Destiny Has No Favorites

By Dieter Klett

This is a story of a person arriving in this country in this country and in this city where he eventually ended up in the middle of the night, not knowing a soul in Canada and having just about $10.- in his pocket. Using my imagination I let this imaginary person - Peter- show the reader the adventures and misadventures he and eventually his family experienced in this for him so strange and at the same time exciting new place. I decided to cover a period of roughly the first 25 years Peter spent in his new chosed homeland. I could have continued showing the development of his and his family's life after the 25 year period, but I decided against that. I wanted this story to have closure. Another possible book would show the reader how Peter's life continued after 25 years and would show us how he and his loved ones continued with their lives with its ups and downs. The gist of the events occured from the mid 1950's until the early 1980's. I actually completed this book in 1982. It was lying in my filing cabinet for 30 years, because I never had either the time or inclination to publish in writing. The title of this publication: "Destiny has no Favorites" is correct. Destiny, or fate, has no favorites and we all are at the mercy of this destiny destined for us by that higher power we may call God, Nature, the Absolute Being, the Creator, Providence, the Omnipotent, Being the Supreme Soul or whatever mage us feel better to accept the unacceptable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479712199

Dieter Klett

TO FOLLOW

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Dieter Klett.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012916355

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4797-1218-2

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4797-1217-5

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4797-1219-9

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

FOREWORD

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The book cover was designed by Maria Gabriel a well known and respected European Artist, living in Portugal.

Thanks go also to the author's wife Gabriela. She always was there when he needed her by his side with good, constructive advice and a calming influence. She steadfastly supported him in his desire to bring this book to market, which was sometimes connected to severe frustrations.

Thank you, Dieter Klett. Book ID 114280, London/Ontario, October 4, 2012.

FOREWORD

He was just an ordinary person, living an ordinary life. But as our lives progress, events happen even to the most common people. And our main character of this book was no exception. One of the reasons life unfolded a little different for Peter was perhaps the fact that he was an immigrant to this, for him, new and exciting country of Canada. Being a newcomer, he had to totally abandon everything he was used to in his birth country of Germany. He was well aware of that fact; and he was prepared to tackle any obstacle that this new exciting country would throw in his way while he would struggle to learn new customs, different ways of life, and the people of this country. Learn how they lived and try to blend in as smoothly as possible. One thing he learned quickly was that the people were generally very friendly, they were very helpful, and they did not make fun of him when he talked to them in his thick European accent. Luckily he had studied the English language for the past few years, so he had no difficulty conversing with the natives or what he called the local populace. Of course, later on, he learned that the only natives were the Indian people. The vast majority of the people in Canada were immigrants just like him, of course, with many of them having lived here for generations. Therefore, since he was a new settler, he would face different challenges and problems as people who had been here for a long time. And this is what this book is also trying to show: how a newcomer settled in building a life for himself and eventually his family. His basic life was probably the same as that of most other humans. But there were some interesting turns and twists that unfolded while he tried to build a successful livelihood for himself and his young family.

Some readers might construe that the novel gives advice what not to do with their lives. But this was not the intention of the writer. What this book is trying to do is entertain, peruse, curse at some of the things handled in the book, perhaps shake your head a few times, wondering sometimes why people do what they do. This book is not light entertainment, but it is also not intended to give the reader sleepless nights. By far, not everything in Peter’s life was doom and gloom. There was lots of happiness and wonderful family life with his wife, children, his family, and his large circle of good friends. It took the author over thirty years to finally write the last sentences, so the reader can safely assume that a lot of thought was invested into the writing of this book. Do not try to second-guess why the main characters in this book behaved the way they did. They were humans, and that’s what some humans do. This writing is fictional, and any person you think you might recognize is purely a person of your own imagination.

Reading this book, the reader may sometimes see himself or herself. He or she may wonder about the things Peter did sometimes, and one might shake one’s head and wonder about the stupid or unfortunate things the main character did. Maybe the reader will learn a thing or two about life, browsing through this novel.

The author did a lot of soul searching before deciding on a title for the book. He did a lot of research before committing himself to choosing the title for the book he eventually settled for. He did kind of a survey of friends and relatives to get some feedback on his choice of the title. Unfortunately in this story and in still far too many other similar stories and books written about this dreadful disease, the winner is still what one almost could call the epidemic. Many a reader will say, Yes this would have been a good title, because many a reader of this book will say, Yes, very, very unfortunately there was a winner, but it was not the medical profession. The bulk of the book was written thirty years ago, ending in the early 1980’s; so in the interim, progress has been made in the fight against cancer. Therefore, the title may not have been appropriate if the book would have been written in the twenty-first century. But for the time this fictional story took place, the title would have been correct, regardless if the people I asked for their opinions said the title would be controversial, disputable, and disgusting. Of course, now you rightfully wonder what that unpopular title would have been. The author was going to give his book the following title: And the Winner Is Cancer. Now you, as a treasured reader, might want to contemplate the truth or the absurdness of this considered but obviously not used title.

