Looking back, he should've known that things could only go downhill from there.
It arrived one dreary, overly hot day. He was sprawled on Hugo's dormitory-room floor, endlessly complaining about the weather when the news arrived.
"Hellstrom! Here you are, you bastard! I've been looking all over for you. Should've known you're here." It was his dorm-mate, whom he'd rarely seen, ever since he parked himself in Hugo's room—a small cupboard-like room tucked at the end of a hallway like a dirty secret.
"Well, you've found me, you porcine little prick," Dieter replied, barely moving from his place.
"Letter for you!" His dorm-mate said, after expelling a put-upon sigh.
That propelled him to his feet, but Hugo was quicker—out of his bed and pouncing on the letter even before Dieter could take a single step. "Give it to me," Dieter demanded, hand outstretched rather imperiously.
"A love letter, dear Dieter? Finally. After a long, dry spell," Hugo said, neither his tone of voice nor his face betraying any of his mirth.
"I doubt it," Dieter scowled, snatching the letter out of Hugo's fingers.
"I hope it's not from Brunhild."
"Because you like her so much." Dieter rummaged Hugo's desk drawer for a letter opener, creating unnecessary mess that he knew would upset his friend.
"That will be the day, won't it?" Hugo scoffed as he placed his hand over Dieter's, stilling his quest for untidiness. "Merely looking out for a friend," Hugo continued, now placing the letter opener in Dieter's other hand. "You wouldn't know what kind of disease she's carrying."
"Oh, that Brunhild," Dieter said, releasing his hand from Hugo's clutches.
"Do you know any other Brunhild?" Hugo asked, amused, as he watched Dieter slice the envelope open with one smooth, practiced motion.
"No."
"So you mean to say that I might be in love with a loose woman?"
"I said no such thing." Dieter gave Hugo a small smile. Returning the letter opener on the far-end of the desk, he found himself avoiding Hugo's inquiring eyes, choosing to stare at the open envelope instead.
"A~nd?"
"Maybe I'm saying that you might care for lost lambs like her. That is, despite her promiscuousness." Dieter did not lift his eyes from the envelope in his hands. "You've been quite the bleeding heart these past months."
"Helping one bereft girl, a bleeding heart does not make," Hugo replied, rather disturbed that his friend would accuse him of growing a conscience. "It was just the one time. And she was my cousin."
"Distant cousin," Dieter corrected. "Very distant cousin." He peered up to examine Hugo who seemed to be very interested in a water stain on the wall. "Extremely dist-" the words died on his lips as Hugo growled at him. "Fine. Avoid it all you want," Dieter smiled indulgently at his friend, lifting both hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "Of course. What can I say? You're one heartless prick."
"Are you going to read the letter or not?" Hugo settled back against the wall, propping himself up with a pillow.
"Fine."
The letter turned out to be the furthest thing away from a love letter. It was from his grandfather, his mother's father. The patriarch of the Hellstrom family, who had always disdained his daughter's choice of a husband, and who took little Dieter from the Schott flat in Berlin when he was barely a day old, and raised him as a Hellstrom. The very same grandfather who first doted the baby with the most charming smile, before going on to hate the boy who, despite his Nordic colouring, grew to look so much like despicable Herr Schott.
"He's calling me back," Dieter said finally, slow and bitter.
"Back to Berlin?" Hugo ventured.
"Yes," Dieter answered with a harsh bark of laughter. "Apparently my exile is over." He glared down at the letter, hoping that if he stared at it hard enough, long enough, the damn paper would disappear and they could all chalk it up to a severe case of heat-stroke, a mid-summer mirage. Yet, it stayed; no matter how long he and Hugo stared at it.
He remembered how the silence had suffocated him. He remembered how the dust motes had appeared to mock him as they danced in the light through the little window.
"I don't want to," Dieter finally said. "I don't want it to be over. I used to hate it. Before. Hated him for sending me away from my mother and my sister. But that was before." He didn't dare to raise his head to look at anything other than the letter. Even more so, he didn't dare look at Hugo's direction. "Hugo, what should I do?"
He must've finally lifted his head. The look on his face must've been so pathetic because, oddly enough, he seemed to remember that Hugo had floundered badly. He could almost remember how Hugo's usually pale, stoic face had grown red, all a-fluster, at a loss of what to say or what to do.
In the end, Hugo did not offer anything but a promise to occasionally write and call. Hugo didn't even see him off at the train station, did not even drop by in the morning of his leaving even though he said he would.
