friendship of time and place.
Goldstein hadn’t much thought about Froehlig since then. Now, seeing him again, Goldstein was filled with longing for his
company. He was very lonely in Berlin. Perhaps his friendship with Froehlig could be resumed.
It was worth a try, Goldstein decided. He crossed the street to say hello.
Froehlig saw him coming, but did not look happy about it. “Hermann, such a surprise…”
Goldstein waited for an invitation to sit down. When it was not forthcoming he indicated the empty chair. “May I join you
for a coffee? I have money,” he quickly added, not wanting Froehlig to misunderstand. “Let me buy you a coffee,” he said proudly.
“Well, I’m actually waiting for some people.” Froehlig looked around nervously. “I’ll be leaving at any moment…” Then he looked
up at Goldstein and seemed to soften. “My young sergeant.” He smiled.
“Not anymore,” Goldstein said whimsically. “Just a civilian, like yourself.”
“But your legs!” Froehlig exclaimed. “How could I have forgotten. And here I’m keeping you standing! Of course you may sit
down. And allow me to buy the coffee.”
A waiter appeared, and Froehlig ordered for both of them. “Would you care for a schnapps?” he asked Goldstein.
“It’s so expensive!” Goldstein protested. He smiled. “Unless, of course, you’re offering from the silver flask…”
“No. I lost that flask. I don’t know what happened to it.”
“Then just coffee is plenty,” Goldstein said.
As the waiter left with their order, two young prostitutes leaning against a nearby lamppost strolled over, arm in arm. They
paused at the table to raise their worn, faded skirts, showing off their high boots.
“Get away,” Froehlig growled.
“Perhaps your balls were blown off in the war,” one of the prostitutes taunted in oddly accented German. They sauntered off.
“Did you hear? A foreigner,” Froehlig grumbled. “Berlin needs a good cleaning.”
Goldstein nodded vaguely. There were lots of streetwalkers in his neighborhood, and he’d taken a girl up to his room on a
few occasions. He saw nothing wrong with it. The girls were clean. Being with one once in a while eased his loneliness. “Tell
me, Heiner, what have you been doing with yourself since we last met?”
“I’ve been involved in politics,” Froehlig replied. “Organizing for the Deutsch Arbeiter-Partei.”
“Heiner, you must excuse me, but I’ve never heard of it.”
“Of
us
,” Froehlig corrected. “We’re all just decent, working stiffs, Hermann. Honest men who know that the government in power is
to blame for our misfortunes.”
“Heiner, I don’t see how you can blame the Weimar Coalition for losing the war.”
Froehlig shrugged. “Well, I don’t see how President Ebert can claim it is the German military that failed us.”
“I believe Ebert claimed it was the German military
leadership
that failed,” Goldstein quietly pointed out, but Froehlig seemed not to hear him, and he decided not to press the point.
The waiter came with their coffees. Froehlig waited until they were served, and then said, “I don’t know about you, Hermann,
but I
resent
what Ebert is claiming.” He scowled. “We soldiers fought hard, and risked our lives for our country. You yourself physically
suffered on behalf of the Fatherland.”
“I can’t argue.” Goldstein smiled.
“Of course you can’t argue,” Froehlig replied. “You shouldn’t argue. Hermann, I go around every day. I talk to people. I
know
. Despite the fact the socialists won the election, every day more and more good Germans are coming to resent the way Ebert
is stabbing our nation in the back. And then there are the shortages we’re suffering—”
“But how can we blame the current government for shortages?” Goldstein interrupted. “There will continue to be a lack of everything
while the Allied blockade is still in effect.”
“And why is the blockade
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