Time, however, had worn down the solidity of our group. As adults, I was the pacifier when arguments erupted, especially between Klaus and Hans, who was Jewish.
All of us trooped into that bar in Warsaw that night, coming in from the brisk, frosty outside air. We were in the city for the wedding of two old friends of ours with whom we had gone to school. Jürgen was the best man, and we were all there to support him and our friends (who later fled to the Netherlands). It was late, almost midnight, long after the ceremony, when we stopped off at the pub before going to our hotel. I distinctly remember the bar’s cozy feeling; despite the run down exterior, it was a haven.
We settled in and began to talk about our futures. Hans dreamt of University, Jürgen of the stage in Munich, Günter of a home and a family, and Klaus of the glory and power of a Nazi general. Before long, the mundane music of the pianist stopped, and a new player emerged. He was young, with bright, darting eyes. He began to sing and play.
I will see you, my country,
When the calm has come.
When the night washes over,
When the cars cease to run.
I will never forget,
The beauty of your land,
And the people within,
Will walk hand in hand.