FRAU SEEHOLTZER'S CONCERNS
 

...It was yesterday that baker Franz did warn her to come earlier today: since about nine o'clock, all will already be closed, people will reach the streets, while the troops will necessarily walk their Sonnenstrasse - as it is the main way from the square at the town hall. For many years already, frau Seeholtzer would buy Franz' tasty rolls. She did not efface him even in those difficult years when Franz, even being on the verge of ruin, could not reduce his prices down the level of Lanfermann’s bakery, where lucky fat Gustav would successfully sirenize people with his cheapness. Franz, thin as a caber, did not correspond at all to the traditional opinion concerning his craft's colleagues, but his strong sinewy arms, his big attentive eyes, and light head with rigid, already long-time gray-haired chevelure knew something that could make his rolls and bread surprisingly tasty and unique. Nobody in the town could bake the same. Then, when it seemed that the country was recovering, more and more people began dealing with Franz, which caused fat Gustav's growing envy, whose bakery was in five-seven minutes of a slow walk.

Frau Seeholtzer had always had lots of things to do about the house. Since three years ago she became a widow, the whole stuff, in general, remained hers alone, and her children became the only sense of her life. Recently, she started brooding more and more over their future. In the evenings, having remained alone in her poky cubbyhole, she would put a light to the small lamp on the little table at the window and, not being addicted to reading, would get enwrapped in thought. At other times, already in her bed, she would roll over, unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep. She with her husband had always wanted their children to have a strong material base in their lives, the basis of which would be reasonably chosen trades. First of all, it concerned 15-year-old Guenter, her eldest son, whom she brought into the world with such great pains, and whose hobbies and interests seemed completely impractical to her. In her dreams, she saw Guenter as a respected engineer, who would be loved by his colleagues and with whom neighbours would respectfully consult concerning their vital matters. Certainly, most of all, she wanted him to become a doctor, but, knowing how Guenter did not stand the sight of blood, she had already reconciled with this impossibility.

Once in the afternoon, when the son was not at home, she was cleaning his room and found some filled up sheets of paper on the table. She failed in understanding what it was, but remembered the first line writ as a title: About Telos Of Protracted Evening Twilight. She was in fear. Is her beloved boy really... Is everything well with him... Since then, she would regularly look through her son's papers. First, she felt ashamed and embarrassed, but reasonably calmed her conscience by the right of the mother, who is responsible for the future of her children. Recently, frau Seeholtzer, even having no possibilities to conceive the contents of what her son wrote, did notice some changes yet. He stopped writing so often. There appeared new books, which, as she felt, differed from the previous ones, they even smelled in another way. Then, in successive papers, she read and, for some reason, remembered certain scrappy phrases, which seemed somewhat close and clear to her: Deutschland, Morgen, Morgen ueber Deutschland, Morgen ueber ganz Deutschland.

...Frau Seeholtzer liked very much the teacher of physical culture, whom Guenter once brought at their home. Though he was quite young, his reasons were well thought out, prudent, and practical. His appearance itself was oozing his quiet assuredness, force and health. He was dressed in a certain uniform (Guenter had told her its name, but she had not remembered it), which was tightly knotted by belts, and there was a brassart on his sleeve. Frau Seeholtzer noticed how her little Greta was casting a furtive glance at the young teacher...

Guenter was changing. Frau Seeholtzer could already find almost no new papers. More and more often, she would see him cheerful and inspired. Then, he would spend little time at home, but was missing for a whole day, while in the evenings, he would talk with enthusiasm of new events, of the country's revival, of its great future, and that the youth cannot be out of the swim. Frau Seeholtzer felt that the way he would pronounce it, revealed the quiet confidence of a man surrounded by reliable tried-and-true comrades united by one big and important affair. Her previous concerns began subsiding...

...On one of Fridays, Guenter came home quite late, he was beamingly alive and had the same brassart on the sleeve, as the teacher of physical culture did.
 
 

Igor Savchenko
Minsk, September 1999

Russian-English translation: Andrey Bursau, Minsk