The Willow Wren

would make my way to the wardrobe, open the door that was slightly ajar, climb in and help myself to the sweets. I so vividly remember sitting on the wooden floor of the wardrobe with Oma’s dresses above me. It was dark and warm and had a pleasant comforting smell. Oma found out right away, but she did not mind, and it became a secret between her and me that we kept from my parents and from Theodor, my older brother. It was regular visits to the wardrobe that made me fat and happy, not that doctor. I became so round that I could not stand up to walk anymore and I actually regressed to a few more months of crawling before my legs became strong enough to support my new bulk.
I have heard it said that your earliest memory tells you something about who you are. I am really not sure what to think of this or what this memory would say about me.
After that, I cannot recall anything clearly for at least a year, and Mama’s memoirs do not mention me again for a long while. If I concentrate, I can conjure a few gauzy images but am unsure of their date and exact nature. There are a few fragments of sound, perhaps music? A piano, I think. And shouting from the radio, certainly shouting from the radio. I can also bring to mind some abstract feelings such as a feeling of warm enveloping security, which I think is normal in very small children. But also a contradictory sense that everything was somehow delicate, tenuous. Like holding a soap bubble. This is perhaps less normal.
Clara was born on May 15, 1936. I have no memory of the day itself, but I do remember Mama telling everyone later what a difficult birth it was: a story she told many times, always pausing to smile and say, “But oh what a strong and beautiful baby Clara was.” She did not say so directly, but the contrast to me was implied. But no matter, I loved Clara. To this day she is my favourite. Maybe it is because Theodor is older and serious and increasingly took on an irritating man-of-the-house swagger when Papa was away, and maybe because the other three to come seemed so childish and uninteresting to me. Maybe that is why I was always closest to Clara. That is not to say that I did not throw my weight around as big brother with her. Of course I did. I am told that even when she was a very young baby, I would instruct her in a stern and learned voice about the right way and the wrong way to be a baby. I did this at two and three years of age! I really do not remember that, but I suppose I can believe it.
I gave you the wrong impression before regarding the apartment on Mozartstrasse. It does not actually matter, but I want this record to be as accurate as possible. You see, by the time Oma Flintzer moved in with us we must have already been in the new apartment, a half-hour walk south in the more prestigious city quarter of Leipzig Connewitz. So although I was born on Mozartstrasse, I have no memories that I can legitimately connect to it. Unfortunately, the new apartment was at Kaiser Wilhelm Strasse 72. This is unfortunate because I am much less interested in the Kaiser than in Mozart. After the war it was renamed for August Bebel, an early social democrat, who is also considerably less interesting than Mozart.
The reason we moved is that the Mozartstrasse apartment was too small, especially with Oma coming and with what appeared to be a never-ending series of babies coming as well. Papa was now making quite a good salary in his new job as an attorney for a large bookseller, Koehler und Volckmar, so we could afford something larger and better.
The old place had been divided by an entryway and a big stairwell. Its front door was wide like a barn door. It may even be that horses came in there once long ago. When you walked through it into the large entryway you could go one of three directions. You could go straight across to the stairs that led to other people’s apartments, or you could go through a door to the right that led to our kitchen and bathroom, or through a door to the left that led to our living room and bedrooms. So, Mama was constantly crisscrossing what was essentially a public space. She said that during the really hard economic times in the 1920s there were as many as twenty beggars a day at the door. She said that this was when inflation was so bad that you would have to take a wheelbarrow full of money to buy a loaf of bread and a dozen eggs. In any case, it was good to leave that apartment, although the name of its street was better.
The new place on Kaiser Wilhelm Strasse was much grander. It was a multifloor apartment in a large building and it had seven rooms! I should clarify that when you count rooms in Germany you include only bedrooms and living rooms and lounges and such, not kitchens, bathrooms, laundry rooms or any other functional spaces. Oma Flintzer had two of these rooms, including her bedroom that had the beautiful wardrobe with the sweets I mentioned before. The other room was her own sitting room with very fancy antique furniture that we had to be careful with. Now that I think back, I am not sure where her servant slept. Perhaps this was not in the room count. Yes, Oma had a servant. This woman was what the English would call a lady’s maid and would help dress her and fix her hair and all of that. After this was done Oma would come and supervise Theodor and me getting dressed. It