Morning Coffee
A taste of things to come from the upcoming novel?A Noble Dance
Ingeborg took a sip of coffee, set the delicate cup back on its saucer and pushed it toward the center of the small table.?A sign that she was finished.?The bitter coffee made her stomach squirm and quickened the nervous pounding in her temples and the strange tingling down in her finger tips.?Normally, Inge found coffee to be a relaxing way to greet the day and savor a quiet moment.?Last night had changed that forever.?Inge had never known such nervous anxiety and coffee only made it worse.??
Looking away from coffee, Ingeborg (she preferred Inge) glanced admiringly at her daughter, Christina.?Though still just a baby, Christina returned her mother’s gaze with a loving and calm assuredness from her supine position within the elegant baby stroller.?How strange, Inge thought, that a child so young can comfort her mother.?Shouldn’t it be the other way around??Maybe it’s a sign from God.?And yet, she thought harshly, God seemed rather distant lately.?
Morning coffee, especially at an outdoor table along the wide boulevard of the Kurfürstendamm in Berlin was usually full of relaxation and the simple enjoyment of absorbing the wonders of this glorious city.?But today, even the Ku’damm (as the locals called the busy thoroughfare) seemed anxious.?Normally carefree yet and full of purpose, the mood today was tense and oddly uncertain.?Far from the typical pride and confidence one felt amidst the splendor of such a great and historic city.?But it was unmistakable.?No one spoke of it, but the faces told all.?Eyes were sharper, stern, dark and concerned.?Chins were hardened and features more pronounced and serious.?In just one day, everything had changed.?Berlin had been attacked.
No one thought it possible.?It was August of 1940 and Germany was again involved in a war, but it was supposed to be far away, not on German soil.?Last night, the war came to Berlin.?Enemy planes had infiltrated the city defenses and dropped bombs with impunity.?It was like they just waltzed right in, as if invited guests.?It was unthinkable.?Yet Inge thought it in disbelief, as she first heard the far-off explosions and then conferred, frantically, by telephone with her husband, Maximilian, who was trying to assemble defensive measures at his command post at the nearby Luftwaffe headquarters.?Inge was distraught when she realized that the distant popping sounds at night were, in fact, enemy invaders.?Bombers, in fact.?She rang her husband, whom she called ‘Kilian’, at his office in central Berlin.
“What’s going on??Are we under attack?!” she asked excitedly.
“Yes, it appears so,” replied Kilian, who was part of the heavily bureaucratic Quartermaster Staff in Berlin.?He was officially part of the Luftwaffe — the German Air Force — and was intimately aware of armaments, logistics and overall air defenses around the German capital.?“We think it’s ending soon.?Not many planes, but we were caught by surprise.?Go back to bed”
“Really??Maybe the dogs and baby can, but how can I, without you here?” replied Inge.
“Well, please try,” sighed Kilian.?“It’ll be a long night for me.?I won’t be home.”
Naturally.?Now that there was war, husbands, fathers and sons were more often away than at home.?Even nobility — especially so — like Kilian.?He was from an old noble family and born as Count So-and-so.?The aristocratic class felt a special obligation to serve and protect their homeland.?Inge knew this when she married Kilian, but that was before the war and before they’d had their child.?But now her child was in the war, just as she herself had been a baby, born in 1918, at the outset of the Great War.?Her mother raised her during that war and now here she was doing the same with her daughter.?The world had all been told that there weren’t supposed to be any more wars.?But men always say such things.
Thankfully, the bombing didn’t last long.?But the effects were immediate and would certainly linger.?At least through the next day, which, normally, would have been glorious.?August in Berlin could often be hot and insufferably humid.?But there were times, like now, when it seemed like Berlin was somehow preordained to assume its position amongst the world’s most important cities.?Cultured, civilized, enlightened and certainly forward thinking.?Inge had always presumed, like many Berliners, that Paris, London and, of course, Berlin were the only cities that really mattered in Europe, if not the world.?Maybe Vienna, but it was stuck in the past and couldn’t really keep up.?All matters of art, science, and culture were essentially borne those three cities.?Italy, sadly, had ceased to be relevant since the Renaissance and Asia was, of course, entirely uncivilized.?Europe was the center of the civilized world and Germany was the center of Europe.?The most important, civilized part of Europe.?The home of Bach, Brahms, Beethoven, Goethe, Schopenhauer and even those iconoclasts Nietzsche and Einstein.?Germany was the birthplace of the highest form of art and culture.?And Berlin was where it was all expressed with refined splendor and, naturally, restrained certitude.?Inge was very much aligned with Berlin because, like all great cities, it had a confident swagger uniquely its own.?As did she herself.
Inge placed a banknote under the coffee saucer, knowing that Hans, the old waiter, would appreciate the extravagance.?Would he even be alive long enough to enjoy it??Would she be alive long enough to enjoy another coffee at this charming cafe??Her mind was numb with swirling thoughts and emotions.?Inge was blessed with a physical grace and ease of movement that enabled every gesture to seem naturally poised, dignified and never hurried.?But today, she felt disoriented and almost panicked.?Her pulse was quicker than normal and her demeanor was anything but calm and self-possessed.?Of course, in the morning after the evening’s raid, everyone looked unsettled; but Inge felt she had no control over her limbs, as if they were detached from her body, and that her skin was in danger of shedding itself.?
She stood up from her table and began pushing the stroller, which she soon realized, felt immensely heavy and cumbersome; like she was trying to push a dead elephant.?There were rumors that last night’s bombs had struck the Berlin Zoo and killed its only resident elephant.?An elephant in Berlin always seemed rather extravagant, if not preposterous.?Inge had the strange thought of whether the elephant died with its skin on or whether it had been ripped off its carcass by the blast.?Or had it been a direct hit, blowing up the beast into tiny pieces??Regardless, if an elephant can be killed by a bomb, then surely so can we.?But bombs were only part of her worry.