Kurfürstenstraße

"That's the thing about this city," Cynthia interrupted from the corner of the drawing room. "It will never daunt those who understand how to live in it."

The three others stood dumbstruck, gaping at her. Marguerite, probably because she'd never heard anyone interrupt her fiance. Meanwhile, Frau Scheuner looked as though she had been jolted from a stupor. Edmund cleared his throat and announced,

"I use that term only referring to how the city must seem to an outsider. You may not know this, but the nation is shifting rapidly toward industrialization." Behind her neutral expression, Cynthia bristled at his condescension. Marguerite hurried to concur,

"I have felt quite overwhelmed here, even with you at my side, schatzie." She wrapped herself around one of Edmund's arms. Cynthia felt sick and promptly wheeled herself out of the room. 

Frau Scheuner was quick to grasp her wheelchair handles, as if they were a life preserver. She, too, must have been eager to escape the uncomfortable scene.  

"Let me help you, miss." The housekeeper offered.

"If you must." Cynthia felt no remorse about speaking bluntly. Her energy was dwindling by the day and God provided only so much time to observe niceties; a year and a half ago a number of physicians had diagnosed Cynthia with an illness she had never heard of. They told her it had been discovered thirty-eight years before. They called it leukemia. 

"To the balcony, please." She bade Frau Scheuner.

The housekeeper steered her into the dining room, opened the glass doors and delivered Cynthia into a gust of crisp autumn air. The clopping of hooves on cobblestones and vendors shouting rose up to her ears. She took it in with one long, full breath. 

Her mind drifted to the last time she'd been outside, truly outside, not just to visit a medical office. Not without her mother's disapproval, she had walked down the street to the Tiergarten alone. 

It was summer, the wind warm, a horde of children ran in crisscrossing patterns across the grass. She had never paid much attention to children, but that day, a pair of them caught her eye. 

A sister and brother no more than ten ran to and fro, immersed in their game. The girl had picked up a gnarled stick and declared it the fastest, purplest dragon in Berlin. She chased her brother about with it, making it swoop and bank (as only a dragon would), until he found a leafy branch and reversed the attack. Her dragon fled at the nose of his great, green firebreather. The two seemed suspended in pure delight. Watching their mother soon drag them away had disturbed Cynthia more than she could reasonably justify. 

"Dreadfully chilly today, isn't it?" Frau Scheuner said. "Wouldn't you prefer to be inside, miss?"

At her words, Cynthia's reverie began to slip away and the elements, the present, touched her again. A gust of icy wind made Cynthia shiver under her thin shawl. Without bothering to keep the resentment from her voice, she replied,

"Yes, take me inside, then, if you must."

Heidi scratched flaking red paint off the handrail as she waited for Yuri to escape his foster mother's tirade. The second floor landing of his building was Heidi's usual spot at 7:30 every weekday morning. The rail had lost approximately thirty centimeters of paint since the school year had begun six weeks ago; there was no doubt Yuri's foster mother relished the sound of her own voice. 

Though her lecture still poured into the stairwell, Yuri's slim figure appeared in the doorway. Heidi followed him downstairs wordlessly. The clamor of the construction site up the street reached them before they'd even opened the front door. The rot in the wood made the door no lighter and, as usual, Yuri had to tug twice to open it. When it gave, the tsunami of sound crashed down on them. Heidi didn't bother plugging her ears anymore. By now, the clanking, beeping and crashing had become part of the daily, chaotic din of Kurfürstenstraße. 

By the time she and Yuri reached the Persian convenience store they could hear their own footsteps again. 

"I'll bet you Opi Otti spent the night." Heidi prodded. She'd taken to cutting his nickname short from the original 'Opium Otti' they had begun calling him last year. 

"Five euro." Yuri wagered confidently. 

"I only have three." She protested.

"Fine." 

"If I'm wrong will you still buy me a sandwich for lunch today?" She stuck out her bottom lip in a well-practiced pout and skipped backwards to make sure he saw it. 

"What would be the point of winning?" He argued.

"An apple, then, at least."

"Ok." A small smile lifted a corner of his mouth.

"I expect my mother will be back from the shops soon." Cynthia said after Frau Scheuner had closed the balcony doors. "That is where she was going, wasn't it?"

"Yes, miss."

"Not to the lawyer's office?" 

Tension thickened Frau Scheuner's voice,

"No, miss, she hasn't been there since last spring. When your dear father passed." 

Cynthia pressed,

"Has she mentioned anything to you about why my cousin is here?"

"No, miss." 

Edmund's voice swelled to a bellow from the drawing room,

"Liebling, Berlin is no suitable place to raise children." 

Marguerite pouted,

"But darling, the city is such a thrill!" 

'Felt quite overwhelmed', indeed, Cynthia thought, casting her mind back to Marguerite's earlier comment. She wheeled herself around to face Frau Scheuner. 

"Let's move to a more private room." Without waiting for the housekeeper to oblige her, Cynthia led on to the study. There, a concealed door leading to the kitchen stood in the left wall. 

