Bob and Jill waited at Knoxville’s airport for the arrival of her relatives from Germany, their fingers intertwined for mutual support. Jeff Holt had sent for Greta’s sister and brother-in-law to speak as character witnesses at Heinrich’s deportation hearing set for federal court in Knoxville next week. From the window, Bob and Jill could see the plane taxiing up.
“Thanks for coming with me.” Jill looked at Bob and smiled. “Grandma had to stay to take care of grandpa. Dad had to work, and mom said she didn’t think she could handle an entire family of Gretas.”
“I’m here to help.” Bob chuckled and put his arm around her. “I want you turn to me for help.”
“Thank you,” she replied, squeezing his hand. “I want you to be the one I turn to for help.”
The arrival gate opened, and a line of travelers appeared. Around a corner came an older, shorter and heavier version of Greta, a very tall gray-haired gentleman and a younger man, a head shorter than the first, somewhat soft of physique with glasses and a pipe.
“That has to be Aunt Helga and her family,” Jill said. “She looks just like grandma.”
Jill went to them, introduced herself and Bob. Helga shook her with vigor for a very long time, beamed and nodded straight away to the man with a pipe.
“Peter?” she said with a thick German accent.
“Excuse me.” He smiled and shook hands with Jill. “I’m Peter Bitner, your cousin. Unfortunately, mother and father don’t speak English so I came with them to be their translator.”
After they went to the luggage claim and walked to the parking garage, Jill turned to Peter to translate for her.
“Grandma and grandpa’s place is pretty small so you’ll be staying at mom and dad’s house in Knoxville. Since it’s early in the day, we can go to Gatlinburg first for a nice long visit with grandma and grandpa.”
Peter translated, and Helga’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, Greta,” she said.
Bob turned right out of Knoxville’s airport onto the interstate and then left on a state highway through the small college town of Maryville along rolling hills to Gatlinburg and the national park. Everyone remained silent until the blue outline of the mountains appeared on the horizon, then Helga spoke with excitement. Peter nodded and lean forward to Bob and Jill in the front seat.
“These mountains remind mother of home.”
“Yes, grandma said that’s why they settled here.”
Soon their car made its way through heavy traffic in Sevierville and Pigeon Forge, with billboards for Dollywood and other tourist attractions on each side of the road.
Helga frowned as her lips formed syllables and then turned to Peter to ask, “Dollywood. Was ist dieser Dollywood?”
Bob looked in the rear view mirror and replied, “It is an amusement park.” When he saw her blank look, he added, “Place for ha ha.”
“Ha ha? ” She bent her head to listen to Peter’s translations. “Ach,” she said in comprehension. “Ha ha.”
After passing through Pigeon Forge’s multitude of motels, shops and go-cart tracks, the car went around a curve and for a pleasant couple of miles there were just green mountain slopes and a cool mountain river. But just for a moment because once the car traveled through a tunnel of trees it was in the middle of Gatlinburg with even more shops, motels and restaurants crowded into an even smaller space than in Pigeon Forge. Helga frowned, shook her head and spoke again.
“This does not remind mother of home at all.” A smile flitted across Peter’s broad lips as he translated.
“You get used to it,” Jill said with good humor. “It can be fun.”
Bob turned left at the busiest intersection and in a few minutes took another left into the arts and crafts community where the homes and shops were spaced out along a leisurely winding country road. Helga smiled and nodded for a second time and spoke in a serene voice.
“Now this looks like home,” Peter translated.
The car pulled into the parking of the woodcarving shop with the water wheel.
“Ugh,” Helga said, making a face and following it with an expansive German phrase. “Es gibt windmuhlen in Oberbach.”
“Don’t say anything.” Before Peter could translate, Jill turned and grinned mischievously. “It was Greta’s idea.”
“Ah, Greta.” Helga nodded and winked, sharing a clandestine moment with her great-niece.
Greta flung open her front door, reached out with her arms and exclaimed, “Helga!”
Bob, Peter and Franz unloaded the bags from the car while Helga hurried to the front door, followed by Jill. Greta and Helga beamed with excitement as they grabbed each others’ hands and shook with heartiness forever, and then they both wept.
“It’s been many, many years since they’ve seen each other,” Peter whispered to Bob as they carried the bags toward the house. “They write every week and at Christmas, and on birthdays they call. But they were young women the last time they saw each other’s faces.”
Franz spoke in a subdued voice.
“What did he say?”
“He said it was sad.” Peter looked at Bob. “It’s like being faced with your own mortality.”