He was born two years ago. Mind you, he was already twenty-five years old—speaking in a metaphorical way—when he came into this world. Nevertheless, that day two years ago, he considered himself born. Up until that month two years ago, his life had been pretty dull and reasonably average, and there was not much to talk, let alone write about. He had a boy’s usual assortment of girlfriends with dates, promising kisses, and frightfully few quickies in romantic and not-so-fanciful places; he went through his apprenticeship to learn a trade. Before that, he lived a childhood that was not very eventful either. All the common children ailments befell him, and he survived them all. Never did he earn a scholarship in school, being content to just pass from one grade to the next. However, to his credit, it must be said that his youth up to age twelve fell into the years of the Second World War. This probably contributed to his poor scholastic results since there were frequent school interruptions because of enemy bomber attacks. After the war, there were for months on end no regular school services available. This did not really much matter to him because who, as a child, likes to go to school anyways?

Did Peter like this way of life? No, he did not—he detested it. And he was desperate to change it. That is why at the age of twenty-three, he decided to leave his native land to seek his fortune in a country with possibly superior opportunities. Since by nature he did not mind to work hard, he was going to challenge his own abilities and possibilities in completely new surroundings. He seriously planned to achieve something in life. This probably sounds very familiar to every reader since most people have audacious plans, especially when they are young. Peter did not know too much about the country he had picked to emigrate to; therefore, when they asked him at the consulate in his homeland which city he would like to settle in his chosen new country, he answered that he did not know. Hmm, said the consulate officer, where should we send you to? I really don’t know, Peter answered. I think I know how we should settle this, volunteered the officer. Here is a map of the entire territory of your chosen new country. Close your eyes and point anywhere on this map. And at whatever city or village or uninhibited area, here the officer interrupted himself, giving Peter a short sarcastic smile, your thumb will rest, that’s the place I will send you to. Does that sound fair? Sure, great with me, answered Peter. Now he closed his eyes tightly—no cheating on an important decision like this—and moved his thumb slowly all over the map. Suddenly he stopped his finger’s movement and opened his eyes. The consulate officer bent forward to see were his thumb had stopped, then said: Congratulations. You picked a nice city in Canada. The town is called Iploto in the Province of Ontario and has a population of approximately two hundred thousand people. You will like it there. Peter said, Thank you very much. I guess I have to take your word for it. Little did he know that he had taken a giant step toward the beginning of his life. The immigration papers were prepared quickly, and it was soon time to say goodbye to his five sisters and brothers, his parents, his relatives, and many friends in his native land. His family and friends were still in a daze that he was planning to leave so soon. Nobody of his family knew that he even considered leaving his home country. He planned the whole coup including his visit to the consulate office all by himself and in total secrecy. The shock was great when he told his family of his fait accompli just four weeks prior to his departure. His father especially was absolutely stunned and outraged that his son would do such a stupid and senseless thing without at least even consulting him. His father was of the old German order: he was the head of the family and that it was his responsibility to look after the well-being and success of the children he had brought to this world—with the help of his wife, of course. Peter would not call his dad a dictator per se (even though it was tempting for him to do so many times), but nevertheless, he was not prepared to have his life run by his father. For Peter’s free-spirited mind, this was definitely a no-no. He was determined to live his life his own way. He knew that his father’s intention was to do the best for all his six children, but Thank you, not for me, Peter thought. Of course, in hindsight this was not a very smart move of Peter. His two brothers gladly accepted the guidance, advice, and valuable connections of their father and in the process became very wealthy businesspersons in their respective communities. Peter never begrudged them for their success, but he also never ever regretted that he went his own chosen way. An old worn-out steamship took him to his new chosen country. And he traveled lightly. On purpose. Peter wanted to start a new life from scratch, so to speak, and he did not want to have anything with him that would remind him of his homeland. After ten days of traveling on this rickety old steamer called appropriately Seven Seas, the boat entered the mighty St. Lawrence River. Immediately Peter was impressed by the vast expanse of land on the right and the left side of the riverbank. Right away he realized that this seemed to be indeed an enormous country and it seemed to be sparsely populated. He spotted very few houses on either side. He was amazed at the ones he saw. They all looked the same. Small one-floor dwellings covered in clapboard siding. What really intrigued him were the roofs of the houses. The roofs were in all the colors of the rainbow: red, green and blue. I guess, Peter thought, this is just one of the first of many new impressions he would be faced with in this wondrous new world for him. Early the next morning they arrived on a bright, sunny, but crisp morning in the port city of Montreal. They were greeted by friendly Canadian immigration personnel. After the formalities were over, it was time to say goodbye to fellow passengers Peter became acquainted with during the passage. It was time for everyone to go his or her own way into an unsure, frightful, exciting, and certainly unknown future. Some of the passengers were met by friends and family who already lived in Canada. There was nobody to meet Peter. He was really totally by himself with his one suitcase and the remaining $20 in his pocket. Now would have been a really good time for Peter to be scared, afraid, worried, and perhaps downcast. But he had no such feelings. He felt free, intoxicated, excited, and ready to face his future with vigor. The people of the immigration department were good enough to give him a ride to the train station where he was put on to his new destination of Iploto. They told him the train ride to his new home would probably take ten hours. Wow, Peter thought. That would be the entire time it would take a train to traverse his native Germany. In this country it covered only a very small area of this immense country. Awesome. He arrived at his new hometown at 2:00 a.m. So here he stood with his suitcase in the middle of the night, having no idea what to do next. He went to a nearby taxi and asked the driver where he could stay for little money for the rest of the night. The Taxi driver suggested the local YMCA, and this is where Peter spent the first night in Iploto. The first unpleasant surprise in his new country was when they told him at the immigration office that he could not hope to find employment in his learned profession as a clerk because his command of the English language was apparently not as good as he had hoped it would be. However, he was flexible, and it really did not matter to him what he would do for the first little while. For he knew that for the moment this would not interfere with his long-range plan to establish his own business, succeed in it, sell it, and retire at the age of forty-five. When he had left Germany and told his family of his intentions, they all laughed at and ridiculed him about even mentioning impossibly dreams like that. Peter at the time swallowed the humiliation of the scorn poked at him by his family, but it helped him to strengthen his obsession to achieve success and show his loved ones, everybody, including himself, that, in fact, he would be able to reach his target.

