Date: Tue, 25 Jul 2017 22:40:44 +0000 From: Henry Hilliard Subject: Noblesse Oblige Book 4 (Revision) Chapter 28 From Henry Hilliard and Pete Bruno h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com This work fully protected under The United States Copyright Laws 17 USC 101, 102(a), 302(a). All Rights Reserved. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the Author's consent. (See full statement at the beginning of Chapter One.) Author's Note: Thanks to all of you who have written to tell how much you're enjoying the story and please keep writing to us and watch for further chapters. For all the readers enjoying the stories here at Nifty, remember that Nifty needs your donations to help them to provide these wonderful stories, any amount will do. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Noblesse Oblige by Henry H. Hilliard with Pete Bruno Book 4 The Hall of Mirrors Chapter 28 Berlin Noir Martin, Stephen and their valet Carlo, had not been at the Adlon Hotel many hours when the telephone rang. Carlo put down the ties that he had been arranging on the rack in the wardrobe to answer it. "It is Herr von Oettingen-Taxis, your lordship. He's downstairs." "Tell him to come up, Carlo!" called Martin excitedly and jumped to his feet and put on his jacket. He pulled Stephen from the couch where he had been resting from the exhausting railway journey and ran his fingers through his black locks, pushing them back from his left eye as a proud mother might groom a reluctant child for visitors. Then Friedrich was in the room. There were excited greetings and hugs that became Küsse of the kind that promised naughty adventures. "Nine years it has been already, Cousin!" exclaimed Friedrich. He looked slightly older, but not greatly changed, thought Stephen. He was still blond and good-looking and the family resemblance to Martin was as marked as ever, although Martin's hair was more gold than platinum. "Stephen, how well I remember you also, von einem andern Zeitalter!" "Yes, it was another age, Friedrich, but we are all together now." He smiled radiantly and Friedrich hugged him again, feeling his muscles in admiration. "Shall I open the champagne, your lordship?" asked Carlo. They all agreed that it was just the occasion for champagne and soon they were drinking and chatting. "What are you doing in Berlin, Friedrich?" asked Martin. "To experience Life I have come," began his cousin, grandly, and then went on to explain how he had left the family estate in the care of his younger brother, Arno, while his youngest brother, Oskar, was at the University in Leipzig. "The estate does not prosper, Martin," said Friedrich, sadly shaking his head at one point, "and the War and the inflation has made us poor, also." "But you do not work?" "Nein," he said with mock weariness, "I am another Arbeitsloser--just an unemployed man of the Berliner Arbeiterklasse. We are brothers now, Herr Carlo," he called out to the valet who was placing the boys' sticks and umbrellas in the stand by the door. "Rotfront!" he cried, clenching his fist in the Communist salute. "Red Front!" returned Carlo good-humouredly. Friedrich made a very unconvincing proletarian they all thought. Apparently Friedrich lived on a small stipend from his family's estate in East Prussia and had made some half-hearted attempts to gain employment with the Prussian state, but aristocrats were a `drug on the market' and it seemed that Friedrich would need more push or connections to secure a preferment. It was Carlo's suggestion that they might continue their discussion in the big hotel bed. There were no objections, so the summer's afternoon found the three naked boys sitting up in bed drinking a second bottle of wine, with Carlo thoughtfully serving small sandwiches from a tray. "I think Carlo should be naked too," said Friedrich excitedly, stifling a hiccup. "Oh no, Herr von Oettingen-Taxis, that would not preserve the necessary social distinction between master and man," replied the servant gravely. Yet presently Carlo too was nackt, except for his black tie, which he kept on to preserve the proprieties and it dangled over his hairy chest and big Italian cock and made them all giggle. "And your Mama?" asked Martin, when they had returned to being serious. "Oh, she has gone to live with Osmochescu in Bucharest. She has a nice apartment; it is near the Royal Palace, also. The Count does important work for the King in the United States where he is important connections making," he said, nodding seriously. "He worked with the Amerikaner, Herr Senator Kellogg, on the new pact to make illegal, war-- his part in it had to be kept secret, natürlich." "Natürlich," chorused Martin and Stephen softly in unison. Friedrich then asked them about their own lives and for all that had not been told in Martin's sporadic letters. Martin gave news of his estate, being careful not to hurt Friedrich's feelings, for Croome seemed prosperous by comparison to the remote estate of the von Oettingen-Taxis family, which had seen little modernisation since the last century. Stephen then told of their recent trip to America and of some of their adventures. "Amerika!" sighed Friedrich when Stephen paused. "How I would love to see it... Tom Mix and Hollyvoo..." "But France is not so far," said Stephen brightly. "Why don't you come to us in Antibes-- we are forever grateful to you for first taking us there. Do you remember?" Friedrich smiled at having done something to please Stephen. "And there is always, boys?" Stephen nodded. "I do not live as I used to, as you can see. There are the allowances for my brothers and meine Mutter. I will try to come, if the Sozialdemokratische Partei do not kill me with taxation or the Kommunistische Partei do not confiscate Ritterberg altogether. "And the Centrists?" asked Stephen. "Huren!" replied Friedrich with contempt. "And the National Socialists?" Friedrich just pulled a face. They returned to more pleasant topics and began to feel one another under the German-style bedspread, which consisted of two sheets sewn together and filled with down. "I am so happy. Will you fuck me, Martin, and then Stephen you also?" Carlo appeared at that moment with the Spong's Soothing Salve on a salver. "Carlo is the perfect servant, Cousin, would you sell him to me?" "He's not mine to sell. Would you like to live here in Berlin with Herr von Oettingen-Taxis, Carlo?" "I would, your lordship and there are many pretty and willing boys in Berlin--and the beer is good-- but I have my wife and children to consider at home, sir." "He has eine Frau und Kinder?" asked Friedrich with his eyes wide in amazement. "He is making a joke, Friedrich." "Ah," said Friedrich, not really understanding why it is funny to say something that is not accurate. "Then I will have to look for my own-- perhaps ein Japaner or maybe einen Tschechoslowaken -- they have grosse Schwänze," he gravely informed them They took the U-Bahn on the Spandau line to Nollendorfplatz and followed Friedrich's simple directions to his building in Motzstrasse, which was only a five- minute walk to the southwest. It