As he was hurried onto the train by an impatient officious-looking old man, Dieter wished that Hugo would miraculously appear by the side of the train, inviting him to one last rule-breaking. It wasn't meant to be.
With the train finally pulling out of the station, he imagined Hugo waiting for him to gather his own courage and buck the rules just this once. But, by the time the train had arrived in Berlin, his sister and mother waiting anxiously to greet him, he had finally convinced himself that he had no choice on the matter. Like a cowardly cur with his tail tucked pathetically between his hind legs, he thought he heard Hugo's mocking voice. He hoped stupidly that Hugo would forgive him.
Another two-hour's ride from Berlin Hauptbahnhof, Dieter had finally completed his journey back from his exile. He was met by his grandfather's faithful assistant—a stern-looking woman who couldn't smile. Dieter was informed that his mother, sister, and grandfather were all waiting back at home.
The sky was unremarkable. The city was cold and distant, There was no hero's welcome.
He found himself standing at the exact same spot, in front of his grandfather's study. Where it all began, he thought bitterly, staring at the walnut door in front of his face. The stern woman had told him to wait, whilst she went inside. He did not expect his grandfather to greet him, neither did he expected the old man to treat him any different. And indeed, he received neither.
After a while, the woman stepped out of the study looking sourer than before she went in. She said nothing as she ushered him up the stairs and to his bedroom. Standing just outside the doorway to his old room, the woman informed him that everything's where he'd left them, that no one dared to move a thing (except for that glass of milk you left on the nightstand. "The glass and the milk were thrown away, I hope you have no attachment to that glass."). But nothing looked familiar, though he didn't have the heart to say it out loud.
He did not meet his family until the next morning.
"You're late," Grandfather Hellstrom declared from the head of the table without looking up. His words the only acknowledgement. His mother and sister were sat to one side gave him a pair of tight smiles and stiff hello-s.
His place by at the other side, across his mother, was already cleared out. No breakfast for those who could not keep to the rules. He nodded slightly to the general direction of his grandfather, and gave his mother and sister a smile (what he hoped would be a sufficiently-bright "I"m glad to be home" smile). He sat down and chose one particularly interesting grain of wood on the surface in front of him.
A small china plate with a small, round bread appeared in his line of sight, stopping just outside his grain's periphery. He looked up and saw his sister smiled as she pushed a butter dish, then a knife, to him. The blade was facing downwards and though butter knives tended to be dull, he and his sister shared a secret glance at the faint line it left.
He sneaked a glance at his grandfather, whose coffee cup was being fussed over by his mother. "Stop staring, whelp," his grandfather said, not lifting his eyes as he shovelled grains of sugar into the murky depth of his thick coffee. "Eat your bread." He tapped his little spoon at the edge of his cup before finally lifting his head, and saw his only grandson for the first time in two years. "And don't forget to thank your sister."
Dieter smiled at his sister and his sister returned it gladly. "Don't be too harsh on him, Father. He's just returned home. Maybe he's tired from his ride," his mother said, as she poured a cup of tea for herself. "Freiburg is so far away from here," she added, looking at her father keenly, showing her disappointment at losing two years of her son's life.
"Nonsense! He's plenty of rest last night! He's just as lazy and as uncivilised as that man who sired him. They should have neutered the cur before he could even think to spread his deficiency around." He looked at her daughter, with an upturned chin, challenging her to say something in defense of an absent husband.
"Let it rest, Papa. He's dead. You've won," she bit out in response, pushing her chair away from the table, rising to her feet. "I'm done here, I think. Dieter, please eat something," she implored as she avoided Grandfather Hellstrom's unhappy glare.
"Eat!" Grandfather Hellstrom barked, pushing a bread basket with exactly one round soft bread inside. "The last thing I need is for your worthless hide to pass out on Herr Doktor Günther's carpet." He drank down the whole cup in one gulp before lowering it down none-too-gently on its saucer. A small crack formed, as if trying to prove it was what it said it would be. Stupid saucer, he would've said if he cared enough, you'll only be thrown away, discarded. And your effort will all be for naught. But he didn't care enough, so he quickly reverted his eyes and concentrated on his bread.
"Quickly."
He looked up and saw his sister, standing with her hands on her hips, hair half up and not-exactly down.
"You're not yet dressed," he commented drolly, instead.