Inside they settled down on worn furniture as Greta and Helga chatted like little girls in the kitchen preparing drinks and small sandwiches. Heinrich was in his favorite chair and did not change his expression when his wife’s family entered. Franz sat on the far end of the sofa away from him.
“Heinrich,” Franz said in a noncommittal tone.
“That sounds like Franz Bitner.” Heinrich squinted. “But it looks like an old man.”
Sitting next to his father, Peter looked taken aback and tentative to translate. Franz patted his son’s knee and whispered comforting words.
“Erzahlen sie mir nicht, sas Heinrich sagt.”
“What did he say?” Bob said, sitting next to Peter.
“He said not to bother to tell him anything Heinrich says.”
“And this chubby boy,” Heinrich said with spiteful relish. “Can this be Franz Bitner’s son?”
“Oh, Grandpa,” Jill said in exasperation as she sat in another easy chair across from him.
“Peter.” He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“You weigh too much.” Heinrich waved it aside. You need to work hard for a living.”
“He does work hard for a living, Grandpa,” Jill said with firmness. “He’s a hospital administrator.” When she saw no response from her grandfather she added, “He’s an important person in the community.”
“Oberbach has a hospital?” He feigned surprise.
Franz leaned over to whisper to his son, “Soh von einem weibschen.”
Peter, who suppressed a smile, glanced at Bob who shook his head.
“No translation needed,” he said. “I can guess.”
“Greta,” Heinrich called out.
“Yes?” she answered from their kitchen.
“It’s time for my nap.” With that Heinrich stood and waddled out to his bedroom just as Greta and Helga appeared with a tray of refreshments.
Bob could not decide if the look on Greta’s face was one of embarrassment, frustration or relief. But it made no difference because their mood straight away lightened as the sisters put the tray on the coffee table. Greta took Heinrich’s chair, and Jill jumped up to offer her chair to Helga.
“I’ll pull up another chair and sit next to Bob.”
In a minute, Greta and Helga were drinking, munching and chattering away in German. Franz sat serenely eating a small sandwich, his attention going from the women who were catching up on their lives and to Bob, Jill and Peter who were getting to know each other.
“Uncle Franz looks really healthy,” Jill said.
“Father cut trees in the forest until he retired.” Peter nodded. “The whole town talked about the old man doing a young man’s job.”
“You must be very proud of him,” Bob said.
“He cut wood because that was all there was for a young man. He didn’t have land to farm. He couldn’t afford to buy a shop. He should have gone to a university and become a professional, but again, he had no money.”
“Life can be cruel,” Bob said.
“Truly intelligent people adjust to their situation and that’s why father is so relaxed.” Peter touched his temple with his forehead. “He accepted what life dealt him but he saw to it that it dealt me a better hand, and I’m grateful.”
He paused to light his pipe, which caused Helga to wag her finger at him and spout, “Nein! Nein!”
Greta smiled, pushed her sister’s hand down and said, “Your boy can smoke in my house. “I love the smell of a pipe.”
As the sisters resumed their reunion, Peter puffed on his pipe and glanced with admiration at his father who seemed lost in thought.
“I say all this to let you know what kind of man my father is and why he has a good-natured dislike for his brother-in-law.”
“There are times I don’t like grandpa either,” Jill said in agreement.
“So is this going to be a conflict when he’s call to be a defense witness for Heinrich?” Bob said, furrowing his brow.
“He can only testify to what he knows,” Peter said. “He knows that all the men in the Schmidt family joined the Nazi party in the thirties. Papa did not. He just cut his trees, acquiesced on the guild issue and survived the war without physical or moral scars.”
“And what about Hans Moeller?” Bob said.
“Hans Moeller?” Franz turned to his son. “Sohn voneinem weibchen.” He then whispered to Peter who nodded and looked back at them.
“Father said Hans Moeller was a big, boisterous type of fellow. He didn’t take anything seriously. Everything was a big joke to him.”
Franz nudged Peter and said, “Erzahlen sie ihn um das milchdienstmacdche,” encouraging him to relate something which made Franz smile.
“Father wanted me to tell you this story. One time, Hans told Heinrich about a woman with a cabin on the other side of the forest. He told Heinrich she liked to entertain wood cutters. So Heinrich went up there by himself to be entertained. Well, this woman’s husband came in and thrashed Heinrich. Father says this was the first and only time Heinrich ever got beat up. When he came back he was mad at Hans, but he wouldn’t do anything. Hans was bigger than he was.”
“Will he tell that story in court?” Jill frowned.
“If they ask him. Father never lies.”
The afternoon passed fast, and the group at last left to return to the Knoxville suburb where Ed and Carol lived. Dinner was a pleasant, but Bob smelled a bit of gin on Carol’s breath. He tried to catch Jill’s eye, but she seemed distracted by her mother’s condition. When dishes had been put away Jeff Holt arrived to talk to Helga and Franz.