was a street of bourgeois apartment buildings from the 1890s, now the paint peeling on the shabby stucco. Shops and cafes occupied some of the ground floors amid the greenery of the trees that lined the thoroughfare. A closer inspection showed that the whole area had become rather frowzy and the once solid family residences had been broken up into rooms for rent. Friedrich's building was typical but distinguished by its heavy classical architecture with balconies on the first and second floors supported on over-scaled consols. The porter directed them up the stairs (there was no lift) to the second floor where, on one side, windows looked into a typical Berliner Hinterhof in which washing hung dispiritedly on lines and where rugs were only permitted to be beaten on a Monday, according to the sign. There was jazz music coming through Friedrich's front door. Stephen looked at Martin and smiled for he knew he liked it. Friedrich, slightly red-faced and dishevelled answered the door, throwing it wide with a grin to match. "Come in, boys!" he cried and ushered them into a small hall off which there were a number of rooms. It was clear that the old apartment had been recently subdivided rather awkwardly into two, with Friedrich's half encompassing the best rooms facing the street. The largest of these was a drawing room opening onto the balcony. The dining room had become a bedroom, the double doors to which were closed. There was a sort of central room that had to be passed to get to the rear and part of this had been partitioned into a kitchenette. "From home I have Frl. Pohl to keep house for me, and in that room," he said pointing to another bedroom door, "is Herr Dr Huber who untermietet with me-- he is a professor of antiquities; you will meet him later. I used to have Frl. Schäfer in the room next door, but she has gone off with a man to Munich and I must find someone else. She used to do people's feet in their own homes--but she was regular with the rent, unlike Herr Dr Huber." They returned to the drawing room with its odd mixture of furniture--some heavy old pieces that perhaps came with the flat and new lighter pieces that were obviously Friedrich's taste. Martin spotted the gramophone, which had been the source of the music they had heard outside. He looked at the records, which were mostly French or German. "That was Weintraub's Syncopators," Friedrich informed him. "They're very good and we will hear them tonight, also." It was all rather interesting and quite unlike the aristocratic estate at Ritterberg where Friedrich had grown up. Just then the bedroom door opened and a rough looking figure appeared in his long underwear. He was unshaven and looked to be about fifty. A still distended Schwanz of considerable proportions could be seen bulging under the material and there was a visible wet patch. "Reinige mich,verdammte Hure!" he growled. "Excuse me, Cousin," said Friedrich, blushing, "but I have some unfinished business with meinem Lutz. We will have the English 5 o'clock tea afterwards and I will introduce you to Lutz properly. I'm sure you'll like him," he added brightly. He disappeared through the door. Martin and Stephen looked at each other and laughed. "We obviously called too early, Mala," said Stephen. "Clearly Friedrich has the same sort of cleaning duties that you have." "But you don't talk to me like that, Derbs." "I hope not. Wasn't that underwear horrible?" "It looks like Friedrich has found himself an Übermensch-- that was what he said he needed to replace his Polish cavalry officer. He once told me I was the same." They sat on the modern divan and flicked through some popular magazines that were full of gossip about actresses and society figures. They distinctly heard someone's face being slapped behind the closed door. They looked at each other again. Martin got up and wandered about the room; on the shelves were Friedrich's philosophy books-- he'd been studying philosophy at the University of Königsberg before the War interrupted and Martin wondered what had happened to his ambitions after that. There were some pictures in silver frames on the piano: his mother and father carefully posed, Otto his older brother in uniform before he was killed, his married sister, and Arno and young Oskar, who was only a boy when Martin last saw him. Stephen walked out onto the balcony and looked up and down the street as the life of Berlin went on beneath him. Suddenly the door from the central room opened and a figure poked his head into the room. He was a youngish man but prematurely bald and he wore a pair of round horn-rimmed spectacles. "Entschuldigen Sie. You must be the English visitors, no? I am Dr Huber and I believe I have been invited for the afternoon tea." Introductions were made and Martin said: "Herr Friedrich has been delayed and said he will be with us shortly." Dr Huber nodded and said: "It is Tuesday and he will be with Lutz. His wife goes to visit her sister in Potsdam on Tuesdays. Herr Friedrich has a social life, sehr aktiv `your lordship'. Is this the correct address, Herr von Branksome? "Please call me Martin; we are in a republic now, Herr Doktor." "So the newspapers say, but I believe we are to have another elevated personage to tea and so I will excuse myself and go to my room and put on a fresh shirt and find my spats." The expert in antiquities disappeared and shortly afterwards Friedrich emerged from the bedroom with Lutz who was apparently cleaned up now. "Martin and Stephen, this is my good friend, Lutz. You will have to forgive him, for he is not having much English speaking, despite the intensive lessons I am all the time giving him." Hands were shaken and Lutz did not seem quite so rough now that he was dressed in a good suit with a grey tie held fast by a pearl pin--Martin was sure that Friedrich had bought these clothes because Lutz looked distinctly uncomfortable in them. They tried to make conversation and Stephen remarked that they had flown to Paris. This was translated for Lutz. "He doesn't get to travel much," explained Friedrich. "He is the head foreman in the foundry that makes parts for the tramways." Stephen said he liked working with metal and made a dumb show of hammering on an anvil and squeezing his own bicep. Lutz nodded and gave a shy smile. On second inspection it was revealed that Lutz was probably only 40, but a life of hard work and poverty had aged him prematurely. He was a man slightly below average height with the face of a pugilist. His square body looked terribly strong and he had a slight belly, no doubt the product of Berlin beer. "We met Herr Dr Huber," said Martin. "He will be back when he finds his spats. He said we are to be joined by another guest." "Yes," said Friedrich, "it is a surprise. Excuse me while I go and tell to Frl. Pohl for the tea to make." He disappeared and left the three of them awkwardly alone. "You are der Cousin?" said Lutz slowly. Martin nodded in vigorous encouragement of the student of languages. He turned to Stephen. "You are his Freund--der Liebhaber?" He pointed to his heart in an oddly touching