"And you're not done eating!"
"I'm making this silence last."
"Well, it has lasted long enough," his sister folded her arms in front of her and huffed impatiently. "The sooner we can get you meet Günther, get you officially transferred to the University here in Berlin, the sooner we can get away from Grandfather."
"Trading one hell with another?"
"Or would you prefer to skip the meeting with Herr Doktor altogether?" His sister smiled mischievously now. "You know that can be arranged."
"Will it get me exiled back to Freiburg?" He has no intention of being exiled to Siberia. Or Iceland.
"Left a girlfriend in haste, did you?" She asked, jostling him until he dropped his knife to the floor. It bounced off his Grandfather's Aubusson, onto the marble flooring. "Little Dieter, womaniser. Who knew," she grinned impishly.
Dieter merely bent down to pick up the knife, found a sizeable snag on the rug (who put Aubussons under a dining table, anyway), a small scratch on his grandfather's marble floor, and he was irrationally content. "I just don't need any more of his brand of punishment." Then, like an afterthought, "And there's no one being left behind in Freiburg."
He was sure Hugo didn't care. Because Dieter knew that he didn't care either. (and his staying up all night trying valiantly, and failing spectacularly at writing a letter to said ex-friend was merely an exercise in closing one door to open another. It had nothing to do with his dreams being constantly plagued by sun rising gently over a pockmarked ).
"Oh, come on, Little Dieter. Don't tell me you've finally succumbed to that old man. After all, what could go wrong? The worst thing for him to do is neuter you, like what he wanted to do to Father."
(His sister, despite having what for Grandfather Hellstrom thought as a misfortune to carry the Schott name, was almost the carbon copy of their mother. Sometimes, Dieter wondered what his grandfather would think, when he laid in bed at night. A Hellstrom woman by the name of Schott and a Schott spectre masquerading as Hellstrom. Then, he decided he didn't actually care).
Dieter was pulled him out of his thoughts by his sister, who roughly hauled him out of his seat, grinning all the while. Pushing him to the door and into his bedroom, she said, "And don't tell me that's not a good thing!"
He pushed her out of his room and slammed the door in her face. It wasn't enough to muffle her voice completely out of his hearing. At the other side of the door he heard her laughing and giggling hysterically, mimicking his voice, saying, "Don't worry, my dear! I am fixed! Fixed I say! No babies! Not a one!" And after a small snort to clear her throat she added, "Imagine that, dear Dieter! Your lady back at Frieburg will appreciate it a lot, I'm sure!"
"Oh for t- There is no lady in Freiburg!" Dieter shouted from inside his room. Never was, and probably never will.
"If you say so!" Dear sister wasn't about to relent. "Just be quick, Dieter! Or Grandfather will chew you out for sure!"
By the time he arrived in front of Dr. Hans Günther's desk, he had been ready to throttle his grandfather and spit tobacco pulp into that smug, evil face. Instead, he had smiled dutifully at the old man, accepting the proffered cigarette with some grace (if he may say so himself). Sat half a chairleg behind his Grandfather, and next to his sister (who sat next to his mother), he had even listened rather attentively to two men reminiscing about the past. Mostly revolving around a certain Lundborg, whom Dr. Günther knew professionally (the Swede was Günther's mentor) and Grandfather Hellstrom knew personally (a long time ago now).
The men gossipped like old biddies in the market, unaware of the unappreciative audience of three behind them. Dieter had new-found respect for the women-folk though, as they were able to look politely interested. He knew that eugenics, race biology and ethnology were of little appeal to both his mother and sister. If he looked closely enough, he would be able to catch the little impatient twitches in their face muscles, minutely contorting their face this way and that. A split second later though, they would be back smiling as sweetly as spring meadows.
Not possessing the same ability to weather boring functions gracefully (though he swore he would practice, knowing that it would be a useful ability to have), he contented himself by watching how light filter through the high windows of the room, illuminating Dr. Günther's head under his thinning hair. Dieter thought how odd it looked, wondered whether academicians all shared the same odd shape. He realised he had no answer to this sudden question, wondering at the absence of an answer. Surely he'd seen some very studious, bookish academicians back at Freiburg. Did Heidegger, for example, had the same oddly-shaped head topped with pithy strands of hair? He couldn't remember. Possibly because he spent more time being out of class than being in it.
He tried not to think about Hugo.