“I suppose you folks have been brought up to speed on what the situation is here,” Jeff said. “Now all we want here is to help your brother-in-law defend himself against these charges. You all know he couldn’t have done anything like what Mrs. Moeller is saying.”
Peter translated for his parents. His father sat arrow-straight with an enigmatic pleasant smile, while Helga flashed a toothy grin reminiscent of her sister’s smile. But they said nothing. Jeff shifted with discomfort in his chair and leaned forward. His eyes went from Helga to Peter and then to Hans. He frowned and nodded his head.
“You do think your brother-in-law is innocent, don’t you?”
Again, they remained silent and smiling.
“I’m fixing some coffee.” Carol stood. “Would anyone else care for some?” She left before anyone could reply.
Franz cleared his throat and spoke in an unassuming voice, “Fur das willen von der schwester meinem ehefrau…” and continued with thoughtfulness.
Peter nodded, turned to Jeff and translated, “For the sake of my wife’s sister, I wish I could say we were entertaining Heinrich Schmidt in our home that night, but we weren’t. This was before they married, and Heinrich never came to our home before marriage and only with Greta afterwards.”
“Although I love my father,” Ed said, leaning forward with his fingers to his lips as though trying to form the delicate thoughts he was about to express, “I have to admit he has never been an easy person to get to know. He doesn’t express his feelings easily.”
“Well, of course, we don’t want you to lie,” Jeff said in measured tones. “You can at least provide a character reference for him.”
Helga’s smile remained frozen as Peter translated.
“Heinrich Schmidt war fleibig,” Franz said.
Peter turned back to Jeff and replied, “Heinrich Schmidt was hard-working.”
“And honest,” Jeff prompted.
Peter translated the word, and Franz repeated, “Heinrich Schmidt war fleibig.”
“At least you can testify he wasn’t a Nazi,” the lawyer said.
Helga laughed and waved her hand as she said, “Jeder war ein Nazi zuruck dann.”
Peter nodded, looked at Jeff and expounded, “Most people, if they wanted to advance in society, were Nazis. To belong to the Nazi party was just part of surviving in those days. To say you were a Nazi would be no different than saying you were a Social Democrat today.”
“I know my own father is a blatant racist,” Bob interjected, “but I also believe he would never do anything to physically hurt a black person. So to label a man a Nazi or a racist is not necessarily to imply guilt of a violent, criminal act.”
“That’s right,” Ed said, nodding in relief.
“So even you were a Nazi, Mr. Bitner?” Jeff asked.
When Peter translated the question Franz’ eyes widened. He shook his head and spit out a brief reply, “Nein!”
Bob glanced at Jill who gazed at him with affection.
“Thanks for trying to help,” she said in a whisper as she leaned into him.
“I’m not helping much.” He shook his head.
“Then what are you going to be able to say under oath to help your brother-in-law?” Jeff sighed and scratched his nose.
“Heinrich Schmidt war fleibig,” Franz repeated.
Before Peter could translate Jeff held up his hand, sighed in resignation and said, “I know. He was hard-working.”
Carol came back with a tray of cups and placed it on their coffee table. Helga looked up and smiled with affection.
“Danka,” she said with warm appreciation.
Carol looked at her as though she did not know how to take her compliment, which created an awkward situation in the middle of an awkward situation. Bob did not like one awkward situation, let alone two.
“No, I think it tastes like Sanka,” he said with a coy innocence.
“What?” Carol said, not catching the play on words.
“It’s a joke, Mom.” Jill elbowed Bob and laughed. “You know, danka, Sanka.” She looked at Peter and shook her head. “And I pity you trying to translate that. Sanka is a brand of coffee. It sounds like the German word for thank you.”
“Oh.” Peter turned to speak to his parents.
Helga laughed with gusto and wagged a playful finger at Bob and said, “Danka, Sanka, ha ha.”
“She still doesn’t get it,” Bob said under his breath to Jill. “But she’s laughing anyway to be polite.”
“We needed a good joke about now.” Jeff forced a guffaw.
“Unfortunately, that wasn’t it,” Bob said in contrition.
After everyone laughed, Carol sat on the sofa next to Ed and began drinking her coffee with concentration. Jeff returned to the topic of Heinrich Schmidt, at Helga in earnest.
“Mrs. Bitner, is there anything constructive you feel you could say in a court of law that would benefit your sister’s husband?”