What would you suggest I do then since I will not be able to be employed as a clerk? The immigration officer replied, Why don’t you start like so many millionaires did in this country? What do I have to do? Peter asked surprised. Go and start to work in the construction trade. I have an opening here for a bricklayer’s helper. Would you be interested in that? Sure, replied Peter, especially since I am quickly running out of money. I am down to my last $ 5.50, which I am going to spend for a meal shortly since I am hungry. Shaking his head and smiling, the officer than scribbled notes on two pieces of paper. One contained the address of a German family where Peter would be able to get room and board, and the second one told him the name and telephone number of his first employer in Canada. They both rose and shook hands. Peter was wished good luck and then he was dismissed. Peter moved another step closer to the beginning of his life.

For the next few weeks, Peter was busy digging holes, mixing mortar and helping his boss to rebuild homes, driveways, and whatever else is done in a construction business. His pay was a paltry 90¢ per hour. Peter was also busy trying to adjust to his new homeland. He went on long walks through the city and was amazed at the beauty and immense physical size of the town. There were many parks, large and small, with beautiful trees and well-kept grass—streets that never seemed to end. Since Peter had an inquisitive mind, he wanted to find out if there was a difference in the lifestyle of this country compared to Germany. He wanted to discover in which way the citizens of this town differed from the burghers of his native hometown. Peter also wanted to see as much of the country as possible; from magazines and books, he already knew that Canada was a huge and beautiful country. Iploto, however, was almost flat, and one certainly could not consider the immediate surrounding area as interesting or lovely. The entire area for miles in all directions was level and dull, used mainly for agriculture since the soil was very fertile. Only the occasional small hill was visible, raising itself just a few feet over the platitude of the flat surroundings. This too did not bother Peter exceedingly since the main reason he left his native land was to find new challenges and work toward his one goal.

After six weeks of work as a construction laborer, his boss told him one morning that he had no more work for him and would therefore have to lay him off. This came as a shock to Peter since in Germany no one was ever laid off. If there was a shortage of work or orders, your employer had to give you a minimum of 4 weeks’ notice, in writing, that your services were no longer required. To be told at eight o’clock in the morning that he did not have to bother to pick up his shovel because he was laid off or fired or let go or whatever term his boss wanted to use to terminate his employment was unpleasant news to him.

Maybe his employer’s decision to terminate his placement was the fact that he probably had noticed that Peter did really not know too much about the construction industry. Peter’s boss had to continually keep telling him how to do his work, and sooner or later he had to get tired of that. So Peter expected to be released sometime. But it was now late in the fall, and Peter was worried about finding new employment. He had no savings, so he had to find a new job soon. Preferably an inside position since he was told that winters in this country would be bitterly cold.