gesture. Even this ox must feel love. Stephen replied that this was true. "Seit vor dem Krieg," he said, wondering if it was tactless to mention the War. Lutz digested this and then reached across and grabbed Stephen's groin. Stephen was a little taken aback. "Friedrich tells to me of you," he said. Stephen thought this was only reasonable and opened his legs to let Lutz have a better feel. "Sehr stattlich!" he opined as he removed his hand just as Friedrich returned with a young lady. He was beaming and the girl was looking rather shy. She must have only been 19 or 20 and was very beautiful, with black hair done in a fashionable wave that peeped from beneath her hat. Her pretty and decidedly athletic legs encased in silk stockings were shown off by her modish dress and she wore a long white fur piece around her shoulder. Her shoes, gloves and jewellery were expensive. "May I present meine Cousine, Durchlaucht Prinzessin Mata von Mecklenberg-Weid-Neuweid?" "You forgot the `Streliz', Friedrich. If you are going to embarrass me, do it properly. Please call me Mata," she said smiling at the men who had all risen to kiss her hand. She was obviously no stranger because she had met Lutz before and just then the Herr Doktor returned and got to hold her white hand in the vicinity of his lips and he clicked his heels, despite the spats. They settled into their seats and made small talk. All eyes were on the radiant princess and Martin boldly asked if they were related. "Only through Friedrich's family--you are his second cousin I think on his father's side. I am a second cousin on his mother's side; one of my grandmothers was the Countess von Trugott." Martin thought he understood this and ran over it with Stephen who nodded more convincingly than was justified. "I am a half-third cousin of Martin's," said Stephen suddenly and then felt ashamed for he realised that he had said it because he wanted desperately at that moment to belong, and with that was an admission that who he was, wasn't good enough. "I only found this out recently," he added, reddening. "Your English is awfully good, Mata. Did you go to school in England?" "Switzerland, but I had English teachers. That was before I was married." Martin and Stephen looked surprised. "Yes, I was married and now I'm a widow. I will tell you of my story on another occasion-- it is quite dreary and we are here to enjoy ourselves. Are you going to serve the cake, Friedrich? " There were new arrivals: a young man from the floor below--a medical student at Berlin University, a married couple who laughed a great deal and spoke with such Berlin accents that Martin could not catch a word and another young lady who said she was a typist but wanted to get into Rundfunk-- for wireless was very big in Germany just now. By this time the housekeeper had brought in the tea and a plate on which cold sausages, ham and pickled cucumbers had been artistically arranged. Following, came a tiered stand bearing many rich and unctuous cream cakes. Friedrich, aping the custom of a middle class papa, served out large portions of cake himself, entreating the guests to eat heartily-- it was a most un-English interpretation of afternoon tea. Martin looked at Friedrich laughing and being serious by turns here in this odd Berlin flat; he seemed happy and it was a far cry from the feudal splendour in which he'd been brought up and he wondered if a reduction in wealth had actually been a good thing for him and tried to imagine himself living like ordinary people. Mata did not dominate the conversation, but she was the centre of attention and all looked to her green eyes for confirmation of the rightness of what had been said and for her reaction to a joke or a remark. It was usually like this with Stephen, although rather less slavish, thought Martin, and he pondered on the role that beauty had in the world and why God had made two people in the room more in his own image than he had the others. He then looked at Lutz who was greedily eating his cake with one foot propped up on a spare chair. By the time the party broke up, it had been agreed that the Princess, Friedrich, Martin and Stephen could be all Cousins together. Stephen felt this was very nice. Martin could not persuade Mata to join the four of them for the evening, but she did say that she would take morning coffee with Martin and Stephen in two days' time. "Do you know the café at the Funkterm?" Martin said that they would find it and kissed her hand before she glided out of the door. The boys returned to the Adlon and Carlo soon had the bath ready and soaped them together and washed their hair as they talked about Cousin Mata. "Evening clothes, your lordship?" "I don't know, Carlo. We are going to a cabaret and then to a dance hall. The Germans can be awfully formal." In the end Martin decided to wear a dinner jacket and Stephen just an ordinary blue suit. They dined together in the hotel restaurant and then took a taxi for the Monbijou Kabarett in Jägerstrasse, just a little to the southeast of the Adlon. It was a lively place and if it wasn't for the waiter they would have had a hard time finding Herr von Oettingen-Taxis' table, but they did and there were Friedrich and Lutz looking like their twins-- Friedrich in a dinner jacket and Lutz in his suit with the tie and the pearl pin. There were hearty greetings and champagne was ordered. After a while Stephen asked Lutz if he'd like to join him in drinking beer. Lutz's face broke into a big smile and he thumped Stephen on the back. There was a marvellous program, which began with a popular tenor and was followed by a comical ballet. Some political jokes were told that Stephen and Martin failed to understand. The greatest acclaim, however, was reserved for a troupe of physical comedians who kept slipping or tripping to fall down on their dignity, accompanied by an appropriate crash from a cymbal or the bass drum. When not falling over, they slapped one another's faces and jabbed their fingers in each other's eyes. There was a great deal of arse-kicking and for this the audience roared and many faces were wet with tears. Stephen and Martin just looked at each other as Friedrich and Lutz tried in vain to get them to join in the mirth by digging them in the ribs with their elbows. The final act of the evening was truly shocking: a bevy of a dozen girls appeared in a tableau representing the spirits of the dead--perhaps from some Nordic tale. They were practically naked save for a few silk flowers on their groins and a quantity of dead white powder that covered their bodies. They carried mourning wreaths and appeared to be travelling from Hades in a chariot pulled by white horses made of plaster. At the sight of this frozen spectacle the drunker elements in the crowd roared obscenities and urged the young ladies to remove their remaining costumes and come and sit on their laps. One drunken man threw a glass of brandy on the chief maiden. She quickened into life and stepped from the stage onto the man's table. The crowd erupted. There she picked up an open bottle of champagne and poured it over