Once Frau Scheuner had closed the study door, Cynthia told her,

"This is where I was sitting when I heard my mother mention both my cousin's and father's names to you. Why has she summoned Edmund?"

Frau Scheuner stood, startled, for a moment.

"She didn't mention any particular reason, miss, but I'm sure he simply wished to introduce his lovely fiance in person." 

If loyalty to Cynthia's mother were an odor, Frau Scheuner would reek of it, as a dog's snout smells of shit. Cynthia yearned to say this to the housekeeper's face, now a visage of carefully constructed ignorance. 

"Are you aware I control the rights to this house, per my father's will?" Cynthia asked.

"No, miss, but--"

"As such, I control who finds employment in it." 

Frau Scheuner's silence accompanied a practiced poker face. 

"Why has my mother summoned my cousin--incidentally, my closest male relative? " 

Frau Scheuner did not speak for a couple of seconds. Then in a measured voice far removed from her usual, warmhearted tone, 

"It is not my place to say whether I agree with your mother about your plans for this house, but it would not sit right with me to lie to you, miss. You have always been clever and the...conclusions...you draw today, too, are correct."

"Thank you, Frau Scheuner."

The housekeeper nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.

This was the confirmation Cynthia needed, of what she had suspected since Edmund had arrived a week ago. Though only twenty-one, Cynthia's father had bequeathed the house to her instead of her mother. (The day his will was read, Cynthia had never felt happier that her husband of two years had already divorced her when he'd learned of her illness. This ensured he would have no claim to it.) 

When Cynthia had asked about her father's decision, her mother had simply answered, 'Marriage is a private affair.' Here, her mother had perhaps already revealed too much; Cynthia had long held suspicions of marital infidelity on her mother's part. 

Two weeks ago, Cynthia had informed her mother of her plans for the house after her own passing. The conversation had not gone smoothly.

"What have I done to deserve this cruelty?" Her mother had wailed. "A children's home?!" Would it satisfy you for me to live out on the street?" 

"I've told you, you will still be free to occupy an entire level of the house!" 

Her mother would not hear.

"Expelled from my own home! At this age!" Her expression turned to daggers. "Leave me. I cannot abide your presence a moment longer." 

Shortly following this episode, Cynthia had overheard snippets of her mother's plan, relayed to Frau Scheuner, for Edmund to come visit. Why her mother thought he would have any chance of seizing the house, Cynthia did not know. 

The dead stillness and stale lavender aroma in the air began to nauseate Cynthia. She felt a crying need to scream or run. God knew she was not helpless yet; shakily, she tried to lift herself out of the chair. Reaching the point where her elbows locked, she could immediately sense her legs would not hold her. Breathing heavily, Cynthia lowered herself back to safety. Edmund's voice rumbled faintly through the walls. Though her exhaustion coaxed her to it, Cynthia knew this was no time to forfeit. 

Heidi trotted ahead to peer around the curve in the street. 

"Ha!" She cried. On his favorite stoop lay a heap of grubby blankets. Otti's telltale shopping cart, wheeled fortress to a tattered German flag, stood so close that they could see his forehead resting against the freezing metal. 

One morning, Heidi had marched up to him, even daring to wake him, and demanded to know why he slept this way when it got so cold at night. Two piercing blue eyes had shot open, the whiskered mouth gaping, out of it tumbling a slew of curses and incoherent rantings. 'Whore in the making' had been one of the only intelligible phrases. 

Yuri had jerked Heidi along with him before Otti could get off his feet. During the entire rest of the walk, the two found any number of names to pair with the chosen phrase. Yuri had re-dubbed Heidi, 'Morning Shit in the Making', while he became, 'Barack Obama in the Making'. 

As they now passed the stinking heap that was Opi Otti, Yuri fished three euro out of his pocket. Without warning, he grabbed Heidi's T-shirt and dropped the cold coins down the front. Heidi yelped and Otti jolted awake. The blue eyes spotted them and the mouth emitted a rattling warcry. Heidi and Yuri grabbed each other's shoulders and pounded down the street, screaming. 

It became a race, although neither let go of the other's shirt. Pulling became pushing, and they only broke off when they almost toppled a jogger. Heidi leaned against a dirty brick storefront. Yuri laid both palms on a mailbox, panting. 

"Good try." Heidi gestured casually to her broad frame and long legs. "But we both know who won." Though only twelve, she was taller than any of her classmates.

"Of course." Yuri replied, meeting her eyes with a grin. "But don't feel bad about being a loser. You probably got distracted by how sexy I am when I run." 

Heidi retaliated,

"I'd beat you to the school, but I can tell you're exhausted, so I guess you'll have to lose to me tomorrow."

"Can't wait," Yuri smirked. 

With a bang, the front door opened and Cynthia heard her mother's penetrating call from downstairs, 

"Frau Scheuner! Please help me with these bags! That driver wouldn't lift a finger!" 

Cynthia was in no rush to be in her mother's company. She rolled herself to the window and looked across the blank sky. It spread before her as one massive grey cloud. 

How appropriate. She thought. 

