Tomorrow Berlin Read Online Free

betraying their love.
    He had to keep busy. He took books from Sir’s library. Finally, among those yellowed pages and austere bindings, he could be himself.
    Franz’s asceticism pleased Sir. The maid’s son might make something of himself after all; he wanted to be progressive enough to think so.
     
    Dinah fell ill. Bronchitis, with serious complications, mucus in the lungs. Trussed up in bed, the ceiling of her little room looked like her destination in the sky.
    Dinah died. No more mother and child. JustFranz, and the Kienzel family, who had no idea what to do with him.
    Sir and Madam discussed it. Katherine prayed about her anxieties. Franz had to stay; he had to sleep in her arms again. He could replace the caretaker. He could live in the little shed; she could be with him at night, as before.
    She spoke to her father. No, we have Jules, I can’t sack him. But you know very well that Jules is useless. Yes, my dear, I know. And Franz is crafty, I know that too. That boy spends his days reading. Maybe he’ll be a poet, who knows? His mother was a good woman, I must do all I can for her son. I shall send him to school. I’ll pay. The boy will make something of himself, we’ll give him all the help we can. Why are you crying, my dear? I thought you liked the boy, you grew up together. I want to give him the best. Why are you crying?
     
    In Hannover there is a boarding school they call the Institute. There boys – boys from good families – are taught philosophy, literature, geography, mathematics and history. Six hours of lessons a day, sport, and a uniform in the British style. Franz liked it there. He sent long letters to Katherine, the kind of letters you keep, which pile upin a nice metal tin. Later, though we may not read them any more, we take them with us when we move house, we can’t throw them away because they are evidence of what we once were.
    When the weekend came, the other boys went home to their families. Franz stayed behind because he no longer had any family. He remained in his little cell. He studied, and wrote too, some touching, well-wrought verses about the seasons, nature, and also death. Love he reserved for Katherine. Her skin was so soft, her hair so long.
    He made friends. Jojo the Legend, Günther and Barnabé. They smoked in secret behind the observatory. It didn’t go very far, just some short-lived, cautious silliness. In a few months, they would get their diplomas, so best not get caught. Anyway, what would Sir think if he discovered that thanks to his money Franz was smoking with Jojo the Legend behind the observatory?
     
    Franz studied hard. He also learned nice manners. He was a fervent admirer of Aristotle. A little bust of the philosopher with a full beard was positioned above his bed. Maybe Franz’s essays were confused and disorganised, but so inspired, so sincere that his results turned out to be entirely acceptable. He was a bit of a dabbler, true, but it was enlighteneddilettantism, to the delight of his teachers, who saw in him – they saw this so rarely – a student who was passionate about their subject.
    The results arrived. Franz was second in his class. He was seventeen now. No more Institute, but the life of men, on his own, with his diploma in his pocket.
     
    He hitched back to Lübeck along desolate industrial roads lined with factories and power stations. All those buildings, all this activity spurred him on. He too would be such a man: he would build things. For heaven’s sake, he’d come second in his class at the Institute in Hannover!
     
    He knocked on the Kienzels’ door, unexpectedly, without warning them he was coming, since it was his childhood home, since Katherine was there. She was beautiful, she was gentle, he loved her. Of course, over time, they hadn’t written to each other so much, but throughout those two years, Franz had not stopped thinking about her. Their love could be out in the open now; there was no shame any more. Franz was no