Helga took time to sip her coffee and then glanced at Carol before she began to respond to Jeff’s question, “Ich kann ehrlich sagen das Heinrich ein man ist der autoritat achtet…”
“I can honestly say Heinrich is a man who respects authority and—as my husband said—is hard-working,” Peter translated. “He is the man my sister loves and has spent her life with. He is the father of a man who is respected in his community and is a financial success. As far as I know Heinrich Schmidt never told a lie to me.”
Jeff leaned back and furrowed his brow in consternation.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bitner. That’ll be very helpful.”
Helga stood and circled the sofa until she stood behind Carol and continued, “Als fur den vorfall Hans Moeller verwickelnd…”
“As for the incident involving Hans Moeller,” Peter said, “Heinrich Schmidt never said anything to us to indicate that he did such a thing. And in the many years that have passed in our small community where this incident happened, Franz and I have never seen or heard conclusive evidence that Heinrich had anything to do with Hans’ death.”
“Your mother should have been a lawyer.” Jeff smiled at Peter after the translation.
With a regretful sigh, Helga added, “War das gestagt…”
“Having said that, I must say that Heinrich held views which Franz and I do not share,” Peter translated. “Unfortunately, he infected his wife with those views, but I am relieved to see his son and family did not inherit them.”
She put her hands on Carol’s shoulders and continued, “Heinrich Schmidt hat leute…”
“Heinrich Schmidt judged people according to their appearance, to their job, to their religion,” Peter said. “Franz and I don’t do that. We judge each person by their hearts.”
Helga patted Carol as Peter continued to translate. “We see that a person is good to her husband and has raised a fine daughter. Our hearts go out to a person who has pain in her eyes, and we love that person.”
Carol reached up and squeezed Helga’s hand as she listened to the last of Peter’s translation.
“Franz und ich sorgen sich …”
“Franz and I don’t care what heritage a person comes from” Peter said in a whisper. “We only care if a person is good.”
“Mom’s about to cry,” Jill said in a whisper to Bob.
“I’m about to cry,” he replied.
“I take it from your last statement you could not say under oath that Heinrich is a good man.”
Helga smiled with regret, shook her head and said, “Nein.”
Carol stood and went to her made a circle with her fingers and asked, “Cookie?” She moved the circle to her mouth and bit down.
“Cookie.” Helga nodded.
They went toward the kitchen arm in arm. Helga stopped and put her hands on Carol’s shoulders.
“Werden sie mich zu Dollywood nehmen?”
Carol frowned. “Dollywood?”
“Ja. Ich will ha ha.”
“Ha ha?” She paused. “Oh, ha ha. Yes, I mean, ja.”
The two women laughed and went through the kitchen door.
Jeff shook his head and sighed.
“Maybe Rudolph Schmidt will be able to help more.”
“Uncle Rudy is coming?” Peter raised his eyebrows.
“Yes. I thought a brother would make a good character witness,” Jeff said.
Franz leaned over to ask Peter what was going on, and when Peter told him, he chuckled and said “Gehen ein charaketerzeuge fur Rudolph za sein?”
“What did he say?” Jeff frowned.
“Oh, nothing.” Peter waved his hand to dismiss the remark.
“No, tell me.”
“Father wanted to know who was going to be a character witness for Rudolph.” Peter looked at Jeff and Ed in embarrassment.
Bob and Jill stifled giggled as Franz smiled at them, lifting his coffee cup in a small salute.
“Danka und Sanka.” His eyes twinkled as he sipped his drink.
“You’re going to make me earn my money on this one, aren’t you?” Jeff looked sad-faced at Ed. He glanced at Peter. “All right, what’s wrong him?”
“Heinrich’s brother and father were members of the Nazi party during the thirties and forties. Their father was mayor of Oberbach,” Peter said. “After the war most people tried to deny they were Nazi party members, but Rudolph and his father never did. They were proud of it. Rudolph still is.”
Franz turned to his son to offer more information and said, “Rudolph ist anstandig jetzt.”
“Oh no,” Jeff said with foreboding.
“Rudolph is quite respectable now,” Peter began to translate. “In fact, he’s mayor of Oberbach. Many of the former Nazi leaders have slipped back into power.”
“Well, that’s not so bad, his being mayor,” Jeff offered.
“I think what Jeff really wants to know is if there’s anyone in Oberbach with a story about Uncle Rudy that we wouldn’t want repeated in court,” Ed said.
“Exactly,” Jeff agreed.
Bob watched him ready himself for the worst as Peter translated to Franz who gave a brief answer, sardonic in tone.
“Nict von irgendjemand still lelend.”
“I didn’t like the tone of that,” Jeff said with a frown. “What did he say?”
“Not from anyone still alive.”