herself, soaking the drunk at the same time and then she urinated on him. The crowd actually hushed for this final violation and then broke into roars of laughter and outrage. The stage lights dimmed and the management hustled the performers away. The next stop was a huge dance hall near Alexanderplatz called the Residenz-Kasino. Here they listened to lively American jazz as interpreted by the Weintraub Syncopators. It was not enough just to listen and soon all four of them were asking middleclass German girls to dance. This led to no further complications and it was getting on for 2:00 when they arrived back at Friedrich's flat. They drank some schnapps and Friedrich announced that it was too late to go back to the Adlon and they both must sleep with Lutz and himself. This was hardly unexpected and they found themselves in the bedroom where Martin and Friedrich undressed their respective partners. Lutz was all eyes when he saw Stephen in the raw and inspected him as thoroughly as a Pomeranian farmer buying a bull. He hefted Stephen's cock and balls and then parted the cheeks of his buttocks. He spoke to Friedrich who translated: "Martin, Lutz asks how you can take Stephen's Schwanz; he said he can't get his hand around it." Martin shrugged. "One stretches, and if it is for love one makes an effort." Lutz seemed impressed with this dispassionate answer but was eager for a demonstration. He encouraged the now-naked Friedrich and Martin to kiss, remarking they were like twin brothers. It was an attractive sight, agreed Stephen as he stroked his own cock. He looked at Lutz. He was very hairy and his big cock was partly concealed in a Schwarzwald of pubic hair and he was nuggetty and well-muscled from a life of manual labour. He thus presented a contrast to the still youthful and clean-limbed Friedrich. The two couples began by satisfying each other as no doubt accustomed. At some point Lutz slapped Friedrich's face. Friedrich did not object and it was repeated with the other hand. Then Lutz wanted Friedrich and Martin to lay on the bed together on their backs while he and Stephen were to fuck them while standing. There were no objections to this heartfelt plan and Stephen produced the Spong's Soothing Salve. "Was ist das?" asked Lutz, looking at it. Friedrich explained and Lutz insisted that spit was superior. Nonetheless, Stephen put some on his palm and gave a few strokes to Lutz's cock. His eyes lit up. "Danke," he said politely to Stephen. "Wir verwenden diese ab sofort," he said in sincerely to Friedrich in a grave voice. "You have converted him, Stephen," said Friedrich, grinning, "And it is me who will give thanks." Stephen entered Martin slowly, pausing to give Martin time to adjust to his girth, despite his having been loosened up with Stephen's fingers. He wanted Martin to enjoy being taken and was annoyed when the impatient Lutz standing next to him urged him to shove his cock in unfeelingly. Stephen shook his head and reinforced his message by bending down to kiss his lover. Lutz watched on and then suddenly reached across while he was still inside Friedrich and pressed on Stephen's buttocks. Stephen was cross and told him so. "Kiss Friedrich, Mala," said Stephen thinking that this would take his mind off the pain and give Lutz a thrill. This worked and Stephen was soon in deep and Martin was pleased, once again, that he could satisfy him. Stephen wiped a tear from Martin's face with his thumb. "Does it hurt Mala?" "Oh yes, Derbs, I feel I'm about to split in two." "Do you want me to pull out?" "Oh would you?" "Nein, Nein. Ficken Sie ihn!" cried out Lutz. "Oh well, we are guests in his country, I suppose," said Martin. "Mach schnell!" The vigorous fucking was soon underway. Martin and Friedrich in their respective ecstasies turned their heads and kissed each other again and Lutz, in a mood of camaraderie, put his arm around Stephen and for a while they thrust in unison. Then they went their own ways, each pair confident in knowing what their partner liked-- or to be more precise in the case of Lutz, knowing what he liked. Lutz spilled inside Friedrich while Stephen pulled out and hosed his enormous load all across Martin's face while Martin attempted to satisfy his yearning to taste it. As neither of the subordinate partners had spilt, Stephen got between Martin's legs and took his hard and aching cock between his lips and pleasured him. He looked across and saw that Friedrich was being neglected and was not pleased. Martin was brought off and Stephen swallowed every drop. "Why do you not help Friedrich?" Stephen admonished. With some trepidation Friedrich translated this for Lutz. "Ich mag es nicht. Es wird von Huren gemacht." replied Lutz who was now sitting on the floor, resting. "I do it. Am I a whore?" "Nein, nein, not you, Stephen, but..." "Suck my cock, Lutz," said Stephen, provocatively, as he swaggered over. His cock was half hard and curved out in front of him like a banana with the head having retreated into the soft brown foreskin. Martin loved it like this. Lutz was mesmerised but shook his head. Stephen approached him, holding his cock. He put one leg on a chair and was now just inches from Lutz and the masculine aroma of his sweaty groin must have filled his nostrils. "Go on!" called Friedrich in English. "Just the tip, Lutz." Lutz moved closer and protruded his tongue. He probed just at the tip, which was still oozing. "Nice, isn't it?" said Stephen, but Lutz wasn't listening and in a trance-like state had opened his jaws to take Stephen. He struggled and this brought him back to consciousness and he made a joke to Friedrich about trying to swallow a Zeppelinwurst. Then he got an inch or two in and became like a man possessed-- he had been starving for it observed Friedrich afterwards. After some minutes, Stephen, thinking there might only be a bone left, pulled Lutz off and transferred him successfully to Friedrich. Friedrich bucked and convulsed under Lutz's ministrations and then he pushed him aside and finished himself off with a great grunt. "Gut gemacht, mein Schatz!" Lutz said fulsomely in appreciation of the fulsome load Friedrich had just pumped onto his stomach. He turned back to Stephen on his knees and held his mouth open like a baby bird in the nest. Stephen took pity and fed him. "Zähne nicht verwenden," Stephen said at one point and Lutz paused to apologise meekly and was more careful with his teeth. Stephen held Lutz's head fast and fucked his mouth and then he surprised himself by realising that he was about to spill. "It's coming!" cried Stephen in urgency, not knowing the German. Lutz either did not understand or did not care because he held onto Stephen's buttocks and took all that Stephen fed him. At last he pulled off. He was a mess and would have to clean himself up before he saw his wife later in the day. "Danke," he said giving a sheepish grin. "Bist Du eine Hure?