Willem Krause, Attorney at Law, Divorce and Conveyancing, had his premises in the Krabbenhöft und Lampe Building. The plaque proclaiming it a National Monument cited its construction in 1910, and Otto noted with a bitter irony that the original Krabbenhöft und Lampe business had been started in Keetmanshoop. What a poignant place in which to wrap up Mother and Father’s affairs, he thought to himself.
“My God, it’s really close,” Dieter uttered in surprise as they came upon the building barely two hundred yards from their house.
The imposing three–storey structure, the top floor of which was incorporated into a double–tier Bavarian gabled roof, was on the corner of Berg and Bismarck Streets, right around the corner from Bülow Street. Shielding his eyes from the searing sunshine, Otto glanced around and back up to their house situated slightly further up the hill.
“One can see how the discovery of the body in the garden didn’t escape Mr Krause’s attention,” he said.
The interior of the law firm’s office was air conditioned, smelling vividly of the sturdy kudu leather armchairs and waxed original oak floor. Draped over one of the chairs was a sable and cream mink coat that protectively enveloped Ingrid. She smelled overpoweringly of rose petals and appeared immersed in thought.
“Ah!” Otto said, moving towards her with arms outstretched.
She sat with her legs crossed in a crushed silk dress that glowed like sunset, but didn’t get up, barely moving a muscle in greeting. “Otto.”
Otto bent over awkwardly and managed to plant a light kiss on one cold cheek before surrendering and straightening. “You just disappeared after the funeral… we thought you’d returned to New York,” he said.
Ingrid glanced briefly at Dieter without a flicker of acknowledgement. “Yes, well… I’m here now. You can tell Frans to call off the search party.”
“I don’t think it was like that, Ingrid,” Otto said, suppressing irritation with difficulty. Why was Ingrid always so bristly, he wondered?
An oiled wooden door opened and a haggard man in a dark pinstripe suit appeared. He smiled perfunctorily, revealing angular teeth stained yellow by nicotine. “Mr Adermann, Dr Adermann, Mrs… er… Forsyt,” he said, and gestured with his arm for them to follow him.
“Forsythe,” Ingrid said as she gathered her coat.
“My apologies, madam,” the gaunt man said. “I am Willem Krause, executor of your mother’s estate. Please come in.”
He was leathery and drawn like a palm date, prune–textured skin ineffectively hidden by a short grey beard. Behind large gold–framed spectacles his yellowed eyes darted about actively. There were only three padded seats arranged in front of his excessive leather–inset desk, behind which he retreated, settling into a plush leather armchair beneath a gold–framed oil painting of Felsenkirche.
“First of all, may I offer my condolences on the passing of your mother, Ute Adermann? We have known each other, and indeed been friends, for over thirty years. I knew your father well too and I was also the executor of his estate.” Krause spoke slowly and deliberately, in measured legal tones, not a word or an intonation out of place. A noticeable Teutonic inflection dominated his vowels. “They were fine people, Ernst and Ute, I need not tell you – well liked and well respected in our community.”
Otto shifted in his padded chair. He studied Krause’s deep–set eyes, the eyes of a principled and conservative man; the same eyes that would have looked upon Father while they recorded Father’s last will and testament, God knows how many years ago. What had made Krause decide to confide in Frans over a beer, Otto wondered?
“Would any of you care for a smoke?” Krause asked, lifting an ornate wooden box off his desk. “Or a brandy; whisky perhaps?”
They all shook their heads.
“Well, I hope you don’t mind if I smoke?” Krause said without inhibition as he lifted a cigar from the box and clipped the ends. “I find it focuses my mind.”
Ingrid exhaled audibly. Clouds of aromatic blue smoke soon encircled Krause, who seemed lost in his own world as he puffed, his puckered cheeks moving in and out like a blacksmith’s bellows.
“When did you first meet my mother and father?” Otto asked.
Krause continued to puff, raising a solitary finger in the air to signal that he had heard. He eventually pulled the cigar from his mouth and inspected it with satisfaction.
“It was around 1950, a long time ago.” He smiled thinly as smoke curled out of his mouth.
“So you didn’t know our sister Inez, then?” Otto added.
“I never heard your mother or your father speak of her.”
“Did you know about her?” Otto pressed.
Krause’s eyes reacted and flicked from Otto, to Dieter, to Ingrid. “We’ll come to all that.”
Ingrid crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest. Otto glanced at her and tried to elicit eye contact, but he could see the hardness set in her face.
“Now in many ways it is not a complicated will,” Krause said, resting one elbow on the desk with cigar aloft while the other hand opened a folder on his desk. His head was bowed as he studied the contents. He looked up and gestured at the three of them. “You are the only three surviving children of Ernst and Ute Adermann.” He looked at them. “Correct?”
They nodded. Dieter cleared his throat.
“You did bring your passports with you, didn’t you?” Krause added, closing the folder on his desk almost as an afterthought.
