It was evening, the setting sun ingested by a shroud of fog that threatened to consume the very fabric of Lüderitz. Ingrid said that she had to get out of the house, unable to be surrounded any longer by the symbols of a family past that she abhorred. They walked three abreast, Otto separating Ingrid and Dieter, down Nachtigall and Diaz Streets to reach the rocky and menacing esplanade beside the bay. Visibility was less than ten yards and the waves breaking onto the shoreline could be heard but not seen.
Otto spoke first. “Did you know about any of that?”
He glanced at Ingrid, her eyes still puffy and pink, staring ahead emptily, raw from what they had been watching.
“I suspected that Dad had a military connection, even wondered years later about whether he was in the SS because he was always so secretive about his past at home.” She pushed her hands into her mink coat pockets, shuddering slightly. “But I never dreamt…”
“It’s fucking humiliating,” Dieter said. “Our father, a bloody Nazi criminal. We’ll all be shamed and ostracised.”
“Not around here,” Ingrid retorted with a snort.
“I guess now we know why they chose to settle here,” Otto said.
“The far end of the bloody world,” Dieter added.
The fog curled around them, its tentacles at certain times appearing to separate them, at other times encircling and embracing them as one.
“Did you ever see anything?” Otto asked, feeling his skin crawl at the very implications of his question as he glanced at Ingrid.
Ingrid turned to him briefly. “In Hamburg, no. There were Wehrmacht soldiers at the house from time to time, but then we were at war, so…” She shrugged, appearing to reminisce. “Sometimes a fancy staff car would call for Dad and take him off, but…” she frowned, “we never saw him in uniform, had no reason to suspect he was anything other than a doctor.”
“What made you think he might have been a Nazi then?” Otto asked, remembering her response when he had called her in Windhoek.
Ingrid met Otto’s eyes, and in her gaze he could see deep, brooding resentment.
“His manner, his behaviour: he was so strict, so formal, so unyielding. Not an ounce of compassion in his bones. He destroyed Inez. He… killed her.”
“Because of Neil Solomon?” Dieter said, concentrating on his footfall over the rugged pathway.
“Obviously!” Ingrid said. “I tried to talk to him, I begged him, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“And Mum?” Otto asked.
“What about her?” Ingrid said.
“What did she do?”
Ingrid glared at Otto as though it was he who was to blame. “Not enough,” she said.
The sea breeze had calmed, the waves were less angry – it was as though the fog had induced serenity over the land. Otto wanted to ask about the body in the garden but felt it would be a reach too far. Not yet, he thought, it’s going too well. Don’t push it.
“We were wondering if we should tell Frans,” Otto said.
“About Dad?” A look of horror was evident on Ingrid’s face.
Otto nodded.
“No,” Ingrid said quickly. “Not yet. What did he call about?”
“He said they were having difficulties with… you explain, Otto,” Dieter said.
“They’re struggling to extract sufficient intact DNA from the old bones for the analysis,” Otto said.
“Meaning?” Ingrid stopped and turned to face Otto, her eyes locked on his.
“It may take more time… or it may not even be possible,” Otto said.
She stared at him, her eyes darting about his face, her breathing deep and rhythmic. “Well I’m not hanging around this fucking dump indefinitely, if that’s what he’s suggesting.”
“They just want to get to the bottom of this, Ingrid. If you know what happened, tell us, tell Frans, and then we can all go home,” Dieter said in tempered tones.
Her eyes flicked to Dieter and narrowed, lingering on him for longer than Otto could ever remember her looking at their brother.
“Do they teach you about traumatised childhoods at medical school?” Ingrid said.
“Come on Ingrid, you were only a child at the time, no–one will ever blame you for what happened. Just talk about it. Tell us the truth we are so desperate to hear,” Otto said.
“The truth?” Ingrid said with a dismissive smirk, looking away.
“Yes. Who are you protecting?” Otto asked.
Ingrid’s resolute gaze faltered and she looked down at the stony pathway, turning a pebble over with the point of her shoe. Otto studied her profile, sensing within her a titanic struggle – perhaps the fearful little girl nervous about repercussions, grappling with the bitter and resentful adult she had grown up to become.
She looked up and drew breath. “I am as appalled and sickened by what I saw on that film as you guys are.” Her eyes filled again momentarily. “Dad and I had our differences over the years, yes, some of which I can never forgive him for. But Jesus, I never realised what a monster he was. It’s… indescribable.” She bit her lip and dabbed at her eyes, the gathering fog softening her tightly clenched jaws. “And he got away with it as well – escaped justice.” She faced Otto again, determination in her eyes. “Well, not this time.”
She drew a deep breath and shuddered slightly. “Let’s invite Frans over. Show him the film first, and then I’ll tell you what I can remember.”
Otto could not believe his ears. He wanted to smile and thank her but fought against this inappropriate effusiveness in the midst of her evident emotional turmoil, feeling within himself as well a sudden quickening of his heartbeat.
“You won’t regret it, Ingrid,” Dieter said, trying to sound encouraging.
“Don’t bet on it,” she said without looking at him.
Otto was on the verge of stepping forward to embrace his sister when she spoke again.
“But tonight I want to be left alone to think,” she said, and for the second time that week abandoned Otto on the esplanade as she sauntered off into the mouth of the fog, pulling her coat up around her neck.