-- Are you a whore?" asked Stephen looking down as Lutz was running his tongue around his mouth. "Ja, eine grosse Hure!" he said with a big smile, but still gave Stephen a manly slap on his muscular Arsch. "In my place come and live, Cousin. We could all the time be fun making and it would be cheaper than the Adlon also," said Friedrich the next morning after he had seen Lutz off to his own hearth and home. "It would be fun, Friedrich, replied Martin," casting a glance at Stephen, "but we could not impose on you and we also have Carlo and our trunk." "A problem that is not making," argued Friedrich brightly. "You and Stephen can pay me 200 marks a day and I will buy us good food and beer; that will be cheaper than the Adlon and here we will be more gemütlich. "But there is no room for Carlo." "He can be bed-making with Hans downstairs. Hans is a student and if you pay him 10 Marks he will take Carlo; if you pay him 15, wird er ihn ficken." "Excuse us, Friedrich, I will talk to Stephen." "It's fine by me, Mala," whispered Stephen. "The Adlon is pretty stuffy and I think Friedrich could use the money. If it doesn't work out, we could always move back. I think Carlo might like it." "As long as we get some food; I don't just want to live on beer and cakes," said Martin. Stephen nodded and Martin conveyed Friedrich the news. His cousin broke into a broad smile and held his hands and jumped up and down with excitement. Stephen returned to the Adlon and broke the news of the new arrangements to Carlo. "And I will be in the same building?" he asked. "Yes, just on the floor below and there seems to be a good deal of visiting between neighbours from what I can see. You can still come up to us; we will put the trunk in the corner somewhere." "Make sure you lock up your money and valuables, Mr Stephen, what with all those strangers coming and going." Stephen went down and paid the bill, while Carlo quickly packed away all that he had so carefully unpacked and a taxi was called which conveyed the two men and the big trunk to the Motzstrasse. The arrangement with Hans was agreeable to all parties and Carlo set about tidying up Friedrich's rooms, for which Friedrich was grateful. The boys went shopping in the fashionable Kurfuüstendamm and marvelled at the artistic taste of the window displays with their modern typography and the abundant adoption of neon lighting. In one chemist's shop was a clever display of colourful boxes stacked in a pyramid in front of a poster advertising something called, `Volksarschschmierfett', but Friedrich had already stridden ahead and there was no time to ask him about this intriguing product. "Friedrich," said Stephen as they ate their lunch in a cafe, "could you take us to the nude bathing beach? It is a nice warm day after all..." "You want to sample the Berlin Free Body Kultur?" said Friedrich, smirking. "Very well and we will go to Luna Park also; you will enjoy an evening there." Stephen was very excited when they took the tram to Nikolassee, the stop for the Strandbad on the great sheet of water surrounded by fresh, green pine forests called the Wannsee. They walked along the forest road and came out upon the `Lido'. Like everything in Germany it was well organized, with clean facilities and lots of rules. The beach made of fine Baltic sand stretched down to the water and everywhere there were naked German families basking like sea lions on their towels or doing gymnastic exercises at the water's edge. There were also quieter terraces on the buildings, which afforded marvellous views of the lakes and greenery that ringed the metropolis of four million. The naked trio walked down to the lake, observing the great variety of body shapes, young and old. A middle-aged woman was berating a newcomer for wearing a costume. They swam in the cool lake water and walked on the sand. Martin tried to decide whether Stephen liked showing off his body or if he just liked being naked. He couldn't reach a conclusion. Friedrich, like the other Germans, thought nothing of it and categorised nudism as something vaguely to do with health and culture--morality didn't come into it at all. Martin didn't know how he felt; it was different from the beach at Cap-Eden Roc as here there were hundreds of people and one was almost invisible in the crowd. They lay in deck chairs near some other young men. Martin did a lot of surreptitious looking and was once again amazed at how Stephen, so usually excitable, was able to keep his ardent cock under control --no doubt after doing some severe talking to it. It was enjoyable and very relaxing, but when evening came they sought the excitement of the enormous fairground called Luna Park. This was situated on a smaller lake at the other end of a futuristic straight road cut through the Grunewald and used for automobile racing and their taxi roared at a terrific pace down this avenue. Berliners showed that they knew how to enjoy themselves at the magnificent fairground built in a fantasy of architectural styles. There were kitsch beer halls and quaint restaurants, ballroom dancing and amusement rides. When they had drunk their fill of beer and worked their way through the Wurstplatte, they went to the rides and Friedrich and Stephen made a dash for the dodgem cars. This portion of the park was set in an artificial landscape made of wood and plaster, across which had been stretched a wildly painted canvas. The artist of this fantastic stage set had conjured up a dark and frightening world with distorted, jagged mountains that loomed above them, all jumbled and fractured as if by warfare. It was traversed by sharply angled roads and mad viaducts --all of which sloped the wrong way and thus impassable-- evoking the panic of a bad dream when one is too paralyzed to flee. In this blasted landscape stood leafless trees and weirdly angular buildings with lopsided doorways like rapacious mouths, and crooked windows of impossible proportions, eerie and sinister and strangely animated by unseen forces. Martin stood and stared at this enormous sculpture, struck dumb with sheer horror, while Friedrich and Stephen were oblivious to its lowering presence, so at odds with the carnival rides below. It was something from a nightmare, thought Martin, a glimpse into the dark depths of the German psyche. "Come on Mala, there's boxing over here. I think I might enter." In the end, Stephen did not enter the competition and the evening concluded with a spectacular fireworks display reflected in the dark water of the Halensee, but Martin's mind remained disquieted by the nightmarish sculpture he had seen, the incongruous backdrop to all this gaiety. The next morning Martin and Stephen made the expedition out to the west by tram and easily spotted the giant latticed radio mast whose inevitable comparison was with the Eiffel Tower. The associated Exhibition Buildings surrounding it formed a quadrangle in which was a very charming piazza with green lawns and hundreds of metal tables and chairs set out with precision beneath colourful umbrellas. As it was early, not all of them were occupied, but it still took several minutes before they picked out Mata on the lower level. She was reading a book behind smoked glasses made of plastic and had on a wide brimmed sunhat-- so not instantly recognising her