Through an acquaintance, he was given the address of a bakery that was looking for an experienced baker. True to what he was being told, namely, that you have to be able to do everything in this country if you want to go ahead, he went to the bakery to apply for the opening. Once there and feeling a little jittery about his nerve to apply for this job, the supervisor asked him, looking at him sternly and questioningly and thus unnerving Peter even more, So you say you are an experienced baker, and continuing after a few seconds of silence, How long have you worked as a baker? Oh, about three or four years, Peter lied, feeling tiny beads of sweat to start forming on his upper lip. The supervisor—a big burly red-faced man, dressed in a white uniform—looked at him for at least two hours (or so it seemed to Peter) before saying, Okay, I have to take your word. You are hired, but if you are not good, we will not hesitate to fire you immediately. Thank you, answered Peter. I’ll try my best not to disappoint you. Fine, then report for work at 6:00 a.m. Tomorrow morning! Uh, how Peter hated that announcement: 6:00 a.m! He hated to get up early in the mornings. Jesus. But he needed a job.

The next morning at 6:00 a.m. sharp, the foreman at the bakery introduced him to his new strange surroundings of a bakeshop with all the mixing machines, mixing bowls, refrigerators, ovens, etc. He pointed to a fellow worker who would prepare and weigh out all the ingredients and supplies he would need to mix his dough and whatever.

Okay, here, the foreman said, are all the ingredients. Mix this donut dough first, and this cake mix second, then prepare the icing for the cupcakes. And hurry. The girls start to work at seven, and everything has to be ready for them by then. With that, he hurried away, leaving Peter all by himself. Now Peter really started to worry because the monstrosity of his lie to the supervisor just dawned on him as he looked at the row of supplies sitting in front of him on the floor, beckoning to be mixed together in just the right order. For this much he knew that if the ingredients would not be mixed in the right order, the dough or cake mix would not turn out properly. The cake or the bread or the muffins or whatever would not rise in the oven. This would mean that as soon as the man on the oven would discover this, he would run screaming to the foreman who in turn would rush swearing to the supervisor, who in turn would come cussing to poor Peter, who in turn would be out of a nice warm job by no later than 9:00 a.m. All that went quickly through Peter’s head, and he must have looked pretty stupid thinking about this sad but distinct possibility.

Suddenly there was a loud laugh behind him, and a voice with an accent asked him what the matter was. He immediately recognized that accent as the same as his own, which meant that whoever was addressing him must be coming from the same country as himself. That was a good sign, and he sighed a tremendous sigh of relief. Peter turned. And there he was.

Hi, there. Max is my name. Hi, I am Peter. He went quickly to him, and they shook hands. You must be our new mixer. You don’t look too happy. What’s the matter? Max looked pretty friendly, so Peter decided to take a chance, trust him and confide his dilemma to Max. To his great delight and relief, Peter discovered that Max had been working at this job for over three years and obviously knew a lot more about baking than Peter did. Max also at once declared that since they were both Germans, they had at least something in common, and he was therefore prepared to help him. Did I really deserve this? Peter asked himself quietly. Quickly he gave him some instructions what he had to do with all the mysterious things sitting in front of him. No sooner had he finished his crash course in baking than the supervisor rounded the corner to see if his newly hired baker really knew what he was doing. He silently stood there and watched Peter but was not disappointed since Peter was busily engaged adding ingredient to ingredient and generally looking very professional.

During the next few weeks, Max taught Peter more and more about the art of baking, but still Peter did make a lot of mistakes, which showed the supervisor soon that Peter could not really be what he pretended to be. Many loads of cake mixes were spoiled because they were not blended properly; countless donuts did not rise because of improper handling. Yet Peter proved to be very reliable and trustworthy, and he certainly demonstrated that he was a fast worker. In the end this most likely saved his job since these virtues were more important to the supervisor than to have a person who knew 100 percent about baking but lacked responsibility and steadiness.

When Peter left Germany, his father had told him that his most important short-term goal should be to save enough money so that in the event he didn’t like it in the foreign country anymore he could buy a ticket to return home. Peter was working hard and was prepared and eager to achieve something in Canada. Yet he had a curious relationship to money. He hated it. To him money was an ugly, dirty commodity. Sure, one needed it to live; and the more money one has, the better is the person’s living standard. Still he had no respect for the almighty dollar. This was actually a stark contradiction to his desire to achieve his goal of retiring at the age of forty-five because deep down he knew that without money there was not very much he could accomplish, particularly not in a country like this, where a person is only judged by his riches. But here he was with this poor attitude, and one could only hope that time would change his outlook; and he would begin to realize that without the desire to make a lot of wampum, few of his dreams could be attained. And to make money, as a penniless newcomer, he had to save it, not spend it. However, at this point being in the country for only a few months, the idea of saving money did not appeal to him. His sight was set on owning a fancy car, the first in his life.

Ergo, after he thought that his new job looked like a fairly permanent one, he went to purchase a (for him) expensive new car. Not much later did he realize that this was the first basic mistake he had made in his new homeland. Naturally he had very little down payment for the car and had to finance the balance through a finance company. Later he discovered that once one is in the clutches of finance companies, it is very hard to get out of debts.

