A Truly Great Night

Ingrid sat in darkness, belly full, beside her husband Klaus, immaculately dressed in his best gray suit. Below her, a wonderful clarinet soloist finished her Rondo, center stage. Ingrid’s playbill identified the piece as Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A Major. Klaus tapped his fingers in time with the strings, and in that moment she was happy. Things were turning around. Not so long ago, they’d had to scrape for food. Now with continued promises of economic turnaround, they could enjoy a dinner with wine followed by the orchestra.

Nights like this seemed unimaginable only a few short years ago when they burned worthless paper money for warmth. Going backwards seemed improbable, impossible.

A reporter stood outside the concert hall as Klaus held her hand aloft. “Ma’am, Ma’am, how was the performance? A quote for the Times?”

Klaus waved the reporter away, but Ingrid interrupted his movement. It was improper, but tonight, she didn’t care for decorum.

“Please write: it was a perfect night.”

Ingrid smiled as the reporter scribbled hastily before disappearing into the crowd.

She imagined the headlines as they walked back toward their flat. An elegant lady, glowing in the wake of the wonderful performance, described it as ‘a perfect night’ at the Berlin Philharmonic…

Not truly present, she walked into an abruptly stopped Klaus. He stood resolute, almost shaken if she had to guess, on the curb, looking west across the Tiergarten. Ingrid sniffed, detecting a slight acrid smell of smoke in the air. Out west, a faint amber light illuminated the cold November night, giving an impression of a darkened sun rising on a new day. She shivered.

“Let’s get home,” Ingrid said, pulling Klaus’s jacket. He resisted slightly, but walked into the night.

***

Ingrid stood, nightdress still clinging tightly as she looked out the window of their flat. She sipped a steaming tea, the burning heat fighting the early winter morning chill. Klaus still lay naked and tangled in the sheets.

The street below twinkled as morning rays danced across the cobblestones. Ingrid gazed absently across the way and a little down. Curious. After a few moments, she realized it was glass crystals. The windows of the bakery a few buildings down were smashed, and the stones wore the distinct blackness of soot, quickly extinguished before they could cause further, worse damage. She liked that bakery, and stopped often. They’d have to find somewhere new, an easy enough prospect. As she looked, she realized glass covered most of their street. Some of their neighbors worked to sweep it away, to reverse the destruction. Ingrid hoped for a swift resolution; the glass would do a terror on automobile tires.

Klaus stirred, and instinctively Ingrid clicked on the radio, one of their beloved home’s modern marvels.

This is the RRG. It is November 11th. Last night, spontaneous manifestations of indignation against the murder of Herr Vom Rath by the young Jew Grynsban erupted across the Reich. Several fires erupted which were swiftly extinguished by our brave responders…