was forgivable. There were formal greetings and hand kissing. Mata smiled. "Do forgive me for being mysterious, but I've had some difficulties and so I do not let many people know my address in Berlin." The waiter came and they ordered coffee and talked of other things for a moment before Mata returned to the topic. "I have not been in this city very long in any case and Friedrich is about the only person I really know well. But I know you two now, so I am lucky." She smiled brightly. "I have known Friedrich since I was a girl and he was an arrogant school boy who did not want a little girl following him about like a puppy. But he was oh so heroic to that little girl!" She laughed. "So you went to Ritterberg?" asked Martin. "Oh yes, my mother and I often holidayed there and his people came to Schloss Neuweid, but not so often." "Yes, it is unusual countryside compared to England," said Stephen, "and Martin and I enjoyed ourselves on the Baltic beaches." "I know. You were all Friedrich could talk about for some time, Stephen. You're very handsome-- you don't mind me saying that?" Stephen did not answer. "You are handsome too, Martin," she said, putting her gloved hand on his cheek in a condescending manner, "just like Friedrich--good German boys." Martin reddened. The subject was changed and Martin talked about the show they saw the previous night, but omitted what had followed. Stephen wanted to talk about cricket, but instead talked about flying and the nightlife in London. "I do not have much experience with nightclubs and the gay life," said Mata. "To begin with, I have limited funds and such places are expensive. Secondly, I have no escort now that my husband is dead-- not that he would have permitted such things." She smiled at the very thought. "And there were no nightclubs or theatres in Berat." "Where is that, Mata, Hungary?" asked Stephen. "No, it is in Albania." The boys must have looked blankly for she added, "It's between Montenegro and Greece on the Adriatic. Berat is an ancient town, inland on the Osum River. It's quite beautiful of course, but wild and primitive and I shall never see it again. Thank God!" she added. Mata removed her glasses and focussed her green eyes on the boys. "I am only 20, but I have had some unfortunate experiences. I hope you don't think I exaggerate or look for sympathy when I tell you. You see, the War interrupted my education and our family life. My father had died before the War and my brother, whom I adored, was killed at Tannenberg. "Our house, the House of Weid-Neuweid-Runkel, is a mediatised house. Do you know what that means?" The boys shook their heads. "It means we retained our titles, but our lands have passed to other German states. We rule over no one anymore. "Our family estate, which was never vast, passed to my father's brother-- Uncle Adalwulf-- who is a cruel man and made more so by his experiences in the Ulans in the War. My mother died from the influenza in 1918 when I was still in school in Switzerland. Then the inflation ruined us in 1924 and I was taken out of school by my uncle. I was in a German school when my Uncle sent for me and told me that I must marry. He had arranged a marriage to Endrit bey Progon, a nobleman from Albania. Naturally I did not want to marry a man whom I had never met--a man who was nearly 50--but my Uncle insisted and I stupidly obeyed. I was virtually sold into marriage and my Uncle reaped the financial benefit from it. I retained a small allowance from my Mother's money, which I still receive. "Endrit bey took me away to Monte Carlo for our wedding tour after I had been told that I must convert to Islam. I did not believe in God so it made little difference to me if I were a Lutheran or a Muslim. I was little prepared to be a wife and my only experiences had been with my girlfriend at school. Don't look so shocked Cousin Martin; do you not think that we girls have the same experiences as boys like you and Stephen? I know all about you, of course, Friedrich has told me everything." Martin and Stephen blushed. "The marriage night was merely a form of rape. Endrit bey wasn't the worst human being in the world, but I couldn't forgive him for being old and fat. I got used to it after that, but never enjoyed it and fortunately married relations ceased when he became ill. He had lung cancer." "Did you live in Monte Carlo?" asked Stephen. "Oh no, we quickly went to Albania where his family has a Schloss in Berat. I was as good as a prisoner there and I had no way of getting out of Albania-- there are not even any railways even if I'd decided to run away. In fact I stayed to nurse him over the next year and then he finally died." She paused and drank a little coffee, which must have been cold by now. Stephen signalled the waiter for more. "So you are now free, Mata, and have come to Germany for a new life," said Martin. "No, it is not that simple, Cousin. When Endrit bey died I was promised to his brother Xhemal bey. He already has a wife but the Albanians take promises like that very seriously. It has now become a blood feud that I have refused him." "But why are they so anxious to marry you, Mata; you are very beautiful but..." "Thank you for your gallantry, Cousin, but there were political reasons for it. Endrit bey and his terrible brother are from an important family in Albania and claim descent from Skanderberg, the great national hero. My family, the house of Weid, still claim the throne of that country through my cousin, William, who ruled as the Prinz Vidi or mbret--that means king--until 1914 when he fled back here when War was declared. We received a pension from the Austrians until he refused to break Albania's neutrality and that is another reason why we are so poor. Now Xhemal bey would like to usurp the dictator Ahmet Zogu and declare himself the new mbret and my bloodline would be a vital asset. It's not really me, it's my blood; it's bizarre, isn't it?" "But you are free here in Berlin, aren't you, Mata?" asked Stephen. "I'm not so sure. Xhemal bey demands that I go back and become his wife and fulfill my late husband's wishes. He demands the money that was paid my uncle be handed back-- but it's all gone. In this blood feud I think he would have me dead if not wed." Stephen and Martin were shocked that such primitive behaviour could take place in modern times in the middle of Europe and spent several minutes conveying their outrage. "Is that why you are so circumspect in telling people where you live?" asked Martin. "That and because I'm ashamed of how shabby my flat is--it is not bright like Friedrich's. You know, I can barely remember my girlhood home in Schloss Neuweid --that's near Koblenz overlooking the Rhine -- but I do remember beautiful rooms and gardens." "Have you no family to help you?" asked Martin. "Well, there is his Serene Highness, Prinz Willi --my cousin, but he has claims over Albania himself and he doesn't want another usurper in the family and there is my uncle, of course, who would simply send me back. I have no one-- not even my Sophie now." The boys were slightly embarrassed at this last