But here he had his new car, and he was proud of it. Immediately he took millions of pictures of his shiny new Chevrolet and sent them to all his relatives and family, thus proclaiming that he now was somebody. Max did not share his enthusiasm. In this country you have to save money first than spend it. I would maybe have bought a old used car after I was able to pay cash for it. Max sat down on a box, put his long legs on a bag of flour, leaned back against a pail of lard, and looked aggressively at Peter with his elongated skinny face and small setback bright blue eyes, scratching vigorously behind his big ears with his long delicate fingers. Look at me, he continued, slightly excited. I have been in this bloody country for over three years, and I still don’t have a car. Looking at Peter triumphantly, he concluded, I save my money! What do you save it for? asked Peter mockingly, leaning against the wire mesh and folding his hands in front of his trim five-feet-nine-inch frame. So I can borrow you some, maybe, when you are broke, he snapped. Peter laughed, for he thought this was a funny reply. He did not realize at that time that Max’s attitude was the proper one. But he would learn in time that Max had been absolutely right.

Of course, one could also overdo the necessity of saving funds and in the process become obsessed with it and actually become a mentally ill person. In Peter’s opinion, Max was very close to becoming such a human being. He fed himself entirely from the inventories of the bakery even taking home whatever he needed for his cooking, like sugar, salt, flour, etc. Max never went out socially, not even to the movie, because he claimed he could not afford the expense. Unquestionably this was not true, and Peter called Max a cheapskate. This, to Peter’s mind, was really overdoing it; and he told Max in no uncertain terms that man walked this earth but once and that we better enjoy life now, every minute of it, since time kept moving on relentlessly.

Actually Peter was not the kind of person who was qualified to make such a statement, for he himself was not the type that lived and enjoyed live to its fullest. Like some people, who spend at least 50 percent of their lifetime for the pursuit of the joyous side of living, like sailing, riding, playing tennis, going skiing, swimming, surfing, flying kites, having lots of like-minded friends, attending many parties orgies, and countless more exciting things like that. No, Peter did not belong into that class. But all the same, he had no intention of sitting at home every evening of the week and checking his bank balance. He enjoyed going to the movies or to the weekly dances at the local YMCA. Especially the latter. These dances were very Spartan affairs and certainly no place to meet a raving beauty or the daughter of a millionaire. The dance was in a big room. All around the walls chairs were placed; and as if by magic, on exactly half the wall area sat the boys, and on the other half of the wall area the girls sat expectantly. The music came from records played on an creaky old record player that together with its operator was out of sight. At the start of the noise (music), most young men jumped up and raced to the girls of their choice, in their haste frequently bumping into each other as sometimes three to five guys tried to reach one favorite girl at the same time. It was at times hilarious to watch or maybe somewhat embarrassing when you arrived out of breath at the lady of your liking and she refused to dance with you. One really looked very morose to stand there in a situation like that because sooner or later one had to admit defeat, turn around, and try to walk back to one’s seat as inconspicuously and nonchalantly as possible. Very frustrating. Peter often just sat there and chose to watch the spectacle rather than taking a chance to be rejected by the girl he had elected from his side of the wall. If there was one thing Peter could not stand, it was rejection, and it would have really hurt him to be turned down by a prospective dancing partner. So rather than being turned down, he didn’t try in the first place.

Actually there was no reason why Peter should have felt like that (being turned down by a girl) because he was not ugly. He was not exceptionally handsome either, but he was probably better looking than the average young man of his age. Peter stood 5’ 9" tall, tipped the scales at about 165 pounds, with blond hair and gray green eyes. His face was slightly oval, and every time he smiled or laughed, a cute dimple was etched into his cheeks. The nose was in proper proportion to the rest of his face and was slightly speckled with sun specks. If you looked at his eyes, you could easily see that he was not a dull person. They fairly sparkled as they continuously scanned his surroundings with friendly interest and were just a bit set back. Fairly bushy eyebrows guarded his round fairly large visual organs. His walk was light, fast paced, and erect. Looking at himself in the mirror after a shower, naked, he told himself that he should be fairly attractive to the other sex, and the fairer sex probably thought the same meeting Peter by chance.

Therefore, if he would have been a little bolder, he probably could have been a real ladies’ man; yet ever since he could remember, he had been afraid to get involved with females, mostly because of his initial fear of being turned down. By now he had accepted the sad fact that this was the way he just happened to be and therefore lost his interest in girls. But deep down, he was still hoping to someday meet a girl he could have a truly nice relationship with. However, this girl would have to more or less ask Peter for a date. Pity. His two brothers in Germany told him many times that they could not understand him. They had no problems finding girlfriend after girlfriend and enjoying themselves tremendously.

