at one's prospective in-laws, not just to see whether they were rolling in it, or at least as much as you could be rolling in it in a Communist state, but also whether they seemed to be older versions of Dré. As far as that went, everything seemed fine. His mother was still a beautiful woman and his father had a managerial role in a factory. Surely there must be some trace of their characters in him? He could never be accused of being physically unattractive. Whether Dré took more after his father or mother was unimportant; either one of them would have been ideal.

His father was a little aloof, but was well-mannered; the same could not be said for Dré. But Maria could well imagine that his father had once been awkward too. She was certain that she would be able to mould Dré into any shape she wanted, much as a potter takes a lump of clay and forms it into exactly what he has in mind.

She was not in love, because she could not recognise any of this particular phenomenon from what she had heard about from other girls. Being in love had to be something really special, like heaven on earth. Perhaps she just wasn't cut out for such heavenly feelings. Sabine, her best friend, had a lot to say about being in love. She could become so totally preoccupied with a man that everything revolved around him. But as Maria saw it, love could simply suddenly disappear, like dust in the wind. Maria always listened to her with amazement and even a hint of jealousy, and although she found it a little excessive, she was certain that Sabine's infatuation was too great to be summed up by words alone. It seemed to her that it was something you have to experience at least once in your life, in the same way that some people go on a pilgrimage to fulfil their lifetime ambition.

She felt an urgent need to share what had happened with Sabine, but of course, Sabine was too busy caring for patients in the local hospital. Acquaintances of Maria who had encountered Sabine as a nurse were very positive about the way in which she did her job. Her relaxed sense of humour, in particular, was very well thought of. There were of course patients who didn't quite get her jokes, or who in fact didn't find her even remotely funny, but that was almost certainly down to their own narrow-mindedness.

Sabine was fairly well-read, and had a taste for books that could not be found in East Germany. She found them especially attractive precisely because they were forbidden, just as Eve had been tempted by the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. And yet, the wisdom she had acquired had a dark side. She once told Maria in confidence that while on the one hand, she was happy reading books by writers from the West, she sometimes found it a shame that this had expanded her horizons.

She had persuaded Maria to read " Aus der Ferne" by Heinrich Biell, the well-known West German writer. There, on the other side of the Iron Curtain, the grass was greener, and you could say anything you wanted. A place of freedom and prosperity. Perhaps best not to think about it too much. Before reading the book, Maria had hardly missed freedom, but afterwards, she had longed for that way of life and was sometimes sorry that Sabine had given her the book. She'd planted the seeds which were now germinating in the face of adversity. And to make matters worse, she couldn't bring herself to deprive these young lives of water, and went in search of other books to read. Sabine had always emphasised to her that she should not leave the books lying around, but that she should hide them - even from Dré. She had always carefully followed this advice, even if she could not think of any reason why the government would have blacklisted these beautifully-written novels.

She walked to the bedroom and had a look in her wardrobe, where she was storing a few books in a shoebox below the shoes within. The books were still there. It was certainly a place where Dré would never look, and yet he had said I know what you're up to, Maria. What did he mean by this? She had of course discussed Aus der Ferne with Sabine, but only while the two of them were alone together, and only while Dré was at work.

She had to speak with Sabine as soon as she was home.

2

Former East Germany, 2015

Alfred Zomer anxiously watched on as Frau Hüttenberger tottered laboriously back to her home to collect the key to the old villa. The elderly, heavyset woman was clearly struggling to keep her body in balance, tilting sometimes to the left, and sometimes to the right. He said to himself that he would be amazed if she didn't take more breaks on the way to her house, around 50 metres further along, or if she failed to reach her destination at all.

This could last an eternity. But his fate was in her hands and after she had shot him a stern look, he dared not help her.

It gave him time to deal with his racing, terrified heart. He had made a rash purchase, however improbably reasonably priced this property might be. With his talent for making the wrong decisions, it seemed doomed to fail, but whatever happened, it was his own, personal mistake.

It was highly likely that it would turn into a fiasco, he realised. But that was nothing to do with the condition of the property, the estate agent had assured him. Wherever he had tapped on the window frames, they felt solid, with no paint peeling, and they even included double glazing. With 30 rooms, the framework of the villa alone was worth a fortune. The walls and rock solid roof were erected in a time in which people had built things to last. Even if it did all go wrong, there was a fair chance that Alfred would earn money on a resale.

