When Kennedy Went To Berlin
Chapter 3 — The Frosty Window Pane
Klaus loved the family’s two-toned green ’48 Dodge Sedan. Josef purchased the car for 95 dollars from an older Italian spinster who lost her family at the Battle of Monte Cassino.
Even though the car wasn’t worth the money, Josef took pity on her.
The Dodge was at the stage of becoming a jalopy with its back springs jumping up and down on the cobblestone streets of German Village. When the car was gliding along on even pavement, Klaus enjoyed whistling the lieder tunes his mother sang to him before bedtime.
When the Dodge was bouncing up and down, he made up songs to the rhythm of the springs. Another feature of the car was the weathered aroma of aging leather, which even in the dead of winter reminded him of spring, probably because that’s when his dad purchased the car. At times throughout his life, Klaus would get a whiff of that smell, and the memories of his childhood would come flooding back.
For a full year, Klaus had the spacious back seat all to himself until the day when Josef pulled up the driveway to the arches of the Carmel hospital entrance. Klaus projected his hot breath onto the frosty window and wrote his name multiple times when he looked through the letters and saw Maria waiting at the hospital entrance. He marveled at how beautiful she looked, holding a white bundled blanket in hand. Josef put the car in park. Still running, he flung open the driver's side door and quickly opened the back door on the same side that Klaus was occupying.
“Hey, move over. You got company,” Josef said to Klaus.
Maria bent down, placed the bundle of joy next to Klaus, and gently locked and closed the back door. Pinned between himself and the door was a baby. The baby had the biggest head Klaus had ever seen. Klaus was a tiny boy, and Rolf was nearly as big, weighing over twelve pounds.
“Don’t let his head drop, Klaus,” Maria said.
“Don’t let his head drop?” What does that mean, Klaus thought. He can’t even hold his head up?
These were the days before car seats and seat belts. Before, studies showed that if you left babies unrestrained, they could fly out of windshields. One moment he was alone and whistling, and the next, he was engulfed in confusion.
“You have to cradle his head, Klaus. Make sure he is tight against the door, so he doesn’t move. He is your baby brother. You need to take care of him now.”
Baby brother? What? Why was his mother telling him this? Klaus couldn’t even remember if he was told he had a baby brother coming. His father didn’t mention it to him on the ride to the hospital. What the heck was going on? Shouldn’t his mother be taking care of him? What happened to the family unit? For five years, it was Maria, Josef, and Klaus. They traveled all the way to America together. Klaus couldn’t believe what was happening.
“Where did you get him?” he asked.
“Oh, Klaus, did you think I was just getting fat?” Maria said.
Actually, come to think of it, she did look fatter, but Klaus didn’t know about pregnancy. He was too busy playing to pay much attention. Rolf turned to look at Klaus at the very moment when fetid sputum emerged from his mouth. It would replace the weathered aroma of leather that Klaus loved so much, and Klaus was getting angry.
“No one told me I had a baby brother!”
“Well, you do. So make the best of it,” said Josef
“Shouldn’t he be up there with you, mama?”
Maria saw the angst well up in Klaus and told Josef to stop the car. Josep pulled onto a side street, and Maria retrieved her newborn and easied Klaus’ agony.
“I only wanted you to get to know your brother, Klaus. You are his caretaker now. He will need you as he grows older.”
Klaus sat arms crossed and despondent. His world was turned upside down by the entry of a newborn. “Why did this have to happen now?” he thought.
Joseph pulled up to the house, stopped in the driveway, and opened the door for Maria and Rolf. Klaus sat motionlessly.
“Are you getting out?” Josef said.
“No. I’m sitting here.”
“Fine. Suit yourself.”
Klaus watched Josef follow Maria into the house. He sat in the cold. Pondering. The car's precious leather smell returned. He slid to the opposite window, drew the cold into his nostrils, and hurled his warm moist breath onto the frosty window pane.
In bold letters, he wrote K L A U S
Juergen K. Tossmann is the producing artistic director of Bunbury Theatre Company in Louisville, Ky. Since 1991 he has produced over 200 plays for the company and serves as a playwright, director, and actor. Since the pandemic, he has taken to new forms of writing, including short stories, poetry and articles.