Still, Peter did go to this and other dances frequently, if for no other reason than to leave the house and his tiny room he occupied there. Mostly he went to wherever he ventured with other boys from the rooming house, even though it would not have bothered him to go out alone since basically he was a loner and he did not fancy or need to be in a group at all.

This busy social life occupied him all winter. With the arrival of spring, he sometimes hopped into his car and drove around for hours just for the fun of it. Together with friends, he took trips to nearby points of interest and generally spent time to get more acquainted with the country. At work things began to run a lot smoother too, with Peter becoming more of a real baker. Max continued to help him whenever necessary, and he was grateful to Max for that. However, a close friendship with Max never developed, mainly because Max for economical reasons never went anywhere. Peter just could not understand such an attitude and tried many times to persuade him to at least come to the movies with him. But even that was too much of an expense for Max. Frustrated, Peter gave up his attempts to gain Max as a true friend. Peter really did feel sorry for Max and the way he barely existed; however, everybody is the maker of his own fortune or misfortune. He asked him once how he was satisfying his sex drive because every man needs the company and the friendship of a woman once in a while. Max replied that he was probably different since he had no desire or urge for sexual relations. After that, Peter assumed that he most likely quieted his sexual fantasies by masturbation; and he felt sorry for him, which he shouldn’t have, for this was the way he most of the time fulfilled his own sexual needs. Yet this did not bother him, as he knew that sooner or later he would meet that one special girl minted just for him.

And a few months later the stage to meet this, his, no. 10 was set. One afternoon, as he sat tired in his room, his landlady called up and invited him to come down to the living room to meet an acquaintance of hers. Peter was exhausted and did not really feel like meeting anyone; however, his landlady was the autocratic type, and Peter did not want to upset her. He got up from the chair with a sigh, combed his hair quickly, tucked in his shirt, and went downstairs. In the living room he approached the guest and was introduced by his landlady. Ah, here you are, she sang with her high-piercing voice. I would like you to meet Mrs. Ilse Molakok. Mrs. Molakok, this is Peter Telk. A handshake. How are you, Mrs. Molakok? Fine, and how are you, Mr. Telk? His landlady sang on, Mrs. Molakok was born in Hungary. However, she was more or less brought up in our homeland; therefore, she speaks German fluently, and we talk to each other in our mother language." This was a great relief to all three of them because none was too articulate in the language of their adopted country. Peter sat down and was invited to a cup of coffee. They had an interesting conversation. Peter learned that the Molakok family was driven out of their native Hungary after the war because of their German background. They trekked to Austria were they lived in various camps for the next two or three years. After things settled down somewhat, the camps were dissolved, and they were sent to Germany. Again they had to move a few times until they finally found a permanent home—or so they thought—near a large industrial center. There they stayed until they finally decided to seek their future and fortunes in another country, like Peter and so many Europeans did at that time.

However, their situation was somewhat different from Peter’s. Peter, when he emigrated, was alone and single; so for him it was no great risk to leave his native lands. If he did not like it here, all he had to do was pack his few belongings and move to another place or even go back to Germany. For the Molakok’s, the risks were a lot more immense. They left Germany with five small children and no idea what would await them in Canada. Bartel, Mrs. Molakok’s husband, was a tool and die maker by trade, and like she pointed out, he was not afraid to find a occupation. Tradespeople were always welcome. Still, Peter thought, it required a lot of gut and optimism to leave a secure job position and emigrate with five young children and a pretty wife. And beautiful she was. Peter studied Mrs. Molakok. This was one of his favorite pastimes: studying and trying to analyze people. He estimated her to be about thirty years of age. She had dark brown naturally curly hair, brown eyes, and was perhaps five feet six inches tall. Along with her petite features, she had fairly dark complexion, an oval face, and slightly protruding Slavic cheekbones. Her hand and facial expressions, accentuated by her large mouth and the slightly parted lips if she was in a listening position, showed a very sensual person.

He was just going to reply to her when he heard a voice, And how do you like your work as a baker? It was Mrs. Molakok. Bewildered, Peter looked at her. Dear god, what had he done? Where had he been? He just had had a stormy sex session with Mrs. Molakok. How could this have happened? But no, he did not have had sex with her. He was sitting here, and she was sitting opposite from him, asking him a question. And his landlady was sitting there right beside him as well. Peter must have looked pretty stupid because both started to laugh, and Mrs. Molakok repeated her question, How do you enjoy working as a baker? I am sorry. I did not understand you before. O yes, yes, it’s okay, I guess, he stuttered. Ja, I guess I like the job. It’s not something I had planned to do in this country. Well, but one gets used to do anything. Ja, ja. Jesus, Peter had still in his mind the electrifying sex experience he had just had with this damn dame. He had to be able to call her his own if only once in his life, regardless whether she was married or not. Peter sighed quietly.

