Chapter One Thousand Nine Hundred Eighteen
27th July 1969
Mitte, Berlin
Everyone was interested in the strange happening that had occurred the previous Friday. Zella had gotten the story because she been right in the middle of it, because of course she had, Maria thought sourly to herself knowing full well that she was thinking the same thoughts that her Editors must have thought about her decades earlier. Maria had lost count of the times she had told Zella not to become a part of the story, but there she was interviewing a handful of young men who had led what must have been every Rocker and Gear Freak in Berlin on wild ride around the city at speeds of upwards two-hundred kilometers per hour. The photograph that ran on the front page of the Berliner Tageblatt had been taken on the side of the road somewhere along Autobahn 10 was absolutely surreal. Headlights of dozens of motorcycles stretching back in the distance, in the foreground two riders raced past in a blur.
Zella had gotten the story and then raced back to the offices of the BT early Saturday morning, just in time to get it into the Sunday edition. All for a Cup of Coffee? the headline read, even if it was below the fold. The article detailed the strange sequence of events, from the clubs in the City Center emptying out to the race around the orbital highway and finally to an all-night diner near Werder. Despite Maria’s misgivings about her daughter, it was actually a beautifully written article. It seemed that all the hours that Maria had punished Zella by making her learn to type had paid off.
There was a profound irony in all of this though.
A few years earlier, Maria would have been overjoyed at seeing Zella applying herself and finally coming into her own professionally. That had been when Zella had been in her early twenties and showing no sign of putting aside her wild teenage behavior. Things had changed, but Maria was starting to quibble that perhaps it had come at too high a cost. Zella never talked about it, but she had been taken advantage of and that had hurt in ways that she had never gotten over.
Sure, Zella had gotten revenge in a way that had probably been particularly satisfying at least for that moment. Years later, she was still living at home and seeming content to be alone. Or was she afraid? One of Maria’s friends had used to term “arrested development” to describe Zella and had asked what she intended to do about her. Maria was at a bit of a loss.
Emil was still saying that Zella was fine and that she would sort it out eventually. Then he had pointed out that their daughter was about the age that Maria was when she had met him. Reminding her of the hairbrained stunt to sneak onto the airfield where he commanded the security and everything that had happened in Spain shortly after. It was rather easy for him to say that. His relationship with Zella had always been far simpler than for Maria.
Montreal, Canada
The previous days had been spent getting settled. Meals were what Marie Alexandra had the hardest time getting used to. They preferred to have the big meal of the day for supper and she had not liked eating that much at the end of the day. None of this was helped by Oma Blackwood looking at her like if she were a bomb that could go off at any second. Opa Blackwood had told Marie that she needed to be patient with her grandmother. Still, it was obvious that her actual reputation preceded her to Canada because when they had gone to church on Sunday morning, Sir Malcolm had made a point of making sure that she was seated between himself and Oma so that her causing any trouble was more or less impossible without getting caught.
It had been her mother’s idea to pretend to be Catholic and to get pointers from Aunt Ilse, that probably being the fastest way to win over Oma Blackwood. Ilse had grown up as an orphan after being abandoned on the steps of a church when she was only a few hours old, so she had years of experience of pretending to be Catholic before she had embraced Agnostic skepticism as an adult. That was why Marie was able to go through the motions in a way that kept Oma Blackwood happy for the moment. It was afterwards when Opa and Oma went to speak with the Priest that Marie caused a bit of trouble when her curiosity got the better of her.
There was a man handing out pamphlets to the parishioners as they left the church. He was tall, with dark skin and white hair denoting great age. He was wearing what was obviously a well-maintained suit, even if it looked rather old. Marie took one of his pamphlets and saw that a poem was printed on it.
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the Sun?
Or fester like sore-
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over-
Like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Marie looked at the title, Harlem by Langston Hughes. On the back was a lengthy description of a meeting that was going to take place that Wednesday at a different church in Montreal, the subject being Civil Rights.
Looking at the man, Marie greeted him how she might have had she run into such a man in Berlin. “Habari gani?” She asked getting a quizzical look from the man.
“Pardon?” The man asked in French, though with an unmistakable American accent.
“How are you?” Marie replied, “In Swahili.”
“Exactly why would you assume I would know that?”
“Most of the Africans I know back home speak that” Marie replied.
“And you thought I would too?” The man asked.
“I was trying to be polite” Marie replied, “And I love languages, Swahili is one I need to practice in.”
The quizzical look on the man’s face changed to one of amusement. “That is not something I was expecting to hear” He said, “Exactly where is home that you would meet actual Africans?”
“You’re not African?” Marie asked.
“History happened” The man said, “So, I am something a bit different.”
Before he could elaborate further, Sir Malcolm and Oma Blackwood walked past. “Don’t bother that gentleman Marie” Sir Malcolm said, it was in a tone that caused the man to look for safer conversations to have. A moment later, Marie heard Oma Blackwood mention that Marie had her mother’s impulsive nature, Sir Malcolm quietly pointed out that Douglas was the impulsive one. Either way, Marie didn’t see what the problem with that was.