"Almost" Part 12: Book 2, Part 2

Tom in Germany

Tom arrived in Germany on November 30, 1932. Klaus met him at the airport in Berlin, and they drove to a small hotel right in the heart of the city. They were going to see the sights in Berlin before taking a bus out to the small town where his family lived.

Berlin was magnificent. Tom knew all about big cities, having lived in London. But London had been muted since 1929, since the crash. The soft ash of depression had fallen over its mythic energy. But Berlin was nothing like that.

Berlin was insane.

Far underneath the madness, a dim bourgeois body could still be seen. Berlin was like a senile grandfather who occasionally tells stories of a lost and dynamic history. Tom arrived at three o’clock in the afternoon, with a pack of other scratchy, yawning, vibration-dazed travelers. Klaus was waiting in the concourse; Tom found him after spending an endless time in a customs lineup.

“Destination!” the short, squat official had barked in English, after glancing at Tom’s passport.

“Berlin,” replied Tom.

“Anywhere else?”

Tom had switched to German. “I will be visiting a priest in the country. A friend of mine’s father.”

“Your accent is bad,” said the German man, glancing up. But he closed Tom’s passport and handed it back. “Welcome to Germany, Mr. Spencer.”

Klaus had hugged him extravagantly. He had graduated from Oxford in May of that year. He was taking a year off before deciding whether or not to go back for his Ph.D. He was very emotional. He had always been emotional, but now it seemed beyond all civilized bounds. He was in tears as he hugged Tom.

“Sweet Tom,” he cried, “it is so good to see you!”

“Steady on!” laughed Tom, attempting to extricate himself. Klaus only held him tighter. Tom shrugged mentally and grappled him back. An odd sensation possessed him. It suddenly felt as if some sort of energy were flowing from his own body into Klaus’s lean form, something warm and stable and reasonable and friendly.

He’s in a panic, thought Tom.