Shifting in his chair, Peter cleared his voice, swallowed hard, and continued, "Before I left Germany, I was told I could find work as a clerk in a local insurance company. However, I do not mind doing what I do now. My long-range plans are to eventually start a business of my own anyways. I had never planned to keep working for other people in this country for too long. If this would have been my plans, I would have been better off to stay at home. There my father is a very influential man, and he would have gotten me through his many connections, probably someday a terrific position.

My other five brothers and sisters were not as stupid as I, I guess; they gladly accepted my father’s connections to help them build a life. I am probably different, but so far, I am not sorry that I emigrated.

That sounds great, Peter, and I sure hope you achieve what you have planned to do, his landlady interrupted. I wish my husband would be a little more ambitious and have plans like that. He seems to be quite content with being a truck driver. I still don’t know how he managed to get us over here. But actually I did all the running around.

Well, Peter continued, I had to do everything myself, and it really did not bother me. I also did not think there was that much work involved, and— Hold it now, young man, his landlady butted in. Maybe for you, being one person, there was not much work involved; but don’t forget we were four people: my husband, myself, and our two little children. Besides, I had my household to look after. I am sure Mrs. Molakok will agree with me.

Yes, of course, agreed Mrs. Molakok, staring intently at Peter. Of course, you are right, and I am sorry, replied Peter. Now Mrs. Molakok spoke again, What are you usually doing with your time after work? Myself and some friends go to night school to improve our knowledge of the English language. Maybe you would be interested to come with us. This way, we would also keep in touch. Peter agreed that would indeed be a good idea and that he would most likely enroll in a night school course as well. Then she looked at him again with a look that told him that she must like him or at least find him interesting.

Would you or Peter care for another cup of coffee or more cake? his landlady asked. Peter said, No more coffee, thanks, but I wouldn’t mind one more piece of cake. I love sweet things, quickly glancing at Mrs. Molakok. Mrs. Molakok replied she wouldn’t mind another cup of coffee, But no more cake, please, as she had to watch her waistline, presently moving the same and her chest line in an unbelievable provocative manner. At this instant, Peter told himself with his long experience of people watching that it was simply impossible that this woman could belong to only one man. The way she talked, looked, and acted, she must have had affairs with other men. Peter was prepared to make any bet on that fact and at the same time was seriously looking forward to the time when he would be one of these lucky men. Here he went again. Shame on you, Peter. Don’t even think things like that. This lady is married and you always prided yourself for your high morals. But he just couldn’t help it that this lady really attracted him.

Mrs. Molakok restarted the interrupted conversation, By the way, my sister will be joining us soon. She will probably arrive in three or four months. She is applying for her immigration papers now, and we expect no difficulties in her obtaining a visa. Ildino is eighteen years old and healthy, and we will be her guarantors, so I really see no problems. Immediately upon hearing this, Peter made a mental note in his brain, storing this message, Mrs. Molakok’s sister coming in three or four months. Make sure you keep contact with Mrs. Molakok just to be certain to meet her sister. If she is even close to Mrs. Molakok, I would be very interested to meet her. Maybe when she arrives, I can introduce you to my sister, and maybe you can take her to a dance sometimes. She loves dancing. Mrs. Molakok giggled. Ja, that sounds interesting. I like dancing too. It would be nice to meet your sister. Please do not forget to invite me once she is here.

Their talk now turned to more general topics. They discussed the universal favorite: the weather, comparing it with the climate back home and discovering that it was almost the same. The only difference was that the seasons, winter and summer especially, were more extreme in Canada. Summers were hotter, more humid, and much shorter than in Germany; and the winter lasted longer, with more snow and lower temperatures than in the old country. It was agreed that they didn’t like winter too much; however, not much could be done to change winter. Fortunately. Next they talked about his landlady, Mrs. Berta Lowner. Mr. and Mrs. Lowner had two children: Otto who was about thirteen years old, and Pamela, approximately twelve years of age. They were well behaved, and Peter liked them. Pamela was a normal plain young girl. However, Otto could sometimes behave like a fully grown idiot; he was a Superhyper boy. He would literally roll and cartwheel through the house like a rubber ball and at the same time holler and scream from the top of his voice. His mother explained that he was born prematurely and weighed less than one pound when he was born, spending his first four weeks in an incubator. Naturally, Peter concluded for himself, his brain could never have been developed properly and fully. Even so, he was thirteen years old, and he could only be placed in grade 3 in school—a very low grade, more so, because they were immigrants and did not know the language very well. Mrs. Molakok’s school-age children and Pamela attended the grades they should according to their age, and they did not have any problems learning the English language. Children, especially at a young age, seem to master new languages very quickly. However, Otto just could not adjust to school, and he was weak in every subject taught. This did not bother Otto very much; only his parents were concerned. Yet there was not very much they could do about him but hope that somehow he would be able to manage his own life.