He made two more similar visits to Dr. Günther's office (both times without the womenfolk. Grandfather Hellstrom declared that male-bonding and -reminiscing shouldn't be witnessed by the gentler kind). He had now learnt that although Dr. Günther was less than fifteen years his senior, Dieter would never have guessed. He looked so old, maybe because of all the thinking he did. Each of these visits, too, ended up with him arse-drunk, mercilessly insulted by the two older men. Thankfully he would pass out completely before he could listen to more of the tripe these old men were loudly discussing.
"How I come to have such a weak grandson I'll never know," Grandfather Hellstrom would say. "Must be all those diseased blood passed down by that useless father of his. Contaminated sperms. This is why, Herr Doktor, why I very much agree with my old friend Lundborg. Clean them up, I say."
"But more importantly, Herr Hellstrom," Dr. Günther would add, after downing another bellyful of alcohol and ordering the same, "this is why our womenfolk should not be allowed too much freedom. Freedom, of course, but to a certain point. Beyond that, I fear they wouldn't know what to do with themselves. Prone to making embarrassing errors not befitting of upstanding female members of the civilised society."
"That I fear, is a folly I regret all my life," Grandfather Hellstrom would reply, a flash of self-serving remorse that would've made Dieter so ill he would have to drown his lungs in vomit. Thankfully, he was usually dead to the world by this time, his blood replaced by beer. "But sometimes, when I look at her, and see her mother's face, my resolve crumbles. The only child my dear wife ever bestowed upon me. Corrupted. By a dog of a man."
"And your grandson? What about him?"
"Well." There would be an awkward pause, as the two man gazed puzzlingly down to the boy sprawled on dirty flagstones under their bar table. "He did have the most unfortunate luck of resembling that sack of shit. But he is a Hellstrom. And he will grow up to be one. I fear I grow sick of the disappointments in life."
"Of course," Dr. Günther would offer a kind word to his senior. "Sometimes it would take a child longer time to grow into their better genes and to purge the lesser ones completely out of their system. I could recommend you some gene purifying therapies. Most remarkable, Herr Hellstrom..."
And when Dieter finally woke up, tucked into his own bed with his mother hovering quiet worriedly, he found out that yet another part of his life had already been decided for him.
The new academic year found a sullen Dieter Hellstrom trying not to avoid giving himself humiliating injuries by stumbling over construction debris, or being crushed by a falling tree. The construction work on the Nord-Süd Tunnel had picked up speed, almost feverish in their zeal to finish just in time for the Summer Olympics, creating hazards along the way. The noise levels had risen too, Dieter absently noted. He could hardly hear himself think as he navigated the distance between the University and the Hotel Adlon, with a detour to the Library for some non-book related flash rendezvous. Now, he was late.
He imagined that his Grandfather already had a lengthy diatribe waiting for him. It would be unlikely for his Grandfather to berate him outright, though, possibly waiting until they reached home before herding him into that horrid study with terrible ventilation. At the Hotel, they would be taking tea and possibly dinner with Dr. Herman Lundborg and his esteemed wife. Grandfather Hellstrom had been entirely too excited, hoping to trot out his well-turned out family and put on a good showing. And the old bastard wasn't above threats, either, as Dieter personally found out yesterday evening. His ears were still ringing, and it had nothing to do with construction work noises.
It didn't mean that he shouldn't still come up with a plan, or at least an excuse. He looked up briefly from his intent examination of pockmarked pavements underneath his thankfully still shiny shoes. It was only briefly, too, to gauge the distance and the time still left for him to think up something good (and if not something particularly good, then something clever). But brief lapses of concentration, as Dieter would always remember since then, led to disastrous consequences. This time, tripping over a misplaced block, sending him, his books, and his best day clothes into a moist-dusty patch.
Before he could kiss the earth and gain a bruise, though, he was rescued. Roughly and unceremoniously, with a vice-like grip around his upper arm, coupled by a harsh yank that could've torn his arm from its socket, but which thankfully didn't.
"Thank you," he started, as he straightened himself, blinking his eyes rapidly to chase away the starbursts collecting under his eyelids.
"You're welcome," the stranger replied, a trace of amusement coloured a familiar timbre.
Hugo.
His eyes regained his focus at the exact same time as his body regained its balance and his ears finally free from the annoying ringing. Too bad, Dieter thought. Now he couldn't pretend he did not hear his name tumble out from that pair of lips attached to that very familiar face.
"Hello, Dieter."
