Christmas.
Chapter Six â God Demands A Holocaust
The best of both would be good. In Ireland they took you from deathbed to the grave in three days. Here in Berlin there was so much to arrange and it took so long. Monika wanted Katharina in her familyâs grave and now it was Monika who arranged everything.
âAnd who will do it for me?â she asked herself again and again and told herself not to be such a stupid, selfish, old woman. Someone would. How many pills would she need to be sure? The worst would be to survive and need them even more than she did now.So many days of getting up, eating and sleeping while Katharinaâs cold body lay somewhere alone. Brigitte would have liked Katharina here with her in the flat but it wasnât done. Instead she was kept in a fridge. Brigitte knew she would have to see her in the coffin but how? Who would take her? Not Monika, that was sure. She pinned her hopes on Peggy sending someone. She would get the pills ready. When to take them? Before Peggy sent someone or after? Before would be better. She didnât need them all those years. All they needed to do was arrange her funeral. Monika would help. She and Katharina would get cremated together. The groping and grovelling for bread in conception would be merged with the years of joy with the child who brought back the will to live. Anna would read again from the book of Wisdom 3.1-6.9. The word sounding holy, a sacrifice. She heard it first in Annaâs German. The Old Testament was not read in the Ireland of her childhood. Later Katharina found it for her.
âGod has put them to the test
and proved them worthy to be with him;
he has tested them like gold in a furnace,
and accepted them as a holocaust.â
Words of blood.
Flesh of my flesh. A love child or a bastard. Her father would not have allowed her to bring up her bastard in Leitrim. They chose to believe the whirlwind romance with an American soldier. No questions asked about why she didnât follow him to America. When Katharina was old enough to go there alone, she visited once. She said she hated Ireland because Ireland didnât fight the Nazis.
Waiting for death â a series of small steps to be remembered. You could make it seem dramatic but the last breath was only another breath, no more, no less â the last breath of many breaths. Monika was with Katharina when she died. She didnât send for me. Just a phone call. It was what Katharina wanted, she said. It wasnât right. Not even a priest. A new death brings back memory of old deaths; brings a moment to join being and non-being. Father Oâ Dwyer who wanted to talk to her about her mother over a cup of tea when she wanted silence. It was only afterwards she realised he needed to know what to say in the sermon and it would save him asking another time. Who should do the readings? Should the coffin be light or dark? A foreign New Ireland question â would her mother want some make-up on? She made up what she didnât know like the silent simulation of a well-known hymn.
âIt was that night that I stopped believing in life after death,â she told her friend Mary who waltzed in the window for Katharinaâs wake. âWhy then and not in that place?â she asked aloud. âWhy did the two worlds come together that time when they had been happy to survive in separation for so long? Was it the pointlessness of it all? Good, gut, guttural-good both better than nice. There is no nice death but a wake would still be good. It would be good to listen to stories of ghosts and spirits, stories of the past. Memories. Good memories. There are not many of those memories left now in Ireland. Where have they gone if not to an afterlife? Good and God. Was it then that I stopped believing in God too?â
All those years she had hung on to her belief that God and Good were somewhere still. Nobody would have blamed her if she had lost her faith a long time
Chapter Six â God Demands A Holocaust
The best of both would be good. In Ireland they took you from deathbed to the grave in three days. Here in Berlin there was so much to arrange and it took so long. Monika wanted Katharina in her familyâs grave and now it was Monika who arranged everything.
âAnd who will do it for me?â she asked herself again and again and told herself not to be such a stupid, selfish, old woman. Someone would. How many pills would she need to be sure? The worst would be to survive and need them even more than she did now.So many days of getting up, eating and sleeping while Katharinaâs cold body lay somewhere alone. Brigitte would have liked Katharina here with her in the flat but it wasnât done. Instead she was kept in a fridge. Brigitte knew she would have to see her in the coffin but how? Who would take her? Not Monika, that was sure. She pinned her hopes on Peggy sending someone. She would get the pills ready. When to take them? Before Peggy sent someone or after? Before would be better. She didnât need them all those years. All they needed to do was arrange her funeral. Monika would help. She and Katharina would get cremated together. The groping and grovelling for bread in conception would be merged with the years of joy with the child who brought back the will to live. Anna would read again from the book of Wisdom 3.1-6.9. The word sounding holy, a sacrifice. She heard it first in Annaâs German. The Old Testament was not read in the Ireland of her childhood. Later Katharina found it for her.
âGod has put them to the test
and proved them worthy to be with him;
he has tested them like gold in a furnace,
and accepted them as a holocaust.â
Words of blood.
Flesh of my flesh. A love child or a bastard. Her father would not have allowed her to bring up her bastard in Leitrim. They chose to believe the whirlwind romance with an American soldier. No questions asked about why she didnât follow him to America. When Katharina was old enough to go there alone, she visited once. She said she hated Ireland because Ireland didnât fight the Nazis.
Waiting for death â a series of small steps to be remembered. You could make it seem dramatic but the last breath was only another breath, no more, no less â the last breath of many breaths. Monika was with Katharina when she died. She didnât send for me. Just a phone call. It was what Katharina wanted, she said. It wasnât right. Not even a priest. A new death brings back memory of old deaths; brings a moment to join being and non-being. Father Oâ Dwyer who wanted to talk to her about her mother over a cup of tea when she wanted silence. It was only afterwards she realised he needed to know what to say in the sermon and it would save him asking another time. Who should do the readings? Should the coffin be light or dark? A foreign New Ireland question â would her mother want some make-up on? She made up what she didnât know like the silent simulation of a well-known hymn.
âIt was that night that I stopped believing in life after death,â she told her friend Mary who waltzed in the window for Katharinaâs wake. âWhy then and not in that place?â she asked aloud. âWhy did the two worlds come together that time when they had been happy to survive in separation for so long? Was it the pointlessness of it all? Good, gut, guttural-good both better than nice. There is no nice death but a wake would still be good. It would be good to listen to stories of ghosts and spirits, stories of the past. Memories. Good memories. There are not many of those memories left now in Ireland. Where have they gone if not to an afterlife? Good and God. Was it then that I stopped believing in God too?â
All those years she had hung on to her belief that God and Good were somewhere still. Nobody would have blamed her if she had lost her faith a long time
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