Otto reached into his jacket pocket and produced his passport. “Yes.”
Dieter did the same. Ingrid sat with her arms folded for what seemed an eternity to Otto, before she reneged and produced her passport. Krause leaned forward and collected them from the front of his desk before pressing an intercom.
“Miss Meyer, please come in.”
A young blonde woman with her hair tied up and secured by an ornately carved wooden hairpin entered and took the passports.
“Two copies of each please, my dear,” Krause said with a smile. “Right, where was I?” he continued, opening the folder again as smoke enveloped him. “Ah yes, it is a relatively simple will insofar as you, the three direct descendants, are concerned. In summary the estate of Ute Adermann is to be divided equally between all three surviving children.” He paused to puff on the cigar as he turned a page. “Everything was bequeathed to your mother upon your father’s death in 1975 on condition, something called a fideicommissum, that the only benefactors of the estate on your mother’s death would be Ingrid née Adermann, Dieter Adermann and Otto Adermann.”
Krause paused and looked up, as if to check that they were still present. “The estate includes the house on Bülow Street, the premises from which your father practised in Keetmanshoop, and cash assets totalling approximately four hundred thousand rands. As none of you currently resides in Lüderitz it might be best to sell the properties to release their equity.” He looked up at them. “But that is up to you. Any questions?”
Dieter cleared his throat. “What happened to Father’s practice here in Lüderitz?”
“He sold that when he retired, about six years before his death,” Krause said.
“But he kept the one in Keetmanshoop?” Dieter said.
“Yes,” Krause replied with apparent disinterest. Then all of a sudden he spoke again. “I believe his partner in Keetmanshoop, Dr Abert, continued to work for several more years.”
Krause looked down at the folder and puffed on the cigar, appearing to savour every moment of it. “There are a few specific items that have been bequeathed to individuals.” He paused. “The Walther 30-06 and Anschütz hunting rifles are left to the oldest son, Dieter; the Bell & Howell projector and equipment to Otto, along with all the oil paintings. The Bechstein piano and Biedermeier secretaire chest go to Ingrid.”
“I don’t want them,” Ingrid interrupted. “You can have them, Otto.”
Krause looked both bemused and irritated as he made a casual hand gesture. “These are trivial matters to sort out afterwards.”
A gentle knock on the door was followed by Miss Meyer entering and returning the passports and several sheets of photocopied paper. Krause studied the photocopies as Dieter retrieved and distributed the passports.
Krause pointed at Otto with the cigar. “Otto?”
“Yes.”
“Now, you are the only one with children, is that correct?”
Otto glanced first at Dieter and then at Ingrid, both of whom nodded. “Yes.”
“Your mother has them down as Karl and Max… both Adermanns?”
“That is correct.”
“They must have been born subsequent to your father’s death as he did not list them in his will,” Krause muttered, as though talking to himself.
“Yes,” Otto said, “the oldest is only nine.”
“And their mother, your wife, is Sabine… née Goethe.” He fixed his eyes on Otto. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Otto said.
“German?”
Otto felt an uneasiness that was difficult to place, but confirmed the information.
Krause nodded. “OK. But neither you, Ingrid, nor you, Dieter, have any children by any relationship whatsoever?” He studied their faces in turn. “According to the details in the will.”
“No,” Dieter said.
Ingrid slowly shook her head. “Why do you ask?”
Krause leaned forward and placed both elbows on the desk, locking his fingers together carefully so that the cigar remained uppermost in his left hand. “This is where we find something unusual.” He puffed on his cigar, releasing a cloud of smoke. “When your father left his entire estate to your mother he did so on explicit condition that the only benefactors upon your mother’s death should be his surviving children,” he gestured towards them, “namely you three.”
The cigar plugged his mouth again, his eyes thoughtful. Otto wasn’t sure whether they were expected to say anything. Did Krause know that Frans had spoken to them? Had he wanted Frans to reveal his concerns?
“Did Mum agree to this condition in her will?” Ingrid asked. “I mean, Dad’s been dead almost ten years.”
“That is a fair point,” Krause acknowledged, pointing the cigar casually towards Ingrid. “Fideicommissum is a very old and popular legal institution in Roman law. It was commonly employed to keep property in families. By invoking this principle your father clearly intended to keep his assets strictly in the family.”
“Did Mum know this?” Ingrid asked.
“She would have had to consent to the fideicommissum and conditions when she accepted his inheritance in 1975,” Krause said.
“What conditions?” Dieter asked, sitting forward.
“Well…” Krause scratched his eyebrow on the left side as he lowered his head to study the papers. “Basically the testator explicitly forbids inheritance to be paid to any surviving family member, or descendants, with any Jewish ancestry.”
Otto felt Krause’s eyes studying each of them in turn. He now understood why Krause had quizzed him about Sabine and he felt as if they were on trial, himself and his family being scrutinised for acceptability, just as Father and his Nazi colleagues had done in Neuengamme. History was repeating itself. How excruciatingly ironic, Otto thought.
