Breakfast with Martin: Klaus Fights Back

It was bread and sausages the next morning. Martin had come back from a long, brisk walk, glowing with irritating, ruddy health. His voice boomed around the house, commanding and cajoling. He had a list of chores Tom could hear him assigning to the children as Tom dressed. Even Tom, who had never had many chores to do, could tell that many of them were pure make-work.

Something about this house sort of clamoured around Tom’s head, like some insistent, possibly-dangerous insect. He felt as if everything Martin did was somehow for his, Tom’s, benefit. To make some sort of impression. The heartiness, the oaken strength, the effortless family rule. Look, this is what a German man is capable of – what has bloodless English rationalism to offer in comparison?

It is, Tom thought, fixing his collar, an entirely one-sided combat. He did not really care what sort of life Martin had carved out for himself, here in this little rural backwater. Sure, he had the respect and deference of a small community of uneducated peasants. He had swarms of children, each unique while he was out of sight, who melted into dead compliance when he entered the room. His wife… Tom made a face, tucking in his shirt. It was the oldest story of marriage. One spouse sucked the other dry. One became an annoying, over-vital ball of false energy. The other withdrew to the shadows, smiling and planning an overthrow of emptiness.

Tom opened his door. Klaus was waiting in the hallway.

“Father has you down for something,” he said, without preamble. “Leave it up to me. There’s something else I want to show you.”

Tom nodded, and they went downstairs.

“Tom!” cried Martin, throwing his arms wide and speaking through some black shards of bread. “How glad we are you should join us! We’re almost done, but we’ve saved you something.”

Martin’s children all turned and beamed at him. Tom almost took a step back.

“Thank you, Father Heppner,” said Tom.

“Tea?” asked Renata, appearing at his right elbow.

“Thanks,” said Tom. A cup came past his head and was set down on the table.

“We’re just going over our ‘Idle Hands’ list,” said Martin. “We are very socialistic. We expect all who eat to work!”

“Amen!” cried the children. Tom stared at them – at Kris and Soren in particular – but could discern no falseness. He had to tear his gaze away from them with an effort.

“Sausage?” asked a soft voice in his left ear. Tom nodded, unwilling to turn around. “Thanks,” he whispered.

A plate of sausages floated down. Tom’s stomach turned, just once, quite slowly.

“So, Tom, I have you and Egbert on the roof of the coal-shed. It has to be painted, but it has to be sanded first. And…”

Klaus said: “Father.”...