Ilsa Krage, Rest In Peace

Previously posted to rec.music.makers.guitar.acoustic Dec 26 2002, 12:49 am

Outside of Hannover, Germany, is a small town called Bad Nenndorf. The'Bad' refers to the spa (bath) that is the central attraction of the town, basically the spa is a place of healing for the sick and the elderly. This small town of a few thousand happened to be the home of my high school sweetheart, named Alexandra (about whom I could write books, but this is another story), and it was the final destination of a newly graduated, yet still completely stupid, young college student who had grand aspirations to learn a new language, get a job in a foreign country, and win the girl in the Summer/Fall of 1994.

Alex' parents had been kind enough to allow me to stay at their home while I looked for a job in chemical engineering. At this point, I had learned four details that had escaped my attention before brashly leaving my home country; the first is that an 'aufentheitsgenehmigung' (a.k.a. work permit) is required before a foreigner can have a job, the second is that the American bachelor's degree is virtually worthless compared to the German diplom (the diplom is the equivalent of the American master's), third, the unemployment in engineering was almost 30%, and fourth, Alex had fallen in love with another man while I made my plans to visit her.

Instantly it seemed two of my goals were shot. Alex finding someone else crushed me, but I kept my cool and remained a gentleman and a friend. However, the first three details caused me a lot of problems because I was running out of money. Because I had difficulties finding work, Alex'parents were kind enough to offer odd jobs so I wouldn't be sitting on my hands all day. One of them, and by far the most pleasurable, was takingTimi, the Bassett hound, for a walk.

Mind you, I like dogs well enough, they are fun to play with and they have an infinite well of affection for people that pay attention to them. But walking a dog does not exactly make my day. What did make my day was visiting Ilsa, Alex' grandmother and Timi's owner, before and after the dogwalk.

The ritual went like this: I would make the short walk to the house next to the church (and what beautiful houses they had!), re-learn how to open the fence gate (you'll find European doorknobs etc. tend to be like Bizarro world in the Superman comics, everything similar, but not quite the same), and I would press the doorbell and wait as I heard Timi bark. The door would open eventually and a portly old woman with eagle-sharp eyes would answer the door while holding a dog leash. She always asked, in slow, deliberate Hochdeutsch (High German, the dialect used in newspapers, news,and the Bible) "Hallo Dennis, guten tag, hast du schoen geschlafen." (Hello Dennis, good day, did you sleep well?, I often walked Timi in the morning). I'll say right now that she spoke no English outside of similar words in her native dialect in Plattdeutsch, any words I tell you are my translation, and she cannot be held accountable for the accuracy.

I would take the leash, ask Timi if he was ready (Bist du fertig?), and go walking for an hour or so in the wonderful parks and trails in the area.Timi is a good dog, he heels when you tell him to (although he responds better to German commands) and in general he never bothered anybody on the trails, he minded his business and left his signatures where they needed to be.

And then I would return to Ilsa's house. Each time she would ask me if I was thirsty, and ask me what I would like. I always asked for apple juice, she would slowly, yet deliberately, get the glasses, bring the juice from the refrigerator, and then, adding a detail I hadn't seen before, a bottle of carbonated mineral water. She would mix them in about equal proportions (maybe just a little extra juice), and we would talk.

For those of us who have not tried to really learn another language, I have one observation to make: There is a long journey between knowing a little bit of a language from school and being fluent. If someone you know has spent a year in a foreign country, I promise that though they can speak andread quite a bit, they are nowhere near fluent. I had been there for a few weeks, and though I was working hard, I was still flabbergasted by the sounds coming from people's mouths...it sounded nothing like what I had learned.

Except for when you are talking with children and the elderly; both groups tend to speak slower, use less slang, and use a simpler vocabulary. I suspect the former uses simple words because they haven't learned the complex ones yet, while the latter chooses their words carefully, and experience tells them what their listener would know.

This was Ilsa's gift, and it is shared by her daughter Renate (Alex'mother). She always knew if I understood what she said, and if I didn't get it (which was half the conversation), she could instantly rephrase her comment in a way that I would comprehend. I can't tell you about her hours of patience as I flipped through my dictionary discussing the news, politics, and philosophies of life. We would argue about the benefits/disadvantages of getting all of the Lotto money at once (she said it was better to get it over disbursements, I said it was better at once, and mentioned the time value of money. She pointed to a story about a guy that said the first thing he would buy is a Ferrari, I said that a fool and his money were soon parted...she laughed at that one).

Then we talked about World War II. I have always been a person to appreciate a story from the horse's mouth, and having studied WWII more thoroughly than was required in history, I was eager to hear what she had to say. I was almost always held speechless when she spoke.

Contrary to popular American opinion, the whole German nation was not behind Hitler's rise to power. He came in a fell swoop, quickly capitalizing on the bad economy by promising better days for a stronger Germany, and then he put his system in place faster than anyone had dreamed. She talked about how the Junior SS children were being ordered to report their parents if they should call Hitler a pig or something similar (sounds Orwellian, eh?), and then she described the universal fear that everyone shared, the government was feared. She was always candid, and I asked if she knew aboutthe concentration camps. She honestly said she didn't know, but everyone had heard rumors that seemed unbelievable at the time. However, repeating the rumors could lead to problems, so people didn't talk about them.

She then told me a story I will never forget. Her husband was a cook in the German army on the French front. For over a year he had watched the French people be brutalized, slaughtered and starved, and eventually he did something that I seriously doubt that I would ever have the courage to do; he would steal food from the German kitchens and take them to the French people across the border in the middle of the night. I don't think I need to elaborate about what the consequences were if he were caught. Just imagine that... I had met him, and although he was a rather distant man, I have often told that story of courage to others. He died of cancer three years later.

I had many conversations with Ilsa over my six weeks in Hannover, and promised her a postcard when I returned home. I did send her a postcard(after a long time), and on a return trip to Germany two years ago I visited her again, speaking better German, and after I had walked Timi, we had the same wonderful conversation. And, mandatory guitar content, on my second visit I had my guitar with me and I showed her some of my better songs. I could tell she truly enjoyed some of them (especially Bruce Springsteen), she was smiling as I played, which I learned later she had done less often. While watching her smile, it had amazed me how much German I could understand, and how most of it was the result of a patient old woman with a Bassett hound that needed walking.

Three weeks ago I had called Alex to wish her a happy birthday (in spite of a failed romance, we've always remained close friends), and she was somewhat distraught because she had to travel often between home and work because her grandmother was ill. I was concerned, and I asked Alex if Ilsa was okay. She thought she was, although they were worried, and I told her I would send another card hoping she would feel better.

I bought the card, and I was ready to write it this morning. I called Alex to wish her family a Merry Christmas, and then I learned that Ilsa had died less than a week ago. I had asked to speak to her mother (who speaks no English) and as usual, I couldn't express how much the time I spent with her mother meant to me. I could only say I'm sorry and that I hope that she'll be okay. As usual, Renate understood, but it still felt empty. I didn't ask about Timi, maybe I should.

Now I have a card with nobody to send it to. I think I will write one simple phrase with no address, maybe a fake one in Germany. The sentence will read,

'Gute Nacht, Ilsa, und schoen schlafen.' (Good night Ilsa, have a pleasantsleep).


Farewell Reader, have a good day.

Hussman