but still looked to her for more. "Sophie was my friend from school-- she was my girlfriend and we became lovers." She paused for that to sink in and then continued in a more wistful tone. "She had hair like yours, Martin. I thought she was beautiful. Like me, she was a fine athlete and we would play tennis together -- I was a champion for my age-- and we would hike in Switzerland and run together--Sophie was a runner. I never saw her after I left school but I heard later that she took her own life. It was too late for me to do anything and I was in Albania in any case." She gave a tight smile and it was clear that she could have easily broken down into tears. "Now tell me about your lover, Cousin Martin," she said brightly, looking at Stephen. Martin went red and spluttered. "Come now, tell me; I've been frank with you. Do I have to ask Cousin Stephen?" Martin realised that not to speak would be a betrayal of all he felt for Stephen so he began: "I love him with all my heart, Mata," he said seriously, "and I have done so since I first saw him when I was a school boy." He went on to retell the story of finding Stephen on the log at his swimming place. He spoke quietly and dared not look at Stephen. "...and I love him so much sometimes I think I will die." He said this last in almost a whisper and it caught in his throat. "Well, this has been a serious talk," said Mata, a tear rolling down her cheek as the result of Martin's confession. Let's go back to my flat for some Zwetschgenkuchen--it goes very well with plum wine and I make good coffee. They took the U-Bahn back to the centre of the city. Stephen was quiet on the journey, turning over both Mata's tale and what Martin had said so movingly. He felt rather numb. At Potsdamerplaz they alighted and found themselves amid the mad whirl of traffic that swirled beneath the iron control tower with its clock, located at the centre of the junction, and they made their way across it and proceeded down the Königgratzerstrasse, which was lined with fine shops and buildings. The traffic was very noisy here too and they were glad to enter one of the frowning buildings with Mata's key. The grandeur abruptly ended and they climbed some uncarpeted stone stairs to reach a small apartment that looked out onto a dark Hof. "It's not much," apologised Mata. "It was the first one I saw and I know the rent is too high, but it is near the centre of things and after Berat I wanted to be surrounded by life and bright lights so very much and, well, here I am." There was a quantity of furniture that must have come with the flat and only clothes and a few boxes of small things seemed to belong to Mata, with the exception of a delicate writing desk from about a century ago. It was the last place you'd expect to find a princess, thought Stephen. The coffee was made on the gas ring and the plum cake and plum brandy were produced and they were, as Mata had foretold, good. Mata talked a little more about her life in Albania, where even the language was alien to her. She wanted to know more about Martin and Stephen and this time it was Stephen who was quizzed. She was breathless with excitement when Stephen explained how he had come to live with Martin and sleep in his bed. "Our bed" corrected Martin. "I think of Stephen as being my partner--if that doesn't sound foolish, Mata; my lover and my husband," he giggled. Mata thought for an instant of how she would love to live domestically with Sophie and was planning ways in her mind that this could be accomplished along the lines of Stephen and Martin's arrangement, but then she remembered with a stab of pain and pulled herself up short. Martin extracted a photograph from his wallet. It was a miniature print of the portrait taken of Stephen in his boxing togs taken in Bournemouth when Stephen was just sixteen-- it was the most precious thing he owned and he wanted Mata to see it. "He is very beautiful, Cousin, and still is," she observed, casting a glance up at Stephen who was sitting in an armchair, trying to look unselfconsciously beautiful. Do you think you could lend him to me to see if he could make me prefer boys to girls?" she said with a straight face. "I'm only too afraid that Stephen would be up to that challenge, Mata..." "Steady on, Mala, if Mata really wants to try, why, as her new cousin I think the least I could do..." "Do you see what I mean, Mata? I don't think any number of sirens could tempt me away from preferring boys, but I live in fear of my Stephen coming to grief on the rocks unless I tie him securely to the mast." The morning passed pleasantly and then it was time to go. Mata kissed them both and then made Martin and Stephen kiss, for she was curious to know how boys did it. It had a strange blend of tenderness and physical aggressionb she concluded as she shut the door. Martin and Stephen reached the U-Bahnhof and were about to enter when Martin felt in his pocket. "The picture, Derbs! I've left it at Mata's. Wait here and I'll go back and get it." Stephen watched as Martin weaved through the heavy city traffic to get to the opposite footpath. He disappeared from his sight when a tram passed. Stephen stood there amid the maelstrom of pedestrians, bicycles, motor traffic and slow drays. There were noisy taxis and a parade of elegant limousines with chauffeurs and drawn blinds. He watched as a workman poured hot tar into the wooden blocks between the tramlines and wondered how he wasn't knocked down. A van with a loudspeaker in a huge metal horn passed noisily, advertising a political party for the forthcoming elections. Two pretty girls with long legs stepped from a tram. A truck loaded with soldiers roared by while, on the footpath, a crippled dwarf scooted past on a wheeled platform. Stephen thought he would cross the road and meet Martin on his way back. Martin meanwhile had walked quickly up the footpath, trying to avoid the aggressive Berlin pedestrians. He jauntily swung his stick and chanced an admiring glance down at his new tan shoes. He looked at the back of the neck of a bakery boy walking in front of him. He was good looking, but not the equal of Stephen. Then he saw his face --no, not good looking at all. What a mistake! There was another young man wearing a light overcoat even though it was warm. The back of his head beneath his checked cap was flat. Not a German head, perhaps. Nice shoulders. I wonder if he has a Slavic cock-- whatever that might be. Then up ahead he saw Mata walking very quickly towards him--she must have found the photograph. He called out but the noise of the traffic was too great so he put on a big smile and hoped he could keep it up until they met. He was now gaining on the young man with the nice shoulders and thought he's chance a look at his face. Suddenly he saw something odd: the man had taken something shiny from his pocket that he half concealed in his palm. It was a knife. Mata approached and then she saw Martin and raised her arm in greeting, but she saw Martin's smile vanish and she looked perplexed for a second. The man had pulled his elbow back and exposed the knife