The elderly woman seemed to be waiting for him for a long time. Her pace, similar to that of a waddling duck, made Alfred fear that he wouldn't be getting the keys back within the next 45 minutes, so he battled his way through the dense undergrowth to the rear of his villa. His face and hands took some damage on the way due to the thorns and branches whipping back towards him. Working through the pain, he reached the rear of the villa, where the ground was a great deal more passable.

He discovered that the sliding doors to a library-like room, filled with support shelves on the walls, were unlocked. After a little toing and froing, the right-hand door shot open, and he was able to enter the large room. The floor was fitted with scanty-looking parquet, arranged in a mosaic pattern, and there was an enormous painting on the wall. It depicted a hunting scene, with a heroic-looking rider being given a prominent position on the banks of a river.

Curious about the other rooms, which he had only been shown in photos that may have been deceptive, he tried in vain to open the door to the right, and then the door on the other side. Odd, he thought, to leave the outer doors unlocked while the inner doors stayed locked.

His wife Kalijn would certainly have frowned upon this purchase, were she still alive. Friends found it reckless, although they would never say that to his face. A villa in the former East Germany, for a price that could only invite suspicion. The children, too, were very alarmed by this strange purchase. And Alfred? He was prepared for unexpected setbacks and at the same time, very excited about this step into the unknown.

He realised it had been almost 45 minutes since Frau Hüttenberger had set off to collect the key. Alfred rushed to the front of the villa and waited beside the imposing staircase by the entrance, flanked by impressive pillars. He gazed in the direction from which he expected her to appear. By now, she had had enough time to collect the keys, perhaps even to take a break, have a trip to the toilet, and come back. Anything could happen to that kind of elderly woman on the way here, though. If she had fallen over, it was probably at the corner, because he had a view across the whole street and couldn't see anything amiss.

The uncertainty gnawed at him. He knew more or less where she lived, and rushed in that direction. Since she had revealed to him that she lived 'gleich um die Ecke', right on the corner, he walked to the front door of the first house after the bend and rang the bell, but no matter how much he rang, nobody came to the door. Finally, he heard a weak Here! from the back yard. As he carefully opened the door, he saw his German neighbour sitting at the table with baking potatoes in her lap and a paring knife in her hand. She looked at him as if to say What are you doing here?

Are you alright, Frau Hüttenberger? Did you find the keys?

"I put them in the letterbox, schon längst! Because you weren't there. I called and called!" she said indignantly.

Just as Alfred was about to ask how she had managed to do that so quickly, he saw the mobility scooter. Well, that explained that.

But... he said, doubtfully, How do I get the keys, then?

I tied the keys to a piece of string with a knot in the end, hanging just outside the flap. You can collect them now, but be careful not to push the knot back inside - then you'll really be in trouble.

Just as he made to leave, he felt -completely out of the blue - her hand on his. Caught off-guard by this sudden motion, he remained frozen in his uncomfortable position, looking at her quizzically. He ran through the options in his mind. Did she want to warn him of his impending death, because the villa was haunted by the horseman in the painting? Or threaten him, perhaps, because intruders weren't welcome here?

Stay a while she said, in a creaky voice. "I've got Kaffee und Kuchen".

Without waiting for his answer, she poured coffee into a rather kitsch cup from a pot in the same style. She then offered him an enormous slice of cake. He had no desire whatsoever to chat to Frau Hüttenberger, but had learned that to refuse such a gesture may be taken the wrong way. For that reason, he accepted with feigned joy.

I'm all alone here, you know. My husband and I worked for a long time in the Trabant factory in Zwickau. The work killed him. I was always stronger than he was. Now I'm all on my own, with my dismal pension.

A thick tear emerged from the corner of her eye, but she quickly gathered herself.

So you bought the villa with the 30 rooms?

I just felt that I had to do it, said Alfred, carefully.

"Vielleicht ist es besser so - might be better that way", the woman muttered, staring into the distance.

What do you mean by that?, he asked, his interest piqued. She hesitated slightly before answering.

It's good that somebody will be living in it once again. A building standing empty for a long time will only decay and die a slow death. Luckily for you, they renovated it a couple of years ago.

He saw the real reason for her mysterious remark in her evasive glance. His stomach suddenly felt tight. There's this painting in the library, he said, With a...

"Ah, the Jagdszene! interrupted Frau Hüttenberger. A truly magnificent reproduction. Totally worthless, apart from the frame, but it looks just like the original. If I had the money, I'd offer to take it off your hands, but with my dismal little pension..."

With that, she harked back to the Trabant factory, which had determined the course of her life to a great extent.

