Grete Mueller, originally from Pomerania, which had been annexed by Poland and then Russia, had escaped the Russian troops occupying that part of her country. Her status in Germany was that of a refugee; the German government provided her with a pension. She had a daughter, Kaethe, a tall, slender, brown-haired girl. Often Walter reluctantly had to spend time with them because his mother was busy with something. The Mueller home was about twenty minutes’ walking distance from where Walter lived. They rented rooms in a farmhouse that stood between railroad tracks on one side and fields and meadows on the other side. The land belonged to the working farmer’s family, which occupied the downstairs floor and kept livestock in a large stable.
One day Walter made his usual trip up a hill, crossed the railroad tracks by a bridge, and then went down the road along the tracks toward the last building. When he arrived, he found that Frau Mueller was not at home. Kaethe and her girlfriend, the farmer’s daughter, had to take care of him. They wanted him to come outside and play. Of course Walter went with them; he did not want to sit alone in the Mueller’s’ one and only large room. As it happened, Kaethe and friend directed Walter to the railroad tracks. The steep and densely overgrown embankment area provided a great place to play hide and seek.
Suddenly, both girls stopped in a clearing in the brush and told Walter to join them. He tentatively moved to them, and Kaethe said, “We want you to do something for us, but you are not allowed to tell anybody. If you tell, you will be punished the rest of your life.”
Of course, Walter did not want to be punished at all. So he asked, “Yes, what do you want me to do?”
Kaethe took his hand and said, “You have to touch my spot; it makes me feels good.”
Walter did not know what her spot was and let her take his right hand. She pulled at the elastic band of her black pants and then widened the gap of her panties. She guided Walter’s hand into the opening and then below, to something that to Walter felt like his father’s chin because of the growths. He was scared and dazed, but Kaethe insisted that he keep on touching, and so Walter did. It felt extremely peculiar and outlandish to him. What he touched was not a developed female organ, just a young girl’s crevice between her legs. For Walter, the experience was horrible. When Kaethe let go of his hand and the other girl wanted him to touch her spot, he started to cry, and they let go of him.
As Walter’s mother best friend, Frau Mueller and his mother moved through Walter’s life, seeming almost identical. Sometimes he preferred the presence of Grete Mueller over his mother’s, but there were limits. Grete was very strict and serious when she gave orders, and Walter could feel that she held back something from him—her eyes would radiate a knowing, and sometimes she would put her arm around Walter’s thin shoulders as if she wanted to tell him, “You sweet, little, poor boy.”
During summer school holidays, his mother sent him to stay with grandfather in Frankfurt-Oberrad. Walter did not mind being at the old man’s home; he had a way dealing with Opa Mittler. When he turned very grumpy, Walter would simply tickle him around the cheek area. That would do the trick. Opa would then smile and sometimes laugh. He enjoyed early retirement because of an accident while working for the railroad company. His right upper torso had become caught between two rail-car bumpers and was crushed, leaving a deep disfigurement and gap in the right breast area. Whenever Opa Mittler cleaned himself in front of the kitchen sink, Walter could see his naked, upper body and would stare at the deep hole the railroad carriage bumper had left.
There was no time to lament, however, because of Oma Mittler, a loving, compassionate woman and gardener by birth. Her whole family owned gardens and properties in Oberrad on which they cultivated vegetables, fruit trees, and bushes.
One time, seeing that Walter was bored, she asked him, “Why don’t you come with me? Let’s break gooseberries.” Breaking meant picking the berries from the bushes.
So it happened that Walter spent a lot of time with Oma’s side of the family in the fields and gardens. At the end of the day, Oma would sit in the kitchen and peel hulls of string beans, taking off the top with the attached thread to prepare them for the preservation process.
One night, Opa, Oma, and Walter went to the movies. A local pub-and-restaurant owner sometimes set up a movie projector and presented a film. That night it was a scary thriller with Gert Froebe acting the lead role of a killer in the woods. Walter became very scared, could not fall sleep, and cuddled up with Opa and Oma.
Then one day, when Frau Mueller appeared on Opa and Oma’s doorsteps to pick him up, Walter discovered the reason why he had spent such an extraordinarily long time with his grandparents. Frau Mueller told him they would go on a long journey by tram and then by bus to his new residence. When the two arrived at the main train station, they took a bus to Walter’s new hometown: Bad Homburg, about thirteen miles from Frankfurt.
The new house had a massive hardwood entrance door with an iron handlebar. Inside the door, they walked into a lobby area, followed by a very dark staircase and another open door. Walter entered alone into a large, gloomy space. He recognized three thick, wide iron structures embedded in the opposite wall. Through a window high up on the left, covered by bushes outside, daylight seeped. Walter slowly moved down three steps of stairs, and then the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up.
When he stepped onto the stone floor, it made a creaky, grating sound. It was covered by two inches of compacted black cockroaches, some alive, most of them rotting. When he stepped on them unintentionally, their bodies disintegrated. The embedded wall structures on the other side of the room were black, narrow iron doors, three levels high.
Walter must have heard noises, because he became aware of his parents, who had returned and realized that Walter was in shock. The Herzogs tried to explain. “This is the new bakery, our new home, and we shall be living here from now on.”
When Walter was alone for a moment, he stood in the doorway to his new home and looked outside. To the left and right, he surveyed a narrow lane, perhaps nine feet wide, and a fence, behind which some grass grew in what appeared to be a garden. A bridge loomed overhead, and the underpass seemed almost like a tunnel. For the first time in his life, Walter felt like a stranger in a strange land. Hinter den Rahmen, beyond the weaving looms, with nine feet of paved, blue basalt cobblestone, did not reflect any leniency.
As it turned out, the bakery did not do well because of its location below the bridge. Additionally, there were two competitive bakeries in the immediate neighborhood. The Ritter-von-Marx Bridge with pedestrian traffic might as well have been in a different country. The bakery’s entrance was located underneath. Only few neighborhood locals became genuine regular customers. Someone walking on the bridge who wanted to visit the shop had to make a detour around the block.
The property was located in the old part of Bad Homburg—old meaning established in 782 AD. History could be found all over town. Medieval times left their mark, especially the Dark Ages, when executors of the established order burned promiscuous women alive. Later there was talk of the Homburg witch-hunt craziness. Stone towers and high walls were everywhere. Walter passed one witch tower every day on his way to school.