Ben Elton - Two Brothers

This was an unexpected development. It had never even occurred to Otto that she might feel passion too. He would never have flattered himself to imagine that a goddess such as she could reciprocate his desire. All he had ever dared hope was that she might tolerate it in return for undying devotion and lifelong service.

And yet she seemed to shiver too.

For a moment they stood together, pressed against the dressing table, lips working at each other’s mouths. Otto trying simultaneously to both lose himself in and yet also remember forever the extraordinary ecstasy of actually touching Dagmar’s breasts.

Then she pushed him away.

‘No more,’ she gasped. ‘We should stop before… Not because I don’t want to… but because I do …’

Dagmar reddened as the sentences trailed away.

Otto grinned a grin so broad it seemed to split his face in two. He had come so much further than ever he had dared to hope.

‘This is the best night of my life,’ he stuttered. ‘I mean literally. Honest. Just the best… literally.’

Dagmar smiled too. A true and genuine smile, a smile that for a moment seemed free of pain. The smile not of a hunted and a haunted Jew who was celebrating the mugging of an enemy, but simply of a young girl just turned fifteen who was growing up and had properly kissed a boy for the first time.

‘Thanks for my buttons,’ she said, tucking her blouse back into her skirt. ‘Although I don’t really think I want to keep them. Do you mind?’

‘No, I don’t think you should either,’ Otto replied, still red-faced with delight. ‘I’ll take them and chuck ’em, shall I?’

‘Only if you absolutely promise to throw them down the first gutter. If you kept them and they were ever found…’

‘Don’t worry.’ Otto smiled. ‘Paulus may be the clever one but I’m not completely thick you know.’

The mention of Paulus made them both think for a moment. Looking into each other’s eyes in silent acknowledgement that the dynamics of all their lives had changed.

‘I’d better go,’ Otto said.

He scooped up the buttons and made for the door, stumbling over the thick rug and nearly upsetting a little table crowded with stuffed toys and ornaments.

‘Ottsy,’ Dagmar said, ‘you know you and Pauly always tell me that one day I’ll have to choose?’

‘Yeah,’ Otto gulped.

‘Well, I have. I love Pauly but… I’ve chosen you.’

IT WAS VERY late when Otto returned home having, it seemed to him, almost floated across Berlin on a cloud of happiness, descending to earth only once in order to dispose of the buttons in a great mound of horse shit on Köpenicker Strasse.

It was late but to Otto’s surprise, Wolfgang, Frieda and Paulus were still up.

They were waiting for him.

His family.

‘About bloody time,’ Paulus snapped. ‘Mum and Dad want to talk to us and they won’t tell me what it’s about on my own so we’ve had to wait for you and I haven’t been able to study all evening.’

‘I’m heartbroken, mate,’ Otto said. ‘Oh, by the way, Dagmar’s agreed to be my girl. Sorry but that’s how it goes.’

Whatever Paulus had been thinking about his mother’s strange behaviour he forgot it at once in the face of this terrible pronouncement.

‘You’re lying!’

‘Ask her if you like,’ Otto replied. ‘Ring her, she’ll be up.’

The devastation on Paulus’s face made Otto wish he hadn’t put it so bluntly, but then he knew there was never going to be any easy way to say it.

Paulus got out of his chair; he looked close to tears.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ he said, trying to sound calm. ‘Whatever it is you want to say will have to keep. I’m tired, I’m going to bed.’

Frieda smiled. A sad smile.

‘No, Pauly,’ she said, ‘you have to stay. I want to talk to you both. You’ll have to fight about Dagmar another time.’

‘Fight’s over,’ Otto said smugly. ‘I’ve won.’

Perhaps it was the word ‘fight’ that gave Frieda pause for thought. She had been so intent on what she needed to say that she had not noticed Otto’s dishevelled appearance.

‘Where have you been, Ottsy?’

‘Out,’ Otto replied.

‘Is that blood on your shirt?’ Frieda asked, fear starting in her eyes.

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

Paulus knew. ‘You’ve done it, haven’t you?’

Otto merely shrugged.

‘Done what, Otto!’ Frieda asked with rising alarm. ‘Tell me what you’ve done.’

Otto did not reply but instead went and grabbed some bread and put the kettle on the gas. Frieda turned to Paulus.

‘What’s he done, Pauly?’ she said. ‘You obviously know.’

Now it was Paulus’s turn to shrug.

‘Him and his mates said they were going to mug a storm trooper. I suppose they must have done it.’

‘Thanks,’ Otto said, putting beef dripping on his bread. ‘Big mouth, eh?’

‘You’d have boasted about it in the end anyway,’ Paulus replied. ‘Just like you’ve obviously been boasting to Dagmar.’

‘Oh, Ottsy,’ Frieda said.

‘Well what if I did! I’m proud of it! We slapped those bastards about a bit and made them squeal like the cowards they are. And next time I’m going to do one on my own. Man to man. I’ll kill him too. I only didn’t kill one tonight because Paulus bloody begged me—’

‘I didn’t beg you, mate!’ Paulus snapped. ‘I told you you’ll make it worse for all of us!’

‘How? How can it be any worse? We’re not even citizens any more. We get spat at on buses! Pushed out of shops. Kicked and punched every day. Our girls are insulted and worse. We can’t join anything, we can’t go anywhere! They’re taking everything away from us! Everything!’

‘Keep your voice down, you stupid bastard,’ Paulus hissed.

Wolfgang and Frieda were sitting at the table in silence as Otto and Paulus traded harsh words.

‘Yeah that’s right, Pauly, whisper! Whisper in your own home! Don’t you see? We’re crawling! They are making us Jews crawl. Well this Jew ain’t crawling any more! I made Dagmar smile tonight because I took a bit of revenge for her dad. When did you last see her smile? We have to stand up for ourselves. Nobody’s going to help us Jews. Everybody hates us even in the countries that pretend they don’t! Only Jews can help Jews!’

Otto had taken his flick-knife from his pocket. He was brandishing it as he spoke. ‘I’m sick of this,’ he said. ‘I’m going out.’

‘Otto!’ Frieda said, her tone demanding silence. ‘Don’t you dare leave this house. You have to listen to me. We have to talk.’

Otto stopped. The boys glanced at each other and then looked at their mother. Something was up. They fell silent.

‘Yes, Mum?’ Otto said almost contritely.

Frieda looked at him steadily. The time had come.

‘Ottsy, baby. Darling boy… darling son. You’re not a Jew.’

Both boys stared at her for a moment.

Paulus was the first to speak.

‘What?’ he said. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Mum?’ Then his voice brightened. ‘Hey! Have you found us a goy in the family records! Wow, Mum, are we Mischlinge ? Some Mischlinge can still use the swimming pools!’

Frieda shook her head sadly. ‘I’m not talking about you, Pauly. Or your father and me. I’m talking about Ottsy. I’m sorry, darling. I never wanted it to come out like this.’

‘What? What to come out?’ Again it was Paulus who asked. Otto was still silent.

‘Otto. Darling. Daddy and I love you more than life itself. You know that, don’t you? Paulus and you are our darling boys and…’