In Zwickau, they still have this café where they sing all the old Trabant songs: Unser Arbeitsplatz, Kampfplatz für den Frieden, 4026 Schweißpunkte Gastarbeiter aus Cuba. We sung that once, you know, Andreas and I. She showed him a photograph of Andreas, a tall man. More or less the same kind of man as his Uncle Herman. His eyes gleamed with mischief and swagger.

Five minutes later, Alfred and Frau Hüttenberger were drinking beer together, as she'd refused to give him the water he'd requested. Afterwards, when he made to leave, she assured him that turning down a second beer would be a downright insult. In order to make his escape quickly, Alfred drank too fast. He managed to free himself from the clutches of Frau Hüttenberger eventually, albeit fairly clumsily. Taking deep breaths to dispel his nausea, he walked as steadily as he could to the villa, while Frau Hüttenberger screeched after him: Made sure that the knot doesn't fall into the letterbox, OK? He gestured to indicate that he had understood.

A wonderful start, he thought ashamedly, to go staggering through the streets of the former East Germany. He thought he could see faces from time to time, peering at him from behind the windows. Of course, people were watching and laughing. Luckily it was only a little way further to the villa.

The stairs to the impressive entrance were a perfect location to reflect on his sins. It was a good fifteen minutes before he felt well enough to fish the keys out from the letterbox. It was a free-standing, green metal letterbox. Just as he was carefully grasping the knot that was caught between the flap and the frame, the phone rang. To his dismay, he pushed the knot inside on instinct, and frustrated, he picked up the phone and barked What?!

It was Amy, his daughter, wanting to get in touch with him with the best of intentions and who was now aghast about the way in which he'd answered the phone. He tried to prevent her from hanging up. After what seemed like a thousand apologies, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. She was simply wanting to know more about his adventures in Remse, and asked if he'd been drinking.

I introduced myself to the neighbour. An old lady he clarified. Gave me coffee and cake, and beer afterwards. So I've made a friend already! Don't worry, everything's going fine here.

Her anxiety was touching, but he found it difficult to convince her that things were going well. He promised to call her back at the end of the day.

The letterbox was waiting for him in challenge. How difficult could it be to fish out the keys with a wire or thin branch, if needs be? He found a sturdy twig with a kind of hook at the end. Triumphantly, he pushed the twig through the letterbox and turned the hook, hoping desperately for the liberating sound of a rattling set of keys.

A man with a Rottweiler looked on from a distance and called What are you doing there?! Alfred saw him reaching for his phone - to call the police, no doubt. Explaining to him that it was actually his villa didn't seem to be an option. The dog growled menacingly. Alfred prayed the man would keep it on the lead. He decided to stop trying to fish the keys from the letterbox. A second and third local resident joined the man with the Rottweiler, and all three observed him closely. He made a motion to indicate that nothing untoward was going on, but this proved futile. The man with the dog motioned back at him, to let him know that he wasn't to move an inch. He had never experienced a longer five minutes - that was all the time the police needed to arrive with sirens blaring.

3

East Germany, 1985

Günschen, time to eat!!

Günther had an almost pathological hatred of his nickname of Günschen. He had told his mother multiple times that he didn't want to be called that any more - it sounded like a girl's name. But every single time he reminded her of this, she made fun of him so much that he would invariably end up crying in his bedroom, so he generally gritted his teeth and put up with it.

Coming! he yelled back. He'd been playing shop with himself for some time, and food was always a welcome distraction. He was especially looking forward to the pork belly roast with baked potatoes, and the Apfelstrudel with whipped cream afterwards. He'd already seen the meat on the kitchen counter earlier that afternoon, and his mother knew that pork belly always went with baked potatoes, not boiled potatoes. Just half an hour before, he had smelled the onions his mother was frying, and he'd seen his father smoking in the living room, something he only allowed himself to do once he'd finished his work at the butcher's.

Despite his extra pounds, Günther tiptoed down the stairs. He had a terrible fear that he would only be given wings once the words 'Time to eat!' were shouted. He gravitated towards the source of all the delicious smells as though he was floating.

Well, Günschen, said his father, with a sympathetic look. You made your way downstairs quickly enough!.

I'm so hungry, though!

His mother came over with a huge bowl of roasted pork belly and placed it on the table. Gunther wondered if they would say grace together first, because this was something that happened occasionally but not always, depending on how his father felt. Father and Mother put their hands together and closed their eyes, while Günther followed with a bored expression on his face. After a short prayer that his father recited in a suddenly far deeper voice, his mother looked at them both, saying slowly and with emphasis Tuck in. She signalled to her husband that he could start cutting the meat. Mother would get her portion first, then Father. They each took only a modest portion