Paradise in Teutschenthal
Tuesday, January 17, 1984: The Rustic but Beloved Life at Grandma's Simple Heaven.
Today I have to think of my beloved “Mama”, my mother’s mom. She lives in Teutschenthal, where I spent most of my childhood weekends and many vacations.
Her “apartment” is a crooked hut with no sewage system. Instead of a toilet, there was a dung heap and an outhouse.
We picked fresh fruit and vegetables right next door in the garden. Every now and then we slaughtered a rabbit or a chicken from grandfather’s barn.
We bathed in a zinc bathtub in the washhouse. There was no bathroom.
For me as a city kid, Teutschenthal was paradise on earth. With my grandpa, my brother and my older cousins – Reinhard, Joachim, Siegfried and Lutz – I regularly went to the world-famous motocross race track.
Far out on a grassy island in a huge field, we had built ourselves a weatherproof log cabin by every trick in the book, where the older ones had a lot of fun with their girlfriends.
PS: What I didn’t know at the time was that Kathrin’s childhood (see Friday, January 13, 1984) took place in the neighboring village behind the field.
I remember a terrible thunderstorm from which the five of us took refuge in a small tent on Plum Hill.
In the middle of the end of the world, one of them let out such a stinking fart that we were given the choice of dying outside or inside.
As the youngest and smallest, I was allowed to gasp for air at the only air hole so that I didn’t throw up in the tent.
If all else fails, Grandma can inform Uncle Werner, Aunt Erika and Karin in Wuppertal the next time she goes to the West, assuming she can still bear the long train ride there in her old age.
But then I’d have to drag her into my affair. I want to avoid that at all costs, as long as plan A can work.
To do this, my stepfather must have the courage to write a clear message during his annual skiing vacation in the Krkono?e to Wuppertal.
The prospect of having a useful idiot in West Germany in the future should be very tempting. IF, yes, IF he understands the message between the lines of my letters.
Jürgen notices the tears in my eyes and tries to encourage me: IF lawyer Vogel answers you, then it’s only a matter of time before I’m in the West.
That’s still quite a lot of IFs. The guys dump excess plugs from their paper bags into mine to make sure the standard is met. Then it’s back to the cell.
← Previous entry | Front page | Next entry →