and it was on a trajectory for Mata's ribcage. Martin let out a wild yell and struck the man across the side of his head with his stick. It snapped and Martin found he was left with the jagged end, which he then used to lunge at the man. He turned around angrily and was still holding the knife. Martin noticed that he was raw and gaunt, with wide cheekbones and deep-set eyes, wild under a pair of prominent eyebrows and now enraged by Martin's assault. How could I have imagined him to be good looking? He almost laughed. "Messer! Messer!" cried Martin at the top of his voice as he placed himself between Mata and the man who had frozen and could approach no closer as Martin fended him off with the rump of his walking stick. People stopped. A woman screamed. Then the man took flight, still holding the knife. He ran onto the road, perhaps intending to make for a tram that was approaching, but this would never be known because in that instant a flag-bedecked truck carrying a platoon of brown-shirted National Socialists struck him down. A crowd gathered and traffic was halted. The Brown Shirts climbed down and took charge, moving the lifeless body to the kerb, perhaps fearing that National Socialist driving was somehow at fault. The knife was retrieved as police evidence. Policemen were now running up from Potsdamerplatz. Martin and Mata moved slowly to the back of the crowd. Martin dropped the remnants of his stick. "Quick, follow me!" he whispered, not wanting to get involved. Mata had been too shocked to utter a word, but she gave a brief nod and they walked smartly down the street towards the U-Bahnhof where they met Stephen coming the other way. "Hello!" he said brightly. "We meet again. I say, what's happening up there?" "Don't ask, Derbs, let's just catch the next train and get back to Friedrich's." "He was Albanian, of that I am certain," said Mata, "and I think I may have seen him near my apartment earlier." "How would he know where you live?" asked Stephen. "That's easy," said Friedrich, "all Berlin residents must attend with their papers the police station when they move and every time give to them their name and address. A simple bribe to a Prussian official..." "Why is that?" asked Martin. Both Mata and Friedrich looked shocked. "So the authorities know where everybody lives, of course." "Why do they need to know that?" "Why, to keep check on them of course!" "Check on them for what?" "For anything," cried Friedrich, horrified. "How do you know who would be living next to you? Kriminelle? Degenerierter Mensch? Ausländer?" Martin and Stephen exchanged a look. "Well, you are going to have to break the law Mata and find somewhere new to live--you mustn't go back--and this time you must not register under your own name," said Stephen. Mata was quiet for a moment then said: "I could call myself Mathilde von Trugott-- my mother's name. It is on some of my papers and we could have a new set made." "Forged?" said Martin. "Natürlich," said Friedrich, "it's Berlin's biggest business." "That and keeping watch on your neighbours," said Martin with sarcasm that was lost on the two Germans. "Mata, Du musst hier leben," said Friedrich firmly and turning to the others repeated: "She must live here until we find her a flat." "She can have our room and we will go back to the Adlon," said Martin. "Nein. That is too luxurious, you must share my bed," said Friedrich with a wink. "Unless some objections you are having?" None could be found, although it might be a trifle crowded and noisy if Lutz's wife were away again, thought Martin. Stephen did not seem to be put out. "Martin," said Mata as she took a glass of schnapps that Friedrich was distributing, "I didn't thank you for what you did back there. I owe you my life...and a new Spazierstock--that's a walking stick." She kissed him on the cheek. "I wish I could find a Freundin just like you." She ran her fingers through his golden hair and turned to the others. "He was so brave; a blond Kämpfer from the story books and such a gentlemen armed only with his Spazierstock. "It was nothing..." began Martin, blushing, "I mean he was only an Albanian assassin." "His Spazierstock does have a big knob, Mata," said Stephen teasingly, "but I'm afraid you can't have him; he's all mine." Stephen came over and sat on Martin's knee and put his arm around his neck. "Make me feel safe, Mala," he said, kissing him. "Stop making fun of me, Derby, and you're awfully heavy." "Do you want me to get off?" Martin was enjoying feeling his weight and muscle. Stephen's meaty rump, naked and hairy beneath his trousers, was pressed in pleasant intimacy with Martin's cock. "No, stay there for a bit." The following three days were devoted to Mata. Friedrich found a new, modern flat further down Motzstrasse that Mata said she could afford. "I will give tennis lessons to wealthy girls," she said as she unpacked her racquets. "You could give English lessons, too, Mata; you're English is perfect," said Stephen. "Do you think so? Thank you, Stephen, you have given me confidence." She kissed him on the cheek. It was Carlo's idea to move her possessions by taxi rather than engaging a removalist who could be traced. Heavy pieces were simply left behind. Mata told her landlady that she was moving back to Switzerland and hinted that she had taken a lover. The police and the new landlady would be put off for a few days until the forged papers were completed. Mata agreed that her letters should come to Friedrich's postal box and Mata sat down to write to her handful of friends and relatives. Martin and Stephen hoped that the anonymity of the big city would offer enough protection to the young women. "You know, Mala," said Stephen who was thoughtful, "a woman alone is terribly vulnerable. It's a rotten deal." Martin nodded. They were sad to leave the great city, despite the hysteria of the coming elections making the streets increasingly unbearable. Cousin Mata had settled into her new apartment and none of the neighbours suspected she was, in fact, the Durchlaucht Prinzessin Mata von Mecklenberg-Weid-Neuweid-Streliz, lately the dowager Begum Progon of Albania. Berlin was like that; it could take in the flotsam and jetsam of Europe and allow them to remake their lives. Despite its doughy bourgeois formality, it was free and easy town in many other respects--coarse, experimental, dangerous-- decadent even -- and always exciting and utterly different from London and Paris. Martin thought all this as their carriage on Nord Express for Paris slid away from the platform of the Potsdamer Bahnhof on the immaculate steel rails of the Deutsche Reichsbahn and the figures of Friedrich and Mata on the platform, with their arms raised in the valedictory gesture, drew back and then were finally lost from sight in a cloud of steam. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYZiENcnJqw To be continued. Thank you for reading. If you have any comments or questions, Pete and I would really love to hear from you. Just send them to h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and please put NOB Nifty in the subject line.