What they never show on screen is Luke Skywalker leaning against the inner bulkhead of a spaceship after some intergalactic travel, losing his lunch. The movies make it seem like completing the Kessel Run through the Maw Cluster in twelve parsecs is as easy as coasting down a driveway in a bobby car. It isn't.
I pulled my Benz into the nearest parking lot, rolled the window down, and took a deep breath. Hooking a finger between my tie and collar, I loosened the silk just enough to breathe before resting my forehead against the steering wheel, silently cursing every single second of this journey.
The Holy Spirit of Christmas, my ass.
Once I was sure my lunch would stay down, I pulled back onto the street and followed the address Lily had given me. Another half hour later, I parked in front of a pleasant house in Pankow-SchĂśnhausen, not far from the palace. Compared to the suffocating, nature of the countryside estates I grew up in, this place almost managed a cozy atmosphere. Judging by its architecture, it was originally built for a well-to-do bourgeois family, only to be flipped for millions on the modern real estate market as a so-called Stadtvilla with atmosphere and developmental potential. Iâll spare everyone the commentary on double standards for now; obviously, if youâre going to hire a professional chef, youâd better have a kitchen that matches the portfolio.
At five minutes to one, a heavy door creaked open to reveal a sturdy older woman. Her outfit was a stylistic choiceâsomewhere between the BDM and the NVA. She scrutinized me as if I were some wayward youth intent on kidnapping the daughter of the house for a scandalous night out. It made my skin prickle. Perhaps it was because her eyes reminded me far too much of Mariaâs; the unspoken questionâ'Are you about to cause trouble, boy?ââhung thick in the air.
âJust Ludwig,â I countered when she attempted to greet me by my full surname and academic titles. I forced a smile and stepped inside, finding the interior surprisingly more rustic than the façade suggested. âI heard the owner of this estate is a passionate hunter,â I remarked, shedding my coat while my gaze drifted over the walls.
When my eyes met a mirror, I caught sight of my disheveled tie and hastily straightened it. The housekeeper gave me a look of pure stone, handing back the gift bag Iâd brought. I took it with a clipped âDankeâ and followed her into what appeared to be the living room.
When she announced my arrivalâonce again insisting on the full litany of last names and degreesâI opened my mouth to correct her with another âJust Ludwig,â but the words died against her commanding tone. She stepped aside, revealing Lily and her father.
Wonderful, I thought, as Herr Beilschmidt met my gaze, his expression just as welcoming as the housekeeperâs. This had to be the most joyful household in all of Berlin. I could already imagine the riveting one-line conversations âPapaâ shared with Frau No-Nonsense. Ha, and I always thought that there was a tense atmosphere once Gilbert and I shared a room.
Lily rose from the couch, dressed like a Disney princess. She swirled toward me and snatched my hand, unbothered by the stifling air.
âFor you, itâs Dr. Dr. Beilschmidt,â I said sternlyâuntil a smile betrayed me. Instantly, I felt the dual 'stare of death' from Prussia and the housekeeper, and I cleared my throat as heat crept up my neck.
âFrohe Weihnachten, and thanks for having me,â I said, accepting Herr Beilschmidtâs hand. I returned the handshake with a firm, professional squeeze. His eyesâa blood-red so reminiscent of my brotherâsâstill unsettled me. It took a conscious effort to release his hand and let go of the tension coiling between my shoulder blades.
âSparkling water, thank you.â I sat on the edge of the couch, placing the gift bag on the floor by my feet.
âI hope your Christmas holidays have been pleasant so far?â