“I don’t see how this affects us,” Otto said, sweeping his arm to include Dieter and Ingrid.
Ingrid squirmed in her seat, pulling at her dress with fingers hungry to be active.
“Your father was a very specific man; he must have had someone in mind,” Krause said, with not a flicker of emotion on his face.
“Did he never tell you?” Otto asked. “You were his friend for nearly thirty years.”
Krause blinked a few times. “No, he didn’t.”
“Is such a thing even legal?” Ingrid blurted. “It’s obscene.”
“Well it’s not what we term contra bonus mores – in other words, contrary to public policy – and it’s not illegal or criminal, so yes… it has to be legally upheld.”
Ingrid hugged herself even tighter, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath, staring at her feet. The room descended into silence, broken only by the self–conscious creak of leather as Otto moved in his chair. Then came a light tapping on the door.
“Come!” Krause said, startling Otto.
Miss Meyer entered with a tray, cups and a white porcelain pot emitting the delightful aroma of Arabica. She placed this on Krause’s desk subserviently.
“Thank you, my dear,” Krause said.
She left wordlessly.
“Who makes the final decision on eligibility to inherit?” Dieter asked.
“I do,” Krause said, “but if that is challenged, the courts of course.”
Otto leaned forward, propelled by a sudden notion. “Look, it’s obviously not any of us, so was Father perhaps protecting himself – his estate – against claims from a possible love child?”
Ingrid shot an intrigued look across at Otto, her fidgeting fingers suddenly motionless in anticipation.
“Love child?” Krause repeated, frowning.
“An illegitimate child, somewhere out there, born of a Jewish mother perhaps?”
Krause almost spat out his cigar. “Your father? Never! He was a dignified and honourable man and would certainly not have consorted with any Jews.” He paused. “Those were his beliefs, a man of his generation.”
An uncomfortable silence embraced the room. Otto met Ingrid’s searching stare.
“But if no Jewish person is identified, and we know of no such person, then there is no contention of the will, surely?” Ingrid said, looking at Otto but turning to face Krause right at the end.
Krause opened and then clasped his hands again. “Yes, of course you are right. The only thing troubling me is the matter of the child’s body… yet to be identified.”
“If they identify it,” Ingrid said.
“Yes,” Krause conceded. “If they identify it.”
Otto suddenly felt hollow inside. How this body in the ground had crept into every aspect of their lives in the past week: Mother’s funeral, Mother’s will, Father’s past and now the spectre of unknown relatives with ancestry evidently abhorrent to him.
“How can the body possibly influence the execution of Mother’s will?” Dieter asked in cautious tones.
Krause made a small hand gesture. “In all probability, not at all. But, if there has been a crime…” he paused for effect, “the law must be satisfied that no parties have been unfairly or criminally advantaged.” He plugged his mouth with the cigar once more, eyes confident and small. “I doubt it will come to that.”
“Is that it?” Ingrid asked. She looked pasty suddenly.
Krause closed the folder on his desk. “More or less. As I said, it is essentially not a complicated will.” He looked at Ingrid, then Otto, then Dieter.
Otto rapped his fingertips on the armrest of his chair, wondering how long they would have to wait for the investigation surrounding the body to be concluded.
“Any questions?” Krause asked, rising behind his desk.
“No,” Otto and Dieter said simultaneously as they stood.
Krause looked at Ingrid.
“What is there to say?” she said, rubbing her forehead.
“Good. Then I will begin instructions. Shall I proceed to have the properties valued and place them on the market… or auction?”
“Market,” Dieter and Otto replied together.
“Auction,” Ingrid said emphatically. “We all have lives to get back to.” She sounded resentful.
Krause smiled thinly. “Let me know when you have a decision.” His eyes settled on the refreshments. “Would anyone like coffee?”
“No thank you,” Ingrid said quickly, rising from her seat.
Otto and Dieter shared a bemused look and they moved en masse towards the door. Otto paused with his hand on the ceramic doorknob and turned to Krause.
“So, my mother knew about this… condition?” Otto asked.
Krause was standing with both hands in his trouser pockets, cigar clenched between his teeth. He returned Otto’s intense gaze for several moments before plucking the cigar out of his mouth.
“As I said, she would have had to accept the fideicommissum when she inherited from your father. I cannot of course be certain that she was aware of every sub–clause and proviso, or that she read them carefully, but…” Krause raised his index finger in the air, “she could not alter any of them.”
Otto stopped. “She couldn’t?”
“No.”
He became aware of Ingrid and Dieter’s increasing interest in the conversation as they hovered closer, like iron fragments drawn to a magnet.
Krause stepped forward two paces. “But your mother and father were always very close, and I think it very likely they would have wanted the same thing.”
Ingrid inhaled sharply, straightening. “You cannot possibly know that.” Her tone was bristling, accusatory.
Krause seemed to retreat slightly. “No, I suppose not.”