A minute later, Cynthia's mother burst into the room. 

"Oh, here you are. Goodness, I don't know why you waste so much time in this room. It's so dingy." 

"It's the quietest room in the house." Cynthia muttered. 

Her mother did not pick up the hint. 

"Cynthia, there is a matter I would like to discuss with you."

Here it was. The great reveal. 

"I have decided I cannot stand to be pushed out of my own home. It is a double affront by your father and now by you. Least of all, it is outrageous, especially considering why you would remove me. Now, I don't expect you to have nothing out of this. I welcome you to keep the house until--" Here she cut herself off. Obviously she had not devised a gentle way of saying 'until your forthcoming death, Cynthia'. "Until such events unfold," She continued, "at any period of time, when you will, as anyone will, be no longer living, yes, but after that point, I propose this:

The house must fall into Edmund's care. He has graciously offered to become proprietor. And since your father's will explicitly excludes me from receiving the property, your cousin is a most suitable choice. If and when he becomes owner, he will immediately arrange for the founding of a children's home outside the city. This would, conveniently, serve to protect the children from the many dangers of the city." 

Despite anticipating her mother's proposition, the back of Cynthia's neck had grown hot and her muscles tightened. It was all she could do to keep the anger out of her voice, 

"Not only does father's will explicitly exclude you, it names me the sole beneficiary. What's more, this is the heart of Berlin. A home here would provide aid to those thousands of children with the most need for it, who don't have the luxury of living outside the city."

"I hoped you would not harp on all that, dear. Still, if you insist on steering this conversation in that direction, I will inform you that the law shall look more favorably on a male relative than the female in the role of a property owner. In most cases, this is unfortunate. However…" Perhaps she thought she was being kind by not punctuating her threat.

As Cynthia fought to reign in her anger, a powerful wave of sadness engulfed her. There hadn't been a week that she and her mother didn't fight, but the rift had never been permanent. For the first time in months, Cynthia met her mother's eyes without contempt.

"This will divide us as we have never been. Can you stand to do this, mother?"

"Cynthia, that burden rests on you!" She cried, desperately. "I would willingly not lose my daughter, but when I am forced out, what else can I do but defend myself?"

Cynthia shot back,

"I would not have chosen for father to grant me this infernal prison, but with it I choose to perform the only act of good that will outlast me! You cannot attempt to rob me of any legacy I may have!" 

Her mother gazed down at Cynthia with tears on her cheeks. 

"Mother," Cynthia continued, suddenly exhausted, "whether you can understand my side or not, let us please stop fighting for today." She took a breath. "I have a request and I beg you to grant it." 

Her mother wiped her eyes. 

"Yes, darling?"

"Please will you retrieve my coat? Also, please instruct Edmund to carry me outside and then bring my chair downstairs. I wish to go to the park."

"Darling--"

"Please, mother. Help me."

After a brief hesitation, her mother nodded and left the room. 

Cynthia closed her eyes and tried not to think of the battle to come. Despite knowing the law--currently--lay on her side, she could not block out the thought of the dozens of unknown men who would soon hold a say over her fleeting future. 

She nevertheless resolved to not give up until her body did. Now, finally, Cynthia allowed a state of peace to overtake her. A folk tune played in her head, as if carried on the wind. It was one her father used to hum to help her fall asleep. 

Heidi chewed her lip, wondering if she should say what she was thinking. If she did, there was no going back. 

"Why don't you come live with me? My parents could officially adopt you."

"Come on, we have to hurry." Yuri mumbled. 

"I'm serious. It would be great! We could play whenever we wanted!" 

"Stop it." 

She had never heard so much authority in Yuri's voice. The smug triumph on his face had vanished. Heidi said nothing for a minute, then started,

"Why--"

"I don't need to live with you." 

"What do you mean?" Heidi murmured, feeling slightly injured. It took Yuri a whole minute to arrange his thought, but when he said it out loud, Heidi forgot her hurt. It was in fact the most genuine thing she had ever heard Yuri say. 

"I don't like every part of my life. But somehow--and I don't know how, so don't ask me--I love my life. I can't describe it..." Heidi waited patiently. "Let's just put it this way," Yuri said finally. "I will never live anywhere except Berlin. And I would never want to, either."

Heidi's mind reached back to their countless afternoons in the park, their snowball fights, the school's sunny classrooms. Even though there was always trash in the grass, someone smoking, cars driving too fast, and people like Yuri's foster mom, Heidi echoed truthfully,

"I never want to live anywhere else either."

The school gradually came into view at the end of the street. It was a grand old building, three stories, with traditional timber framing on the outside and a balcony on the second floor. She had a special liking for the place, which she sensed would never go away, even if Yuri did get sent somewhere different. 

"Heidi!" Yuri shouted over his shoulder. He was already several paces ahead, running toward the school. She saw the last of their classmates bustling inside and sprinted to catch up. She and Yuri reached the doors just after the rest crowded in. Before following, Heidi hurriedly rubbed her good luck charm, the antiquated plaque on the front of the building. It read, 

The Cynthia Freimann Home for Children

1885