They stood in the blazing sunshine outside Krabbenhöft und Lampe in a momentary daze. Advancing ominously over the navy–blue ocean was a solid wall of fog; grey, impenetrable and unrelenting. The wind before it heralded the approaching Atlantic odours of kelp and salt.
“What the hell did you make of that?” Dieter said, pushing his hands deep into his trouser pockets.
Otto met his brother’s eyes but remained silent. His mind was still spinning from the rush of revelations over the recent days, as though a sluice–gate restraining the Adermann family history had been opened, releasing a tidal wave of surprises and anguish.
“We need a taxi,” Ingrid said.
“Don’t be silly, the house is just there,” Otto said, indicating with an outstretched arm. “Five minutes on foot.”
“Do you think Dad might have had an illegitimate child?” Dieter said.
“I don’t know. He certainly did spend a lot of time away from home,” Otto replied.
They began to walk up Bismarck Street, gently helped by the onshore breeze bringing the coastal fog ever nearer. Ingrid pulled her fur coat around her neck.
“What about Inez?” Dieter said.
“Yes, Inez,” Otto reflected. “Her boyfriend was Jewish…
“How do you know that?” Ingrid said sharply, her eyes dark and narrowed.
“He’s buried in the Jewish cemetery,” Otto said, waiting for Ingrid to make eye contact.
She walked on, tight–lipped.
“Dieter uncovered an old newspaper article about Inez’s death in the Lüderitzbuchter. We found her boyfriend’s name – Neil Solomon – and traced him back to Keetmanshoop,” Otto explained.
“You went to his grave?” Ingrid said incredulously, looking up momentarily at Otto.
“Frans took us.”
Ingrid looked flabbergasted.
“But… if Inez had a child, then where is it?” Dieter said, making a face.
Ingrid stopped walking and turned. Behind them the fog was beginning to blur the demarcations of Robert Harbour, engulfing the fishing fleet moored at the quayside. She opened her mouth to speak, and then seemed to change her mind.
“Is that perhaps why Dad sent Inez to Otjiwarongo?” Otto said. “The old guy, Dr Abert, he couldn’t remember, or possibly didn’t know why he took her there for Dad.” He turned towards his sister. “Ingrid?”
She seemed startled to be singled out and looked up, eyes wide. “What?”
They turned into Bülow Street, the imposing footprint of their family home looming above them a short distance away – threatening, as ever, to slide down the angled black rock upon which it was built.
“You must know what happened to Inez?” Otto said.
Ingrid forced a contemptuous laugh. “Why me?”
“You were old enough to remember.”
“Perhaps I didn’t know.”
“Perhaps you just don’t want to tell us,” Dieter said.
Ingrid shot a look that could freeze lava at Dieter. “I warned you to shut it,” she hissed.
Otto observed the icy exchange with curiosity. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Ingrid said quickly.
“If you know something you need to come clean, Ingrid. There’s no more time for pissing about. Frans will know who the body is in a day or two and there’s this will thing hanging over us as well,” Otto said, studying his sister’s face closely.
“What would you like me to tell you, Otto?” Ingrid challenged him, looking straight through him.
Otto hesitated. “Let’s simply have the truth so we can get back to our lives and put this behind us.”
Ingrid laughed coarsely, like a witch tending her cauldron. “The truth,” she said sarcastically, mocking Otto.
They stopped at the foot of the long flight of steps up to the house. Otto scuffed the sandy road with his shoe. “Just tell us what you know,” he said.
Ingrid looked away, left and right, hands on hips. She bit her lip.
“Please,” Dieter said softly.
Ingrid looked at him, and Otto thought he could discern something in her eyes: sadness, regret, perhaps even fear.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” she said, her eyes beginning to fill with moisture.
“Will it implicate you?” Otto asked.
Ingrid breathed in deeply and shrugged. She had that look about her that Otto had seen many times before: she didn’t want to be there.
“We are a family, Ingrid. We will deal with this as a family,” Dieter said.
Ingrid looked at Dieter, her estranged brother of many years who was now reaching out to her. She sniffed and wiped her nose. “You guys have no idea.”
“We too have seen things that defy comprehension, Ingrid,” Otto said. “We have seen Inez’s boyfriend’s grave in the Jewish cemetery and we know how Dad despised Jews; we have seen images of Dad dressed in a Nazi uniform, consorting with people who were in all probability tried and executed after the war.” He stared into her eyes, frightened eyes yearning for escape. “We need to talk about what you remember, about what happened.”
Otto was beginning to think that Ingrid was relenting, finally softening to their familial embrace.
“I should never have come back,” she said, shaking her head. “I knew it would be a mistake.”
Dieter sighed and began to climb the steps. Otto was losing patience and trying very hard to contain his mounting irritation and frustration with Ingrid’s lack of co–operation.
“Why don’t you watch the film we found, and then make up your own mind?” Otto suggested, turning his back on her and following Dieter up the stairs.