Otto reminded Peter of his own sister Ingrid, who was about the same age as Otto. She too acted and behaved somewhat strange, and Peter’s parents were concerned about Ingrid. They had consulted with several doctors and specialists, and all came to the conclusion that her apparent abnormalities could be traced to nervous disorders. But they were advised not to worry too much. Ingrid would be able to attend at least a few years of school to give her a good base. Thereafter, she should be able to pass a few courses, which would enable her to work in an office doing simple clerical work. Peter was certain that Otto would be able to do something similar and be quite capable of finding his own niche in life and society. Of course, Otto was not Peter’s son, so it was easy for Peter not to worry. Helmut Lowner had no real profession. He had been a career soldier, an occupation he was not allowed to continue after the war. Consequently after the warfare had ended, he drifted from post to post, never being really satisfied with what he was doing. Therefore, when his wife suggested that they emigrate, he was not very opposed to that idea. So here they were now, and he was working as a truck driver, which seemed to satisfy him. For the present anyways.

Mrs. Lowner poured herself another cup of coffee after being assured by her guests that they did not care for more. Mrs. Lowner was approximately thirty-three years old. She had a round pretty face with high cheekbones. Her eyes were small, grayish green, and slightly set back. Over her large smooth-skinned forehead was a elaborately styled head of brown hair. Her skin was very silky and creamy and fairly dark. She was about five feet five inches tall and could well be described as being plain fat. There was no figure visible—just a large blob of fat. Mrs. Lowner liked to eat, and it showed. She definitely was a good cook. Peter knew because he had room and board with the Lowner’s. She was also an autocratic type, slightly choleric, and very definitely the boss of the house; and the only way to get along well with her was to do what she said. For that reason, her roomers never stayed too long because most people, by nature, don’t like to be told continuously what to do. But Peter was an easygoing type, and her dictatorship did not bother him. He could ignore her misbehavior. But he would never have the same fantasies and vision about her as he had after meeting Mrs. Molakok this afternoon.

Mrs. Molakok checked her wristwatch and said, Oh, I guess my husband will be here soon to pick me up. It’s already after four and I, and probably you, will have to start cooking supper soon. What are you cooking for tonight, Mrs. Lowner? With her high singing voice, she replied: We will be having a pork roast, mashed potatoes, and blue cabbage. Peter nodded his head in approval. Mrs. Lowner continued, I know Peter you like blue cabbage, don’t you? Yap, and just thinking about it makes me hungry. Mrs. Lowner laughed. And for dessert, we will be having rice pudding with raspberry syrup.

She had hardly finished when the doorbell rang. Mrs. Molakok jumped up. Ah, that must be my husband. And so it was. Peter was most interested to find out what kind of a husband this kind of a lady would have. His landlady, who knew Mrs. Molakok’s husband, went to open the front door. A few seconds later, he walked into the living room. Mrs. Molakok got up again to do the introduction. Bartel, may I introduce you to Mr. Peter Telk. Mr. Telk, this is my husband, Bartel. Mrs. Lowner invited Bartel to a cup of coffee. But he declined, saying that they better leave right away to drive home to the children and to have supper. This did not give Peter very much time to study and evaluate Mr. Molakok. He seemed to be a shy, quiet person. His eyes were a dull blue; and his hair was sparse, brown, and unkempt. He was walking in a stooped lumbering-trudging way, with long arms and ugly, clumsy, big, chapped, and dirty hands. This probably came from working hard for years and years as a tool and die maker. He had an unmistakable Slavic look. A broad featureless face with deep-set, little pig eyes, which were quite far apart, topped by bushy eyebrows. His whole appearance was that of an unrefined human being. He certainly looked a lot less intelligent and interesting than his wife did. Of course, Peter could not and would not judge his intelligence until he would know him a little closer. But one thing he saw immediately. This man could never satisfy a bubbly, outgoing, lively woman like her. Now he knew for certain that she probably had had numerous affairs. Quietly he wondered why Mrs. Molakok would marry a man like Bartel. He certainly was not attractive or handsome. Well, Peter thought, maybe he has some inner qualities; besides, this was none of his business. Yet since he was interested in Mrs. Molakok, he was determined to find out why she would marry a man like Mr. Molakok. So off went another message to his brain file: Find out why Mrs. Molakok married Bartel.

They were all still standing from the introduction, so now Mr. Molakok extended his hand to Mrs. Lowner. Goodbye, Mrs. Lowner. I hope to see you soon again. Goodbye, Mr. Telk. With this, he stretched his dirty big hand to Peter. Peter could hardly grasp his